#i needa draw more of this fire man

[didderd]

sorry i gave fell Grillby facial 'hair'

[burnedbyshoto]

so sweet

— Well, you always knew Tamaki’s quirk was extremely versatile. You just didn’t expect him to be able to go this far. Or, a story in which you and Tamaki find out if he can manifest a pussy.

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pairing: amajiki tamaki x fem!reader

warnings: dom!reader, sub!tamaki, food play (whipped cream, strawberries), tamaki with a pussy, strap-on, spreader bar, blindfold, handcuffs, cunnilingus (giving & receiving), praise kink (giving), choking (giving), pwp-ish

word count: 4,037

a/n: day two of kinktober. i’ve been waiting for m o n t h s for a tamaki fucker to write this prompt, but no one had, so I did it. I have no regrets in writing this other than not making tamaki call reader mommy/daddy some shit like tht, but oh well. enjoy! remember to comment of fics you like :D

main kink: food play

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You never believed that aphrodisiacs actually manipulated one’s ability to get in the mood.

It just never made sense to you.

A natural ability to get your blood pumping, the hormones in your veins screeching blasphemy, stopping at nothing until a warm, dull, yet unignorable ache settled in your bones? No, it just seemed too easy. Especially with all the different quirks and abilities in the world, it seemed unnatural for people to even seek natural ways to get horny.

But still, upon being questioned by none other than Nejire about if you had ever incorporated food into your sex life with your fiance, Amajiki Tamaki, it finally intrigued you.

It intrigued you so much that you couldn’t help but bring it up one night after he had come home after a long day of work. His bed ready body sinking into the mattress beside you where you lay, reading multiple different articles on the sciences and best aphrodisiac foods. 

“What do you think about aphrodisiac foods?” came the inevitable question that passed through your lips as the man with soft raven hair pillowed into your side, his slitted pupil staring at you with mild intrigue, embarrassment, and exhaustion.

“They’re mostly unhelpful in battle,” Tamaki mumbles into your skin, the blush on the tips of his ears noticeable. 

Despite the history between the two of you, knowing that your soon to be husband still blushed as easily as he once did (sometimes over nothing) made your chest warm. “If I had to eat one from that category, it would definitely have to be oysters and honey.” Tamaki settles on his words with a content sigh. You have to resist the guilty flush at the back of your neck at his innocence of your inquiry. “Oysters because of the shell, and honey makes for a great defensive item and trap,” he adds a bit afterward, his calloused fingers running up and down your stomach, a gentle way of coaxing you into laying down with him. “Why?”

“No reason,” you smile down at him, your head pressing down to press a kiss to his temple.

But, both of you knew you were lying.

However, truth or not, it would be the question that would lead both of you to this very moment. 

Tamaki strapped to the bed, arms cuffed with black leather handcuffs, legs separated with a silver spread bar, eyes shielded from the world with a silk blindfold, and an arrangement of covered bowls sitting patiently around him, untouched, unused.

“How are you feeling, bunny?” you coo, your lips pressing gently to the insides of Tamaki’s trembling thighs. 

There’s no response, just more trembling thighs, a slight shift in his back as he adjusts himself, but you continue to press warm, painted kisses against the inside of his thighs. Tamaki’s pitched breathing continues to push higher and higher, the small, unavoidable stutter in his voice hitched, almost hiccuping as he nods his head. 

“Use your words, bunny,” you mumble against his skin. Pretty painted lips pressing trailing kisses up his thigh, your nose pressed into the crevice between his crotch and his thigh, delighting in the pure, unrestrained moan that falls from his mouth. He shakes underneath you, the growing needy noises of his unrestricted lust sending growing fires down towards your own cunt, singing blissfully about just how much he wants this. “I can’t move on until you use your words,” you try again, watching as his head nods pathetically, his bottom lip flushed red from his teeth assaults.

“T-This feels good,” Tamaki shudders, his body shaking under your change of movement, obviously liking how your lips press to the scars on his stomach, your fingers drawing lazy, imperfect circles around his cock head that’s weeping with precum. “I want more, butterfly, please g-give me m…ahhh... more!”

 “What do you want more of?” you hum, your lips tracing up his chest, stopping against the popping vein on his neck, your teeth-baring softly onto the vein as he curses the gods upon the contact. Your hand circles around his cock, the ridiculously hot length throbbing against your hand, and with a breathy chuckle, you grip his cock at the base. "More teasing? More alone time? What does my little bunny crave?”

“Everything you p-promised!” Tamaki curses, hips thrusting upwards into your hands, rubbing blindly, desperately into your expecting fist as your tongue stripes up the length of his chin. “P-Please, butterfly, I want everything you told me what you would do!”

It wasn’t quite the answer you were looking for, but you knew what to expect from Tamaki subbing. The growing wet patches on the blindfold emphasize that you couldn’t push too far, or else it would be over before it began.

“Which food would you like first?” you asked, deciding to push ahead, bringing the covered bowls to your side. You adjusted so that you were straddling his torso, smiling when he whimpered at the feeling of your hot cunt against his body. 

“W-Whipped cream,” he breathed so quietly you almost missed it. Smiling to yourself, you grabbed the small cylinder container and focused your attention on his light brown nipples and prominent collarbone. 

“Whipped cream it is,” you tease, your head stretching down so that your lips pressed two painted and wet kisses over his hardened nipples, and the soft, sugary moan that passed his lips in result nearly made you abandon this entire scenario altogether. 

This was just for initial contact, to wet his skin, you had to repeat in your head as your tongue flicked over his warm nipple, his hips snapping up into the abandoned air as you slinked forward to press light, intentioned kisses to his collarbone.

Right as his bitten ruby red lips opened to demand something more from you, you pressed the canister to his abandoned nipples and allowed the application of the sticky wet and white sugar onto his body. Your teeth continued to nibble on his collarbone as you did this, watching his every reaction — little and big — in an attempt to see just how much he liked it. 

When you finally pulled away, you made sure to leave with a loud pop, smiling at the loud whine that escaped his lips when you sprayed the food against his collarbone. 

“Imma lick it off now,” you explained, fingers raking just hard enough to leave a trail of goosebumps as you planted your ass onto his throbbing, hard cock. “Do you want to watch?”

“I d-don’t—” he hiccuped, breathing erratic, face dangerously red beneath the blindfold. “I don’t know!”

“Okay, no worries, bunny,” you coo, fingers stroking his wet cheeks. “I’ll let you test it out. I’ll lick the first one off without you looking, and you’ll tell me how you like it, okay?”

“T-That sounds good,” he agrees, and you waste no time.

Your mouth envelopes his sugar covered nipple, the sweet thickness of the cream being swallowed in your mouth as you push even further. Tamaki cries beneath you.

Humming, your tongue laps at the sticky sugar on his skin, the salty taste of his skin, and the sweet of the sugar invading your taste buds. You do your best to hold him down, your teeth taking his pebbled nipple in and tugging on it until the light brown color of his nipple turns red until he’s rutting senselessly and desperately into your clothed cunt.

Desperate and needy for more. 

Your fingers dive beneath the breast of his chest, teasing the muscled valley as you continue lapping his nipple into overstimulation.

“The next one!” he wheezes. “P-Please, butterfly, the next tone!”

“Do you want to watch?” you ask, stupidly addicted to the way his nipple tastes in your mouth. “Wanna watch me suck your nipple?”

Tamaki shakes his head frustratedly, longingly, “I can’t, it’ll make me cum!”

You almost feel sorry for him.

You perform the same exact thing to his other nipple, teeth tugging at the sensitive skin, tongue swirling the throbbing skin in your mouth until he’s begging for something more, anything more. You sticky fingers taking his other swollen nipple, pinching and pulling it until he can only mantra your name. You wish you were strong enough to deny him, but the rutting against your covered cunt, the delicious sultry whines, and breathy moans and tears that stream down his face is too much for you.

