An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
For @silvergiftingweek Day 2 - Soulmates
I'm a sucker for the soulmate trope, but with the heatwave and work being busy this turned out shorter than I'd originally intended. Might write more … if the mood strikes me.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Celebrimbor/Sauron (Tolkien)
Characters: Celebrimbor (Tolkien), Sauron (Tolkien)
Additional Tags: Silvergifting Week 2026, Soulmates, Sinking of Beleriand (Tolkien), Celebrimbor Makes Bad Life Choices (Tolkien), First Age of Arda (Tolkien)
Summary:
It was said that when you met your soulmate, you knew. Many attempts have been made to describe the feeling. Poets referred to it in such flowery and vague terms like all-encompassing certitude or the bone-deep knowledge of belonging. But the description that stuck with him the most was the one he'd received from his uncle Nelyo when he was a measly twenty years old. He said that meeting your soulmate was the abandonment of the self and sanity in favour of the other.
The bright ray of light that passes through the window.
The blooming flowers outside.
The joyful man inside.
What a blessing for the senses.
"......."
Dan turned towards the TV, still playing a broken script. The bouquet of chamomiles and daisies at hand, grip almost losing.
"Hm...do I have to buy a new TV?"
He frowned.
"How much are they these days?" Plus, he has to make a few adjustments.
Too much trouble.
He shifted his attention from the TV to the flowers in his hands. He smiled faintly. How could he not? They were in full bloom, and decorated the area beautifully. It was a good idea to invest in decorations.
But....he stared at the weirdly shaped marble vases surrounding the room.
All the vases he bought were full. He picked too many flowers.
His frown returned.
"Is there a new stock at the nearest seller?"
Honestly, he doubts it. He bought their entire stock just recently, and the area is quite secluded like this convenient place of his.
He stared at the flowers once again. Gaze almost piercing. Attention fully in it, like a case study.
He blinked.
Ah....
How could he forget?
He can just make a DIY! Great idea!
He chuckled.
He turned around. Eyes meeting his earlier project.
Folded like a book. Bended all the way back. With his brown hair covered in grime. Eyes wide, turning into a sponge as the whites began to have holes.
A bit unsettling.
'But at least they can't say 'those' anymore.'
He nodded to himself as he formed that thought. He's glad that he didn't burn the body immediately.
short fic about that video of bill telling mike not to get too close to the stage and he didn’t listen lol !
the dressing room smelled like hair spray, leather, and that particular brand of pre-show nerves that only came with a sold-out arena. you leaned against the wall near the door, arms folded under your chest, watching bill bray do what bill bray did best: try to keep michael jackson from doing something that would give l him and every security guard in the building a heart attack.
bill stood in the middle of the room, broad shoulders squared, voice low and serious as he looked from michael to the rest of the brothers.
“don’t get too close to the edge tonight,” he said. “we got an awful rough crowd out there. they’re already pushing the barriers. you reach over to shake hands, somebody’s gonna yank you right off the stage.”
michael stood in front of him, arms folded—listening to what bill was saying also noticing he was only talking to him and not the rest of his brothers. he looked up, dark eyes bright, and smiled that little private smile that always made you want to both kiss him and shake him.
“i’ll never get too close,” he says, voice light, almost playful. then he tilted his head, still smiling. “as long as the security’s tight… i’ll be tight.”
you snorted under your breath. bill’s jaw flexed.
“michael—”
“i’m serious, bill.” michael chirped, and gave a little shrug like the whole thing was already settled. “you keep it solid out there, and i’ll keep it solid. promise.”
you caught bill’s eye across the room. he looked at you like a man asking the universe for strength. you just shook your head slowly, the corners of your mouth twitching. you’d been around long enough to know that particular promise from michael was worth about as much as a paper umbrella in a thunderstorm.
still. he looked so sure of himself. so soft and certain and already halfway on stage in his mind. you pushed off the wall, walked over, and adjusted the collar of his jacket just so you had an excuse to touch him. your deep brown skin looked warm under the harsh dressing room lights, hair neat and glossy against your scalp, nails tapping lightly against the blouse of his outfit as you fixed him.
