#i would rather my kid were a bit of a smart mouth than terrified and easy to coerce into things

[gabessquishytum]

This morning I woke up thinking horny Dreaming thoughts and for a second I was so bummed out that I couldn’t tell anyone. But then I remembered I can tell you and I just really want to thank you for your inbox and for all of your enthusiastic responses. I’ve been doubting lately if I want to stay in fandom spaces but you really make it fun and worthwhile and plain lovely, and I’m really grateful for you.

Anyway: horny thoughts.

I come from a region where religious affiliation was systematically discouraged two generations ago, so we’re all pretty much atheist and only go to church — if at all — for Christmas, so I was rather surprised that there is such a thing as premarital counseling aka. Telling young couples what to do/expect in bed after the wedding. Which is. Such a strange concept to me? Whatever happened to comprehensive sex ed? Do parents actually believe their teenagers are not experimenting and figuring themselves out?

Never mind my confusion, but I was thinking older marriage counselor!Dream and soon-to-be-wed!Hob. And why not make it a/o/b?

Hob is young, a fresh-faced, barely 18 Omega. He isn’t conventionally attractive but handsome in a way Betas and maybe even Alphas would be: broad shoulders, tall. By the time he’s 16 it was clear he will never have problems growing a full beard (unlike most Omegas), his chest, arms and legs are full of coarse hair-

Hob’s okay with it. After he’s lost his parents and was sent to the orphanage he figured he wouldn’t be of much interest for anyone really. He spent his time in the library and helping the nuns to take care of the little ones. He’s really good with kids and smart, so he aims to be a kindergartner or maybe even a teacher, if he gets the chance to study.

Considering how odd he is, he’s never had much to do with other kids his age. The alphas were intimidated by how large his is, larger than they are sometimes. Some Omegas and Betas avoided him for the same reason, while others were just put off by how strange he is. It saddens him a bit, but as long as he’s got the kids to take care of and hang out with, it’s fine. He’ll just live out his extroverted tendencies by playing with them for hours. He didn’t make the same experiences as others — there was one kiss with another Omega when he was 15. Hob liked it but the other Omega was so terrified that Hob decided this just isn’t worth it — but he’s content with his life.

Two weeks shy of his 18th birthday, the nuns ask him for a meeting. Hob knows that this is about his future and he plans to present them with his plans going forward: Either keep helping around the orphanage while he gets a few hours off each day to work on his schooling or find a part time job tutoring or as a nanny to do the same. He knows that they can’t keep him around forever, but they’ve always been good to him and he hopes they’ll let him stay a bit longer.

He is very surprised when they tell him, they found an Alpha who wants to marry him.

Hob protests. He doesn’t want to marry, he wants to be a teacher! That’s what he’s worked for ever since his parents died and none but the kids at the orphanage showed him any affection. He doesn’t want to sit at home all day, waiting for his Alpha to come home and knock him up (though he would love to have children of his own. that’s not the point). He doesn’t want to be an object, locked into a solitary building yet again!

The nuns assure him they’re written to the Alpha who is amenable to Hob getting his degree and working in childcare, as long as it’s not hindering him from performing his marital duties. Which to Hob doesn’t sound like a completely horrible deal? He can sleep in the same bed as some Alpha every night, that’s okay. After all, that’s all it is, right?

He agrees, reluctantly. The nuns send him to marriage counselling and Hob goes. He’s not sure what he needs it for because he knows how kissing works (mouth A on mouth B) and that sleeping next to your spouse will eventually lead to children.

Enter marriage counsellor!Dream, who has not done this before and has no idea why he agreed to this. His last marriage ended in tragedy so he’s clearly not the right person to prepare anyone for that kind of commitment but his siblings talked him into it. Something along the lines of how being around younger people in love would help him and make him less jaded.

Hob is immediately fascinated. The Alpha is so, so different from what he expected. He’s slender and tall, which is only accentuated by the suit he wears. He’s twice Hob’s age if he had to guess, judging by the grey in his hair. He’s stunningly beautiful and Hob is immediately enamoured. What a pity this guy isn’t the one he’s marrying because he sure wouldn’t mind lying in bed next to him, especially considering how delicious he smells and how Hob's body feels all tingly as soon as he steps inside the room.

Dream is equally as ass over teakettle for the sweet, naïve Omega that stumbled into his office. They talk a little about Dream’s actual day job, Hob’s aspirations for the future, etc. to get comfortable with each other before Dream starts poking at Hob’s experience only to realise that he has none. Zero. Zilch. He gently inquires what Hob does when he gets aroused and hard to which Hob answers that he waits for it to go away.

Dream is speechless. This beautiful, smart, kind Omega is so inexperienced, it would be a crime to let him get married like this. I mean that’s just setting him up for unhappiness! Dream knows other Omegas his age — the same age Hob’s prospective husband seems to be — and they won’t take care of him the way they should.

So Dream decides he has to do something about it. He starts slow, inviting Hob back for another evening to continue the counseling but gives him homework: The next time, Hob feels aroused and his prick is hard (in private), Dream wants him to wrap his hand around it and stroke it until he cums. Hob doesn’t know what that means, but Dream promises him that he’ll know when it happens.

Thing is tho: Hob doesn’t know what Dream meant. He tried but stopped at the first sign or pre on his tip. So next time they meet, Hob complains that he couldn’t sleep after because he was so keyed up!

Dream, his head a bit hazy given the image of Hob on his bed, his hand wrapped around his small Omega prick, that he goes ahead and asks Hob to demonstrate what he did. And Hob — blushing from both shyness and arousal — strips out of his trousers and pants, sits down on the leather armchair in the meeting area of Dream’s office and starts masturbating.

It’s painfully clear that he doesn’t know what he’s doing so Dream starts to coach him through it. He tells him that his grip needs to be tighter, that he needs to stroke faster, that he can’t stop now-

Dream nearly cums in his pants watching Hob. His eagerness is incredibly beautiful, the flush on his cheeks so, so stunning. He’s never seen anything as mesmerising as Hob looking down at his prick in surprise, his smell permeating Dream’s office and the wetness from his cunt soaking into the expensive leather upholstery.

Dream sends him to the bathroom to clean up, answers a few questions before he sends him home with more homework. Then Dream rushes to the bathroom himself, cumming within seconds because what he just witnessed- most erotic sight ever.

Two days later they have their next counseling session and Hob immediately blurts out that his wrist hurt too much so he couldn’t do the assignment Dream had given him, but he still wants to try. Aren’t there any other ways to finger his cunt? And Dream, who has been thinking about nothing but Hob for the past two days, proposes that he could just do it for Hob. So Hob strips down and takes a seat on Dream’s lap, already wet with slick and smelling ever so delicious.

Dream makes Hob cum twice on his fingers before he orders him to recline in the armchair and eats him out. Hob can barely walk afterwards and curls up on the couch, his head resting on Dream’s thigh. Maybe this whole marriage thing isn’t as bad as he thought it was? But what about the Alpha? Surely he has still so much to learn from Dream.

Next time they meet, Dream teaches him to kiss, while Hob sits on his lap. Hob's rubbing against his thigh until he's a shuddering mess and Dream gives him the quickest blowjob he's ever given.

This goes on and on and on and progresses steadily. They meet with take-out dinner and talk, they have their "lessons". The first time Hob cums on Dreams cock, Hob cries with how good it feels. He's an incoherent mess when Dream's knot inflates. There’s about two months left until the wedding and Dream vows he’ll make sure to teach Hob everything he knows about how to be pleased and how to please his Alpha.

And if they fall in love along the way and elope before Hob can marry some stranger, well at least Dream’s not jaded anymore and Hob is suddenly much more enthusiastic about marital obligations.

Love, 💄

I'm having a kinda terrible bad no good day today, so it's perfect that this has come to the top of the pile for the posting! First of all I want to say: thank you for letting me be the outlet for your thoughts and ideas! It's really a pleasure for me to know that my blog feels like a safe space. I hope you'll stick around for a very long time!!

I'm always grateful when you guys occasionally drop an absolute banger like this in my inbox. It's a real gift on a day like today when my head is empty. Anyway. I am. Deeply obsessed with this whole scenario. The whole setup with "marriage counselling", Dream being peer pressured into doing it even though his marriage was a trashcan on fire... excellent, I love it. And Hob!!! Darling, clever, innocent Hob!!!!! I would take a bullet for him in this au. I need him to have a happy life!!! I need him to be able to get his qualifications!!!! Most of all I need him to be railed by Dream 24/7.

I gotta know... has Dream taught Hob about birth control? Is there such a thing in this universe? Because if Hob is getting knotted several times each week for two months, I feel like there may be a whole other reason for them to elope together...... although I do kinda love the idea of Hob showing up to his wedding with his intended alpha, guiltily hiding his tiny bump behind a bouquet of flowers because Dream got him pregnant, oopsie.

Anyway, I love anything with omega Hob and this is no exception!!!! Thank you so so much for sharing it with me!!!!!!

#💄 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw omegaverse #cw mpreg

[richardsthirdnipple]

My Characterization of Nettles.

I saw it come up that she's often mischaracterised, and rather than thinking about it throughly, I decide to take it as a criticism of the people who go out of their way to write her with broken English (I speak in my dialect so it's especially strange seeing some form of it written) and entirely childish, ignoring the fact that she's, smart and lived alone in a classist society, surviving so long by herself.

I also want to justify my own characterization because I think it's a bit different.

So the way I think about her is a smart, mouthy girl. She speaks well enough. She picks up different cultural slang and languages from around Driftmark, and her naiveté only shows itself with her actual age. She's at the age where most people question the systems that harm them, and as a brown skin, poor person in this world, she'd be in a unique position. She overcompensates for it, though. She doesn't let it show as much.

I think she's a quick thinker and fast learner as well. She observed the way Sheepstealer was interacting with people and saw the only thing he'd bend for, using it to her advantage. So, while Daemon is teaching her these things, she's actually responding to it.

She's a bit inquisitive as well. She cares to understand what she has to do before she does it.

Now, the mouthy part comes into how I think she earned the foul-mouthed reputation. She doesn't code switch while interacting with anyone. Say how she'd talk to Jace and a bar maid it doesn't change. She knows she can, but she doesn't want to. She speaks with the common tongue well enough, but she doesn't speak in the manner of someone who's talking to a prince and ladies.

It's genuinely vile things that shouldn't be said as well as just cursing.

Now, the next part is tied to her alleged love interest, Daemon. But I think she can be a very disagreeable person when she wants to be. It's not something that has helped her, but it is the reason why she doesn't have a lot of people around her early on. Daemon tends to like strong personalities.

She doesn't deal with authority well. That's just based on the fact that she's been alone for so long, with no one going out of their way to treat her like her age.

The innocence of her character is something I tend to disagree with a lot as well. She would hurt a fly, she'd kill a sheep, and she was raised on the streets of Driftmark. The moral pillar of innocence, like being overly trusting and caring, is a strange thing to apply to her.

She isn't a pious person. I know this part is strange, but in a world like Westeros, where sex is a form of currency, especially for non royal/rich women, I think she's had a few sexual encounters. Now I love the avoiding brothel work characterization, but I don't think commodifying sex is such an out of place thing for a girl in her position, it was a learning curve for figuring her way in the world without a big concequence like a kid. ( A small headcanon is that she fell for a bard from essos once, like a crush a young girl typically has).

I think her grief over Jace came from a place of bonding and putting her trust in someone for the first time and losing them so violently. Most people, unless they are victims of propaganda like Mr Jamie Lannister, don't want to fight in a war. During the fight, bodies are burned and piled, and entire ports are left burned and filled with ash. We see the Driftmark Characters have a distinct reaction for participating in the war that burned the place they were raised. Nettles has a lot of blood on her hands.

She has no one to confide that in.

I think after that, she gets a lot more agreeable because no one is looking out for her. It's a dangerous place to occupy, Rhaneyra is hardened by Jace’s death,and is killing people left and right for treason, that's terrifying.

Thankfully, she's sent away with a stranger who's dealing with the same shared grief that she has. She's been at the brunt of them losing two more kids and has just lost her home.

She's also sent away in a very similar situation to what had her crying on Driftmark. She has to see what Aemond is doing to the Riverlands after the Battle of the Gullet. She has someone to lean on, though, seeing as she gets really close to Daemon.

Close enough that her life being called for by the ruler of the seven kingdoms is put at the same risk factor as killing her and him finding out.

I genuinely think she becomes very similar to the person she was before which is why......

Lastly, she doesn't willingly leave. This is attributed to the tears, but I think Daemon lied and said he'd return to his family. That he wouldn't fight Vhagar. I don't think she'd allow him to sacrifice himself in that way.

All of this is speculation based on a character we don't know, so if it seems strange, that's fair.

#house of the dragon #hotd #nettles #a song of ice and fire #nettles asoiaf #netty #my baby girl is so fun to think about #this is general because there's a difference when she's hc as Rhoynish for me #nettles headcanons #nettles characterization

[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of the Past. Yandere!Childe x Fatui!gn!reader

Wordcount: 3875

CW: Dissociation, graphic depiction of violence, hallucinations, unhealthy relationship and unhealthy power dynamics.

A.N.: I used a lot of my experience with dissociations in this and if it makes you uncomfortable, I would advice not to read it. I also plan on writing continuation for this, as it’s set before the Rite of Descension. P.s. I am not a native English speaker, so could you notify me if there’s awkward wording.

[Next chapter]

There are plenty of times you find yourself reminiscing about the past and now, your mind slips back to your memories, as you look at the horribly mangled body of the treasure hoarder. The stench of blood stuffs up your nose, it’s sickly sweet metallic odor making your gut clench and nausea rise, as your limbs grow heavier and numb. You don’t feel  like you belong in your skin and bones and blood anymore - it’s cold, so cold, yet you don’t feel any of it. You are an outsider, an unwanted intruder in the house that is your body, an indifferent observer looking at the world through the thick glass.

The world around disfigures, shapes and colors changing in the constant whirlwind - they jump and dance around, small becoming large and large shrinking so much it’s barely visible, green shifts to red to blue and to yellow and to million of other colors, and sounds suddenly become muffled, losing their sharpness, but you don’t care about it: the part that is “you” fled to the daydreams of your childhood moments ago, leaving a clinically observing, yet unfeeling being behind. 

Adults would describe you as a perfect child: quiet, obedient and dutiful, you were a stark contrast to the other louder and more free spirited kids. You studied hard, cleaned the house, helped with dishes and cooking and never talked back. 

I can't upset mom and dad because they work so much. I can't play with other kids because if I do, they will make fun of me, I have to study hard and get good grades, because mom said I will have a good job and become rich and help them. 

These particular memories don't feel good to you: they're bleak and boring, yet full of silent shame - they make your throat clog and eyes water, as something burning starts to bloom deep underneath your skin. 

Childe stops beating the still alive treasure hoarder, a blood smeared on the cheek and a dangerous glint in his eyes, and turns his head to you. 

"Hey, how about lending me a helping hand?", there’s a hunger in his voice you recognize, he wants to teach a lesson to the debtors, then. You walk towards him, feeling your knees get weaker and weaker with each step for some reason. A dagger made of ice shines in your hand with cold light. 