You’re up off his torso, your fingers ripping off your panties with reckless abandon.

Tamaki’s breathing is heavy, almost delirious as your fingers tug down the silk blindfold, so it's fallen to his neck. It sits around his skin, wet and shiny. But Tamaki’s tear-soaked eyes are scrunched closed when your lips suddenly press to his.

Chapped, swollen, and hot lips quiver against yours, so nervously, so messily, you’re nearly kissing just his teeth. 

“I needa—” he pants, his head tilting to that your nose meets his mouth. “I needa cum, butterfly, please.”

You hum, a bit disappointed in the relatively quick ending of your kiss, but you pulled away. Twisting around, your arm stretched out, and you went into an abandoned bowl. Tamaki watched you like a hawk.

With a hammering heart, and heat pulsating through your entire body, you turned your head to look at him. It was slow, methodic, and seductive, and Tamaki’s teeth found his bottom lip once again as you met his eyes through hooded eyes. 

“Open up, bunny.” 

Obediently, Tamaki’s mouth opened, and you brought your hand to his line of sight, and clutched between your warm fingers was a bright red strawberry covered in white, sweet cream. “Eat it quickly,” you drawl slowly as you press the strawberry to his lips, smiling slowly when the white cream covers his equally red lips. “I have an even better dessert after this.”

The gulp from his throat sent a maddening, delirious shiver down your spine.

And he devoured it without a moment of hesitation.

Licking the remaining cream on his lips, you giggled when he gasped against your tongue, and you moved.

Pushing up off the bed, you felt power thrum through you as his eyes darkened in lust and his still growing need as you gently pressed his forehead to the mattress. His breathing seemed to stop as the two of you stared at one another, like a prey looking eyes with a predator, knowing the inevitable outcome of the nearing events.

“Don’t disappoint me,” you tease, lowering yourself to his eagerly awaiting mouth.

The moan that poured through your spine was nearly immediate; the feeling of his cold tongue and wet lips pressing against your slick covered cunt was exhilarating as it was relieving. Your eyes instantly rolling to the back of your head when his strawberry coated tongue pushed through your swollen lips to lap at your pulsating core.

A breathless, whining sigh escaped your lips when Tamaki’s nose carted between your folds, the tip of his nose brushing against your sensitive clit, and you rotate your hips in your content.

“Yes, bunny, just like that. Eat my pussy just like that!” you cry in joy, your fingers pushing your breasts free from your bra to pull and tug at your attention-demanding nipples. “You eat me out s-so good, pretty little mouth, slutty little tongue.”

At the mention of slut, Tamaki moaned deep within you, his tongue vibrating in your core with his verbal appraisal, and your toes curled at the alluring sensation. 

Grabbing a fistful of his hair, you began to rock your hips faster against his face, your chest puffing with pride when Tamaki’s hands banged against the restraints, a telling that he wanted to touch you, and the stupid, soft, needy gasps passed into your core only drove you on further. A whimper went through you when you leaned slightly forward, your clit unapologetically pressing against his nose, and the electric stimulation coursing through your body with that alone had your toes curling. And the pressure in your lower belly was only growing more and more.

His tongue continued to lap within you, the nearly greedy slurps he took with your growing aggressive rutting making you sing his name in praise and encouragement. Amajiki Tamaki was many things, and his ability to use that tongue was a higher skill of his you personally enjoyed. 

“Taste so good,” Tamaki babbled from beneath you, his mouth latching onto your clit. “So, so good.”

It’s the moment his teeth sink against your clit that you slam forward, hand banging against the wall to steady you as an orgasm rips through you, the shriek on your tongue echoing off the wall. 

All is silent for a bit as you roll off your fiancé's right side who is panting heavily, his eyes closed as he breathes in steadily, the shine of your slick on his face bright under the dim lights of the room. You blink as you stare at him, the serenity on his face from making you cum without a doubt the cause of it, but you weren’t done with this night.

Not yet.

“Bunny?” you whisper questioningly against his pointed ear, grinning slowly as the tip flushes red and goosebumps flash across his skin. 

“Y-Yes?” Tamaki stammers, his eyes screwing tighter instead of opening.

A sugar-sweet giggle is unable to be stopped as you press forward, your teeth nibbling on his ear just hard enough that the sound Tamaki makes is a cross between throbbing lust and gently pain. He trembles as he does so, and you can’t help but swell in the thought that right now, especially as he shakes, he looks like a defenseless, needy bunny.

“I want to see you try it now,” you request, your left hand supporting your head, and your right hand tracing a single finger down his twitching abdominal muscles until it reaches his weeping cock. You grasp his throbbing cock firmly, contently studying the way he resists against his restraints as his back arched off the bed, hips blindly thrusting into your fist. “I want to see you manifest a pussy, bunny,” you nearly whine as your grip on his cock only tightens.

“A-Ah!” Tamaki cries, his face flushed a dark red. His hips instinctively rut up to your grasp, but you’re smart enough now, and you follow it, denying him the friction he so craves. “I-I-I can’t!”

“Why not?” you pout, drawing even closer to his blushing face, smirking when you could feel the pulsing blood in his face radiate off onto you. “Why won’t you try for me, bunny? I know you can do it! You’d look so cute with a pussy like mine, so tight, so wet, so… sweet.”

Tamaki splutters when your tongue swipes against his lips, and he still tastes of you and strawberries.

So sweet.

“Do it for me, bunny, I wanna see it…”

“W-What if I can’t?” Tamaki almost sobs, and you warm at his words.

“Then I’ll ride your cock until your cock is bruised, and I’m pregnant with your kids,” you promise, your lips pressing against his despite the obvious whimper on his tongue.

Then, you felt it.

The cock in your fist began to change. Warm energy emitting from where his cock once was as you pulled away from his quivering lips to look at the pretty pink pussy that manifested where his cock once was. It was void of pubes, looking as smooth as a baby’s butt, and was absolutely soaked.

If you thought you’d had heard the pitchiest squeak coming from Tamaki’s mouth before, it was nothing like this when he too took a look at his pussy.

“O-Oh my god,” he breathlessly whispers, and you feel a thrilling sensation rock through your entire body as you’re now much more focused on the gleaming cunt on your fiancés lower body. 

In an almost trance-like feeling, you had the spreader bar in your fist and slammed it up to his face so that he could hold it. The simple action allowing Tamaki’s fully formed cunt to spread open for you in all its soaked glory. The smell of his sex alluring and almost spicy as you found your tongue shoved all the way into his awaiting cunt, and he howled.

A wordless command passed through your body as you let go of the cold spreader bar to Tamaki, who held it above his head as if it was his lifeline. You took sloppy, loud, and aggressive licks and sucks o his sweet essence, moaning at the copious amount of slick that easily poured from his cunt that throbbed like a vice around your tongue.

You wanted more from him, you craved more for him, and before you knew it, your fingers were curled above your tongue. You could feel the puffiness of his inner walls, and you delighted more when his clit against your nose throbbed with vivacity. 

“Y-Y/N!” Tamaki all but screams as you drunkenly drink his sweet essence, delirious on the taste and the sounds he was making. “My stomach — fuck, fuck, fuck — my stomach feels so funny! It’s feeling so-o aahhh, oh my god, so tingly!”

And you rip away.

Your eyes are owlishly large as you stare at the now writhing with discontent Tamaki who was crying with the unknowing need to cum.

He was close, you realized, so fucking close.

“Don’t leave me!” he shrieked as you tumbled off the bed, your legs feeling weak with your growing euphoria. “Finish what you started!”

A chuckle rips through your body as you pull up the harness that was hanging by the nightstand.

“Oh, I intend to, bunny.”

With a loud zipping of fabric, Tamaki’s head snapped upward to look at you, and you smiled knowingly.

