alwaysenduphere: (spartacus//it lifts spirits)
Title: remember to breathe
Fandom: Pacific Rim
Characters: Raleigh Becket & Yancy Becket
Rating: PG
Summary: You can still remember, in vivid detail, seeing a Kaiju for the first time, sitting in the school cafeteria nursing a flavorless meatloaf and the last of a carton of chocolate milk.
Notes: 1097 words. second person pov. written for Jaegercon Bingo for the square "kaiju."

Read it here on AO3!
alwaysenduphere: (spartacus//it lifts spirits)
title: the moments that keep us moving [AO3]
fandom(s): Pacific Rim, Star Trek: AOS
characters: Nyota Uhura, James T Kirk, Christopher Pike
rating: PG
notes: 2358 words. second person pov. title from this song. also, this is a Spinosaurus.
summary: You know how demanding being a pilot can be, and you've been in the command center as four Jaegers have fallen. Communications is what you were born to do.

Until it isn't.


[AU in which Uhura is a Jaeger pilot and Kirk is her new rookie partner.]


Thankfully, you're not in San Francisco when the first Kaiju attacks )
alwaysenduphere: (Default)
Title: we prepare our homes for darkness [AO3]
Rating: R
Warnings: non-linear timeline. second person pov (tony’s). probable overuse of zombies. multiple character deaths. basically, there are no happy endings here, folks.
Characters/pairings: Tony/Clint; ensemble cast
Summary: You’ve all been in tricky situations before, though, doomsday scenarios and no-win situations with no way out. That's what The Avengers are for, isn't it? Things look grim, so hey, call The Avengers, and they'll fix everything right up? Alternatively: The Avengers, at the end of all things, from the eyes of one guy in a metal suit.
Notes: ~2300 words. written for [livejournal.com profile] avengers_xchng for [livejournal.com profile] amanuensis1's prompt, which is at the end of the fic. This took a bit of a turn from the prompt, but I hope it still satisfies in some way.




v.

When The Hulk pauses his giant green fists mid-smash with a contorted look of pain and then collapses to the ground in a Bruce Banner-sized heap, that's when you know everything is not going to be alright.

There's destruction as far as the eye can see, even farther than that according to the scans JARVIS keeps running. There's no one around you now, even in the thick of it, mostly dead bodies and a few souls probably trapped in their homes, just lambs for the slaughter. Hundreds upon thousands of people dead, buildings now unrecognizable piles of rubble, and Manhattan is certainly never going to resemble its former self again, no matter how much money you or anyone decides to throw into the cleanup, you're sure of that.

You’ve all been in tricky situations before, though, doomsday scenarios and no-win situations with no way out. That's what The Avengers are for, isn't it? Things look grim, so hey, call The Avengers, and they'll fix everything right up? You always thought it was a bit of a joke, some sort of tagline so the government stiffs could claim to have a handle on things, appearances and all that. Then again, it'd worked out pretty well so far, at least until now.

Bruce Banner is an unconscious lump in the middle of an ever-increasing horde of ugly creatures, arms and legs and blood a smeared pathway all around them. JARVIS informs you there’s no way you can make it to him in time, but you try anyway, suit beat-up and dinged in dozens of places, each one causing a little bit more power drain, a little more exertion on your part.

“The Hulk is down,” you mumble into the comms, and you don’t expect anyone to respond, everyone’s probably in the thick of it worse than you.

“Oh shit,” comes a stressed reply, and you want to laugh at just hearing someone’s voice other than JARVIS, but you’re all out of laughter on this day.

“Elegant as usual, Agent Barton,” you say, but there’s no humor in this situation and you regret the comment the moment it’s made. You’re certain wherever Captain America is, he’s holding back a reprimand for swearing on comms. If he can still hear you, that is.

The Hulk is down and JARVIS is still running his scans, always with the scans. You designed him to never give up looking for a way out, and it's a sound strategy, keeps you going in most fights when things look grim. And things certainly look grim. According to all the scans, the creatures were able to defeat the Hulk using some sort of virus specifically designed for his invincibility, and isn't that just the biggest problem of all.



ii.

It's been forever since you've all had a real Christmas, one holiday mishap after another - battles, illness, break-ups of epic proportions, even death. Not to mention everything in between. You're still impressed Pepper managed to pull off the decorations and the tree in less than twenty-four hours, always impressed at the way Pepper succeeds in pulling off things in a way no one could ever dare to compare. This time, you’re slightly convinced she somehow blackmailed Nick Fury, maybe with some secret stash of candy or some sort of compromising photos, and you must remember to ask JARVIS to look into that more. You've tried finding the dirt to blackmail Nick Fury with multiple times, to no avail. Pepper simply says it's just her good looks and charm that got the job done. You're not convinced.

It’s a true Christmas party like you’ve only seen in the movies, eggnog and presents and a giant tree that fills up half the common room of the tower. At first you’re against it, hate the idea of forcing the holidays on people, too many childhood Christmas days spent being dragged to one party with boring adults after another, hiding forgotten in corners with stolen wine glasses. Thor of all people convinces you it’s a good plan, cheerful and bombast as usual, and you laugh right along with everyone else when he breaks into a rendition of Jingle Bells using all the wrong words.

Presents aren’t really a big thing, ‘what do you get the superhero who can buy himself everything’, that sort of thing, but there’s a small exchange with Pepper-approved gifts – ornaments for the Christmas tree. It’s cheesy and you say as much, but the look on Steve’s face when he hangs his shiny little shield on one of the higher branches makes the whole hullabaloo seem worth it. Maybe giving everyone a Christmas like they’ve never had really is the best medicine.