“you heard the man,” you murmured, low enough that only he could hear. “be good.”
michael’s eyes crinkled. he leaned in, brushed his lips against your nose, and whispered, “i’m always good.”
you pinched his side gently. “liar.”
he laughed under his breath, soft and delighted, then turned toward the door as the stage manager called time. the brothers filed out. bill fell into step behind michael like a shadow with a paycheck. you followed a few paces back, the familiar rush of arena noise already leaking through the concrete walls. your heels clicked soft against the floor, the little silver hoops in your ears catching the light every time you turned your head.
the stage lights hit like a wave. the crowd roared the second the first note dropped. you found your usual spot just off stage left, half-hidden behind a stack of monitors, where you could see everything without being seen. bill stationed himself a little farther forward, arms crossed, eyes locked on michael like a hawk that had already filed the paperwork for an ulcer.
michael was electric from the first step. spinning, gliding, hitting every mark like the floor itself loved him. he worked the front of the stage the way he always did—leaning in, reaching out, making every single person in the first ten rows feel like the only one in the room. the girls in the front were already screaming themselves hoarse, hands stretched high, hands and posters waving like they could pull him closer by pure force of will.
you watched his feet. watched the careful way he kept just enough distance from the edge at first. good. he was listening.
then the music shifted into something slower, something that let him stretch out and play. michael drifted closer to the lip of the stage, microphone in one hand, the other extended toward the sea of reaching arms. he was singing right to them, smiling that wide, genuine smile that made even the security guards soften a little. the lights caught on his jacket, on the soft fall of his hair, on the way he moved like the music lived in his bones.
bill’s shoulders tensed and you felt it too. a little knot of worry starting low in your stomach.
michael took one more step. then another. his shiny black shoes were right at the edge now, toes almost hanging over. he leaned out, still singing, still smiling, reaching for a hand in the crowd—a girl in a bright red top lunged.
she didn’t just grab his hand. she grabbed his wrist, both hands, and pulled. hard. michael’s whole upper body tipped forward. for one heart-stopping second it looked like he was going over. the crowd around her exploded into louder screams. someone else tried to grab at his sleeve.
you sucked in a sharp breath, nails digging into the foam edge of the monitor stack. bill was already moving, but the stage security was closer. two big guys in black surged forward, one of them wrapping an arm around michael’s waist from behind while the other pried the girl’s fingers off his wrist.
she was still screaming, still reaching, face shining with pure fanatic joy like she’d just touched god and wasn’t ready to let go. another security guy stepped in to keep the rest of the front row from climbing up after her.
it took maybe four seconds. maybe five.
michael never stopped singing.
the second the girl’s hands were free and the security had him steady again, he just… kept going. same note. same smile. he even did a little bounce on the balls of his feet, like nothing had happened at all, and spun away from the edge with a playful wave at the now-hysterical section of the crowd. the sequins on his jacket flashed as he turned, still perfectly on beat, still glowing like the near-fall had been part of the choreography.
you stared.
bill stared.
the two of you made eye contact across the dark space offstage. bill’s face was a perfect mask of long-suffering resignation. you felt your own expression doing the exact same thing. both of you slowly, slowly shook your heads at the same time.
michael pranced right past the monitors a few songs later during a quick costume change, hair a little wild, sequins catching the light. he caught your eye, grinned like a kid who knew he’d gotten away with something, and mouthed, see?
you mouthed back, i’m gonna kill you.
he winked and disappeared into the wings again, already humming the next number under his breath.