His eyes were red and swollen with his tears, his face red as you’ve ever known, and his exposed cunt (which was still exposed as his hands pathetically still held onto the spreader bar) was soaking the bed with his essence, but he couldn’t even bear to feel embarrassed.

Why?

Well, strapped to your hips, and supported around your thighs was a pretty pink harness with a massive, veined, curved, cum spilling dildo attached to it.

“Do you like it?” you ask innocuously, your finger pressing to your bottom lip.

He can only gulp.

“I think,” you start off slowly, crawling back onto the bed to sit right before his exposed cunt. Your hands move to the cuffs on the spreader bar to slowly release his ankles from the restraints. “Well, I just love when you cum deep within me… and your cock is so big, so good, I just had to repay you for always fucking me so. fucking. good.”

“B-Butterfly!” he keens as you allow his legs to drop to the sides of you, and you sit up off your knees, placing the head of the dildo between his pink lips. His head falls to the mattress, his back arching as you continue to slick the dildo up with his dripping slick. 

“Hm?” you answer, looking into his dark, glazed over eyes. Your hips, however, continue to shallowly thrust against the folds of his pussy, coating the pink silicone with shiny slick. A lazy smirk falls on your lips at the sight of his red face. “What do you want, Ta-ma-ki?”

“Fuck me.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

With one hand guiding the head of the pink dildo into his pink, quivering cunt, and the other on his trembling thigh, you pushed through his tight entrance.

The moan that bubbled past Tamaki’s lips was near-pornographic as you as calmly as you could, pushed all the way in. You allowed Tamaki to adjust to the cock in his cunt, undoubtedly new to the sensation that having a thick, long cock buried deep within your cunt felt like. His hands, still bound to the headboard, were clawed in his sensual pleasure, and you enjoyed the way his eyelids fluttered, his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

His hips twirled against the dildo, and you looked down, truly fascinated with the way his pussy squeezed around the strapon that you imagined as an extension of yourself. Imagining the sensation of his cunt against your strap, the heated slick of his cunt, and you felt your own heat blazing down your inner thighs.

“So cute, so pretty,” you purr, your hips falling back before softly thrusting back into him.

The sight of the dildo disappearing into his cunt is inconceivable, and despite his choking, gasping breaths, you pull out and thrust back in. 

Again.

“Oh.”

Again.

“O-Oh my—”

Again.

“Y-Y/N!” Tamaki wailed as suddenly your hips were thrusting into him, delivering the pretty pink dildo all the way until you felt the natural barrier of his cervix. But you were hooked on this power. The dizzying sensation that boiled deep within your bloodstream as Tamaki thrashed beneath you.

Your fingers dug into his thighs, pressing his knees into the mattress as you pressed up, allowing for the new angles of gravity to help thrust down heavier, harder, faster.

“Such a sweet, perfect pussy,” you gasp against Tamaki’s sweaty, exposed neck. “You’re so good, bunny, so tight and cute around my cock. Do you like my cock? Do you like the way it feels to be stretched out like this? To be fucked to irrationality? This is how you make me feel all the time, bunny. You understand that I needed to repay you, right?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Tamaki cried, the babbling yes’s growing louder and continued as you continued to drill into him, the squelching of his pussy, and the slapping of your thighs on his ass coming together to play a symphony only the two of you would know.

His hiccuping sobs are stopped when your fingers blindly snatched a strawberry from the nearby bowl, shoving it within his mouth. You drink in the way the flesh of the berry breaks against his lips and the way he sloppily, almost pathetically eats it from your fingers. The sticky sweet red juices spill past his lips, dribbling down his chin as he attempts to eat it, and you lean forward, licking the juices that escape his mouth clean off his skin.

You trail up, kissing, licking, and biting every piece of unattended flesh, and with your fingers still in his mouth, you kiss him.

“My stomach!” Tamaki cries against your tongue and fingers. “It feels — r-right there — it feels tingly! Like it's on.. ahhh, on fire!”

“That’s a good thing, bunny,” you swear, your hips powerful, sharp, and delivering upon every fantastic dick down he had ever given you. Your free hand reaches for the blindfold that went ignored for so long around his neck, and with the renown power of being a pro hero, you tightened it around his throat, choking him of his mindless babbling, making him arch off the mattress. “That means you’re gonna cum, cum for me, bunny, cum. Cum and I'll fill you up with my cum too, you'll look so cute with my cum dripping from your cunt, wouldn't ya, bunny?”

And then, it happens, Tamaki’s teeth bite down on your fingers, eyes crossing and rolling to the back of his head. His body going rigid for a second before massive trembles shake through his entire body, and the unfamiliar whirring of the dildo informs you that it caught onto his orgasm. In return, it hums as fake cum spills from the dildo, splattering into Tamaki’s pretty pink cunt.

His body trembles as he collapses completely against the mattress, and you can only stare after him, your own breathing scattered and shallow as he seems to be transcending from his body as he lays there. Bliss painted in every corner of his body.

You move out, letting the massive dildo escape his tight cunt, and you’re pleased when the white cum slowly seeps from his slit.

It was then that you realized just how extremely lucky you were to be marrying someone like Tamaki, and you paused, thinking about just how many things the two of you could now do.

Oh yeah, this was definitely going to be a journey.

[bread-elf]

DWC 2020 - Day 21

Judgement

Warlords of Draenor

Deacon Hayward, a Kul'tiran man with dirty blonde hair and a gruff beard to match, sat at his usual table at the Pig and Whistle tavern. Drinking ale, flirting with the waitress, he sat upstairs as he waited for his usual contacts to come for their goods. Conducting a business in 'less than savory' deals he found Old Town the best place to cover his tracks, already littered with criminals that took all the attention of the Guards of Stormwind. A simple sailor only in Stormwind every few months, visiting his favorite eatery, though the ale tasted like piss.

The door to the tavern opens downstairs, and where Deacon sits he has a view of who comes in and out. Expecting it to be one of his contacts, but it turns out to be one he hadn't prepared on meeting this trip around, having seen her last time. Anxiety starts to swell, did he forget something? He had seen this Kaldorei get in a few scraps at the pub, beating people to a pulp with the fury worse than a sea wife.