"It's no wonder [First] received a vision! My [First] is always so good and smart, there are no children better" the exact words your mother says, as she brags to her friends, showing them the vision you were bestowed with. You left it to her, not caring what will happen to it - despite all the child's wonder you felt before receiving it, the glowing orb doesn’t look so amazing to you now. It feels foreign and ugly, a reminder of what happened seconds before you gained it. 

“You know, when I was a child”, he takes the weapon and focuses on the treasure hoarder’s leader again, “we made a special kind of promise”. It’s tip travels to the hoarder’s hand. “You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life”

The sweet voice he uses and the fact that you  know the nursery rhyme too would make you sick in the stomach the other day, but not now. 

You don’t exactly remember how you joined the Fatui - it happened shortly after you gained a vision, when you were still too numb and cold to the outside world after the Event. 

Mom will hate me, dad will hate me too. I can’t let them know.

Your parents say that officials just knocked on the front door one day and offered you an entry into the Fatui and a monthly salary, big enough to stop your parents from overworking themselves. You were terrified back then, Fatuis despite being known as a diplomatic organization are still a mystery to the ordinary Shezhnayan and a direct servants to Her will. The thought of disappointing Tsaritsa or letting down Snezhnaya was enough to paralyze you, but seeing the smiles on your parents faces was enough to make you swear to yourself, that you will work there no matter how scary it seems.

“You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice.” The blade stops between phalanges of the little finger: “The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend", he presses it, strong enough to detach the limb from the rest of the body in one swift slash. Treasure hoarder starts to cry and scream from the sudden pain, yet quickly chokes on it as Childe hits him in the solar plexus. The crack of bones feels deafening among the sea of muffled sounds.

Training was rigorous to say the least, you came back to your dorm room absolutely exhausted and after you fell on the bed you were practically dead to the world. Turns out, having a vision wasn’t enough to make you a fighter - you needed to know how to climb, swim, run with a weight to lift and wield a weapon. There were other children and teens with you, they eyed your vision with a mix of adoration and envy, you pretended not to catch it in turn.

“The frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again”, harbinger forces the victim's jaw apart by squeezing it with one hand, the other rapidly forcing a dagger inside the mouth. Treasure hoarder gasps and mumbles, fat tears forming in his eyes. A part of you expects a sound of parting flesh, but none comes: Tartaglia stands up and removes the blade, leaving a shivering and terrified man laying on the ground.

“Well,” Childe shrugs, as if he didn’t just dismember a person, voice back to his cheery tone : “You didn’t actually make a pinkie promise, so consider it a small mercy”. The treasure hoarder cowers even more, snuggling the injured hand close to the bruised chest. “But if you fail to repay your debt I will oversee that the frost”, he points in your direction, a treasure hoarder’s eyes going wide as he notices your vision, “will actually freeze your lying tongue off”, his voice descends again, back to it’s dangerous half-whisper.

You meet Ajax during the winter, he’s close to you in age and just arrived into Fatui grounds. He boasts and shows off to all of you, and you desperately want to retort something acidic to shut him up and rip off that arrogant bravado, yet say nothing, picturing how the tomorrow training session will have him laying flat on his back, too hurt and too tired to move even a single finger. 

He defeats the trainer in less than a minute.

Now, that the treasure hoarder fled, still snuggling disfigured limb, Childe turns attention back to you. “You seem a little bit disinterested here”, his hand on your cheek is so foreign, it’s burning and freezing at the same time, the shock from the unwanted touch almost strong enough to pull you back into reality. He notices your unintentional flinching and unfocused eyes “Ah, you hurt my feelings, [First]! And I thought we already became friends”. 

You say nothing, cold and unmoving, blind and deaf to the outside world, his words register a second too late, and there’s no cliche phrase for you to reply with. He looks a bit baffled and deflated for a second, but shrugs it off, just like he did during teen years, when you deliberately ignored all his attempts at catching your attention.

“Huh, even if you are so cold to me, I still forgive you”, he takes your hand, his touch still too overwhelming for you to process and pulls you back to Liyue harbor, your legs barely bending as you walk after him, like an obedient dog trailing it’s master.

“You know [First], I can beat you up so badly, that you will barely walk”, you put feather aside, stopping writing the letter to your parents as you glare at Ajax with barely masked indignation. He grins, satisfied to finally catch your attention after the whole day of pestering you. “I am aware of that” you reply in an absolutely flat tone, holding yourself from pouncing on him and trying to break the teeth out of that smug smile. He beams even wider, as if sensing your not-so-good intentions, revealing even more pearly whites as if taunting you.

“But I won’t, count yourself lucky”. And he leaves, this short interaction filling you with so much rage that you shake, handwritten letters noticeably becoming sharper and faster, your thoughts clouding around the idea of acquating his face with your boots. 

 Nonetheless, you indeed count yourself fortunate enough, when you see Ajax defeating grown men with bare hands. When you two, the only vision holders among your peers have to spar, he always goes easy on you, prefering to immobilize you rather than beating, making your defeat less painful yet even more humiliating. 

Almost at the end of your trail he suddenly stops and says something, but you don't catch it, words turning into separate vowels and then fusing together into one unintelligible gibberish mess. He leans in, close enough for his breath to burn your neck, and he continues to get closer, until his empty eyes look into yours glazed ones. He seems disappointed for a second and backs down, his breathing no longer fanning your skin. 

Distantly you think that you somehow angered him and he will slap you for it, and do nothing to dodge the hit - you barely feel pain in this condition anyway, but he doesn’t. The road to the Northland Bank is completed in absolute silence, Childe no longer trying to grab your attention, only when you enter Liyue Harbor does he whisper, that you two must look like a pair with all that hand holding. Judging by the volume and tone of his voice he says it more to himself than to you.

***

You come back to yourself in the safety of your room on the third room of the Northland bank. It feels like a rush of sensation, as everything becomes sharper and clearer again, like you just swam to the surface of water from the very depths of it. An invisible bubble around your head pops in one moment, and the world becomes real again, mind and body connecting for once more.

Eyes and ears focused you take in surroundings: the room is neat and lifelessly empty - just a bed and a working desk with a stack of written but unsent letters, along with a small bookcase near, no figurines, pictures or even plants to decorate living place, as you see no reason to adorn the area you use for sleeping only. Indiscernible wallpapers and a small window close to the middle of the bed finish the picture of austerity.

 Once, your memory catches up to you, you can't help groan from the shame and irritation, hiding your face in both hands. Afterwards  always feels both like a disgraceful escape and a warm blanket during the stormy night, a duality that you accepted long ago after joining the Fatui and today is no exception. You curse Harbinger when you remember why exactly you had an episode, and get up from the bed you threw yourself on minutes ago. You come to the desk, taking a clean form of a relocation request from the drawer and writing materials. 

Filling in the blank feels like commiting a felony to you for some reason - you stop several times when you hear footsteps in the corridor, focusing on the door,ready to hide the half written form and say some lie as an excuse. You don't list the Childe-related reasons, knowing that there's nothing that could make any of the Harbingers face the consequence for their actions, and instead you write completely normal and fake causes: health concerns, family matters and so on. Part of you doubts that this will work and you will have the fortune to get away from a certain harbinger as far as possible. Trying and failing is better than never attempting, you think, quickly writing the paper.

Once you finish it, you almost rush to Ekaterina, praying that you won't run into a certain ginger on the way. Sometime ago you caught Tartaglia checking your letters, for a secrecy he said back then, we can’t let anyone know about the coming operation. Childe then instilled that every sent and received letter should be checked, lest Qixing and other Liyuens learned what Fatui had in plan. It sounded logical and sensible, but the paranoid thought that he enforced this policy just to have a glimpse at your feelings never stopped eating at you. From that day on you sent your family the most basic and vague letters, just stating that you’re in good health and mind, still missing them and Snezhnaya, leaving the ones with more private sentiments in your room. 

Her eyes are completely obscured by the mask, but even with that you can’t miss the pointed glare she sends your way - Tartaglia never shied away from showing off, be it his strength, money or his twisted obsession that he calls love. With the amount of time and finances he spends on you and the way he acts like a kicked lovesick puppy in your vicinity, you are pretty sure that at least half of the bank workers see you as a cunning and cruel seducer, so keen and devious in the art of temptation that you managed to lure in Eleventh Harbinger.

As if archons decided to laugh at you, Childe descends from the second floor too, catching the sight of you near the receptionist. He looks unusually somber for a moment, but then he sees you, a smile appearing on his face as he takes the form from Ekaterina's hands. You can just feel how Ekaterina rolls her eyes under the mask, as if muttering complaints about the lovers’ spat and insubordination, having been working with her for some time, enough to have a clue of the inner workings of her mind.

You have to give him that he plays the confusion and regret very persuasively. He asks how he can fix this, says what a valuable team member you are to him and how much you are needed in the Northland bank. You agree to his suggestion - if years of training with Ajax and then work with Childe taught you anything, it is that Ajax is the chaos incarnate and Tartaglia is Ajax’s less tolerable and more unpredictable version, so it’s better not to anger him.

***

In the end he invites you to dine with him at Wanmin restaurant, a place Childe heard from some “xiansheng” as he called them. A bustling Liyue street is open before you two, tall midday sun painting the whole street into bright orange, so unlike the pristine white landscapes of Snezhnaya. He orders two Black Back Perch Stews on the chef's recommendations, and hands a bouquet of local flowers in a parody of a normal boyfriend. Any random observer would really see it as a date.

You take the flowers, pretending to pay more attention to  them than to a man sitting near you. Tartaglia is an unpredictability wrapped in human skin, there’s no privilege as being lax and carefree near him, as even Tsaritsa has no idea what he will do next. 

To your mutual confusion Xiangling presents the meal with two pairs of chopsticks. Utensils feel foreign in your palm, you having no idea how to handle them and Childe, by the looks of it too. Tartaglia specifically asks the chef for spoons, while you observe the other clients, noting how they use theirs. Holding one stick like a pen and then placing the bottom one in a fixed position under the thumb you manage to grasp the fish from the soup, albeit clumsily. You consider it a small win. 

The image of a mighty Harbinger struggling in a failing battle with chopsticks would look funny to you, if it wasn’t for the whole "date" you were having. After putting them aside, and seemingly admitting defeat, Childe starts from afar: "You know [First], you changed a lot since I first met you" .

You raise an eyebrow at the starter, it's vague and innocent enough, but experience tells you that he will or at least try to stir the conversation into your relationship with him again. Straightening a bit and finally turning your eyes to him, you pause for a second, picking the least offensive reply you can muster - there’s a swarm of insults buzzing at the tip of your tongue prepared just for him, growing and sprouting since your pubescent years.

“Yes, I got taller”, he laughs it off, like you said some funny joke, his giggles not stopping for some time. "No, I mean as a person. Remember how you used to glare at me for joking? And now you act so unfazed ”

Joking. Is this what he calls it? Shivers creep up your spine when your memory oh so conveniently conjures the images of the aftermath of his jokes.

“Your jokes weren’t funny to anyone but you”. Breathe, you think, there’s no need to anger him. There are pictures of broken bones and bruised bodies and a cacophony of somebody else’s pained screams flashing and rattling in your head, Adults never did anything. Why would they? They had a golden boy Ajax, why would they help the others when they had him? Why would they help you? Bitterness and anger you thought you swallowed long ago rise up to the surface again, and you decide to bite down on the stew - Tartaglia always found a way to turn your words against you and hurt you, no need to give him more weapons now.

“I changed a lot too. I know I was insufferable as a teen”, he must have taken your silence as a free pass to continue whatever nonsense he’s sprouting, “I am sorry”.

The last three words catch you off guard, a piece of fish almost stuck in the throat from the jolt. Ajax takes you by surprise once again, for him to finally acknowledge and apologize for all the pain he caused and years he tormented you?

You blink and look at him intently, his facial expression changing into an unusually somber one. It seems authentic enough.

“Let’s start from the scratch?

You contemplate unsure what to say.

Was he lying?

Looking back, you in a sense are luckier than most of Childe's victims, witnessing his youth, familiarizing and distinguishing the tells of him lying and scheming, observing the way he bloomed into the manipulator he is today firsthand. You see a familiarity in his face and voice, something that helps you from falling to his charms. There's also the added fact that you were and still are an involuntary witness to the way how carnal and bloodthirsty usually friendly Ajax can become. 

When did you catch his attention?

You remember his smile when he first approached you, less teeth and more sincerity that is thereafter,a hand outstretched to you. It happens on the next day after his arrival, almost as cold and unpleasant as the previous one. You brush the limb away like a noisy fly, secretly angry at his arrogant attitude and how effortlessly he endured training. His smiling doesn’t stop, yet you feel a sudden change in the air around you.

Would your fate be different if you took his hand?

You can't forget how your mind disconnected from your body for the second time. It was Ajax again vying for your attention akin to a spoiled child, and like one he threw a tantrum when you refused to give him any. The poor recruit you were talking with was hospitalized the same day, as you helplessly watched the carnage before you. You didn't fight, you didn’t flee, you just froze, like a scared animal, paralyzed by fear, yet somehow too detached from feelings. That day was bizarre: once you felt reality, it was solid and undeniable and then you didn't. The realness of the current diffused, slipped through the fingers like sand, leaving nothing but unreliable and delusive reveries behind.

Will he let you go? 

“People do change and I see that you changed too. I don’t think of you as a teen you were” you carefully pick the words, Tartaglia visibly blooms, thinking that his apology worked, yet your next words snuff out his triumph: “but my memories stay the same. I don’t think we can start from scratch”

You bite the tongue, the second part still coming out too harsh for your liking. The moment of sincerity is interrupted, you see him, changing the masks, unsure what to do. It seems for the first time it was you who caught him off guard. You guess which one of the two standard facades he will decide to show to you, having spent years by his side to observe him masterfully wielding both, the friendly one with a vacant smile that never reaches his dead, dead eyes or the calculating one, distant and devoid of humanity?

In the end he uses none, a hurt still evident, dripping in his tone, face and moves - is it another mask you never got to see or is it real? - “So that is your answer”, he leans in closer, dull cerulean eyes looking right into yours.

You hold his stare, nodding, instead of saying anything and he hums, sitting back and wearing the cold mask, reserved for his enemies: “Just wanted to remind you that I am the Harbinger and you are just a position higher than an ordinary agent”. Despite seeing it so many times, it’s the first time he directs it at you and you have to suppress the shiver. The unsaid threat hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you.

You two are no longer solemn [First] and annoying Ajax, who trails your steps behind like a puppy, no, you are a special agent [Last] and Eleventh Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, to whom you are personally assigned by Tsaritsa herself. Even possessing vision and delusion yourself you can’t match Childe’s power, and your loss would be easy to overlook if your harbinger wished for it. Honestly speaking, there are a lot of things he could do to you without anyone questioning it, the Harbingers being the second most powerful figures in the organization, right after Tsaritsa herself. You heard the stories of Krupp and other assistants who got missing under Il Dottore, you heard of horrible accidents happening to the people Scaramouche dislikes, you heard about the injuries Signora inflicts on the unfortunate recruits when she is in foul mood, yet you never thought that Tartaglia will abuse his power in the same way.