the rest of the show went by in a blur of hits and screams and that particular magic michael carried around like a second skin. every time he drifted toward the front of the stage, you felt bill’s blood pressure spike from twenty feet away. every time michael leaned just a little too far, you found yourself gripping the edge of the monitor stack hard enough to leave little crescent marks in the foam from your nails. your deep brown skin felt warm under the residual heat of the lights, the glossy makeup you’d put on hours ago probably half-melted from pure stress, but you stayed planted, watching.
he stayed on his feet. the security stayed glued to the edge. the crowd stayed (mostly) on their side of the barrier. michael kept smiling like the whole world was made of cotton candy and good intentions.
when the final encore ended and the lights came down, michael jogged offstage flushed and glowing, still buzzing. he found you first, wrapping both arms around your waist and spinning you once in a little circle before setting you down. his hands settled warm on your hips, thumbs brushing the soft curve there like he couldn’t help it.
“did you see, baby?” he asked, breathless and laughing. “i was careful.”
you stared up at him. hair still neat but sweaty from nerves, gold hoops catching the dim backstage light, the soft curve of your mouth set in a look that said you were equal parts amused and done. you reached up and flicked his forehead with one nail earning a hiss from him.
“you almost took a header into the front row.”
“i did not.”
“you did.”
bill appeared behind him like a very large, very tired ghost. “he did.”
michael turned, still smiling, and held up both hands. “but the security was tight. i was tight. everything was fine.”
bill just looked at him. long. silent. then he looked at you.
you both shook your heads again at the exact same time.
michael’s laugh bubbled up bright and unbothered. he slipped an arm around your shoulders and started walking toward the dressing rooms with his brothers, already talking about the next city, the next stage, the next crowd that would try to pull him into their arms like he belonged to them. his fingers traced lazy patterns against your upper arm as he walked, soft and affectionate, completely unfazed.
you let him pull you along. bill fell into step on michael’s other side, muttering something under his breath that sounded a lot like a prayer and a threat combined.
behind you, the arena still roared. ahead of you, michael hummed a little scrap of the last song, light on his feet, completely unbothered by the fact that he’d nearly become a human souvenir twenty minutes earlier.
you glanced sideways at bill. he glanced back.
you both shook your heads one more time, the exact same slow, exhausted motion.
some things never changed.
and somehow, standing there with michael’s arm warm around you and bill still quietly dying on the inside, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Small little fic?? Ficlet?? Basically Chernobog's been in control for a little too long and miss Skov is starting to miss her cyborg enigma. Very self indulgent,,
Very obvious Emfrej and very one sided Frejbog. I havent written in ages so pls ignore if smth doesn't make sense or is spelled wrong,, Chernobog referred to as "It" as usual!
Below ↓
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Third week.
The third week of the most recent, unusually long override. What’s even more strange.. It hasn’t left base. Usually It’d leave to temper with global security centers and come back. But It just.. Hasn’t.
No one at Talon says anything about it. It walks past them in the hallway and they don’t even bat an eye. None of them seem to care.. Except one woman, obviously.
Freja Skov.
Of course she’d care. She notices. She notices how whatever possesses her dear friend’s body treats it. Slouched, slow, those odd whispers even louder than usual. It’s disrespectful. And the fact it seems to somehow always have Its eyes on her of all people.. As much as she wants to deny it, Its gaze terrifies her.
She never shows it. Of course she wouldn’t— she’s not the type. Yet.. She feels like it’s obvious to her friend’s parasite.
Skov was sat on the couch, browsing through her tablet, deciding which bounties she would and wouldn’t take, small bag of salted black licorice in hand, taking one in her mouth every once in a while.
She may have looked put together, but she’s far from it. Her mind is somewhere else. She hasn’t registered the last 4 bounties she’s scrolled past. She’s lost in thought.. She misses Emre. His voice, his stupid jokes, his touch.. She misses all of it.
Almost three weeks without a word spoken between them. It’s nothing compared to those years they spent apart.. But the fact he’s right there. But.. It just isn’t him. It’s torturous. Like dangling the cell keys in front of a prisoner.