As the Kaldorei comes closer he leans back in his seat, putting on his most charming smile to dissuade her, even though he had caught on that it just annoys her more than anything. Yet he sometimes wondered if she had a fondness of being annoyed. “Oi there, lassy!” Reaching up and running a hand through his hair as she comes closer, that hair that reminded him of the ocean waves sticking out like a sore thumb. “I- don’ think we wus supposed ta meet so soon…” As she stands by the table his smile falters, seeing blisters on her long ears and a X marked on the cheek of her pretty face. Her anger filled stare is the same as usual, yet the scars make it all the more intense. “Ope, lass, ya’ uh… Got in a bit o’ a scruff, eh?” “You have a connection to mercenaries, don’t you?” Jiroki asks as she leers down at the man, drawing a few eyes their way at her imposing nature. Deacon glances around a little wary, uncomfortable with the looks. “Lass, heheh, you know I’m just a simple sailor.” Putting emphasis on his words. “Guess I know a few sellswords…” Jiroki slams her hands on the table, causing Deacon to jump in his chair. “Cut the shit.” She hisses quietly. “I’m on a hunt. I need people to go with me, people with a backbone, hunters that can kill their mark. You’re going to bring these people to me. She will die the next I see her.” “Uh-” Deacon is a bit at a loss for words. But given how adamant and in his face she is, he starts to think. “Ya’ know I don’ run a charity here. Ya’ gonna needa-” A bag of coins lands on the table with a heavy thunk, Jiroki staring down at the Kul’tiran as he looks at it in shock. It’s a hefty back, and when he peaks inside he sees it filled entirely with gold coins. “I don’t care the price.” Jiroki straightens. “And I don’t care where you find them; they could be murderers for all I care.” Deacon purses his lips, giving a little bit of an innocent glance around before shrugging his shoulders. “Well iffin that’s wot the lady wants…” Reaching over and sliding the bag of gold towards him. “I’ll get ya’ a team.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jiroki could feel the new scar on her cheek itch as she stared at the cottage in the distance, hidden in the hills. It looked like such a quaint place, yet lurking inside is the woman whose blood she craved to spill. Beside her she could feel the cold presence of the Death Knight. A human woman, only going by the name of Jolean, though she never spoke. Instead her icy gaze pierced towards the college, waiting like a hound to be commanded. “Michael is returning.” A night elf, Moonshadow, says. Once a druid, relatively young with his deep blue hair pulled back into a bun. He had left their people years ago, using unorthodox means in their practice that were a disgrace. If A’llaen was still alive, they’d probably be around the same age. The Worgen, Michael Thyme, comes back with his pack of bloodhounds. They had scouted around the perimeter, investigating a suspicion Jiroki had. “Ya’ wer right.” Michael sniffs, his canine tongue coming out and licking along his snout. “She got some sort o’ workshop in dem hills. Ya’ want me ta rig dem explosives I brought?” “Yes.” Jiroki says firmly. “I’ll distract her. She’s probably expecting me.” Her fingers grip around the handle of her umbra crescent. She had last donned this weapon when still with the Watchers of Hyjal. But for this hunt she needed her best. Michael left to go get his explosives ready; she needed to destroy Ellie’s workshop, where she constructed the reapers she experimented with, like the ones that had killed her regiment and Gelt and Eilynne. While he prepared that, she would instigate the hunt, accompanied by Moonshadow and Jolean. Jiroki boldly walks up to the door. Uncaring of any pleasantries or surprised reactions, she brings her foot up and kicks open the door, the wooden knob splintering as it's forced open. Ellie looks over in alarm, at a work bench as she tinkered with some mechanisms. Her strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail as some oil streaked her cheek. The human has little time to react as the Kaldorei suddenly rushes in like a bat out of hell, bringing up her umbra crescent to slice it down. It meets with wood as the warlock Blinks herself away, a former mage before she went down a different path in life. She quickly rushes for the broken door, intent on making a mistake. A chill is felt down to the core as Jolean waits right outside, a broad sword in hand as she swipes it towards Ellie. The warlock manages to move just in time, but Jolean raises a hand and sends out a shadow grip, bringing the warlock back to her and cleave unto her broadsword. Ellie manages to cast a shield just in time to protect herself from it, immediately casting her own shadow bolts. Jolean raises her arms up and takes a few steps back, giving Ellie a moment to cast a raining demon bolt from the sky. Roots start to wrap around Ellie’s feet, causing her to struggle and spot the druid not far off from the cottage. His gaze focused on her as the roots begin to slowly crawl up her legs, squeezing hard. “I’m impressed Jiroki!” A crazed smile on her lips. “You’ve found me! I guess this means you want to play more games?!” Fishing into her pockets for something. “Stop her!” Jiroki shouts from the doorway of the cottage, moving with quick speed to try and get to her, but she isn’t fast enough. Having some sort of mechanism in her pocket Ellie pushes a button. The ground trembles, and from various spots mechanized reapers pull themselves out of the ground, tearing it up and dirt flies. Moonshadow starts to try and tangle the reapers with more roots, but they were coming quickly and he could only snag a few. Ellie burns the roots on her form, uncaring if the fel flames singe her clothes, invigorated by the hunt. She begins to cast some more and summons a large demon by her side, one with a long tail and four arms, brandishing swords. Jolean comes in to intercept the demon specifically, an apathetic look on the Death Knight’s features the whole time. Jiroki’s path is blocked by reapers, trying to weave around them but they are persistent. In frustration she lets out a yell as she lets the arcane erupt from her form, trying to push the reapers back and get Ellie in her sights. When a path is clear Jiroki Blinks through as well, swiping with her crescent and cleaving a slice into the woman. She yelps and moves back, throwing fire in Jiroki’s face to faze her. Ellie runs and Jiroki pursues, but more reapers get in her way. The sound of barking can be heard, and Michael’s pack returns as the bloodhounds come in full force. Michael runs among them on all fours, leaping for a reaper and tearing through its harvester clothing to get to its inner core. His hounds leap up and grab hold of the reaper with their maws, taking it down before they rush the next one. The hounds and Michael now helping take down the reapers it gives Jiroki a better opportunity to get to Ellie. Moonshadow had let his roots overrun the area, now able to capture more reapers and keep them in place. Jiroki catches up to her hunt, swiping at her legs. Ellie falls, Jiroki cutting more off than intended, but that didn’t matter. Reaching down Jiroki roughly flips Ellie onto her back, genuine fear in the eyes of the human. But even in this state she has the audacity to smirk, letting out a scoff. “How does it-” Ellie’s words are cut short as Jiroki slams her umbra crescent down onto the woman’s neck, beheading her and letting the blood spill. Ellie’s face contorts in shock and pain, the anger deep in her eyes, and then stays just like that. Jiroki takes a long, hard look, making sure to sink her crescent deep into the ground. In the background she can hear the other reapers being dismantled, Jolean doing her work now that the demon had been desummoned. After a moment she pulls back, taking the crescent out of the ground, and in a gruesome act of anger kicks the head of Ellie with all her strength, sending it far. “Jolean, Moonshadow, search the place for a Soulstone!” Turning to see them all watching her. They kept their comments to themselves, only here for the pay. “I don’t want to see her coming back, ever! Michael!” Turning to the worgen now, snapping her fingers at the corpse. “You know what to do.” Jolean and Moonshadow leave to go investigate the cottage, and later the workshop hidden in the mountains that Michael rigged with explosives. Michael sends his bloodhounds at the corpse, the ravenous dogs tearing apart the flesh. If Ellie did have a Soulstone, she wouldn’t be able to use her old body. Stepping away Jiroki clenches and unclenches her fists, a brittling rage through her as she gripped her crescent glaive. The hunt is done. Ellie is dead. If there’s a Soulstone it will be found, and it will be destroyed. But Jiroki still felt this bitter hatred for what’s been lost. Jiroki sits down on the grass. Nearby Ellie’s head lay on its side, facing away from her, that strawberry blonde hair messy with dirt and blood. Ellie’s judgement has been done, but Jiroki still craved revenge. A hand raises up to rub over her face, taking some deep breaths, trying to coax down the years upon years of anger. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jiroki sat with Sasil at a small outdoor table, the two enjoying an evening in Stormwind in Cathedral Square. They just had a pleasant meal and Sasil read the Stormwind Daily, Jiroki’s thoughts elsewhere as she looked down at a ring on her finger. “Well, it seems the efforts in Draenor are making progress.” Sasil comments while reading over the paper. “You know my Star I been meaning to share, some of my old colleagues have asked if I wanted to go with them on an expedition out there. There is a lot of activity with the Highmaul, it’s quite interesting.” “Hm…” Jiroki thumbed over the ring on her finger, Sasil having asked her hand in marriage a few weeks ago. It had been months since her hunt, and she had lost her will to do much. But Sasil brought her great comfort, and she cared for him. Gelt often passed by in her mind, still in grief, but there’s hope in the future. Sasil glances to her over the top of the paper, then begins to fold it up. “You’re always… More than welcome to join me, if you wish.” He offers. “A little excursion to a different world sounds fun, no?” “I’ve been thinking…” Jiroki traces her finger over the table they sat at, visualizing the shape of a shield. “I might start a company.” “Oh?” Sasil tilts his head curiously. “Why I- that sounds marvelous! What sort were you thinking?” “Mercenaries…” Leaning back in her chair and taking a look out towards the square, watching the people pass by. “I can’t sit still, at least not for long. And I’m tired of taking orders from others.” “Well, well, a lot of us have been there.” Sasil chuckles lightly. “I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised to hear you’re interested in mercenaries, you’d be the best one, my Star. If that is what you wish, you have my support.” “Hm…” Jiroki hums in agreement, still lost in her thoughts. The faces of the dead pass by her mind, the decisions led by people in positions of power that led to some of those deaths. Jiroki can do better. “How does the Greyshields sound?” (( @daily-writing-challenge​ )) (( Insight to some IC inspiration to the formation of the Greyshields!))