Nearing the end of the day and Clint's almost gotten Natasha to laugh at the ridiculous Santa outfit he's pulled out of thin air, hearty ho-ho-ho-ing in his white beard and fake fat belly until she cracks a smile. You and Bruce are still practically rolling on the floor in amusement when the tower-wide priority alert goes off.

“No one ruins Christmas,” Clint practically shouts, yanking off his Santa hat.

You want to agree, but there’s this feeling in the pit of your stomach that everything is not going to be alright.



vi.

Captain America falls rescuing a dozen civilians out of a burning building. You can’t help but think it’s the perfect ending for him, and you get lost in maudlin thoughts for a span of three seconds before JARVIS reminds you that civilians are involved and you should try to help.

Thor is near Steve, Mjolnir's familiar hum providing steady background noise over the comms as you listen to Steve bark orders to the civilians. They’re not listening well, of course, panic and questions flying at him a mile a minute, and you do your best to answer the ones you can hear, listen as he and Thor relay your answers about the technical stuff, give their own at the spiritual stuff. Steve’s always been good at calming people in a crisis. There’s still uncontrollable panic all around, and you can’t blame them, the sight of their world overtaken by things that look like zombies not exactly anyone’s idea of a good time and well, people are kind of idiots anyway, it’s a fact you’ve known since you were old enough to string together quadratic equations, none of which seem relevant anymore.

They’re only a few blocks south of you but you can't get to their location in time, RTs barely coughing along, left one then right one but never at the same time, boots already long mucked up with blood and chunks of things you'd rather not think about, so you get to be a third party witness but only in high definition audio.

Thor yells, "Look out!" and it feedbacks into your earbud, echoes around in your head for a moment before Captain America’s voice pierces through.

"I see ‘em. I’ve got it,” he says, and there’s some frantic screams and the sound of his shield colliding with a lesser metal, telephone pole or car frame or something.

You don't hear any more from Captain America after that. You don’t know what happens to the people he was trying to rescue, either.



iii.

JARVIS is tuned into all the news stations, though at this point they're mostly broadcasting that people stay in their houses and board up everything. Natasha makes the comment that it’s the beginnings of a very bad horror movie, and it’s only then you notice her face is already streaked with ash from nearby looter fires.

“It’s the end of the world as we know it,” Bruce hums, in between Hulk phases for the moment. He’s far too cheerful for the situation, but you suppose having a break from being a giant green rage monster probably allows for a temporary rise in the doom and gloom factor.

“So much for Christmas,” Natasha says.

“You never were one for it anyway,” Clint replies, but a cloud settles over Natasha's expression and you think you can guess what it means, guess how she feels, like maybe it takes the right time and place to grow to like something and maybe Christmas would’ve had a chance to become likeable if only with a little more time. You’ve still got the image of Clint as Santa Claus seared into your brain, and you hope it stays there forever like a bouncer at a bar, blocking all the bad memories surely soon to come out.



vii.

You've never been sure if Thor is invincible or not, but put enough combatants on one target and even someone as powerful as a demi-god will have a hard time backing out of that corner.

There’s no sign of him when you finally, finally get to the source of his last transmission.



iv.

It sounds like a SyFy original movie at first, a giant cosmic joke that of course could only happen to The Avengers, 'Zombies from outer space' and of course they'd have to commence their take-over of Earth on Christmas Day. So much for that Mayan apocalypse, here you go, have some hideous creature from outer space that happens to enjoy proliferating by injecting toxic venom into their opponents by guess what, biting them. They’re not really zombies themselves, not in the Romero sense, though they are the ugliest things you've ever seen, like a mangled Chitauri in a radioactive explosion. Then again, your mental gallery of aliens from outer space is rather limited at this point.

By New Year’s Day JARVIS reports that the CDC has a cure, apparently, though that doesn't seem very useful to you now, hundreds of people already fallen victim and dozens of city blocks decimated beyond recognition. They don’t even have ships, not in the strictest ‘all your earth are belong to us’ way, though you suppose they had to get here somewhere. You wonder if maybe their ships have cloaking devices and you just can’t see them. Intelligent zombies, why stop there, right? What do you know, though, safe in your very expensive flying tin can.



viii.

Clint's scream over the fuzzy comms is the next on a growing list of things that could not be more wrong.

When you find him he's fighting ugly dead things off Natasha's body, bleeding from too many wounds himself, streaked in red and black. Natasha’s neck is broken and it is clear they’ve both fought to their very last, tear-streaked faces of ‘never give up’ still written in blood like a ‘until death do us part’ pact. They’ve always had that and you’ve never questioned it.

"It's not supposed to be like this," Clint says, and you've never agreed with anyone more in your life. He’s fading fast, and you struggle your sluggish body down to his level, wrap metal-clad arms around his body as the last moments of his life pass you both by, his quiet stuttering breaths the only thing you have left in a world engulfed in cacophony.

That's the moment you give up any hope you have left.



i.

You don't have a lot of first times left in your life, myriad of one night stands, bad decisions, and general disgrace in your ever-growing history, so you don't want to come across as an over-romantic sap, but the passenger seat of his classic GTO is not where you pictured your first time with Clint Barton.

"Are you intentionally trying to be douchebag Danny from high school or do you treat all your ladies to this Clint Barton special?"

Clint snickers. "I mean, I could carry you over the threshold and make love to you in a real bed, if that's what you want."

You smash your lips into his, rough and unyielding, and he responds almost instantly, tongues sliding around together in a furious dance. "This works fine."