“Don’t worry” he seems to have taken mercy on you, “I won’t use my position like that, it’s cheating and I like to play the fair game”, despite the seemingly reassuring words , you don’t let yourself relax, knowing him for years.

“Don’t think I will back down though, I am not the type to give up”

#yandere genshin impact #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #yandere tartaglia #Yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #Yandere #Childe #Tartaglia #Dialogues are hard #My brain is melting #It's 4 am where I live #Reader will have a crush on Zhongli in ch 2 #my writing

[kiridarling]

𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐎.

thank you so much to @daisy-bakugo for letting me participate in her vice city collab! i had a blast writing this piece, and i’m terribly sorry this is so long that was a mistake (and congrats on 2k!!) also, the phattest of thank you’s to @eijishimas for brainstorming/beta-ing :) you saved me ☺🤲🏼

katsuki bakugou and eijirou kirishima | f!reader, time travel sex, guns, prostitute/stripper idrk!reader, tw!blood (non-descriptive), dacryphilia, squirting, spit roasting, d-penn, shower sex, multiple rounds. minors dni!

— 5k words (yikes)

"Say, Sweetheart. You wanna get outta here?"

Las Vegas, Nevada. April 15th, Year 3036.

"You ready?"

Mina shoots you a look through the golden-lit mirror, wiggling her eyebrows. You roll your eyes and finish dusting the powder off your cheeks before rising to your feet and tugging at the belt of your silk robe. "My answer's the same every night."

Vice City. A strip club and casino in Las Vegas, Nevada, where opposites collide—the poor and the rich, the beautiful and the ugly, the smart and the stupid. There's no judgment because here, they're all degenerates looking for a good time, and you're just a pretty face with a good body.

As your silk robe hits the floor, it's kicked to the side with a heel, and you saunter through the beaded entrance to your private room and into the vibrating club. Giving your bodyguard a solid pat on the shoulder as you watch the sea of bodies shake, you complete the ritual.

"No creeps?" You demand more than request. He nods curtly.

"No creeps."

You give him a cute little smile and let your hand linger for a little longer than necessary before stepping into the neon red chaos of the strip club. Because what do the rich and the poor have in common?

They're all addicts.

Surprisingly, humanity doesn’t kill the planet.

Mother Nature's still standing strong—though the sun is a bit swollen—and space exploration solved that overpopulation issue. Bill Gates taught us all how to avoid a climate disaster and Tesla put Ford out of business. Humanity is much bigger than earth now; we're no longer people of the planet, but an intergalactic species that still eat Costco pizza rolls for dinner but killed Cable along with cars with wheels. Costco still exists—Starbucks doesn't.

Still no aliens, though.

"See something you like, Cutie?"

In your defense, he's been standing over here with his friends for ages—almost like they're casing the damn place—but those ruby red eyes kept floating your way regardless, and you'd rather bag it with someone your age before you're requested by another seventy-year-old. The redhead blinks like he's shocked you came over here in the first place—like he didn't watch you sashay yourself to the other side of the club just for him. You suppose the name fits. Cutie.

He looks at you with a strangely giddy look on his face before he's licking his lips and swallowing, eyes flickering to the blondie to his right.

"I'll be back in like, twenty minutes, man."

The blond gives him an exasperated look and groans—his other two friends don't notice. "Eiji—"

"Twenty minutes!" The redhead yells over the music as you not-so-subtly pull him away. Your regular GILF looks your way, and you suppress the queasy feeling in knowing that at least you'll be able to fuck someone from your decade.

"You got a wallet, Cutie?" You purr as you two approach the back room. The redhead winks, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the fattest black leather wallet you've seen in a long time.

"Don't go anywhere without it," he says, but falters when your bodyguard holds his hand out with a request for fifty bucks. "I—whoa dude, why am I paying you?"

"Because that's how it goes. The young lady gets her share," your bodyguard clarifies. The redhead looks at you for what seems to be for confirmation. You nod.

"Alright," he resigns with a shrug, stuffing a fifty into your bodyguard's sweaty hand. The man grunts but clears some of the beads guarding the entrance to your private room anyways, giving you two enough space to go inside.

"No door? That seems a little...exposing," the redhead snorts to himself before he's holding his hand out, despite the fact that you’re already nestling comfortably in his lap. "Eijirou, by the way."

You take his hand apprehensively, and he snorts at your confused frown. Eijirou's big—painfully so, and you feel small sat upon his thick thighs because you are in comparison—and he has to curve his back a bit so you're at eye-level. "What? No one's introduced themselves to you before?"

You shake your head, "Usually they just throw me onto the bed and get right to it."

Eijirou rolls his eyes at that, and you don't realize he's guiding your hips into a smooth roll until the harsh fabric of his jeans brushes against you in the best way. He moves you in time with the music vibrating the walls, "I guess that makes me more of a gentleman, then."

His lips hover over yours and yet he never advances, doesn't move to kiss you on the lips, nothing—it nearly has you buzzing. So does the hand he pins you to his lap with. "Are you going to kiss me or what?"

"What's your name, Sweetheart," he asks lowly. You give it to him, and he grins.

"Y/N,” Eijirou tries on his lips before he confirms it with a nod. "A pretty name for a pretty girl."

"Aren't you the flatterer," you purr, coiling your arms around your neck. His hand finds your ass and you're almost positive he's going to close the gap between you two until he says:

"Who were you runnin' from, Y/N?”

Years in the business help build a mask and you wear yours well, with that cute little smile as you cock your head to the side and ask, "I'm afraid I'm not following."

"Oh, I think you are," he says, looking you dead in the eyes. The gravity in his face doesn't falter. "Who was it."

As he stares into your soul, your own eyes avert to the sheets. "What's it to you?"

"It's nothing to me, really," he shrugs off his jacket and places it on the bed next to him before returning to his initial position—or perhaps, closer. "But I happen to find you real cute, and cute things deserve to feel safe, no?"

"In case you haven't checked, this isn't a very safe place," you scoff, removing your arms from his neck to cross them over your chest. "And I don't appreciate idiots like you trying to save someone like me just 'cause you wanna get your dick wet more than once."

Eijirou raises an eyebrow but he never stalls, "Oh? This happens often then?"

"I—" you falter, "...No."

"C'mon, Sweetheart," Eijirou tugs you by the waist and you have to press your hands to his chest to keep him from falling forwards. "You don't wanna stay in this place, do you?"

"It's my job," you defend with a huff. The redhead shrugs.

"Sure, but don't you want a little adventure? A little excitement in your life?"

"Like there isn't enough excitement right here?" You snort. Eijirou teeters his head back and forth, though the daring look never fades.

"But something tells me you're bored," he says with a near sarcastic face, clicking his tongue. "Something tells me you find the idea of something new exciting."

You open your mouth to respond but he keeps you from doing so, finally pressing his lips to yours. You nearly squeal in surprise but somehow, you find yourself kissing back with a passion you've never kissed another client with before—and maybe, just maybe, the idea of something new doesn't sound too bad.

Eijirou pulls away with a cocky grin like he knew you'd like it. Like he knew that'd be the catalyst for your response to what he says next, and maybe, he's not as much of an idiot as you thought.

And maybe you’re more of an idiot than you thought.

"Say, Sweetheart. You wanna get outta here?"

"Yes," you breathe, like an idiot, because you were wholly and utterly unprepared for what happens next.

Eijirou gives you the cutest smile, before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a gun.

He sees your expression change and lifts both hands, pointing the black pistol towards the ceiling, "I—hey wait, you're gonna be fine, okay? I won't shoot you."

You cower and he pouts. Apparently, this wasn't the reaction he was expecting at all.

"I swear! I'm mentally stable, see?" He flips it sideways with a grin, "the safety's on."

You hate it that his comment makes you trust him. Slightly.

"C'mon," Eijirou smiles, reaching his gunless hand out for you to take. You do, albeit reluctantly. "I won't do anything too stupid. Just...shake things up a bit."

Shake things up a bit, Eijirou says, and yet the first thing he does is when you two exit the room is press the pistol to your bodyguard’s head.

"Eijirou," you hiss. Luckily no one in the club has noticed, yet, but you doubt their ignorance will last for long.

"I'm gonna need my fifty back, buddy," Eijirou pats the man on the back, and it's strange—you've always thought your bodyguard to be a big guy, but he looks rather petite next to the redhead. Your bodyguard reaches for his walkie-talkie, but Eijirou tuts, tapping his hand away with the tip of his gun.

"Hey dude, I'm not gonna shoot you. See? The safety's on," He repeats, flashing the barrel. Your bodyguard's eyes widen, and so do yours.

The safety isn't on.

"So, that fifty," Eijirou purrs, and your bodyguard stuffs the bill into his chest with a grumble. Eijirou hums, satisfied, and gives the crumpled bill to you without a second glance, too busy nodding to his friend on the other side of the strip club. A noirette from across the way nods back.

Pop-pop!

It's fucking chaos, as anyone would expect when blindly firing into a crowded club. Eijirou keeps a tight hold on your hand as he and his other three boys storm towards the pit bosses working the casinos with guns a-blazing, demanding they fill their pillowcases like a bunch of C-class thugs.

What the fuck did you get yourself into.

"This is not what I meant by excitement," you hiss through grit teeth as a terrified pit boss fills Eijirou's bag like he's a greedy kid with an attitude on Halloween, while your co-workers cower under the bar and pool tables. Eijirou sticks his tongue your way.

"This isn't the exciting part, Little Miss Excitement."

It's the steady sound of sirens that has your eyes widening, and the fact that you're positive they're getting louder. You catch sight of your bodyguard on his walkie-talkie, big body cowering behind the smallest trashcan, and turn back just in time to see Eijirou squint as he aims and shoots bullseye.

"That is."

The police have lost sight of two vehicles carrying the four armed men who robbed Vice City Casino and Club tonight at roughly 2:53 am. Witnesses say they came in a group of four but left with an exotic dancer named—

The moment the blondie from the club sees you walk through the door, he’s tossing the stack of bills in his hand with a sigh.

"Katsuki, Y/N. Y/N, Katsuki."

Katsuki looks nothing but happy, and refuses to acknowledge your presence as he crosses his arms.

"Ei. What the hell did we say about witnesses."

"Um," the redhead rubs his lips together before wearily looking at you, and you hike his jacket further up your shoulder. At least he was decent enough to give you that. She's an exception?"

"Not a fuckin' thing," the blond grunts, turning to you to flash a tight smile. "Goodbye."

"I—wait," Eijirou skates until he's stood over the ash-blond, with a hand on his shoulder and the other braced against the table. Speaking in a quieter voice, he says, "C'mon man. The poor thing was practically begging to get outta there."

The ash-blond does nothing but sigh before shoving a palm into a pile of money to push himself into the kitchen—and subsequently further away from you.

"She's gonna call the cops," Katsuki grunts wearily from the island, eyes narrowed. Eijirou follows.

"She's not gonna call the cops, dude," the redhead scoffs at the outlandish idea. "You heard the radio! At this point, she's as deep in it as we are."

As they continue to go back and forth over the island, you let your eyes wander. It’s a penthouse, and rather homely, with near egg yolk lighting, high walls, and big windows. You can't help but think about how you're in a strangely expensive part of the city before remembering this evening's events. No wonder they can afford such a nice place.

You find yourself smiling at a particular corner with a frustrating amount of photos stuffed on a little glass table, one that contains a selfie of the two housemates in high school uniforms. There's a ring sat in front of it, one that glints gold when you hold it up to your face, and if you squint you can see little flecks of green in the red of the ruby. It looks scarily close to an engagement ring.

"Hey, what's this?"

Both of their eyes rocket from the conversation to see you slip the delicate thing onto your ring finger.

"Don't touch it!" Eijirou tenses before realizing it's much too late for that. "Er—at least don't twist the top."

"The...top?" You ask, lifting your hand until it's at eye level.

"Yeah like, the jewel thingy," the redhead gestures to the ruby—and you can't stop thinking about how it's almost the same color as his hair. Waddling into the kitchen with your eye still trained on the thing, you ask:

"What is it?"

"A time-travel device," the ash-blond grunts. Eyes still full of suspicion, he watches you and the redhead interact over the island with arms crossed over his chest and reclining against the sink. You frown.

"Aren't those usually...bigger?" Because even though it's 3036, time-travel is still fairly new (space exploration took a long time, okay) and all the machines you've seen are at least the size of a shower. And yet, this one can sit on your pinky.

"Kats has been working on some stuff," Eijirou beams and it edges on proud; you notice the ash-blond near blushes with a huff as you hop to sit on the marble counter.

"'S nothin'."

You stare at the thing in faint amazement, and Katsuki kicks off the sink to near the island. Lifting an eyebrow, you say, "You know you could get rich off something like this? Instead of robbing strip clubs for a living.”

The ash-blond scoffs, and you wonder if someone else has told him that before. "If I gave that to the public, I have no fuckin' clue what they'd do with that shit."

And you shrug, supposing he's right—time-travel devices are hard to get your hands on, and that's for a reason. If everyone starts jumping around in the time-space continuum, fucking with shit, the world will promptly and utterly collapse. Sounds fun, doesn't it?

"It doesn't work with a big time range," Katsuki defends with a shrug, sliding his forearms on the counter. "The most it can do is a few hours"

"Not that it makes this any less cool," Eijirou says with a slight bounce. "I personally think it's really fun to play with."

Katsuki rolls his eyes. "That's 'cause you use it to fuck."

You nearly choke.

"I—what?"

"W-Well, okay," Eijirou chuckles sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "But also other stuff! Like when I'm really hungry, I might go to the future and take some of my fries. Future me's fries, that is."

"Or you'll try to take future-me’s goddamn burger," Katsuki growls. You flip the ring over like there's anything left to see.

"How often do you use it?"

"Nightly," Katsuki answers for him. Your eyebrows lift. Oh wow.

"It—it's not nightly," Eijirou defends weakly, huffing and puffing. "Weekly maybe, but—"

"Almost every night," Katsuki sums for him, giving you a little grin. You snort back before your eyes drop to the ring again.

"Uh oh," the redhead almost gasps, fingers thrumming on the island on either side of your being, "She's thinkin' about it."

"I'm not thinking about it," you huff, though your eyes never leave the ring. It's an...interesting prospect.

"Oh, you're totally thinking about it," Katsuki grunts, and you struggle to find where his enthusiasm came from. What happened to goodbye?

"C'mon," Eijirou tempts with a casual toss of the head. He touches your shoulder—Katsuki touches the other. "See what happens."

"What if—" you stare at the ring with pursed lips, fingers grabbing the ruby. "What if it's random? Or if we're not where we expect to be in a few hours or something."

Eijirou shrugs. "It's always a gamble, but that's where the fun is, no?"

You look down at the thing with a sigh. You suppose.

In one quick move, you twist the gem and screw your eyes shut. At first, you feel nothing, but then there's a sudden head rush, and you can easily see how someone can get addicted to this.