[kashimos-hajime]

in my veins | 1996

summary: “i keep thinkin’ there should be a noise. robin’s up because she can’t sleep, and you’re watching lion king with her, or something. i don’t know.” after two years, you're going home.

WARNINGS: angst, swearing pairing: detective loki x reader word count: 2.6k

a/n: written as a pre-post 1996 one-shot. for those who don’t know, 1996 is my detective loki x reader mini-series and i recommend you read it before you read this for full context. vibes are in my veins by andrew belle. gif not mine

2005

You’re fucking exhausted.

There’s nothing more to it. It’s an endless cycle of coffee and restless sleep and a mattress that’s too hard, and you’re exhausted.

Maybe it’s ‘cause sleeping on a bed that still needs to be broken in is the one thing robbing you of your sleep, or maybe it’s the way you wear the the mattress uneven.

Maybe it’s the permanent ache in your heart.

It still feels raw, an open wound soaked in salt and citric acid every single day, and you wonder if moving out has helped it close or ripped it even wider. You’ve been wondering for two years now, among other things. Among your feelings that you still can’t sort out regarding the man who has shared more than he has taken.

The last of your coffee was drained hours ago, and now here you are, slumping in your seat as you read through your emails. Time is an unknown entity to you and your stomach growls as the last of your dinner no longer fills you up. It’s like you’re handcuffed to your desk, and your eyes drift to the time glaring back at you, barely fighting to stay open. 

1:42 AM.

You need to be at work in seven hours to continue solving the Parker case, and yet here you are. Tilting back in your chair, you pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale, eyebrows furrowing as you try to grab what’s left of your motivation to get up and drive back to your lumpy ass mattress back at some small apartment you’ve been renting with the broken electrical socket and unexpected pet rat.

It’d be better than sleeping in this place, you tell yourself, and your hands run along the arm rests, pushing yourself up into a stand as you turn off your computer. Stretching your arms high above your head, you hear your shoulders pop and you arch your back, feeling the delicious sensation of waking up flooding your body. Blood runs warmly through you as you twist to grab your jacket, folding it over your arm.

Your eyes, still a bit squinty from staring at a bright screen in a dark room for so long, blink away the light as you shoulder your bag and reach to turn off the lamp. 

On its own accord, your gaze drifts over the cubicle wall to the empty one beside you. You don’t mean to look, but it’s a habit, and your heart swells in your throat when you see it empty, a jacket still thrown messily over the back of the chair. The pale light from the computer screen casts sharp shadows over the empty seat, and you let out a sigh.

He’s still here.

Well, so are you.

Dropping your bag into your chair and letting your jacket fall atop of it, you rake hair out of your face and hold back a yawn, legs finding their own way to the room you last saw him in. A feeling wells up inside your stomach, and you try not to think of the two words you’ve said to him in the past 24 hours, and how once, the word count would’ve been close to twenty thousand. But you think of it anyway, because you’re exhausted, and your heart has been squeezed until not an ounce of blood is left to pump, and when you’re tired…

You have no fucks left to give when you’re tired and your mind can wander all you want.

“Loke,” you call softly, fingers curling around the doorframe as you peer into the dark room. An interrogation tape is playing back, and a figure is slumped over the desk, shoulders hunched over as blue light sieves through his hair, illuminates the apple of his cheek. His eyes are black in the shadow cast by his brow bone, and your lips press together in an almost-smile as you walk in as quietly as you can. 

Your fingers outstretched, your quirk of your lip tugs deep into your cheek at the curl of hair that falls over his face, at the tiny twitches in his face as he dreams, and you run a hand down his shoulder. His nuclear heat burns into your palm, and you inhale sharply, eyes flickering from him to the interrogation tape he’d been watching.

Your own voice streams out of the speakers in the lowest volume setting, and your eyebrows sink, coming together as you try to decipher what he’s doing, watching this tape. He’s not even on the Parker case. His notepad is just clipped beneath his cheek and you snort at the way his lips seem to move along with the lines of the tape as you turn to look at his hand. Yep, pen trapped beneath his fingers.

Fingers trembling, you gently tug the notepad into your grasp and you pick it up, eyes narrowing in the dark as you make out what looks like… notes. On your case. 

You look at the man slumped over the desk, and you let out a soft sigh, pressing your knuckles against his cheek. He’s burning, as usual, and you find the tingling heat that wraps around your bones much more comfortable than the rattling radiator back at your place. Dragging your hand to the remote, you pause the tape, the sound of your own voice making a shiver crawl down your spine and instead gently sit up the detective. No doubt his back will be aching, and if you’re right by the coffee cup by the remote, he’s been here much longer than you’ve been slouched over your own desk. 

Crouching down until you’re eye level, you gently cup his face despite your heart hammering between your ears and your smile fades away when his jaw muscles twitch against your palm. He nestles against your palm, the lines in his face easing and you shuffle closer, reaching out with your other hand.

“Wake up,” you whisper, the words coming out breathy as your lungs constrict. Inhaling shakily, your thumb strokes at his cheek and you try not to think about how you haven’t been so close to him in so long and just being in his proximity is nearly addicting… and… “Wake up, Loki.” Your hand travels down to his shoulder, and you feel the curve of his muscle underneath your palm. “It’s like 2 AM, you needa go home.” You don’t shake him, because you know how to wake up a David who can barely sleep as it is, and instead settle on drawing him out of his sleep slowly. “Come on.”

Your whispered nothings slowly coax his eyes to flutter open, and you smile at the glaze in his porcelain blue eyes. He raises his head blearily, and you run your thumb over his cheeks. The chair twists beneath him, scoots forward, and suddenly, his legs bracket your body and you swallow, staring up at this man who only stares as if he’s shocked you’re this close to him. Your lips parted, you scramble for something to say as your hand on his shoulder curls into a fist, twisting his black pullover in your grip.

A gust of fruity gum pushes into your mouth as you try to pull yourself away. It’s too much, the smell, the heat, the feel of his breath against your cheek and the way he soaks you in. The way he looks at you now, with dark hooded eyes and lips just barely parted as his tongue darts out to wet them, it sends live sparks down into your stomach as your heart jolts. Blood roars in your ears as a shaky hand reaches to your cheek, thumb just tugging on the corner of your mouth. 

Like you’re ethereal, not quite real, a ghost that’s come back to haunt him.

Yeah, you get the feeling.

The air smells like cold electricity and Bearglove deodorant, and you inhale sharply as his head dips, or is it you that reaches for him? The argument is chased from your mind at any rate by soft, searing lips pressing against yours, and the way the other hand cusps your jaw, a blast of heat against your frigid skin. Swallowing the taste of him, your eyes slip shut as his hand loses itself in your hair and you lose yourself in him. You want to drown in the second kiss he presses against your lips, and the third, and you just barely pull away because you cannot breathe and you don’t know if it’s because of how he still has the ability to take your breath away, or because your heart is racing too fast for you to keep up.

“Loki,” you whisper against his mouth, pleadingly soft and your breath shatters in your throat when he jerks back, chair rolling over the floor until it collides with the desk behind him. Standing, you blink at the cold numbness that spreads from your face to your throat and you back into the wall, the back of your hand wiping at your mouth.

“Shit.” His voice cracks, hoarse and you manage to look at him, an oily feeling coating your skin. Your fingers rest on your lips as you try to catch the breath he’d stolen, and you press yourself into the wall. What you wouldn’t give to melt into the plaster right now, away from his heavy gaze and how it seems to penetrate through your clothes, strip you bare. God.