It's far less than warm outside, New York winter in full swing, and the windows are already a bit steamy from your combined body heat, and the whole thing just makes you laugh. Clint Barton, with the car, in the driveway. You can already see in your future a cold hard stare from Nick Fury that screams "if you fuck up my team I will fuck you up," and a shy knowing smile from Bruce as you and Clint stumble your way back into the tower. You can also see disapproving stares from Steve over Tuesday breakfast and no this really isn't the best of ideas, but you’re really fond of letting the worst ideas become better, so you slide your hands up Clint’s shirt and start taking mental notes at what he likes best.

"Does your brain ever shut up and just let you enjoy things?" Clint comments, callous fingertips returning the caress, brushing across the skin of your stomach.

You shiver, and not from the cold. "Nope. Can't stop, won't stop. That's how it is."

"Just like its owner, I hope."

"Dear Mr. Barton, is that a pick-up line? I'm flattered."

"Shut up," he says, hand around your cock. There's too much friction and not enough moisture, but it doesn't stop him, hand in a rhythm almost perfect for you, and maybe the passenger seat isn't such a bad idea after all.



ix.

When you fall, you're expecting it, waiting for it, even. The power can only last so long, and you are, after all, only human. The suit, the only thing protecting you this far, the last defense you or anyone has, gives one final chug. The arc reactor in your chest flickers. Your legs only have a few steps left in them after that. You fall, nothing left to do but watch the light in your chest slowly dim away.

Intelligent space zombies, who would've thunk it?

~


Prompt: Action plot happens (can be vague, though if you want to get in depth, be my very welcome guest). Things are clearly not going to be all right. Every one of them dies saving the day, one by one. We see reactions of the others as each one goes down, right down to the last one standing, who knows s/he's going down when s/he does. Mourning dénouement.
alwaysenduphere: (superhusbands//tony pony)
title: only thing to do is jump over the moon
fandom: Avengers
pairing: Steve/Tony
rating: R
summary: Olympics AU; Tony is a world-class gymnast and Steve is the perfect athlete; also sometimes everyone needs to let off a little steam in an Olympic size swimming pool.
notes: ~3100 words. wow okay late to everything as usual. this is probably horrible and it ends abruptly but it's been sitting on my desktop since closing ceremonies and i just want it posted so. have baby's first foray into steve/tony. also lol at the title, it's okay you can too. also also lol at the fact that it's an Olympics AU because when have I ever been into writing alternate universes jeez.



It's dark and a bit chilly when Tony gently steps into the pool, a lot like he'd expected it to be and nothing at all as he'd expected all the same. He treads the water for a moment, just floating around, his brain still wrapping his mind around the fact that he's here, in the Olympic pool, that he's competing in the Olympics.

It's three am and most of the athletes have gone to bed, the training for some starting at five and competition for others a few hours after that. Tony knows he should be asleep as well, resting his body for the days to come, but his mind has never worked in easy patterns of awake and asleep, choosing instead to prattle on until exhaustion sets in and he crashes hours at a time.

He paddles around for a few laps, letting the water glide over him like silk. Mostly he just floats along on his back and stares into the open space above his head. He hadn't learned to swim very well as a child, too busy with weight training and advanced geometry and all the other trivial pursuits his father had shoved him into until finally, finally Tony found one he could enjoy for himself, and well, if it bothered his father a little, that was only an added bonus.

Gymnastics was all consuming once you committed, and never let it be said that Tony Stark only half-assed commits to things he enjoys. But between training and school and his father's watchful scrutiny, there just wasn't time to learn to swim properly. That is, until a few years ago, when his Achilles tendon snapped mid-performance at the World Championship and nearly ruined his career. But he fought back, keeping in shape and training in the water until his ankle could bear his full weight again, until he could fly over the vault and stick his landing with minimal pain. He'd fought hard to recover, worked twice as hard as any other athlete he knew, and made it back in fighting shape and qualified for the Olympics in little over a year.

The high dive looms over Tony's head as he floats around on his back in the pool, lost in his thoughts, until finally he decides that it's now or never, climbing out of the pool and up to the ladder. Ten meters is a long climb up, but Tony’s not afraid of heights in the slightest. He starts climbing.

"Should you really be doing that?" a voice calls from several feet below him. He startles, but to his credit, he doesn't slip on the ladder.

"No, but that's never really stopped me before," he replies, but he heeds the warning a bit nevertheless, taking his time once he gets to the platform, debating on whether or not he should really do this. His coach would murder him if he knew Tony was even out of bed, let alone standing ten meters in the air on a concrete platform. The pool's still forever below him, and suddenly it all seems so far away, the vault, the high bar, his dad's lack of appreciation of his talent. The whole world is simply the space between him and the water. He takes a deep breath and a step towards the edge. He dives.

The air rushes past his free fall and the rush of speed makes his face feel funny as he tries to smile, presses the skin back awkwardly. He tries for a front tuck around halfway down, just mimicking what he's only ever seen on TV. He almost succeeds, manages to get his head facing down into the water before he hits the surface, but his arms and legs are all wrong and he's completely unprepared for the sting of the water the moment he hits, not enough breath stored in his lungs and what little is there rushing out at the impact. He struggles to the surface, swallowing a lungful of water on the way there, but he feels free and alive in a way he hasn't in a very long time.

"Well, congratulations, you didn't die," he hears from behind him while he's still coughing out water, the same voice as before he jumped. He takes a few gasping breaths then turns around to see who else could possibly be sneaking in to a closed pool after hours. It's probably the last person he'd ever expect to break any rules.

"If that's your way of complimenting my diving skills, you need to work on your execution," he replies to Steve Rogers, America's golden boy for the decathlon, the ‘best athlete the world has ever seen.’

"Definitely not a compliment. That was pretty idiotic, in my opinion."

"Well, it's a good thing I didn't ask for your opinion," Tony snaps back, his head suddenly pounding from his recent lack of oxygen. It's time to leave the pool now, absolutely. "What are you doing here anyway, Rogers? Shouldn't you be safely tucked away in your bed, ready to face another morning as the poster boy for apple pie and consumerism?"

