#i also thought way too hard about how the handlers get in/out of the building after it locks down but tbh they probably use an alt entrance

[stupid-and-cute-are-enough]

cough. here's a little super short fic i wrote bc i make those too. be sure to check out the silly extra details i added in the tags!

@get-rammed

Monty lets out a heavy sigh, sitting on the much too small couch in his room, his handler close by his side, messing around with wires in the open compartment on his arm. Something went wrong with his claws again, and management is convinced that it’s the programming or the wiring that’s the problem, sicking his handler on the problem again and again. Monty doesn’t think it’s either of those things.

He huffs again and drops his head onto his free hand, boredom clawing at his... shell. His handler bumps with a small clank.

“Sit still, you big baby. I’ll be done in a minute.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’ve never been one to sit still, sweets.”

“Yeah, well, you’re gonna today.”

He rolls his eyes again, resisting the urge to let out another huff. He knows fusing over this is only gonna make it take longer. That and… he can see the bags under his handler’s eyes. It’s late. Far later than any other employee stays, except those working the graveyard shift. It seems like even the other animatronic handlers have gone home for the day. He can tell that they’re tired, but they never bring it up to him. They probably don’t want to worry him, all things considered, but that just makes Monty even more anxious. They look half asleep already, so Monty decides to occupy them with the most meaningless conversation he can muster.

“Hey, so, like…” Monty trails off, rolling his free hand at the wrist. “I barely saw any, uh, human staff around today, even though it was super fuckin’ busy. Why’s that?”

His handler stops, blinking for a second. “Oh, it’s, uh, Labor Day. It’s like a national holiday about unions or something, and people usually get the day off.”

Monty raises a brow. “Why didn’t you get the day off?”

They snort. “You don’t get the day off, so I don’t get the day off.”

Monty hums. “... That’s pretty shitty for us then, huh?”

They laugh, patting his arm. “Yeah. It is. Hey, I just finished up re-wiring everything. Give me a test and see if everything works right?”

Monty obliges, clenching his fists and spinning them around at the wrist. He mimics plenty of movements he makes while playing on stage, and nothing stutters, nothing stalls, or makes any weird noises. His internal diagnostics show no issues, either. All seems well, so he leans back and gives a smug, shit-eating smile. One that’s familiar.

“All’s workin’,” he replies, keeping up his smile when he sees the weight lifted off his handler by the news. They don’t like being comforted. Not directly, anyway.

“Great,” they sigh, slouching into a more relaxed position. They close up the compartment on Monty’s arm, giving it one last, solid pat.

“You good to recharge and everything?” They ask, packing up their small tool bag and tossing it in some random corner of the room. They barely put it away anymore, but management hasn’t caught on yet. Or maybe his handler just doesn’t care that they’re supposed to put it away. Either is possible. “Do you want me to lay with you?”

Monty thinks as they bustle around the room, turning down the lights and doing a cursory glance at his recharge station. He does want them to lay with him. He always does. But Monty sees the exhaustion in their shoulders and feels some kind of misplaced guilt. They’re this tired because he’s a Glamrock now, not just a side attraction. He became more of a handful. He broke more. He needed them more at all hours of the day. They’re his handler. He’s tired, and he’s not even human.

“Naw,” he says, tilting his head and smiling. “I’m good.”

“Alrighty then,” his handler puts on a brave smile, grabbing their oversized Monty jacket and slinging it over their shoulders. Before, Monty would’ve teased them about being such a simp, how they don’t need his merch because they already wear his face all day, or how they could literally just zip up their uniform, but he lets it go for tonight.

“Se you tomorrow, big guy.”

Monty doesn’t comment on how today is already tomorrow.

“Goodnight, cher.”

His handler leaves, muttering about how they’ll probably need to catch a bus because they “don’t think they can drive like this,” and Monty wants nothing more than to invite them back. To give them the whole couch and let them sleep. But for all the crazy hours Fazbear Entertainment expects of them, they’re not allowed to stay overnight. No one is allowed to stay overnight, except for the night shift workers, who all had to sign crazy amounts of paperwork, and they both know it.

So, instead, Monty watches them make their way to the entrance. He watches as they struggle with their ID until the heavy metal doors rise, and they can slip out the door. He strains his eyes to see them disappear into the dark until the metal doors obscure them from view and hopes for all it’s worth that tomorrow will be easier.

___

please ignore any silly typos im p sure i got them all but its super late. i wanna post this tho so im posting it. i may or may not repost this later but like. as a better version lmao ram pls tell me if monty is OOC i was punching AIR trying to write this guy 😭 i thought i knew him well and then BAM no the fuck i dont

[rebornologist]

Hello I'm here for the Tea Prompts as well because I didn't know about these and reading them, I wanted more from you about our resident grumpy but mellowed cat Xanxus. May I ask for matcha tea; chai tea; hibiscus tea please? And if it's not too much trouble please english breakfast tea on the side. Thank you so much and I loved how you thought about the character. I love it when writers understand the character.

Thank you for the high praises! I really try because I adore these morally grey (honestly, terrible people) little freaks in the KHRverse and want to think of them in a multidimensional way without watering down the complexity of their character building.

♡ Xanxus + proposals, spice, fav places, family

୨୧ ⁺˳₊ matcha tea; how and when do they propose to their s/o?

✧ He doesn’t. At least, not properly. Marriage would have to be something that his s/o insists on, and he would have his mental gymnastics cut out for him in weighing the emotional costs and benefits of compromising with that request. He’s more likely to hear the suggestion to get married, not even respond, and leave them wondering if he was even listening to what they were saying. He was, for the record. He’s just taking some time to let the thoughts simmer, instead of chewing them out over bringing such an idea to the table.

Being legally tied together means absolutely nothing to this man, and the thought of it stresses him out due to his attachment wounds. He cares about them, admittedly, despite everything. Despite himself, and as much as he wants to bury those feelings.

He would begrudgingly accept any well thought out, private, intimate, [insert more synonyms for lowkey] proposal, and granted his s/o does the bulk of the wedding planning. He’s kind of babygirl for that.

୨୧ ⁺˳₊ chai tea; how do they spice up their relationship?

✧ His relationships are inherently pretty spicy (in the traditional and nontraditional sense) because he’s a mercurial man. He’s not great for anyone who doesn’t do well with reactivity. His moods can be all over the place, and that’s likely what is spicy enough for him and his relationships.

I’ve said before that his s/o is often the one to propose they do anything new, and a lot of him complying with their requests is because it pleases them (and him). He doesn’t often go out of his way to please them, but he also prides himself in keeping his s/o happy and is more easily swayed to push his comfort zones if they drive a hard bargain.

୨୧ ⁺˳₊ hibiscus tea; what’s their favourite place to take their s/o?

✧ He is not particularly adventurous in general, and while his s/o may frequent a specific spot, it would be only once in every ten visits that you’ll find Xanxus with them. He doesn’t mix well with the general public, if I’m so honest. He’s a man with a huge, intimidating, attention-drawing aura about him, and he’s easily ticked off.

No matter how good your customer service skills are, it’s unlikely that Xanxus will be pleased enough to leave a 5-star review of your cafe. He prefers spaces that require less petty social interaction. His favourite place is definitely his personal room(s) in the mansion. He unexpectedly fares well in a large dim bookstore or fancy library, granted he is just going to plop down onto the big sofa and take a nap in hopes that no one bothers him. Everyone has to be extra careful to not set him off in that space though, because that is one flammable enclosed space.

୨୧ ⁺˳₊ english breakfast tea; would they want a family?

✧ In a sense, he has a family whether he likes it or not, though not by blood. He has his assassin team, the Vongola as a whole, and of course, his baby boy Bester.

He’s surprisingly sweet with Bester, though the liger does have a similar temper like his handler. Bester is really only super soft and tolerant with Xanxus’s partner(s), and that totally annoys him, kind of like when your cat likes the s/o more than it likes the actual owner. It might be because they spoil Bester with extra treats, and they end up being the good cop to Xanxus’s bad cop in the parenting dynamic.

Anyway, I can’t imagine Xanxus wanting to have kids, aside from to feed his ego and to follow his blood family’s traditional customs and values. He doesn’t have the emotional capacity to support and raise a child healthily and is reluctant to replicate the trauma that he experienced in his upbringing.

[punchdrunkdoc]

Part 2, Chapter 7

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics - *UPDATED*

————–

PART 2

Chapter 7

“We found something. More accurately, we found someone.”

The call from Yelena interrupted Calina’s research session. It was Wednesday afternoon, and she was sat at the dining room table listening to the patter of rain against the window while she investigated pheromones and Governors.

She was multi-tasking on two separate mysteries at once: Who was making the fear pheromones that Matt was chasing all over the city? And why had someone tried to make her assassinate the Governor of New York state?

Unfortunately, she wasn’t getting far on either front. So Yelena’s call was less an interruption and more of a welcome distraction.

“Who did you find?” Calina asked.

“Katya’s handler. The one that was still giving her orders after Dreykov died. His name is Maxim Volkov and we’ve tracked him to a house outside Washington D.C. It seems to be his main residence in the States. Do you want in?”

“In?”

“Yeah, in on the mission. We have the extraction planned for tomorrow night, then we’ll start his interrogation the next day. Our intel suggests that he has something to do with what happened to you, so we thought you might want to be part of it.”

She did.

And she didn’t.

The part of her that was angry - the part that never quite went away no matter how many punching bags she hit - wanted revenge. It wanted to face the man or the men responsible for what happened to her, get answers…and make them pay.

But she didn’t want to indulge that side of herself.

It was the darkness buried within her - the darkness she’d alluded to with Matt the other night. The wicked, rage-filled blight on her soul.

Matt had found a way to live with his darkness. To harness it in the fight for good. But she wasn’t so sure she could do the same. Her darkness was cultivated from decades of abuse at the hands of the Red Room. It was formed of years of pain and loathing and fury - for everything that had been done to her and her sisters. And everything they’d been forced to do against their will.

It was a relatively small part of her, but it had a gravity that belied its size. Like a black hole, always threatening to consume her.

She’d given into it once, when they’d first been freed from the serum. And she’d swore never to do so again. Instead, she’d buried it deep and vowed to move on. To build a life of hope and joy, instead of anger and shame.

She wanted to concentrate on that new life.

But it was hard to explain that to Yelena without sounding judgemental. Without sounding like she was criticising the choices the other Widows had made. So she didn't even try. All she said was, “I’ll think about it.”

The next phone call came an hour later.

“Hey, what are you up to?” Matt asked.

This was the third day in a row that he’d called her from work. He usually had an excuse - asking what she wanted him to pick up for dinner, reminding her to take the garbage out - but then he would linger on the call, and the two of them would chat for a while.

About everything and nothing.

She told herself not to read too much into it. That he was just bored at work, or needed a distraction from a difficult case. But she couldn’t help but wonder if he…missed her? That maybe the hours between saying goodbye in the morning and hello in the evening were too long for him?

Just like they were for her.

“I'm doing some research,” she answered. “I’m trying to work out why someone would want Governor Benson dead. I thought if I could figure that out, I might be able to figure out who gave me the order to kill him.”

“Any luck?”

“No. There’s too many possibilities. He’s made a lot of controversial policy choices since getting elected, so there’s plenty of people gunning for him for politically. Then there’s his history in the Army - there’s a chance that the hit was a retaliation for a past mission. And his private life is a mess. He cheated on his wife with an intern, so maybe she wanted revenge.”

Matt hummed in agreement. “Wouldn’t be the first time. But I can see why you’re frustrated.”

“Yeah.”

“A workout will fix that. We’re still on for Fogwell’s tonight, right? That’s, um, why I called.”

And there it was. Today’s excuse.

Calina smiled. “Yes.”

They’d made the plan last night - not because her anger demanded another outlet, but because it was a good way to get her some exercise and get her out of the house without ending up somewhere too public.

“Good. I thought we might mix things up this time. You up for a sparring session in the ring?”

Calina didn’t have to think about it. The chance to pit her skills against Matt again in a completely harmless, no-stakes scenario? To have the excuse to be near him and touch him…?

No brainer.

“Count me in.”

 ———

 “Foggy and Karen will still be in Josie’s by the time we finish - what do you think about joining them afterwards?” Matt asked as he emerged from the changing room.

She’d met him outside the gym ten minutes ago. He was still in his work clothes and she was swallowed under one of his jackets, the hood up to fight against the rain and any prying eyes. The smile he’d greeted her with when he spotted her was bright enough to make her forget all about the miserable weather. And now his offer to join his friends for drinks warmed her from the inside out.

She felt like she was becoming a part of the gang. “Yeah,” she responded. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Matt swung over the ropes surrounding the boxing ring and held them up for her to duck under. “I’ll try not to wear you out too much beforehand.”

She laughed as she joined him in the ring. “Famous last words, old man.”

“Old man?” Matt spluttered in outrage. But Calina knew from his wide smile that he was enjoying her teasing. After days of her being morose and angry, her good mood probably made a nice change.

And she was in a good mood. Her earlier frustration at the lack of progress with her research had vanished with Matt’s offer of a sparring session. She’d been looking forward to playing with him all afternoon.

Play.

It was another new experience. Training and sparring had always been serious endeavours growing up. There was no such thing as play-fighting in the Red Room. Every bout involved pain and the threat of critical injury.

She couldn’t wait to just have fun with him.

She brought her hands up in a defensive pose and mirrored Matt’s movements as he circled around her. “Yeah. You’re what? Late thirties, early forties?”

“I’m 33.” He struck at her, a slow jab that she could have seen coming from space. She dodged it with ease and landed a light punch over his left kidney.

“Really? You look a lot older.” She whipped her leg up and tapped him on the upper arm with her foot. “Its just as well you can’t see your reflection in the mirror. You’d be horrified by all the wrinkles and sagging skin.”

She was joking, of course. She knew exactly how old he was thanks to Anya’s research. And he wore those years well - she thought he was the most handsome man she’d ever met.

Matt laughed, then spun in a crouch, trying to sweep her legs from beneath her. Again, his move was slow and well-telegraphed.

Calina jumped over his leg, then rested her hands on her hips. “Come on, Matt. Are we gonna spar or just mess about?”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I started having second thoughts about this. I thought it might remind you too much of our real fight.”

She returned his smile. “That’s sweet, but you don’t need to worry - I’m not that fragile. I want to do this.” She thought it might help, actually. That it would serve to replace those awful memories from three weeks ago with something much more positive and enjoyable.

“You sure?” Matt asked, bring his hands back up.

She nodded, matching his pose. “Sure.”

“Okay, then. Bring it.”

She shook her head. “Uh-uh. I’m a defensive fighter. You come here.” She slowly curled her index finger into her palm, beckoning him closer.

He grinned. And launched his attack.

There were no telegraphed moves this time. And his lumbering slowness was replaced with his usual lightning-quick speed. But she met him, move for move. She blocked or evaded each of his hits and kicks and followed up with the occasional jab of her own. And when he moved from boxing to wrestling, she flowed out of his reach and turned his momentum against him, flipping him to the ground as often as he managed to flip her.

It was exhilarating. They were so in sync. Their styles so complimentary.

Of course, she knew from painful experience that when he wasn’t pulling his punches she was no match for his power - but she also knew that he struggled to get near her when she utilised all her defensive training.

And he struggled to hold on to her when he finally did catch her - like now. He had her arms pinned behind her back, one large hand wrapped around each of her slender wrists. “Gotcha,” he whispered in her ear.

She paused for a moment, enjoying the feel of him against her back, the warmth radiating from his skin and his breath against her neck…

Then she moved. She relaxed her body, bent her knees and ducked under his right arm. This unbalanced him, and a quick shove against his side caused him to roll away from her and across the mat. She stood up to her full height and grinned down at him. “You were you saying?”

He returned her grin as he got to his feet. “Nicely done. What was that?”

“Aikido. When the trainers in the Red Room realised I wasn’t as strong as the other girls, they brought in an Aikido specialist. Its a discipline that focuses on defence.”

“It obviously works for you.” He sounded so…impressed. And coming from a fighter as talented as Matt, it made her feel ridiculously proud.

And it made her want to show off even more.

A few minutes later, she got her chance. Matt came at her, crouched to land a jab against her flank. She took the hit, and used his bent leg like a step to climb up behind him. She hooked her left leg over his left shoulder and used her momentum to spin her body around his neck, so that when he collapsed to the floor on his back, she landed on top of him - a hand at his neck and her knee on his chest pinning him in place. Her other hand hit the mat by his head and she froze there, her face hovering inches above his. 

A lock of hair escaped her ponytail and fell forward to brush against his cheek. He lifted his hand to tuck the strand behind her ear, then ran his fingers down the line of her jaw. “God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed.

“Wh-what?” she whispered, stunned by his quiet words. His other hand came up to her waist, as if to steady her, his fingertips pressing into her skin.

Her mouth went dry. She licked her lips, and Matt’s eyes dropped to her mouth as if he could see the movement…

She sprang to her feet and backed away, suddenly feeling flustered.

Matt sat up, and ran his hand through his hair, looking equally unsettled. “Sorry, I, um, mean the way you move. When you’re fighting. Its so graceful and fluid. I was just, um, admiring it. One fighter to another. Nothing more.”

He was lying. There was more.

There was much more, Calina was sure of it.

The way he’d looked up at her just now, his lips parted, and his eyes shining with wonder…the gentle way he'd grazed the skin of her jaw, and the way his other hand had clutched at her waist…it felt like so much more.

It felt like…attraction. 

And she had no idea how to process it.

“Calina?” Matt asked.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, realising she hadn’t responded to his compliment. “Thank you. You’re pretty graceful yourself.” She tightened her ponytail and adjusted her top. “That was fun. But I think I need a break.”

“Yeah. Okay. No problem.” He pulled his bag closer to him from where it waited at the edge of the ring, then grabbed the water bottle from inside. He downed half of it it one go while she tentatively took a seat next to him.

