#too busy saving the world and barely growing up around people to be like “huh. i think my brain works differently to the average person”

[pacifistcowboy]

imagining espio infodumping about ninja stuff to silver n he stops himself like “sorry, i’ve talked far too much. you probably don’t care about this” but then silver’s like “are you kidding? this is fascinating!” whilst hand flappin’ with excitement, n espio just kinda realises that he doesn’t have to mask in front of silver

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Tension Logs (Steve Rogers, Tony Stark)

gif sen to me by @krirebr back in october, just now going through my inbox full of gifs, sorry my love <3

Summary: overhearing an argument from Steve & Tony, you grow worried and with awe at the pure strength Steve possesses.

Warnings: none?

WC: 1K

A/N: there's no pairing in this and i honestly debated on posting this as is, or rewrite it a million more times lol.

Read On Ao3!

--

The farm was a welcome sight after everything that had happened. After the chaos, the battles, and the tension of saving the world yet again, Clint Barton’s peaceful farmhouse felt like a sanctuary—a place to breathe and maybe, for once, pretend things were normal.

You sat on the porch, your legs curled beneath you, watching the others as they scattered around the property. Natasha was keeping an eye on the kids while Clint and Thor discussed something about farming techniques—likely for a laugh, given Thor's complete lack of experience with Earth crops. Bruce was in the barn, tinkering with gadgets, and Vision was seated nearby, reading.

But your attention was drawn to the tension rising between two men who seemed to clash constantly: Steve Rogers and Tony Stark.

You could hear them before you saw them—loud, angry voices. Steve, usually so calm, was pacing, hands running through his short blonde hair in frustration. Tony was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, his expression tight with annoyance. The words were muffled from the porch, but the intensity between them was unmistakable.

"He's just not listening," Tony grumbled, rubbing his temple. “I’m trying to save everyone, Steve! But you keep acting like I’m the enemy here.”

Steve’s jaw was tight as he shook his head. “You think I don’t want to protect people? You’re not seeing the bigger picture here, Tony. If we keep going down this road, we’ll have no choice but to fight against ourselves.”

“Yeah, and how long until we’re fighting for our lives, huh?” Tony shot back, clearly exasperated. "You’re just blind to the fact that the rest of the world isn’t always going to play nice.”

You could feel the tension rising from where you sat. The last few days had been a whirlwind of emotions, battles with no real winners, and personal grievances that were still being worked out. But watching Tony and Steve argue like this... it was different. The anger was raw, not just from the situation, but from something deeper, something that neither of them was willing to admit.

You sighed, turning your gaze back to them, uncertain whether you should intervene. But before you could make a move, something unexpected happened.

Steve had stopped pacing, his face flushed with frustration, and Tony was busy running his hands through his hair, his back turned. That’s when Steve walked over to a large, thick log lying near the edge of the property, one that looked almost too heavy to move. Without saying a word, Steve dropped to one knee, grabbed hold of the log, and—without any visible hesitation—ripped it in half with his bare hands.

You blinked, certain you had imagined it, but when you saw Steve’s arms straining, his muscles tensing with the force of the action, you realized it was real. He wasn’t using any tools or anything to help him. No tech. No super-soldier serum enhancement. Just pure, raw strength. The snap of the log cracking in half was deafening in the stillness of the farm, and for a moment, you were sure even Tony had frozen in place.

For a long second, there was only the sound of Steve breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he stood over the splintered wood, his eyes unwavering. His gaze locked with Tony’s, and the tension between them suddenly felt different—more grounded, more purposeful.

Tony’s jaw dropped, his usual sarcastic wit faltering for a moment. “Jesus, Cap. You trying to kill me or just make me feel inadequate?”

Steve didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he straightened up, wiping his hands on his pants as though the task had been as simple as pulling a thread from his sleeve. His face was set, but there was a softness behind his eyes, something you recognized as tiredness—not from age, but from the weight of the responsibility that he carried.

“You can’t fix everything, Tony,” Steve said, his voice quieter now, though it still held that unshakeable determination. “But you can try to do the right thing. I need you to understand that.”

Tony didn’t say anything at first, still staring at the broken log, clearly in shock at what he had just witnessed. Slowly, his expression softened, and he nodded, though you could see the struggle in his eyes.

“I know,” Tony replied after a moment, his voice rough. “I just… I don’t know how to stop screwing up.”

The vulnerability in his voice was something you rarely heard from Tony Stark, and it made your heart ache for him. But then, to your surprise, Steve stepped closer, clapping Tony lightly on the shoulder.

“You don’t have to be perfect, Tony,” Steve said, the warmth in his voice unmistakable now. “None of us do. Just don’t give up on trying.”

You couldn’t help but smile softly, watching the interaction unfold. In that moment, you realized just how strong Steve Rogers truly was—not just in his physical strength, but in his unwavering belief in people, in their ability to change, to do better.

You knew that strength now extended beyond just his shield. It was in his words, in the way he carried the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, and in how, no matter how many times Tony fell short of his own expectations, Steve would always be there to pull him up again.

You stood up quietly, unsure if they even realized you were there. The argument had defused, and now, Tony and Steve were standing side by side, silently processing everything that had just happened. The tension between them was still there, but you could see the cracks beginning to heal, just a little.

With a quiet breath, you stepped back inside the house, letting the door swing closed behind you. There was still a lot of work to be done before the world would feel right again, but for now, you felt a flicker of hope. Steve Rogers, in all his strength, had proven once again that the world wasn’t just saved by punches or tech. It was saved by the quiet power of believing in each other.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the kind of strength that would carry them all through the rest of the storm.

[sugolara]

A stab through my ticker

ft. K.B x S.T x I.M x fem! reader

Synopsis: After a deadly virus leaks all over the world, every country is forced to close down it's borders and airports to prevent anyone from coming in and out. Though, it's to late for some people. The dead has rose and is looking for revenge. Cw: gore, quirkless! au, apocalypse! au, zombie! au, weapons, death, angst, lots and lots of blood, cannibalism, suicidal thoughts, slow burn

previous || series m.list || next

Forcingly pressing her knife through the rotter's head, she watched as it slumped to the floor. She then looked to where the others were, taking down other rotters, but her eyes stayed glued on Denki and Eijiro as they used their silenced pistol to get rid of the dead, refusing to get any close to them. As she observed Denki trying to take down a rotter, she let out a tired sigh as she made her way to him, shoving the male away and stabbing the rotter's head, “Don’t use your gun, save the bullets.”

“Thanks.” He let out a shaky breath as he stood back up.

“You don’t know how to fight?” She wiped her bloody blade on her jeans.

“You want me to fight one of them with my bare hands?” He looked at her like she was crazy.

“No, I mean,” She suggested to her knife, “can you use a knife instead of using your gun?”

“Oh…” He embarrassingly shook his head, “No, I’ve pretty much held a gun since this whole thing started. Everyone in Sorston holds one.”

“Seems like you guys have a nice setup.” She hummed out. If there's more people like the red-head said, then they had to have a station or home where they kept their weapons. As the group moved forward, the two behind followed.

“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugged, unsure of where this conversation was going.

“There it is.” Eijiro pointed at a building, “This one is still in good condition compared to the others.”

“We’ll see how long that lasts.” Katsuki mumbled, following after his friend. With them all entering, they climbed the set of stairs with doors placed to the side, leading to each floor. Only a small window was placed in the middle of every door showing a couple of rotters, still in business attire standing like a pole.

Placing his hands on the railing, Shoto leaned forward, taking a look up through the middle of the stairs that seemed to go on, “How far are we exactly going?”

“We wanted to make sure we weren’t close to the ground in case a horde came in so we chose the 27th floor.” Eijiro responded.

“You gotta be kidding me.” Katsuki groaned, “We have to walk up 27 fucking floors? Why couldn't you have chosen the 10th or the 5th fucking floor?”

“Because that's just how it is.” Denki said as he let out a pant, growing tired, “Also, I wanted a view.”

“Moron!” The younger blonde whimpered when the oldest hit him.

Finally reaching their door, they entered the room that looked like an office. A desk was placed far back, couches with a coffee table were placed on the other side, a TV mounted to a wall, an empty bookshelf, and papers had been scattered around. Overall, the room was fairly big, much expected for a skyscraper. While the two who got them there closed the door, the other four sat down on the couch, feet feeling relief to be off the floor.

“Here.” The red-head passed them their own water bottle as he took a seat on the small couch, watching as they quickly chugged it down, “You guys had it tough out here, huh?”

“Fuck yes.” Katsuki sighed out.

“Just how long have you guys been out here?” Denki asked with concern.

“Too long.” Dismissing the question, Shoto got straight to the point, “How far are we to the camp?”

“Depends.” Eijiro thought for a moment, “On foot it's around a week, but if we're driving it's…like a day and 10 hours.”

“Wait, what?” F/n looked at them with brows furrowed, “I thought we were closer than that.”

“It was, but…” Denki drew out, eyes glancing at every one of them wondering if he should continue, but at the look on their faces he figured he should as it was crucial information, “for the first two months since the beginning. After that, we were told that it had gotten overrun by some people so they moved it right outside of Sorston.”

He let out a sigh, sitting back on the couch, “I guess someone said something and they found it again so they killed a few people and forced the community to work for them. The point is shit went down and while we now do the dirty work, they sit back and order us around, maybe killing a few of us for the fun of it.”

“That's why we're all the way out here.” Eijiro added, lips frowning, “We need months of supplies to not only support Sorston, but also them. A lot of people died trying to please them.”

Holding in her sigh, F/n placed her closed fist on her mouth, crossing her other arm as she stared out the massive window, the sunset glowing inside. She tuned out the others, finger tapping her side where her healed wound was placed as she thought of something. In no way was she going to serve someone, let alone be threatened. This was most likely the best time to part ways from the males. If they wanted to go off and be killed then that's on them, but she wasn’t going to have it—though she hoped they would agree with her.

But, something else crossed her mind. The day Shoto mentioned his brother and about how he still might be alive, Hanta had plagued her mind. She didn’t know if he was dead. She never saw his body, but, yet again, she never saw her fathers either. He might be dead, but if the chances are he might be at Sorston, then she had to at least try. However, she wondered if she entered a foot into the camp would she now belong to these bandits and if so, she’d have much more trouble in getting out.

Taking action was a thought, but without intel it was basically death for her. Besides, why was she going to fight for something she couldn’t care about? All she cared about now was finding Hanta, her father, and maybe her mom if we were still kicking it. At least it’d give her something to do, but the thought had a sigh come out of her. Everything was so tiring these days.

“What are you sighing for?” Shoto asked, flipping through a random stack of papers to keep occupied.

Her eyes moved over to him, before her head was then turned as she let her hand drop, “Nothing…forgot you were here.”

“You know,” He eyed her, “you have this face that you pull when you’re concentrating. You look mad, but confused and your eyebrows get closer together.”

Her brow shot up, amazed at how well he paid attention, “You’re quite observant, aren’t you?”

“There's nothing else to do.” He shrugged, neatly placing the papers on his lap, “And we’ve been together for a while so I know when Izuku’s lost in his mind, when Katsuki wants company, and when you’re strategizing—like in this case.”

Crossing his arms, he looked at her, “What are you going to do when we reach Sorston?”

She eyed him for a split second. If anyone were to understand it had to be him, right? He wouldn’t exactly care for her presence, not much to put up a fight at that, so there's no reason in not telling him, “Actually, I was thinking of not going.”

A heavy feeling entered him. He had to look away so she wouldn't see his expression as she continued, “I mean, what’s the point. If what your friend said was right, then why would I go? Why would I play along and die working for them or for other people? I don’t know, it's still a decision I haven’t committed, I’m trying to see…how it plays out. I don’t know. I’m…confused.”

A quiet moment was placed between them. The male beside her collected his feelings and as weird as it felt he shoved it aside, “Maybe…you should stay…”

She looked at him, noticing he was facing ahead of him instead of her, “You sound uncertain.”

Blinking, he slowly shrugged as he turned to face her, “..The whole reason we’re all the way out here was to find the camp, somewhere we could live in peace. You’ve come all this way, just to what? Leave? Part ways to be off on your own with no company or protection?”

“Wha–” He ignored her, continuing as he looked behind her, “Do you really think that's a way for a human to live? You’ve proved over and over that you can survive on your own, that you don't need us and we understand. Leaving for you is like abandoning a dog on the side of a road; heartless. Everyone's going to miss you, and they’ll cry tears and mourn you as if you had died, but I’m guessing you’ll be fine with that. ‘Cause who are you to care about how terribly somebody else feels, right? Like a dog on the side of a road.”

Baffled, she watched as he stood up to leave, her e/c eyes following him until he joined Izuku at the desk. Well, she was wrong. Guess he wouldn’t understand at all and although as confused as she was, she looked back outside wondering what the hell was going on with the mismatched male. 

[kimnjss]

[ part seven of a new series called: ‘clips with context’ - feel free to request your own! ]

>>

BACKSEAT BUSINESS

jungkook picked you from the crowd with one thing in mind. and he can’t wait to get started, no matter who’s around. // explicit. requested. 1.8k words

warnings: cursing, dirty talk, fingering, slight exhibitionism, taehyung knows exactly what he’s doing, mentions of oral (m. receiving), a smidge of angst at the end... jungkook is spoiled and entitled.

+ this is the first thing i’ve written in like a month, so if it’s trash go easy on me... i need to get used to writing again lmao

“kook's always gotta find a girl,” yoongi says with a roll of his eyes, words falling on deaf ears as the other six guys chat loudly about who's going in what car. plucked from the crowd toward the end of the show, you had no idea that the singer had spotted you. just assumed the extra time he was spending near your section was pure coincidence. imagine your shock when security was escorting you backstage.

he barely spoke when you were presented to him, just gave you a once over before waving off the man that had brought you. he's dropping his arm around your shoulders and leading you to the couch in the middle of the room. you're tucked into his side the entire time they stand around talking. he's not listening and you're too starstruck to chime in. although, you wouldn't have much to say on the topic.

they were deciding car sharing arrangements from the sound of it. the seven gorgeous men you had watched dance and sing their hearts out on stage, stood right in front of you, paying you no mind.

jungkook sits lazily spread out on the couch as if they're not discussing him not even ten feet away. the tips of his fingers have started drawing light patterns against your naked shoulder, causing goosebumps to lift. his words come as a whisper against your ear: “you look so good in your little dress...” middle finger tracing the hem of it for emphasis. “i can't wait to take you home with me,”

 he notices the flush that rises on your cheeks at the end of his words., a smirk playing on his lips as he leans down. his lips are soft, warm against the clammy skin of your neck. at first, he lands light kisses on your skin – testing the waters... then all of a sudden his tongue is pushing out, rolling over a very specific spot before he's sucking that bit of skin past his teeth. you're letting out a gasp in surprise, hand shooting down to clutch his thigh as your eyes widen.

the sound pulls taehyung's attention. it's the first time he's looked at you and yes, he's just as intimidating up close. not a hint of what he's thinking is behind his stare and it has a thump of anxiety growing in your chest. you're just about to start full-on squirming when the corners of his lips lift into a small smile. “i'll ride with them, then. i don't mind.” he says with a shrug and as if that had been the dilemma all along, they're packing up to leave.

all jungkook had done, up til now, was kiss your neck a bit... honestly, you've done a lot more than simple necking – but by the time you're settling the backseat of the tinted window car, you're basically panting. he makes a show of waving off his fans, shouting promises of returning for another show.

as a fan, you're giddy to know that sometime soon they'd be coming back to perform again. as the girl seated beside him, waiting to be felt up – you were quickly growing annoyed... and impatient with his drawn out goodbye. he must sense that the moment he's rolling his window back up because he doesn't waste any time with crowding you.

one large hand laid flat on the center of your stomach while the other pushes your hair on the way, making room for the wet kisses he drags across your skin. it's hard to keep quiet with the way his skilled mouth works. love bites placed so deliberately there's no way you're able to fight the soft hums that fall from your lips. even with the full knowledge that kim taehyung is sat right next to you. like right next to you, his thigh pressed against yours as he manspreads... you could smell his cologne for crying out loud!

taehyung's sole focus is his phone, paying no mind to the way his bandmate pulls your legs apart or the way he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. as if it's far from the first time something like this has happened. and that's when it's clicking in your mind. this isn't the first time this has happened. it's routine, he didn't spot you in the crowd and have this unbearable need to be close to you.

he wasn't going to fall in love with you either. he simply wanted you and he was jeon jungkook, he got what he wanted. and as odd as it was, something about that turned you on even more. he wanted you. out of the ninety thousand people he could've chosen from, he chose you. for the night of course, but you were willing to take what you could get.

you're so lost in the fantasies and scenarios you're whipping up in your head, you don't even register the way he's pulled your legs apart. not until you're feeling the nudge of his fingers against your heat through the fabric of your panties. “make those pretty sounds for me,”

he's pushing your panties to the side, just enough for his fingers to reach through and brush against your exposed slit. the moan you let out isn't even all that loud, yet it catches the attention of the man seated beside you. tae tries to be subtle with the way he watches, holding his phone up as if that's where his focus is. it's obvious that's not the case and something about him watching you has a rush of excitement pooling between your legs.

jungkook chuckles fingers making their way to your now dripping hole. he doesn't say much else, eyes on you as he slowly pushes a finger through. and then another. he's moving at an agonizingly slow pace, enjoying the way you squirm beneath him desperate for more. “you're squeezing me so tight... can't wait to fuck you open.” lips pressed to your ear as he speaks, pulling a desperate whine from your lips.

“jungkook, please...” legs spreading wider for him as your hips grind down into his palm. he's grinning, eyes flickering to the man next to you before he's picking up the pace of his fingers. fucking into you at such a rapid pace, you're not even able to contain the squeal that falls from your lips.

his thumb lifts to meet your clit, circling roughly against it with each thrust of his fingers. he can tell you're close to falling apart, from the way you grip his shirt and the untimed twitch of your hips. “think you can handle one more, baby?” mouth lazily tugging on your earlobe as he speaks.

and you're nodding frantically, spreading your legs wider for him paying no mind to the way your knee knocks against taehyung's thigh. “such a good girl. can't wait to feel you cum all over my dick. you want that too, huh?” three fingers pushed into the knuckle while his thumb slowly rolls your clit underneath it.

he's making you feel so good, you'd agree to anything at this point. which is why you're agreeing to his words instantly, begging him not to wait that long, to make you cum now. and he takes you up on that, pulling his fingers back before quickly pushing forward. the snap of his wrist has enough force behind it to make your hips hit against the seats.

urging you to cum with each push of his fingers, reaching deep enough to just barely brush up against that rough patch of skin inside of you. he doesn't let up on the circle on your clit, adding more pleasure and it's only a few moments until you feel yourself unraveling completely.

your orgasm washes over you entirely, head lulling back while you let out a gasped scream. legs shaking and fingers wrinkling the fabric of his shirt. chanting jumbled syllables that are meant to be his name, judging from the laugh he lets out you're not even slightly close to making sense.

jungkook only pulls his fingers down once you've calmed down completely, lifting the wet digits to show off how your juices glisten in the dim light. and then he's pushing them into his mouth, sucking your taste from them while humming softly. you're watching him, not being able to pull your attention from the way his tongue moves.

you barely register the way he leans down to press his lips to yours, not until the taste of you fills your own mouth. but, just as you're about to kiss him back, he's pulling away. dark eyes drinking you in before he's leaning back against the seats, hands moving toward the buttons of his jeans.

“get down and suck me off,” you're shooting him with a wide gaze, eyes shifting over to where taehyung sits, fake watching the same tiktok on his phone for the tenth time. jungkook follows your gaze, laughs softly before he's dropping his stare back onto you, forehead resting on your temple. “he's not even looking,”

the boner straining against his jeans says otherwise. sensing your hesitance, jungkook tries a different approach, lower lip pushing out to form a pout. the same pout you have saved on your phone over a thousand times. “but, i worked so hard today... don't i deserve a reward?” he's looking up at you through his lashes. “i'll fuck you so perfect when we get to the hotel,” heat pools between your legs at his words.

you make a mental note to end the weeks-long debate with your friends on who's the most spoiled out of the group. it's jungkook, hands down. the youngest in the biggest group in the world, of course, it was him. he expected the entire world to get down on their knees with a simple pout of his lips... which is exactly why you're lowering yourself onto the surprisingly soft car carpet.