Steve's expression shuts down, but only for a second. Long enough for Tony to catch it but not time enough to wonder what it means. "I don't need much sleep these days," is all he says.

"So you decided to break into an Olympic pool and what, paddle around until you exhausted yourself?"

"I think that's more what you decided to do, but yes, I decided to find a little bit of relaxing peace and quiet. Instead I found you."

"You found nothing, I was never here."

"Don't you compete tomorrow, Tony Stark?"

Tony's honestly a little surprised Steve knows his name, with all the athletes the United States had sent this year. They'd brushed shoulders walking into the Opening Ceremonies and passed each other at the village a couple of times, but beyond that, no real contact. As if he's reading Tony's mind, Steve says, "I make a point to learn my teammate’s names."

"That's a lot of teammates, mate. And no, I don't compete until Thursday. Tomorrow's the individual all-around, I didn't qualify. I didn't want to qualify, honestly, vault and bar are my thing, I've never really been all that fond of floor, lots of showiness and well, being close to the ground, and the rings require way more singular concentration than I've ever been able to muster in my life, trust me, I know, that's exactly what my coach yells at me all the time." He tries to stand up and walk away, knows he's running his mouth too much, hates the sound of his own voice sometimes. He has a lot issues: smoking, drinking, all sorts of habits that a world-class athlete shouldn't do, but rambling when he's the center of attention is probably the one he hates the most. He expects Steve to point it out, to maybe say he's sorry for the misunderstanding and walk away, or share some inspiring story like he seems to do frequently on the news programs, or flash a million dollar smile and laugh and blush until everyone has forgotten what the question was. It's not like Tony spends a lot of time watching Steve being interviewed, it's just that it's hard to avoid.

"You like to be in the air," Steve simply replies, causing Tony to stop dead in his tracks. No one, no one has figured that out before, no one knows him well enough to figure it out, really, even though Tony’s pretty sure it’s not that obvious. And yet somehow within ten minutes of meeting him, Steve Rogers thinks he knows everything.

"It's none of your business, you know," he snaps back, doing his best to storm out gracefully and failing when the world goes blurry and he stumbles just a bit. Steve catches his shoulder and pulls him back upright and Tony can't help but notice how warm his shoulder feels even after Steve's removed his hand. Steve just stands there, watching Tony, waiting for him to move again.

"Thanks for catching me I guess, it'd suck to survive that dive only to be sidelined by tripping over my own feet. So are you gonna swim or just stare at me?" Tony asks. "Because I'm trying to be on my way out, I'm just...having some problems. As you've seen."

"I was going to swim a few laps," Steve says, and then just looks at Tony in a way that makes him incredibly uncomfortable but also incredibly intrigued at the same time. "You want to swim a few with me?"

Tony catalogues his body; his head's still throbbing and his legs sting from the impact of the water, and he can feel the general sluggishness of being in the water for a period of time swarming his consciousness. He could probably sleep now, if he tried. "Yes," he replies.

Steve peels off his over shirt as Tony splashes his way into the pool, the water now more welcoming and warm after he's spent time out of it in the cold air. He turns to splash at Steve, and gets caught up staring at the man as he slowly sinks his way into the pool, fingertips gripping the side tightly. It's not that Tony's never seen him shirtless before, they really do like to show Steve's 'perfect form' on the news programs, touting how he's the best all-around athlete the US has ever had, and well, that's always bugged Tony, like how do they know he's the absolute best, it's not like everyone chooses to participate in the decathlon, but that's not the point. The point is Tony has never seen Steve up close, and that's what he brushes this sudden fascination off as, an admiration of human perfection, and nothing else. Nothing at all.

"Shall we?" Steve says, and Jesus, Tony feels like he stepped into a '40s movie where he's playing the role of the girl, and he's being led into a movie theater to watch the damn thing.

"We shall," he smarts back, and kicks away from the wall. His form is the worst and he gets all of three strokes before Steve's passing him in the other lane, all speed and agility and that human perfection Tony'd been admiring moments before. Tony stops when he reaches the other side and just watches Steve as he stretches stroke for stroke back to their starting point. "Is there anything you can't do perfectly?" he calls when Steve surfaces on the other end, shaking water out of his ears.

To his surprise, Steve laughs, loud and full in a way that echoes around the big empty space they're in. "I'm not so hot in the kitchen," he says.

"Wonderful." Tony’s a good cook; actually Tony’s an amazing cook, his father had made him take lessons, even though ‘cooking was the wife’s job’, it was always a good idea to be prepared to fend for yourself.

"Why don't you swim back over here and I can give you some pointers on how to make your strokes more efficient?" Idly, Tony wonders how many laps it would actually take to wear out Steve.

"I'm not touching that one with a ten foot pole. How about you swim back over here so I can save up my energy and kick your ass on the second try?"

"As you wish," Steve replies, and Tony's seen The Princess Bride; he knows how this one is going to end, and he's no woman. Even if he does happen to be good in the kitchen.

"Do you ever even break a sweat?" Tony blurts when Steve arrives in front of him, mere seconds after departing the opposite end of the pool. It's unnatural, is what it is, Tony thinks.

"Well, generally, not in the water. Or if I do, it all gets washed off. I don't know, Tony, do you ever break a sweat in the water?"

"I don't generally spend a lot of time in the water to find out, honestly."

"No, you wouldn't. Too busy training, right?" The way Steve says it is weighted and ever so slightly sad.

"Wishing you were somewhere else right now?"

"No, no, it's not that. I'm grateful to be here, to even have the chance to be here, but I don't know, you ever feel like you're missing out on more important things in life when you spend all your time in training?"