He offered her the other bottle from his bag and she accepted it with a shy, “Thanks.”

She didn’t know how to act around him now. It was the first time since meeting Matt Murdock that she was certain he was attracted to her. And it made her wonder whether her one-sided feelings were maybe not so one-sided after all.

And with that thought, came another much more staggering realisation.

She loved him.

She loved him.

This wasn’t just friendship. This wasn’t just gratitude or affection or respect. It was all of those things, and infinitely more. She loved him. She was in love with him. The merest possibility of her feelings being reciprocated crystallised them in her mind after weeks - months - of uncertainty.

She loved him.

“Are you okay,” Matt asked, and she realised she’d been staring off into space for several minutes.

She laughed. She wasn’t okay. She was having a life-altering epiphany in the middle of an abandoned, run-down gym.

“I’m fi-” She glanced over at him and stopped mid-sentence. He must have removed his sweat-drenched shirt while she was distracted with her thoughts, because his bare torso was now on display as he stretched out on his back, his head resting on his crooked arm. 

But that wasn’t what had caused the words to die in her mouth. It was the horrible blue-black bruising spread across his left flank. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

She swivelled around to face him and crossed her legs. Then she touched her fingers as lightly as she could to his injured skin. “This. Who did this?”

He brought his hand down to cover hers. “It’s nothing. Just some thug last night.”

“Jesus, Matt! And you still suggested sparring with me? You must be in so much pain.”

He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

She studied the rest of his bared skin, seeing the evidence of that with her own eyes. Scars criss-crossed and marred his body. Some were neat, showing signs of suturing, whilst others were more ragged and raised.

He must have sensed what she was looking at, because he rubbed his hand over one of the thicker, more gnarled wounds and tried to make a joke of it. “Not a pretty sight, I guess. Must go well with all my wrinkles and sagging skin.”

She gently stroked his bruised skin. “You look like a survivor. Like a warrior. I wish I looked the same.”

He tilted his head to look in her direction. “What do you mean?”

“I was never allowed to keep my scars. The nature of my missions meant that I always had to look perfect. Flawless. So the Red Room used the best surgeons and the most cutting-edge laser technology to remove them.”

She held out her left arm. “A few years ago, I was caught in the blast of a car bomb in Peru. A shard of shrapnel the size of a golfball was impaled here.” She took his hand and ran it over the smooth, unmarked skin of her forearm.

She pulled the strap of her lycra top to the side and placed his hand on her collarbone. “I took a strike from a machete here. The blade hit the bone and got stuck - its the only reason I wasn’t slice in two. That, and the fact that the man who attacked me didn’t sharpen his knives often enough.”

Matt said nothing, just explored her undamaged skin with his fingertips.

“All those wounds,” she continued. “All those experiences, and I have nothing to show for it. Nothing to prove I survived.”

“You’re alive,” he said, his voice deeper than normal. “That’s pretty good proof.”

“I guess. And maybe its good that I don’t have any physical reminders about those missions. The car bomb was actually set by one of the other Widows. And the man with the machete…he wasn’t the bad guy in that scenario. Those aren’t encounters I’m proud of. I just hate that removing my scars was one more way the Red Room controlled me. One more way in which they removed any sense of…individuality.”

“Individuality?”

“Yeah. We were all so…homogenous…to them. We were all dressed the same way. We all had the same sheets on our bed and the same colour toothbrush. They even braided our hair the same way. We had no personality.” Calina pulled her hair forward to play with the long strands. “The first thing I wanted to do when I got to New York was cut off all my hair. I didn’t want to ever have to braid it again.”

“What stopped you?”

Calina let out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t know how to find a hairdresser.”

Matt reached up and took a lock of hair. He rubbed the silky strand between his fingers. “I’m glad you didn’t. I like your hair.”

“Thank you. I like it now too. And I don’t want to cut it - I just want to find my style, you know? My taste. I want to feel like this is my body. Scars, and all.”

“I get it.” Matt slide his hand from her collarbone to the back of her shoulder, to the small scar that was hidden there. “And you have this one, remember?”

Calina moved her hand to the same spot, her fingers tangling with his as she traced the tiny mark. “Oh, I forgot about that.” It was the wound she’d received from Katya in Seoul. The one that Matt had helped her dress when she’d returned to New York.

“How did that happen?” he asked. “It wasn’t from falling onto a broken bottle of glass. I knew that even at the time.”

“You did?”

“Yeah,” He smiled. “But I figured - no, I hoped - you would eventually tell me the truth about it.”

She smiled back at him. “It happened in South Korea.”

“You went to South Korea that week?” he sounded astonished. She got the feeling he rarely - if ever - left the country.

“Yeah. Katya - do you remember her from that night?” He nodded, so she continued. “It was a rescue mission for her. She was still under control of the serum so we went to free her.” She explained about her infiltration of the Ambassador’s mansion and her fight with the other Widow. “I guess if I was to have only one scar, that’s a good one to have. It came from doing something I chose to do.”

“And it came from doing something good. From helping someone,” Matt added.

“Yeah.” She ran her finger over a small puckered wound on his right upper chest. “What about you? How did you get this one?” she asked softly.

“Bullet. I was shot rescuing hostages from The Hand.”

“From who?”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re gone.”

She moved her fingers to a nearby wound, this one larger and angrier-looking. “And this?”

“Arrow.”

“An arrow? Who uses an arrow?”

He smiled. “Ninjas.”

“You were shot by a bow-and-arrow wielding ninja?” It was her turn to sound astonished.

He laughed. “Yeah. My life got very…strange…for a while.”

She looked for another scar, starting to enjoy this little game of theirs - not hearing about him being hurt, obviously. But she liked getting glimpses of his past. There was still so much about him that she didn’t know. 

She traced the long oblique line across his pec. There was a matching one on the other side. “How about these?”

“Believe it or not, they were from another Ninja. He carried a blade on a chain.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

Her hand moved lower, slowly gliding down over his ribs and onto his abdomen, where a thin, barely noticeable scar resided. “And this?”

He swallowed sharply, and she felt his muscles jump beneath her wandering fingers.

Another sign of his attraction.

It was intoxicating, seeing the evidence of his desire. It made her feel strong. Bold.

For the first time since she met him, her shyness deserted her.

And for the first time in her life, she acted on impulse.  She moved towards him, one hand still resting on his stomach, the other braced by his head. 

And then she leaned closer…

And closer…

Until her lips were inches from his…

————–

Chapter 8

(Check out the references for Calina’s moves in the ring)

Taglist: @hollandorks @yanna-banana​ @stilldreaming666​ @tearosearts-blog @chezagnes​ @freckledbabyyy​ @acharliecoxedfan​

If you’d like to be added, let me know!

[justaduckarts]

“It’s me. Don’t you… Don’t you remember?” 

DIRTYNIGHTCLOWNS-

i mean if the killers... maybe thought y/n was too annoying... too in the way of their murdering... kept moon too docile... maybe just clipping y/n from Sun&Moon's memory would be a good fix :)

OHOHOH NONNIE :)

This one. This one is going to hurt.

This will also be not canon.

To say you were upset was an understatement. You were crying so hard it was hard to see the road. When you drove right past the turn for your apartment complex, you knew where you were going.

You just didn't want to be alone.

The park was already open for the night, but you were able to abuse your employee privileges and get a parking spot that wouldn't mean a mile hike up to the gates. Seriously, this place needed another parking garage. The first one wasn't cutting it.

The gates opened with a creak. The staff bot at the ticket counter waved at you. You waved back, wiping furiously at your face.

Well. If you weren't working tonight, you knew Moon wasn't either. Wasn't permitted out of the daycare without eyes on him. Not when they still hadn't sorted his 'software issue'. That was fine. All you wanted right now was to see him.

You marched on towards the building made to look like a tent, pulling yourself together. Calming down. Moon always knew how to distract you. You could really use the distraction, even if it meant being picked on for a couple hours.

Except... the daycare was empty.

"Moon?" You called out over the play area. You peeked into the naptime nook. Little artificial stars lit your path.

There was no sign of the lunar animatronic you so adored anywhere in the daycare. You even boldly tried the door by the security desk, but it was locked. Still, given how loud you were being, there was no way he didn't hear you. Right?

Unless he wasn't in the daycare.

As if on cue, the doors to the daycare swung open. In your panic, you dove under the security desk. Why were you hiding? Well, technically you weren't supposed to be there. You didn't want to get in trouble for breaking in (even if Moon had given you the pass code for the backdoor). But really, if you came clean, you probably wouldn't, right? Should you just-

"Alright, Moon," a rough voice cut through your mental debate. You've really gotta stop eavesdropping like this.

"You're good to go. Since you're not allowed to work without your handler, you'll just have to hang out in the daycare tonight. If you notice any continued issues, just send us a report." Carlos tucked his hands into his pockets.

"Thank you, Mr. Carlos," Moon looked around the daycare. Clean, as always. Sun never did like to leave a mess.

"Heh. If only the Moon at the 'plex were so easy to work with... G'night." With that, the slimy tech turned and strolled back out of the daycare. The doors swung shut.

A little breath of relief fell out of you. Carlos. You really didn't want to run into him. Not after what Springtrap had said about him. How skeevy do you have to be to make an animatronic designed for scaring uncomfortable?

"Sun? Are you awake?" Moon's voice was quiet. You weren't sure if Sun responded, give that dialogue would be internal. But he must have, because after a moment Moon said, "I'm fine."

Moon was on the verge of asking Sun another question. You heard him start with "Do you" when you popped up quickly. No, you couldn't eavesdrop on them. That wouldn't be right.

The moment you popped up behind the desk, Moon jumped.

"Trespas- oh. You." Moon's claws relaxed. "What are you doing here? The daycare is closed. And you aren't working."

"Uh..." You shifted. "I just came to see you."

Moon's head tilted cartoonishly.

"Why?"

"Well.." You looked at him. Was he messing with you right now? Usually he seemed excited to see you. "I just... wanted to?"

"You... wanted to see me?" Moon pointed at himself. The puzzled look on his face troubled you.

"Yes? I thought we could talk. Or- Or play a game. I don't know, I've just... had a rough day and-

"And you came... here? To me? Shouldn't you have... gone to a friend?" Moon's genuine confusion struck you. Gone to a friend? Well. That hurt.

"You are my friend," you said quietly, "Moon if this is like... like some kind of joke, it's not funny."

"I'm completely serious," Moon stood up straighter, "you're not meant to be in the daycare right now. You entered the park without a ticket. You need to leave."

"Leave? No, I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on with you." You stood taller, arms crossed. Why was he doing this to you?

"What's going on with me is that I am escorting a trespasser off of company property. I'll be filing a report, I hope you know that." Moon shook his head, "how typical of management to stick me with such a troublemaker."

And then it clicked. He didn't know you. He didn't remember you.

"Moon. It's... It's me. It's starlight. Don't you... Don't you remember me?" You crept out from behind the desk.

"I've never met you before," he said flatly. Your eyes grew misty.

"Oh." You put a hand to your mouth. Moon watched your expression twist with despair. "Oh god..." He vaguely wondered if you were having some kind of nervous breakdown.

Still. Moon's caretaker programming wouldn't stop nagging at him. You were distressed, obviously. He needed to correct that.

"..." Moon hesitantly reached out and patted your shoulder. He wasn't accustomed to the idea of comforting adults. Little ones, certainly. But adults? Well, he tried not to think on it.

You looked up at Moon. What could you say?

"Moon... is... Sun- I- Does he remember?" Your hands clasped together, as if you were praying.

Moon's head tilted once more. His expression shifted.

"Sun has informed me that he doesn't recognize you." Moon shrugged, "we've never met you. What did you call yourself? Starlight? Is that a preferred name?"

"It's... not," you wiped your eyes, "...sorry for trespassing. I uh, I should go. I should- yeah- I should leave."

"Right," Moon folded his hands together, watching you move towards the exit, "I suppose I'll be seeing you tomorrow for our first shift together?"

The question made you cringe. You clenched your fists.

"...Yeah. See you tomorrow, Moonbeam," you tossed a lazy wave before moving for the door again.

Moon watched you go. One step. Two. Five.

Should we be worried? Sun, always so concerned about others.

Six. Eight. Ten.

Moon groaned.

Suddenly, he was grasping your hand. You looked back at him.

Well. This felt painfully familiar. Like a twisted deja vu.

"Something wrong?" It just jumped out of you so naturally. Moon shifted, hands fidgeting.

"Maybe... You could stay... For one game." He looked anywhere but you. Moon couldn't deny he was curious about you. About why you were there. Why you were sad and why you called him Moonbeam. It tugged at something in him.

"Uh..." You looked up at him. Mason's words crept back in.

Quit while you're ahead.

...Guess you're not the quitting type. You took a breath.

"Hide and seek?" You smiled up at him, drying your face.

"Perfect." Moon nodded.

"Do you want to seek?" You followed him away from the door. Moon tried to fight it, but he grinned.

"Yes." There was a little jingle of bells as he bounced in anticipation. Anticipation of the game. Of the chase.

Moon does love to chase.

And you. Well. You were shaping up to be an interesting mystery to chase.

[gregorygerwitz]

Ok, so I'm new to your blog! (Sorry abt that) but I'm super interested in the super soldier and pirate au's. I tried searching your blog for more info but as we know Tumblr search is terrible, can you point me to more posts on the topic or tell me some stuff about them?

I do have a specific question about the super soldier AU; what super abilities are we talking about aside from enhanced strength?

As for pirate Au (which I am just as excited for) is this based on any source material or is it entirely your worldbuilding? I'd love to know more!

Hi, nonny! Welcome to the chaos! I know I gained a lot of followers during the first run of the firefighter bracket, to welcome to all of you! And you definitely don't have to apologize for being new here, especially for One Chicago things - I'm still kinda new here.

I did give both Super Soldier AU and Pirate AU tags on this blog in an attempt to keep things organized, but you're absolutely right. Tumblr search is a whole mess sometimes. But! Pirate AUs have a masterpost here, with a link to the tag in it, and the Super Soldier AU posts can all be found in its tag here, though it has significantly less content to peruse for that one than Pirate AU (to be fair to me, I actually have plans to write Pirate AU this year, whereas Super Soldier AU is just something I think about from time to time with no solid plans to actually write it)

As for your specific questions...

Super Soldier AU

I was literally joking last night (and this morning) that the experiments kind of just... gave Mouse more autism? Yes, obviously, there's the cliché super strength, and heightened senses, but that makes his life so hard when he already got overstimulated and overwhelmed by too much noise or a stressful day to begin with.

They also kind of reverted his brain to a few base instincts? When he's living his every day life back in Chicago again, it doesn't show, but that's because everything is triggered by stress or certain situations. Mouse was, for lack of a better word, programmed to take out threats - usually, he's explicitly told what those threats are, for the missions he went on for the army, but without that guidance, and specifically without a proper handler, it becomes this vague order that he doesn't know how to handle and process all the time.

It's what led to him doing his single handed rescue of Jay in the situation outlined in the moodboard. He saw his friend in danger, perceived a threat, and took it out, like he was programmed to do. When he's not in a war zone, it just turns into protecting his friends instead of following orders.

Pirate AU

This AU happened because I saw a picture of Sam from a short film he did ~11 years ago, where he's holding a sword? I thought it was hot, so I built an AU around it. In my defense...

He should be allowed to hold a sword more often (yes, I watched the short film and made gifs they're very important to me they get me through rough weeks)

I kind of built the idea of Mouse as a pirate around that image, and then engagement-of-convenience Linstead happened off to the side of him, and the plot fell into place after that. And then I listened to a lot of The Amazing Devil and it's a whole world now. I don't think about Pirate AU enough considering I'm supposed to be writing it this year...

I know I haven't shared much about either of these AUs by way of like... the actually plot of Pirate AU, or any of my world building for Super Soldier Mouse, so if you have any more questions that I haven't answered yet, feel free to ask them! I love talking about these little universes! Thank you for giving me the opportunity today!

[franticpanic]

I can feel the whines building in the back of my head, and I want to go into pup space so bad. My fantasies are often sexual, whether or not they’re including pup things, but my actual pup space is just wanting to be held and pet and cuddled.

At least I think that’s all it is that I want? I have never been able to imagine doing something sexual with an actual person, even if I know I want to or am curious. If that makes any sense. Like… as soon as it’s actually me in the fantasy or an actual real-life person in the fantasy, it pulls me out completely. But maybe… if it was actually happening, where I was being given orders and I didn’t have to think and I could just let go… gods it’s so confusing. But the more I imagine things, plus read certain books, the more I’m wishing it could actually happen.

Which okay, I can process that thought. I mean… I know I want my partner to eventually be my handler. I know that… I can’t believe I’m actually typing this out. I know that I want to be owned. Okay I said it. Okay. I know I want to and like submitting, and the small ways I’ve been able to be submissive with my partner so far… yeah there’s no denying I’m a sub. Those things aren’t too hard for me to process. This is where it gets tricky tho. I’m asexual and don’t experience or understand sexual attraction. I thought I wasn’t interested in sex or sex things at all. Except in very specific possible situations where it would be more about my partner and knowing they were happy. Which isn’t uncommon when it comes to sex-favorable or sex-neutral aces. Only for me… it’s more than that. It’s the submission. That’s what I didn’t understand at first. And I thought I didn’t like the idea of sex… but apparently it’s vanilla sex, for lack of a better explanation, that I don’t like? But if it’s not about sex itself, but me submitting… that’s what I like the idea of. It’s not that… I would or want to have sex with someone because it would make them happy, it’s that I would want to submit to them and let them control my pleasure and being told how to please them. I can’t believe I actually typed that out either. Gods. Okay.