--

he does, in fact, as he put it 'fuck you so perfect when you get to the hotel'. from the moment you're closing the door to well after two in the morning, he's inside you. tossing you around, holding you down... fucking you open until your body shakes with overstimulation. and then some more after that. 

he calls you baby, but you're sure it doesn't mean anything. just that he never bothered to get your name. even in the early hours of the morning when you're being woken up by his security guard, ready to escort you out. he tosses his phone in your direction, half awake and telling you to put your number in. you know he won't call as you type out the digits, but you're still giddy that he asked.

eyes still closed as you leave, not even bothering to muster a proper goodbye. and while for you, this night will be a story you tell the grandkids... you know it'll end up being just another blur in his wild rockstar life.

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[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 24 - Post Break Up [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Break ups are never easy.

Series Masterlist

A real spy, a good spy didn’t get scared.

That was one of the most important things they had taught you back at the academy. Being scared got you killed, so you always had to look for weapons or something you could use to save yourself.

Save yourself, take the target down if you can, and if you can’t; get out of there as soon as possible.

For some reason, none of those options felt like they would work against the most feared assassin in the world. Bucky tilted his head, his gaze bored into yours and you stole a look at the counter from the corner of your eye to see what you could use against him.

“Oh come on, do we really have to do that?”

You grabbed the knife on the counter, flipping it in your hand.

“What kind of an assassin would I be if I didn’t fight back?”

He pulled his brows together.

“Fight back?” he asked but before he could say anything else, you had already lunged at him. He dodged the knife way too easily and grabbed to twist your arm, but you went under his arm and jumped to wrap your legs around his neck, using the momentum to make him lose his balance before you both fell to the ground.

“Brings back the memories,” you grunted and he got out of your tight grip quite easily to grab at you, but you had already jumped on your feet. You darted at him and he sent you back, your back hitting the wall hard. You fell on your knees and snatched the knife off the floor but as soon as you got on your feet again, he let out a breath.

“I’m not going to hurt you, okay?”

A hysterical laughter escaped from your lips, “You do realize that it’s not my first day, right?”

“Do you seriously think I’d hurt you?”

“I think if somebody crossed me the way I crossed you, I wouldn’t let them live.”

“Yeah well, good thing I’m not you.”

You frowned slightly, trying to catch your breath as you held the knife tighter.

“Then what the fuck is this?” you asked, “Closure?”

“Oh no I think we’ve had closure,” he said, anger dripping off his voice, “This is a transaction.”

You stared at him and he reached into his pocket to pull out a thumb drive.

Well.

Okay. It was clear that you had misread this situation.

You put the knife on the table and crossed your arms, leaning back, “What is that?”

“This is the information of everyone I hurt on my Winter Soldier days,” he said, “Dates, names, occupations…. Your father’s name isn’t on it.”

Your stomach did a painful flip, “I know,” you rasped out, “I… um- I found out after I left that night.”

“HYDRA doesn’t have anything on your father, as far as I’ve seen.”

You nodded slowly, “And you’re helping me why?”

“I’m not helping you,” he stated, “I just know how it feels to be manipulated into doing something. Everyone deserves answers, no matter how terrible people they are.”

Well, you deserved that and much more.

“I see,” you said, “Well, for what it’s worth, thank you.”

He eyed you up and down silently.

“Why did you try to get me out of the country?” he asked after a beat, “That night? Why did you try to help?”

You bit inside your cheek, commanding yourself to stay strong.

“Does it matter after this point?” you asked back and he let out a breath, shaking his head.

“I guess not,” he mumbled and walked to the window, making you take a step towards him.

“Can I—“ you spoke before he could jump out, making him turn around to look at you, “Can I ask you something?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Why would you not want revenge?” you asked, “It’s assassin 101. Why not come after me for all these months?”

Why didn’t you try to find me?

That was what you wanted to ask. As twisted as it was, you would’ve taken him coming after you over him forgetting about you.

Well, as it turned out, no one could say assassins were reasonable people when it came to romance.

“I’m not that person anymore,” he said, “And honestly? You’re not worth it.”

Ah. That.

You could swear your heart was cracking but you pursed your lips together, forcing yourself to look unaffected.

“Fair enough,” you rasped out and took a deep breath. “Goodbye Bucky.”

He swallowed thickly, his gaze fixed on you.

“Goodbye Shrike,” he murmured and jumped out of the window, leaving you all alone, standing there in the middle of your apartment. You blinked back the tears, then ran a hand over your face.

“Get your shit together,” you murmured to yourself, then grabbed the wine glass to down it.

                                             *

The next day you were so busy with the HYDRA files Bucky had given you that you barely noticed Keith pulling a seat to plop down beside you.

“Hi there.”

“Hey,” you said without pulling your gaze off the screen as Keith put a cup of coffee on the table. “Thanks man.”

“No problem. What’re you working on?”

“Oh just some old files.”

“Old files? Where did you get them?”

“Bucky gave them to me last night.”

Keith sputtered out his coffee, causing you to make a face and grab the napkins to wipe the screen.

“Is this your first time they let you out into the real world or something?” you asked him, “Like, what is this? Were you raised in a barn? I don’t want your fucking germs—“

“Screw you. You met Barnes last night?” he lowered his voice, looking around and you shrugged.

“Met is the wrong word.”

“Y/N, what the fuck?”

“It’s not like I texted him to meet!” you whispered, “He just showed up!”

“Okay, we need to give you some protection—“

“No, and you’re not telling anyone.”

“You’re not safe!” he whispered and you shook her head.

“He’s not gonna hurt me.”

“Y/N-“

“He’s not,” you cut him off, “If he wanted me dead, I’d be dead. I talk big talk, but trust me if he came after me, I wouldn’t stand a chance. I actually saw that last night.”

“Why was he there?”

“To give me this thumb drive,” you said, “I’m just going through this HYDRA stuff to see whether they had something on my father, whether— I don’t know, whether I missed something on our files.”

“We checked everything we had on HYDRA.”

“I’m just making sure.”

“What did he say?”

“Hm?”

“What did you talk about last night, when he showed up?”

“You know, typical break up stuff,” you murmured before peeling your eyes off the screen. “He broke into my apartment, gave me a thumb drive with top secret information and oh—before I forget, he said I wasn’t worth going after.”

He blinked a couple of times, staring at you.

“I’m sorry?”

“So much for civil exes huh?”

“More like evil exes,” he commented, “You know he’s being a jerk to you because you tore his heart out, right?”

“I can’t really blame him,” you muttered, “He’s right to be upset.”

“But are you okay?”

You scoffed a laugh, “I betrayed the one person who I could see a future with,” you admitted, “And six months apparently wasn’t enough to get over him. So no, Keith, I’m really not okay.”

He pressed his lips together.

“What if we got you out there? You know, maybe you can’t get over someone without getting under someone.”

“I’ve had sex in the last six months, that’s not working.”

“Barnes hasn’t.”

That was enough to make you turn your head, your whole attention on him.

“What?”

“We’ve um… we’ve kept an eye on Barnes and Wilson, you know, what they have been doing. Barnes isn’t even meeting people.”

“Maybe he is and you don’t know.”

“Nope,” he said, “He and Captain America have been going on their own missions, but since Accords 2.0 didn’t pass, we can’t touch them.”

You tilted your head, “Hold on, what missions?”

A big grin pulled at Keith’s lips.

“Y/N, are you asking me to share classified information with you?”

You arched a brow and eyed you up and down, then steered your office chair a little to the left.

“I’m glad you came back,” he said, dragging his fingers on the touchpad to find the files, “Things were getting a little boring here.”

                                                    *

As a spy, finding targets wasn’t something you were unfamiliar with. In fact, since coming back here you were beginning to feel less like a professional spy and more like a rookie in training. You were growing restless every minute you weren’t working, and maybe that was why you were dying to keep yourself busy with something.

Even if that something was completely forbidden by your agency and you would probably be sent to another country again if they ever found that out.

So searching for where Bucky and Sam were using the agency’s resources was probably a bad idea, yet there you were.

You took a deep breath, then approached their table and plopped down to the seat next to Bucky’s.

“You’re going after HYDRA’s leader?”

Bucky’s head whipped up and Sam gawked at you for a second before pulling his brows together.

“What the…”

“Who’s your source?”

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asked through his teeth and you crossed your arms.

“Paying back the favor.”

“Well don’t. I don’t want you here.”

“How did you even know-“

“I’m a spy, Sam,” you stated, “And the agency has been watching you, do you guys seriously think we've left you alone?”

“I was actually hoping you’d leave me alone, yeah.” Bucky growled through his teeth and your heart dropped to your stomach, but you managed to shake your head.

“I don’t—“

“Your agency has been keeping tracks on us?”

You nibbled on your lip, “Just because Accords 2.0 was a failure…” you trailed off and Bucky scoffed, drumming his metal fingers on the table.

“Why are you here?”

“Listen I get it, you hate me,” you said, “Fine. Not a big deal, I can live with that. But I just- I can help.”

Bucky stared at you as if he was waiting for you to say you were joking, but when you didn’t, he let out a bitter laugh.

“You’re not serious, right?”

“Bucky,” Sam said warningly and he threw his hands up.

“You can’t possibly be entertaining this.”

“I’m just asking what the agency knows, that’s all.”

You heaved a deep sigh, trying your hardest not to show your disappointment on your face. It wasn’t like you expected Bucky to welcome you, but you were at least hoping—

Well.

It didn’t matter what you were hoping, it was very obvious that Bucky would never forgive you.

“They’ve just been keeping tracks on you,” you said, “I don’t think any of them put the clues together, and they can’t touch you even if they did, you’d have to do something first. Especially after the last fail—“

“Oh you mean when they took me in after you lied to me about everything and leashed them on me?” Bucky asked you, “That fail?”

You clicked your tongue, “Yeah. That one.”

“Un-fucking-believable.”

“Bucky.”

“But I’ve been going after different HYDRA officials for the last couple of years, and I’ve spent the last 6 months going over everything we had on them, I know some of their locations. So going after HYDRA leader then? Or his super secret location? Why?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, “Forgive me if I’m not in a sharing mood after learning about what a liar you are. As far as you’re concerned, we’re not doing anything.”

“But I’m trying to make amends—“

“Not interested.” Bucky cut you off and you swallowed thickly.

“You’ve seen me fight,” you insisted, “You’ve— you’ve seen how good I am at my job, okay? I just— I swear I won’t say anything to the agency, just let me help.”

Sam looked between you two and turned to Bucky.

“That’s not such a—“

“Don’t say it.”

“Even you have to admit, that’s not a terrible idea.”

“You’d have to be crazy to think you can trust her,” Bucky argued back, “I get that you always want to see the best in people, but you can’t, not with her.”

“I’m sitting right here,” you reminded him and Bucky shrugged his shoulders.

“I know, feel free to leave.”

“Don’t,” Sam told you and Bucky frowned.

“You’re joking.”

“Bucky, she could help.”

“And then turn us in.”

“The agency lied to me about my father, I’m not going to turn you in or do anything to have me manipulated by them again. Whatever the mission is, they won’t know about it, you have my word.”

“Because your word holds any value for me?” Bucky asked you, his voice way too calm and you clenched your jaw.

“The mission doesn’t require a honey trap,” he said when you didn’t answer his rhetorical question, “Thanks for the offer though, Y/N. Go to hell.”

With that, he walked out of the café and you just sat there completely frozen. You could swear your heart weighed a ton in your chest, and your eyes were burning but you quickly blinked the tears back, then shrugged your shoulders.

“That went well.”

“Do you really want to help?” Sam asked after a couple of seconds of silence and you nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

You scoffed a bitter laugh, “Other than apparently signing my own death warrant?” you asked, “I owe him. He doesn’t want to go after me for using him, fine. He still deserves justice. HYDRA destroyed his life, the least I can do is help him get back at them, make them pay.”

Sam raised his brows, “You feel that guilty huh?”

You didn’t have any answer to that, and he took a deep breath.

“Can I trust you?”

“You can,” you murmured, “I want you to, but… I wouldn’t.”

“Okay. Let me rephrase the question, will you betray his trust again?”

There was no hesitation in your voice when you spoke, “I’d rather die.”

Sam held your gaze as if trying to see whether you were sincere or not, then cleared his throat.

“Let me think about it,” he said, “I’m not saying no, okay? Let me think about it and talk with him.”

You nodded slowly, “Thank you.”

He shot you a small smile, then walked out of the café, leaving you alone there. You shut your eyes, leaning your head back and letting out a breath.

“Great,” you muttered, “This should be fun.”

Chapter 25

[dragon-of-dreams]

A Debt to pay

My Masterlist

Pairing: dark!mafia!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: noncon; breading kink; threats, murder, readers parents are dead, reader getting hit across the face, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! Seariously, this is some really dark shit with some astonishingly soft sx... No idea how that happened... 18+!!!

No mentions of y/n, and reader is kinda an off because she has a back-story but no physical descriptors are used.

Summary: Your dad dies unexpectedly and you take over running the family cafè. The costs for your daddy’s funeral bring the head of the Barnes family to your doorstep as you struggle to keep up with the payments for a loan you had no idea your dad had taken out with them. You get “offered” an alternative method of payment.

a/n: this was a request by the lovely @oneoftheprettynerds

I hope I did it justice! Thank you for being the most patient person in the world, when Covid, life, exams, life and so on and so forth got in the way of your wish!

Prompt: Can I please get a dark mafia bucky or peter with noncon and breeding kink? With a side of people hitting on reader

 Wordcount: 2,800

 In all seriousness, you had to consider yourself lucky. Most people in this small city had it worse than you. Most didn’t have their own business, certainly not at your age, and most would never have enough money to even dream about that. Your town had the habit of sucking money out of people faster than they could make it and as of late that was also the case for you.

           After your dad had died unexpectedly in a car crash, money had been tight, really tight. You’d never known how fucking expensive funerals were and his drained all the savings you had, just before you’d managed to scrambled together enough for a community college education in business. Now you were left an orphan in your early twenties running a café on only the knowledge you’d learnt from your dad with no prospects of an education. Now you were as stuck as everybody else in town.

           What made matters even worse was the bill you’d gotten two weeks after the funeral. A bill from the one company in town nobody wanted one from. Rich men running successful businesses on the backs of the honest town’s people by draining their money. The mafia. Sharks in suits.

           According to the bill your dad had borrowed money from them 10 years ago. Your best guess was that he had needed it for your mother’s funeral and had never told you. Be that how it may, you didn’t know how to pay that bill. So you asked for time and put in extra hours, keeping the café open til late at night.

           You hated the extra hours. Not only because you got less sleep and had to work so much more and couldn’t afford to hire more employees but also because the later it got the more aggressively people hit on you.

           You hated them. All those men coming in once the sun set, calling you their sweetheart like you were property and grabbing at you and you having to smile and flirt because you needed their tips. Desperately. And yet it seemed to make no difference. There was just no money to be made in this town.

           Bucky Barnes, the head of the Romanov family had given you two months to come up with the next payment, and you knew that you’d end up dead in a ditch with them ceasing your café if you didn’t make it.

           So you smiled and joked with the moms coming in in the mornings and afternoons and flirted and swayed for their husbands at night. When you were in your little apartment above the café after you finally closed you usually cried yourself to sleep. And all throughout the day you would see him. See Bucky fucking Barnes watching you. At first you thought you were imagining it, but he was driving past your café in way too regular intevals, and would even occasionally take up one of your tables. You always sent other staff to serve him, you couldn’t bare to go to him, but his cold blue eyes never left you.

           Over those two month it became abundantly clear that you would never manage to come up with $2,000. And when one of Bucky’s men came in on the Wednesday before the Friday the payment was due, you thought of the 1,200 bucks you’d managed and wanted to cry.

           You knew the man, you’d gone to school with his younger brother Peter who had been a royal pain in your ass, having provided a glimpse of the harassment by the men you now faced every evening. Still you smiled at him: “Steve, hi, what can I get you?” ignoring that you had already flipped your sign to closed and where moping the floors.

           “Hi y/n, a coffee would be great, if you still got some” Steve answered while inspecting your café like he already owned the place.

           “Sure thing!” You tried to sound chipper, but the strain in you voice was audible, as you went behind the counter and got the machine going.

“Sugar? Milk?” you asked, with your back turned to Steve, hoping to draw out the inevitable.

“Just sugar, thanks.” Steve sounded gruff and distant and you knew you’d lost. He probably already knew that you wouldn’t be able to pay. He had accompanied Bucky a bunch of times, never ordered anything, just watched and listened, as Bucky drank or ate. The men had attracted stares. Not only because they were mafia, but because for personified devils, they sure looked like gods.

As you set his coffee before him he asked: “So what can I tell my boss to expect on Friday?” You stared at Steve in his perfectly tailored suit in harsh contrast to the homey but ultimately grimy café surrounding him as you decided on what to say. He looked amazing, and you hated him for it.

Steve raised an eyebrow at you. He was getting impatient. “I… I have a little over half.” You muttered and looked down at your hands, twisted tightly together. “My daddy’s funeral cost so much money, and I” you were interrupted by Steve’s fist hitting the countertop, making you flinch. His rage was pouring out of him so suddenly, taking over everything else. He seethed: “Safe your excuses, little girl. Just make sure to get the money. Bucky isn’t as lenient as I am.” With that, Steve got up from the bar, drained his coffee in one long gulp and left without giving you the chance to beg. You would have. You would do anything now if it meant saving your life. ‘Lenient’, you thought. How was any of this lenient?

           On Friday morning, you didn’t want to get up, much less open the café, but you did both. You put a notice outside that you would close earlier tonight, so Barnes and his henchmen wouldn’t scare off your customers and then you went to work.

           The entire day felt like molasses. Time didn’t move at all, it left you fidgety and nervous. You screwed up more orders than you were willing to admit and then suddenly time jumped and it was 6 p.m. and the sun was setting and you’d closed the café down, pulled all curtains closed except for the front door and were sitting there, waiting. What for, you didn’t know.

           At 6:30 a black limousine came to a stop before your café and Barnes and Peter got out. Which you decided was a good sign. Surley if they were to kill you, they would’ve brought some muscle, not lanky Peter… Bucky Barnes wouldn’t get his hands dirty with you, would he? Or was that what Peter was for? Did he still have to prove himself in the company?

           As Bucky entered you wished it would just end now. To your sheer horror, Peter stayed outside, blocking the door, leaving you all alone with the man you feared most in this world. He looked just like everytime he’d previously entered your café. His suit fit perfectly and you could see the muscle beneath. He was astonishingly beautiful. If he only were so on the inside as well, you mused.

“Hi sweetheart,” Bucky drawled as he approached you, “Steve told me you don’t have my money.” You shrunk in on yourself, but nodded, as Bucky came to tower over you.

“That’s not good, angel, not at all. Why don’t you come out from behind the counter and we sit down and talk about it, huh?”

All you could do was nod. “What happened? Cat got your tongue?” Bucky teased as he grabbed you by the elbow and led you to a boot in the corner of the café, way out of view from the front door. His touch was startingly kind. You had prepared for pain, but were met with kind support. Your brow furrowed.

“I…” You looked up at him. “I g got $1,300. I know that’s not enough, but”

“Shh.” Bucky murmured and pushed you down onto the bench, took of his suit jacket, hung it carefully over a nearby chair and then caged you in by sitting at your side. You were trapped and you were shaking with fear.

Bucky was so much taller than you and even through his perfectly tailored black dressshirt you could see his muscles bulging. You couldn’t decide weather you wanted to start sobbing into his chest or punch him in the stomach. “Steve already told me all about that, angel, don’t worry, I already came up with a new payment plan.”