Your eyes close and you tilt your head back.

You’re just so fucking exhausted.

“David.” His name terrible and needy and wanting, sounds young in your head and you beg through it, although you don’t know for what. You don’t know. But your body does. 

The mere kiss has ignited the dying fire inside you, and although you don’t want to feed the flames, you know burning alive might be sweeter than freezing to death at this point. You’re hollow, a carcass carrying someone just barely breathing, and when the chair squeaks, you want to ask him something you don’t know how to put into words.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, saving you from the trouble, and you open your eyes, leaning against the wall. Angling yourself, you cross your arms over your chest and send him a bitter half-smile.

“What are you?” You nod to the interrogation tapes and in the dim light, you can see him swallow, the cord of his throat pulsing. “Taking notes on my interrogation?” Another time, maybe you’d have tacked on something with a coy smile, a “Seeing how a real cop gets the job done?” or a “Miss me?” 

Another time that’s long gone.

“Helping with a breakthrough,” he shoots back, and you push off the wall with a nudge of your shoulder as he stands up. “You should be sleeping.”

“And you should be…” At home lingers on your lips, but that’s not what you should say. “... too.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t sleep much.” He turns off the tape, running a hand over his hair and you walk towards him as the simmering in your stomach grows to singe your lungs. “Why’re you here?” He braces himself against the desk and your fingers float above his shoulder.

“Why are you?” you ask, voice so very soft, and he turns his head wretchedly towards you. His hair has lost its crisp, slickback appearance, and you wonder if he’ll even bother to wash out the gel or if he’ll simply run it back again. You wonder if he’s eating enough and sleeping enough, and if he’s paid his electricity bill on time. You wonder even though it’s not your place and you wonder out of habit, because it’s better than knowing the startling truth engraved in the hollows of his cheeks and the darkness swallowing out his eyes.

“Empty flat. Too quiet,” he mutters, eyes drifting back to the black screens and you swallow. “Keep thinkin’ there should be a noise. Robin’s up because she can’t sleep, and you’re watching Lion King with her, or something. I don’t know.” His voice cracks and he hangs his head, a hard sigh escaping his lips. 

Your hand lands on his shoulder, and he stiffens beneath your touch as you swallow down the knot in your throat. Your eyes sting but you ignore the feeling of being split open as you run your hand through his hair, fingers stroking the dried clumps back.

“How’s your flat?” he asks, and you sigh, dropping your hand. “Since you’re here, I’m assuming your rat is keeping you up.” 

“He’s a great roommate. I feed him sometimes because he likes Chinese takeout,” you retort and he almost chuckles. He straightens up and you see the shadow of a smile on his face against the golden light from the hall. “But it’s… it’s the mattress. Feels lumpy.” You tilt your head up to stare at him, at his washed-up appearance, and you smile, just barely. “And it’s hard sleeping alone. You’d think we’d both be better at sleeping alone.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat and you look down, stepping away. When had you gotten so close? “Yeah, but we should both head home. Separately.” On opposite sides of town where there are two phone bills and electricity bills and gas bills and bills we used to share, and you have the coffee maker but I have the toaster— 

“Yeah, of course.” Yet still, neither of you dare to move. Your lips still burn from the strength of his kiss, and you want to kiss him again. Your body wants to feel him again. Your eyes drift up to where he stares at you with those empty blues. They stare through you, and you press your palms against his cheeks, the corner of your lips digging into your cheeks in a sad, sorrowful smile. The man you loved — love, maybe — is hollow. You wonder if you look just as broken. “David.”

“I fucking hate this,” he whispers hoarsely and you try to repress how bitter your smile grows. “I fucking hate sleeping there. I can’t, I can’t fucking sleep.” He crumbles within your hands and his long fingers wrap around your wrists as he leans forward for your touch. Forehead pressing against his, you want to melt into his body. His hands trail down your arms, feeling you through your clothes and you slide your arms around his neck as fingers dig into your hips. An unpleasant ache balls up in your chest and your eyes flutter shut as he sucks in a breath. It’s as if he steals from your lungs, takes what’s his and you want to tell him that you’re more than open to try, if only to stitch up the wound splitting you open. 

You still bleed. 

“I couldn’t get a break on the Parker case,” you whisper against his cheek and you hold him against you, just to feel the heat of his body, unwilling to let him go. “I’m open to going over some things back at your place… if you want?” His eyes open, just a sliver of cold blue and your own eyes flutter shut as he squeezes your hips, then pulls away.

“Fine.” He clears his throat and you wipe at your face, trying to chase off the heat that kisses your skin. He grabs his notepad and you stand there, unsure of what to do now that you’re going home for the first time in two years. 

Home.

“I’ll go wait in the lot,” you say for lack of nothing else and he shoots you one quick look before he gives a jerking nod. You excuse yourself, and gather your belongings, saying your farewells to the night shift before you walk out into the bracing air and suck in a huge breath as if you haven’t breathed in ages. 

Your lips burn as wind sweeps against your face and you let your eyes close again.

You’re just so fucking exhausted.

tags: @space-helen @dulharpa @woah-jess @jenlrose @mytinybaguette @arcaneloki @bohemianrhapsody86 @bubblemyg @sataninsatin @detectivelokiisabae @deviantly-gayy @if-i-were-your-raven

[natasha-romanoff-deserved-better]

Children Of Yesterday- Chapter Three

Standing in front of him, are two more children, only slightly older than the one he had found. The blonde child was freakishly skinny with dark bags under his eyes, and was standing with another black-haired slightly taller child who had a bony arm wrapped around him.

The blonde was wearing an over-sized Captain America costume that drowned him, and the other only wearing a leather jacket with sleeves that covered his hands and fell to his knees.

Tony almost chokes.

The blonde in the Captain America costume. The black-haired child standing over him. The scared, timid kid on his hip with glasses and bruises.

He knows who these kids are.

.

After an accident with Hydra and the time stone, Tony and Rhodey are left with six of their teammates turned into young children. Trying to keep the six young, traumatized and rambunctious children safe all while finding a cure and attempting to give them a taste of a real childhood might be their biggest mission yet.

Read Here on AO3 or continue under the read more!

Clint awakes to a rough shove on his shoulder. Jerking up, sleep gone from his eyes in an instant, as he scans the room for danger. There is none- it’s just Natalia. She’s standing by his bedside, clad in the leggings and jacket despite the clock on the wall reading almost 2:30am.

“’Atalia? What are you doing?”

“Get up. We’re leaving.”

“I knew it! You can talk!”

Natasha is unimpressed at his intuition. “Of course I can talk.”

“Then why didn’t you ever talk to Tony or the other guy?”

“Why would I let them know I can understand them? I’m not an idiot. People tell secrets when they think you don’t understand.”

Clint mouth hangs open in amazement at her thought process. “That’s so cool!  I wish I had thou- wait. How did you get in my room?”

Natasha holds up her left hand, a keycard clasped between her fingers. “I stole it from the agent last night when he picked me up.” Natasha rolls her eyes at the thought. “But come on. We have to go, now. Before they realize I took it.”

Clint nods, and rushes to climb out from under the covers of the hospital bed. The commotion rouses Bruce, who sleepily opens one eye to peek at the pair. Natasha grabs his new glasses from the hospital bedside table and hands them to him.

He gives her a small smile in thanks, then looks between the two other kids. “You’re leaving?”

“Yup.” Clint nods. “I gotta get back to my brother. He says hospitals are bad, anyways… You’re coming too, right?”

Bruce sits up, gives them a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t have anywhere to go…”

“You can come with me! Barney says we’re going to join a circus soon! Doesn’t that sound so fun?”

Bruce chews on his bottom for a moment, staring at Clint as he considers his offer.