She misses her friend. Her friend who walks past her in the hallway with no words spoken, her friend who gazes at her from across the room with those empty eyes. Her friend.. Who’s trapped in his own body.
“Frej.”
She snapped her head in the direction. “Emre!” Her first thought. But.. It isn’t.
“..You.” She placed her tablet and bag down on the coffee table.
“..Analyzing..”
She stared at It. Its eyes fixed on her face, the symbol on the chest seemingly calculating something.
“..What do you want?”
“..Analysis complete.”
“..And what’s the conclusion, hm?” She thought she’d entertain it.
“Subject; ‘Frej’. Currently longing.”
“..Longing?”
“Correct.”
She hummed quietly.
“..You’re good.”
“Affirmative.”
“..Are you collecting data?”
“Access denied.”
She sighed.
“Alright.. Why are you here?”
“Former research proves host efficiency increase when Subject; ‘Frej’ is nearby.”
“..Mmhm. And?”
“Subject; ‘Frej’ requires boost in morale. Researching potential methods..”
The woman muttered a subtle “what?” Under her breath, staring at It.
“Research complete. Possible methods to boost human morale include nourishment, entertainment, distraction and physical affection. Initiate scan..”
“..Provide explanation to the currently initiated scan.”
“Scan interrupted. Error: instructions cannot be completed during scan. Scan re-initializing..”
The woman rolled her eyes, then had no choice but to wait.
“Scan complete. Scan proves most efficient way to boost the subject’s morale is through physical affection.”
“..What– what.”
It fixed Its gaze on her.
“..Amazing, you figured that out. Will you let him go?”
“Negative.”
“..Of course.” She turned back around, grabbing her tablet.
It stepped closer, sitting next to her, staring at the woman's face. Freja didn’t look up. She figured It’d have to go away eventually. It’s an ai running on programs, no reason to entertain it further.
It’s gaze remained fixed on her as It reached a hand over, placing it on her forearm. The woman flinched lightly, staring at ’his’ hand.
“Subject; ‘Frej’ emotional status; distressed.”
“..Don’t touch me.”
“Command refused.”
“What are you trying to do?”
“Boost morale.”
“..What.. Through.. Wait- is this your attempt at physical affection?”
“Affirmative.”
“..Reactivate host.”
“Command refused.”
“..Of course.. This isn’t even close to it.”
“..Learning sequence initialized.”
“..Learning sequence?”
“Correct.”
“..You.. Want to learn.. How to show affection?”
It refused to answer. Just.. Stared at her.
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I love Frejbog.. So much.. I um hope everything makes sense!! Again I havent wrote anything in ages so this might be kinda shit
The core 4 met up in the woods to go over a crawl plan but are now heading back. Dustin and Lucas are a bit further ahead as Mike and Will lag a bit behind. Will is barely ahead of Mike, who lingers not too far behind him.
Will looks down for just a moment to make sure he won't trip on any rocks or what not. But while doing so, he doesn't notice the tree branch that was snapping and dangling off of the tree right in front of him. it hits his face, slightly scratching the side of his left cheek.
Will stops, making a tiny "gah" sound as he lightly rubs at his cheek that got grazed by the branch. Mike calls out as he runs up to him.
"Will! what happened? Are you alright?"
"Yeah Mike, I'm alright. I just didn't see the branch hanging." Will points to the dangling branch with his unoccupied hand as the other continues to rub at his face.
"Here let me see." Mike extends out his right hand, hovering in the air between them.
Will looks at Mike apprehensively, before slowly lowering the hand that covers his cheek. "Okay."
Mike looks at him and gives him a slight nod, just to confirm that it's okay. Will gives him a small nod back of approval.
His fingertips begin to lightly brush over the side of Will's jaw, encouraging his best friend to tilt his face to the side so that he may get a better look. Will instinctively turns his head along with the gentle finger tips that continue to linger on the side of his lower jaw.