You hear a faint sound, one that could be excused as a rush of wind past your ears, before you feel your knees against a hard surface and your body in a different position.

"Oh, I like this much better."

You open to your eyes to a much different sight than you closed them to.

Katsuki and Eijirou look gargantuan when you’re on your knees, your back flush against the refrigerator and eyes watering due to the cock nestled halfway down your throat. You choke in surprise from the sensation, hands rushing to keep Katsuki from cutting your oxygen supply off for good as Eijirou stands impatient, cock hard in his hand and drooling for attention.

"F-Fuck," the ash-blond wheezes, seemingly just as taken aback from the position as you are. "Your mouth is fuckin' heaven."

"C'mon Sweetheart, don't ignore me now," EIjirou purrs, chuckling as the head of his cock hits your cheek with a wet slap. "At least give me a little something."

You grab his cock harder than you would've out of slight indignance, grinning around the other when it makes him hiss; Eijirou joins Katsuki in resting a hand on the fridge door for purchase.

You weren't the best at Vice City for nothing, after all.

"Shit, loosen that grip a little, will ya?" Eijirou wheezes—you don't listen, and his chest shudders when you seem to only move faster.

"'M too fuckin' close, where's that ring," Katsuki blabbers more than he grunts, and you lift your hand just in time for him to twist the jewel again, sending you three rocketing into the past.

You cough and splutter atop the kitchen island, chest heaving as you finally get the air Katsuki's cock allows. The head rush definitely doesn't help, and you find yourself getting dizzy enough to grab for someone's hand.

"Breathe, Princess," Katsuki says, and Eijirou lifts your hand to his chest so yours can rise and fall with his.

"So that's," you wheeze once you're able to get some semblance of a breath back. "That's time travel sex, huh?"

"Yeah," Eijirou says, a little breathless himself. "Addictive, right?"

"A little," you giggle, and find yourself looking for the ring again. Katsuki snorts.

"What, you wanna go back or somethin'?"

You flush red, eyes darting to the walls guilty, "A little bi—wah!"

There's a rush and the room morphs again. You would’ve fallen headfirst into a set of white sheets if it weren’t for the fact that you’re sat on Eijirou’s face.

"Hello beautiful~" the redhead singsongs from below, and you can't help but notice your bra is MIA as Katsuki takes a seat behind

you to run his hands up your sides to put the underside of your breasts.

"Pervert," you snort, though you figure you’re just as bad as he is with two of Eijirou's fingers deep in your pussy and Katsuki's hand on your clit. The redhead's leaving hickey after hickey on your inner thighs and you just try your damnest to not fall.

"Only for you," Eijirou winks cheekily, scissoring his fingers, and your hips stutter against his face when he slides his tongue in between.

"Fuckin' love the sounds you make," Katsuki grunts, before his other hand finds your neck and tightens. "And fuck you're so goddamn wet—you love this, don't you?"

You keen with a nod (and suppress the urge to say no shit, Sherlock), and Katsuki's pinching your clit between his two fingers, licking a fat stripe up your neck and chuckling when you shiver.

"What, your clients don't make you feel this good, Sweetheart?" Eijirou practically moans into your cunt, eyebrows folding when you thread your fingers through his hair and yank. "Bet that fifty was worth it, wasn't it?"

"Y-Yeah I—" you whimper, unable to get a sentence past your shuddering chest. "Guys, I'm gonna—"

The bedroom melts back into the kitchen, you're back in Eijirou’s jacket and not sat on his face. Your thighs and neck are hickey-less and yet, you're still so fucking horny.

"I hate you," you seethe, almost immediately, and Eijirou's grin is so wide it bends his eyes.

"Awe, you love me," he giggles and your frown only deepens as you reach for the ring—Katsuki snatches it out of arms way with a tut.

"Ah ah Princess, don't be greedy now," he purrs, but you couldn't give a shit about being greedy, and it shows in the way you quickly grab for it again. Katsuki passes the ring to Eijirou and it easily becomes a game of monkey in the middle.

"Give it—"

"I don't think so, Sweetheart," Eijirou says, pressing a big hand to your face to keep you from going any further. With a smirk, the redhead twists the ring, and suddenly you're full of him on the kitchen counter.

"Fuck baby, you're so tight," he curses behind grit teeth, sweat practically dripping off his shoulders in rivulets as he pushes your face into the kitchen island so hard it's numb. So are your knees. "You're so pretty like this—shit—"

You barely have the room to whimper, let alone answer, and you find Katsuki perched on the opposite counter, weeping cock in hand. The redhead chuckles as you struggle to take all of him, hips squirming as he aims for places you've never been able to hit on your own. "I'd stick your tongue back in your mouth if I were you, Sweetheart. The money’s a little dirty, don't you think?"

And that's when you realize your knees are elevated upon two stacks of green, possibly some of what Katsuki had been counting earlier, and a twenty swims in a pool of drool under your cheek.

"Oh, but I don't think you care," Eijirou grunts, shoving your face deeper into the marble countertop as his hips speed up. "Dirty fuckin' girl. Bet you'd do anything for a fifty."

"I wanna fuck her," Katsuki rushes as if his mouth moves before he can speak. Eijirou wheezes a laugh.

"What, I can't enjoy this?"

"No,” the ash-blond grunts.

"Hmm..." Eijirou debates, though his hips never stop as he gives Katsuki a look and goes, "How about no?"

Katsuki growls at that, and you find your fingers clumsily twisting the ruby on the ring that sits on Eijirou's finger, sending the three of you flinging further into the future.

"Fuck!"

"This isn't the future I was referring to, but I'm not complainin'," Katsuki grunts with a feral grin. You nearly slip due to all the water in the shower and you're positive that you see the sunrise through the window paint Eijirou's skin gold.

"I gotcha, Sweetheart," Eijirou soothes, rubbing a hand up and down your arms while your nails dig into his shoulders, the red lines jagged from how roughly Katsuki fucks you from behind. "Fuck—you're doing so good for us, taking him so well."

You whimper and Katsuki lands a heavy slap on your ass—heavy to the point where you nearly knocks both you and the redhead into the tile behind him. Eijirou's calloused hands find your clit fairly easily, and that's enough to almost send you over the edge, pussy fluttering around Katsuki's cock.

"She's gonna cum," Katsuki grunts. "Can fuckin' feel it."

"Uh oh," the redhead singsongs, turning to you with a grin. "Were you trying to be slick, Sweetheart?”

Though it's difficult, you lift your head, eyes swimming in unshed tears as you choke, "I—n-no, it's jus—"

You're in the bedroom again—this time your back comes in contact with a dresser, metal rattling from the weight Eijirou slams you into it with. The redhead supports you both with two feet planted into the floor and a hand around your waist, grunting into your ear with an exhaustion that implies you've got to be at this for hours.

"Ei-Eiji—"

"I know, Sweetheart," the redhead coos breathlessly, licking up the sweat that runs down your neck. "Just a few more times, okay? Hold on for just a little longer."

You sob, head thunking against the wall as you realize you have no idea where Katsuki is. Though it's only a fleeting thought because before you know it, Eijirou's dropping you to your feet, bending you in half, and railing you into the wall.

"Goddamn," he grunts, sharp teeth digging into his bottom lip, "this is—this is the best lay I've had in a fat second."

You pant a laugh, hands pressing into the wall to steady yourself, "Good—good to know the fifty bucks was worth it."

"Oh baby, it was more than worth it," Eijirou hikes your leg up as high as it'll go for a deeper angle and he gets it, his growl melting into a semi-chuckle as you squeal, thighs jumping.

"Fuck Ei!" You scream, and he's tugging your hair to straighten your back out.

"You like it rough, Sweetheart?" He pants into your ear, grabbing your neck for a better grip. You nod as much as you can.

"Y-Yeah—I—" Eijirou drops you until you're stood at a perfect 90-degree angle, "I need—need'ta cum, p-please—"

"Twist the ring, Sweetheart," He pants, resting his hand on the wall next to yours. It still glints gold on his fourth finger in the moonlight, "Get us there together, yeah?"

You don't have to be told twice.

"Mph!"

"Fuck!”

Your knees dig into a mattress again as Katsuki fills your mouth. With his cock down your throat and Eijirou's buried deep in your cunt, there isn't much you can do but take both of them at the same time—though you're positive that's what they intended.

"Shit, me too." Eijirou wheezes a chuckle as his hips piston into you, his sweaty chest sticking to your back while he reaches between your thighs to rub your clit. That’s enough to send you flailing over the edge, moan muffled by Katsuki’s slowly softening cock. Then, with a devilish grin (and before the redhead can cum) Katsuki reaches for the ring on Eijirou’s finger and twists it.

“You asshole,” Eijirou groans, and suddenly you three are back in the shower, with Katsuki’s hips battering into yours as the redhead supports your weight from below. Katsuki chuckles before his grip tightens and he’s filling you with another load.

“C’mon Princess,” Katsuki grunts, reaching for your clit. “Come for us again.”

You choke again before you’re digging your head into Eijirou’s muscled chest with a moan, shaking from the aftershocks Katsuki continues to fuck you through them.

Until the room morphs, and you’re face down on the kitchen counter.

“Fucking finally,” Eijirou wheezes with a bitter chuckle, casually flipping Katsuki the middle finger as he's sat on the opposing counter. “Fuck, you're shaking baby, you gonna cum with me? Yeah?“

Eijirou batters into your cervix and that's the catalyst for your third orgasm. You squeeze so tight you think you may have knocked the wind out of the redhead when his chest crashes into your back, and you open your eyes just in time to see the kitchen melt into the bedroom again—in a time you all have yet to visit.

Your legs are thrown over Katsuki’s shoulders as he pushes your back deeper into Eijirou’s chest, both of their cocks filling you so much and so well it brings tears to your eyes. As your thighs quiver with an impending orgasm, Katsuki’s the first to fall off the edge, eyebrows furrowing as his nails dig into the meat of your thighs.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, voice fucked hoarse and lips bit pink. Eijirou nibbles into your shoulder with a gasp as his sweaty hand finds your clit again, neither of their hips ever stopping.

“Cum for us one more time, Sweetheart,” he pants into your neck before adding another hickey to the collection. Your chest shudders.

“I—I can’t—“

“Oh yes you fuckin’ can,” Katsuki growls, and you squeal as he tweaks a nipple. “I know you got one more in there. Give it.”

Your legs kick against his chest with a curse as you orgasm for the final time—this one much wetter than the last.

“Holy shit,” Eijirou nearly laughs, looking at where the three of you are connected. “Did you just squirt?”

“I—“ your face blends red when you see the absolute and utter mess that sits in Katsuki’s lap, before looking away with a determination to never see it again. “...Maybe.”

“Clean up?” Eijirou asks, eyes flickering to the ash-blond. Katsuki shrugs.

“Nah.”

A rush of wind and you’re sat on the kitchen counter. Eijirou’s jacket protects you from getting goosebumps due to a drop in temperature and though you do shiver, you find your body much more unscathed than it was.

“Hi,” Eijirou chuckles a little breathlessly.

“Hi,” you giggle back, a little nervous but in the best way. “So um...we do all of that tonight?”

“I guess so,” the redhead says a bit cheekily, raising an eyebrow. And then, with a wink, “Probably more.”

You stare at the ring on his hand in awe. Whoa.

"I fuck—fine, we can keep her, Shitty Hair," Katsuki grumbles from his spot near the kitchen sink, and despite the sour look on his face, you can't find a hint of it in his voice. Figures.

"Told you he'd say yes," Eijirou beams with a thumbs up.

"Can we...go do that stuff now?" You ask, albeit a bit hesitantly because...well, usually people are asking to have sex with you. Is this how they feel?

"Of course we can, Sweetheart," the redhead beams, before taking the ring off to place it onto the counter. "It was all a part of the future, after all."

#— 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈 #— 𝐄𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐔 #bnha smut #mha smut #bakugou smut #kirishima smut #tw.blood #tw.guns

[blu-joons]

You’re Asthmatic ~ Stray Kids Reaction

Chan:

The feeling of your presence no longer beside him caused Chan to stop. As he turned back around to see you a few metres back, he quickly raced over, noticing that you were doubled over with your hands on your thighs, trying to capture your breath.

His heart sunk, fumbling in the pocket of his shorts to try and find your inhaler. “I worked you too hard, I’m sorry,” he muttered, passing the inhaler over to you as quickly as possible.

You were silent for a few moments until you felt your chest loosen. “It’s not your fault, I should have stopped when I felt my chest get tight.”

“I knew running this far would do you no good,” Chan sighed, pulling you across to sit down on one of the benches. “Take all the time that you need, shall I ring someone to pick us up?”

“Please,” you mumbled, just the thought of walking back to the dorm was enough to terrify you. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t make it all the way back to the dorm from here.”

“Don’t be silly, your health is far more important than a run.”

Minho:

Your eyes continued to dart across to Minho who was fast asleep beside you as you felt your breathing get heavier and heavier. You reached across and picked up your inhaler, continually watching Minho, frowning as his eyes opened when he heard a noise.

As soon as his eyes fell on you sitting up, puffing on your inhaler, the guilt hit him. “Are you alright? Why didn’t you wake me?” He questioned, sitting up beside you with an arm around you.

Your head shook, shaking your head back at him. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, I thought I could be quiet enough not to wake you up.”

“You should have woken me up,” he frowned, studying your face closely. “This is far too important for you to worry about how much noise you make, don’t ever be quiet for me.”

“I feel better now,” you assured him, as your breathing began to settle. “I guess it’s just going to be one of those nights where I have a bit of a struggle.”

“If you struggle again, please wake me. Don’t do this alone.”

Changbin:

The moment you text Changbin not to come over as you were feeling sick, he did the complete opposite. At first you refused to let him into your apartment, but somehow, he managed to force his way in and force you back to bed where you’d be comfortable.

He took a seat at your bedside, resting his head against your forehead. “You can never be too careful when you’re sick, the last thing we want is for it to make your asthma worse right now.”

You smiled weakly across at him, “I’ve not left my bed for hours, there’s nothing for me to do to risk getting out of breath or anything.”

“I’m not taking any risks,” he continued to push, unpacking the bag of medication that he’d brought. “What if your chest tightens and I’m not here to take care of you, what would I do?”

“I have my inhaler,” you reminded him, pointing to your bedside table. “I appreciate that you care, but you worry too much sometimes Changbin, it’s only a small case of flu.”

“I’d rather be here, just to be on the safe side for your sake.”

Hyunjin:

The sound of you rummaging through all of the drawers caught Hyunjin’s attention, as he looked over, hearing you mutter the word inhaler under your breath several times, he knew exactly what you were looking for as the panic you felt hit him too.

His mind instantly thought back to earlier in the day when you had it in the bathroom. “I know where it is,” he called out to you, sprinting to get it before things got too bad for you.

Your body stayed frozen until Hyunjin returned a few moments later with your inhaler. “Thank you,” you muttered, instantly taking it from him.

“Are you alright?” He questioned a few moments later once he was sure things were beginning to get easier for you. “I always told you that you need to keep this on you at all times.”