“You’re not mad?” you question, to terrified to be hopeful.

“Well, I am not thrilled, but I’ve always had a softspot for this place. My pa used to take me when I was little. I watched you grow up, you know?”

Hope bloomed like desert rose in your heart. He knew you! He had a connection to you! That surely meant he wouldn’t kill you. You’d figure out the money. Suddenly you were certain that you could do it.

“really? That’s – I never knew…” Your voice was fluttering with hope.

“Well, it’s a small town.” Bucky’s voice was calm and soothing. You almost forgot that you were squished between him and the wall.

“And with me seeing you grow up, and seeing all the other women in town I decided that you would give me an heir to take here. To watch people with, so he too could choose his wife. An heir for me and forgiveness for your debt and a happy home life for you.” Your world stopped spinning. It screeched to a halt.

“What? No, Bucky, I…” Bucky wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulled you close. The arm was tight across you back and stole your words from you as fear spread from every spot he touched throughout your entire body.

“You’re a hard worker, you have a drive for better and higher things. I like that. It’ll make you a diligant mother, you know angel? And that is what I need. A good mother to the boy who will inherit this town, don’t you agree?”

You sit there frozen, unable to reply. Your brain is going a thousand miles an hour trying to find a way, any way, to get away, but before you can do anything Bucky grabs your right hand and presses it to his crotch. He’s hard. The calm demeanour falls off him suddenly as he growls: “Here is how this will go, angel,” he starts to move your hand up and down his crotch, “I will let go of your hand and you will undo my pants and get me ready and then I will have that little pussy of yours on this table. I mean it ain’t romantic, but once you are my little wife I’ll make up for that, sweetheart.”

You swallow hard, press your eyes closed and feel him move his hand over the fine cotton of his suit and his hard length underneath, then you force yourself to nod. It’s a jerking, hurtful motion, but Bucky released you hand, as he leans back on the bench, spreading his legs, opening himself up to you.

You want to thrash out, but instead you shaking hands wander to his belt. “Go on, now. we ain’t got all night, darling.” You are tearing up, but do as you’re told. You lean slightly over him and undo his belt first, then his pants. His cock strains against his boxer briefs and you gulp. Bucky lifts his hips and you push his pants and underwear down.

His cock is beautiful. Long and thick and veined and you can’t help but press your thighs together at the sight. Bucky notices and smirks down at you. “Now that’s a good girl. Keep it up and I make sure you enjoy yourself!” he whispers in your ear as he guides your hands to his dick.

As you jerk him, you realize that you underestimated his size. Your fucked. Literally. There is no way you’re gonna enjoy this. Bucky shoves his left hand up your skirt suddenly and you freeze until he clears his throat and startles you back into action, while his fingers start exloring your sex.

“You know,” Bucky explains, “I find it helps ladies to go down on a guy before actually fucking. Gets them nice and ready, you know?” One of his fingers slides into your tight chanel, “But with you it seems we don’t need that. The sight of my cock alone made you cream. I knew there was something special about you!” He grins and removes his hand. “We might still have to work on your handjob skills though…” he muses, grips your hand and removes it form his dick, as he gets up.

You shrink back but he pulls you out after him. Finally, blessedly, your panic response sets in any you try to struggle, but Bucky’s hold on your arm tightens painfully and his left hand hits you across the face before you even see it coming and it makes your world spin. “Stop it, now!” Bucky barks at you and you freeze. Your feeble attempts forgotten as Bucky lifts you onto the table and rips your panties off. You start sobbing as he bends your right leg to your shoulder and situates himself.

“Sssh,” he cooes at you softly, “I’ll make it better, baby, just one moment.” His suddenly warm voice lulls you into a false sense of security as you stare into his deep blue eyes. They are bewitching you, and you only feel him push in when it’s too late.

He sheethes himself in one agonizingly long stroke. The pain breaks you out of your reverie, you arch your back and groan. It hurts! It hurts so much, and yet you want more, so much more. “Bucky!” you plead, you sob, you whine and once more there it is, the calm voice of the devil now owning your life, rolling in like the tide washing over you, calming you. “I know my sweet pet, I know, just relax now. Just breathe.” And you do. You can’t help yourself.

Bucky lets out a pained moan as you settle around him, and once your clenched eyes flutter back open, once your back comes back down from its painful arch, the god above you starts to move. Every drag and push is better than the last. He hits home every time. His dick lights up a pathway to your pleasure, with every sharp, hard, relentlessy painful thrust, in time with his pubic hair grinding against your clit. A particularly hard thrust shifts his cock so it hits your cervix and you scream with pain and pleasure. Your arms reach up, your hands burying themselves in his thick hair as Bucky leans in closer to you, bending you in half on that table, and nuzzles at your neck as he starts to hammer into you. Every thrust is pure bliss. You want to feel ashamed, you want to push him away, but all you can feel is the drag and glide of his cock, his pelvis against your clit, his tip hitting your cervix. You are on fire and the coil in your core is ready to explode. The intensity of Bucky’s thrusts never wavers, even as you feel him swell even further as his balls draw up and that tiny change breaks you, your orgasm explodes and you cry out in ecstatic pleasure, just as Bucky falters and shoots his cum in thick long strokes into you. His warmth joing yours as he lazily pumps to stop within you.

You only come back to yourself as Bucky pulls out slowly and you can feel your combined, cooling spend trickle down your legs. He eases your leg back down and kisses you softly as you start crying. “Ssh, darling, you’re alright. You’re done. Your debt is paid and you’ll be my wife in no time, the mother to my heir. You did so good, angel!” He coos sweet nothing at you until you can control your crying enough to speak.

“Bucky, I’m not on anything! What if it really takes?” you whimper, emerging from the fantasy he built up in your head.

“That is rather the point!” He snaps harshly. The calm voice gone as quickly as it emerged. You shiver as you realize the extent of what he said before. He really meant it all… Bucky pulls up his pants. “Pack up your things, lovely, tomorrow I’ll pick you up and you are moving in with me, so I can keep an eye on you!” With that Bucky pulls on his suit jacket and heads for the door, as you struggle to sit up, shaking and crying.

At the door Bucky looks back at you, his voice a lot calmer again: “I’m real happy about our new business arrangement as it ensures you will be staying with me, little girl. If only your daddy would have agreed to let me have you, his car wouldn’t have had to end up wrapped around a tree so your little college fund would go away. Sleep tight now, Mama, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

[lesbian-deadpool]

Happy Little Accidents

Part Two: Hope

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 2,317

Warnings: I don’t think there is any?? Crying/light angst, adoption process, stress??

Request: Yes

Summary: You work on getting you little girl back. And hope that it’s successful.

A/N: It’s been a long time coming, I haven’t proof read it or anything (but when do I ever? Lol), so bare that in mind.

Ko-Fi

(Not My GIF)

***

Being a pair of Avengers and going through the adoption process was so very complicated.

On one hand, you were well known across the globe. Household names.

But on the other. You were dangerous people, with violent past's -and futures to come- with more enemies than you could count. Some of which you didn't even know existed. And who in their right minds would ever let a child into that environment? People have been turned down for much less.

However.

You were basically celebrity's. And as everyone knows, that comes with a lot of special treatment. Even if you and Natasha -And most of, if not all of your team- denied to use any of it. But in this case? For little Hope? You would do whatever you had to.

So, it was thanks to that, that you were even allowed to be considered for adoption.

And there was so much work that had to be done.

Papers to sign, meetings to attend, visits and screenings every which way. And so much more.

It was a long and tedious journey. And you still had a long way to go.

Right now, you had to watch as someone picked apart your home -once again- to make sure it was okay for your little girl to come home. Where she belongs.

You had moved not too long ago, maybe a little over two months, and in that time, it had been looked at three times. Which really made it seem like you weren't doing anything, in their eyes, considering you were busy working and renovating the whole place out at the same time.

The day after you and Natasha had to say goodbye to Hope, you knew that you had to get a bigger place than the apartment you had both shared. And began looking for new homes the very same day.

Tony's help wasn't needed, you had plenty of money, but he insisted. So when you two found a townhouse that you absolutely adored, not too far from SHIELD HQ -where you both now worked most of the time. As when Fury found out that you were both to be adopting Hope- or trying to at least, the man lowered your hours and took you off missions altogether. Just until you were all settled-, the billionaire bought it for you, the moment he got wind of it.

You were moved in three days later. Deciding to work on the house while you lived there.

"So, where would the child be sleeping?" Your caseworker asked.

"Oh, right this way," you said, leading her down the hall to the newly decorated bedroom. Natasha following behind.

You gestured to the light pink, yet slightly sparse room. "This is it."

"We still have to pick up some of the furniture. But we've been waiting for the room to be decorated first," Natasha said, excusing the bare room.

"Yeah, Hope's not going to sleep on a stack of paint cans," you tried to joke. To which you barely got a smile from your caseworker, Stephany Halla.

"It look's decorated to me?"

"Oh." Natasha smiled. "We're having a friend of ours paint a mural or two on the walls."

"Yeah, Hope has a few favourite Avengers, so he's gonna paint them. And he's been learning how to draw cartoon characters for it, too."

"He's actually trying to adopt the two kids he took in with his fiance."

"Steve Rogers?" Stephany asked.

"That's the guy," you said, nodding along with Natasha.

"I've seen him around the office," She spoke again a few moments later. "So, when are you planning on getting the furniture for the room?"

"Hopefully, within a month," Natasha replied, "But with our and Steve's schedules, things are up in the air."

It was a difficult start to the adoption process, more so than it was now. Considering that the children legally didn't exist to the world. So, everything was so confusing and thrown up into the air while waiting for the kids to be registered.

Almost like you didn't know whether you were coming or going. Everything stuck in limbo as you waited to see what kind of adoption process you would have to take. And even with all of your connections in the world, you were still left in the dark.

There was the fact that the kids were found overseas in Romania, so they could be considered Romanian. And so, you would have to go through international adoption.

However, none of the children have birth parents and were brought to America because you had rescued them. So, some would say they could be considered immigrants.

Nothing like this had ever happened before.

Babies that had been grown in a lab and saved from a further torturous life, that now needed legalization in the world's eyes.

You and Natasha had to watch as Government's essentially fought over these children you saved. Over the same child, you clothed and fed. The one you played games with and bonded with the little girl you grew to love and consider your own.

So, as the world fought for the right of your child, your little Hope, you waited. Just wishing and wanting to bring your daughter home.

But, luckily for you, the children were now classed as American citizens. Which made it ten times easier for you to adopt than it would otherwise.

Which is honestly just crazy to you, considering just how intensely hard this is.

There were times you didn't believe you could ever adopt your child.

On more than one occasion, Natasha would come to you, saddened to her core, because she truly believed that you would never have Hope in your family.

It was so fucking hard.

Natasha had rolled over one night after you two had -once again- gone through the rules and regulations of adopting. Uttering how you were, "Never going to get her back" that there was "Juts no way, they will let us adopt", as she cried into your arms.

But still, the process continued.

"Well, your home seems to be in good standing. So for. But I advise you to get the furniture for the child's room as soon as possible," Stephane commented as she began packing up her belongings and paperwork.

"Oh, we know."

"Steve did say that he was going to start work on it in the next few days," Natasha added, nodding along with you.

"Well, that's is good news." Stephane smiled. "I'll see you at our next meeting with Hope."

Natasha sighed happily. "We can't wait."

"Well, goodbye then."

You whished the dirty-blonde woman farewell, closing the door behind her.

"We get to see our daughter in a couple of weeks," your red-headed girlfriend said excitedly, dancing from side to side out of pure happiness. Her bright smile filling your soul with warmth, that travelled all the way into your bones.

You matched her emotions, hands coming to curve around her shoulder blades and pulling her close to you.

"I know, Honey. It's been so long since we've seen her. And we're gonna bring her home one day."

That was all you could say before your mouth was covered, with the crushing feeling of Natasha's plump lips against yours.

***

Nerves rattled through you, but you hadn't the faintest idea why, considering this wasn't the first time you had seen Hope. However, it had been one of the first times you were able to see her since the day she was taken away from you.

If you thought you were bad.

Natasha was far worse.

She was practically shaking. From nerves or excitement, you didn't know. But you had a good inkling to think that it was both.

You had done so much for this child in the short span of time you had known her.

And yet, you couldn't imagine your life any other way. The thought of how your life had been that time last year.

No Hope. Surrounded by missions and work. Every free moment you had was spent with Natasha, and the rag-tag group of hero's you had grown to call your family.

It all seemed so foreign now.

Like a past life.

'Wow', you thought, 'Maybe I really am growing up'.

A part of you was afraid that the girl you thought of as your daughter wouldn't recognise you or your []. And would be scared of the two strangers that had just barged their way into her life. Breaking both of your heart's.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Was the thing that greeted you, as soon as the door had swung open. Making you realise just how stupid your train of thought really was.

Natasha rushed forward, scooping the girl up into her arms, with a bright smile upon both of their faces.

"So, I still don't get a name, huh?" you joked, walking over to the reuniting girls.

Brushing a hand over Hope's short hair. Grinning when she reached her arms towards you, ready to give you a hug of your own, which you gratefully accepted.

"Don't worry," Natasha said, rubbing Hope's back as she hugged you, "You'll get a name soon."

"I better. Or else I'm gonna have ta tickle it out of her."

Hope's squeals reached your ears as you threateningly poked her side with your fingers.

"Here, baby. I'll save you," Natasha called, pulling the giggling girl from your arms. Both of them watching as you pulled your hand's in front of your face, wiggling the fingers almost spookily as them. The girls turned to each other, "They're silly."

Then they walked away.

With you calling after them.

"Hey! I may be silly, but-... I have no rebuttal!"

Natasha laughed at this, then greeted the care worker that was patiently waiting for you both. The one that you had only just noticed.

"Hello, Stephany," Natasha said in greeting, shaking the woman's hand. You following suit.

"Hey. How have you two been?"

"Missing this little one," Natasha replied, bouncing the girl on her waist. Receiving fun-filled giggles in return.

"I bet you have. And you, Y/N?"

"Exhausted," you told her honestly, "With moving house and everything, I just want to have Hope home, then sleep for a week."

The care worker laughed at that.

"Let's hope that that's sooner rather than later, then."

Your few hour's with Hope passed faster than you ever could have imagined. You played with blocks, ate lunch, "helped" Hope colour in her haphazardly filled colouring book. You absolutely adored the way her eyes lit up, and she started dancing and flailing her arms when she saw bubbles for the first time. You almost couldn't continue blowing them because of your bright smile.

And now you were watching as Natasha spoke gently to the little girl. Hope's hand's resting on the red-heads cheeks, watching her mother with such concentrating eyes.

You adored your little family.

You just wished you could have them all home.

'One day', you thought, 'one day'.

Saying goodbye was one of the hardest things you've ever had to do.

Just like the last time.

And the time before that.

And the time before that.

And the one before that.

It just got harder and harder each and every time you did this.

Hope was crying. And so was Natasha, albeit silently, as she tried to console the toddler.

"I know, my little love, I know-"

"Mommy!" Hope cried.

"I know, angel. We'll be back before you know it, I promise."

"Mommy!"

"I know."

Once in the car, you let your tears fall, Natasha sobbing in the seat beside you.

"I don't think I can keep on doing this anymore," you admitted. Deciding it was best you explained when Natasha turned to look at you, an incredulous look upon her face, "Keep on seeing her, and not being able to bring her home."

"We'll get there," your [] reached over the centre console to squeeze your hand, "We will. You're the one who's always saying that we've got to take after her namesake and have hope."

"But it almost seems endless, Nat."

"I know, honey." She wetly kissed your tear-stained cheek. Her lips, brushing against it as she continued, "We'll bring her home. I just know it."

"I hope you're right."

***

She was right.

Of course, she was right.

She was Natasha Romanoff, after all.

It was like she just had this inability to be wrong.

But in this case? You were so fucking happy about that.

Granted it had taken a while longer -a good eight months- but finally, you were here.

Exiting the courthouse with Hope in your arms, and Natasha by your side. Bright smiles upon all of your faces, about to take the little girl- Your daughter home.

You would never have to say goodbye to her, like that, ever again.

She was legally a part of your family now. And nothing would ever change that.

"Ready to go home, sweetpea?" Natasha asked the beaming girl.

"I don't know about you," you started, "But I think this deserves celebratory ice cream."

"I think you just want ice cream before dinner."

You gave an overdramatic gasp.

"Why I would never! How dare you accuse me of such a thing?"

Natasha laughed at your antics but nonetheless nodded her head.

"I agree. This does deserve celebratory ice cream."

"Yes!" you exclaimed happily to Hope, your free arm raising above your head in victory, making the girl copy you by raising both of her arms.

She was already taking after you.

Your red-headed girlfriend sighed dreamily after you, as you chanted, "Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!" On your way to the car.

She couldn't remember a time where she was this happy.

It had been a long time since then.

And Natasha just couldn't wait to see what the rest of her life would bring with the two of you now by her side.

***

Permanent Tag List: 

@imnotasuperhero, @veteranwerewolf95, @natasha-danvers, @marvelfansince08love, @higherfurther-romanova, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @sestra-inestro, @thelastavenger-3000, @mixed-fandom-mess,

SFW Tag list: 

@peggycarter-steverogers, @natalia-quinzel,

[themandylion]

97 & 41 jaytim

Oh wow, this ended up long. /o\

97 (Time Travel) + 41 (First Kiss) + JayTim

He's boosting tires in the Bowery when the thugs find him. Crowd him up against a wall and threaten him with bodily harm for horning in on their territory, even though this part of the city is a free-for-all, with no one reigning supreme. There's three of them to his one, all of them full-grown men with bulging muscles and nasty tempers and Jason knows he's in his final moments, that there's no way he's escaping this. Still, that doesn't mean he's going to go down without a fight. He squares his shoulders, plants his feet, raises the tire iron in his hand, and—

Between one blink and the next, the back-most thug is on the ground, groaning and clutching his crotch. There's a blur of red, and then the next one's down on his knees, the crowbar he was gripping half a block away and the hand that was holding it pinned to the wall by a slim, sharp-edged disk.

Silver flashes through the night, and the final guy collapses in a heap, just sprawled out on the pavement like he's not even human anymore, just a pile of discard clothes over something lumpy and unmoving. Someone lands on his back, light and nimble and impossibly tall. "You okay there, kid?" the new person asks, crouching down so he's at Jason's level and smiling.

"…Batman?" He's only ever seen the Bat from a distance before, but he's heard about the cape and cowl, and this guy has both.

The guy shakes his head. "Nope, not him. I'm his partner, though."

"Robin wears green," Jason feels compelled to point out, because he's definitely seen Robin before, though always on the TV, when the Teen Titans are fighting really scary bad guys elsewhere in the world.

This time, a shadow seems to pass over the man's face, sad and unhappy. "I'm a different kind of Robin. Red Robin. I'm pretty new, it's not surprising you haven't heard of me." He leans back on his heels and glances around at the thugs, frowning. "I've got to tie these guys up and leave them somewhere the GCPD will find them. Do you think you can get home on your own?"

Jason gulps, staring up at him, at the way all that tight leather and spandex hugs his body. Gee whiz. "Yeah, I. I can take care of myself. Thanks!" He surges forward, practically smacking his mouth against Red Robin's cheek, before running off into the night. Maybe not headed home, but to as close as anything gets, these days.

---

Two weeks later, Batman catches him boosting tires on Crime Alley. A week later, he's going home with the man. Jason asks about Red Robin and gets a confused, clueless look, which is strange. With everything else happening, he forgets about the man in the black cowl with the silver staff, but he still finds himself drawn to that one particular shade of red.

---

He forgets until the memory is jarred out of the deepest depths years later on the other side of the multiverse, when he's bound to a chair and staring down the barrel of gun. A gun held by another Batman, a different Bruce. One who did all the things he thought he wanted his Bruce to do, only to end up a broken man as a result. Jason tries to explain himself and his presence, but it's hard to when he keeps seeing that suit in the case over this Batman's shoulder.