Mike pauses, taking in the slight redness that appeared on Will's cheek. His eyes linger a moment longer, inspecting.
"Doesn't look like any serious damage. Just a little sore from where the branch smacked you." Mike exhales with a small chuckle.
"Okay, good." Will patiently looks at Mike, who is still lightly holding Will's chin to the side. His eyes locked on the target, exploring other parts of his face.
"Mike," Will breathes out a small laugh.
"Right," Mike clears his throat. He pulls his hand away like it was burned by an open flame. "All good then. Let me walk in front of you in case there's more branches waiting to attack." He smirks, tone playful.
Will grins, "Miiiike." He drags out his name like a whining child, though there is no real annoyance there.
They continue down the path of the woods. Mike leading the way, occasionally stopping in place to hold back a dangling branch to let Will pass. "The path is all clear, Sorcerer." Mike says with a bad attempt at some sort of Medieval accent.
A blush forms on Will's cheeks as he smiles. He glances up at Mike through his lashes, "Thank you, Michael the Brave." He murmurs as he walks through the cleared path.
Once through, Mike steps ahead of Will again to look out for more branches. They continue on like this until they get caught back up with their other two friends.
There weren't many reasons for Maria to be staring at Natasha. Let alone when the woman is covered in the blood of her enemies after storming the warehouse. Yet here Maria was, half delirious from pain, and staring at the redheaded goddess who looked really concerned for Maria. Which made sense considering that Maria had been tortured for God knows how long. So really it was the concussion that was staring not Maria because Maria was far more subtle than this. Also Natasha was talking, what was she saying? Her eyes look pretty though like a forest lit up by sunlight.
"Maria, can you hear me?" Natasha said, with increasing worry as she watched Maria's eyes glaze over.
Maria blinked twice before focusing on what Natasha was saying,"yeah, yeah."
Natasha eyebrows furrowed and her face tilted,"you okay there?"
"Pretty..." Maria murmured as she stared at Natasha.
Natasha mouth pursed as she started to cut the ropes keeping Maria in place on the chair. As she cut the ropes she checked on the cuts littering Maria’s body as it slumped on the chair. It was obvious that the Deputy Director was completely out of it, if her pupil dilation was anything to go by. As soon as all of Maria’s limbs were free, Natasha carefully leaned the other woman against her body as Maria whimpered from the pain as she moved her freed limbs.
Maria wasn't really aware of much aside from the warmth of Natasha’s body against hers. She followed Natasha’s lead as the other woman gently shifted her onto her feet. The stinging pain from re-opened wounds brought clarity to Maria’s head, enough so that she was able to look around. And that's when she noticed, the bodies that the Black Widow left in her wake to rescue Maria.
While Maria certainly didn't feel sympathy for the men keeping her captive, she was surprise by the bloodshed that was left. Maria knew that Natasha always preferred the stealthier method when possible, so the amount of violence wasn't a trademark for the Balck Widow, especially since her deflection from the Red Room. Slowly the two woman walked out of the deadly silent warehouse. Maria limping with most of her weight on Natasha while Natasha carefully holding Maria up making sure to not touch any of the visible wounds on Maria’s body.
It was a slow process, and Clint met them at the doors of the warehouse, bow out and ready to hit anyone who came at them, but it was clear no one was coming. Clint didn't say anything as he scanned the room, he knew this wasn't the time for jokes when he saw the state Maria was in. The woman was covered in blood, and it was obviously all hers, she had actively bleeding cuts all over her body, a clear black eye, and a clear limp. Maria looked like she was moments from falling unconscious, and Clint walked behind them, ready to catch Maria if she did pass out. Luckily enough, Maria made it to the quinjet before she lost consciousness in one of the seats.
"Fuck Nat, what happened?" Clint glanced towards her as he took off the jet.
"What do you mean?" Natasha asked, not sure what Clint was referring to.
"I mean what did you do in there?" Clint asked, this time not glancing towards Natasha.