Anyways going back to my pup space longing, I think that definitely pup space is separate from my… okay my curiosity about submission in sexual situations, I said it. Like pup space I don’t think would ever become sexual to me, but other submissive things… maybe. I don’t know, I mean there are fantasies for reasons. But either way… yeah there’s no denying I’m a sub. My partner I know has caretaker tendencies which I love, and I’m pretty sure she would be a wonderful handler when I get brave enough to ask her that word for word. And I think handler is the best word that describes what I need. Someone to handle me when I’m a pup, when I’m being a bit bratty, make decisions sometimes, give me orders sometimes, and someone who will take care of me all while handling me. So yes, a dom, but it’s easier for me to wrap my mind around handler.

Okay this wasn’t exactly what I planned on writing about but I think I needed to write it down and also put it somewhere where maybe people will see this.

I am not the most active on tumblr but I wouldn’t say no to making friends if anyone wants to talk to a slightly awkward confused embarrassed sub lol

[hereforyourdispleasure]

Break for Darian.

I think the closest we've gotten "on screen" was when the Handler showed up again, and to an extent the time spent with Mark in the build up to August

With Darian, if he has completely had it, it's hard to say how he'd breakdown, I doubt he himself knows or is able to pick up on his own reaction given that theres usually more urgent stuff to focus on and deal with at the times when he does

His zoning out/dissociation with the Handler situation is probably the most accurate. The quick thing of "something has happened and it needs to be resolved but I've got a tiny bit of time I need to figure this out" then 404 screen as he's figuring out every possible thing surrounding the situation and the solutions while also being hit with "so much shit is happening everything's on fire everyone's screaming everyone is so fucking dead this can't actually be happening again". Aka 20 million thoughts being backed up by some repressed shit, so obviously my man's just 😐🧍. Except in the Handler situation he was also plagued by Alec's existence in the place he went to try and ground himself, and so was extremely uncomfortable with the vibes. I don't blame him, if I was in that room I wouldn't be too pleased either

On the other hand, with Alir and especially with Mark, if he's got enough time, he does try to talk things through. Both because he knows they'll be able to bounce ideas and solutions off eachother and because he knows that they're probably the most healthy method to dealing with things. They know him, and he knows them, they know how eachother work and think and he has trust in their ability to reason and to smack him with reason. They've been doing that for eachother for years

He tries to see if it works with Orph, but I think he just sees Orph's short reactions and is like "ok he does NOT know what the fuck to do either", and so while he knows he feasibly could rely on Orph in the same way as Mark, it's more of the situation he has with Alir, where he feels uncomfortable putting that sort of pressure on him. There's also Five, who he would probably avoid like the plague if he was really dealing with something, but there's been lower level stuff where he's seen Five in a similar way to Mark in which he feels he can go through ideas with him, and sees Five more as logical, which is ideally what he prefers. When it comes to Lils, he knows damn well that they'd probably be one of the best to approach with this kind of stuff, because he's seen how they treat others, and he has once or twice. But I think he'd just feel guilty about it- he sees that Lils completely overextends themselves in everything to practically everyone and he's like "jfc they're so fucked I can't add more shit", and of course he's seen how easily they end up getting used by creatures, and absolutely does not want to end up using them in any way. Even if that way is emotional support

He himself I don't think fully gets how to deal with himself like that, but has just learnt through trial and error. There's been so many life changing events he's just casually gone through where he's been so close to just completely breaking, but obviously if he lets that happen, then things will go even more fuck up, which is more of a threat than extended psychological damage

And there'll always be his lack of being able to take things fully seriously. I think he's gotten better at that because of the sheer amount of shit that's happened without much of a break. But he definitely still tries to find the funny side in it all. Even if it now is more just bitter sarcasm than anything. I'd like to think he'd have an absolute laughing fit of a breakdown for aesthetic purposes

[mypoisonedvine]

vignettes of a bond || alpha!bucky barnes x omega!reader

I originally wrote this in two parts for my sleepover but after I realized how long it accidentally became, I've reformatted it, added/changed a few things, and made into a oneshot!

word count: 3.1k

warnings: smut, angst, knotting, violence

June 2nd, 1943, 11:43 p.m., James Barnes’ bedroom

“I wanna do it, before I go,” he whispered against your skin. “But I know it’s wrong. It’s too cruel.”

“No, please,” you whimpered, “I want it. I want your mark.”

Bucky pulled back for a moment and you examined your Alpha’s face carefully, knowing it might be the last time for a long time. “I couldn’t bond to you and then leave you. It wouldn’t be fair… you deserve to find somebody who can stay, and be with you, and protect you.”

“All I want is you,” you whispered. “Please, Alpha… bite me.”

You saw him hesitate for a moment before he leaned in and sucked at your neck, building the anticipation before he finally sunk his teeth into your skin and you cried out, one single tear rolling down your cheek. “Mine,” he growled against your skin as he lapped at the healing wound, “my Omega. Forever.”

“Yours, only yours,” you agreed eagerly.

It wasn’t the first time Bucky had taken you, but that night he really and truly claimed you, left you a desperate begging mess, stretched out over his knot as he filled you over and over.

The next morning, you were still sore between your legs as well as on your new mark, and it took everything in you to be strong as you saw him off at the train station, waving goodbye and praying that your Alpha would return to you soon.

November 9th, 1943, 2:24 p.m., undercover SHIELD facility

“You promised Bucky you’d take care of me,” you reminded him with a little smile, wiping a tear from your cheek.

“I know,” Steve relented, “but we both know I can’t do that. Not in this state. But maybe I can protect you if I do this. Maybe I can protect my country. I owe it to everyone, especially Bucky, to try.”

You nodded. “But I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too. Come see me before I ship out for good, alright?”

“Of course,” you agreed.

December 27th, 1943, 8:32 a.m., your front porch

“You’re lying,” you gasped as you shook your head. “You’re wrong, no, it’s not true.”

“It is,” Steve promised as tears welled in his eyes, “I’m so so sorry, I saw it myself, I had to watch him fall…”

“It’s not true! He’s not dead!”

“I know he loved you so much. He talked about every day, he couldn’t wait to come home to you,” Steve remembered, choking up noticeably. “But he won’t. He’s gone.”

“You don’t understand, I know, okay? I know.”

“You’re in shock, I understand, it’s hard to lose your mate—”

“You’re a beta, you wouldn’t understand,” you dismissed; sure, he looked like an alpha now, but it didn’t make a difference. “Omegas, we know when our Alpha dies, we feel it, it kills us. He’s far away, but he’s still there, I still feel him!”

Steve held you as you sobbed, your body crumpling into his arms. Sometimes you thought maybe he held you too tight on accident because he was still getting used to his new strength; other times you thought he did it on purpose.

February 3rd, 1944, 12:00 p.m., undercover SHIELD facility

“Even when I had nothing, I had Steve,” you recalled shakily, “and now he’s gone too.”

“Is that why you’re volunteering?” Agent Carter asked you. “Because you’d rather sleep for a hundred years than live without your mate and your best friend?”

“I’m volunteering because my mate and my best friend died for SHIELD,” you corrected firmly, “and if I’m not willing to also, then I’m admitting I think they went to waste.”

“Steve told me you didn’t think Bucky was dead,” Peggy remembered.

You winced. “I’m not sure. But I know he’s not coming home again. I came here to give whatever I could to help find him… I was asked to participate in a cryogenics research study. If it helps him, then I’ll do it.”

She was about to get up, apparently satisfied with your final interview, but you stopped her.

“On one condition,” you added. “If James Barnes is found, alive or dead, wake me up to see him.”

She nodded, stepping out of the room and leaving you alone again.

May 8th, 2012, SHIELD headquarters

“Can you hear me?”

You slowly blinked awake, your vision taking a moment to catch up with your mind. You saw tubes coming out of your arms; you saw Steve above you, looking like the day you saw him last.

“Did you find Bucky?” you asked instantly. Why else would they wake you up?

“No,” Steve answered, seemingly a bit disappointed that that was your first and only question.

“Then put me back to sleep,” you demanded.

“It’s been 68 years,” he told you. “You’ve slept for 68 years. It’s time to wake up.”

And you did, more than you ever wanted to, because you realized you couldn’t feel him anymore. Your Alpha was gone. Worse, he probably died while you were asleep; he probably died alone.

One more time, like he had 68 years ago, Steve held you while you sobbed.

August 1st, 2014, 2:11 a.m., Avengers compound, Steve Rogers’ quarters

You ran into Steve’s room barefoot and still in your pajamas, barreling through the door and right into his bed.

“Steve, I feel him!” you rushed.

“What?” he groaned sleepily, looking up at you as he blinked in confusion.

“I feel him again, he’s alive,” you explained. “I know it. He’s weak… he’s hurting… but he’s there.”

“That’s impossible,” Steve shook his head. “It’s been too long, he would’ve died of old age anyways.”

“Don’t you want to believe it? Don’t you want to think he’s out there?”

“Do I want to think he’s alone and I didn’t save him?” Steve hissed. “No, I can’t say that I particularly do!”

“But we still can, Steve, we just have to find h—”

But before you could finish, the feeling left you, and you were just half of something again.

“Oh,” you breathed.

“He’s gone again?” Steve realized.

You nodded, biting your lip as it started to quiver. He sighed and pulled you into a hug. “If I could just see his body, and know it was over,” you whispered, “if I could just bury him, have a funeral…”

“We’ll have one,” Steve decided, “after this mission. We’ll put him to rest. He deserves that, and so do you.”

You nodded into his shoulder. It shattered you into a million pieces but it was still the better option, to try to let him go in whatever small way you could. He would always, always, always be your Alpha, nothing could change that, but a funeral would at least bring some closure.

That would have to wait until after your next mission though… and it was going to be a big one: tracking the elusive Winter Soldier.

August 3rd, 2014, 1:14 p.m., Lower East side

You were a few blocks away, helping civilians escape the firefight, when you felt it.

For one impossibly brief moment, you felt him, stronger than you had in nearly 80 years. He was here.

You instantly got up and ran like you’d never run before, finding the Soldier and Steve locked in a brutal showdown— but his mask was gone now, and you nearly fell to your knees at the sight of him.

“Bucky!” you yelped, but you knew he wasn’t there or you would’ve felt his presence. Your Alpha was somewhere underneath the shell that wore his face, and you needed to find him.

You ran forward just as Steve made a break for it, getting to him just in time to stand between the Soldier and his mission.

“Alpha, please,” you whimpered, clutching at his chest. A metal hand backhanded you to the ground.

“Out of my way, Omega,” he growled, stepping over you, but you grabbed at his ankles even when he tried to kick you away.

“My mark,” you explained hastily, pulling your shirt down some to make sure it was visible. “It’s yours. Do you remember? You gave me this. This is your mark on me.”

He stared down at you, seeming to be contemplating it, and you scrambled back to your feet and faced him.

“I still feel you,” you whispered. “I knew you were alive, I knew you’d come back to me. I could feel you, right here,” you explained as you took his hand and placed it on your chest. “Could you feel me? Did you know I was waiting for you all this time?”

His eyes were watering but he still seemed confused— stunned, more specifically, as you placed your hand on his chest.

“I’ll always be yours, Bucky. I’ll always be your Omega, no matter where you are.”

A stun gun took you down, an array of masked men appeared, and before he could really see you for what you were, he was dragged away and taken to be erased again.

August 3rd, 2014, 9:04 p.m., Avengers compound, medical bay

“I can’t believe we let them get away,” Steve lamented, resting his face in his hands. “I can’t believe they took him again…”

“They’ll be back,” you promised sternly. “They’re going to figure out what I am to him. They’re going to realize I could break his programming. And they’re going to come for me.”

“And when they do?” Steve pressed.

“We’ll be ready. And I’ll get my Alpha back.”

August 3rd, 2014, 9:04 p.m., temporary HYDRA operations facility

"The woman on the bridge... the Omega..." Bucky mumbled. "She knew me... she had my mark."

"No she didn't."

He furrowed his brow. "She showed me..."

Pierce sighed, glancing over to the HYDRA scientist who looked back at him sternly.

"She's too dangerous to be left alive," the man sighed, shrugging in his lab coat. "We can't deprogram a bond like that."

"We'll take care of her," Pierce promised.

Bucky launched from the chair, snapping his restraints like paper. "Touch her and I'll fucking kill you!" he bellowed, tackling his handler to the ground.

Pierce just laughed as another scientist jabbed Bucky with a needle, dosing him with something strong enough to kill any other man but just enough to knock out a super soldier. Pierce stood up and dusted himself off as he watched Bucky go limp and be lifted back into his chair.

"I can see the fight in your eyes, Soldier," he taunted as he leaned into his face. "I know you really would kill me, if you could. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, right? But don't worry about your mate, we'll make it quick and painless. Hey, maybe beforehand me and a few of the other Alphas will show her a good time, poor thing's been without her mate for 70 years... I bet she's raring to go."

Bucky's arm twitched as his eyes started to fall shut, a tear falling down his blank and motionless face.

"Wipe him," Pierce instructed to the scientist, turning and walking away as the electric whirr of the machine charging up filled the room.

August 11th, 2014, 3:53 p.m., SHIELD headquarters

Steve was impressed with how accurate and imminent your prediction was; HYDRA was hot on your trail and desperate to eliminate the biggest threat to their Asset. Knowing they were coming made it easier, but it was still a brutal fight.

You and Steve tried to stay together, but they were smart, they used the perfect bait to lure you away.

"Tell me where he is," you demanded from the HYDRA agent as you held a blade to his neck, "then I'll kill you."

"Isn't it supposed to be 'or I'll kill you'?" he frowned.

You shook your head. "Not the way I operate."

Opposite to the reaction you were expecting, he grinned widely. "He's here."

Your heart stopped.

"On the roof. He's here to kill you."

You dropped the knife and ran straight for the stairwell, ascending them like they were nothing and calling out for your Alpha.

You found him there, waiting, gun trained on you. Raising your hands in surrender, you yelled to him again.

"Bucky," you called across the windy roof, eyes nearly blinded by the bright afternoon sun. "Alpha."

"I'm not who you think I am," he yelled back. "I'm not your Alpha."

It hurt to hear it in his voice, but you knew it wasn't him. Cautiously, you stepped closer. "Before you left, you told me you didn't want to mark me and leave me behind," you recalled. "But I wanted it. I wanted to be bonded to you more than I'd ever wanted anything."

He could clearly see you were coming closer, he even tightened his finger over the trigger of his weapon, but he was waiting. You kept walking to him, slowly.

"I've never regretted it," you continued, "not even when I thought you were dead, not even when I had to spent a lifetime-- more than that-- apart from you."

Finally you were face to face, and you stepped closer until his gun was pressed right into your chest.

"You can shoot me now and I still won't regret it," you promised. "I love you."

Shakily, he lowered his weapon. "Omega..." he breathed.

"Your Omega."

He pulled you into him and you sobbed as you felt him come to life in your arms-- the real him, your Alpha, your Bucky. He held you close and breathed against the top of your head and it was like a dream coming true decades after you'd forced yourself to let it go.

But you'd never given up. And now you had found him again.

Agents started to come onto the roof and Bucky spun the two of you around, firing with his right hand and using the left, metal arm as a shield for you.

He carried you and you didn't even know where he was taking you, but it didn't matter. In his arms, you were home.

August 12th, 1:03 a.m., Avengers compound, your quarters

You hadn't stopped coming or crying for at least an hour. Bucky had all but split you open on his knot all night and he didn't show any signs of stopping.

He apparently intended to make up for lost time. And you'd lost a lot of time.

"Just one more, I know you can give me one more," he groaned furiously rubbing your clit as his knot began to swell again.

You could give him anything, as long as he asked for it like that.

You'd lost count of how many times he'd told you to come for him, and how many times you did it immediately.

"I can see how full you are," he whispered as he rubbed your stomach gently. "So much seed in you that your body can't hold it all."

You looked down and yep, you were distinctly bloated from his come alone; it made you a little dizzy to even look at it.

"The idea of you alone during your heats, no one to protect you, it kills me," he explained with a growl. "I won't let you go again. I can't."

"Then don't," you sighed. "Never leave this bed, fill me with everything you have."

"Did anybody ever help you through them? The heats?" he asked. "I wouldn't blame you, they can be so painful... I just need to know so I can make sure you forget about them."

"No, Bucky, never— I never let anyone touch me."

"Steve could've helped you, at least some..."

"He wouldn't have, he loves you too much. And I wouldn't accept anything less than you, ever. You're my Alpha. We're bonded. There's never anyone else."

That didn't seem to satisfy him, his eyes darting away as he swallowed. Your gut sank with the realization he probably wasn't being totally honest about why he asked.

"Your ruts," you gasped. "Were you alone for all of them?"

He shut his lips tighter.

"Bucky, it's okay, just tell me. I was asleep for 70 years, I skipped most of them, but you... you had to live through them all."

"They gave me betas, and omegas," he mumbled, "but I don't... I don't really remember. I know they wanted me to. They threatened to hurt me if I didn't, because they knew I'd go crazy after so many ruts alone, but I can't remember if I really did it. I remember... I remember crying, and begging for you."

"Alpha," you breathed as you felt new tears run over the stains of your old ones. "It's okay. Whatever happened, it's okay now. We're together again. Everything's okay."

You wiped his tear away with your thumb, holding his face tightly, weaving your fingers into his long hair.

"I'll always be your Omega," you promised.

He leaned in closer to you, kissing your cheek before pulling back a little. "It's faded," he whispered as he ran his thumb over the mark on your neck. "The last time I saw it, it was still fresh."

"It's older, sure, but it's stronger than ever, Bucky."

August 14th, 10:12 a.m., Avengers compound, residential area kitchen

Steve's eyes went wide when he came into the kitchen for breakfast and found you there, steeping your tea. "Surprised to see you out of the love nest so soon," he smirked.

"It's been three days, I don't think that counts as soon," you scoffed.