“Well, I do really like elephants…”

“So, it’s decided then!” Clint exclaims, a smile spreading across his face at his new friend. Natasha rolls her eyes at them and turns away from the pair to glance out the door, checking the hallway for any wondering agents.

“Are you two ready to go or not? We still need to get the others.”

“Yes,” The two of them say in unison. Neither of them had any possessions besides the clothes the hospital had given them, which; while annoying made things a lot easier. No packing required.

 Steve and Bucky are not as excited as Clint and Bruce were.

Bucky stood in front of Steve, who was sat upright on their bed, with his arms crossed and expression hard. “We’re not going.”

“Why not?” Natasha asks, irritation in her accented voice.

“You didn’t plan anything!” He throws his arms up in the air. “How are we even going to get anywhere after we get out?”

Natasha shrugs. “We can figure that out later. I don’t see the problem.”

Bucky gestures over at Steve. “He can’t walk very far. And besides, this place has really good medicine here!”

“So just take some of the medicine?”

Bucky glares at the three of them, until Natasha finally rolls her eyes and gives in. “Fine. Stay here. We’re going home.” She turns around, and nods at Clint and Bruce to follow her out the door.

They shuffle out, quickly hurrying across the hallway to Sam’s door, where Natasha bounces onto her tip toes to scan the keycard across the electronic lock. There is a small click from the lock, and Clint pulls it open for her and Bruce.

Natasha moves over to Sam’s bed to shake his shoulder. “Sam,” She whispers, “Wake up.”

Sam grumbles, brings an arm up and take a swipe at Natasha, which she avoids easily. “Five more minutes.”

Natasha frowns and pinches his arm. He finally opens his eyes, confusion clouding his face.

“What are you all doing here?”

“We’re busting out of here!” Clint tells him.

“What? Why? All these people seem really nice…”

“They kidnapped us.” Natasha deadpans.

“What?”

“We all woke up in an exploded building, and then they forced us onto a plane and now they’ve locked us in here. For no reason. You’re not hurt, are you?”

“…No.”

“Exactly. Then explain why you’re locked in a hospital?”

“Um,”

Clint spoke up. “We’ll help you get back to your mom and dad. They’re probably worried about you- I know my brother is.”

Sam considers this a moment. He chews on his bottom lip as he meets eyes with the three other standing in front of him. They have a good point.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m coming with you.”

“We gotta get passed the dude at the desk in the front first, though.” Clint reminds them. Natasha thinks for a second, before turning to Bruce.

“Think you could distract him?”

Bruce’s eyes widen. “What? Why me?”

“They’ll never suspect you. You look too nice.”

“What do I do?”

Clint butts in. “It’s easy! Just pretend to be sick or hurt or something. Barney has me do it all the time.”

Natasha nods. “And then I’ll sneak up behind him.”

Bruce is clearly uncomfortable, but he doesn’t back out like he wants too. “Okay…”

Natasha doesn’t waste any time, just grabs his arm and shoves him out the doorway. He trips over his two feet but manages to right himself before he can completely face plant. He shuffles down the hall and around the corner, poking his head out so he can see the agent sitting at the front desk. He is clearly uninterested, lounging back in his chair while his feet are propped up on the desk. All his attention is focused on his phone, engaged in some kind of colorful game.

Bruce wraps his arms around his stomach and hunches over. “Excuse me?” He calls as he steps into view. He brings his eyebrows together, trying his best to put on the best puppy eyes he could.

The agent startles at his voice, jerking up and swiveling around to find Bruce. “Bruce? What- how did you get out of your room? I thought we- wait, are you okay?”

Bruce chooses to ignore the room question, instead shakes his head and motions to his stomach, as he takes another step. “I, uh. I feel sick.”

The man stands up, walking closer to Bruce and kneeling to his level. He opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off by Natasha launching herself onto his back.  

Natasha uses his shoulders to lift and push herself up and get her legs around his neck. The man bucks up and reaches back to try and yank her off, but she continues squeezing with her thighs to keep her balance and restrict his breathing. With her right hand, she reaches down and pinches a point on his neck.

The man goes down. They tumble to the ground together, Bruce narrowly side stepping out of the way and Natasha rolls of his back, a wide smile on her face at her success.

“Whoa!”

“How’d you do that?”

Clint and Sam are watching wide eyed to the side.

“There’s a…” She pauses, trying to remember the English word. “A… sleep point? No. Pressure point on the neck. I pinched it.”

Natasha bends down to the unconscious agent and sticks her hands into his pockets. She produces another keycard, which she hands off to Bruce. She unhooks the gun from his holster and shoves it into her leggings waistband.

Clint runs over to the two large doors across the lobby, grabbing onto the handles. The doors open, revealing more into the compound. It’s the middle of the night, so there are less agents than normal, but still an unsettling amount milling around. Natasha turns back to them, eyebrows furrowed. “We.” She pauses, words elusive, “sneak by them. Find an exit.” She finishes.

“There.” Sam points to a small counter with several computer screens sitting atop. “We can hide behind that… and then sneak into that hallway on the other side.”

“I’ll go first.” Natasha doesn’t wait for a confirmation, instead just darts out into the open, crouched low as she silently moves through the room and ducking behind the counter between it and the wall.

One by one, with the help of Natasha on the other side motioning to them, the other three scurry across to their new hiding spot. Sam is the last to go, and almost there when he slips, drawing the attention of several agents who come dangerously close to spotting him.

Every kid breathes a sigh of relief when Sam makes it safely to them. Natasha worries her bottom lip. “There’s too many of us too all get around like this. We’re too noticeable.”

“What if we turn out the lights?” Clint suggests.

“Yeah!” Sam agrees, nodding along. “I saw that in a movie once. They shut off all the power.”

Natasha looks to Clint for guidance, giving in when she sees his and Sam’s confidence. “But how will we get to the power?”

“Usually it’s a whole room you needa’ find with tons of buttons and switches and things.”

“There’s a map on the wall over here.” Bruce speaks up, pointing at a framed picture labeled “fire escape route” in bright letters.

“Perfect!” Sam, the tallest of the four, stands on his tip toes to see the map clearly. The compound is big, the map almost slightly overwhelming as he scans over it. Not all the rooms are labeled, instead just the general wings. “There.. maybe?” He points to a section that doesn’t have any labels, guessing it must be the general upkeep rooms. “Or actually, maybe, there?” He points at another spot. “Oh, or-“

“Someone’s coming!” Clint warns. He grabs Sam’s wrist to pull him down, Natasha and Bruce on their heels as they take off running down the hallway.

“Which way, Sam?!”

Sam calls out for them to turn right, into a smaller corridor. “I think this way.” He says, trying to keep the uncertainty out of his voice as he leads them. They slow to a jog when they’re out of view from any agents, but the adrenaline pumping through their veins keeps them all on high alert. They don’t stop to catch their breath until they make it to the wing Sam identified and find a room titled controls. Natasha pulls out the keycard and holds it over the lock.

“черт возьми!” Natasha exclaims as the lock flashes red, signaling the keycard was not compatible. She brings the keycard down to examine it closer, before throwing it to the ground in frustration.

Sam watches her in concern, noticing the angry tears building in the corner of her eyes. “It’s okay,” he tells her, moving to pick up the card.

“It was only for hospital locks!”

“Maybe we could…break the lock or something?” Bruce offers.

Clint shakes his head. “I can get in.”

“The key doesn’t work.” Natasha repeats herself at him. She stomps a foot to help emphasize her point, as if he hadn’t just watched her explain it to Sam.

“I know that. I don’t need a key. Look,” Clint points upwards towards the ceiling, where a small vent is blowing cool air. “If I can get up there, maybe I can crawl in?”

Natasha is not impressed with his plan, but she can’t think of any other ideas. Bruce is already helping Clint push a chair they’d found over to just below the vent. “Okay,” Clint instructs. “Someone needs to help me up though.”