"I did what had to be done Clint," Natasha said, not really telling him what she'd done, but the bodies she left behind said a lot.
"Nat..." Clint hesitated before vaguely saying,"you did a lot."
Natasha didn't answer but she turned to glance at Maria who was peacefully asleep. To the woman who meant so much to Natasha, enough for the usually restraint assassin to leave a warehouse full of bodies behind her. Clint sighed and didn't bring it up again, just tried to get them back to the Helicarrier to get Maria medical help.
The Helicarrier met them halfway from where Maria was kept. As soon as the quinjet landed and the hatch door opened, a medical team rushed in and towards Maria.
They checked her cuts before waking her up properly and checking her reflexes. It was obvious that Maria's reactions were slow, though if it was from being asleep or from the possible concussion, no one was completely sure. But Maria got strapped onto the gurney and taken immediately to the medical bay where she would remain for the next couple of days.
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Natasha visited only when Maria was asleep, not ready for the questions that would come from the woman. Because Natasha knew, even concussed, Maria had a sharp mind and there was no way she had missed the carnage that Natasha left behind in that warehouse. So Natasha avoided Maria when she was awake, but Maria started to suspect as much when Coulson had let it slide that Natasha was often found in her room during the witching hour. So Maria came up with a plan to catch the Black Widow in her room.
On her final day at the medical bay, Maria started her routine earlier than usual, even going so far as kicking Bobbi and Sharon out of her room, knowing that the news of her early night would be spread all the way to Natasha. As soon as Maria was settled and ready for bed, she closed her eyes and evened out her breath and started to wait for Natasha to come in.
An hour later, she heard the door slide open, and didn't hear any steps, but she did hear the rustling of clothes. She knew it was Natasha, because no one else was that silent while walking in heavy duty boots. Maria waited ten more minutes to see if Natasha would do something, but nothing happened. Instead Maria slowly faked her awakening and turned to look at Natasha.
"Hey," Maria murmured, voice hoarse from disuse.
Natasha instantly looked at Maria's face from where she leaned against the wall opposite of the only bed in the room.
"Hey," Natasha murmured out and strode silently towards the chair next to Maria’s bed.
"You've been avoiding me," Maria sat up in her bed, making sure not to look Natasha in her eyes as she commented.
"Yes," Natasha confirmed knowing better than to lie to Maria when she stated something.
"Why?" Maria asked simply looking straight at Natasha.
"You saw them," Natasha said vaguely, not really looking at Maria and instead staring at the wall behind her.
"The bodies of the mercenaries that kidnapped and tortured me?" Maria asked bluntly.
Natasha blinked, but nodded her agreement.
"Natasha..." Maria sighed as she looked at the SHIELD agent.
"You don't usually choose the violent methods, if anything you choose the method that is the least savage," Maria finished after a moment's pause.
"I know Maria," Natasha muttered into the silent room.
"Then why did you?" Maria gently inquires, making sure not to accuse Natasha of anything.
Natasha’s jaw clenched and she looked away, before answering simply,"they took you and they tortured you for a week."
Maria's eyebrows furrowed as she thought about the response, because it didn't really make too much sense. If Maria's count was right, she's been kidnapped, or attempted kidnapping about 15 times since her promotion to Deputy Director three years. While it was annoying having to foil most of the kidnapping attempts, very few have succeeded in actually capturing her. Though she does suppose this time had also been the longest she's been held hostage for, so there was that, and she didn't appreciate the torture, but that's standard for someone who is Fury's left eye.
"That tends to be the case when someone is the second in command of a spy organization," Maria gently reminded Natasha who glared at the floor.
"Whatever," Natasha murmured and went to leave the room.
"Wait! Natasha!" Maria called out, throwing the blankets off of her and getting out of bed to follow the assassin.
Natasha listened and stopped her walk towards the door, but she didn't turn around to look at Maria who now stood behind her heavily relying on her left leg.