They reach an understanding, a kind of peace. Both of them, finally, for the first time in ages. This other Bruce offers him the suit, and Jason doesn't think twice before putting it on. He's traveled across the multiverse, seen places where dead people live again, where evil people are good and vice versa. It's not too far a stretch to believe that somehow, he's going become his own childhood hero.

When he finishes pulling on the last piece, Bruce looks on him with pride and announces, "Red Robin lives!"

"Red…?" Jason murmurs, more than a little startled. It's been so long, he'd nearly forgotten the name, but it fits, it makes sense. Finally, he's back on the right path, back to being someone the boy he once was could be proud of. Will be proud of, when their paths cross again, which he's sure they will.

---

The other Batman dies.

---

They get back, finally done traveling across the multiverse, fleeing across Apokolips, running from plagues and maybes and might-have-beens. Donna and Rayner return to wherever they call home, and Jason... He thought he finally found himself when he put on the cowl and became Red Robin, but with everything that happened after that moment, all the contrition he gained has been too long stewing in a half-broken heart. He isn't sure who rescued him when he was a kid, but it wasn't him, and it wasn't the long-dead Jason of another world. Maybe it was no one at all, and he made it all up and convinced himself it was real.

He runs back to Gotham, strips off the cape and cowl, the bandoliers and leather. Throws it all in the trash and goes to knock some heads and blow off some steam, anything to escape from what the rest of the Justice League brought with them—a sob story and a broken, days-old body.

---

The suit disappears from the can where he threw it, and he thinks good riddance to bad rubbish, but the person who's wearing it now doesn't understand the significance, the legacy. Doesn't know what it symbolizes, a last chance at redemption, a final loss of innocence.

The new kid distracts him, muddies the water and still Jason doesn't see it, doesn't realize what's happening. Even when the kid takes the cowl, adds it to his green-free suit, he doesn't see it.

Jason's too busy fighting, too busy screaming, raging, being angry at himself and the world to realize how things are swirling tighter and tighter, closing in, twining together, weaving themselves in an intricate, impossible mesh that's new and old and always existing all at the same time. The three of them—him and Dick and the new kid—push and shove and fight and scream and grieve in their own ways, trying to figure out who they're going to be now, what the world is without Bruce.

He ignores overtures of friendship, leaves the kid broken and bleeding out and thinks nothing of it, still too busy hurting and too busy denying he hurts.

Thinks nothing of Robin back on the streets in red and green and black and yellow, a different boy, an actual child.

---

Bruce comes back, but he's just as stubborn as always, and Jason burned the last of his bridges while the old man was playing possum. There's nothing left for him to do but lurk in the shadows and grit his teeth and watch Drake bounce around the city in a costume that isn't his, telling himself he doesn't care, that it doesn't rub him the wrong way.

Doesn't actually realize what's happening until one day he's watching as Drake races across the city, ready to step in and stop him if he dares to cross into Red Hood's territory when suddenly—

There's no one. The roof's empty, not a soul in sight.

He swings over, investigates. There's a strange acrid smell in the air along with the faintest traces of sweat and exhaustion, but there's no clue to where he's gone, no hint. Minutes pass and the sky is getting darker as evening turns into night. Just when he's given up, Drake reappears, but still, unmoving. One hand grasping his staff while the other touches his cheek and he stares into nothing, dazed and unfocused.

His attention snaps up, and Jason is too startled to move, still standing there in the middle of the roof, the two of them locked in place.

"Holy fuck." He can't. This isn't—

He's tried to kill Drake multiple times over the years. They've barely had a conversation that hasn't ended with Jason drawing a knife or a gun, and more often than not he comes out on top. Leaves the guy knowing that he's alive at Jason's mercy.

But now he's standing there, finally grown into the Red Robin suit and name, filling it in all the right places, all the right ways, grasping a staff that Jason somehow failed to recognize until this exact moment.

"I never—" He never thought to make the connection, always assumed it had to be someone else, some one huge. Big enough to match the larger-than-life figure that dominated a half-forgotten memory.

"Huh." Red Robin collapses his staff, clips it his belt. "Random time blip? I didn't even realize."

Which would explain it. Of course he didn't realize—no way would he have helped that other, younger Jason if he'd known who it was. Why save a boy who's going to grow up to become a monster bent on destroying him over and over again. "Sorry," Jason says, startled, confused, unable to wrap his head around it all as he stumbles backwards, tries to do what he always does when he's confronted with too much, too fast—run.

Red Robin—Drake—tilts his head to the side and then does something completely unexpected. He shoves back the cowl and studies Jason with cool, clear eyes. "I have a feeling this has been a weird night for both of us. You could stick around. We could figure this out together."

So help him, Jason hesitates. "Time travel is pretty weird."

"I was thinking more being kissed by my childhood crush. But yeah, that too."

"Your… what?"

"Come on," he says, holding out a hand. "I think it's time we finally talked. Maybe without the death threats this time?"

Gulping, Jason takes that hand in his.

It's not much, but. It's a start.

(The Fanfic Trope MASH-UP is still open for asks!)

[tendouluvr]

aizawa as a dad - teenage!reader

- fluff, dad aizawa momen

- warnings: hrmm none i think

- wc: 1.3k

a/n: basically me listing things i want bc im dadless

ps this is before the dorms were implemented meaning this takes place before that, so things that happened after that does not exist in this world

remembers your birthday

#! even you don’t remember it sometimes, but he does

#! it’s the morning of your birthday, you’re both in the kitchen

#! he’s drinking his daily dose of caffeine, lazily packing his lunch

#! you’re..falling asleep at the dining table...

#! you hear the chair next to you scrape across the floor, opening your eyes you see your dad deeply sigh while taking a seat

#! “you’re older now, so that means you have to be more responsible. you should be taking care of yourself. you also should listen to me more.”

#! you: ... (•.•?)

#! him: ..what?

#! “huh, what’re you going on about?” you rack your brain to think what could’ve possibly made him go on that unexpected lecture

#! “.......it’s your-,”

#! “OH, it’s my birthday,” you cut him off, giggling to yourself for forgetting such day

#! he sighs again and just pats your head before getting up to start leaving for school

#! “c’mon, you’ll be late.”

#! “ok~~.”

#! you won’t be late. he always make sure you’ll never be late, but he likes saying that because he thinks it’s so parent-like

always backs you up

#! even if deep down he knows you might lose in the practice battle against todoroki, he’s on your side

#! when it comes to silly little things like witty arguments between him and uncle present mic, you back him up leaving present mic with his echoed wails

#! also vice versa when you’re in some annoying banter with denki or something

#! you don’t call him ‘dad’ in class, nor does he show signs of favoritism towards you

#! you both know familial relations in school would always cause people to think about bias, favoritism, cheating, etc.

#! so luckily, he’s mature and you are too so you both know to not act so close with each other in school

#! but you drop the whole ‘aizawa sensei’ thing when you guys are alone

#! you did accidentally call him dad once when he was passing back test papers and you had a question about something

#! you were focused on the test papers you just got back, forgetting that you were in class for a second, and blurted out a quick, “dad? can you explain this.”

#! you didn’t even realize what you said until it got noticeably quiet in the class, causing you to raise your eyes up from the paper to see everyone looking at you and aizawa

#! he could care less, the man was getting cozy at his desk

#! you walked over to him anyway so he could answer your question

feeds you a lot of pre-made food or food that wasn’t cooked by him

#! he can’t really cook

#! he could do the bare minimum but the most you’ll ever get out of him is probably ramen with your favorite add-ons

#! his bffs can cook

#! aizawa doesn’t eat much himself, so when you entered his life he wasn’t really sure what to feed you

#! his best friends would cook for him now and then because they’re aware of his eating habits

#! but then they suddenly had two aizawas to feed

#! growing up you also ate a lot of freezer food. the good kinds though, the freezer food that doesn’t have that freezery taste after its been heated up

#! even though he couldn’t make you food, he still watched out for you and what you ate

#! if he notices that you’re eating too much sweet, he’ll comment on it. if he notices that you’re overdoing it with the salt, he’ll comment on it with a stern lecture about how deadly sodium can be.

#! he picks up your favorite convenience store snacks a lot after school

#! does aizawa seem like the type to make you eat veggies?? i’m not sure. sure he wants you to be healthy and not just consume junk, but i feel like he also doesn’t do too well with veggies

#! aizawa is secretly picky with his veggies hhhhh there’s specific ones he really likes, but for the most part he finds everything else weird in some way

#! headcanon that aizawa pouted over veggies he didn’t like as a kid and he would just stare at it thinking it’ll go away on its own

is loaded and spoils you unintentionally

#! he’s a prohero, one of the highest paying jobs by the government in the bnha universe

#! plus his teaching job. i know teachers salary isn’t too good, but it’s ua and this isn’t real life, so he’s probably getting paid stacks

#! also i think the cat outfit he bought for eri is suppose to be from some japanese brand that’s the equivalent of gucci in the u.s. (but ignore this bc this happened after the dorms were a thing 😁😁)

#! anyway he bought you a lot of toys as a kid, and tons of horrendous outfits that you cry over but never to his face because he’s trying his best </33

#! now that you’re a teenager, he doesn’t buy you toys anymore but has now evolved to buying you electronics on your birthday and just giving you pocket money

#! obviously aizawa doesn’t flaunt his wealth though, he doesn’t care about that and finds it unnecessary

#! he also barely spends on himself so he just has even more money saved up for no reason

#! but the thing is,, he doesn’t even realize how much he spends on you until you sit him down to talk to him

#! “dad, i do not need a new laptop. i’m fine with the one i have now, it’s still good. i saw you looking at laptops the other day.”

#! “what made you think i was looking at laptops for you?”

#! silence

#! complete, utter silence .....

#! “who’s it for then?!”

#! he rolls his eyes before answering you, “none of your business. go away.”

#! “ok fine whatever-,” you mumbled, “but my point still stands. i don’t need anything, and even if i did i can buy it myself!” you exclaimed boldly

#! “with what money?” he blankly stares at you

#! “with.....with... money i save up from birthdays and holidays because i never get to spend them!”

#! he just sighs, gets up from the couch, and walks away leaving you standing there smiling because you knew it was a successful talk

#! here’s a link to something i read that further added to my aizawa rich headcanon :]

kisses you goodnight on your forehead after he comes home from late missions/pro-hero runs

#! when you were a kid, you slept on his bed to feel safer

#! when he came home from late missions, he would walk into his room to see you bundled up in the blanket

#! after quickly getting ready for bed because he was schlumped, he got into bed as gently as possible to not wake you up

#! but you’re a light sleeper so you felt a familiar warmth encasing you and it jolted you awake, slightly whimpering trying to turn your head to see your dad

#! he noticed and quietly shushed you to get you back to sleep, “sh sh, it’s okay, it’s just me.”

#! your tiny arms would wrap around his chest and you stuffed your chubby face into his chest before you dozed off once again

#! now that you sleep in your own room, he would come home and peek in to check up on you

#! sometimes you were still awake — studying, on your phone, cleaning your room, insomnia, or just because

#! in this case he would just peek his head in, squint his tired eyes at you, mumble a slurred, “night.”, sigh at your smile that was clearly there to keep you from laughing, then finally head towards his room

#! but when he catches you asleep, he smiles to himself and makes his way into your room to give you a small forehead kiss before whispering, “goodnight.”

#! you never grew out of the light sleeping thing though, so you always knew of his small show of fatherly love

#! just don’t bring it up ever because he’s tired of you

[blueascend]

Omura Aimi had been working at Toyokawa for roughly four days when she realized that their ace salesman, Kurosawa, had a boyfriend.

To be fair, she had been on the lookout for particular signs. Omura hadn’t been able to be out at her last job and she’d been hoping that Toyokawa would be different. She’d done her best to befriend everyone, keeping her ear out for office gossip, getting the lay of the land.

The first time she saw Kurosawa with his boyfriend, she breathed a sigh of relief. Surely, if the most popular man in the office could be himself so openly, Omura wouldn’t have any issues.

Unfortunately, it soon became apparent to her that most of their coworkers weren’t aware of Kurosawa’s relationship status. Everyone seemed to believe he was single and straight.

How? Didn’t they have functioning eyes?

It became a slight obsession for Omura over the next week, watching Kurosawa blatantly flirt with his boyfriend without anyone noticing. They even had matching red pens they kept waving at each other like the least secret signal in the world!

Then one day, someone caught her staring.

“You have a crush on Kurosawa?” her coworker, Nakamura asked. She laughed, not unkindly. “Better get in line, then.”

“Huh?” Omura furrowed her brow. Kurosawa was now fixing his boyfriend’s tie, standing way too close to him to do so. “No, not really.”

“No?” That was Chino, her voice bright and shocked. “But just look at him.”

Omura looked at her coworkers, a knot forming in her stomach as she saw their confused expressions. Uh oh. She wasn’t ready for that kind of suspicion, not when she had no idea how they would react.

“He’s not my type?” she tried. When they kept staring, she added, “I, uh, like someone else?”

Nakamura and Chino glanced at each other. “Don’t tell me,” Nakamura said. “It wasn’t Kurosawa you were looking at, was it?”

“You like Adachi!” Chino concluded.

Omura swallowed. Adachi. Right, that was the name Kurosawa’s boyfriend wasn’t it?

Well, if it would throw them off her trail. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

Both women giggled.

“He is cute, I guess,” Chino said. “And much more attainable than Kurosawa.”

Nakamura clapped her hands. “We need to get you two together! An office romance, this is so exciting!”

They were gone before Omura could object, whispering between themselves. Omura groaned. That could’ve gone better.

Someone tapped her shoulder and Omura turned around to see Fujisaki. They didn’t know each other that well, as Omura had spent most of her time with the other women in her department, but she’d heard nothing but kind things about her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to be nosy but I overheard you. Just so you’re not disappointed, I think Adachi is actually seeing someone.”

‘I think he’s seeing someone’ she said, but the glimmer in her eye very clearly stated ‘I know he is’. Had Omura misread the situation, was she actually Adachi’s girlfriend?

But no, then she would have said as much. She didn’t seem jealous or territorial either, only genuinely concerned that Omura might be in for a disappointment. How much did she know?

Deciding to test the water, Omura carefully admitted, “To be honest, I didn’t even know his name. It’s just easier to say you like someone when people are asking. I’m new here, I wanted to fit in.”

“Ah.” Fujisaki’s gaze turned curious. She looked at Omura for a few moments and Omura wasn’t sure what conclusion she reached, but she finally offered a kind smile. “I see. In that case, I’m glad I don’t have to worry.”

Omura smiled back. Maybe it was too soon to tell but she felt like she had an ally in Fujisaki. 

*

“Omura, you are going to love this!”

Omura looked up from her laptop, seeing Nakamura and Chino approach her. “What?”

“We’ve just arranged for a group of us to go for drinks after work,” Nakamura said. “And we got Adachi to join! This will be the perfect chance for you two to spend time together.”

Omura’s stomach sank. “You - you did?” 

“Don’t be nervous,” Chino said, misreading her expression. She reached over the desk, putting her hand on Omura’s shoulder. “We’ll be right there with you if you need help.”

Nakamura nodded, shooting Omura a finger gun. “You got this.”

“I got this,” Omura echoed faintly.

There were eight of them at the bar later that night; Omura, Chino and Nakamura, as well as Fujisaki, Adachi, Kurosawa, and two male coworkers Omura hadn’t learned the names of yet. 

Chino and Nakamura, in full matchmaker-mode, managed to arrange the seating so that Omura and Adachi sat together at one end of the table, with Kurosawa and the rest of the women on the other. 

Omura glanced at poor Adachi, who looked supremely uncomfortable to be there. Even if he didn’t know about Omura’s supposed crush on him, he didn’t seem like the type to enjoy these kinds of gatherings. Omura was sure he’d much rather be at home, unwinding with his boyfriend after work.

Sorry Adachi, she told him in her mind. She frowned, considering. But at least now I can try to find out if I’m really right about your relationship with Kurosawa.

“Have I introduced myself to you yet?” she asked him.

Even that polite question was enough to startle him. “What? Ah, I don’t think so.”

She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile and nodded. “I’m Omura Aimi, I started working at Toyokawa recently.”

“Adachi Kiyoshi.” Adachi nodded back. “Do you - do you enjoy your work?”

“Very much.” Omura looked over at her friends, who both gave her not-so-subtle thumbs up. “It’s a nice atmosphere, much more friendly than my old workplace.”

“I see.”

An awkward silence descended between them. Omura had a sip of beer as she wondered what to say next. She had no idea how to casually broach a topic like hey, are you gay like me? Adachi mirrored her, grimacing slightly as he drank.

This really wasn’t his scene, huh?

“What do you like to do outside of work?” Omura finally asked. 

“I, ah,” Adachi fumbled as he placed his glass down, spilling a few drops of beer. “The usual things, I suppose. I like reading, drawing, playing on the Switch.”

“Yeah? I like video games too, I just started a new save file in Stardew Valley.”

Adachi perked up. “I’ve also been playing that. I got Kurosawa to join me in multiplayer but it’s been going kind of slow. He can’t master the fishing mini game and it’s been frustrating him. He’s not used to being bad at stuff.”

Omura giggled. “I can picture that. I love the multiplayer too, especially since I can use it to get married to-” my girlfriend, she barely stopped herself from saying. She cleared her throat, smiling awkwardly. “Anyway, it’s a lot of fun.”

“Mhm,” Adachi agreed.

Another awkward silence commenced. Omura looked to her friends again but they were busy talking amongst themselves. Fujisaki met her eyes and smiled. Next to her sat Kurosawa and he was glancing between Omura and Adachi, frowning unhappily.

Maybe Omura was reading too much into it but he looked almost... jealous?

She turned back to Adachi, the desire to confirm her suspicions growing stronger than ever. Screw subtlety, what she needed was privacy.

“Adachi?” she asked. “Do you mind if we talk alone?”

Adachi stiffened, eyes widening in panic. “Eh?”

Omura stood up. “It will only take a moment.”

Reluctantly, Adachi got up as well and followed her. As they walked away, Omura could hear her friends talking, the alcohol likely making them a little too carefree and loud:

“-so bold! But I guess with a guy like Adachi, the woman has to take charge.”

“Do you think she’s going to confess already?”

Their voices faded away as they turned a corner. Omura lead Adachi to the balcony connected to the bar. It was thankfully empty and as Omura slid the doors shut behind them, they had perfect privacy.

“What did you want to talk about?” Adachi asked, clearly dreading the answer.

Omura bit her lip. How to word this? “You... we...” she rubbed her hands together, finally settling on, “I think we might have some things in common. Besides video games.”

“Like- like what?”

Omura opened her mouth to answer but before she could, the doors to the balcony were shoved open. Kurosawa stood in the doorway, looking as much a mess as Omura had ever seen - that is, still very put together, but hair slightly ruffled and cheeks pink from either the alcohol or the warmth inside the bar.

“Don’t!” he cried and this was it, as blatant a sign as Omura was ever going to get.

“Relax, Kurosawa,” she said. “I’m not going to confess to your boyfriend.”

Kurosawa blinked. “You’re not? But they just said-” he stopped himself short, clearly realizing what he’d just admitted. “I mean-”

“He’s not my type,” Omura cut in before he could panic too much. “Besides, I doubt my girlfriend would approve.”

Both Kurosawa and Adachi stared at her. For a second, Omura feared she’d really misunderstood them after all, but then Kurosawa slumped against the door in relief.

“I see,” he laughed.

Adachi looked relieved as well. “So that’s what you meant by ‘things in common’, huh?”

“Yeah,” Omura said. “But sorry if I made you nervous.”

“It’s fine.” Adachi waved his hand in dismissal. “How did you find out, anyway? Did Fujisaki tell you?”

So Fujisaki really was in the know. “No, and I don’t think she ever would. You two are just really obvious to those who know what to look for. Especially Kurosawa.”