"It does to him," Steve frowned. "He's asleep, isn't he?"

"Yep."

"I know he wouldn't let you out of his sights if he was conscious," Steve chuckled.

At that moment, you heard Bucky call your name and run out into the hall, only a bedsheet covering his groin as he appeared in the doorway. You spun around and smiled when you saw him come running towards you, embracing you with his free arm.

"You should've told me you were leaving, I got scared when I woke up without you," he admitted weakly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you worry!"

He pulled back and clutched your face in both his hands. "I'm waking up next to you every morning for the rest of my life, you understand?"

You nodded dutifully. "Yes, Alpha."

"One hand on the sheet, please, Buck?" Steve winced, looking away.

“Whoops,” Bucky groaned, reaching to cover himself as you laughed softly.

“Let’s go back to bed, baby,” you decided quietly, taking Bucky’s (free) hand in yours and waving goodbye to Steve, who was already making his way as far out of earshot as possible.

[another-fantasy-world]

5:1 with Natasha Romanoff

GIF isn’t mine

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Title: The 5 Times Natasha Held Her Tears Back, And The One Time She Couldn't

Pairings: (Romantic) Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: Angst. Just pure angst. Maybe a sprinkle of Fluff. Major Character Death

Reader Pronouns: She/They, (I don't even think I put the reader's pronouns in, but it's what I was thinking of.)

Word Count: 5065 words

Author's note: I was feeling angsty these past few weeks so why not? I think this is all the angst I have stored in my body for this month. I'll go back to writing fluff now. I sincerely apologize for this.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

I.

You hated this.

Of course you did. SHIELD managed to destroy what you considered a home. It wasn't the best, they made you fight each other, they made you sit in a chair, electrocuting you or injecting you with weird chemicals. But you were their best, the best in that institute, and now you would have to fight for the top spot again.

“You. You're facing our newbie. We need to test her strength.” This too old to be alive, bulky man pointed at a brunette girl, who was now shaking.

“Let's see if you are what they made you out to be.” Madame B uttered as the guy pushed you to the center.

“Begin.” She said, her eyes focused on your movement.

You begin by circling the brunette, sizing her up. The perks of the power you were born with is that you can easily see their weak spots, parts that would make them cry out for mercy that you'll never give.

She begins the fight with a fatal mistake, running at you with her fist almost hitting your face, you caught the fist and twisted it just enough for her wrist to be broken. She didn't scream, which was disappointing.

You decided to do the next move, still holding her broken wrist, you held her elbow and flipped her onto her back, knocking the air out of her.

“Stand up.” You glared at the brunette, pissed that she was knocked down way too easily.

And she stands up, hiding her broken wrist behind her back as she fought with her legs and feet instead. Blocking a high kick, you held her right foot and slammed your elbow to her knee as hard as you can, making her leg bend in an unnatural way, this time making her scream in pain as she fell down to the ground.

“Eliminate the weak.” Madame B's voice echoed in the room

“Understood.” You replied, kicking the brunette so her face is on the ground. No matter how hard they train and brainwash you, you refused to see the face of your victims as they died, so you always turn their head the opposite way. She cries and begs for mercy, and you smirk at her pathetic attempts of surviving. Should've fought better then.

Producing a dagger from your thigh, you straddled her hips and plunged the dagger deep into where you know her heart is, making blood pool around her.

“Hmm.” Madame B hummed, her body language shows her positivity.

“Fine. We'll take her in.” Madame B said to your previous handler

You stand there, bored out of your brain as people clean the mess you made.

“Natalia.” The name Madame B mumbled brought you back to reality as a gorgeous redhead made her way to you.

“She's going to be the one you'll see frequently. Both of you are going on missions, so get along girls. I can't have our greatest assets kill each other.”

“Natalia.”

“Y/N” you accepted her handshake, her tight grip on your hand as she pulls you close.

“You'll regret killing her.” her voice faltered, giving away that she's close to sobbing her little heart out.

“The weak has no place in this world. It's kill or be killed, Natalia.” You bit back, your grip also tightening

As your handler led you away to a cell specifically made for you, You could swear you heard Natalia say something.

You turned back to see Natasha's beautiful green eyes lined with tears she desperately pulled back.

“Remember me.” She mouthed, tilting her head up to prevent the tears from falling.

It was the first time you saw Natalia hold her tears back

II.

You don't know how to feel.

Natalia escaped the Red room. You were extremely proud of her for escaping this hell. But you were pissed that she didn't even try to inform you of it.

You had been in a mission, an attempt for you to forget about the bond you and Natalia had, It didn't work, because the second you landed, you teleported to her room. A new power that you obtained from them, only to find her bed occupied with another. You grit your teeth and opted to kill this girl that's laying on your beloved's bed.

“Silence. Don't waste your time. She is not here, and killing that girl will not erase that feeling in your heart. We have another mission, let all your frustration out on that.” Your new handler said. This handler was much more gentler than the last one you killed, and you refrained from killing her because of that. She had become a mother of sorts.

“Another mission? I just got back.” You shook your head.

“You need to. I think you'll be interested in this one. Budapest” She hands you a file.

…and Natalia's face was plastered on the file.

“What is this?” You grit out

“Natalia joined SHIELD.”

The anger you felt was what led to where you are now.

“Y/N! Stop! Listen to me!” She grunts as you both land blow, after blow. You, letting all your frustrations out with your body, and her defending herself

“Why should I? You left me. YOU BETRAYED ME!” You say, your thoughts clouded

“They're using you! Fuck. They only see you as an asset for fucks sake!” She winces in pain as your dagger nicks her face, blood dripping from the wound on her face

“I know. So come and save me.” You mumbled when you had her in your arms, a dagger on her throat, threatening to slice it open.

“...I can't” She says, holding back her tears, her hands trying to find your other hand, trying to find comfort in this sick reality

“Then so be it.” You say with finality, hearing your handler say that the mission was complete, and you fulfilled your role of being the distraction.

You drop Natalia, her hand on her throat, trying to stop the bleeding. You both know it wasn't lethal, but it was still bleeding a lot.

“Be careful Natalia.” You whispered, before turning away from her, refusing to see her teary eyes. The sharpshooter was by her side in an instant, making you wish that it was you comforting her, not this man named after a bird.

Natalia can't help but stare at your retreating figure, guilt, regret, anger and sadness weighing her down. 8 years of training with each other, 8 years of flirty missions that would get you both punished, and 8 years of friendship, thrown down the drain, all because she refused to fight for you, all because she was following the rules set for her. It was then she realized, SHIELD isn't that much different from the red room and HYDRA.

Natasha held her tears back once again.

III.

You felt excited for once.

After years of boring, too easy missions that were given to you, you were finally qualified enough for a mission with the Avengers, as if mass murdering people and assassinating people weren't enough qualification. HYDRA suspects that the Avengers will interfere with this specific mission, so they sent you to be a guard of some sort. You complained at first, wanting to move around and not be a body guard, but now you were relieved that your handler persisted you take this role.

“Come here often?” The green-eyed woman says, ordering herself a cocktail.

“No. Not at all. My sister was invited to this whole thing, and I just tagged along. Her personal bodyguard if you will.” You say, facing her and sipping your drink

“Natasha.” She chuckles, extending her hand

“Y/N” You chuckle back, she changed her name again.

“You never changed your name?” She asked, scooting closer to you, sipping on her orange-colored cocktail.

“It's part of my charm, why change it?” You smirked

“What are you doing here, Silence.” She says, her playful attitude disappearing, a frown now placed on her pretty face.

“Ouch, Natalia. Busting out the professional nicknames, that's painful. And giving up on that flirty tactic already? My, my. You must be getting rusty then.” You say, clutching your heart in faux pain

“I don't have time to waste, Y/LN. What. Does. HYDRA. Want. From. Samantha. Durkink?” You chuckled at her attempt of fishing out info

“Why don't you ask Samantha herself?” You say, lifting your glass to the target's general direction.

Natasha's eyes followed the direction you pointed, and there she was, the target, dressed in a dark violet medieval era-like gown, her eyes then roamed around to the delicately decorated ballroom, fit for a royal ball.

You watch her as she tried to get through the crowed that was dancing, laughing lightly when you see her struggling. You then laughed once again when a man mistook her for a dancing partner and instantly pulled her to dance, the crowd was dancing together, all in sync, which amazed you.

After a few minutes, you decide to take Natasha out of her misery.

“May I cut in?” You ask the man who was dressed like that one prince from that movie, Ice or something. You only saw it when you babysat Red room candidates.

He nodded and you slipped Natasha into your arms, your hands on her waist and palm, while her hands were on your shoulder and palm. The two of you waltz quietly for a few minutes, before you leaned into her ear, the one you knew had her comms.

“You have approximately 7 minutes to leave the building with your team. I personally dislike what they are about to do, but HYDRA has found a rather unorthodox way of burning evidence. And as much as I don't like it. It's a way easier way of...burning the evidence away with a bang. You understand right?” You pat her head, looking into her eyes fondly, letting your guard slip for just a second.

“I'm proud of you.”

And that was all Natasha could hear for the past hour. Even as she stared at the now burning mansion, the screams of people that were trapped in that building resonating in the air. Even as she was being suffocated by her team's emotions because the mission failed. All she can hear and see is you. Your eyes burning with passion she had never seen before, not even in missions, you always had an emotionless look on your face, much like hers. And yet, there you were, under the chandelier, looking at her like you care for her, looking at her like she's your world, looking at as if you...love her.

And that was what led Natasha to hold her tears back, even if she was in the privacy of her own room, her eyes on the small rectangular box you gave her.

She refused to believe that you love her. No. Love is for children. Love isn't meant for her. Love isn't meant for you. Love. No. She doesn't deserve love. Especially not from you.

She held her tears back harder when she realized. When all the “unexplained circumstances” happened, she never found who caused it. And now she knew. Now she realized.

You never stopped caring for her after all these years.

IV.

You care for her

After months of beating yourself up, you finally accepted it. You care for this reckless, red-haired assassin, who always seem like she never gets her life together. This green-eyed goddess who can never catch a break. This assassin who betrayed you. This woman who babysits Gods. This woman, who's sleeping beside you, her face oddly peaceful and calm, a complete opposite for what you were feeling.

“Idiot. Spending time with other idiots has made her an idiot herself.” You mumbled, flipping a page of this random fantasy story that's been translated to Russian.

“Hmmn. You were talking shit there Y/LN?” She stirred

“I was. You slept for 2 days Nat.” You say with no emotion in your voice.

“So mean.” She says, reaching around you, pulling you close and buried her head on your stomach. You were taken aback. She was never like this...unless

“What happened yesterday Nat? You know how forgetful I get.” You smiled at her sweetly

“Well, we were on a mission in Indonesia, and you killed your handler to give me ice cream.” She smiled

…ah- her brain must've reset itself when she almost drowned

“...I'm sorry Nat.” You say, a frown on your face.

“When did you start calling me Nat?” She asks, to which you just smirked

“Free, Proven, Easy, Loyal, Secret, Care, Loyal, Love.” You spoke in Russian, and Natasha's eyes turned blank, before they turned into panic

“Y/N? Oh my god.”

“...You have become annoyingly American.” You scoffed, annoyed that her first words after being brought back to reality are that of a Typical American

“Well, I at least needed to pass as American born or else I would've been deported you ass!” She goes to punch your face, but you blocked it with your book.

“Not the face Natalia.” You mumbled, rolling your eyes when she winced in pain

“Don't force your body. You have a flesh wound from the bullet that grazed you.” You say, placing your book on the nightstand and guide her to lay down.

“You promised not to use those words unless needed, Atrax.” She grunts, a cold hard glare directed to you.

“And I knew you wouldn't like living in a false reality, Widow.” You thumped her head with your palm.

“...That reality is a dream we once knew.” She mumbles, tears threatening to fall

You hold her face, wiping the tears before they fall. You knew her as much as she knows you. She hates showing weakness, She hates crying, So you vowed to never let her cry in front of you again.

“It's a dream that I can make a reality.” You nodded

“what?” She asks after a while, surprised

“If I could escape this hell, I would. And I'll bring you along with me, even if I have to tie a rope on your waist. We'll travel to a peaceful land far away and build ourselves a beautiful house with a backyard. Maybe a kid or two. But no more than that. 2 dogs, 2 cats, 3 spiders and 1 snake” You quoted yourself from 10 years ago, making her chuckle, but abruptly stops

“We were young.” She says, frowning

“And?”

“We were foolish Y/N. We were kids!” She shouts in your face

“...ah. I understand. You think that I break my promises? Well newsflash widow. I didn't break a single promise I made!” A look of anger in your face, you drag Natasha by her uninjured arm and pulled her right in front of the bathroom mirror.

“Look at me. Look at you. I promised you that someday you'll look at ballet as a form of comfort and not remind you of the pain it caused, You dance whenever you feel the need to cry! I promised you that you'll get out of that damn red room with or without me, And look what happened! Granted that I wasn't the one to get you out, I made sure you never returned. I promised that someday we'll look into each other's eyes without a dagger on each other's throat...” You trailed off, her green eyes tearing up again.

“I promised that I'll never let you cry in front of me. And I intend to fulfill that.” You say, wiping the tears before they fell once again

“It's not crying if tears don't fall.” You quote her from 12 years ago

And at that moment, Natasha let herself indulge in this sinful dream of hers. Her lips touched yours as moonlight made her bare skin glow, her taking what's rightfully hers, sitting on her own throne. The sweat trailing down her skin as quiet music erupt from both of you. You never wanted this moment to end, but alas the sun rose, and it was time to face reality once again.

“I can't...” She says the moment the sun shone through the curtains.

“I understand.” You say, standing up to get yourself dressed

“I'll leave you with a choice then. If you change your mind.” You softly say to her, left hand clutching the bag that you need and the other holding her face softly.

“See you in a minute.”

Natasha once again held her tears back, her hands trembling as it held the two envelopes that seem so heavy. One containing fresh, new, fake identity and a plane ticket to God knows where. And the other held a car key, a house key and some money to aid her travel back to the compound. Well the choice is heavy. To leave the Avengers behind, and rekindle a lost flame in a faraway land, or to stay, and continue to fight and to protect.

In the end, Natasha chose them.

V.

You felt at peace.

A couple months at a quiet town did wonders to your mental health. You were now playing piano in an old studio made to teach young students ballet. It was now abandoned, but you bought it, just for the nostalgia

“I knew I'd find you here.” You hear her voice echoing, You stopped playing Swan Lake, OP.20, Act II for a second

“Hmmhmmn. You've always been the better spy out of both of us.” You say, switching your piece to The Nutcracker: Dance of Sugar-Plum Fairy

“Ah. My outfit isn't fit for ballet” She says

“That never stopped you before, Widow.” You chuckled, smiling wider when she started to dance to the rhythm you set.

“Why didn't you stay there?” She asked while floating around the room, your piece now switched to The Sleeping Beauty, Ballet Suite, Op.66a: V. Valse.

“Not my scene, as I hate to admit. I missed the chaos. But I miss the silence too. It's a tough choice.”

“Trust me. I know.” She scoffs, then her eye widens at how insensitive that sounded

“Heh. Of course.”

“Switch to Giselle, will you?” She asks, her toes supported her weight even though she's not wearing pointe shoes

“Bossy.” You mumbled, but complying anyways

And there you both reveled in the bond you both had. Both expressing your feelings in the way that you knew the most. Music and Ballet. Your feelings of Regret, merging with Natasha's, Your feelings of Shame, battled Natasha's sadness, Your pride shoved down your throat as Natasha also shoved hers. As the melody you played turned into a much softer tune, Natasha's love vibrated through the air, as did yours, The feelings you held back came crashing down as you too try to hold back your tears.

There was no need to explain to each other. You both knew. Well, you sure hope she knew what you think. After all, you left her a letter in each envelope. And while she never sent a letter back, she had the habit of hacking into your morning radio and deliver small messages through Morse code, leaving you to figure out her puzzle of a message.

“You're happy. I like that.” You say, abandoning your piano to approach her

“I'm happy because of them.” She says, her green eyes staring back at yours

“Good. I'm glad. You seem different now.” Your eyes filled with tears, turning your back to her as you wiped the tears from your eyes

“Dance with me?” You take the hand on your shoulder, and let her guide you in dancing. Waltz has always been your favorite.

“I felt like we've done this before.” She says, her head dropping on your shoulders

“Perhaps in another life.” You concluded, spinning her

As you continue dancing to the silent music, you can't help but think how much you loved this woman. And that you could never handle the pain of letting her go again.

You also knew what this felt like. Farewell. Last Dance. You held her closer.

Natasha was saying farewell.

Natasha was saying farewell.

Natasha was saying farewell.

Natasha was saying farewell.

Natasha was saying farewell.

But you can't let her go. Not now. Not when you just accepted that you do love her, you're in love with this divine being, you're in love with Natasha Romanoff.

Even when no one taught you how to love, even when you knew love is for children, even when you know she's too good for you, even when she's an entirely different person when she's with you, her gentle gazes drown you, even when you know you're not worth of even touching her. You still accepted that you are in love. You are in love with Natalia Alianovna Romanoff.

And you know she feels the same. So why?

Why?

Why was she walking away now?

Why?

Why?

Why are you letting her get away?

Why?

Why?

Why did you let her break your peace?

Why?

Why did you let her break you?

“Take care of yourself.”

Four words and the sight of her back getting farther and farther away is enough to completely shatter your already broken heart.

Madame B was right. Love is for children.

Natasha didn't need to look back.

She couldn't

Not when your sobs ring throughout the whole studio

Natasha once again held back her tears.

Natasha once again held back the words.

Natasha once again held back her feelings.

Natasha once again held back her tears.

She can never get you back now can she?

Natasha held her tears back.

I.

Pain. Dark. Cold.

That was all you felt right now.