“I know,” you frowned, placing it into your pocket. “I thought I had it downstairs with me, but when I couldn’t see it, it just ended up making things ten times worse. I didn’t know what would happen.”

“There’s no need to fret about it now, you’re safe, that’s what matters.”

Han:

You’d felt Jisung’s eyes on you for quite some time, trying to brush his stare off as best as you could. But no matter how hard he tried to distract himself from you, the heavy breaths that came from you began to grow bigger and bigger of concern to him.

Eventually, he turned your body so that you were facing him. “Are you alright?” He anxiously questioned, “your breathing is a bit off? Have you got your inhaler with you, just in case?”

You nodded, listening closely to the pattern as you realised exactly what he meant. “I feel alright, I didn’t even realise I was breathing so hard.”

“Maybe it’s just that I’m a little overanxious,” he smiled, trying not to panic you. “As long as you feel alright in yourself, then that’s all that matters. Maybe just take things easy for a bit?”

“I will,” you assured him, taking a few deep breaths to try and ease his mind. “You can stop staring at me too, I know that you love me, but it’s unnerving to feel your eyes on me.”

“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure that you really were alright.”

Felix:

With every passing second, your coughs became louder and more frequent, instantly beginning to panic Felix who was beside you. It didn’t take long for your hands to rest over your chest as with each breath, you felt it get tighter and tighter against you.

Felix quickly raced off to your bag, searching for your inhaler to return to you. “Here,” he yelled once he’d found it. “Just take some deep breaths and look at me Y/N, you’re safe.”

You took your inhaler, searching for Felix’s eyes as your own began to well with tears. “It hurts,” you whispered, barely able to open your mouth.

“Don’t speak,” Felix instructed, kneeling down in front of you. “Just take your time and talk to me when you’re ready. Just focus on your breathing for now Y/N.”

“Look at me,” you whispered as soon as his eyes fell away, needing his encouragement in front of you. “Helps,” you muttered after, following his breathing pattern as best as you could.

“I’ll keep looking at you, don’t worry. Just follow what I do.”

Seungmin:

A light chuckle came from you as you recognised the equipment that the nurse carried across to you instantly. Beside you, Seungmin was clueless as he watched the nurse come closer, turning to face you with a puzzled expression etched on his face.

Her hand offered it across to you once she was close enough. “I’m sure you’re all too familiar with one of these, I bet you don’t need me to tell you all about what to do again.”

You quickly breathed out, before handing the equipment back to her. “I don’t even know why I’m here to be honest, sometimes he just worries about me too much.”

“What was that?” He asked you as the nurse walked away, struggling to figure out what had just happened. “You just breathed, how is that supposed to help you?”

“It’s called a peak flow test Seungmin,” you informed him, “it just helps them see how well I’m breathing, hopefully if it’s high enough, they’ll let me go back home.”

“How is something so small so incredibly smart, that’s crazy.”

I.N:

As soon as he spotted you beginning to get out of breath, he reached into his bag and pulled out your inhaler. A hand on your shoulder caused you to turn around, looking stunned, as Jeongin held out your inhaler for you to take a hold of to help you out.

Your eyes were conflicted, trying to figure out where it had come from. “I’ve learnt to always carry one of your inhalers with me as no one ever knows when you might just need it.”

It took a few moments for you to feel better before you started speaking. “I never even realised you had one, I’m so glad that you’re on the ball with this.”

“I’d hate for anything to happen and it be my fault,” he admitted, “so, if I make sure that I’ve always got one with me, then nothing bad can happen, and I can leap into action and help.”

“You’re a hero,” you chuckled, resting against his chest. “What would I do without you here to look after me sometimes? I really would be lost if I didn’t have you here with me.”

“I reckon you’d be a little more out of breath then you are right now.”

---

Masterlist

#stay kids #stray kids imagine #stray kids reaction #stray kids scenario #stray kids reactions #stray kids scenarios #chan imagine #minho imagine #changbin imagine #hyunjin imagine #han imagine #felix imagine #seungmin imagine #i.n imagine #chan #minho #changbin #hyunjin #han #felix #seungmin #i.n #skz #skz imagine #stray kids drabble #stray kids one shot #stray kids fluff #kpop #kpop imagine

[gaitwae]

Wildest Dreams [|] Loki x Reader

Sequel to Mr. Perfectly Fine

Warnings: 

Summary: Loki remembers what he’s done to you. You work through the hurt, deciding not to rush whatever’s really going on.

Tags: @make-me-imagine @thorfanficwriter @bwemph @myraiswack @rorybutnotgilmore @loki-snape-our-hero @wolfish-trickster @lucywrites02 @mostly-marvel-musings @winterfrostsarmy @superheroesandstardust @castiels-majestic-wings @geekns @natandersonnla @cozy-the-overlord @megthemewlingquim @frostedgiant @whatafuckingdumbass @thebookbakery @delightfulheartdream @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @the-emo-asgardian @amwolowicz @itscomplicatedx @sophlubbwriting​ @darkacademicfrom2021 @lilyofthesword 

It was absolutely safe to say that when your eyes opened, you were scared out of your mind. Loki was sleeping on your couch, his fingers laced with yours. Vaguely, all too quickly, you realized that accepting his dashing-yet-blunt proposal wasn’t a fantasy.

Hurt bubbled up in your chest. Your eyes stung dully as you removed your hand from his. You checked his temperature: it was low. He was drunk. He was sitting on your couch with your smudged lip color on his. He did think you were engaged now, despite the fact that you were quickly realizing how bad that was.

Loki hurt you.

Loki hurt you real bad.

You couldn’t marry this man, no matter how much you might have wanted to those years ago. You never would have said yes! Loki just... he seemed so sad. He had never cried in front of you, not if you didn’t count Frigga’s funeral, and even then, that wasn’t anything like... well... that display. His tears were like salt in the wound, laughing right at you. You put some distance between the two of you. You cleaned his mouth off with your sleeve, wondering how on Earth you were going to explain this to Bucky.

Oh, no.

Bucky.

Bucky was going to have to hear Loki’s hungover insistance that you were now his fiancée. He was also going to have to hear about how you kissed Loki back. You had to be honest. You had to call your boyfriend. There was no skipping over the truth when you were dating a lawyer, no matter how much you wanted to avoid it.

It was better that he heard it from you rather than the ex boyfriend laying on your couch.

You dialed Bucky’s number. He picked up quickly. “Baby, are you okay?”

“Bucky, Loki came over,” you said quickly, “and he was drunk... he, uh, kissed me, and he proposed to me because apparently you were planning on asking me to marry you?” You swallowed, trying to think of how to redeem yourself. “I got so swept up with emotion from the past, I said yes, I didn’t mean to, but Loki was already crying and I needed him to calm down — he’s — he’s asleep, but if he starts getting protective by the time you come home, I’m so sorry—!”

“Wait,” Bucky said, cutting you off. “Baby, explain this again. Calmly, okay?” He didn’t sound too worried. Then again, this might be the quiet before the storm.

“Loki came by our house, drunk. He was crying, and I got nervous. He kissed me, proposed, and then asked me to marry him. I didn’t know what to do, so I said yes. I’m so, so sorry....”

“Well, you’re not going to marry him, are you?” he asked, sad humor slipping in. Your heart sank.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled. You didn’t mean to say it out loud, but hey? What could you do? You held the phone to your ear gingerly, keeping an eye on Loki’s sleeping form. “I-I mean, no. No.”

The anger slowly started to build. You understood it. You hoped he would be mad at you instead of Loki. “You don’t know? Or ‘no’? What is it?”

“James, it isn’t like that,” you protested. You bit your tongue and your cheek. If the world was perfect, you would have married Loki like you were set on. You would have had children with him, by now. As you spoke, you found you weren’t faced with the possibility of losing Bucky, but the possibility of throwing away your decade-old dreams. “I swear. I don’t want to marry anybody, right now. I don’t. I couldn’t.”

“Why couldn’t you? What if I did propose, Y/N?” Defensive. Protective. Angry. Hurt. Why? Had Loki been right? 

You hadn’t ever talked about marrying Bucky. You couldn’t imagine that life. “Bucky, can we save this for later?” you begged through the phone. “Please, I’m worried about Loki; he’s never drunk himself stupid before.” You scratched your neck. In your wildest dreams, you had never imagined falling back into Loki’s temptation.

You had finally woken up clean, and he had to try to bring you back down.

“Y/N?” he asked after a moment. Barnes sounded hollow. Hollow, but understanding. There was a shuffle over the phone and you couldn’t tell what it was. Was he leaving? Was he moving around? Would he forgive you?

“Yeah?” you managed. 

“You still love him. Don’t you?” 

Your tongue was glued to the roof of your mouth. Your tears welled up. No wonder you were able to be friends with Loki. No wonder you weren’t able to just forget about him. With an ocean of regret in your voice, you admitted, “I don’t want to.”

James sighed. “Okay. Well, we can talk things through at home... I know you didn’t mean for anything to happen, I know you’ve been as faithful as you can be. You wouldn’t be calling and crying otherwise.” He sniffed. “I shouldn’t have planned a proposal without clearing it with you. We haven’t talked about marriage.”

“Bucky, if I do ever marry, I don’t want you to worry if it’s you or Loki. I don’t even know if I want to marry anyone. Loki clearly has feelings for me, I can’t just pretend that I don’t have remaining feelings when he could very well keep coming by... Gosh.” You sat down in a chair. You looked at your left hand, which had no ring on it. It was bare. 

“I’ll head home,” Bucky said. “Sit tight. Bye.”

“Bye.” You hung up the phone. You held your head in your hands, silently cursing yourself for being the world’s biggest pushover. Your ex waltzed in, gave off a teary show, and then pleaded for your heart like he was on death row, and you listened. Were you an idiot? What kind of mistake were you making? Could you up and leave Bucky for some tool who could change his mind as quickly as he had four years ago?

You sat there for what seemed like hours; it was probably only one or two, considering how long Bucky’s firm was from your home. Your boyfriend eventually stepped through the door and pulled you into his arms, millions of apologies being swapped between the two of you. 

You sat at the table and talked for almost three hours. Every now and then, it was bordering an argument, but you both kept your cool. Bucky knew how hard you were trying to be there for him, to be his, but when it came down to it, you were always Loki’s. You had a raw wound. You knew how much Bucky wanted to be yours, but as it turned out, he was proposing because it seemed like what was expected of him. Through the conversation, you learned that maybe it was smarter to take a break, maybe stay roommates, and try to exist as friends again.

“If Loki makes you happy,” Bucky whispered, “then I think you should try again. He’s changed; he’s made changes for you. He’s been good to you. We’ve been barely getting by these past months.”

“I know,” you replied. “But I’m not going to turn around and just run after him. That’s not smart. You’re still in my life, Buck.”

“All I see is you,” he murmured.

“I know,” you said again.

Bucky stood up. “I’m going to stay at Steve’s tonight, doll. Um... make sure Loki has water when he wakes up. Give him a good tongue-thrashing for me.” He offered a weak smile.

You sniffled. “Take whatever you need. I’ll be up playing nurse — don’t worry about anything.”

Bucky nodded. “Got it.” He scratched his nose. “I’ll drop by in the morning and see if there’s anything I can help with.”

+-+--

When Loki woke up, the headache was the first thing he complained of. “Y/N?” he groaned. You were sitting next to him, hands tucked under your arms. You were gazing down at him, watching his face as his expression changed from pained to embarrassed. “Please tell me what happened was just a fever dream...”

You shook your head. “You proposed to me.”

“You said ‘yes’,” he breathed, slapping a hand to his forehead. “Oh, my Norns. I’m so sorry; you don’t have to marry me. I was an idiot. I shouldn’t have even come by — I walked from the bar, in the rain, with only the thought of taking you back...”

“I figured,” you chuckled lightly. You didn’t meet his eyes. You played with the hem of your shirt. “Bucky and I might break up, though. You told on him. His planned proposal, I mean.” 

“You aren’t breaking up because of me, are you?”

“No; not entirely. I’m still... You’re trouble, you know that? I’m going to get a reputation.”

“You need one,” Loki joked. “People will be less likely to take advantage of you, then. Odinson’s Wife — the Terrifying Maiden.”

“I’m no maiden,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I’m still upset from our breakup. That’s why Bucky and I are thinking about calling it quits. I wasn’t over you when I thought I was, so just shut up and drink some water.” You handed him a glass. “You can’t hold your liquor, you know.”

Loki took it gingerly. “Oh, I hate how well you know me,” he sighed, taking a long sip. “Do I get some aspirin?”

“No.” You crossed your arms. “You said you’ve been carrying Frigga’s ring in your pocket since she died?”

“I did?” He furrowed his brows. “That’s right, I did... I’ve been keeping it for you, I must admit.”

“You said.”

Loki sat up, taking your hand. “I have your picture in my wallet.”

“You what?” You blinked. “You didn’t say that.” You scooted a little closer. 

“Well, no, I didn’t; I didn’t need you to drop my glass heart, now, did I?” Loki smirked a little. “You know it always has been you, lover.”

“I’m not your lover,” you said exasperatedly. 

Loki kissed your cheek. Although you pushed him off once or twice, he managed to snake his arms around your waist and hang on you. “Not yet. I will marry you, whatever it takes.”

+-+--

Sidewalk chalk was an odd Christmas tradition with Thor’s kids. It was another three years after Loki’s drunken proposal, and you and Bucky eventually sorted it out and found you were both much, much happier. Bucky married Sarah Wilson, taking her two boys as his own stepchildren. You were still in the grey area with Loki, but you wouldn’t deny that you were about ready to scream if he didn’t at least try to pop the question.

“Y/N, darling, I brought you something!” Loki’s voice came from upstairs. Thor’s house was large, and the wife he had picked opted to be a stay-at-home mother while the toddlers were toddling. He poked his head out from the upstairs balcony and grinned at you like a madman. 

“What did you bring me?” you asked, arching your brow at your boyfriend-but-not-really. He stomped down the stairs, thrusting a little blue bag in your hands.

“I’ve brought glad tidings. I’ve come to free you~” he teased, poking your sides. “My undying affection. My most-ardent love for you—”

“—Can it, tell me what it is,” you said, cutting him off. Loki pulled you flush against his chest, peppering your cheek with kisses.

“I want you to imagine us... you, standing in a nice dress, me, staring at you staring at the sunset,” he whispered, lacing your fingers. “Happy Christmas, darling.”

“What is it?” you pressed, looking in the bag. It was a little picture of a house. “What?”

“That’s our home, sweetheart,” Loki said, resting his head on top of yours. “We’ll live there after the wedding, raise our children...”

“You’re still trying to get me to marry you?” you asked.

“We’ve been engaged for three years!” he scolded playfully. “Not even in your wildest dreams, I would not be trying to make you my wife.”

“What if I am your wife?”

“I’ll try to marry you again!” he laughed, kissing you sweetly. 

#loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki of asgard #loki god of mischief #loki odinson #Loki Laufeyson #loki #mcu #mcu loki #loki mcu #marvel #gaitwae writes #loki x reader angst #i'll add the angst tag just so you guys don't @ me

[themadlostgirl]

Keeping Warm

*It is soft Felix simping hours*

Prompt: Reader gets cold easily and steals Felix’s cloak to keep warm not knowing it was his. Felix has some feelings about this.

Requested by: anon

Warnings: language

~~~

I am not good with cold. I’m just not. It’s been that way ever since I was little. When I am cold I shut down and for some reason I always seem to be cold. I don’t know what caused it but I needed to be in the heat at all times. I figured that when I flew to Neverland I wouldn’t have to worry about the cold anymore. It is a tropical jungle after all.

The days are long and the sun is sweltering. I bask in the heat and humidity with a reverence reserved for deities. I was warm and I was happy. The Lost Boys often joked that I was just like a lizard basking on a hot rock. Almost no one actually called me by name anymore after they made that connection. I was always lizard or viper. I learned to live with it.

With that said it looked as if Neverland was my dream come true and it was...until night came. The second the sun was no longer in the sky the island got cold. I expected it to drop a few degrees during the night but the difference was so stark that I spent most nights shivering in my tent with my thin cloak huddled tight around me.

One night I had been so cold that I huddled myself near the bonfire and fell asleep there. It was at that moment I decided to suck up my pride and ask the boys for some help.

“Hey guys,” I approached a group of boys I was sorta close to, “Are there any blankets around?”

“What do you need a blanket for?” One of the asked.

“Well, I get really cold at night and I was wondering if I could maybe get a blanket or at the very least a thicker cloak.” I muttered, meekly.

“How on earth are you cold?” The boys started laughing. “This island is a thousand degrees all the damn time. You really are cold blooded, lizard.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” I crossed my arms, “I’m a wuss because I get cold easily. Can you stop making fun of me?”

“Awe, did we hurt your feelings?” One of the boys pinched my cheek, “Little lizard girl can’t stand a little cold?”

“You guys are such jerks!” I shoved them off. “Forget I said anything. I’ll find something on my own.” I huffed and marched off. The boys were wrong about me being cold blooded because I could feel the blood boiling in my veins. Now if only I could bottle this red hot anger and use that to warm my tent at night.

I went up to other Lost Boys asking around for a spare blanket but they all gave me the same bark of laughter and refusal to help me. I had enough and went out to the beach to find my sunbathing rock. It was a large smooth flat rock that stretched into the sea a bit. It was a nice place to keep warm and get some peace and quiet.

When I got there I saw that I wasn’t the only looking for some quiet.

“Hey Felix,” I sat down next to him, “What brings you here today?”

“Stone skipping,” He gestured to the pile of stones by his feet. “Come to warm yourself, viper?”

“What else do I do?” I sighed. I liked Felix. He was easy to talk to and unlike a lot of the other boys when he called me lizard or viper I didn’t think he did it out of malice. It was just a name like Toodles or Slightly. I thought briefly about asking him about acquiring a blanket but decided not to. I had enough of the boys laughing in my face and I really didn’t want to add Felix to that list.

The minutes passed by as I laid down to soak in the sun. Another thing that I liked about Felix was that I didn’t feel the need to fill the silence around him. We could simply exist next to each other. It was rather comforting that we could have these moments when I lived on an island full of boys that couldn’t stand still for more than five seconds.

“Scoot over,” Felix nudged me with his foot.

“Run out of rocks already?” I made room next to me so Felix could lay down as well.

“Yeah,” He sighed and closed his eyes. “Weren’t a lot to be found today.”

“Happens,” I shrugged. I pulled an orange out of my pocket and started peeling it. “Orange slice?”

He opened his mouth and I rolled my eyes before dropping a slice in. “You know,” I said, “One of these days I’m going to do something like drop a rock or a little hermit crab in your mouth.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” I bit into a slice. Felix opened an eye to glare at me. I held out another slice as a peace offering. He took it with his hand this time. “Smart choice.”

“Remind me why I put up with you?”

“Because I’m fun and also quiet and I always end up giving you half of my snack when we’re together. Speaking of, my canteen is empty.”

“Here,” he handed me his.

“Thank you.” I took a generous swig. We passed the rest of our time laying in the sun not saying much until Felix had to leave.

The sun started to set and it was with a heavy heart that I braced myself for the cold and meandered back to camp. The boys I had spoken to earlier sniggered as I passed. I got to my tent and sighed when I realized what exactly those idiots had been giggling about. My cloak was gone. The one thing I use to keep myself warm at night and it was gone. Assholes.

Fine. If they want to take my stuff then I’ll take theirs too. I maneuvered stealthily around the camp looking for an unattended cloak. I eventually found one in a distant tent near the edge of camp and grabbed it. Let’s see how funny they think it is that their stuff gets stolen.

I bundled up the cloak and made a straight line for my own tent. I unfurled the cloak and was surprised by how much thicker this one was than the one I had. Probably thicker than what any of the boys wore. It also smelled kinda nice. I don’t know why but I caught a whiff of it and it put me at ease almost immediately. I wrapped myself in the cloak and reveled in the extra warmth it provided before promptly falling asleep.

~~~

Someone was gonna die!

Felix was turning in for the night and had noticed that his cloak had been missing. One of these idiots stole his cloak and when he found out who he was gonna murder them. No one steals from him. Not even as a joke.

It was the whole reason he set up his tent away from the main bustle of the camp. So stuff like this wouldn’t happen. But now it had and heads were gonna roll.

He noticed a group of boys together laughing it up by the fire. He saw one of them holding a bundle of fabric and charged.

“Hey!” Felix grabbed the kid by the neck. “You got some explaining to do you little shit!”

“Felix, calm down buddy.” One of the boys tried saying. “You’re choking him.”

“That’s the point.” He growled. “Cloak. Give. Now!”

The boy shoved the cloak into Felix’s free hand. Felix released him and the kid stumbled back gasping.

“Why do you have to be such a kill joy?” The boys complained. “Did the lizard send you to do her dirty work?”

“What?” Felix asked. “What are you talking about?”

“We stole her cloak cause she was complaining about being cold again. I really don’t see how she can be cold when it is always hot on this island.”

“Oh so this isn’t mine.” Felix really looked at the cloak in his hands. It was very thin and threadbared from years of use. It was a wonder that it was still together at all. He balled the cloak up and stuffed it under his arm. “So which one of you assholes stole my cloak then? It was in my tent this morning and now it’s gone.”

“We didn’t take anything from you.” The boys said. “We swear we didn’t go anywhere near your tent.”

Felix prowled closer, fire in his eyes. “You had better not have. You know how I feel when people touch my stuff. So if I find out you are lying I will shove a spear up your ass and roast you over the fire.”

Felix trudged away leaving the terrified Lost Boys behind. Now he just needed to get this cloak back to you. As thin as it was it was the only thing you had to keep the chill off so some coverage was better than none. Maybe he could approach Pan about getting you a real blanket or at the very least a thicker cloak. He knew how easily you got cold.

Felix sighed. He really was stuck on you. Out of everyone on the island you were the only one that he liked spending time with. Unlike everyone else you were able to sit still and enjoy the moment of silence the world offered. Spending time with you was like finding the eye of a hurricane. All the noise and chaos continued while he stayed safe.

He came upon your tent and peered inside. You were already fast asleep. Looking closer he realized that you already had a cloak covering you. How was that if the boys had taken yours earlier?

Wait. That was his cloak. Why would you steal his cloak? He plan was to wake you up and make the swap but upon seeing you laying there without shivering he couldn’t bring himself to take his cloak away from you. It was much thicker and warmer than your old one was and you clearly needed the layer.

It didn’t help matters that he got a strange fluttering in his chest when he saw you curled up in his clothes. Why was that happening? Why did you look so...cute? Cute was not a word that Felix used, ever. But it was the only appropriate word he could find as he gazed at you.

With a sigh Felix left your tent. He threatened the Lost Boys to not take anything of yours again lest they answer directly to him. The boys nodded in terror, not wanting to incur the wrath of Pan’s second in command. He threw your old shitty cloak into the bonfire. You wouldn’t be needing it anymore now that you had his to keep you warm. Felix let himself a small grin as he watched the cloak turn into a pile of ash. Besides, he thought, his cloak looked way better on you anyway.

---

(Part 2)

#felix imagine #felix x reader #ouat felix #ouat #neverland #peter pan ouat #request

[novelconcepts]

fic: (could be dreadfully) boring

Boring gets a bad rap, really. Boring can be the best thing in the world. 

“Could be kinda boring, right?” Dani says one Thursday morning, cold breath and hot hope mingling in the words, and Jamie laughs a little. She says it like it’s the best idea in the world: could be kind of boring, like all the songs say it shouldn’t be, like every movie tries to dismiss. But Dani says it, and Jamie thinks she’s only partly doing so to make her smile. Maybe she’s saying it for other reasons, too. Real ones. Ones that have nothing at all to do with Jamie, and how much she knows about the allure of boring.

Jamie didn’t grow up bored. Jamie walked the line between bad and worse most of her life, between one poor decision and the next, and Jamie found out all too fast what it was like to live out an adventure. The storybooks make adventure sound like something to chase, something hot-blooded and excitable, a rush. 

In real life? In real life, adventure is hot-blooded, and excitable, a rabid thing with teeth. You grab hold, it swings around and bites you right back. 

Spend enough time with enough idiots who think I want is a perfectly fine life philosophy, spend enough time far from freedom, spend enough time picking up after someone else’s catastrophe, and adventure starts to sound something like a dirty word. She doesn’t want adventure. Her life, as it stands, makes sense. Get up. Get ready in a little flat made up with a little bed, a little couch, a little table. Drive to the house. Grow. Go home at the end of the night, ready to start it all again. 

It’s not easy, but it is simple. And simple, from where Jamie’s standing, is a good thing. You can make sense of simple. Of when to plant, when to harvest. How much to prune away, and how long to let something linger before it’s ready to be picked. Simple, scheduled life. Nothing wrong with it. 

And then here comes Dani Clayton, and Jamie doesn’t have the words to explain why she knows, but she does: Dani isn’t simple. Dani blows in with her strange American accent and her big blue eyes and a smile that doesn’t quite reach them, not all the way, and she’s not...simple. At first, Jamie can’t say what she is. Bigger than she looks, somehow. Like there’s something too expansive behind her ribcage to fit under the pastel blouses and the denim jackets. Like she spends all that time puffing her hair up and puffing her chest out because if she were to let her guard down for one minute, something on the underside of Dani Clayton would come unmoored. 

And it’s not Jamie’s problem.

Not supposed to be, anyway. 

She did this once, sort of. This caring about an au pair thing. Rebecca Jessel was different, but there was something about her that clicked with Jamie--something like a younger sister, someone with such ambition and so little self-preservation at the same time--and Jamie had thought, sure. Sure, this is worth the time, the energy, the stress. Family is what you make of it, and say what you will about Hannah and Owen, but they are family. The kids, too. Wee monsters, the pair of them, but they’re hers, somehow. 

Rebecca was almost hers, too. She thinks some nights about that far-away look in dark eyes, the way Rebecca turned her head sharply away near the end, like looking at Jamie--at any of them--was too near a mirror she couldn’t bear peering into. Rebecca was something special, and Jamie couldn’t see her pulling away until she was too far out to swim to.

And here: Dani Clayton. Also something special. Also something...something about her Jamie can’t quite put a finger on. Like walking into a room and inhaling the scent of the last good day of summer vacation, and thinking, yes. This one’s right. 

But she’s also twitchy as all get-out, and her eyes do this funny jig any time Jamie meets them, and her mouth goes tight around the corners, and Jamie thinks: not this time. Not again. Not my problem. 

Until it is. 

And she didn’t plan it, certainly. Didn’t plan to stay the night, with the kids all wound up and the rain pattering outside and Dani bunched up on the couch beside her using words like love and possession like she’s intimately acquainted with both. Didn’t plan on the way Dani’s breath hitched around the words. Didn’t plan the way her own throat swallowed like it was trying to force down the first spark of true honesty. 

Just for safety, she tells herself, setting up on that couch with a thin blanket and a shake of her head. Just in case. 

And on it went: a grab of the hand; a sudden understanding; a flirtatious banter exchanged under guise of mourning. All of it innocent enough. 

And then there’s Dani Clayton, telling her she sees ghosts. Telling her she sees the ghost of her ex-fiance. Telling her, with eyes clenched shut and thumbs jammed into her fists, like she doesn’t want to say the words, but she needs Jamie to hear them. And Jamie, she thinks, this isn’t boring, with a lurch of the stomach that says it shouldn’t be an attractive quality in a person. The idea of not being boring. It’s a bad goddamn idea.

Like it’s a bad idea when Dani surges into her. Like it’s a bad idea when she’s got Dani’s hair wound around her hands, her thumbs dragging arcs across Dani’s cheekbones, her mouth pulling into a delirious grin as Dani kisses her. It’s a bad idea. She knows it, and she doesn’t care in the least as Dani presses in and groans softly against her lips, and--

Jerks away. 

Always, with the jerking away. 

This isn’t how you do the thing, Jamie thinks for the next several days. This isn’t how you get involved in something like this. People are so goddamn much. And Dani is maybe more than most, maybe more than anyone she’s ever run up against in her entire life, and she tries not to think of it. Tries not to feel Dani’s small hands clutching her jacket. Tries not to taste the way Dani almost laughed with relief into her mouth. She tries. 

Few days away, she tells herself. That’ll do the trick. Few days to get her head on straight again, and then she’ll go back. Go home. Get back to the schedule of plant and tend and harvest, and it’ll be like it never happened. 

“Could be kinda boring,” Dani says, and Jamie looks at her. Wants to tell her no. Wants to want to tell her no. 

Smiles anyway. 

“Could be dreadfully boring.”

And even then, she thinks it won’t make a difference. Dani’s already shown her cards. Dani’s carrying something bigger than the both of them, and Jamie knows all too well how someone else’s baggage can upend a person’s life. It can ruin a person, to stand too close to someone else’s bonfire. Can singe you straight down to the bone. 

And yet...here she comes, anyway. Back for Dani that night. Back to take her hand, feeling the slide of cautious fingers knitting with her own. Back to lead her into a damp, dreary grove where only Jamie has ever stepped foot, and she tells her. Everything. How it is. How the world is. How her world is. She tells her more than she’s told anyone in years, and never all at once like this, and even as the words are spilling out of her, she thinks, this isn’t simple. 

Dani doesn’t seem to mind. Dani looks at her for the longest heartbeat in the world, and she is looking at her. Not with eyes darting, not with jaw tensing, but with the most open-hearted want Jamie has stood near in maybe her entire life. 

It burns. It burns in the absolute best way. 

And it isn’t simple, and it isn’t easy, but it’s right, she thinks, as they stand in the drizzling rain with Dani’s arms wrapped almost double around her shoulders. As she lets Dani hold her and kiss her and sigh like this is what finally letting go feels like. 