“I’m the strongest.” Natasha volunteers.

“No! I am!” Sam looks over at Natasha accusingly.

“No, you’re not!”

“Boys are almost always stronger than girls!”

“That’s not true!” And then quieter, under her breath, “Мудак.”

Sam jerks back. “What the heck does that mean?” He whirls around to Clint. “She just called me something!”

“Can you two shut up?” Bruce cuts in. The three other kids turn to him in surprise at the anger and annoyance in his voice. Once he notices them staring, he hunches back into himself. “Sorry. I just really don’t like fighting...”

Sam apologizes to him, while Natasha stays quiet, but a guilty look painted onto her face.

“Sam is taller than you, though, so he would be best.” Clint tells them. Natasha doesn’t argue, knowing he is right but not wanting to admit it out loud. As Sam climbs onto the chair, Natasha and Bruce hold the legs steady, making sure the chair isn’t going to slip out from under them. Clint steps up onto the chair with Sam and awkwardly begins climbing up onto his shoulders.

Clint takes a second to find his footing, whispering apologizes whenever Sam softly grunts in discomfort. He grabs hold of the vent, threading his small fingers through the bars and yanking the vent cover away. It clatters to the ground, all of them cringing at the loud sound. “Okay!” Clint gets a steady hold into the vent and begins to pull himself up into the small passage. Beneath him, Sam boosts him up the rest of the way. “I’m in!” He announces as he lifts his lower body into it enough to swing his legs inside with the rest of him.

The passageways are small, but much bigger than the ones in his house. Crawling through with practiced ease, he takes the first left he comes across and crawls several more feet until he finds another vent. He peeks through, finding a room below him crowded with all kinds of screens, keyboards, buttons and lights. Clint squeezes himself around, curling up so that he can kick the vent cover out of the way.

Lowering himself down and letting himself drop, he falls hard, his ankle twisting as he hits the floor, and he holds in a grunt of pain. Forcing himself up, he rushes over to the door, pulling the hatch and pushing it open to where Natasha, Sam and Bruce are all anxiously waiting for him.

The three bundle inside, closing the door behind them. Bruce excitedly runs up to the screens, eyes wide as he quickly reads all the words and labels. Sam takes a place next to him, scanning the buttons.

“How do you know what is what?”

Bruce frowns. “I don’t.”

Clint isn’t interested in waiting. “Just press some!” He comes up behind them, reaches out, and runs a hand over a row of buttons. “One of them is bound to be the lights and doors.”

Before Bruce can stop him, the group is plunged into darkness. Shock causes them to freeze for a moment, only broken by Clint letting out a loud hoot and high fiving Bruce.

~~~

Steve picks a piece of skin from his thumbnail, frowning at the small bead of blood that bubbles up. Next to him, Bucky slaps his hand away.

“We should have gone with them.” Steve grumbles at him.

“Why?”

Steve shrugs. “It’s not right for us to stay here and just let them go off. What if they get in trouble? Or need help?”

“Just because they’re doing something doesn’t mean we have to too.”

“No, but if the whole group is going, we should too!” He explains. “Also… I can’t stay here. Ma won’t be able to pay a bill like this. It’s bound to cost an arm and a leg.”

Bucky glares at him for several seconds, before looking up to the ceiling and letting out a heavy sigh. “So, what, you want to go catch up to them or something?”

A smile spreads across Steve’s face as he nods excitedly.

“Ugh. Fine.”

“Yay!” Steve claps. Just as he is slipping out of the bed, everything goes black. “Hey! Turn the lights back on, Buck.”

“I didn’t turn them off.” Bucky frowns, glancing up to the lights. “Look, the hallway is dark too.”

“They probably turned the lights out to save money again. They’re super expensive, probably.”

“Yeah, maybe so.”

The friends tug the door open, the electronic locks no longing functioning due to the power outage. They step out of the room together, coming to a halt when they notice the agent laying haphazardly on the floor in the medical lobby.

Steve rushes over to him, looking down at the guards body. “He’s still breathing. Should we do something?”

Bucky is about to suggest turning him over when he is cut off by a high-pitched alarm ringing out through the air. He covers his ears reflexively as he jumps. The unconscious agent’s walkie talkie sparks to life, a voice calling out for him to answer, and then something about a code 673. “Shit. We gotta go.”

“We can’t just leave him like this!”

“Yes, we can. If someone comes and sees us, they’ll think we did this to him!”

Steve is unconvinced, so Bucky doesn’t wait. He grabs Steve’s wrist and hauls him away from the man, through to the other large doors and pushing their way through. It’s dark, so they can’t quite tell what type of room they’ve entered, but it’s large, and there’s people dressed similar to the agent all running around frantically. They pause, unsure of what to do next or where to go.

A pair of agents run by, and someone shouts an order out to them, telling them “they” are in the west wing and headed towards an exit. Bruce and Steve don’t need to discuss it- they take off running, following some of the agents but keeping in the shadows the best they could, avoiding the emergency lights.

A gunshot echoes through the building, causing them to both flinch a second time. The panicked agents become more frantic at that, yelling at each other to not fire back.

“It’s probably that girl. She shot the machine man who helped us, remember? And they wouldn’t want to shoot a kid.” Steve nods in agreement, and against their instinct, force themselves to run towards the sound of the gun.

They find Natasha standing with a gun held straight out in front of her. Behind her, Clint, Bruce and Sam are all gathered. In front of them, stand several agents, including the eye patched man Bucky recognizes from earlier. Their hands are all up, and one of the women agents is gently trying to coax Natasha to put the gun down, to come back with them.

 ~~

Tony and Rhodey step out of the car, both unspeaking as they walk side by side into the tower, thoughts weighing heavily on each’s shoulders. Tony had thought going back to the tower would provide comfort to him- his home, where he could be surrounded by all the things he owned and loved and where the love of his life was waiting for him. But walking in, he is flooded with reminders of the team’s absence. A tea packet from Bruce left on the counter. Steve’s sketchbook and charcoal pencil settled neatly on an end table by the couch. One of Clint’s stray darts lay under the couch, discarded and forgotten from an aiming contest with Sam. Even the absence of Natasha’s things is a sign of her, her spy habits of leaving no trace.

“I’m glad they’re staying at SHIELD.” Tony says, later that night. He stokes a thumb over Pepper’s bare shoulder as they lay under the covers, Pepper’s head on his chest. She glances up at him, eyebrows raised in question. “When that doctor read off all their medical issues… and Fury’s right. Some of them, Their childhoods… I wouldn’t know how to deal with them.” Pepper isn’t sure who is he trying to convince, her or himself. “I’d only do more damage.”

It had taken Tony over ten minutes, a confirmation from Rhodey and video evidence dug from Friday’s storage to convince Pepper it wasn’t some prank Tony was trying to play on her. She’d handled it calmly, the reality not quite sinking in until later that night, when the tower was unusually calm and quiet.

Pepper doesn’t speak. She knows there is no convincing her husband of otherwise. Maybe, it would have been possible, several weeks ago. Before Peter had broken his leg and been knocked unconscious while under his supervision. Before the liquor supply had been drained in the matter of just several days. His mind is made up. She draws tiny circles into his skin until they both drift off.

FRIDAY jerks them awake, loudly announcing urgent messages from SHIELD. Tony grumbles awake before remembering, why exactly, SHIELD would even be contacting him in the first place. He has several missed calls from Fury, along with one text message reading “Get here now.” Helpful.

Tony and Rhodey arrive to the SHIELD compound, both in their suits and ready for whatever. There are agents running around, yelling demands and questions into phones and walkie talkies. The power appears to have been shut off, besides emergency generator lights and a blaring alarm.

“What the hell is going on?” Tony shouts over the alarm to Fury.

“The damned kids escaped. All six. They’re gone.”