"Wow, bringing down the house there, Steve-o. But yes, boy do I ever. That's why I do my very best to succeed without spending all my time in training, a fact that thrills my father to no end, let me tell you."

"Sarcasm, right?"

"You betcha."

"I've read about your father, huge industry mogul that dominates every business venture he gets into and lets nothing stand in his way."

"Yep, that includes his son, don't worry, the articles don't lie."

Steve treads water like does everything else – easily. "Tony, I'm sorry,” he says after a moment.

"For what?"

Steve shrugs. "I don't know. It just seems like the appropriate thing to say."

Tony’s used to being apologized to, ‘I’m sorry Mr. Stark I’ll pick your dry-cleaning right away, “Sorry I wasn’t there to see you perform, son’ and so on and so forth. He probably hears the words three or four times a week, but never really with so much sincerity behind them, and never for so little wrongdoing at the time. "Thanks, then. I think. So uh. Wanna race again?"

"I'd hardly call that a race. And honestly, no, I'd rather do this," As Steve finishes his sentence he wraps a hand around Tony's shoulder, in the same place as before, and pulls him closer in. Tony moves easily, his entire body weight probably feeling like an air bubble to the great and powerful Steve Rogers , and Tony's all caught up in the moment, already totally willing to do whatever Steve wants him to; Steve pauses with both his hands touching Tony, and their eyes meet, wide-eyed expression to wide-eyed expression.

"Yes," Tony breathes, and that's all it takes for Steve to close the gap and kiss him good and proper. And it is good and proper, Tony notes, wrapping his arms around Steve like...well, like a fucking girl and whatever that's fine, he'll play that role if it gets him this close to perfection, Steve's warm hands pulling him closer and closer until there's no space for water to flow in between them, just torso on torso and a thin layer of swim shorts separating them. Tony's hard, and well, let's face it he's been half-hard since Steve stripped off his shirt and climbed in the water, and before long he's rutting up against Steve with no cares in the moment, Steve's tongue sucking and pulling at Tony's and his hands roaming everywhere they can touch. Tony just clings to Steve's neck, too caught up in the feeling to do much else.

"Wait, don't you have somewhere to be in the morning?" Tony realizes, pulling back slightly, his synapses still firing despite all the attention, his brain never shutting up.

"It's just discus in the morning, I could win that with my eyes closed," Steve says confidently, and Tony's pretty sure that'd be dizzyingly impossible, physics and gravity and balance and all that, but he just doesn't care anymore.

"Steve," he says.

"Tony," Steve responds, and Tony's left wondering how in the span in like an hour he's gone from wanting this man to get the fuck away and leave him to dive to his own disastrous fate to grabbing hold of this man and never wanting to let him go. Tony's pretty sure his whole worldview shifted somewhere there in between their first actual meeting and this moment now, arms groping at each other and legs twisting and tangling together.

They keep sinking under the water level, bobbing up and down like a buoy, both sets of legs too tangled in each other to properly support their weight as their exchange of oxygen grows deeper and fiercer. Tony's dizzy from it all, from the high dive to the swimming to Steve's chest pressed against him to Steve's lips crushing against his even as he's pushing Tony up against the pool wall and bracing himself up with his arms and Jesus, Tony's never going to stop being impressed by the pure strength Steve possesses. He manages to stop clinging to Steve like some kind of schoolgirl long enough to wedge a hand down in between them, erections pressing up against each other and rubbing and driving him mad.

He adjusts for the inches of height Steve has on him, wrapping his legs around Steve's body so that their pelvises meet at exactly the same place, and then hastily slides his hand into Steve's shorts. Steve gasps and breaks away from Tony's mouth, his head falling against Tony's shoulder. "I've never-" he starts.

"What, gotten a hand job in a pool? Well, I've never given one so we're equal here."

Steve doesn't reply, but Tony feels him shifting his weight over to his left arm, can see the muscles struggling under the weight of them both, even in the water, and then Steve has his free hand around Tony, has his hand around them both, and suddenly Tony understands where the expression 'seeing stars' comes from.

“Let me,” Steve says, and with Steve’s large hand working at them both despite the friction the water creates, it doesn't take long until Tony's tentative grasp on control breaks, and he comes, shuddering against Steve's chest as Steve finishes himself off.

"Well, this night totally went in a different direction than I expected," Tony manages to say after a bit, his head tucked against Steve's. He can feel Steve smile against his cheek, but he doesn't reply. "Hey you. You with me here? I know I'm mind-blowingly awesome but I can't imagine I've worn America's greatest athlete out?"

"I'm awake. I just didn't- I'm here." Steve pushes himself off the wall, off of Tony and it takes a lungful of chlorine-flavored water for Tony to remember how to swim. "Besides," Steve continues, still smiling, "I'm the one who did most of the work."

"Well I guess next time I'll have to do all the work and show you how awesome I am, huh."

"Next time," Steve says, giving Tony a long look that frankly makes Tony feel a little bit more than exposed, previous incident notwithstanding. "Unfortunately I have somewhere to be in the morning and you were right when you said I should probably be resting right now. Goodnight, Tony."

Tony watches the wet trail of footprints Steve leaves behind for as long as he can, then carefully makes his own way out, his legs a bit unsteady.

He definitely doesn't have any trouble falling asleep once he makes it back to his room.
alwaysenduphere: (Default)
title: i've been raised to kill [AO3]
fandom: Avengers [MCU]
pairing: Clint/Natasha
warnings: violence/gore
rating: R
summary: SHIELD keeps a file on them; sometimes they read it over and chuckle at the details the field agents have missed or gotten wrong.
notes: ~1000 words, first fic in a new fandom meep. written for [livejournal.com profile] be_compromised's Clint/Natasha Promptathon from the prompt "serial killer AU." Originally posted here.