Hours ago, you fulfilled another promise you made when Natasha left you. To make her feel pain. To make her feel the pain she caused you. You fought the Avengers one by one. Catching them off guard and capturing them. Creating cells for them and them only.

You created an elaborate trap for all of them.

You wanted all of them to feel your pain.

You wanted them to know the feeling.

The feeling. The feeling of pain you felt every time Natasha chose them over you.

The feeling of pain when they stole Natasha over and over again.

But you knew you were only making excuses for yourself.

Who could blame you?

Well, all of them apparently.

And then you saw how Natasha fought for them. Screaming for you to let them go. Her resolve never faltering as she fought, taking the floors of the building by storm. Reaching each area where you keep each Avenger captive.

It was then you knew.

They were the villains in your story. Always in the way of you getting your princess back.

Oh how blind and foolish you were.

You were always the villain in their story. The ex-hydra agent who killed more than The Winter Soldier and Black Widow combined. You were the evil sorcerer.

And them? They were the royal knights protecting the Queen.

You scoffed at yourself. Of course you would make a grave mistake. You let yourself drown in the emotions you weren't supposed to have anyways.

“That heart is what'll get you killed. Mark my words, Silence.” Madame B's last words before you killed her.

You deactivated the whole building before leaving a note for Natalia.

You teleported to the rooftop, letting the air kiss your skin. You let yourself enjoy.

Because for once in your life, you don't know what happens next.

“... Atrax.”

“Widow.”

“How could you?”

“...A circle has no beginning nor end. What happens in the beginning shall happen again in the end to fulfill the cycle.” You say, drawing your dagger and turning to face her in all her glory.

The Sun's rays gently touches her skin, leaving her glowing slightly. This. This is one of the many memories you wish to remember when you get reincarnated once again.

She pulls out a familiar dagger. The one you gave her before you blew up that one mansion.

“Are we really going to end this way?” She says, anger and pain shone in her eyes as her face mimicked an emotionless stare.

“It would seem so.”

And so the clashing of blades began. Punch after punch. Kick after kick. Takedowns after takedowns. You don't want to lose. And neither does she.

You both then engaged into what you can call, the dance of death. With the clashing daggers as the music and combat as your choreography.

And then Natasha changed the rhythm. Using her dagger to slice your cheek, just as you did her in Budapest. But that also caused her to open a weak spot of hers.

Ignoring the pain, you decide to change the rhythm as well. Moving like a snake, tangling your feet to hers, making her fall down. You then slammed your boot on her chest, slowly putting pressure, slowly smashing her ribs, making her clutch your ankle, trying to gasp for air.

“Any last words Nat- Black Widow?” You ask, pointing the dagger right above her heart.

“...I love you.” Natasha finally let the three words out of her mouth, regretting not saying it earlier.

You tensed up, your shoulders tensing. Anger flared in your eyes.

Why now?

Why?

Is this fake?

Is she lying?

Why?

“Why now?” You whispered, not even bothering to hold back your tears.

You're tired.

Too tired.

“I always did. I just- Ugh. I just never had the courage to tell you.” She grunts out, trying to push your foot away, but you ended up digging it into her deeper.

“...Liar.” You gritted out, swiftly plunging the knife deep in her heart, enjoying the feel of her blood slowly emerging from her heart, the sight of the life in her eyes slowly fade.

You broke your ritual. You didn't turn her back to you. You saw her face.

…

Why?

Because you didn't kill her.

Natasha thought she was dead. In fact, she felt your dagger dig into her skin.

So why?

Why does she feel your hand in hers.

Right...

You have powers.

…

You have powers.

She instantly opened her eyes, her brain catching up.

“NO! What have you done! You stupid! Reckless! Piece of Shit!” She says, she slaps your face as she sees your eyes closing.

Pain Transfer.

You transferred her pain to your body. You transferred her lethal wound into yours. You sacrificed yourself to save her from the death that you, yourself, caused

You basically killed yourself.

“Forgive me, Natalia. I broke our promise.” You pulled her bloody hand from your chest and held it tightly in your hand.

“You promised to stay alive as long as I am. You never break your promises.” Natasha held her tears back, crying will make it real.

Your death isn't real. No. But loving you is.

She never got the chance to show you how much she loves you.

“This is our reality Nat. I was foolish to think I could ever change it...” You trailed off, coughing out blood. This was the first time you thanked your powers for moving so slow. You have more time. With her. And that's all you could ever ask for,

“...Stop crying Natalia. Heroes always win remember? Besides, I knew you'd let yourself die before you ever think of killing me, so I did it myself.” You grinned at her as best as you can.

“Idiot.” She whispered

“I love you too you know? Please remember that I love you. They love you too. But I love you the most.” You whispered back, the moonlight shining on your bare skin.

Natasha always go back to that night you shared whenever she sees the moonlight, but now, it's corrupted by the feeling of your grip slowly loosening, until it's only her that's holding on.

It was you who always held on.

You held on to the bond no matter how many times you got hurt because of it.

You held on to the hope that someday, you'll get to call her yours, and she gets to call you hers.

You held on, even as she repeatedly let you go.

And she can't help but regret that. She regrets it so much more now.

Now, she's the only one left.

There was nothing more to hold on to.

Nothing but the promise of living a life without you by her side.

Nothing but the memory of your smile.

The memory of you scolding her every time she got hurt.

Memories of you laughing

Memories of you dancing. Dancing with her.

She doesn't know how to say bye to you.

She doesn't know how to let you go now.

It seems like, she's done it so much that she forgot how to do so now.

She remembers every single promise you made. And the one promise you broke.

She can only hope that you can forgive her.

She's going to make you break your own promise.

But it's void now right?

You're gone.

She can cry now right?

She can cry as she reads the last letter you left?

She can cry as she reads the journal where you put all your memories in, because you're afraid of forgetting her, right?

She can cry as she opens the velvet box right?

She can cry as she puts the ring you left her as her necklace right?

She can cry as she reads that all your properties are now hers, right?

She can cry now.

She can let go of her feelings now.

But she can never let you go.

And then, for once Natasha used FRIDAY's soundproof function.

For once. Natasha let her emotions run rampant.

For once, she cried. She sobbed. She screamed. As if it'd make you come back.

If you were foolish enough to think that you can change reality, Then Natasha was foolish enough to hope you come back.

Natasha couldn't hold her tears back anymore.

Taglist: @jj-arms​ @satxnsupreme​ ​

[nocapesdahling]

As the World Falls Down - Chapter 3

Helmut Zemo x Gender Neutral Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Chapter Summary:  In which you have a plan to save yourself and Alena, but have no idea if it’s going to work. Either way, you have to try.

Rating: Mature (17+)

Chapter Warnings/Tags: Slow Burn; Angst; Misunderstandings that lead to angst; Established canon character deaths; Did I mention angst?

A/N: We have reached the end of Part 1 and the Age of Ultron arc. I hope you’ve enjoyed it so far, and would love to hear your thoughts. 

Chapter 3: Beneath a Fallen Sky (Age of Ultron) - Part 1

Word Count: 2.4k

You made sure Alena was strapped in tightly on your chest and that everything was in place. With time running out and Novi Grad continuing to rise, it was as good as it was going to get. You needed to move now. You had your prototype boots and gauntlets, which should allow you to fly. You hoped they would at least. Your main consolation was that they worked during testing, even if that had been in a controlled environment.

You had always admired Tony Stark, being something of a child prodigy yourself and starting college at a similar age to him. When you had first seen the Iron Man suit, your first thoughts had been of awe like any person who got a glimpse of Iron Man. Yet most people probably didn’t think what you had thought later, while considering the technology behind the suit and how to go about making your own.

Well, if he can do it then why can’t I? How hard could it be, really?

It turned out to be a bit more difficult than you’d thought, but you had developed something after much trial and error. However, you hadn’t tested anything in the open air yet. The previous test was only a short one to see if your prototypes would work and you had hovered a few feet over solid ground at most. That was why your plan only had a 65% success rate, but you had confidence in your technology and hope. In Sokovia, you couldn’t get far without hope.

You noticed the air getting thin as the city continued to rise, so you fitted Alena with an oxygen mask. You had a tank available in your apartment for squad emergencies, and were amazed how many times it had been used in the past. Your squad got into the oddest situations. There had been Andrei’s mission with the diplomat and the ice cream swimming pool and Mila’s with the yacht and the hammerhead sharks. All classified of course.

You digressed. There were more important things to consider right now, even as you wondered how your squad would take the loss of their handler when Helmut told them. You knew that it would hit them harder than they would ever admit. They emulated Helmut’s stoicism when in the field and today was still a mission, even if it was unlike any other. The destruction of one’s home was not something any of them had encountered before. If you couldn’t be there, then you hoped your gadgets would help to protect them today and in the future. You planned to be there.

You clipped the oxygen tank to your tactical gear and hoped that it wouldn’t unbalance you too much. You would need all the balance you could muster if this plan were to succeed.

Once you were as ready as you could be, it was time. The city had to fall at some point and you wanted to be in the air when it did as the height it had reached would cause a destructive impact radius. You brushed a kiss to Alena’s head, seeing her little feet kicking and knowing that she was awake.

“Not the best timing, little one. This might be a bit scary, Alena, so I wanted you to know that I love you. Already. So much. I think I loved you as soon as I saw you. Wish us luck, my little Alena Heike. We’re going to need it.”

With that and the realization that you had reached the edge of the city, you took a deep breath, taking one last glance back at the city that had been your home for most of your life. Then, you braced yourself, stepped off the edge, and flew. Well, you took a moment to stabilize yourself as the only other time you had done this was in a local park in the middle of the night and then you had grass to land on not open sky. But then, you flew.

You flew like the birds you had admired for their freedom and grace and like Iron Man. Tony Stark had nothing on you. You let out a joyful laugh, forgetting your circumstances for a moment. You forgot the swarm of robots on the other side of the city, the fact that your home was in the process of being destroyed, that you may never see Helmut again, and that you weren’t sure if you and your baby would get out of this alive. Nothing else mattered at that moment because you were flying.

Then you were shocked back to the present as to your disbelief the city began to freefall, plummeting quickly and devastatingly towards Earth before exploding mid air. You could see from where you were that it looked like Iron Man and Thor had blown it up somehow, but you couldn’t understand why the Avengers hadn’t been able to stop it from falling in the first place.

Why hadn’t they been able to save Sokovia? They had saved New York. It didn’t make sense. The world had painted them as infallible. These were Earth’s heroes? They did not look so “Mighty” now.

The debris began to land too hard and too fast. It looked like it would impact more of the surrounding area than you had anticipated.

You gasped in horror, the tears freezing on your cheeks. If a building was hit with debris of that size, then the result would be catastrophic. You worried immediately for your squad and Helmut, turning on your earpiece with frantic movements even as you unbalanced without one of your gauntlets.

You tried Helmut. You tried Ana, Branko, Claudia, Andrei, and the other members of your squad. No one answered.

The base wasn’t that far away, not when you calculated the radius of the debris. It would be difficult, but you could make it there. You had to make it there. You needed to know.

You flew above and around where the debris was falling and jerkily made your way towards the base, still not as smooth as you wished you were or as fast as you wanted to be. You arrived to the sight you hoped not to see.

The base had been hit by a large piece of debris from the city and was collapsing in on itself. You landed as smoothly as you could a distance away and caught yourself on a tree, falling to your knees. No one could have survived that.

Helmut was gone. Helmut Zemo was dead.

Your chest hurt and your vision was blurry as your mind whirled.

You had survived, while Helmut had died. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. You would never see him again.

How did this happen?!, was your last thought before slumping backwards into a faint.

In your horror at the base’s collapse, you had forgotten the existence of its reinforced underground bunker where technology did not work and where your entire squad including their leader, Colonel Helmut Zemo, waited for the dust of Novi Grad to settle. Very much alive and in quiet mourning for their lost Q. They would exit through the tunnels a few hours later, coming out miles away from where you collapsed.

In fact, you wouldn’t recall the bunker’s existence until a little over a year later and by then it would be too late.

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

You awoke in the hospital. It took you a moment to realize what had happened and where you were. With that, came the realization in your mind that you would never see Helmut or hear his deep voice calling you his Q ever again. Despite the gaping hole in your chest and your desire to let yourself be numb, you needed to find Alena. You gasped and sat up too quickly before falling backwards out of dizziness.

You breathed in and out to calm yourself the way you often had as you assisted your squad in the completion of missions, and clicked the button to raise the bed as you looked around the room. You were in a gown and had no idea what had happened to your gauntlets and boots, but hoped they had been destroyed in the landing.

You heard Helmut’s voice in your head as you pinpointed the potential exits and any possible weapons.

“The first step, my Q, is to always survey your surroundings. Get your bearings and be prepared for anything. Be prepared to fight, but also to run if necessary. There is no shame in running. Running can save your life and I, my darling Q, would much rather see you alive .”

You smiled bitterly before letting it fade. You were not in any shape to run at the moment, and Helmut was no longer there to advise you. Your memories of him would have to suffice.

As you surveyed the room, you glimpsed your pack in the corner of the room and what looked like your highly damaged prototypes alongside it. There next to your bed was a crib and laying inside was Alena, who looked clean, like she had been changed, and who was sleeping soundly.

You let a small and real smile touch your lips. She was safe. You were safe. Both of you were alive. Helmut was not.

No, you couldn’t let yourself think of it. Not now. Maybe, not ever.

You pressed the call button for the nurse, hoping this was a real hospital and not some elaborate plot. It looked real, but one could never be sure.

“Finally awake, are you? Good, I’m glad to see it. I was beginning to worry about what might happen to your daughter.” The nurse said in rapid fire Sokovian as she bustled into the room.

“Yes, thank you. How long have we been here and where are we?” You had to clear your throat multiple times and even then your voice came out as a rasp.

The nurse poured some water into a cup, drank it, and then offered you some as well. “You probably do not remember, but you were rescued three days ago. You have been awake sporadically, and even then you were groggy. That is why you do not remember. For your second question, you are in a hospital in the Czech Republic. We are taking care of multiple Sokovian refugees.”

“But you are speaking Sokovian?”

The nurse frowned and leaned closer. She looked like she wanted to pat your hand or hold it. You were glad she did not. “Sokovia is gone. This time for good. There were not many survivors. My mother was Sokovian. I thought a familiar language might be of comfort to you. It has been to the other survivors we’re treating.”

You attempted to read her face and her eyes like Helmut had taught you. She drank the water before giving you some, which was a point in her favor.  She also did not look like a plant and you let yourself relax a bit, but kept your guard up in case you were wrong. You knew that Novi Grad had been destroyed and the devastation the debris must have caused, but it was hard to believe that your country was gone. It had been failing for years, but it was still yours. Yours, Heike’s, Carl’s, Alena’s, and Helmut’s. Now, it would only exist in the memory of its survivors.

You pushed the thought of Helmut aside for the moment, but at the thought of Heike and Carl you knew what question needed to be asked. “Have they released a list of survivors?”

“Not yet, but I do not want you to get your hopes up.”

You hated to think that the nurse was right, that Heike and Carl were also gone. They had been miles from the city however, so you had to hold on to hope for their sake. You could not consider never seeing Heike’s hair in the sunlight or Carl’s smiling face again. They were part of your family. You needed to find out what happened to them. “Please let me know as soon as they release the list.”

“I will, dear. I will.” The nurse gave you a pained smile that looked more like a grimace. “Now, we got your name and identification from your pack. I was in charge of your admission papers, and did not include any reference to your military rank to be safe. Sokovia is gone, so I did not want it to make you a target. What you were wearing alone looked like it would draw some attention.”

You nodded and thought briefly, knowing that had only happened because the nurse had ties to Sokovia. She was showing honest care and concern in the best way she could, and you appreciated it. You had been correct in her not being a plant then. You pictured Helmut’s smile when you told him that you were putting his training to good use, before remembering that he was…

You couldn’t bring yourself to think the word. You had to keep it together. You couldn’t falter now. Not when Alena was counting on you.

You realized the nurse was still waiting for some kind of answer. “Thank you. A civilian life might be just what I need.”

The nurse smiled back, “Yet, we have no information on this little one. I have a birth certificate here to fill out. You are one of her parents, yes?” Alena continued to sleep in her crib, oblivious to the world around her.

“Yes,” you swallowed and rapidly thought of how to answer the next question that you knew was coming.

“And her other parent?”

“He died in Sokovia,” you felt a tear roll down your cheek. You wondered if you were prepared to continue. Saying it out loud made it real.

“I’m sorry to hear that, dear.” The nurse did pat your hand this time in commiseration before withdrawing when you tensed up. “Would you still like to put his name on the certificate?”

You steadied your breathing and hoped that when (you couldn’t bring yourself to think if) you found Heike, wherever she may be, that she would understand. You knew that you could not regret this decision. It felt too right for that.

“Yes,” you responded haltingly. The words seemed to catch in your throat. “His name is… Helmut Zemo and our baby’s name is Alena Heike Zemo.”

End of Part 1 - To Be Continued in Part 2: Burn it to the Ground…

A/N:  I know this chapter was angsty, but I hope you enjoyed part 1 of this fic. Part 2 will not have as regular updates because Part 1 was pre-written, but I’m working on it. Thank you all for reading!

[thisisawonderfulusername]

almost normal

five hargreeves x reader

summary: when you get stuck in the apocalypse, you try to make life as normal as possible before you can make it back to your time

warnings: drinking, baby (i hate babies eww), cursing, flufffffff

word count: 2.5k

a/n: this idea buried itself in my head and i’m glad people are interested in reading it :D they are a bit younger when they return to 2019, and i also didn’t know how to end it. enjoy! side ramble: while i was editing the first few paragraphs, i realized, wouldn’t more people with powers have survived the apocalypse? like, we don’t know what other powers there are, but surely there were some invincible folks or people who could somehow avoid being blasted. or maybe there were but they didn’t survive long enough for five to stumble upon them. anyways, ramble over, you can read now 😂

being the daughter of two people spontaneously born on the first of october in nineteen eighty-nine, you had been gifted with special abilities, just like them. they were able to teach you how to control it fully, and by the time you were thirteen, you were able to create an invisible barrier around yourself at will. at times, though, it still appeared on it’s own.

one of those times, it protected you at the end of the world. how you wished it hadn’t for the first few years. but you surprisingly weren’t the last person on the face of the earth.