Kurosawa shrugged, not looking the least bit ashamed. Adachi rolled his eyes fondly.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go back inside,” Omura said. “I’ll tell them I chickened out on confessing to you or something. They’ll lose interest in this whole thing soon enough.”

She passed Kurosawa, who stepped out onto the balcony as she went inside. As she closed the door behind her, she could hear Adachi teasing Kurosawa lightly:

“Were you being jealous again, Yuichi?”

“Don’t be mean. How could I help it when Kiyoshi is so cute, I want him all to myself!”

Adachi laughed but it was muffled. “Not here, someone could see!”

Omura shook her head as the doors sealed shut, leaving them to their privacy. 

She couldn’t wait to tell her girlfriend about this.

[britishassistant]

Consider for the Supervillain AU: Yuu is currently playing Hostage for one of the Dorms when they hear a crashing sound from another room. Thinking it’s one of the RSA boys, they decide not to engage Prefect Time.

Turns out, it’s one of the other NRC villain teams pulling a raid on their current captors. When said raiders spot Yuu as a hostage, they take them along and end up protecting them.

After getting out the Villains base, the Raiding Team and Yuu take a quick breath at a designated rendezvous point.

Playing the role of Innocent Hostage, Yuu thanks the Raiding Villain team for Saving them.

“‘Save you’?” They say. “More like...’under new management’”

Yuu can’t even finish a word before they felt themselves getting regagged again (maybe in a different style to reflect the dorm that just ‘saved’ them). Yuu knows that they’re going to get a major headache from all this nonsense

Bonus points for the villains being petty and sending a picture to the Villain Dorm that just got raided of not only the stuff they stole but one adorable Hostage as well they found along the way

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

Something’s... off today.

Yuu’s sitting in their cell in the lair, shuffling and reshuffling a deck of playing cards to try and pass the time.

They were trying to subtly gather information about Royal Flush’s latest heist from Ace and Deuce while playing Go Fish, but then both minions’ phones went off. The pair of them grabbed their weapons and left, promising that whatever was going on would take no more than five minutes.

That was ten minutes ago.

Maybe it’s that “Champion” hero again, trying to reclaim that topaz Royal Flush stole two nights ago. He causes enough collateral damage that his presence would certainly warrant a call for all hands on deck, especially if Niko Niko Neko has decided to lend him some help. Poor Ace of Diamonds still has a fractured collarbone from the heroes’ last “collaboration”, though at least Seven of Spades finally has the cast off her foot.

The cell block is soundproofed, so even if the reporter strains their ears, they can hear nothing of what could be going on in the rest of the base. The sound of cards flipping between their fingers is doing little to settle their nerves.

Yuu’s arm brushes against the brim of their fedora.

No. No need to be hasty. It’ll look too suspicious if The Prefect appears from the cells and it turns out to just be the RSA heroes saving the day after all. Plus the haphazard stitches from where Ace’s throwing cards cut into their ribs still haven’t healed enough that they won’t get pulled if Yuu starts running around willy-nilly, and then how will they explain the blood? There’s no need to jump to conclusions. There probably isn’t anything seriously wr—

A loud crash echoes from the entrance to the cell block.

Yuu stands, shoving the deck of cards into a pocket of their blazer. They rush to the bars of their cell, trying to peer through and see what the source of the noise is.

Thick plaster is rolling in from the entrance, obscuring their vision. They think they can glimpse the sight of the door, a twisted mess of wood and metal lodged in the opposing wall.

What in the name of the Great Seven could’ve—?!

The reporter’s blood runs cold at the sound of a low, rumbling growl.

It almost sounds like a dog warning an unwelcome intruder, if that dog were much, much bigger than even a Great Dane had any business being.

Not a dog then. Yuu exhales, and calls out in their most level voice. “Hello? Is someone there?”

If it’s a monster, it can probably already smell them if it’s growling like that, and the bars should provide some measure of defense if it attacks so Yuu can figure out how to subdue it enough to run. If it’s not a monster...

The growl grows louder, but also...less, somehow? As if it had changed outputs or something, like going from listening in stereo to through headphones.

A figure becomes visible through the dust and gloom. One that’s as tall and built as Yuuken is. Oh dear.

An angry looking man with white hair in a rough-and-tumble outfit looms in front of the cell, arms crossed and one pointed ear on the top of his head flickering. A beastman, probably some kind of canine if the growl was any indication.

The reporter fights the urge to swallow nervously. “Excuse me, but you aren’t one of Royal Flush’s minions, are you? Who are you? Are-were you being held captive too?”

The beastman doesn’t answer their questions. Instead, he barks, “You’re that reporter, right? The one who gets captured a lot.”

Yuu’s mouth flattens into a line, but they nod. Oh Seven, they hope that’s not what they’re becoming famous for. “Well, I am a hostage here, and I am a reporter for TWST local news. Yuu Radcliffe, and you are?”

The beastman grimaces, looking even angrier at the admission. “Get back.”

They obligingly let go of the bars and back up a few steps, shuffling away a few more when another growl ripples out the man’s chest. They tilt their head as he seizes the bars they were just holding. Wait, what does he think he’s—

There’s a hideous shriek of metal as the beastman’s muscles ripple and the bars bend apart like they’re no more than wet clay. The reporter can see indents of his grip left from where he pushed at the steel.

Yuu feels a little lightheaded, staring blankly as the beastman steps into the cell. They do startle when he pulls what looks like a small black sack out of his pocket, holding it out to their head. “Hey, what-?!”

“You wanna get out of here?” The beastman says brusquely. “You wear this.”

There’s a sinking feeling in Yuu’s gut, but the way he’s brandishing the sack makes them think he’s not about to take “no” for an answer. They doubt they could outrun him at this range, given that he’s blocking the new exit out of the cell. The reporter reluctantly takes the bag and pulls it on over their head, wincing as their field of vision goes dark.

They can’t help the yelp they make as they’re suddenly scooped up by a pair of unseen arms and held a little too tightly for comfort. Yuu contemplates trying to squirm out of his grip, and then remembers what his hands did to the steel bars. Instead they just try to make themselves as small as possible as the beastman starts to run.

It’s disconcerting, hearing so much noise after being stuck in the soundproofed cellblock for so long. Screams, yells, cries, and howls, the sounds of a battle they can’t see raging around them. Yuu thinks they hear their name being called out once, but it’s drowned out as the beastman picks up speed and the scent of roses and strawberries is replaced by the fresher, more noxious air of the city outside.

Their ride takes so many twists and turns that Yuu can barely keep track of where they are relative to Royal Flush’s lair, let alone where they’re headed. They honestly feel a little motion sick by the time the beastman slows down, and releases one arm to push open what sounds like a creaky metal door.

It feels like a wall of heat and noise hits the reporter in the face. There’s lots of loud complaining and ribbing from what sounds like a large and rowdy group of people, and the grip of the man carrying them gets tighter, tucking them closer to his chest.

One voice rises above the rest. “Oi, Jack-kun, what took you so long? We were beginning to think you’d run off with our little guest there.”

“Jack-kun’s” hold tightens again at the sound of that voice, to the point where Yuu is beginning to get worried that they’re going to end up like the bars on their cell back in the lair. His voice is clipped as he bites out, “Had to lose a tail, senpai. Got sidetracked.”

The world tilts oddly and it takes the reporter a moment to get their feet under them and not stumble as they are finally, finally set down. One of “Jack’s” arms remains clamped on their shoulder, steadying them and preventing them from moving too far away from him.

“Well, you’re both in one piece!” The new voice comes closer. “Now let’s see the reporter who went and got Royal all bent out of shape, huh?”

They wince when the bag is pulled off their head suddenly, blinking in the sudden light. The face of another beastman swims in front of their eyes before their gaze finally focuses, greyish eyes and dyed blond hair with much more rounded ears perched atop it. The glimmering orange jewel the size of a canatloupe he’s clutching in one hand isn’t exactly helping any with how it keeps refracting light into the reporter’s eyes.

The same orange jewel that Royal Flush stole from the pier two nights ago.

The sinking feeling in the pit of their stomach only grows.

“Well, I don’t see the appeal.” The beastman declares. “Maybe that midget just has weird taste.”

“Ouch.” Yuu forces a thin smile onto their face. Play along, keep calm, keep the levity up. “You’ll hurt my feelings at this rate.”

“Hey, truth hurts.” The beastman shrugs, spreading his hands wide. “Woulda thought a nosy journo like you would know that by heart, with all the dirt you dig up.”

“You would think so.” Yuu chuckles weakly. “Well, thank you all so much for rescuing me from Royal Flush’s lair, in any case.”

The ears on Jack’s head flatten slightly, and he glares at a spot on the floor by Yuu’s feet.

Well. That’s disappointing. Unsurprising, given that everyone here is also in an outlandish form of uniform without being clowns, but disappointing all the same.

“Shi hi hi hi hi. Oh, I wouldn’t call it ‘rescued’.” The beastman chuckles, grinning unsettlingly wide. “More like...under new management.”

Yuu stares at the minion.

“Wow. Wow.” The reporter tells him flatly. “I hope your boss pays you well to say stuff like that.”

The beastman shrugs again, grin not diminishing in the slightest. “Four figures, with holiday bonuses and healthcare. It’s a pretty good gig.”

Yuu tilts their head in acknowledgement. It’s better than their current working conditions, they’ll give him that.

“Ah, before I forget. No point in a good raid without a celebration photo, right?” The blond man pulls out a smart phone and waggles it in one hand. “That’s what that selfie junkie of Royal Flush’s likes to do, right? Jack-kun, you get in too.”

It’s sad that this barely makes it into the top five most surreal selfies that Yuu has ever taken. Even when the senior minion orders Jack-kun to curl a hand around their throat, gripping tight enough to make their breath go short, while the blond man holds the jewel up by their face in a place of prominence. “Make sure to look nice and menaced now, kay~? Shi hi hi hi hi.”

The camera flash goes off, once, twice. Then the phone comes down, and the hand comes off the reporter’s throat. They try to suck in a series of deep breaths as discreetly as they can.

“Great expression there, really selling the unwilling captive shtick.” The beastman pats their cheek condescendingly, thumb moving over the screen of the phone until there’s the ping of a Magicam upload. “Ok, let’s get your hands and legs tied and hood back on. Oh, and I’d watch your mouth when I meet the boss man, if I were you. You’ve got an audience with the King, after all.”

“Do you get a raise every time you spout off a line like that?” Yuu grumbles as the deeply frowning Jack is handed a length of rope and begins looping it around their wrists.

“Not yet!” The beastman calls back jovially as he strides away, admiring the topaz in his hand and barking orders to all the other henchpeople milling around.

“...Sorry.” Jack mutters by their feet as he finishes the tight knot binding their ankles together.

“It’s okay.” Yuu murmurs back, as he picks up the bag to place it back on their head. “You're just doing your job, right?”

And they’ll just be doing theirs, the reporter thinks to themselves as the darkness descends again and they’re hoisted up over the minion’s shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

Maybe they’ll finally get to learn why the topaz is so important to both Royal Flush and their current captor that it was worth staging a raid on another supervillain’s lair to get it. At the very least they’ll have the opportunity to interview this “King” to uncover his side of the story...

That is, if he doesn’t somehow work out whose biological child they are first.

[stuckybarton]

Maneater

Summary:  Nathan Summers has come to realize there was more to you than just the Assistant Teacher in Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Warning: Profanities. Suggestive Contents. Not Beta’d. [if I miss any warning please let me know] Characters: Unnamed Female Character x Nathan “Cable” Summers Words:1,761 A/N: Another one. Lol

Masterlist

For the life of Nathan Summers, the craziness that had come in his arrival to the past, the only sane thing he could look forward to was you. Y/N Y/L/N. An assistant teacher to one Piotr Rasputin, and an overall well loved individual in the X-Mansion.

You were the first one to not bat an eyelash at his arrival all those months ago. Unlike most of the people that grew hostility to the band of misfits Wade had pulled into the mansion, you had been more welcoming and accommodating. You had treated every single one of them as normal people instead of the mutants everyone in the world has deemed them to be. For a moment, Nathan had thought you weren't a mutant, but training had proven otherwise. An empath that could manipulate anyone's emotion if you so much please. A great power and perfectly fitting from someone like you.

Unlike most of the people in the Mansion that give no shit to one Wade Wilson and his eccentricities, you tried your best to understand the man while also making sure he was never out of the line. You were often called the female version of one Colossus, just more hotter and less annoying--Wade's words, not his.

But then, this quite image he had believe he had seen of you was growing to be different when he finds out about your nightly escapades. Anything that did not involve a mission or your class, you prefer if no one bothered you when the clock struck six. You'd be out of the door and into your waiting car, only to returning by three or four in the morning for classes that morning.

No one really knows where you go, not even the nosy Wade Wilson had any idea of your nightly whereabouts. So imagine Nathan's surprise when he had to meet up with his new arms dealer at a shady strip club an hours drive from the mansion and there you were, in all your naked glory.

Supple skin contrasted greatly to the pole you were leaning on. Money had been flying nonstop in your direction, no wonder you always spared Wade cash like it was nothing if he asked. You got a whole different life that no one knows about.

"Interested in Bonnie over there?" His arms dealer broke Nathan from his shocked trance. If the seedy little bitch didn't have the best arsenal he would have punched him right in the face. "Put her in a VIP room with you and everything in your possession is gone. That's how good she is."

Just the idea of having you lap dancing on some stranger had his blood boiling. He couldn't imagine you that way. to have some dirty hands holding onto you. You, the innocent little woman that he had tried not to think about so much since his arrival to the mansion--but just can't seem to shake out of his mind.

"I'll test my luck."

And he did, one request from the waitress and a heft amount of money that was supposed to be for one of the guns, he was escorted to the VIP room, asked to patiently wait as Bonnie was finishing up her set on the stage. It had given him enough time to question himself why he was doing this? You had your secrets as much as he had his own, secrets he wasn't even prepared to acknowledge.

But it was you, one of the only person in the past that he can't seem to get out of his head.

It didn't take long for the door to open and the woman that had constantly gave him the beaming smile every morning now come face to face with him. To say shock was an understatement as he looked at you. A mix of different emotions now swam your features, watching you and you thinking this was a sick joke by another mutant on her.

"Nathan."

"Cable would do here, Bonnie." he points out.

His eyes fell towards your barely there clothing. A thong and a top that barely hid the swell of your breast. In one swift motion, he had peeled off his jacket to cover you. The jacket had completely swallowed you and it was enough for him to not be distracted.

"So this is were you go every night?" he inquired eyes wandering around the claustrophobic room.

The walls were of a dark shade, with neon lights as one of the only thing giving the room light. There was this hedonistic glow in you that he had never seen before. Maybe it was the way he had always sees you now, a complete opposite on how he had always viewed you. An innocent woman in a world that was too fucked up for someone like you--then here you were, part of the fucked upness of this world.

"You wasted God knows how much just to ask me that?"

He did. He genuinely wasted a lot of amount of money for you, but then again, it was you so it wasn't much of a problem to him.

"I want to know why you're doing this? You're already working as a teacher at the Institute, why do you need to be here? You make enough money as it is back there?"

You scoffed, pulling the jacket tighter around you. Only then did Nathan notice the way you took a deep breath, and the warmth of the room was more of your own powers seeping through. Arousal? He shook his head, hoping to keep his head at bay of all the dark thoughts swimming him.

"It's not about the money?" you muttered, now sitting besides him on the leather couch. "Sure I do get money from those seedy criminals, but this is the easiest way of getting intel for missions." she shrugged.

"So Wade knows about this?"

"God no, The Professor and Piotr know. Piotr was the one that found me in this hellhole. Saved me from it, this is just until I'm certain that there are no more mutants like me are in places like this."

Now it becomes clearer to him why you were like this, why you understood their cause more than the rest of the X-Men. But it didn't stop the worry from sipping through his core. What if you get into involved with men that weren't immune to your powers. Where would that leave you?

"You don't need to worry about me, Nate." The name still surprised him. But other than that, you now on his lap surprised him even more. "So how much did you spend on me?" you inquired, ass now dangerously close to his crotch.

"Enough." he muttered hands now falling to your jacket covered waist. The smell of the intoxicating perfume and your own pheromone seeping through your skin consuming him. A heady combination that was far too dangerous if used at the wrong people.

"You're gonna tell everyone about my secret?" you inquired leaning closer to him. The swells of your breast now touching his own solid ones.

"You want them to know?" he retorts.

"No."  you shook your head, meeting his eyes. Huh, behind this facade you show to Nathan, the person he was more than well acquainted with was breaking through. But the softness on top of him was making it hard for him to really think clearly.

"I don't know, Red Dildo would love the pole dancing lessons." he tried his best to crack a joke but the stern look on your face made it evident that this isn't a laughing matter to you. "Fucking hell, that's your secret to tell. Why the fuck would I bring it up, to the X-Men of all people."

Before he could convince you even more, having you lean even closer to him, breath fanning his cheeks, he was left tongue-tied. There was this line that the two of you were breaking and it scared him more than anything what it would mean once they step out of it.

"I trust you, Cable." you whispered before your lips finally met his own.

The taste of cherry intoxicated him. He consumed you, consumed you in the same way that you were beginning to consume him. Mind, body, and soul. Hands resting on his shoulders and his own in a deathly grip on your hips, pulling you closer. Creating as much friction on his crotch in the process.

"What are you doing to me, Nathan Summers?" Your breathless words brought him back to reality. Your hands rubbing against his chest and he was more than certain you could feel the frantic heartbeats.

"I could ask you the same thing, Y/N Y/L/N." he smirked looking up at you,

With your bottom lip now between your teeth, it took every ounce of control Nathan had to stop himself from taking you here and ignoring the possibility that anyone else could walk in on them.

"You want them to know?" you inquired between the two of you. A smile now breaking on your face, brightening the dark room.

"No." he shook his head, whatever this was, they needed to keep this a secret, God knows the handful of innuendos and crude remarks Wade would be ready to fire if he finds out about this.

"I don't know, you're a good kisser. Wade might need a few pointers from you." you teased, finger touching his lips. Feeling playful, biting one finger and immediately earning himself a light slap on the chest.

"He can kiss my ass for all I care." he muttered kissing you quickly before pulling away. "I gotta head back out, still got a few guns I need to check." he muttered already annoyed at the possibility of leaving this little piece of heaven in favor of a slimy bastard he has to do business deals with.

"Let me deal with him." You volunteered, slipping off the jacket he placed on you. "How many guns did you want?"

"A couple more but his markup price is horrible." he sneered.

The smirk on your face as the façade was back brought a sudden warmth into his groin and the ideas that run his mind worried him.

"I'll make sure you get all the big guns." you promised, pulling him back into a quick kiss before leaving him in the room to think of what just happened.

Well, whatever it was, he knew it will be a fun ride. Good to see someone dancing on the pole better than Wade for once too.

[novelconcepts]

Not sure if it’s Drabble worthy. What if Peter and Rebecca don’t die and therefore Bly doesn’t need a new Au Pair. Do Jamie and Dani still meet somehow?

There is a woman in the pub. Not, strictly speaking, an oddity--there are people here every night upon Jamie’s return from the manor. People with drinks and conversation, taking up space she doesn’t have the energy to deal with. 

This woman, though. This woman is strange simply because she isn’t. Because there is a look about her, too normal, too put-together. Because her eyes are too bright, and her hair too shiny, and she is--most important of all--not of Bly.

Not Jamie’s problem, either, she thinks, pushing past the woman’s table with little more than a glance.

Blue eyes, she registers. Blue eyes, catching hers for a bare moment. 

Jamie keeps walking.

***

The woman is back again. Still looking a bit too clean, a bit too bright to be allowed in a smudgy place like this. She’s seated at that same table, nursing a drink with her eyes on a book, and she is...

Just a woman, thinks Jamie, whose day has been marked by Miles’ attitude and Flora’s perfectly splendid’s, and whose head is in all honesty ringing just a bit more than she can stand. 