They meet in the dark on a Tuesday, both their hands drenched in the blood of their enemies, dripping to the ground in a cold Russian rain. He shoots first, one simple fiberglass arrow singing through the sky in her direction; she dodges with a speed he's never seen before and then in return charges towards him, her red hair whipping behind her like a whirlwind.

That night sets the tone of their entire relationship.

~

They start small, at first. Clint likes to watch for a target for a bit, lazily drift along sight line to sight line until he settles on one that tickles his fancy just right, then lets off a single arrow that dissolves upon completing its mission, no muss no fuss. Clint is neat, Clint is precise, Clint is cold and calculating.

Somewhere around Abidjan, things get a little bigger. Natasha likes to charge in without a plan, her head already swimming in a picture of the kill, her whole body humming with only one purpose, knives at the ready, widow's bite charged. Natasha is not neat, Natasha is not precise, Natasha gets the job done and doesn't care about the mess.

As it happens, they balance each other out just fine.

~

"You want this one?" Clint asks, enunciation muffled by the arrow he's holding in between his teeth, his hands busy holding on to a little girl near the same age Natasha was when she made her first kill.

"Nyet," Natasha responds, glancing at the girl and then using the girl's clothes to wipe blood off her knife before trying to decide her next move.

"She looks like you," he says.

"If you want to kill her, go right ahead. Don't let me stop you from hashing out your deep dark emotional problems, Clint."

He chuckles and wraps a hand around the girl's throat and watches as Natasha's expression slides into neutral, a face he's learned means she's anything but detached from the situation. "Aw, Nat, did I hit a nerve?"

"Fuck you," she growls, lashing out at him with her newly cleaned knife, opening a nice fresh gash on his cheek. Clint responds by first dropping the arrow then dropping the girl, and then trapping Natasha's knife hand with his arm and twisting until he hears a pop, all in a matter of seconds.

"You always underestimate you quick I am, don't you, baby?"

Even as he's finishing his sentence she's twisting away, dislocated shoulder but a small price to pay. They twist and fight and dance around each other, a nearly choreographed routine that happens after nearly every kill with little hint of actual malice. Adrenaline and training are still in high gear, still not quite satisfied; this is their foreplay.

~

In Budapest they create a trail of bodies miles long, bathe in their blood and swim in their entrails. At least that's what the news programs say; they don't really pay much attention to the media anymore, especially not any news they may create, too busy wrapped up in each other, Clint's hands all over Natasha's body and her legs wrapped around his. They fuck in an alley before the authorities show up, ditching their bloody clothes as they go, hands stained in the red of their victims. Natasha's lip is split where a stray knuckle from a struggling victim collided and Clint's is a bloody mess from a flailing knee of someone else, and it hurts when they kiss, pain and pleasure all mingling together as one.

It takes them a while to get out of the city, every task force and bounty hunter in the area looking for them. There’s no force in the world that’s a match for a couple of trained master assassins, especially not these particular two, and Clint and Natasha pick them off one by one, making a game out of their murder count, each one hoping to push their kill count higher than the other's. In the end, it's Clint who wins. Natasha lets him choose his prize; he chooses her. He will always choose her.

~

SHIELD keeps a file on them; sometimes they read it over and chuckle at the details the field agents have missed or gotten wrong. For a while the file said it was two women doing all the killing; Natasha got a good laugh over that at Clint's expense. He was certain to leave some blatant clues to his masculinity on their next outing, and the description in the files changed shortly thereafter, of course. Sometimes Natasha spends a lot of time studying in the file, reliving the past as it were, and Clint gives her space; he knows how her memory works, knows that sometimes she has to be unmade to be whole again, that there are things she's done she doesn't remember. Clint's memory is pristine and he remembers every kill and how much he loved sharing it with her; he never wants to forget those moments.

~

When Loki comes and rips them apart for a time, Natasha stops at nothing to get Clint back. It's not so much that it's Loki or that Clint's doing things not of his own control. It's that he might be having fun without her, that his body count is growing larger than hers and that isn't how they operate. They are a team, they are always a team, and not even a mystical god can keep them apart.

"I thought I'd lost you for a minute," Natasha says when they're back together, knee deep in their next big mess.

"Shut the fuck up, you don't give a shit about me," Clint says in return, taking a swing at her face.

"You're right," she says, smiling and catching his hand by the wrist and twisting until it pops, "why would I ever put up with a mudak like you?"
alwaysenduphere: (thg//nothing's gonna happen little duck)
title: We Will Be Victorious
fandoms: Supernatural/The Hunger Games
rating: PG-13
warnings: uh, child violence, offscreen character death
summary: "Let them have their show," Dean said to Sam, the night before the Games started. "You kill me, I kill you, it doesn't matter. They'll never have us," he whispered in Sam's ear.
notes: ~750 words, second and third person pov, intentional indentation. idek. I couldn't decide how I wanted to mesh Sam and Dean into THG so everything is intentionally vague as to avoid having to actually come up with a plot. I think my natural default when I get involved in new things is to figure out a way to cross them over with Supernatural. /shrug. Originally this was going to be longer, but I got tired of staring at it on my desktop, so. It is what it is. Unbetaed, title/cut text from Muse.