-

you stood on the doorstep of your home- or what used to be your home. it had crumbled to the ground when the explosion wiped out the entire city, leaving a pile of rubble. it was surrounded by the other houses in the neighborhood, some of which still stood as the flames continued to burn.

this isn’t real.

you pinch your arm so hard that it stings for a few moments afterward, and you start shaking your head. “this isn’t real.” you tell yourself, voice shaking with the fear that this might not be a nightmare.

stepping back from your home, you turned on your heel to run to the closest house that hadn’t collapsed yet. mr and mrs peoples. you didn’t knock, bursting through the front door and rushing through each room that fire was beginning to engulf, searching for any sign of the old couple.

when you got up the stairs and to their room, you stopped dead in your tracks. on the bed, their charred bodies lay next to each other, and you feel your eyes beginning to sting- from the smoke and from what was happening.

the city.

there must be people in the city.

you dash down the stairs before they can collapse, sprinting out of the house and down the road as fast as you can. the route you’ve remembered from walking to school, the one that brought you through the crowded sidewalks.

by the time you get to the most populated part of the whole town you lived in, you’re out of breath, chest rising and falling quickly.

“help!” you shout as loud as you can, starting to walk through the streets, trying not to focus on the buildings that hadn’t made it. “please! there has to be someone.” the tears that had threatened you began to fall, running down your cheeks.

when you get farther down, you see what you think is a real, live person, searching the rubble surrounding him. but you can’t be sure. there’s smoke and your vision is blurry from your tears. “hey!” you shout, beginning to run towards the figure as fast as you can with your labored breathing.

he turns in your direction when he hears your voice, eyebrows raising in surprise. when you stop just before what used to be a building. “please-” you suck in a breath, “please tell me you’re real.”

-

he was the only reason you managed to survive. you knew now that you would never had made it this far without him.

ten years.

you’ve made it ten years so far, and the only reason the both of you keep going is each other- as well as his hope to find the right equation to get them back to their normal lives in twenty nineteen (and saving the world but that could be discussed later.)

until then, you could try your very best to make an almost normal life for yourselves.

after the first few years of moving across the city- and probably into other states as well, you couldn’t tell for sure- you had grown to have feelings for him. you didn’t know if it was because you two were the only ones left on earth, but you didn’t care. you wouldn’t want to choose anyone else to survive with.

eventually, after a few drinks to celebrate the finding of some wine, when your face was flushed with the alcohol in your system and your brain slightly fuzzy, you ended up kissing him.

the next morning, you woke up cuddled next to him, the empty bottle to your side. it brought butterflies to your stomach, and when he woke up after you, you had summoned the courage to tell him how you felt. you were lucky enough to know that he returned the affection.

you were nineteen then, only six years after the end of the world. and for another four years, you had been together.

on the third year of being together, pushing for survival, you found an old jewelry store.

-

you looked at the destroyed display cases, glass shattered and a few of them sinking to the ground. what this store looked like before the explosion, you didn’t know, but you could tell it’s purpose.

as you stepped over some fallen bricks, you look at the rotted wooden table that had once been surrounded by glass to keep people from attempting to steal what was inside.

there was surprisingly still jewelry left, some scattered across the ground and others that had managed to keep their place on display.

among the pieces, you see something shine in the sun light, buried in the bricks and dirt. after picking them up and brushing it off, you could see what the two pieces were. they were matching, two wedding bands in a smooth golden color. smiling, you stared at them for a moment.

looking up, your gaze traveled over the surrounding fallen buildings, before falling upon the man you were looking for, who searched for any food that may be buried somewhere nearby in the stone and brick nearby.

stepping over the bricks and onto the slightly cleaner streets that many people used to roam, you made your way to to where he searched.

you stayed on the street in front of the bricks that had somehow stayed in formation, creating some sort of a half-wall, watching him for a moment before glancing at the two rings in your hand.

“do you want to get married?” you call out, eyes squinted slightly from the sunlight and the strain to see him properly.

he turned at your voice, brushing his hands off on his pants. “what?”

grinning, you step over the wall. “i said,” you stop in front of him and reveal the bands, “do you want to get married?”

his eyes fall on the rings and he stays quiet for a moment, before he looks back to you, and your smile grows at the sight of his own.

“in the apocalypse?" he chuckles softly.

you shrug your shoulders. "we can't make it, like, official, but if we ever get back..." you press your lips together for a moment, "i think it'll have more meaning, since we found them here."

he seems to think about it for a moment, before he holds his hand out to you, and you clap your hands together from the joy you felt.

when you got stuck here at thirteen years old, you didn't think you'd have anything close to a normal life. but after a few years, you realized that you could try to make it as normal as possible for yourself.

you slide one of the rings onto his finger, the sun's light reflecting off of the gold. it's a silent moment, and you could feel your heart beating faster than usual.

once it is snug on his finger, he takes the other from you, taking your hand. "i never thought i'd be getting married in a wasteland."

chuckling, you watch as he gently puts the ring in it's rightful place. "i don't care where we get married. it would be perfect no matter what."

five looks into your eyes, and you know that you wouldn't have this any other way. as long as he was with you, you don't care where you are or what the situation is.

"i love you." you mumble quietly, bringing your hand to his cheek as you stare into his eyes.

"i guess i love you too."

you roll your eyes, moving the hand behind his neck to pull him into a loving kiss.

-

that’s what brought you to having with a giant bump in your belly.

what a great time to be pregnant, right?

when you found out (which took a while- you couldn’t really find any pregnancy tests and if you did you thought it was just some sickness and wouldn’t grab any), it was quite the surprise. you were terrified- who wouldn’t be?

how the hell are you going to have a baby in this world? there are so many things to think about.

like when the time finally comes for you to burst, what will you do? neither you or five had ever had a baby- you were thirteen when your normal life ended! no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t find any books, or something of the like, that would tell you at least vaguely what to do. so many stories, so many ‘how to’ books, yet nothing came up.

you couldn’t find anything to guide you and that scared you to no end.

so when a woman showed up, dressed properly in a clean, well fitted dress, speaking of some sort of organization that- well you didn’t listen to what they did, really, because you were focused on the fact that with this, you would be able to return closer to normal, and you wouldn’t have to do some sort of extreme home birth, without a home.

and so, the both of you joined her- the ‘handler’ as she called herself- going back to this place that she spoke of.

when you got there, you actually listened to what she had to say. they preserve the time continuum. explained simply, they eliminated people that threatened a change in what is meant to happen in the time line of events. you would be working for them, in return for going back to twenty nineteen after five years. back to the timeline where the apocalypse would still happen.

but five had a different idea of what would happen. here, you would make time for yourselves- you weren’t really going to stay in this world, only to go through the apocalypse. this time alone, because he wouldn’t be able to survive the blast that you did.

no. you would have your baby, and he would find a way to get you back. he would find the right equation. he wanted to save the world.

so, you worked for the commission.

even being pregnant, you wanted to work along his side, so you were trained with him to be the perfect assassins. that took a few months, so by the time it was all over, you had given birth to your little bundle of joy. (i’ll let you choose the gender and name, idc lol)

and after that, it was an uphill battle.

you finished your training, only to move straight into doing the missions assigned to you. going to different points in time to make the ‘corrections’, killing people with a baby strapped you your chest with a sling.

-

after getting ready, you sigh, looking at the baby who laid in the collapsible crib that you carried with you on these missions. you hated having to raise her in this situation- but it was way better than in the apocalypse. who knows if you would have even survived giving birth.

you put the baby sling on with the help of five, before carefully getting the baby in place. this had become routine over the last year.

so you set out for another mission, guns in hand as you headed off to the grassy field that would serve as your perch while waiting for the victim to show up.

while you set up the sniper, five was off to the side, scribbling in the book that he carried around everywhere, until you heard a gasp. “i got it!” he says in excitement.

turning your head, you raise an eyebrow, “what?”

“the equation!” he holds the book up to show you, open so you can see everything that had been scribbled inside over all this time. “i finally got it right.”

your lips part in surprise, and you’re silent for a moment while you think, “so we can-”

“-we’re going back home! we can save the world and finally have the life we’ve always wanted.”

a grin spreading across your face, you drop the gun on the ground, not caring about it one bit anymore. “well then, get on with it!” your urge as you run over to stand next to him.

he nods, handing the book to you before closing his eyes and focusing.

without much time, a portal-like anomaly begins to form, and when you look into it you can see what you assumed to be a back yard, and people running out of whatever building was next to it.

when his eyes opened, the smile on his face is wide. “are you ready?” he asks softly.

“as i’ll ever be.”

he grabs hold of your hand, and with the other you hold onto the baby, not wanting anything to happen to it- but you trusted five.

going through the portal was nauseating. you had traveled through time before, but then, it only turned your stomach over, since it was in the blink of an eye that you were transported. this, though, felt like you were being pulled through and spun around a million times, before you were finally spat out onto the ground in front of the group of people.

the impact from hitting the ground forces a grunt out of you as you hold onto the child. your keep your eyes squeezed shut a few moments longer, before you hear an unfamiliar voice.

“is it just me, or do you all see little number five?” you open your eyes to see the man who spoke.

“and a little girl with a baby? yeah.” allison’s eyebrows are raised, and her expression shows confusion at the sight before her.

your eyebrows furrow at the use of the word ‘little’, sitting up to look down at yourself to realize that you are, in fact, little. you’re back to the little thirteen year old girl who looked like she was actually from your time, who got stuck in an apocalypse.

you no longer look your age of twenty-six years old.

“what the hell!” you nearly scream, causing your little child to begin to cry, and you curse under your breath as you scramble to your feet, wrapping your arms around the baby in the sling as you begin to bounce slightly to soothe it.

well, you may look thirteen again, but at least you’re out of the hell you were living. once the world was saved, you can finally have the normal life you wanted.

tag lists

main: @horrorklaus @megasimpleplan4ever  

tua: @rasberrymay @noodlextrash @atomicpillar @malfovs  @andreasworlsboring101​  

five taglist: @anapocalypseinmymind @five-hargreeves-official @insatiable-ivy @coffee-e-addict @xplrreylo @fandomfreakff @colie-babi @flowertoty @avovada @badwolf00593​

for this one shot: @alexander-hamilhoe​

[number5theboy]

I wanna hear your material on why five should’ve been the one to pull the trigger!! I kinda agree but I haven’t read the comics-

Anonymous asked: Whats the rant on five pulling the trigger? I havent read the comics but i know he hes the gunman and says 'i never really liked you" or something similar 

A piece of writing that is part rant, part analysis, and part creative writing for the two of you so kind as to drop into my inbox, as well as @mysticmoondustt, @maren-emilie, @waywardd1 and @millartiste, and @poisonpam, whose marriage proposal started all this.

User @sunriseseance brought to my attention that the way I framed this sidelines Allison completely and takes away from her character arc, which was not my intention in writing it, but is something this text communicates anyway. Giving over Allison’s (aka the only black woman in the cast) important story beat over to Five (aka one of the several white boys) without making the effort of keeping Allison just as important to the story was poorly thought-out. I have thus edited and rewritten the following with that in mind.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Five’s Storyline Deserved To Be Properly Tragic or: Why Five Ultimately Causing The Apocalypse in The White Violin Would Have Rounded Out His Arc

     In this mini-essay, I go into detail as to why I think, from a story-telling perspective, Five should have been the one to ultimately cause the apocalypse by intervening with Vanya rather than Allison. The apocalypse is Five’s storyline. It’s his trauma, his pain, and what he has worked towards preventing for forty-five years, and yet, he is almost completely written out of the pivotal events in The White Violin, the Season 1 finale, and has little to no impact on why the apocalypse does happen, in the end. Making Five the one who triggers the apocalypse would make his entire storyline become the proper tragedy it is supposed to be, with him being the last domino to fall into place, his action of disrupting Vanya being what makes her fall, makes her destroy the moon, and makes Five the man who causes what he so desperately wanted to stop. The easiest way to do that would be to give Five Allison’s role of being the one to point that gun at Vanya, but as explained above, that was the original argument of this text, and one that was insensitive and should have had more effort put into. The following rewrite still sees Five firing the gun, but in a different context and with a different lead-up, one where Allison’s moment of mercy and kindness to Vanya comes before Five’s decision to fire the gun, so that Allison’s moment with Vanya and the moment that inadvertently causes the apocalypse are two separate ones rather than a single one. I just really would have loved to see Five and the apocalypse be a self-fulfilling prophecy. One still should keep in mind that this does appropriate a moment that was solely Allison’s in canon and should thus still be taken with a grain of salt. That being said, I do think that it would have made sense for Five to fire the gun that causes the apocalypse. There are so many established points in Five’s storyline that build up to him being the character most relevant and most appropriate to point that gun at the back of Vanya’s head: his ruthlessness in eliminating anyone who stands between him and preventing the apocalypse, the fact that he is the only sibling we’ve seen kill methodically in cold blood, how Five is pragmatic by nature and was ready to sacrifice a single life in exchange for saving billions, his awareness of space and how to use it to his advantage, his tendency to use other people’s weapons to his own advantage, the fact that he is the only sibling Vanya doesn’t resent for their childhood, the fact that he trusts and likes Vanya, that when faced by Luther with the choice between violence and love before, Five chose love… But Five was not the triggerman, and the following, under the cut, explores the ending of an arc that could have been.

     I’m going to start with Vanya’s demise and how the apocalypse happens in the source material. Full disclosure, I still have not read the comics, but I have seen the last few pages of the Apocalypse Suite, and even though my argument as to why Five should have been the triggerman for Vanya in the show is not based on ‘because it was him in the comics’, I still think it’s relevant for the point I’m trying to make. In the Apocalypse Suite, Klaus distracts Vanya as she is playing her violin, and Five takes that moment to go and shoot her in the head. Despite the concert coming to a bad close, it was a little too late, the moon still comes crashing toward Earth, and Five says: “You know something, Vanya…? I never liked you.”. It doesn’t quite stop there, but for the purposes of this mini-essay, that’s enough. What does matter is that the TUA showrunners have this nasty habit of taking bits of the comic and putting them into the show, but usually warped to the point of disrespect, where they simply never looked deep enough into why comic fans liked a moment, and instead just want to ~subvert their expectations~. Here, I think the subversion is not necessarily about the actions, as they are still similar (gun is fired in the vicinity of Vanya’s head, it takes her out, but not enough to prevent the apocalypse) and is instead about the identity of the triggerman. Or rather, triggerwoman.

     In the show, Allison holds that gun to the back of an oblivious Vanya’s head before shifting it to next to her ear, and then pulling the trigger. The sound of the gun going off disrupts Vanya, who faints, but the energy she had been pulling from the soundwaves had to release to somewhere, and it bundles into a beam that shoots up and destroys the moon, giant pieces of which barrel to Earth.

     And it’s a good ending for their arc. It’s the ultimate proof that even at Vanya’s lowest, in a moral sense, literally suspending their brothers in midair and hurting them, Allison still loves her, enough to not hurt her. Allison wants to do right by her, and it shows in its most extreme in this moment. The only thing that bothers me personally about this moment is that the second it showed that it was Allison holding the gun, I knew Vanya would not be harmed, I knew that Allison loved her too much, that Allison had flat-out refused to even consider Luther’s proposal that they should be prepared to stop Vanya by any means necessary. And so I started thinking about which character could make this moment more tense. Who was “with Luther on that one”? Who knows that they “can’t give her a chance to fight back”? Who have we seen to be merciless and cutthroat, who has ruthlessly killed people in cold blood because they stood between him and preventing the apocalypse? Which sibling pointing a gun at the back of Vanya’s head would have actually given the viewer pause and make them consider the possibility that one of the Hargreeves would be hard enough to shoot his own sister in the head?

     It could have gone like this, with several references to Five’s fighting skills that were established beforehand but mysteriously absent during the actual climax. It starts as it does in the show, Luther rallying his brothers to attack and Allison refusing to be part of it. But instead of trying to convince us that Five would be stupid enough to run straight on at Vanya, Five blinks away and disappears. The other three still get caught in Vanya’s energy tentacles, but Allison is not. We see Five appear next to the Commission soldiers he killed when protecting Klaus, swiping one of their guns, showcasing both his spatial awareness and his tendency to use enemy weapon to his advantage, which we saw in both the Istanbul Not Constantinople scene and in him getting the upper hand on the Handler. He blinks away again.

     Cut to Vanya on stage, holding her brothers, fixing them with a merciless and empty gaze. Then there is a small noise on the side of the stage, and Vanya looks over. It’s Allison, one hand behind her back, similar to the Luther and Vanya scene from Season 2, and we see the gun gleaming there, showing that both Allison and Five had the same tactical idea. But Allison is not pointing the gun, because she saw a glimpse of good in this violinist just moment before, when she smiled at her. I’m turn about whether or not Allison should be holding a sign in this. If she would, it’d be interesting for it to read ‘I love you’, even though that’s terribly cliché, it’s also the sentence that made Vanya lash out at Allison in the first place. I like the idea of Vanya seeing it again and the memory of her regret at her action, at the pain she caused someone who only tried to be there for her, to make amends, to support her, to love her, break the façade of the White Violin as she recognises her sister, looks at her, truly sees her. The energy tentacles release her brothers in one swoop, them falling to the floor, exhausted, as the tentacles retreat back into Vanya, but she underestimated her powers.