It isn’t simple, and maybe it isn’t smart, because Dani Clayton isn’t boring. And, suddenly, Jamie doesn’t want her to be. Or, rather, she doesn’t want Dani Clayton to be anything shy of what Dani is: selfless, silly, hopeful Dani, who touches her like she’s never touched anything worthwhile in her whole life and is a bit terrified Jamie’s going to fade away under her fingertips. Dani, who walks back to the house with her like she’s on a goddamn mission, head up, eyes more certain that Jamie’s ever seen them. When she smiles in that bedroom, it reaches those eyes. When she lets Jamie slide with her beneath the blankets, with nothing between them, there’s no sign of ghosts or goblins or guilt. 

She gasps when Jamie touches her, and burrows closer, and Jamie thinks, oh, we’re in this, now. 

Her blood sings, her heart racing, and it feels like adventure, and something in Jamie sits back and sighs. All right, that something says. All right, you’ve made your call. When’s it ever gone right for you, to choose something like this?

She shakes her head, helpless, unable to explain to this core of self-restraint that this is...everything. That Dani being less than simple isn’t enough to negate all the rest. That Dani being less than simple is, in fact, integral to how desperately Jamie needs to keep her close. 

The day comes and goes, Jamie still wearing yesterday’s t-shirt, Dani smelling faintly of Jamie’s shampoo somehow. No one calls them on how close they sit, on how Dani’s hand is always brushing Jamie’s, a constant reminder that last night happened, that Jamie is still here. No one calls them on how Dani’s laugh is louder now, dizzy-giddy as she gasps for breath, or on Jamie’s leg angling of its own accord to press against Dani’s thigh from the next chair over. She looks up once, sees Hannah’s knowing brow rise, and thinks, this could be you, you know. Hannah, for all her clever glances, doesn’t seem to read her mind. She only lifts her mug of untouched tea very slightly, nods, smiles. 

The day comes and goes, and it isn't easy, and it isn’t simple: Flora’s acting strange again, coming and going in that unpredictable way children sometimes have, and Miles is strung tight at the table, and there’s a strange distance that seems to be growing up between Hannah and the rest of them. The price of family, Jamie thinks with a stab of regret--and then Dani is slipping away with her to the hall, pressing her gently against a low table, kissing her with the already-easy fervor of someone who would gladly do this every day for the rest of her life. 

That thought, above all else, should scare her. To think of a life not lived in that little flat, with the little bed, the little couch, the little table. To think of a life lived, instead, sharing someone else’s baggage. 

She almost stays another night. Almost. If Dani had tried a little harder, she thinks she would have lost all measure of restraint. If Dani had kept making that tiny noise, the one that unbinds everything calm in Jamie’s chest, her tongue brushing Jamie’s in the sweetest invitation. If Dani had taken her hand and led her back down the hall. She almost does it, anyway. 

Simple, she reminds herself, breaking the kiss, her skin humming beneath the splay of Dani’s fingers around her ribs. Boring. Boring and simple and let it blossom on its own time, why don’t you. 

She goes home. She goes back to that little flat, where she showers and lays down with a book she can’t seem to read, her head buzzing with the nearly tactile energy of Dani’s smile. Eventually, she sleeps. 

She wakes already reaching for a body she knows isn’t there, and the only thought in her head is, trouble. 

Her phone is ringing, she realizes belatedly. For a bleary second, she’s sure it’ll be Peter Quint on the other end, breathing deep, taunting--but it’s Owen’s voice, shaggy with sleep, saying, “The house. Something at the house, Jamie. Do you feel it?”

She’s already screaming Dani’s name before she reaches that lake, before she has any idea why talons of terror are scraping down her back. She’s plunging into the waves in great hitching leaps, moving as fast as she can to catch Dani up before she--and Flora, Flora’s out here in a nightgown and shuddering fear, her eyes older than any eight-year-old’s have a right to be--can tip over into the restless water. Dani is shaking like she’s going to come apart right here in Jamie’s arms, shaking and clutching Flora close and muttering, “It’s us. It’s us. It’s us.” 

There’s something wrong with her eyes. Jamie won’t be able to tell for almost an hour what it is--the moonlight isn’t bright enough, the shadows too thick around them, and even when everyone is back on solid ground, Dani curled in her arms, she holds them shut against Jamie’s searching worry. As if she thinks Jamie seeing her up close tonight will undo all the careful, hopeful, wonderful work they did together over the last two days. 

“D’you want some company?” Jamie asks her, when the dust has settled enough to make clear the road that led them all to this point--Henry, here; Hannah, not; Owen, drifting. It’s a mess, she thinks, just the biggest goddamn mess she’s ever come across, and the simple answer would be to walk now. To drive back into Bly, back to the little flat with its little world bunched up behind little walls. Close down, start over when things regain proper equilibrium. 

“D’you want some company?” she asks, and she’s sure Dani will say no. Dani’s head is already shaking--and then, slowly, reversing course. Dani, looking at her with swollen eyes--one the blue Jamie fell into that very first day, the other a soft brown made up of all the sorrow one woman could possibly carry without falling down dead of it. Dani, letting her kiss their joined hands, a silent promise that other nights are coming--as many of them as Jamie can scrounge together--and that Jamie isn’t going anywhere. 

And now they’re here: in America. In another life altogether from au pairs and gardeners and ghosts. They’re here, and Jamie thinks, not simple. But boring?

Yes, in its own way, she supposes it is. 

It takes her by surprise, honestly. This sort of behavior is textbook adventure. To up and leave the only place she’s ever known for a land as alternately thrilling and scandalizing as America. To do so with Dani’s hand in hers, holding tight like if she lets go for even a second, she’s sure she’ll turn around to find Jamie gone and the beast in the jungle standing in her place. Jamie doesn’t mind the way Dani’s grip grinds her bones together some nights. The way Dani just sits back and looks at her, searching her face for something, anything, of the monster she feels lurking in the shadows. 

Jamie does her best to give only what she has, and what she has is apparently enough, because Dani slowly...slowly comes back. There are moments, yes, afternoons that start out perfectly sunny and swing without warning to Dani sitting with her back against the wall, her breath coming in shallow gulps as she chokes on her own terror. There are nights Jamie wakes to find Dani clambering atop her with a child’s grace, legs and arms clutching, heart racing so hard, Jamie can feel it beneath her lips. Those nights aren’t good ones, and Jamie wonders each time if she’ll wake the next morning to find Dani has fled under cover of moonlight. If Dani has decided the terror is greater than the reward of working on this with her. 

But each morning, Dani is there. And, slowly, slowly, the tension slides out of her grasp. The look in her eyes, the one that says she’s been staring inward too long to see Jamie at all, fades. They’re still mismatched, those eyes, and sometimes, Jamie misses when they were both that mesmerizing blue--but the longer Dani looks at her, the more she thinks, doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter what color they are at all, s’long as it’s her looking back from behind them. 

They build a routine. Jamie wonders if this will get old, if this will wear at them; the songs all say it, the movies all insist: routine is cousin to death. Got to keep it fresh, everyone insists. Got to keep it moving. 

But what they don’t seem to get, what they don’t seem to see, what Jamie believes with her whole heart is this: 

Anything worth growing takes time. And patience. And routine. Anything worth growing needs a person to give every ounce of devotion they can muster, not the ragtag chaos of the brand-new. 

They build a routine. Find a place. Build a shop. And with every passing day, Dani comes back to herself a little more. She’s making jokes now--bad ones, ones even Owen would cringe away from--and Jamie’s laughing every time because it’s not the words that count. It’s the delight in Dani’s eyes when she lands one that makes water stream out of Jamie’s nose. It’s the sheer open-hearted bliss of knowing someone so well, you can’t help but make them laugh with the stupidest things. 

Jamie’s out of bed first each morning. When it was Dani, at the beginning, it made her uneasy; waking in bed with one arm reaching toward Dani’s side always felt like an omen of uncertainty for the day ahead. Would she walk out of the bedroom to find Dani pacing the apartment, wearing tracks into the carpet as she muttered under her breath? Would she find, instead, Dani struggling over the morning coffee? Would she find Dani gone altogether, only to come stumbling through the door hours later, arms laden with grocery bags and strange decorative bits and bobs? 

Jamie likes it better this way. Out of bed at six, sitting on the edge of the mattress, watching Dani breathe. At the beginning, this was the only time she ever saw Dani truly relaxed. It still feels like a gift now, a stolen moment unshared with anyone else. Dani curls toward Jamie’s pillow, her hand sleep-sneaking over to rest beneath it, and Jamie leans to kiss her brow. 

She’ll sleep another hour or two, probably, and in the meantime, Jamie breathes. Brews tea. Waters plants. Plans out orders to keep the shop stocked. Every day like this feels clean in some strange way, like by getting up with the sun, she’s allowed a chance to wash away the past. If she didn’t, if she slept later, maybe she’d wake to find the ghosts had followed them after all. Better this way. Better to keep vigil so Dani doesn’t have to. 

“You’re not sick of this, yet?” 

Those same words come weighted with different meaning. Sometimes, Dani says them laughingly--usually when they’ve both managed to botch a meal so badly, the only recourse is pizza. Other times, her voice is stiff with swallowed tears. On those days, Jamie knows, she’s thinking about the concept of borrowed time. Wondering how much she’s earned with good behavior. Wondering how Jamie could possibly stand starting every day not knowing what might pop out at them from the corners of Dani’s anxiety. 

“Not sick of it, Poppins,” she says every time. Sometimes, she says it and pins Dani against the nearest bit of furniture, ensuring they’ll both be breathless and giggling with irritation when the pizza finally does interrupt. Sometimes, she says it into the crown of Dani’s hair, hands stroking calm, repeat patterns down Dani’s back. It doesn’t matter how she says it. It’s always true. 

It’s boring, she wants to tell Dani, but can’t quite find the right way to say it. It’s boring, and it’s right. It’s the good kind of stable, the kind where you know for a fact that no matter what happens, your reaching hand will never come up empty. It’s the right kind of natural, the organic state of live and flourish that comes from tending something with earnest care. It’s boring, and I could never be sick of it, she wants to say, because it’s you. It’s me. It’s us. 

Their home is the good kind of cluttered, and their bickering is the good kind of stupid, and every time she finds herself tucked under Dani in bed, or tucked into Dani on the couch, or tucked close to Dani in a moment of perfect bliss, she thinks, this was always how it was supposed to go. I knew it, somehow. First time I saw her at that lunch table, I knew it. 

But there are words, and then there are words, and Jamie isn’t really designed for pretty language. She presents Dani with a flower--one carefully tended moonflower, grown in secret--and she says with shaking certainty, “We’ve got a problem, Poppins.” The problem, of course, being that she’s not sick of it. Not sick of Dani’s legs tangling smooth against her own after a shower, not sick of Dani’s heaving laughter when they slip on an icy Vermont sidewalk and go down in a heap of limbs, not sick of waking to Dani’s hands tracing, gently, the raised tissue of the scar on her back. She knows her life inside and out, knows the good days and the bad, and above all, she knows the thing that counts most: 

It’s boring. It’s the right kind of boring. Dreadfully, perfectly, wonderfully boring. 

And she is so in love. Has been, if she’s honest with herself, for ages. Has been since Dani was scolding her for a bedframe gone unbuilt, since pinning Dani against an upright mattress and sliding a thigh between her legs and hearing her groan against her ear. Has been since Dani was sitting beside her in that weathered diner, talking about realism and one-day-at-a-time. Has been since Dani reached for her hand without looking in the Bly Manor foyer, has been since Dani shuddered and shook in her arms after the lake, has been since Dani kissed her in the hall, in the grove, in the greenhouse. 

It makes sense in all the ways that Dani has from the very start, and it makes no sense at all in the way Jamie thinks good things in her life never do. And it’s right. Dani, looking at her over the counter with such affection, like she’s questioned so much, but never this. Never Jamie. Not really, deep down, where it counts. 

They’re in the back room, all hands and mouths and laughing sighs, and Jamie knows boring gets a bad rap. Knows that every kind of narrative insists this is the thing to be avoided. Keep moving. Keep dancing. Keep it fresh and new and hot-blooded and ready to bite. 

But this...this is what people don’t understand. What people could be so much happier, if they could only wrap their heads around the concept. Boring doesn’t mean stagnant. Boring doesn’t mean stuck in place. Theirs isn’t a photograph, all arc and angle and line frozen in time. 

Theirs is a story. Growing. Shifting. Ever-evolving. Blooming and fading and blooming again. Dani’s hands, always finding hers. Dani’s eyes, mismatched but so full of adoration, whether she’s spent the day worrying about dinner or demons. Dani, who once stood with her back to a greenhouse counter and said, “Could be kinda boring, right?”

Boring is good. Boring is perfect. 

Jamie thinks she could do boring for the rest of her life. 

#the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #dani x jamie #fanfiction #this got a wee bit out of control in terms of length

[musicallisto]

Hi! Could you pls do a Harry Potter ship for me? Preferably from next gen era? I’m a heterosexual girl.

I’m a bookish Ravenpuff and have always been on the top of my class. However, I’m definitely an overachiever and along with my studies, I always have sports practice and I’d definitely be one of the best on the quidditch team. I also play guitar. I’m rather short and it can easily upset me when someone points it out but I’m sure to make a snide remark back at them. I absolutely love art and drawing and sketching is my favorite past times. I adore kidssss and would definitely date someon and joke around that I’m dating them only for spending more time with their younger sibling(s). I can get easily flustered but love teasing and flirting around someone I like. I would usually never admit my feelings cuz I’m too stubborn but we’d argue and compete and I’d add some flirting just to show that I enjoy the person’s company and to hint that I want something more. I also am very much obsessed with one direction and Taylor Swift and boybands and no boyfriend of mine would be loved more than I love 1d and Tay tho. I can also do the splits and love learning the most random things like juggling 🤹‍♀️ and solving Rubik’s cubes (so far I know how to solve six). Also I don’t swear unless I’m extreme angry and am overall just a smart, innocent and naive girl lol.

Ahh can’t wait to see what you come up with!

hi steph! here’s your vanilla milkshake, i hope you like it! also, you sound like a lot of fun in person, lol. i’m exactly the same way when it comes to being flustered/teasing around someone i like, but then everything that comes out of my mouth sounds like i’m flirting except that’s just,,, how i talk normally lmfao. anyway, this is not the topic. the topic today is your relationship with the formidable james sirius potter...

It’s a good thing that you love spending time with kids so much, because the Potter family is one close-knit entity, and you will spend quite some time hanging out with Albus and Lily when you’re visiting James.

(He’s relatively annoyed by it the first time he invites you to spend the holiday break at his place. He doesn’t need his lame little brother and obnoxious little sister embarrassing him in front of this girl he likes.)

(Bear with him, he’s probably like a fourteen-year-old boy in this scenario.)

But it’s quite the opposite, actually; you gape in awe at how supportive and loving the whole Potter family is. It’s probably a little bit of the Weasley in them.

And the younger siblings are a lot of fun, so you oftentimes tease James and tell him that his lame little brother and obnoxious little sister are actually much cooler than he is.

He’s terrified that you might actually mean it, though. How could you? How could they?? He’s cool and he’s got swagger (he has used the word swagger at some point he is gen z), this is a criminal offense.