She could use a drink tonight. Could use a bit more than a drink, really--could use a long rest, a long break from memories of Peter fucking Quint moving about the house like he owns the place. Tonight, she’ll settle for the drink. It’s cheaper than therapy, easier than talking to Hannah or Owen about the whole business. Certainly easier than cornering Rebecca, pressing her toward sense.

Problem is, there is a woman in the pub. 

At her table.

She drinks at the bar instead and finds her eyes searching out that woman’s face in the mirror. Finds herself coming back time and time again to the curve of the woman’s cheek, the angle of her nose, the way she bites the edge of her thumbnail as she turns the page. 

Her eyes never raise, never seek Jamie’s in return, though Jamie is certain--judging by the insistent tap of one boot under the table, the fidgety quality of her fingers around her glass--she knows she is being watched. 

***

The woman, she supposes, has nowhere else to be. What must that be like? What cart must have overturned, tipping her onto the pavement of Bly, to this pub, to this dark corner of the world? 

Jamie can remember all too well what it feels like to have nowhere to be. To just stumble into whatever place will hold a person up. This woman, with her tailored blouse and her hoop earrings, doesn’t much look like Jamie had, living that sort of life. But what does Jamie know?

Blue eyes. Shiny hair. Very little else.

Jamie has taken in a drink every night this week, less for the value of the alcohol, more out of curiosity. Could the woman really be here each time she walks through the door? Could this same woman always set up shop at her table, alone, peaceably making her way through a battered paperback?

So far, survey says yes. 

And the week has been long, it’s true: Rebecca, growing agitated as tensions between Peter and the rest of them wind ever-higher. Last night, Hannah had gripped her steak knife as though considering plunging it into Peter’s thigh. Tonight, it had taken every ounce of Jamie not to take a swing with the expensive wine bottle he had produced from thin air. 

Deserve better, chick, she’d thought as Rebecca had soothed Peter’s glower with a kiss. You have to see that. 

Rebecca, predictably, does not. 

Jamie, sitting here with yet another drink, watching the strange woman at her table in the mirror, isn’t sure who she is to talk. 

***

Someone is trying to talk to the woman tonight. Someone--a bulky man in his mid-thirties who Jamie has already marked as endless trouble--is trying to take a seat at the woman’s table.

Jamie watches with hackles raised, glass poised at her lips, waiting. The woman looks like the sort to make polite conversation, to smile warmly, to find herself in a bad situation before she realizes. Not that it’s any of Jamie’s concern. Not that Jamie ought to be making noise in the pub above which she sleeps. 

The man is leaning across the table, his huge hand reaching for the woman’s book. His grin is sloppy, his eyes ale-muddled, and when he moves toward the woman’s hand, she recoils. Glances toward the bar. 

Glances directly at Jamie. 

Hell, thinks Jamie tiredly, because this isn’t the way. This is never effective, never wise. Keep to yourself, keep your bloody head to your own bloody business, that’s the trick. 

The woman’s eyes are so goddamned blue. 

“Saved me a seat, I see,” Jamie hears herself say, cocking her hip against the man’s chair with a fuck out of it smile. He squints up at her, clearly trying to piece together some bleary vestige of memory. 

“You’re,” he slurs, “upstairs.”

“Seem to be down among the locals tonight,” Jamie says cheerfully, and gives him a single jerk of the head in warning. He frowns, pushing himself clumsily to his feet. 

“Borin’ conversation anyway.”

Jamie watches him go, raises her glass to her lips, smiles when he shoots a dark look over his shoulder. She does not look at the woman, not until she hears a soft voice say, “Thank you.”

American, realizes Jamie. 

Mistake, realizes Jamie.

“Hang a jacket over the seat next time,” she suggests on her way back to the bar. “Dissuades the stupider ones.”

***

The woman buys her a drink. 

She seems, Jamie notes with some alarm, to have registered Jamie’s schedule. How Jamie seems to walk in around eight every evening, her shoulders tense with a day’s battles still hanging tight. How Jamie has long given up trying for her usual table, sacrificing it in the name of pretty blonde Americans. 

There is a drink waiting for her--her usual, though in a place like this, it isn’t hard to guess. 

“That one,” the bartender--tonight, a fiftyish woman with a smirk--says, and points exactly where Jamie expects. She glances over, finds the American with her own glass raised. Eyebrows arched. Head gesturing for Jamie to come on over.

Mistake, she thinks again, even as she’s obeying.

“Wanted to thank you again,” the woman says, as Jamie hovers beside the second chair. There is, she notes, a denim jacket tossed over its back.

“Not a problem.”

“Sit?” the woman suggests, and Jamie finds she can’t locate a reason not to. She settles awkwardly, trying not to dislodge the jacket, all-too aware of the filthy floor beneath her boots. 

“Really don’t think,” she begins, but the woman is saying something. She blinks. “Sorry?”

“Dani,” the woman says again, touching a hand to her chest. “Dani Clayton.”

It’s a bad idea, Jamie thinks distantly, because the woman is so goddamned pretty, it hurts. She’s pretty, and she’s smiling, and there’s something about her eyes that makes Jamie’s pulse do tricks she hasn’t entertained in years. 

“Jamie,” she replies, and allows the woman to clink a half-finished glass against her own. 

***

Dani, as it turns out, actually works here. 

“Just started,” she says, almost sheepishly, when Jamie makes blustery noises of surprise. “On the early shift. Just to have something to keep me busy, until I figure something else out.”

She’s in England, she says, on a sort of personal retreat. A finding myself sort of adventure, she adds with a laugh that rings in Jamie’s ears like the best kind of music. 

“Better places to do it in,” Jamie points out, “than a hole in Bly.”

Dani shrugs. “I like it. The people are nice, mostly. And it’s quiet.”

“Home wasn’t quiet?”

Dani doesn’t answer. Dani doesn’t seem to like to talk about herself all that much, Jamie is noticing. She likes, instead, to talk about the town--the strangers, the clients, the newness of it all. She’ll talk about the beer, about the book resting at her elbow, about the weather. Most of all, she asks after Jamie.

“Not much to tell,” Jamie says--a lie, if you go back far enough, but honest enough for now. “Groundskeeper, over at the big house down the way.”

“What does that entail?” Dani, unlike most, actually sounds interested. She is the oddest bird, Jamie thinks, and is startled to find a sense of light affection behind the notion. 

“Gardening, mostly. Keep up the grounds, like I said--minor repairs about the house, too. Make sure everything keeps moving.”

“You like it?”

“Love it,” Jamie says honestly. Dani smiles. 

“That’s what I want. Something I really love. Thought for a while it would be teaching, but...”

“Kids,” Jamie says. “Take a lot out of a person. That why you’re here?”

Dani thinks on it, seems to step right up to the edge of a reply before changing her mind. “Couldn’t be at home anymore,” she says instead. It’s a non-answer, Jamie recognizes. A too much truth answer. 

“Fair enough,” Jamie tells her, and doesn’t push.

***

“So--he lives there?” Dani is three drinks in to Jamie’s two, her hair falling across her forehead as she tries to piece it all together. Jamie shakes her head. 

“Nah, not most days. Hannah, she lives there--full-time, I mean. And Rebecca, she moved in couple of months back. Kids love her. Quint, though, he’s...” She can’t find a nice way to put it. Isn’t sure why she’s even bothering. “A cockroach. Hard to kill, harder yet to wish away.”

“Sound like you’ve tried,” Dani says with a faint smile. Jamie shrugs.

“Waste of everyone’s time. He’s Henry’s fuckin’ lapdog. Long as he’s pulling at the leash, we all just need to make do.”

Dani mulls this over with the interest of someone who has not a single face to put with any of these names. “Rebecca really likes him, huh?”

“Likes him. Stuck into him. Not much of a difference.” Jamie leans back, pouring the remainder of her drink into a single swallow. The idea of it, of Peter’s hands on Rebecca’s waist at dinner, still makes her stomach sour. “You ever just--you ever meet someone who is like a human pair of handcuffs?”

Something flickers in Dani’s eyes. She nods once. Jamie sighs.

“That’s Quint. Fucker never met a woman he didn’t try to win--and I do mean win. Like a prize. Like women are little more than trophies to be locked behind glass.”

She watches Dani rub absently against her lips with the back of one hand, unable to tear her eyes away until Dani says, “I don’t understand.”

“It’s like,” Jamie begins, trying to find the best way to explain, “like he thinks she’s property, right? Like he thinks any choice she makes without his say-so is a fucking--”

“Not that,” Dani says quietly. “I mean I don’t understand how people can do that. To each other. When they say they love--I mean. It’s the wrong way around, isn’t it? Trying to own someone out of love? You can’t do it. That’s...they’re not...”

“They’re opposites,” Jamie finishes. Blue eyes skip up, hold hers, don’t so much as waver. Dani’s lips turn up at the corners, her head giving a single nod. 

“Yeah. Exactly. How do people mix that up?”

“No idea,” Jamie says, and swallows against the clamor of her own heart.

***

Peter tried to pick a fight this afternoon, out among the roses. Would have succeeded, Jamie thinks with no small amount of shame, had Miles not been lurking just behind him, watching everything.

She is vibrating when she reaches the pub, every motion just a little more exaggerated than she likes. She slams down into her usual seat, hands clenched into fists against the table. 

“Bad day?” Dani asks, sliding a plate toward her. Half a sandwich, carefully set aside as if for Jamie all along. 

“Not great,” Jamie agrees. She softens, looking Dani over, reading the tension behind her smile. “Look like you can say the same.”

Dani glances over her shoulder, eyes finding the mirror behind the bar and darting jerkily away again. “Hard to explain,” she says. 

“Do you want to?” Jamie asks. Dani’s eyes land on her with all the abrasive surprise of an explosion. Jamie taps light knuckles against the tabletop. “Just sayin’. If you want to get it off your chest--”

Dani shakes her head. “It’s...really hard to explain,” she says, almost apologetic. “It--it makes me sound...kinda crazy.”

Jamie has never met someone who looks less crazy. Someone who holds herself with such steadiness, though her hands are twitchy and her smile doesn’t always reach her eyes. 

“If you want,” she says, knowing she will, in a moment, let the moment slide. “I don’t mind.”

There’s silence between them, a great comfortable swell of it that shouldn’t exist in a small pub, on a night like this, between two women who barely know one another. Jamie lets it ride, taking a bite of sandwich, watching Dani read her expression with tentative interest.

“I had a fiancé,” Dani says at last, and Jamie feels something in her stomach turn over. And then a second time, when Dani adds, “He died.”

“Dani. I’m so--”

“He died,” Dani says, staring grimly ahead as though trying with everything in her power not to glance toward the mirror again, “and I had just--I had just told him I couldn’t--”

She hesitates, pressing her face into her palms. When she lifts her head, her eyes are blazing. 

“I’d just broken--up with him. Broken the engagement, broken the whole--because he wasn’t what I--and then he died. And sometimes, I...I...”

Jamie waits. Dani sucks in a ragged breath.

“I see him. Sometimes. In mirrors, mostly. In--and it’s insane, I know, but I can’t stop.”

“S’why you came here?” Jamie guesses. Dani nods. 

“Crazy, right?”

Jamie shakes her head slowly. She’s not much for ghost stories, for fairytales, for dreams made flesh. Loss, though? Grief? Missing who a person was, who they could be? Those aren’t the marks of a crazy person. Those are just...

“Sounds like a rough time,” she says, and lets herself reach across the table. Dani’s hand is soft beneath her own, and she is suddenly too aware of her own callouses, of the skid against Dani’s skin when she turns her hand over and squeezes Jamie’s fingers in return. 

“Thank you,” she says softly, and looks once more toward the mirror. Jamie watches her: the tension in her brow, the way her eyes seem to narrow. “I think I...needed to tell someone. Finally.”

She’s still holding Jamie’s hand, even as she turns the subject to the day’s customers, to Jamie’s plans for tomorrow. She’s still holding Jamie’s hand, and doesn’t even seem to notice.

***

There is a fight, but it isn’t Jamie who starts it. Isn’t Jamie who finishes it, even. 

Jamie is only stupid enough to step in the middle. 

“Your eye,” Dani says in greeting, standing briskly up from the table. Jamie, who is aware she is no longer bleeding, aware that the glass thrown could have done significantly more damage on a less-fortunate occasion, waves her off. 

“Bit, ah. Messy at the house tonight.”

Bit messy is a gentle way of putting it. In truth, it had been a horrorshow: Hannah already furious with Peter for having barricaded Rebecca in the bedroom all afternoon, Peter furious with Owen for having enlisted Rebecca’s help with dinner, Rebecca wound tight with the rising pressure of a situation primed to go bad for days. When the glass had been thrown--by Peter or by Rebecca, Jamie still can’t say; she suspects it had really slipped from a gesticulating hand, regardless, given momentum by a moment of frustration more than genuine violence--it had been the bomb they’d all been waiting for.

Rebecca had stormed off to her room. Peter, out of the house. Hannah had collected the kids, both of whom were sobbing, and Jamie had pushed Owen’s helpful hand away and cleaned her own wound. 

“Theater,” she says now, aware of Dani’s eyes on her, of the abject concern in Dani’s face. “S’all it was.”

“Not good for the kids,” Dani says quietly. Jamie sighs.

“None of this is good for ‘em. Miles, he keeps...picking up shifty habits from Quint, and Flora’s enamored with the whole rotten mess. Thinks it’s romantic.” Jamie shakes her head, winces when her head rings back in answer. “Like there’s anything fuckin’ romantic about the way he talks to her.”

Dani is quiet a moment. She reaches across the table, presses her fingertips very gently to the place along Jamie’s brow where the glass had landed. 

“Lucky it didn’t break,” Jamie murmurs, almost unaware of leaning into Dani’s hand. “Shouldn’t have gotten in the...”

Dani is gazing at her with eyes too blue, an expression too meaningful. Jamie reaches up, closes her own fingers around the hand gingerly exploring her brow. 

“I’m okay,” she says. “Really.”

Dani seems not to believe her. Dani, whose palm slides across her own, thumb working a swipe along Jamie’s skin. 

“Do you,” she begins. Clears her throat. Tries again. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

Dani nods.

***

She leads Dani upstairs, and even as she’s unlocking the door, she thinks, Mistake? This is, she knows, the kind of thing a person can’t take back. The kind of give that can’t be explained away. 

Dani has not stopped looking at her since leaving the pub. Dani has not let go of her hand. 

Dani, she is sure, feels it, too. 

She’s aware of all the bits of the flat that feel wrong when set alongside Dani Clayton: last week’s shirt tossed over the back of the sofa, last night’s cup on the counter, last month’s dust painting the bookshelf. All the little merits of a life lived alone, she thinks. If she’d known--if she’d planned--it would look different.

Not much different, maybe, but enough.

Dani is looking around with an expression Jamie can’t read. It isn’t unease, or polite interest, or even amusement; it is, Jamie thinks, genuine awe. It is, Jamie thinks, a hunger to belong. 

She’d fit in, she catches herself thinking, watching Dani walk slowly around the flat with the faintest smile at her lips. In that house, with the rest, maybe better than I do. She’d fit right in.

“This is yours?” Dani asks, not gesturing at any one thing in particular, and Jamie nods slowly. 

“Serves its purpose.”

“I’ve never had this,” Dani says. Her eyes linger on Jamie’s face, and she adds hastily, “A place of my own. It seems...quiet.”

“It is,” Jamie says, and wonders if there isn’t more to it. If I’ve never had this is reaching for more than four walls and a bed Dani wouldn’t have to share. 

***

They don’t really talk about it, as Jamie’s flat commandeers the pub’s place in line altogether. Sometimes, Jamie even finds Dani seated on her steps, book propped upon on her knees, waiting patiently to be discovered. It never feels like expectation, Jamie notes with feelings too big to look at for long. It only ever feels like Dani, warm smile and easy hand accepting Jamie’s for balance, has belonged here all along.

“D’you ever just,” Jamie begins, cutting herself off before the rest of the words can spill out. Dani, curled on the sofa with a blanket half-tucked around her, furrows her brow. 

“What?”

“Feel like someone was always there,” Jamie finishes after a moment’s deliberation. It’s too much, probably, but she walked in on Peter and Rebecca screaming at one another again, and Flora spent the whole day in a sulk, and Hannah’s got a weariness around her eyes Jamie doesn’t like. Maybe it’s just a day for too much. 

Dani doesn’t seem to think it’s too much. Dani is nodding.

“Like you don’t even have to introduce yourself, really, because you remember them from another life. Yes. Yes, I’ve...felt that.”

It’s romantic rubbish, Jamie wants to say, something out of one of Flora’s story-time adventures, but the words seem to settle along her skeleton like she needs them. Like they’re offering some kind of strength she didn’t realize she was lacking. 

Dani is gazing at her, her expression fixed and unblinking in a manner that should be off-putting, and Jamie finds herself pulled irresistibly in. Finds herself leaning across the sofa, her thigh pressing to Dani’s, twisting at the waist to face her head-on.

“I’ve never,” Dani says softly, though her head is inclining, her lashes fluttering against her cheek. 

“Don’t have to,” Jamie replies, though her blood is singing, her fingers itching to delve into thick blonde hair. 

“But we could...” Dani is an inch away, and Jamie wants nothing more than to close the gap. Wants to take something for herself, for once, something soft and warm and easier than it ought to be. 

She hesitates. Flexes her hands against her own knees, resisting the urge to grab for Dani’s shirt. 

“Dani, I don’t want to--”

Dani is leaning back, nodding feverishly. “Right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry--”

“No, listen.” She allows herself this, one hand reaching for Dani’s fingers, unfolding the instinctive fist she’s made. “I'm not...people don’t make sense to me. Understand?”

Dani shakes her head, puzzlement spreading over her impending humiliation. Jamie closes her eyes. 

“There’s a lot to it, and if...if you want to hear it all sometime, I’ll...but for now, just know that people are hard for me. Exhaustive. Complicated. They ask too much and they return too little.”

“Even me?” Dani asks, eyes shining, and Jamie smiles grimly. 

“Even you. Even me. Everyone, understand? But sometimes I still want...”

Dani waits. Dani, who never hurries Jamie anywhere. Who never tries to argue Jamie into a corner, or tells Jamie she needs to be kinder, or sneers for Jamie to get out of her way. Dani, who only sits on Jamie’s sofa, watching Jamie with an intensity no one else seems to possess. 

“If you do,” Jamie says, almost helplessly, letting one hand brace beneath Dani’s elbow. “I want--”

***

Some people--some women--kiss to escape. To flee from their lives, to hide inside Jamie’s hands and lips and fleeting desire. Some women kiss to build up armor: to convince themselves they really are brave enough, even for a night, to be someone else. Some women even kiss to shame themselves, because the memory of Jamie on their skin will rise up at unexpected moments and make them feel something, anything, even if it’s terrible. 

Dani doesn’t kiss like any of those women. 

Dani kisses like she wants. Simple and steady and nothing more. Like she wants to be kissing Jamie, wants to be learning Jamie, wants the want of it as much as the thing itself. There is no shame, in the way Dani kisses her. There is only breathless excitement, Dani moving across the sofa to press tight to Jamie’s frame along the cushions.

“I’ve never,” she says again, only this time, she’s curling the words into the underside of Jamie’s jaw. She’s letting them spill across Jamie’s skin from within the loose grip of Jamie’s arms, her hands wound tight in Jamie’s shirt, her voice jittery with anticipation. 

“If you want to stop,” Jamie begins, and Dani is shaking her head, kissing her neck, murmuring against her in such a way, Jamie can’t help but shiver.

“It’s what I--it’s right. The right way.” She lifts her eyes, and Jamie can’t help but grin at the joy reflected back. “I’ve never done it the right way.”

Jamie wants to know what that means, what the wrong way was, but it doesn’t seem a question for now. Now is just Dani, the one golden light untouched by a bleak day, the one bright spot after a tattered house Jamie doesn’t really belong in. Dani, who sighs against her lips, smiling, like she’s never been so happy to kiss someone. 