     There’s too much, the energy slamming back into her, and for a moment, you see Vanya through the mask of the White Violin, scared of the power she holds and doesn’t know how to control. It’s an overload, like it was when she was little, and because nobody ever took the time to teach her how to control it, she doesn’t know how. Allison’s fingers twitch around her gun behind her back, and then her gaze shifts. Five steps behind Vanya and points the gun at the back of her head. And the viewer remembers everything Five has gone through because of the Apocalypse, what he had to become to survive, how he sacrificed everything to come back and stop the end of the world. How ready he was to end the life of an innocent gardener to change the course of history. And here is where a more interesting subversion of the source material would come in. Remember comic!Five saying “You know something, Vanya…? I never liked you.”?

     Because show!Five is established to like Vanya, love her even. She was the first one he told about the apocalypse and that he wants to stop it (Five having that gun would also have made the first season come full circle in an incredibly satisfying way) , the first one he trusted, the sibling he treats with gentleness and kindness even though he is not gentle or kind. Her words brought him comfort for decades in the barren wasteland, and he is the only sibling that she canonically doesn’t resent for how she was treated in their childhood. She had bandaged up his wounds, probably the first time since he left the Academy on that fateful day without saying goodbye that someone touched him carefully, lovingly, and she told him that she hadn’t seen him in a long time and that she didn’t want to lose him again. And now he is faced with the prospect of shooting her in the head to achieve what he worked forty-five years towards.

     And here is the kicker if this would have been the version we got to see in the show: there would have been foreshadowing to this very moment, because it would not have been the first time in the show that Five pointed a gun at a sibling. As Five set to go kill the previously mentioned innocent gardener with his father’s rifle, Luther grabs Delores and dangles her out of the window, giving Five the choice between the literal embodiment of the better half of his mind, the one who thinks beyond, the one created out of love, or the bloodshed he had been trained to solve every problem with. Bluntly put, Luther put him on the spot and made him choose between love and violence.

     Five chose love.

     Over Vanya’s shoulder, Five meets Allison’s eye. And even though she’s terrified of this side of Vanya that makes her pulsate with energy, on the brink of world extinction, she still looks him in the eye, and almost imperceptibly shakes her head, a silent plea to spare Vanya. Because Allison knows what Five has done, she has easily called him a mass murderer before, she knows that he could do it. And so he grips the gun he’s pointing at Vanya just a little tighter, to keep himself from trembling. He moves his arm just a little, bringing the barrel of the gun next to Vanya’s ear, and he pulls the trigger. The gunshot goes off, Vanya’s crumbles to the floor, Allison rushes to her side to catch her. The energy bundles and shoots out, straight into the core of the moon. On stage, Five looks in disbelief at the gun in his hand. He did it. It’s over. And Vanya is still alive.

     And then Klaus’ voice pipes up. “Guys? Do you see that big moonrock coming towards us?”

     And Five looks up. And Five understands, in a second, in a moment. He pulled that trigger, and the world is doomed. His singular act of mercy brought about exactly what he had given up everything to prevent happening.

     As the song that played over Five’s arrival in the apocalypse says: this race is a prophecy. It’s just that nobody told Five that it is a self-fulfilling one.

     I just think it would have been good to give some kind of pay-off to Five’s apocalypse storyline that isn’t him running away from it at the end of the season. I think having him be the one who ultimately brings the apocalypse about through the act of shooting that gun would have rounded out his arc. As I said in the beginning, this is the revised and re-edited version of this, which involves Allison in more of the plot. Her inadvertently causing the apocalypse in the show has no real bearing on her mind or her character past the act of firing the shot, while the same action would have deeply shaken Five to the core, and so I personally think it should have been Five to actually carry out that last action. In this new and improved version, I tried my best to keep Allison’s connection to Vanya, her act of love, and just have Five be the executioner rather than the only one in the scene. It’s not perfect, but it’s an improvement on the very narrow view I had before. I just think Five being a self-fulfilling prophecy would shift the dynamics between him and the Hargreeves in Season 2 interestingly. It would be more justified how harsh and dismissive the Hargreeves are towards Five. It would make his decision to take Vanya back to do right by her even more interesting, as it would be him choosing love over violence again immediately after it failed spectacularly for him, and his and Vanya’s dynamic in Season 2 so much more tense and high-stakes. It was wrong of me to completely strip Allison of any agency in this scenario, and I hope I have done better this time around, while still keeping my conviction that Five inadvertently causing the apocalypse would have been a better culmination of his arc.

[pretend-writer]

Kids Of The Future (Chapter 6)

Mini-Series

Summary: After time traveling from the apocalypse in 2019, a surprise waits for Diego and Y/N as they arrive at Dallas, Texas circa 1960.

Pairing: Hargreeves x sibling!reader, Diego Hargreeves x reader

Word Count: 3.9k words

Warning: mention of violence, mention of death, gruesome violence, swearing

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- Y/N's POV -

Five had left me by myself in The Handler's office, hunting for the briefcase as I read more of Belinda's files.

It was a huge mystery how she ended up in the 60s with us. She was only a baby when we found her in the alley, nothing made sense at all.

A loud creek shifted my thoughts, making me jump up. Staying in character, I spoke up thinking that it was probably someone from the commission. 'Who's there?'

'Ahh!' Diego screamed as he tackled me, 'You creep! It was you at the alley harassing my girlfriend huh? Who the hell are you exactly and what do you want with my daughter?'

'It's me, oh my- Diego, it's me!'

He seemed confused until the realization hit him; Diego's jaw dropped when he noticed that I was shape shifted into The Handler. 'Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know this is what you were doing.'

'What are you doing here?' I turned back to my original form, slightly raising my voice at Diego. 'I told you it's just me and Five here today.'

'Sorry, I just got worried and-and I came here. I didn't meant to cause trouble.'

'But what if you got caught? We don't know what these people are capable of.'

'Well, I took the risk for you.' Diego bit his lips and shifted eye contact. 'I had to make sure you were okay.'

I sighed, frustrated but flattered at the same time that my stomach was filled with butterflies. He had called me his girlfriend, came all the way here to talk to The Handler about that night.

But I was far too focused because my baby was in danger; more importantly her history was revealed. I handed Diego the file that was in my hand, 'Read it.'

His brows furrowed, showed nothing but confusion as he saw Bel's name across the file. 'Where's this from?'

'It was in this desk. The Handler's desk.' I answered as he opened it and read throughly. 'It-it kind of answered our questions we've been wondering for the past three years.'

'This... this has got to be a mistake, right? I mean she's one of us then? But how?'

'I have no idea.' I was scared; scared as to how she got here in the first place. Scared about what was going to happen to us, to Bel. Scared that this whole thing could've been a set up and we never knew.

Diego grabbed my hand, 'This... this won't change the fact that she's still our baby.'

A small smile formed on my face, it was nice that Diego was giving me reassurance. In a way, I was glad he was here. He made me feel safe. 'Yeah. You're right.'

'You don't have to worry anymore. I'm here to protect you and Bel.' He smiled, it was weird for him to say such thing because this whole time we'd never talk to each other like that. Or in this tone, at least. He squeezed my hand, pulled me in as he wrapped his arms around me. 'You're safe with me, Y/N.'

As I smiled back at him, Five appeared out of thin air using his powers. With a briefcase in his hand, he stared at us. 'Guys, get a room.'

'We're already in a room.' Diego chuckled, 'You're the one that interrupted us.'

Five rolled his eyes, 'What the hell are you doing here anyway? This is supposed to be mine and Y/N's mission.'

'Sorry, I couldn't sit still knowing how crazy The Handler is. Didn't want anything to happen to you guys.'

'Well, we're fine. Now let's get back to the others and figure out what the hell we're going to do now.' We gathered around together closely, Five controlling the briefcase as we traveled back to our meeting spot, the Karate Gym.

Everything was fine, or at least we thought it was until we turned around and saw all our siblings tied up with one person standing around them while holding onto Bel; Lila.

'You really think you could impersonate my mother?' Lila laughed, 'Your acting sucks.'

'Stay away from Bel. Put her down.' Diego shouted.

'Ah, so that's where the cute one went. I was looking for you, Diego boy.' She grinned, 'What makes you guys think I'll give her back?'

'Give me my baby back, now. Or I swear I'll do harm to you far more worse than you can imagine.'

Lila raised her eyebrows, 'I'm not scared of you. What, you're going to morph into Frankenstein or something?'

'Ha, I wouldn't test it if I were you. She's pranked us with things scarier than that.' Klaus laughed softly.

'You see Lila, my power is such a great thing because you know why? I can turn into anything I've seen and I've read many books as a child. Many.'

Lila laughed, 'You guys are such idiots. I thought it was just Five but seems like it runs in the family.'

'Watch your mouth!' Five yelled at her.

'You Hargreeves aren't the only ones that have super powers, you know that right?'

The cheeky grin made me want to just punch her in her smug face. 'We already know Bel has powers. We went through The Handler's fil-'

'I'm not talking about her.' She flashed a smile as she stepped closer to Diego and I. 'Diego, I heard a rumor...'

Diego's eyes flashed glassy grayish white, completely freezing into place. My mind immediately was out of focus, noticing that somehow, Lila had Allison's powers. But I didn't have time to think, I had to get her before she got into his head then try to get Bel back also.

My eyes met with Five, knowing exactly what we needed to do. He disappeared into thin air, appearing back next to Lila as he quickly grabbed onto Bel.

Lila was distracted, not realizing I shifted into Luther as I used the strength to pull her up the floor.

'You can take their powers too?' Lila smirked, holding onto my hand as she tried to grasp for air. 'Thought it was solely just for design.'

'Why are you surprised? I'm a shape shifter, I told you I can turn into anything.' I threw her to the ground then shifted into Vanya, using my force field to try to hurt Lila. While my surrounding turned blue as my energy started to build up, Lila kicked me hard into the mats.

A scream came from the other side of the room as Diego charged towards Lila, throwing knives at her when she tried to get up. As he tackled her down, I grabbed one of his knives and held it only a centimeter away from Lila's neck.

'What do you want with Bel?' I yelled as I shifted back to myself again. 'And don't fucking lie to me.'

'I don't know, this was all mom's plan. Even if I did know, I wouldn't fucking tell you.' Lila giggled devilishly.

This time, I stuck the cold knife onto her skin, letting her bleed lightly to scare her but not hard enough to where she's severely injured. 'I appreciate you playing this "I'm a bad girl" act, but cut the shit or I'll really hurt you.'

'You wouldn't dare.'

I raised my brows at her as she tested my patience. It had been a while since I've "investigated" anyone but the thrill and the adrenaline just took over my body. It didn't help the fact that this girl was a part of taking my baby away from me.

As I took her hand off the floor, I snatched her index finger and this time, pushed the knife right under her finger nail. 'I'm not playing around, do you believe me now or should I keep going?'

Lila was terrified, breathing heavily as she shook her head. 'S-sorry.'

Five kneeled next to me, joining in on the conversation to try to get information out of her. 'So how did Bel end up here in the 60s?'

She rolled her eyes. 'You really are a kid aren't you? Story time is-'

I interrupted her as I pushed down the knife that Diego struck into her arm earlier. Screaming in pain while the knife dug deeper into her skin, I got closer to her face.

'Okay, okay. Don't mess with you or your brother, I get it now.' She said before I let go of the knife. 'Who are you people?'

'Couple of old roommates that had to play house with an old man that never gave a shit about us.' A fake smile formed on my face. 'That geezer taught us a lot of stuff, taught me how to interrogate people at the age of six. Sounds great right?'

She laughed, 'We would've been great friends.'

'I'd rather have my eyeball chewed off by a wolf.'

Five groaned, 'Will you guys shut up and let me know how this baby ended up here please?'

Diego chuckled, 'Oh no. Keep going. It's hot watching Y/N getting riled up.'

Klaus gagged from behind. 'We're only tied up you know? We can still hear.'

Lila sighed, probably fed up with the Hargreeves shenanigans that she had to deal with. 'Anyways, she was several months old when she started to discover her powers, poor baby couldn't control such powerful thing. Her ecokinesis energy collided with the lightning that was flashing that night, aligned with your timeline as you were traveling back in time. Then boom, alley. Crazy huh?'

'That is actually fascinating.' Diego nudged Five's shoulder as he nodded, interested in the story. 'What? Don't tell me you're not surprised as I am how that worked. That means lightning can somehow boost time traveling. Maybe that's why we're stuck here.'

'Or you just suck at time traveling.' Allison added.

I looked at Lila and smiled. 'So what do you say? You let us go and never ever see us again.'

'That's cute of you, really but I can't let you do that.'

Five cracked his neck and his fingers as he looked at me and Diego, 'Guys move out the way.'

Diego asked, raising his eyebrows as he was a bit scared of what might happen. 'Uhm why?'

'Just go untie them, please. I'll handle Lila.'

'Handle? What are you going to do to me?' She replied back as Five pulled out some weird item from his blazer. In a second, he made Lila shut up which I was thankful for. On the other hand, I was a little scared since I didn't know what the hell he did. Hopefully, it was a tranquilizer.

Making sure that Lila was no longer conscious, Diego and I walked over to our siblings. As I reached over behind Allison to untie her, she cocked her head. 'Ah. Well, Five left with that girl.'

'Can we please talk about the weird  but sort of cool transformation that Y/N did?' Klaus added as Diego helped him untie the rope. 'You turning into Luth-'

'Yeah, no let's not mention it.' Diego shook his head, 'Y/N don't ever do that again.'

Luther gasped. 'Hey! Honestly, I thought it was awesome.'

I laughed as I stood behind Luther after I was done with Allison, fiddling with the knot on his wrist. 'I mean, it worked right? I needed the strength and Luther was the first person I thought about.'

'Why couldn't you be like Hulk or Wonder Woman?' Diego complained, untying Klaus from the ropes from his wrist.

Just as I finished untying Luther, I heard the voice. Her voice.

'Majority of the Hargreeves in one room, very impressive.'

'Yup, did it all by myself. Are you proud or what?' I implied as I popped up from behind Luther, quickly shifting to Lila. 'Couldn't find Five or Y/N but asked the commission to keep an eye on them while I'm here.'

The Handler smiled, 'Good work. So tell me why everyone's untied except for Luther and Vanya?'

With Luther's hands still behind his back, he played along and kept his hands as if it were still tied. Vanya was still tied up from when Lila captured her, since Diego and I didn't have the chance to untie her yet.

Klaus, Allison and Diego on the other hand, stood still and stared at me. Thinking of some random excuse, I went along with the first one I could think of. 'I've rumored them to stay like that and to keep their mouth shut. They're harmless now.'

'Brilliant. Wow, Lila. You're more ready than I thought you were.' She walked over to me then "booped" my nose.

Oh, what I'd do to wipe the strong perfume off my nose. I just kept on talking to The Handler, hoping that it would distract me from the smell. 'So what should we do with this baby?'

'I'll take care of it. Raise it like I raised you, make it a warrior and hopefully become a powerful part of the commission.'

'She.' I corrected her. 'The baby is not a thing.'

The Handler chuckled, putting her briefcase down as she walked closer to me. 'Does it matter? Don't tell me you're attached to.. "her". Are you?'

'No, mom. Just wondering if you ever thought of me like you do this baby.' I was a bit proud of myself, thinking of a scenario and keeping Lila's accent as I fooled this woman.

'Oh, no darling. I could never.' She stood close to me, caressing my cheek and smiled at me. 'You will always be my one and only daughter. Always making me proud.'

'So you don't mind us taking Bel back then?' Allison stood behind her and smiled, knowing that she took The Handler by surprise.

Luther walked over next to Allison, grabbing The Handler's briefcase off the floor. 'Excuse me while I take this off your hand. You won't be needing this anymore.'

The woman's brows raised, confusion rushing through her brains as the rest of my siblings except for Vanya started roaming free. 'H-how did you guys-'

'Ha, it's just me behind my powers.' I revealed myself in front of The Handler, watching her jaw drop. 'My accent was pretty good wasn't it?'

'Way better than The Handler performance, to be honest.' Five popped out of nowhere, smiling and waving at the woman. 'Long time, no see granny. Did you miss me?'

Vanya stood up as Klaus helped her with the rope. 'Uh Five? What did you do to Lila?'

'I figured out that she can manipulate people's powers so I had to improvise.' Five grinned, 'Used my briefcase, zapped us to a time where she won't be able to survive. Now I'm back here.'

Luther stared at him, 'Wow. You're fucking evil.'

'Thank you, how kind of you.'

'You bring my daughter back right now!' The Handler stomped on the floor.

Diego gasped, 'Hey! You're going to ruin our mats. It cost us a fortune building this gym.'

'You only want your daughter back because you have no power when she's gone, right? Just like how you want Bel for her powers.' Five took a step towards her. 'You can't control and manipulate them anymore.'

'Letting you choose the easy way or the hard way.' I watched her squirm, looking around the room for a way to escape or perhaps a weapon that can hurt us.

Klaus smiled, 'There's no way out of here.'

The Handler huffed. 'The commission will come and hunt you forever if you kill me.'

'They already don't like you.' Five laughed, 'We'd be doing them a favor. And you know it.'

She slowly backed away from us, knowing this was the end for her. I would've felt bad about all of this but knowing that she only wanted to use Bel for her "personal project" and seeing how manipulative she was towards Lila, I didn't feel any remorse at all.

'This won't hurt. Maybe.' Five smiled as he inched closer to The Handler.

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- Diego's POV -

Our gym was a wreck. I guess it didn't matter though because we were about to go back to our own timeline, leaving everything we've ever had here. It sucked that we had to leave this place that we called home for the past three years, it was even worse that it got turned into a crime scene all because of this woman that couldn't mind her own business.

I was always for beating the back guys and punishment but seeing how this turn out made my stomach turn a little. It had been a while since we did something as gross as this; not since we all left dad's mansion. But Five mentioned that a bullet through her brain wouldn't even stop her, so I guess this was necessary to stop her once and for all.