we should never be afraid to die )
alwaysenduphere: (thg//nothing's gonna happen little duck)
title: We Will Be Victorious
fandoms: Supernatural/The Hunger Games
rating: PG-13
warnings: uh, child violence, offscreen character death
summary: "Let them have their show," Dean said to Sam, the night before the Games started. "You kill me, I kill you, it doesn't matter. They'll never have us," he whispered in Sam's ear.
notes: ~750 words, second and third person pov, intentional indentation. idek. I couldn't decide how I wanted to mesh Sam and Dean into THG so everything is intentionally vague as to avoid having to actually come up with a plot. I think my natural default when I get involved in new things is to figure out a way to cross them over with Supernatural. /shrug. Originally this was going to be longer, but I got tired of staring at it on my desktop, so. It is what it is. Unbetaed, title/cut text from Muse.

we should never be afraid to die )
alwaysenduphere: (alastair + dean)
title: if it hurts, we’re doing it to ourselves.
pairings/characters: implied Dean/Alastair, implied Sam/Lucifer
warnings: torture, implied self-harm, dark themes, etc etc everything that goes along with Alastair and hell.
rating: R
summary: You haven't seen him in awhile, Alastair. But lately, you've been watching Sam.
notes: ~1300 words. second person pov because that's what i dooo. spoilers for all aired S7 episodes. i really want sam and dean to swap hell stories on the show can you tell? written for [livejournal.com profile] hoodie_time's h/c challenge numero 6 (original prompt). title is part of a line from Road Music by Richard Siken. thank youu [livejournal.com profile] jacyevans for looking it over and being awesome as usual.

Sure, it's good to feel things, and if it hurts, we're doing it to ourselves, or so the saying goes )
alwaysenduphere: (alastair + dean)
title: if it hurts, we’re doing it to ourselves.
pairings/characters: implied Dean/Alastair, implied Sam/Lucifer
warnings: torture, implied self-harm, dark themes, etc etc everything that goes along with Alastair and hell.
rating: R
summary: You haven't seen him in awhile, Alastair. But lately, you've been watching Sam.
notes: ~1300 words. second person pov because that's what i dooo. spoilers for all aired S7 episodes. i really want sam and dean to swap hell stories on the show can you tell? written for [livejournal.com profile] hoodie_time's h/c challenge numero 6 (original prompt). title is part of a line from Road Music by Richard Siken. thank youu [livejournal.com profile] jacyevans for looking it over and being awesome as usual.

Sure, it's good to feel things, and if it hurts, we're doing it to ourselves, or so the saying goes )
alwaysenduphere: (alastair + dean)
title: if it hurts, we’re doing it to ourselves.
pairings/characters: implied Dean/Alastair, implied Sam/Lucifer
warnings: torture, implied self-harm, dark themes, etc etc everything that goes along with Alastair and hell.
rating: R
summary: You haven't seen him in awhile, Alastair. But lately, you've been watching Sam.
notes: ~1300 words. second person pov because that's what i dooo. spoilers for all aired S7 episodes. i really want sam and dean to swap hell stories on the show can you tell? written for [livejournal.com profile] hoodie_time's h/c challenge numero 6 (original prompt). title is part of a line from Road Music by Richard Siken. thank youu [livejournal.com profile] jacyevans for looking it over and being awesome as usual.

Sure, it's good to feel things, and if it hurts, we're doing it to ourselves, or so the saying goes )
alwaysenduphere: (Default)
title: without one thing, all will be useless.
fandoms: Supernatural/Lost Girl
pairing: Sam Winchester/Dyson
rating: mucho R
summary: Like a majority of random hookup stories, you meet him in a bar.
notes: 1352 words. second person pov in switching perspectives dun dun dunnn. timeline wise, like NOW in both shows, as in very vague spoilers to SPN 7.15 and LG 2.19. absolutely unbetaed and the first complete thing i've written in four months so it's probably a hot mess. i couldn't tell you where this came from if i tried other than a desire for more people to watch Lost Girl, i would imagine. title/cut text from Walt Whitman.

I give you fair warning, before you attempt me further, I am not what you supposed, but far different. )
alwaysenduphere: (Default)
title: without one thing, all will be useless.
fandoms: Supernatural/Lost Girl
pairing: Sam Winchester/Dyson
rating: mucho R
summary: Like a majority of random hookup stories, you meet him in a bar.
notes: 1352 words. second person pov in switching perspectives dun dun dunnn. timeline wise, like NOW in both shows, as in very vague spoilers to SPN 7.15 and LG 2.19. absolutely unbetaed and the first complete thing i've written in four months so it's probably a hot mess. i couldn't tell you where this came from if i tried other than a desire for more people to watch Lost Girl, i would imagine. title/cut text from Walt Whitman.

I give you fair warning, before you attempt me further, I am not what you supposed, but far different. )
alwaysenduphere: (Default)
title: without one thing, all will be useless.
fandoms: Supernatural/Lost Girl
pairing: Sam Winchester/Dyson
rating: mucho R
summary: Like a majority of random hookup stories, you meet him in a bar.
notes: 1352 words. second person pov in switching perspectives dun dun dunnn. timeline wise, like NOW in both shows, as in very vague spoilers to SPN 7.15 and LG 2.19. absolutely unbetaed and the first complete thing i've written in four months so it's probably a hot mess. i couldn't tell you where this came from if i tried other than a desire for more people to watch Lost Girl, i would imagine. title/cut text from Walt Whitman.

I give you fair warning, before you attempt me further, I am not what you supposed, but far different. )
alwaysenduphere: (tron//a leaf on the wind)
so have two!

ganked from [livejournal.com profile] crimsonkitty88
Tell me about a story I haven't written and I'll give you 1-3 sentences(approximately) of or about it.


and a meme about fandom! )
Yeah.