She’s waiting for Dani to reel back, to gasp, to mention the fiancé again--but Dani only presses in closer and lets her mouth linger against the thunder of Jamie’s pulse beating along in her throat. Dani only finds her lips with such a sound of relief, Jamie can do nothing but grip at her back in response. 

Have we done this before? she thinks with feverish uncertainty. Have we been here before? Dani is new, each press and slide of fingers along her skin calling forth unexpected sounds, but Dani is also right. Like meeting someone and knowing they were meant to be in your story the whole time. 

“You’re sure?” she asks, though Dani is gazing down at her with such obvious desire, it makes her stomach clench. 

Dani, in answer, kisses her as no woman has ever kissed her, and Jamie lets herself fall. 

***

Dani is still in her bed come morning. 

Dani is still wrapped around her, naked skin and rapturous smile, and Jamie thinks, How can I be so happy, when the rest of it is falling apart?

“All right?” she asks, half-expecting the awareness of the previous night--of their slow stumble across the flat, of Dani’s shirt over her head and Dani’s hands cradling Jamie’s skin--to crash in around them both like a bad dream. Dani only wriggles against her under the blankets, face pressed to Jamie’s shoulder. 

“Yes. Are you?”

No one has ever asked that, Jamie realizes dimly. Not even the first girl she’d ever loved, the one who had taken Jamie by the shoulders and kissed her hard enough to hurt. Jamie, who had only been preoccupied with the sense memory of a moment like that, with the teeth buried in her bottom lip and the hand cupped between her legs, hadn’t much cared at the time. 

Now, though, with Dani looking at her this way, she can’t imagine being with someone who doesn’t ask. Who doesn’t trail the tips of their fingers along her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck, and smile like they knew all along they were needed here. 

“I’m glad,” she hears herself say, morning rasp tracing the words, “you stayed.”

Dani is still beaming when Jamie kisses her, the implication of I am, too buried in the gentle press of her hand against Jamie’s cheek.

“Are you going to be late?” she asks a little while later, when there’s fresh sweat on her breast and Dani is gulping air against her neck. Dani shakes her head, dusting light kisses across Jamie’s skin. She swallows, laughs, groans when Dani finds a particularly pleasant spot in the hollow of her throat and sets to exploring it properly. “Keep doing that, and I will be.”

And would that be so bad? To leave the house for a day. To pretend like it isn’t all imploding around her, a little family divided by one man’s arrogance. Like Jamie doesn’t feel, more and more each day, as though she is the odd one out, the seventh wheel amid three solid pairs.

Dani, still teasing the clench of her stomach with curious fingers, says, “Guess you should go, then,” and Jamie thinks no one has ever said as much to her with less pleasure. No one has ever sounded quite so inclined to keep Jamie close. 

“I’ll be back,” she promises, and Dani--spilled across her sheets like she was placed by some grand wish--grins all the wider.

***

Rebecca spends the day in silent fury, tears running down her cheeks. Hannah spends it trying to keep her lips pursed around I told you so-shaped phrasing. Owen spends it in the kitchen, head down, and Jamie spends it teaching the kids how to properly weed out a garden, just for the distraction of it all.

Peter, they tell her, is gone. 

Peter, they tell her, left last night. 

“Gone where?” Dani asks when she pushes into the flat that night to find her still here, wrapped in one of Jamie’s favorite shirts and a pair of shorts. She has spent the day, she says, feeling intrusive, feeling as though she ought to be somewhere. Jamie, unable to explain the ease with which she does it, only leans in to kiss her slowly. 

“Here,” she says. “Meant to be here.”

As for Peter--she doesn’t much care where he’s skittered off to. Good fucking riddance, in her opinion. 

“Rebecca probably doesn’t agree,” Dani says, folded onto one of the sparse kitchen chairs with bare feet and a worried expression Peter doesn’t deserve. Across from her, Jamie sighs. 

“Maybe he’s got the right idea.”

Dani tips her head, waiting, and it strikes Jamie that this is an already that doesn’t make much sense. Like the comfortable silences, Dani’s capacity to already understand when she needs to talk something out, when she needs to come to a matter on her own terms without being rushed along, is a thrill. 

“Been thinking,” she goes on slowly, giving voice to thoughts she’s been batting around for months, “maybe I’ve outstayed my welcome, as it were. At the house. With the others.”

“You said you loved it,” Dani points out. Jamie sighs.

“Love the work. Love the people, some of ‘em. But there’s something about it--something about being bound to the place that feels...”

Suffocating, she doesn’t say. Like trying to walk against the wind. Like a clock ticking down.

“Been thinking for a while,” she says instead, “about moving on. Traveling some. Can find good work for my hands anywhere, can’t I?”

Dani doesn’t answer. Dani seems to recognize this is Jamie’s future to parse out, Jamie’s thoughts to sift through. Dani having spent a night in her bed is not qualified to deter or convince her. 

“It can be lonely,” she says, when Jamie goes quiet. “Traveling without a destination.”

“You’ve been doing it,” Jamie points out, smiling a little, and Dani looks almost embarrassed. 

“Seemed the only thing to do, at the time. If I had to do it again...”

“You’d stay home?”

Dani laughs. “No. No, absolutely not.” Her hand slides across the table, tangling with Jamie’s fingers. “But...I don’t know that I’d do it alone again. If I didn’t have to.”

Jamie says nothing, the words revolving around and around between them. It’s too early to say it, she thinks. Even if she feels as though she’s known Dani far longer than these few weeks, these spare bundles of days spent talking, laughing, kissing, it hasn’t been long enough to say a thing like this. 

Dani is watching with serious eyes, with a strangely calm expression, and Jamie wonders if she can see it in her eyes, the thing she is deliberately not saying out loud.

***

She expects to find Peter back again the next day, but his absence is etched into every inch of wallpaper like a smoke stain. Rebecca seems to be moving in slow motion, going about the business of teaching the kids with very little investment. Hannah and Owen exchange concerned looks over the lunch table, and Jamie--who had enjoyed a languorous morning with Dani in her entirely too-small shower--finds herself thinking again of this house, how good it is at building pairs of people. How, without her pair, Rebecca seems lost. How, without Jamie around each morning, Hannah and Owen seem to be revolving ever nearer to one another. 

And maybe that’s for the best, she thinks. Maybe it’s like science, like the simplicity of an atom. Maybe without Peter holding her to the structure, Rebecca will ultimately bounce off again, vanish into a space built for, instead of around, her. Maybe Owen and Hannah will finally speak of quiet lovely truths they’ve been dancing around for years. Maybe it will all balance out. 

“Where are you off to next?” she asks Dani one night, the two of them curled close in bed. Dani, who had been drowsing against her shoulder, raises her head. 

“Kicking me out?” There’s a smile on her lips which, when paired with the genuine edge of worry in her voice, makes Jamie’s heart hurt. 

“No, I--I mean, I know it’s...early. And you can say no. Please, by all means, say no if you--”

“Ask,” Dani interrupts gently. Jamie sighs. 

“I’m going to call up Wingrave. Let him know he’ll be needing a new groundskeeper for the autumn season. I can’t...”

Keep listening to the walls breathe around me, she doesn’t say. Keep watching Rebecca mope, and the kids checking every window for Peter fucking Quint’s reflection. Can’t keep still in this place that only ever wants a person to stay the same. 

“I can’t,” she repeats solidly. “I was wondering if you’d...if you wanted...”

It’s been a week since opening her bed to Dani Clayton, and a week is nothing. A week is barely a breath, in the grand scheme of things, but there are feelings Jamie can’t bury once dug up. Certainties she can’t turn from, once looked in the eye. There is something about the way Dani exhales across her skin in her sleep, about the way Dani kisses her with open abandon when Jamie touches her, about the look in Dani’s eyes when she thinks Jamie doesn’t see. A week in her bed. A month in her life. 

Sometimes, she thinks recklessly, you know it’s worth trying for.

“If you wanted the company,” she says finally. “Not even forever, if you didn’t want--”

“Forever’s a long time,” Dani replies, though she’s smiling. Heat winds its way up Jamie’s neck, settling between her shoulder blades, at the small of her back where Dani’s hand seems always to grip tight around her shirt. 

“It is. Yeah.”

“Start smaller?” Dani suggests quietly, even as she’s pressing close, one leg sliding between Jamie’s beneath the sheets. “Only, I knew someone once, who demanded forever. It...didn’t work out.”

“Smaller,” Jamie agrees, relieved. Dani smiles against her lips, each kiss a little longer, a little more wanting than the last. “Little at a time, maybe.”

“Company would be nice,” Dani answers, and then she’s kissing Jamie for real, pressing Jamie into the sheets, and Jamie doesn’t care that the summer has been a mess of other people’s feelings, that the house is a cataclysm of old ghosts and unpleasant exhumations, that people are rarely worth the effort sunk into them. Jamie doesn’t care about anything just now except the distinct sound of Dani’s laugh in her mouth, the distinct pressure of Dani’s fingers against her heart. 

A woman in her pub. An event built of a dozen tiny accidents, a dozen roads taken without expectation of consequence. Maybe in another life, Dani would have chosen the next village down the way. Maybe in another life, Jamie would have been too wary to meet her eyes. Maybe in another life, Rebecca would never have come to teach those kids, Peter would never have made a misery of that house, Owen and Hannah would have built a love in Paris to put them all to shame. Other lives. Other roads. 

In this one, Jamie dreams of adventure, of a soft hand tucked into her own, of blue eyes and a brave little grin, and thinks, Half the fun, isn’t it? Never knowing where you might land. 

[bitterepiphany]

the bodyguard situation

archive of our own

@zuzusexytiems enjoy ;))

ooh also partly inspired by @amy-r-k's aa first kiss hc <3<3

warning: contains spoilers for 139

If somebody had told her during her days in the Southern Training Corps that Armin Arlert would become the 15th Commander of the Survey Corps, Annie would have scoffed in their face. There would be no way in hell that a boy that soft and weak, a boy that struggled to even complete the Training Corps program, would become the leader of by far the most dangerous branch of military here on this island.

But times had changed. Times had changed so drastically, so mind-bendingly, that Annie almost longed for those days, those simple days when the only troubles worrying her mind was the location of the Founder, and the guilt over all the destruction they had wrought on the people within the walls. Funny, how something so enormous could become so simple in hindsight.

Something hadn’t changed, though, in Annie’s world. It surprised her sometimes, how much she had come to rely on that soft and weak boy from training, how just the sound of his voice could ground her, reminding her of all the years she spent in that crystal with only his and Hitch’s words to keep her sane.

Things had happened slowly, softly. There was so much aftermath to deal with, so much death, destruction, and fear to manage, that for at least the first year after Eren’s death, they barely had time for one another. Fragile, temporary stalemates disguised as peace were made between surviving humanity and those of Paradis, and work began to salvage and rebuild what was flattened.

Armin had been forced to take up his role as the new Commander, and for a period of time, stood at a similar rank to Historia as the only surviving military leader after the rest had been turned into titans and subsequently killed. While Historia stayed on Paradis, Armin and their surviving group - Annie, Reiner, Connie, Jean, and Pieck - who were dubbed, ‘The Heroes of Paradis’, stayed in Marley, negotiating with their surviving leaders and helping the cleanup and rebuild effort. Levi remained in Marley to recover from his injuries with their more advanced technology, and Mikasa chose not to go with them, opting to instead retire from military work to instead mourn her loss in peace.

But after things had settled (or as settled as they could be after eighty percent of the world was crushed), the unresolved tension between them couldn’t be ignored through their various distractions anymore. From lingering looks, hands brushing each other for a little longer than it to be accidental, and making constant, see-through excuses - if the looks Pieck and Jean gave were any indication - to spend time with each other, it became almost unbearable for Annie. She began to think about his confession on the boat on a daily basis, thinking it over. What if he didn’t feel that way anymore? What if he realised that she was a monster, and that she didn’t deserve someone as good as he was? What if - and this thought made Annie feel physically sick - he found another girl, and she was everything Annie couldn’t be?

It was only after Pieck had cornered her after she was caught staring openly at him for the umpteenth time that she sucked it up and decided she would confront these feelings. That was, until an incident on Paradis where a group of rogue Jeagerists decided that the current Commander of the Survey Corps needed to be replaced.

Now, it was known to those that knew him through training and the subsequent years that Armin didn’t excel physically. Though he had improved and filled out into himself in the years since he inherited the Colossal Titan, he would never reach the prowess of his other male comrades like Reiner, Jean, Connie, or Eren.

Though this information was never made ‘public’, it must have gotten out somewhere, and during an orientation for some new Scouts that Armin was overseeing, a group of young men broke away from the group and rushed him. Luckily, Armin was quick to react and defended himself until they almost overwhelmed him, but at that point, Jean and Connie reacted and dragged the attackers off him. Annie herself wasn’t with the group when it happened, instead away with Reiner discussing Marley things with Historia, but when she was notified of it, she was furious. Needless to say, the decision to give Armin a constant guard was non-negotiable, and it became clear to everyone else who wasn’t budging on being the one for the job.

Armin tried to protest the decision, saying he didn’t need a ‘babysitter’, but one look from Annie shut him up pretty quickly. He did confide to her later that he was grateful she was doing it, instead of some upstart young Scout, or even one of the boys in their group, claiming that they could become a bit suffocating in their insistence that he couldn’t defend himself at all.

The words left unsaid between them seemed to take a backseat as they now spent basically all their time together. Armin let his guard down around her, and she had to admit to herself that she couldn’t imagine her life without him at this point. There were some realisations within herself that she was scared to look at though. Once, Armin questioned whether she wanted to leave the group to go live with her father, since that seemed to always be her goal ever since she left for Paradis Island all those years ago.

Annie had spent time with her father early on in the months following the Rumbling, but had found herself drawn to working with Armin and the others, though was reluctant to leave her father initially. He assured her it was okay though, and encouraged her to get out and do something she enjoyed with her life. She still visited him regularly in Marley when she could.

They never openly acknowledged it, but the intimacy between Armin and Annie slowly began to increase. Armin had a couch in his study, and sometimes they would sit there together, Armin reading some book too boring for her to be interested in, and Annie would just relax. One afternoon, the sun was falling just right over her body, and she allowed herself to close her eyes. The next thing she knew, she had awoken to her cheek pressed into the fabric of Armin’s shoulder, one of his arms resting loosely around her shoulders. He was still reading in the fading dusk light, and when she shifted, he looked at her, a small smile on his lips.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he whispered, smirking slightly. “Poor form of you, sleeping on the job, huh?”

He was teasing her. Annie pushed herself upright, fighting a yawn, failing to do so, all while shooting him an icy glare.

Armin just laughed.

Fuck.

Annie couldn’t maintain her icy demeanour at that. That damned laugh of his always broke all of her walls. She just huffed and turned her head, heat creeping up her neck. Armin’s laugh faded, and Annie glanced over at him. She was surprised to see him glancing at her sheepishly too.

“You know,” he mumbled, blushing, a hand coming to rub the back of his neck, “Uh, I don’t mind if you, you know, do that…”

Annie’s breath caught. Armin blushed harder, eyes averting.

“Uhm,” he continued, still resolutely not looking at her, “Hitch used to always say that you looked scary when you slept? But… you… don’t really, I think you look kinda cute actually and- oh?”

Annie had scooted closer to him during his ramblings, and, without a word, rested her head back onto his shoulder.

“You talk too much,” she grumbled, curling up beside him.

Armin huffed out a laugh, his arm returning to its spot around her shoulders.

They stayed like that until Annie fell asleep again, and the both of them had to be shaken awake by an amused looking Pieck, who smirked at Annie mischievously when the latter discovered Armin had wrapped her up in his arms, his cheek pressed up against her hair.

***

Some invisible barrier had broken between the two of them since that afternoon. Annie found herself sleeping on Armin in various different places whenever they sat together for extended periods of time, and he became more touchy, often grabbing onto her hands to lead her places and show her things, and being quite cuddly when she fell asleep on him, leading Annie to wake up pressed tightly against him, trapped by his arm.

They found themselves in a unique situation, and neither Annie nor Armin were oblivious to the rumours and giggles that followed the two of them around at Scout Headquarters. Their close friends wisely chose not to mention their growing intimacy, but that didn’t save them from the badly disguised stares and whispered speculation that erupted from Junior Scouts as the pair did their daily business around the grounds.

It didn’t help that Armin and Annie did absolutely everything together after the attack. The two didn’t say anything to each other, the only indication Annie got that Armin noticed it at all was his telltale habit of rubbing the back on his neck and hair when he got flustered or nervous when the whispers got a little too loud for comfort.

Things reached a peak one night after a long meeting negotiating new regiment leaders and discussing the rebel Jeagerists that seemed to be grouping up together again.

It was raining hard after a sudden downpour, and Armin and Annie were faced with the newly treacherous task of making their way across the grounds to their adjacent rooms in the Commander’s and Captain’s dorms.

They stood under an awning, peering through the darkness, trying to route a path that would result in the least amount of drenching. It didn’t seem possible.

“Well,” Annie said, “I suppose we can just have a shower after…”

“I guess… let’s go!”

Annie cried out in surprise as Armin grabbed her hand and yanked her along with him, and then they were off, running through the sheets of water and getting thoroughly soaked to the bone. Annie let herself go, and began to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, and soon Armin joined her, their laughs getting lost in the roar of the rain.

Just as they reached their barracks, Annie’s foot landed in a particularly slippery patch of mud and she toppled over, gasping. She squeaked in shock as a pair of arms wrapped around her and saved her from a faceful of mud. Armin pulled her into him, and her palms flew up to grip his shirt at his chest. They stood there for a second, staring at each other, far closer than they had ever been before, chests heaving with exertion.

Armin’s arms tightened around her slightly.

“Are… are you okay?” he breathed.

Annie could feel his heart racing beneath her hands, and she suddenly became acutely aware of how fast her heart was going too. She nodded, breathless.

Armin didn’t seem to want to let her go. Annie found that she didn’t want him to either.

All of their interactions since his damned confession on the boat ran through her head. Annie took a breath. She had made up her mind. Enough of this dancing around one another. Just as the words building up in her head for months passed her lips, Armin spoke.

“Annie,” he said, eyes intensely focused on hers. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Her chest caught.

“I…”

Feeling as though her entire life had led up to this moment, Annie abandoned any response she might have had on her tongue, gripped his shirt harder, rose on her tiptoes, and kissed him.

She could feel the tension leave Armin’s shoulders, and he almost slumped into her, leaning down so she could stand flat-footed, kissing her back, hands sliding up her body to cradle her face. They broke apart, lost in their own little world, eyes locked.

“Wanna get married?”

Annie let loose an elated giggle, sure that this high she was on was never going to let her down. It was all too incredible to even describe.

“Yeah.”

***

Rumours about the Commander and his female companion had been the hot topic of Scout members for months. A set of questions regarding them circulated.

“Who’s that scary-looking lady who’s always with the Commander?”

“Is she some kind of new captain?”

“I heard she was his bodyguard!”

“No surely not, she’s too small for that, maybe she’s his assistant.”

Another smaller, more knowledgeable section of older Scouts found the pairing to be unbearable.

“She’s the Female Titan!”

“Why haven’t we killed her yet? You know how many Scouts she killed, right?”

“Why on earth does he seem to be friendly with her?”

“They look like some sort of couple! No way am I serving under someone fucking a traitor!”

The Commander and his female companion were very aware of the whispers, but they didn’t care. Let them think what they wanted, they thought.

One afternoon, an amused-looking Reiner was lounging about, supervising some of the younger recruits in their training. He heard some of their whispers, and laughed aloud.

“You guys don’t know?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes, “She’s no bodyguard. That’s his wife .”

Rumour has it the squeals of shock could be heard from across the grounds.

[kaeyas-beloved]

Hi!

Could I please ask for IkeRev HCs for Ray, Fenrir and Luka. What are they like as Older brothers to a younger sister who’s still a teenager, 16/17 ish?