At the end of all of this, Bel, Y/N and the rest of the family was alright. That's what mattered.

'Wow, damn.' Luther spoke in awe as he looked around the room. 'This place is... uhm... I'm so sorry guys.'

'It's okay.' Y/N let out a soft laugh, 'Like Five said, we don't belong in this timeline. Nothing here will matter anymore once we go back.'

Allison took a deep breath, trying to catch up her breathing after long, hard work. 'Still, Y/N. This was yours and Diego's home.'

'Honestly I'm more worried about Bel watching us do what we just did.' I looked over at her, realizing that she had fallen asleep in the corner of the gym. 'Oh, well I guess I don't have to worry.'

Klaus got up from the mat, 'So you guys ready to go back home? I know I am.'

'Hold on, there's something I need to do before we go back.' Y/N said, then looked over at Five. 'Do you mind helping me with something?'

✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤ · ✤

The seven of us stood behind a bush, in front of a nice, suburban house after Five zapped us here with a briefcase. Five and Y/N haven't told us where we were yet, guessing that they didn't want to share whatever they were whispering to each other. Luther questioned them, 'Where are we?'

Both of them ignored him, continuing to mumble amongst each other. Y/N seemed sad, as if she was about to cry. I wanted to comfort her but decided to wait until she reached out to me.

Vanya nudged my side, grabbing my attention and looking at me then back to Y/N. 'You know what's going on?'

I shook my head in response as I was confused as she was. Continuing to watch over Y/N, she finally looked over at me and motioned me to come. With Bel in her arms, she held her tight and kissed her forehead. 'Everything okay, Y/N?'

She stared into my eyes, tears streaming down as she nodded slowly. 'You see the two couples inside the house? That's Bel's parents.'

My eyes fell to our baby, then back to her. Hoping that it didn't mean what I thought she meant, I clarified. 'We're not in the 60s anymore, are we?'

Y/N bit her lip and shook her head. 'Five took us forward in time. This is the year we'd turn three years old, where Bel would turn three too.'

'Wait so-' My mind was all over the place, I wasn't prepared for this at all. 'What are you trying to say?'

'You know Diego, you know.' She sniffled, 'Please don't make me say it.'

Y/N cried on my shoulders as I hugged her and Bel tightly, heartbroken that it had to be this way.

I didn't know what I expected when we took her in. I've never thought of the days where we would finally see the rest of the Hargreeves, or getting the briefcase to go back to where we came from. I didn't even imagine the days where Y/N and I would grow old together, raising Bel peacefully as we start our lives in the 60s. I just simply took it day by day, enjoying every single moment with the two girls that I loved so much.

But everything was different now, so different that I didn't expect any of this. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to Bel, I couldn't imagine being back to a "normal" life because my norm was being with her. I knew, however, that this was the right thing to do and I was sure Y/N knew that too. This must've been a tough decision that she had to make, I stood next to her and supported her choice even if it hurt so much.

'Don't cry, mama.' Bel giggled, touching Y/N's cheek and wiping away her tears.

A laugh escaped her mouth, smiling as she kissed the top of Bel's head. 'I'm sorry kiddo. I-I just love you so much.'

'I love you, Bel. More than you could ever know.' Belinda smiled at me as I said those words to her, grabbing me on my nose.

Y/N exhaled, 'You ready, Diego?'

'Yeah.' I said hesitantly, gazing at Bel for the one last time before Allison took her in her arms. 'You're going to say bye too?'

'Something like that.' Allison walked to the front door, guessing that she needed space from me and Y/N.

She mumbled words to Bel, making her eyes turn grayish white for a few seconds before it turned back to normal color. Y/N saw my facial expression change, holding onto my hand as she comforted me. 'It's for the best, Diego.'

Allison knocked on the door then left Bel on the front porch before she joined us back behind the bushes. The couple came out, gasping in surprise as they reunited with their baby once again.

'She's back with her family. It wouldn't have been fair for her to remember everything, you know? A normal life is what we want for her, right?'

I hugged Y/N and kissed her on the cheek as she wrapped her arms around me. We've loved Bel as if she was our own, took care of her for the last three years of our lives. Knowing how much Y/N loved her, it must of been hard to let her go. 'I love you, Y/N. I love you so much.'

'Aw, that is so cute. I love you all. I actually loved that little goofball too.' Klaus joined in on the hug, ruining my not-so-romantic moment with Y/N, although I wasn't slightly upset about it because Klaus was just Klaus.

Luther chuckled, 'Look at us being a family again.'

'Again? We were never a family to begin with.' Five cackled. 'This will be a start of something new, maybe. If you guys won't piss me off, that is.'

'That is the cutest and the kindest thing that's ever came out of your mouth, Five.' Allison grinned.

Five rolled his eyes. 'Ugh, never mind then. Let's just go home.'

'Okay, okay. Quick question though before we have this wonderful and fun time traveling back to 2019.' Klaus beamed, ear from ear. 'So when you turned into Luther, did you turn into Luther? You know, like your body everywhere?'

I hit him on his stomach, grossed out by the imagine in my head. 'Klaus, I swear I will leave you here in the 90s.'

'Actually, that doesn't sound too bad.' Klaus hummed.

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

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[Tags & Tw] Slavery, grooming, abuse, human pet auction, implied/referenced noncon, noncon touching, magnetic restraint implants, drugging/non-consensual drug use, vampire whumpee, they/them whumpee

"This one is damaged, paper says. Apparently the physical defects didn't fix in the turning process."

"Shit, mark it down and put it in with the rest of'em anyways. Just tell the man up front to run a deal."

"You don't think boss'll care?"

"Money is money, right? So long as these bloodsuckers sell, he won't give two fucks."

It was dark as the room filled with stagnant silence, the audience waiting with baited breath for the lights to switch on and announcer to appear.

When he did, it was a little less than grand; a well-suited gentleman taking center stage and cradling a mic close to his lips.

"Welcome to the 500th, yes you heard it right ladies and gentlemen, 500th auction of Lifepets."

Uproarious clapping filled the renovated opera house and it took a long pause to wait for it to thin down. When it did, everyone's attention was hinged on the man's every word.

"I'm pleased to inform that because of this enormous milestone, we've gone above and beyond. Tonight, we'll be auctioning off 50 freshly turned pets."

A cheerful response from the audience would be in any other case, a jovial thing. In this happenstance, it was an ugly, terrifying sound.

"They have been trained briefly, defanged, microchipped and magnetic implants have been surgically installed to each of their limbs for tangle free restraint."

The crowd gave slight chatter amongst themselves, 'ooh's' and 'ahh's' being given the more that the man's voice denoted across the speakers. There was an air of impatience, with every minute spent in lingering wait for the beginning of the festivities.

"Each of the pets will start at a low, low bid of $5,500. And the filing process will be a low, set rate of $500 for this special night only."

Large display monitors flipped on behind the tables and chairs that were set up for guests, their image turning to a small string of information about the upcoming, first selling item. All sight turned to peek at it and very little description was given seeing as the pet would be brought out on stage soon.

"We thank you all from the bottoms of our hearts for helping make this possible and keeping our business thriving. Whether you're looking for a caretaker, a sexual partner, release for that anger you don't have to feel guilty for... Lifepets has you covered."

At the 'joke' the man had made, there was laughter of all kinds and some lasted longer than others and each had it's own tone. Embarrassment, genuine humor, some patrons looked at each other with slimy grins that spread ear to ear. Like it really was such a funny thing to tease about.

"Without further delay, if everyone could look at the screens in the back of the building. To get us started right, we're going to drop the initial bid for this first pet down to $500. You could pay as little as $1,000 to take them home tonight."

The first vampire was brought out in the darkness of the stage behind the announcer, their limp, doll-like body being propped up in such a way that it held itself up. Whatever drugs they were given were strong, they couldn't manage to pull their head up much from it's half-mast position on their shoulders.

The screens displayed in large, white font on black backgrounds.

22 Years old at turning.

Blonde hair, blue eyes.

One tattoo, no major scarring.

60 days mandatory training completed.

More bright, blinding overheads turned on and it made the bound vampire on stage want to recoil into a ball despite their lethargy. Everything had giant, shining prisms casting off every beam of light; the reflections off mirrors and glass tables illuminating the room with a dim ambiance.

A gloved man grabbed the downcast head of the terrified creature and forced it's head up to meet eyes with the crowd. A tinge of piercing blue cast a ring in other worldly eyes and pupils trembled in what they saw before them.

Wolves, it was like a pack of hungry wolves. Being promised they can torment and torture without the need to feel anything akin to remorse. Even though they were once human, the modification to their DNA made all the difference. The stillness to their heart and deadened response to their lungs was the damning physical traits that lead them to a life of servitude.

"Now I won't lie to you... The discount is for damage, from what we understand, this pet has a few physical conditions that weren't reversed in the transformation process. It's left ear is deaf and left eye blind. All the better though, huh? Wouldn't be hard to sneak up on this one, hahaha."

The gloved man turned the vampires face towards the near-by projector camera and fingers squeezed into the hollows of their cheeks to tell them to open their mouth. When they did, two gaping extractions were throwing off their bite-line, teeth missing all together to prove their fangs had been dealt with.

"Give a little something sexy for the camera..." The man whispered and shoved a leather cased thumb against a plush, pink tongue. It idly wrapped around the digit and dry, uncared for lips closed in an absent sucking motion.

"Their second virginity hasn't been claimed, though, they've been shown how to do a little of the basics. So you're able to get them put to work right away."

No matter where the vampire looked, there was a seedy, low-brow looking person, staring them down like a predator to prey. Their mind was overwhelmed by the drugs in their system but also the thought of eventually being alone with one of these menacing faces.

Drool now clung to their lips from the unwelcomed finger in their mouth but once it was gone, the distraction was over and it almost made the vampire whimper in distress. They just wanted to get it over with, or stay with their handlers. At least the handlers had a guide of loose rules they had to follow.

The more that the man talked, the more the faces around them contorted with plans of sadistic glee. The vampires vision doubled at times, making the room spin with dozens of sets of prying eyes and wicked smiles.

A particularly cruel tug at the magnetic restraints and the gloved man had the vampire yanked down further to their hands and knees. Another push and he bent their middle down, accentuating the curve of their backside and the spread of their thighs.

Tears built up in the blue, ocean eyes and they were fought back when the leather glove carded through their hair. They would never have a chance of getting a good home or serving a worthy master if they were such awful cry babies. Or so their inner voice told them.

The smallest spark of motivation gave the vampire a reason to arch their back and lean into the touch that soothed across their body to cause them to naturally react.

Impatience started to build in the crowd and the announcer was merely letting them all take in the show.

Bare, porcelain skin being displayed on multiple, floor to ceiling screens as the vampire's lips hung open in the tiniest display of pleasure. Fingers curled into blonde hair and ruined the look of lust on their features; a ringing stab of pain to awaken their senses and widen their dopey doe-eyes. Shock looked so pretty when it was tacked to the end of bliss.

"So... Do I hear $500 for the discount pet?"

"$500!"

"$1,000!"

"$3,000!"

"$5,000!"

A twisted pang of relief filled the vampire when they heard the different voices from all around the building echo their bids. The number went higher and higher and it gave them the smallest sliver of hope. That they weren't too damaged and broken for a master after all and that they'd be able to be sold. They told themselves they would be grateful to even get a home but now, it seemed like it was really going to happen.

The vampire felt the unlatching of their magnetic shackles and instead, the gloved man crossed their wrists together for the plates to lock to themselves. He grabbed their arm and pulled them to their feet as the bidding war started to come to a final climax. Ready to drag them back behind the stage curtain to prepare for their future owner.

"Going once, going twice...and... SOLD. To the guest at table 38 for $16,800!"

[snackhobi]

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

--

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

--

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn. 

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision. 

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

--

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better. 

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting. 

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time. 

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze. 

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne  glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter  (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would. 

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer. 

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp. 

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before. 

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth. 

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away. 

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic. 

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say. 

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

--

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later. 

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast. 

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you. 

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting. 

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter. 

“That’s for certain,” she says. 

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty. 

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again. 

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too. 

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps. 

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob. 

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

[petroltogo]

Pls

Tsuna gets angry-kun out bcs his minions love him.

Pls.

Wanna see it

*cracks knuckles* Alright, Varia handler! Tsuna and the Kokuyo Gang planning a heist for the sake of the Varia’s greater good. Here we go:

Chikusa hadn’t expected Tsunayoshi to contact him. He definitely hadn’t expected Tsunayoshi to want his help in infiltrating Vongola Inc. to release one of their most valuable prisoners. But fucking with Vongola isn’t a job, it’s a damn pleasure. Besides Ken’s been getting twitchy lately. [There’s also the matter that there’s very little Tsuna-kun could ask for that Chikusa wouldn’t grant. But it’s not like Mukuro-sama doesn’t know that so there’s no point in bringing it up.]

The plan is simple and bloodless which is a damn shame, though not unexpected considering it’s Tsunayoshi who’s come up with it.

Vongola Inc.’s HQ looks like an impenetrable fortress -- and they come close, Chikusa will give them that. Their security is impressive and even the most talented hackers can’t infiltrate a system that doesn’t have any entry points. However, Vongola Inc. is a company. Is made up of humans who come and go every damn day. One of those humans is Tsunayoshi. And it doesn’t matter how great the security system is when someone pulls the door open for you.

[continues under the cut]

Not for Chikusa, mind. He and Ken get the fun part because they get to blow Vongola Inc.’ entrance up [taking care not to kill the security that Tsunayoshi greets by name because of course he does] and make a great show of being far more trouble than two supers against an entire organization could ever be.

That’s not to say no one dies. That would be a lie. Sure, they could’ve avoided the bloodshed entirely, maybe, but would Vongola Inc. have taken them seriously? Would them holding back have endangered their own lives? They leave the bystanders and the unarmed be and that’s more than Tsunayoshi dared to ask of them.

[Mukuro never forgot his origin. Chikusa doesn’t remember before but the sight of the Vongola Inc. logo brings long, too-bright hallways to mind and Ken has killed his first three Vongola operatives before the memories fully settle within their consciousness and Chikusa follows him like he always does.]

In the meantime, Mukuro ghosts through the chaotic hallways on the lower levels in Tsunayoshi’s shadow, unseen. They’ve entered the Rubbish Bin before the attack even started and the moment the first -- and unknown to Vongola last -- explosion shakes the building, one of his darling puppets [little Tsu-kun’s knowledge of which employees are responsible for what is proving so very useful] cuts the camera feeds on the five lower floors. It wouldn’t do to give their true target away after all.

Inside the Rubbish Bin, Tsunayoshi points out the sculpture in question and with an order from Mukuro to one of his favorite puppets, it disappears. 

[Mukuro doesn’t normally keep his puppets around long enough to pick favorites. Most of the time they’re too broken for him not to lose his patience but teleporters rarely run out of usefulness. And sure, Vongola Inc. has defences against them -- every organization worth their power does. But bringing those shields down from the inside isn’t as hard as people think it is.]

For a long moment, Tsunayoshi and Mukuro both stare at the empty space where the sculpture used to be. “You sure about this, Tsu-kun?” Mukuro asks after a moment, ignores the flinch in response to the nickname. He’s not sure why he asks -- he already knows what the response will be. [Knows it’s far too late for Tsunayoshi to change his mind.] But. It doesn’t have to be him. Mukuro’s hands are covered in blood and for all that it seems like such a negligible difference, saying ‘blow it up’ and pushing the trigger isn’t the same thing. It’s something that Mukuro could shoulder, for he wouldn’t even notice the added weight. And that thought, that desire is-- odd. Mukuro has never wished to shelter anyone else. How curious that Tsunayoshi still hasn’t lost that hold over him, even after all these years.

[Ah, sentiments. They will be the death of him one day.]

Tsunayoshi grits his teeth. His hands are trembling faintly as they reach for the explosives he carries in his unremarkable backpack that no security personal has given a second look, but that doesn’t stop him from walking further down the narrow aisle between the shelves. “Let’s get to work.”

Ten minutes after Chikusa’s and Ken’s frontal assault starts, they get the hell out of dodge. Two minutes after that the Rubbish Bin in the heart of the Vongola Inc. HQ is blown up, taking a good third of the first floor with it.

Everything that was stored within is lost in the explosion.

[Here’s the thing: They don’t need to attack Vongola to rescue Xanxus. They don’t need to destroy countless of unidentified and identified objects and material that ranges from worthless to priceless, don’t need to blow up all those records. The most valuable information is kept elsewhere anyway. But then, isn’t all information valuable. If it was just about getting Xanxus out, all Tsuna would’ve needed was to borrow the services of Mukuro’s teleporter. It would’ve taken ten seconds, if that.

But. It’s not just about getting Xanxus out. Tsuna has to think longterm. Has to consider that he doesn’t know yet how to get Xanxus out of the ice, what kind of damage he’s dealing with. Has to cover the Varia because they will fall under suspicion immediately, reasonable or not, the second Xanxus disappears. Has to buy time. As much as possible. And there’s no way to make Xanxus disappear subtly.

So Tsuna does the opposite. Because an attack by some villain brazen enough to openly move against Vongola, to be crazy enough to set up explosives right in the heart of their HQ -- that’s a statement and a powerful one at that. That Xanxus di Vongola is among the collateral damage, well. That’s just too bad, isn’t it?]

aka the one where Tsuna decides there’s no half-hearted way to move against Vongola. If you aren’t with them, then you’re blowing them up, there is no middle ground.

[Mukuro, Chikusa & Ken in the background: Well, actually you could just...

Tsuna: No. middle. ground.]

Is this me shamelessly poking fun at Vongola for failing to notice Xanxus’ disappearance in the main fic? No, why ever would I do that