It's a lovely day outside. I'd like to take my laptop out and actually try to write something, but I'm terrified that moving it would be the final straw in its old age and I love it too dearly to try, I think.
alwaysenduphere: (misc//tie me tighter)
title: i know what sacrifice means
pairing: Claire/Jo
rating: PG-13
notes: ~1200 words, second person pov. Muchos gracias to [livejournal.com profile] jacyevans for the beta. Written for [livejournal.com profile] zempasuchil for [livejournal.com profile] spn_jimmynovak's Novakfest exchange.
From the prompt: My Heart Will Go On AU-verse: Jo has a crew, Claire is part of the group, they save people & hunt things & have daddy/angel issues & maybe even femslash? :D? I hope this works for ya, toots. <3

summary: You’ve gotten used to seeing her face when you roll over, and it scares you; attachments are for a different time, a world before. Or, a quick recap of this AU: So basically the world's gone to shit because Godstiel is cray cray and Jo's a natural-born leader and that's just how it goes.

i know what sacrifice means )
alwaysenduphere: (misc//tie me tighter)
title: i know what sacrifice means
pairing: Claire/Jo
rating: PG-13
notes: ~1200 words, second person pov. Muchos gracias to [livejournal.com profile] jacyevans for the beta. Written for [livejournal.com profile] zempasuchil for [livejournal.com profile] spn_jimmynovak's Novakfest exchange.
From the prompt: My Heart Will Go On AU-verse: Jo has a crew, Claire is part of the group, they save people & hunt things & have daddy/angel issues & maybe even femslash? :D? I hope this works for ya, toots. <3

summary: You’ve gotten used to seeing her face when you roll over, and it scares you; attachments are for a different time, a world before. Or, a quick recap of this AU: So basically the world's gone to shit because Godstiel is cray cray and Jo's a natural-born leader and that's just how it goes.

i know what sacrifice means )
alwaysenduphere: (misc//tie me tighter)
title: i know what sacrifice means
pairing: Claire/Jo
rating: PG-13
notes: ~1200 words, second person pov. Muchos gracias to [livejournal.com profile] jacyevans for the beta. Written for [livejournal.com profile] zempasuchil for [livejournal.com profile] spn_jimmynovak's Novakfest exchange.
From the prompt: My Heart Will Go On AU-verse: Jo has a crew, Claire is part of the group, they save people & hunt things & have daddy/angel issues & maybe even femslash? :D? I hope this works for ya, toots. <3

summary: You’ve gotten used to seeing her face when you roll over, and it scares you; attachments are for a different time, a world before. Or, a quick recap of this AU: So basically the world's gone to shit because Godstiel is cray cray and Jo's a natural-born leader and that's just how it goes.

i know what sacrifice means )
alwaysenduphere: (winchesters//into the sunset)
title: a different kind of tough
pairing: Dean/Sam
rating: NC-17
warnings/enticements: femmeslash, always-a-girl!chesters, second person pov, angst, mentions of dean’s drinking and sam’s tendency to use pain as a coping mechanism .
notes: 3300 words. Set sometime between 7.03 and 7.06 but without the messiness of Dean killing Amy. The mist they mention is a reference to this. Many thanks to [livejournal.com profile] jacyevans for zee beta and stuffs, as always you are awesome. Any mistakes left are of course, mine alone.

Written for [livejournal.com profile] spn_reversebang and based off [livejournal.com profile] zempasuchil’s lovely girl!chesters art. Please take a moment to tell her how awesome it is --> here!

Summary: Sometimes you wonder if there’s ever been a life lived that even remotely resembles yours, even a fictional one. The summary of it would have to be along the lines of ‘whatever you do, don’t read this one,’ because your sister’s grinding up against you to chase away the devil and you’re giving back all that you’re getting because she’s the only thing you have left in the world.

we are a different kind of tough )
alwaysenduphere: (winchesters//into the sunset)
title: a different kind of tough
pairing: Dean/Sam
rating: NC-17
warnings/enticements: femmeslash, always-a-girl!chesters, second person pov, angst, mentions of dean’s drinking and sam’s tendency to use pain as a coping mechanism .
notes: 3300 words. Set sometime between 7.03 and 7.06 but without the messiness of Dean killing Amy. The mist they mention is a reference to this. Many thanks to [livejournal.com profile] jacyevans for zee beta and stuffs, as always you are awesome. Any mistakes left are of course, mine alone.

Written for [livejournal.com profile] spn_reversebang and based off [livejournal.com profile] zempasuchil’s lovely girl!chesters art. Please take a moment to tell her how awesome it is --> here!

Summary: Sometimes you wonder if there’s ever been a life lived that even remotely resembles yours, even a fictional one. The summary of it would have to be along the lines of ‘whatever you do, don’t read this one,’ because your sister’s grinding up against you to chase away the devil and you’re giving back all that you’re getting because she’s the only thing you have left in the world.

we are a different kind of tough )
alwaysenduphere: (winchesters//into the sunset)
title: a different kind of tough
pairing: Dean/Sam
rating: NC-17
warnings/enticements: femmeslash, always-a-girl!chesters, second person pov, angst, mentions of dean’s drinking and sam’s tendency to use pain as a coping mechanism .
notes: 3300 words. Set sometime between 7.03 and 7.06 but without the messiness of Dean killing Amy. The mist they mention is a reference to this. Many thanks to [livejournal.com profile] jacyevans for zee beta and stuffs, as always you are awesome. Any mistakes left are of course, mine alone.

Written for [livejournal.com profile] spn_reversebang and based off [livejournal.com profile] zempasuchil’s lovely girl!chesters art. Please take a moment to tell her how awesome it is --> here!

Summary: Sometimes you wonder if there’s ever been a life lived that even remotely resembles yours, even a fictional one. The summary of it would have to be along the lines of ‘whatever you do, don’t read this one,’ because your sister’s grinding up against you to chase away the devil and you’re giving back all that you’re getting because she’s the only thing you have left in the world.

we are a different kind of tough )

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