Thank you!

Ray Blackwell, Fenrir Godspeed, Luka Clemence || Ikemen Revolution

Warning(s): Slight spoilers for Fenrir's & Luka’s route (nothing major tho), maybe some OOCness since I haven't picked up IkeRev in some time - but other than that none (do tell me if I’m wrong though ^^)

Note: Hello! I’m really sorry for taking such a long time to write this (honestly I wrote and re-wrote this a handful of times and I still don't even know if they're that great...)

Still, I hope they’re good enough and that you enjoy them - thank you for requesting!

She/Her pronouns are used to address the reader/younger sister

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

Older Brother to Younger, Teen Sister HCs 

Ray Blackwell

Ray’s such a calm older brother in the sense that he’s both never intruding in on your personal space & gives you your freedom while still being able to know when he has to step up and protect you (even though he wants to protect you all the time)

Growing up the both of you were close (Fenrir was thrown in that mix too with how often the two boys hung out) But after Ray joined the army, steadily climbing the ranks and you stuck focusing on your studies you guys kind of drifted apart for sometime

You aren’t sure who started it but soon you found yourselves sending each other letters as a way to stay in touch (your letter more often than not having a picture of Belle tucked inside)

The little kitty loves you by the way - you’re his second favourite hooman (it’s cause you spoil him with cuddles), Ray’ll sometimes get jealous when the feline snuggles up to you because he thinks that his own cat loves you more than him

One day though you were walking home from school and passed an alleyway, faintly hearing someone baby talk to something. Curiosity got the better of you and that’s how you found your older brother, cross legged on the dirty street coddling one too many street cats

Though you do travel to that particular spot a lot now (usually as a way to procrastinate destress from school (or simply because you love cats like Ray does)) You’ll also keep them company when Ray can’t

Ray hates it when you go out late at night since anything could happen to you. It nags at the back of his mind a lot, that one day something might happen to his precious little sister and that he might not be there to save you. Old wounds and feelings resurface at the list of possibilities that come to mind.

He doesn’t want history to repeat itself, he doesn’t want to be unable to protect you from danger. So anytime that you visit headquarters and you stay late you either simply stay the night or have an escort take you home. You can choose which option you’d like but Ray’s not taking a ‘no’ as any form of an answer

Calls you dufus just because he can (but affectionately). Might also ruffle your hair and/or pat you on the shoulder

You call him an old man because he can’t stay up past 10PM (Ray’ll then make some kind of comment regarding Sirius and how he’s more of an old man, to which you both laugh until the man himself makes his presence behind you known)

Absolutely the kind of brother to move things you need off a shelf out of your reach before proceeding to walk away with a satisfied smile on his face

Also the kind of brother to tease you about any cute boys/girls/people that he catches you staring at or gushing about (but he’ll stop if you tell him seriously to stop)

Do you like books? Ray likes books. He has a lot of books. Take a book, please he has too many--

If you enjoy reading, Ray is constantly recommending you novels, letting you read them before casually asking you your opinion on certain characters or events when you’re returning it. But even if you're not an avid reader he may still hand you a book or two that he knows you'll enjoy

Like mentioned earlier, Ray is very busy with Army work and such but honestly, out of everyone in the Black Army, he’s the second best person to come to with homework (second only to Sirius). Especially with history. Like, you need the entire history of the Black Army or Cradle? He’s got you, he had to read up on it when he was on the road to becoming the King of Spades.

Really, you could just pop right into his office at anytime, ask your question and Ray will be able to answer without missing a beat before going back to whatever he was doing

You can always come to Ray for anything. Questions, complaints you name it he’ll listen to your woes/answer however he can.

You guys bond over your teacher(s) giving too much homework; Ray reminiscing when he was your age and in high school - he completely understands the struggle (it was excruciating. All the work prolonged the sweet embrace of a good night’s sleep T~T)

There’s someone who’s picking on you? Don’t worry he’ll deal with them >:)

He might not always know how he can help or comfort you since he’s not the best with words when it comes to certain things, but that won’t stop him from at least helping where he can

Will never let anything happen to you -- Ray protects you with his life and he'll use any power he has if it means that you can walk out unharmed, that’s how much he cares for you

Fenrir Godspeed

Fenrir doubles as both your older brother and your best friend

110% flaunts how you’re the coolest little sister a brother could have to anyone that will listen (most of the time it’s the Black Army tho)

Flips between calling you by name, ‘sis’ and any other ridiculous nickname he can come up with (but don’t worry - you have an equally stupid name for him)

Considers you his best buddy (aside from Ray that is)

Fenrir’s also the kind of brother to pat his sister’s head, ruffle her hair, give gentle noogies and shake her around by the shoulders/poke her playfully then go ‘wasn’t me’. Just like these wholesome little things that mean no harm or anything

I also like the idea of Fenrir giving his sister piggyback rides - it's just a nice thought, please don't take this away from me I beg of you T-T

Best bro Fenrir picks you up from school every day, no ifs, ands or buts! Usually, he’ll buy you your favourite sweet/snack and give it to you when he gets there.

Brings Shu Shu along as well and the three of you will talk about what happened at school or anything exciting that may have happened as he walks you either home or to the barracks

You’re both very chaotic + Ray joins in too most of the time. Quite a few pranks happen when you’re at Black HQ (RIP the Black Army when you come over and you three triple team them).

Harmless pranks I promise!

Fenrir may take one of your belongings (a brush, your favourite book or an accessory) and run around the place with the only way of you getting it back is to catch him

There was this one time you snuck tomatoes into his food to see if he’d notice.

Spoiler alert: he most certainly did

After that he kinda ignored you for the rest of the day as payback, pouting and pretending like you weren’t there, saying stuff like ‘huh? Did you hear that?” At the end of the day though he wasn't mad and was able to laugh it off (it doesn’t erase the betrayal he felt tho)

Once in a while you’ll also poke fun at his fear of ghosts, saying off hand that there’s one at the end of the hall, down in the cellar or behind him. You never go too far though - not after the time that a prank of yours left him really shaken. You’ve never seen him so scared in your life and don’t plan to again.

Oliver’s soul nearly left his body when he first met you and learned that you took after your troublesome brother

Fenrir loves helping you with any school work you have cause he likes being a dependable brother for you! …The only problem is that sometimes he doesn’t know how to. Like, he grasps the basic concepts of what you’re talking about, but if you ask him how to calculate acceleration or a parabola he draws a blank - you’ve lost him.

Pls cut him some slack tho he’s trying his best and just the thought alone is sweet 🥺

Compared to his best buddy Ray, the Ace of Spades has quite a bit of free time, which he spends by dropping by the family home where you still live for surprise visits.

Most greetings start with “There’s my favourite sister!” with you adding on “I’m your only sister Fenrir…”

You still welcome him with a smile, open arms and a hug :)

Swears up, down and on his life to keep you and army affairs separate, he’s NOT going to expose his little sister to the violence that comes with his occupation. He stands firm on this decision. This topic is one of the only times you’ll see him actually serious

You’re not stupid though, you know what goes on, and, because of this, every time you hear in passing that the gun crazed Ace of Spades was at it again - launching himself straight into battle - there’s this pang of anxiety that rattles you to your core. You’re sure that there always will be no matter how much times passes

As a sum up - very loving and goofy brother/best friend with the addition of lots of pranks and battle scares 😎✌️

Luka Clemence

You know how in game Luka starts off as kinda cold to MC/Alice? Yeah there's none of that with his little sister

Usually when hanging around her he's most of the time adorning a small smile cause he finds joy in being around her

The relationship you have is a VERY close one considering that, while growing up in the prestigious Clemence household, it was basically you and Luka against the world

Sometimes Luka fears that you’re really lonely back at home because he’s not around as much as he used to be ever since joining the Black Army. Therefore, every week he’s set aside at the bare minimum a whole day (or at least an afternoon/evening) to go visit you - or for you to visit him!

Y’all cooking buddies and I’ll die on this hill

Luka teaches you any and everything he knows about cooking all the way to baking. He’ll even write down recipes for your favourite dishes so you can make them when he’s not there.

Whenever you’re visiting the Black Army and it’s Luka’s turn to make dinner you pitch in and help. He’ll make some of the dishes while you make the others.

The Black Army adores your cooking since you have such a great teacher/brother

Luka lets you hold/pet/feed/take care of Stone. You’re the only exception he makes when it comes to his furry companion

Don’t swear around him he’ll die (that is, after getting told by the other Black Army officers why it's such a bad thing and a big deal)

Lets you hold his sword once but you ended up nearly toppling over because it was heavier than you first anticipated.

Would play the violin for you while you study if you asked him, especially if you bring up that it helps you concentrate better

Sibling fights are non-existent. The only time that there’s a chance of you butting heads is when Luka starts pushing himself too much with training or the conversion involves Jonah

Speaking of the Queen of Hearts--

It’s a constant tug of war between the two brothers on who gets to spend the day with you. Luka’s scowling, Jonah’s pouting and you’re wondering what you have to do to get your brothers to get along (or at least have it where you’re not in the middle of it all)

Very supportive of whatever you want to do with your life. Luka also tells you every once in a while that you can always come live in Black territory or even the barracks when you’re a little older if you want to

All the more should Jonah/your parents ever try to enforce something on you (like some kind of lesson/social norms for Red Territory that you don’t like etc.). Luka will 100% whisk you away into Black Territory to get away from it all, just say the word.

All in all each of the boys are wrapped around their little sister's finger and would do anything to keep her safe and happy :)

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

Thank you again for requesting!

[Masterlist]

[philliamwrites]

killing me softly with his song | (Childe / Reader) [chpt.1]

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Childe / Reader

Tags: #fem!reader, #from childhood friends to lovers, #reader is a fatui agent, #slow burn, #unresolved sexual tension, #mature language, #forbidden love

Words: 2k

Summary: "Lybuov zla, polyubish i kozla," sighs your sister as she wipes off the table, but that makes you feel even more miserable. Falling for a goat might save you from an actual heartbreak by Tartaglia's hands.

____________

Loosely connected chapters about you and Childe finding happiness. Maybe.

Notes: Part 2

Masterlist

***

childe? what a problematic asshole i hate him i- *trips* *thousands of pictures of childe spill from pockets* fuck those aren’t mine i swear i’m just holding them for a friend i- *slips on a pile of pictures* fu ck no they’re not mine i hate him i just- *more pictures fall out as i fall to my knees, desperately trying to pick them up* hang on a sec jUst LISTEN

Chapter 1

     A cold gust of icy wind drives you deeper into the sheets and you swear by the name of Her Majesty Herself once you get up and find Alexei, you’ll smother him with a towel for leaving a window open in the middle of the night.

    Somewhere outside, a rooster crows. Fine, not dead of the night then, but no one cares for technicalities like these when sleep is involved. Especially after a night like this one, when Alexei fucked you into oblivion and back, you need every minute of shuteye you can get before another day of exhausting missions in the Chechnaya Taiga of Snezhnaya claims your last strand of sanity.

    It’s peaceful mornings like these that make it all worthwhile though—the quiet during the early golden hour when people slowly wake up to a brand-new day and get ready to do their chores, their factory work. The sheer number of possibilities stretching out before their hands, and hope rekindled every morning despite the harsh cold waiting at their doorsteps. You love how everything stands still, how even the uncaring universe seems to grant people a sliver of peace, allows them to be soft and vulnerable. To be kind to themselves by indulging in a freshly brewed cup of coffee or tea. Nothing can spoil this for you, nothing and no one—

    An awkward cough sounds from the door. You close your eyes, willing him to disappear by simply ignoring him, but his eyes burn into the back of your head like two smouldering coals and eventually, you turn around to see Alexei standing in the door frame, shifting from left to right. “There’s someone out there who wants to talk to you,” he says.

    Turning around, you try to disappear into your pillow. “Whoever it is, I’m sure they can wait until it isn’t such a damn unholy time.”

    Alexei clears his throat. “It’s uhm … it’s someone from the Fatui.”

    Your eyes snap open. Suddenly the warm, cosy blankets feel like a snake’s tight hold around your body, and you struggle out of its grip, grabbing for the dressing gown you carelessly threw around the back of your chair last night.

    The sun hangs low in the east, painting the city of Kerch that stretches outside of your window a sheen of dusky gold. When the red-brown bricks of the dacha cottages come into view, you think of the gingerbread houses you used to make as a child every year in celebration of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa of the Zapolyarny Palace.

    Cold already seeps into your bones even though the robe is tight around your body. You hiss when your bare feet hit the icy floor but can’t find your slippers. Time to die like a woman.

    You brush past Alexei, who’s scratching his head, still just in his underwear and you think him crazy for walking around half-naked like that even though it’s minus 58F outside and the heating systems inside your barracks only start to work once outside temperatures drop to minus 75F.

    Maybe what they say is true. People from around Noyabrsk in the north of Snezhnaya regularly dip into frosty rivers and you do remember him mentioning ice swimming is his hobby. It was one of the few things you thought attractive about him. Actually, it was the only thing you thought attractive about him.

    Light streams into the floor from the kitchen, flickering once, twice in dangerous foreboding. It’s time to switch the lightbulb. Tomorrow. Tomorrow for sure, because that isn’t important right now. What’s important is Tartaglia sitting at your table, leaning back in a chair, both feet crossed on top of the table, and eating your leftover mayonnaise sandwich you saved up for breakfast.

    His eyes slide lazily toward you, taking in your form—barefoot, shivering even though the fur from your bathrobe is of the finest white wolf fur obtainable on the market.

    Tartaglia finishes your sandwich, smacks his lips and licks mayo off his fingers. He doesn’t even like it, and you know from time to time he can’t handle dairy all that well. He just eats it because he knows how it infuriates you.

    “Alexei, huh,” he says in lieu of hello. “Didn’t know you’re into himbos.”

    Behind you, Alexei makes a sound like a kicked puppy. You glare at him over your shoulder, then jut your chin towards the front door. “Out. Now.”

    He doesn’t wait for you to repeat yourself. Surprisingly fast for a guy this big, he bolts into your room, gets dressed in record speed and leaves your little one-bedroom apartment without so much as a Goodbye or “We’ll hear from each other,” and you prefer it that way. It saves stuff from getting messy.

    Speaking of messy, you really wish Tartaglia would have sent you a note before coming. The smell of icy wind and snowy forests clings to his clothes. He must have come straight from a mission, not unusual in the slightest, yet in most cases he sends a message your way just to make sure he doesn’t run into one of your one-night stands and it doesn’t get ugly.

    Like right now.

    “I thought you had a little more class than that,” he says nonchalantly. His feet keep wobbling from left to right until you make your way over and push them off your table. Not that you actually sit there to take your meals, no. But this is your home, you have to assert dominance.

    “Well, I’m not picky,” you say, taking the empty chair opposite from him. “The nights of Fyrva’snezh are really fucking cold.”

    “I’m sure Fire-Water will do the same trick.” He’s sulking, yet he has no right to it and knowing Tartaglia, that’s why he sulks even more.

    Your relationship can be summarised with one word: complicated. Which is funny, because besides martial arts classes (taught by a teacher that is a real ball of sunshine who could easily snap your spine like a twig) and infiltration tactics courses (led by a grumpy teacher who once woke you all up in the middle of the night to do a spontaneous quiz about infiltration steps and everyone who failed or fell asleep had to run a marathon through the forest in their underwear) you had to take at the Fatui military school of Zapolyarny, they also teach mathematics and molecular physics, and that shit was complicated.

    Growing up in a small seaside village—bless little Morepesok; how much you miss babushka Katya’s refreshing botvinia soup—with only a handful kids your age, gravitating towards Tartaglia was the natural development. He loves ice-fishing, you love eating fish. You gag just smelling solyanka, he wolfs it down like it might be his last meal on earth. Opposites attract each other, as they say, and how true it is for you two—you, the morning person and he, the night owl; his will of iron and your nerves of steel. Your bow, his sword, even though Tartaglia is a masochist who likes to make it hard for himself by trying to switch weapons solely because you’re better at it than him and he is a sore loser.

    His worship of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, your fear of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.

    “I don’t think you came all the way here just to call me a slut,” you say. He is in no position to do so anyway, because Camilla from the ptychy’moloko shop down the road that leads to the Sarov church didn’t shut up about blowing him for weeks until you sent her a liver of a pig and claimed that was the leftovers from the last girl that thought she could put a leash on the Eleventh of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. Camilla quickly moved on to an inconspicuous merchant who sells matryoshka dolls for a living and all is well that ends well.

    “What do you want?”

    Tartaglia starts tapping a gloved finger against the wooden table, a nervous tick you don’t know he’s aware of.

    “I’m leaving for Liyue first thing tomorrow.” His tone is low when he speaks, his earlier nonchalance replaced by a sense of urgency.

    “Okay.” It isn’t the first time he’s leaving Snezhnaya by order of the Tsaritsa, but every time he does, something inside you leaves with him. “So, you want me to keep an eye out for Teucer and the others?”

    “He’s really unhappy I’m leaving again already.” Tartaglia doesn’t mention the reason he was sent away just a couple of months ago to Inazuma was because he accidentally blew up an artillery factory belonging to a nobleman that secretly shipped orders to Fontain. The fallout from that was easier to handle with him not being anywhere nearby. Tartaglia is like a pair of hot tongues; no one is sure where to put him or how soon he would cool off, but if they just drop him, he might light the world on fire. Kid gloves are put on and a careful perimeter marked out.

    “And what excuse did you make up this time?” You knock your foot into his leg, lingering on his calf just a second too long before withdrawing again. “Another business trip to promote your toys? You can’t hold up this charade forever, you know.”

    “Why, your eyes feast on Snezhnaya’s greatest expatriate toy seller, now extending to the Liyue Branch of our Institute for Toy Research.” Tartaglia’s eyes have taken on a playful glint, and he leans forward as he speaks. “You wouldn’t be so cold to break a little boy’s heart. That’s not you.”

    You want to remind him that you have no problem to put an arrow between a man’s eyes, or rip out his fingernails, one by one, to get the information that you want.

    “You owe me, toy man.”

    “Put it on my tab.”

    Tartaglia looks like there’s something else he wants to say, but as always, he decides to swallow those words even though they must hurt like swallowing needles. You know that feeling, and so you help him sort out his tightly entangled yarn of emotions by figuratively pushing him off the cliff.

    “Don’t forget to bring condoms. I hear the women of Liyue are beautiful.”

    Tartaglia goes a sickly grey colour, like the ashes of a dead fire, but he’s been the leading role of this play too long to fall out of character now. He gets up and stretches like a cat getting comfortable in a spot of sunlight. His jacket rides up, showing a stripe of skin, and you quickly turn your head away before giving into leaning over the table and mark him with your teeth.

    Patting his left pants’ pocket, Tartaglia says, “I’m always prepared.” He carries a grin that is dry, humourless, and for a brief moment, you two lock eyes, trading a look that feels like a dare. You allow yourselves to imagine how he picks you up and carries you to your bed where you two would proceed to fuck without abandon through the whole day and the following night, leaving the bed only to get food until Tartaglia leaves for Liyue and you’d send each other love letters until his return. What an idea. What an utterly stupid, naive, wonderful idea.

    “Well, lucky ladies,” you say, not bothering to hide the jealousy in your voice because jealousy is easier to handle than regret.

    “Lucky indeed,” he agrees and dons his easy-going smile, one that he’s perfected after hours upon hours in front of the mirror until it accomplished what he wanted: to mock people, infuriate them.

    On his way out, he stops to ruffle your hair in an affectionate way, one typical for childhood friends, but the distance between you is like the ocean separating Snezhnaya from Liyue.

    It was on the very first day of your conscription into the military organisation, Number Six of the Ten Laws that the Fatui abide by: Any physical or romantic relationship between Fatui agents is prohibited. As thou would not exchange flesh with thy brother or sister, so thou shalt not with your comrade, for he or she is thy brother or sister in arms.

    And everyone knows Her Majesty the Tsaritsa’s word is law, and though the law is hard, it is the law.

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