"Look, stuff like this will happen, I'm a good fighter but even I can't win a fight if I'm outnumbered and outgunned," Maria started, still speaking towards Natasha’s tense back.
Natasha didn't respond so Maria continued,"but I swear on the mountain of paperwork that's waiting for me in my office, that I will always try my hardest to stop it from happening."
Natasha spun around and glared straight into Maria’s sky blue eyes, her own green eye darker than Maria has ever seen them before.
"But you'll still get taken, it doesn't even matter how hard you fight cause you won't always win!" Natasha spit out, breathing heavily as her emotions overwhelmed her.
"I can say the same thing about you when you go out on missions," Maria calmly stated, knowing it was better for one of them to remain calm.
"Not the same thing! The Red Room made sure all their precious widows were able to withstand high levels of torture and able to heal just as quickly so the torture could continue. So no, it's not the same thing," Natasha shook her head and turned around to walk away.
Maria instantly grabbed Natasha hand. The soldier's grip was strong enough to stop Natasha momentarily, but not tight enough that Natasha couldn't just shake it off.
"What I'm saying is that I know you're scared that one day I won't come back," Natasha's breath hitched,"but living in fear of that moment will only cause more suffering for both of us."
Natasha blinked rapidly, but didn't dare turn to face Maria, not yet.
"And I think we've both suffered enough for multiple lifetimes, so please Nat, trust that I'll always try to come back to you, just like I know you'll always try to come back to me," Maria finished gently tangling their fingers together as she hovered behind Natasha not letting their bodies meet until the redhead was ready.
They're stayed silent for moments before Natasha leaned back and sighed, relaxing her body against Maria’s injured one.
"I hate seeing you in pain," Natasha murmured softly, turning gently around.
"Same goes for me you know, I don't exactly relish seeing you limping off a quinjet after a mission," Maria wrapped her arms around Natasha and started swaying in place.
"Yeah, I know, you nag me to go to medical often enough," Natasha teased as she eased her face into the crook of Maria’s neck.
"Well I'm not the one who insist they're fine when they're clearly concussed," Maria teased back with a chuckled reverbrating through her body.
"That was one time, and honestly it was a low grade concussion too so nothing to worry about," Natasha smashed her face deeper inti Maria, but Maria could feel the smile the widow was trying to hide.
"Okay then what about when you purposely dislocated your thumb and then set it back in and didn't bother with a brace at all? Hmm?" Maria gently proded at Natasha ribs, feeling the redhead squirm away from her probing finger.
"Oh, right, I forgot I did that," Natasha murmured loud enough for Maria to hear.
"Yeah I figured as much,"Maria shook her head and chuckled.
She stopped trying to tickle Natasha and instead started to hug the smaller woman in her arms tighter. Reminding Natasha that despite being a little worse off then she had been before her kidnapping, Maria was still very much alive and breathing and loving Natasha.
"Let's go to bed, hmm?" Maria suggested as she carefully walked backwards towards the bed she was supposed to be in.
"Hmm," Was all Natasha let out as she followed Maria onto the bed, carefully of the bandages around Maria’s body.
Once they were both comfortable on the bed wrapped in each other's embrace, they slowly fell asleep. Natasha with her hand over Maria’s gently beating heart and Maria with her arm wrapped around Natasha’s back moving with the widow’s every breath. It was the best sleep either woman had had since the day before Maria’s kidnapping, and to both of them, it was also the safest place they slept in since they started falling asleep together.
Hiii y'all, I was going to post the last lusopp mini fic but it got more than 1000 words so, before uploading it here, now I've been thinking what was the better option. I have 5 lusopp mini fics and this last one is longer that honestly could be post it on its own, but I wanted to grab all of these and turn them into a mini collection on ao3.
Which option would you like more? (ao3)
Post them all together into a drabble collection
Post each one individually even if they're short
Publish the last one individually and the other into the collection