No, really, it’s so much fun teasing James Sirius Potter.

Mostly because he’s a prankster himself - following a long line of mischief evidenced by his namesakes -, so he’s always down for stirring up some stuff with you...

... but you’ve got him so wrapped around your finger that he takes every little thing you tell him so personally, but not in the actually offended way, more like, “shut up Albus is not cooler than me” “yes he is” “NO HE ISN’T” way. And it’s so funny to see him get all up in arms about something as trivial as that.

He should have the genes to understand that the harder he tries to protest, the longer you will continue with the teasing, because it’s one of the funniest things in the world, but hey. For all their “effortless charm” and “dashing good looks” (his words not yours), both his dad and grandpa went completely dumb whenever a pretty girl approached them, so you can’t really blame him.

On another note, he’s totally enraptured by how smart you are.

It’s not enough that you’re top of the class in almost every single subject - you’re also good at Muggle stuff too? Come on, that’s unfair. No wizard in the history of ever had the patience to try their hand at Rubik’s cubes.

And he’s guilty of it, too - he tried to solve one to impress you one day, he really did, and got as far as completing an entire side... until he got lazy and frustrated and magically finished it with a flick of his wand.

(He could have lied and told you he did it all with his brain, but Albus was in the common room when that happened, and would never let him hear the end of it.)

(At least you laughed when Albus told the epic story of his complete failure. Maybe you were onto something when you said he was cooler than him.)

Also, SO MUCH QUIDDITCH RIVALRY!

James is a jock and that’s a straight-up fact. He has a legacy to uphold, you know? (or so he tries to justify. but he does love team sports and the speed and thrill of the chase.)

but when there’s a Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff and Gryffindor match? oh, boy, are the stakes high.

There’s no actual tension between the two of you before the game or on the field, but. so. many. snide. remarks.

All’s fair in love and war - and all’s fair in Quidditch to destabilize your opponent. Throw them off their game. Maybe even their broom.

And you’re both masters at finding the little comment that will help you secure the win.

“Ha! How does it feel to lose again?”

“Oh my god, Harry Styles is so dreamy. Don’t you think?”

“Wait, what-”

The Snitch flies past him.

Right between your fingers?

“Pfft. You’re not even a challenge.”

Curse you and all your wits and boybands.

Oh, but next time you will get what’s coming, and that’s a promise.

800 follower sleepover CLOSED!

#rockinggirl #800sleepover #ship request #hp #next gen era #james sirius potter #james sirius potter x reader #james sirius potter headcanons

[vodkassassin]

You've been bullying SQH too much, he needs a break! Maybe some cuddles? A vacation? An emotional support animal? All of the above?

Two of the above, as a treat. Other options to be considered at a later date, perhaps... ;3 @dancibayo

Warnings for injury and near drowning >.>

—

There is a reason that, way in the beginning of all this peak lord business — before then, in fact, when they were all still just head disciples, brand new to the job and still figuring things out— there is a reason that Shang Qinghua signed the paperwork making Mu Qingfang his mission partner. And only Mu Qingfang.

It wasn’t because Mu Qingfang was the only one out of all of his martial family that Shang Qinghua liked, or could actually deal with… though it was kind of for that reason, but not entirely! The main reason, here, is that Shang Qinghua was not at the time entirely sure how to work with his martial siblings, and when he had tried, it… didn’t really work out.

There are a lot of examples in which missions with a martial sibling other than Mu Qingfang have not worked out, but the paragon amongst them all was that first mission with his fellow head disciple, Liu Qingge. Whenever Shang Qinghua thinks about why Mu Qingfang is his preferred mission partner, that one clusterfuck with Liu-shidi always comes to the forefront of his mind no matter how he wishes he could just forget about it.

A lot of the reason that mission had been such a total failure, in hindsight, really doesn’t have anything to do with Shang Qinghua at all, and a lot to do with the fact that Liu Qingge had, at the time, held such a low opinion of Shang Qinghua that it made working with the man an absolute trial.

In Liu Qingge’s defense, he’s much better nowadays. Like, a lot better. He barely glares at him anymore, even! Well, Liu-shidi glares at everyone, that’s sort of his default expression, but the glare is much less scary when pointed in Shang Qinghua’s direction than it had been even just a year ago! Progress!

Shang Qinghua ducks under the heavy swipe of one colossal, furry paw, complete with wickedly sharp claws that peak out just above the oversized toe-beans, and resists the urge to wail. He yanks out his sword and hops onto it like it’s a snowboard, and directs it into the air with a monumental push of his qi. The claws miss the edge of his robes by mere inches, and Shang Qinghua starts to daydream, a little bit, about what kind of headstone he wants for his memorial.

There’s another big reason, which he’s being reminded of right now, why Shang Qinghua would actually rather be partnered on a mission with anyone other than Liu Qingge.

The man loves monster fighting.

Now, listen. Listen! Shang Qinghua, he is a big fan of the monsters of this world. Mainly because he created most of them himself. They are just as much his beautiful (and sometimes incredibly less-so) babies as the characters he’d spent hours crafting with his words. Seeing them in full-form, brought to very real life in this world that is fashioned after his story is so fucking cool, but also! Actually mainly! Very, very fucking terrifying. Because those things, most of them, can, will, and have certainly tried, many a time in the past, to kill him.

And Liu Qingge’s absolute, favorite pastime is hunting these creatures down and facing off against them, for fun.

So like, sue Shang Qinghua if he can’t really see the appeal.

He’d rather be stuck in his office surrounded by stacks of unfinished paperwork with a deadline, than be dragged out by his martial brother to face another monster. At least then, he would be safe, and not have to deal with nearly being shredded by giant titan tiger claws, thanks!

Unfortunately for Shang Qinghua, ever since Liu Qingge had decided, for some reason that he still couldn’t figure out, that they are friends, he’s been coming to An Ding to regularly kidnap Shang Qinghua and force him out on what the man probably thinks is fun, bonding time between martial brothers or something.

It’s not. It’s not fun. It’s certainly bonding time, perhaps, if only because of the many times Liu Qingge has been forced to come over and save Shang Qinghua’s skin. Then again, Shang Qinghua has also been forced to save Liu Qingge’s skin, through vastly different means than Liu Qingge has saved his, so maybe it is some type of bonding? Experiencing life-threatening situations together is a sure-fire way to form close ties with someone. Like, that’s a legitimate trope. Shang Qinghua has used that one in his own stories many a time before.

So, Liu Qingge might be onto something here. But Shang Qinghua wishes he’d choose some other way to level up their apparent friendship than monster hunting. Can’t they just stay home and have tea? Play some go? Not potentially die?!

“Qinghua!” Liu Qingge calls. He sounds a little exasperated. He’s exasperated, huh? Shang Qinghua is exasperated with this entire trip! “Pay attention!”

Shang Qinghua ducks again, aiming his sword down sharply as his shidi’s sword shrieks by overhead in the spot he’d just been, to parry the monster’s attack with a serious OP swing of the same blade.

It’s really unfair, sometimes, watching how easily powerful his martial family can be. And then there’s Shang Qinghua, who… isn't, really? Just, nowhere near as powerful as the likes of Liu Qingge, or Yue Qingyuan.

Then again, maybe that’s trying to compare 5G internet to dial up? They’re simply in entirely different leagues.

Shang Qinghua’s eyes water as he rockets toward the ground, to where there huddles a cluster of disciples that stare with wide-eyes and awed faces as Liu-shidi does his thing. Their expressions are practically meme-worthy. God, he misses the internet so, so much. He might cry.

Wait, no, he can’t cry right now, the Bai Zhan disciples are right there, and they will make fun of him for it. Absolutely no respect with these kids. Liu-shidi, please teach your peak disciples some manners!

“Shang-shibo,” one of them complains, sword unsheathed entirely and obviously rearing for some action. “Does Shizun — does he want —?”

Shang Qinghua holds up a hand. The disciple falls silent, and the entire group of them watch him like over-eager hawks waiting for their prey to make a mistake. He takes a moment to catch his breath.

“No,” he eventually says, sending a brief glance over his shoulder to where the Bai Zhan peak lord is going head to head with a flying tiger the size of a dragon. “Shizhi, does your Shizun look like he wants help? Does your Shizun ever want help?”

One of the other disciples, a girl this time, bearing biceps that might be bigger than melons, grumbles. “He doesn’t. But why can’t we fight, too? It’s not fair, Shibo!”

“What wouldn’t be fair, is having both your arms ripped off before you can even graduate Jiedan.” Shang Qinghua refutes, and begins to herd the lot of them back toward the tree line so that they are at least out of sight. “This beast is a third-rank Flying Thunder Deity, it is so far out of your league in terms of strength that I’m currently questioning whether we should have brought you all with us on this mission in the first place.”

The disciples look disgruntled.

“But, Shibo—!”

“Nope!” Shang Qinghua holds up a finger and gives them all a stern look. Liu Qingge may not give a fuck whether his disciples remain unscathed or not — honestly, the man likely assumed them to all have fled like smart disciples of their level would, but he obviously greatly underestimated their enthusiasm for a good fight. Which is just incredibly fucking ironic of him. Anyway, no disciple of Cang Qiong sect is going to be in harm's way, if Shang Qinghua has any say about it. “I don’t want to hear it. All of you stay here, if I see a single limb out of these trees, I’ll assign the lot of you as aids to my paper-pushers for three months.”

At their adequately horrified looks, Shang Qinghua decides that his job here is as done as it can be, and so he turns around to peer back out at the currently thunderous (as the name of the beast might suggest) battle currently being waged. If any of the disciples decide to actually take their chances — both at potentially becoming paste on the ground and being stuck helping his disciples with copying out fresh requisition forms, then that’s not exactly his problem, is it? Shang Qinghua tried his best!

He rises up on his sword to where his shidi is fighting the Flying Thunder Deity several hundred feet up in the sky.

Aerial combat has never been Shang Qinghua’s strong suit, and quite honestly it’s neither the strong suit of any other cultivator, strong in battle as Liu-shidi or not. There’s just something about attempting to juggle needing to balance on your soul sword to stay in the air and also needing that same weapon to fight with, that is just altogether difficult.

It’s fifteen minutes of ducking and weaving and praying that he can move just fast as to be an irritating enough pest to the Deity that it turns it’s attention onto Shang Qinghua and consequently gives Liu Qingge the opening he needs, when Shang Qinghua’s hopes come true a little too well.

The thunderous (ha-ha) expression that graces Liu Qingge’s face when the Flying Thunder Deity snaps it’s huge, hulk of heard forward and encloses him in its massive jaws would have been gratifying in literally any other circumstance. Shidi! You do care! Or are you pissed at Shang Qinghua, for being so slow and requiring rescuing yet again? He’s sorry, Liu-shidi, he really is! Next time he would move faster! Or better yet, not come at all! Just as he’d originally begged you, shidi!

Shang Qinghua wishes that people would listen to him more. It would make his life so much less stressful than it is.

“Qinghua!” Liu Qingge shouts, with a tone to it that makes Shang Qinghua’s heart stutter oddly. Or maybe that’s because he’s, you know, currently trapped in the mouth of a vicious monster that probably won’t hesitate to swallow him whole? But, could it be, that Liu-shidi really does care?

Such ponderous thoughts will have to be shelved for now, to be ruminated upon later when he’s safe. For now, Shang Qinghua curls up into a ball, shaking like a leaf, his elbow bouncing off a curving incisor that’s nearly the length of his entire body, and he can’t help but let out a terrified cry.

This is it, isn’t it? Nearly a century of surviving against all odds, making it through perilous situation with no hope after perilous situation, avoiding death flag after death flag, to be eaten by this hungry, flying tiger the size of a small mountain.

Truly, he’s so blessed to be going out with such a bang.

System! Shang Qinghua wails miserably inside his head, a series of loud whimpers bursting from his mouth without his permission. Be useful for once and lend me a scenario pusher!

The cheerful ding that rings throughout his mind is incredibly ignorant of the current circumstances. [Request acknowledged! Please contact customer support to undergo an eligibility survey.]

There is no such thing as customer support, Shang Qinghua knows. He’s neither a customer, nor is he sure that the System actually has any higher power that it answers to. It clearly loves fucking with him, though, and he clenches his jaw and screams through his teeth in frustration as the sharp point of one of those too-close teeth digs viciously into his side.

I don’t have time for that! Fuck! System, please! I don’t want to die! Be nice to me for once in your miserable existence! I deserve it, dammit!

There’s a brief pause, and during it Shang Qinghua thinks he can hear his shidi yelling amongst the sounds of battle.

[... Host’s complaint has been posted and reviewed.] Oh, wow. That’s a first! [Due to Hosts exemplary services rendered, compensation has been rewarded. Would host like to exchange for a scenario pusher?]

Just save me already! Shang Qinghua demands, curling into an even tighter ball. The tooth digs into his flesh painfully, and he bites back a sob.

[Compensation loading…]

The tiger is growling, now. Shang Qinghua can feel the coalescing vibrations of the sound as it emanates from behind him, from deep within the beats chest, rippling sound waves that travel up it’s throat and make him tremble from the force of them alone. His skull is split by a resounding headache, and his vision doubles. It’s like being trapped inside a subwoofer box, and it hurts.

Shang Qinghua is struck rather suddenly by a massive fit of vertigo, as the tiger seems to shake its head in response to whatever attack Liu Qingge is throwing at it. Being inside its mouth, the motion sends the An Ding peak lord sprawling, and he nearly impales himself on one of it’s incisors. Thankfully, being covered in its saliva, though disgusting, seems to be a silver lining of some sort, because he’s by now slippery enough with it that the tooth only deals him a glancing blow. Despite not being as fatal as it could have been otherwise, it still hurts enough, sharply enough, that Shang Qinghua can’t hold back the cry of pain and surprise that escapes him.

The deep vibrations of the growl come to an abrupt halt. Shang Qinghua only has time to hear Liu Qingge make a distant sound of confusion and anger, before he’s unceremoniously spat out into the open air.

It’s a relief! Truly, it is, to be freed of the tight, damp space that was a beast’s hungry maw at long last. However, there’s still a problem! A big one!

Shang Qinghua doesn’t have his sword, and they’re all still hanging out several hundred feet up in the air! By the laws of physics, he has only a brief millisecond to feel any sort of relief before he goes plummeting to his death. He brings up his arms to shield his face from the turbulent air, robes flapping in its vicious currents.

“Qinghua!”

He peeks open eyes that he doesn’t recall closing to find his amazing, beautiful, talented shidi diving down beside him, sword under his feet and hand held outstretched toward him. Shang Qinghua doesn’t have enough air in his life to breath out a sigh of relief as he reaches out for him, ready to cry, because within the very next second he’s ripped away from the help by a big, furry blur that knocks him out of the sky entirely.

He continues to fall for a few long, terrifying seconds, and then he’s fighting to breathe not because the air is moving past him too fast to catch, but because he’s been submerged in water.

He panics, kicking his legs uselessly against the heavy weight of the tide that wraps around him and shoves him roughly to and fro. He’s not entirely certain which way is up and which way is down. His lungs are tight and painful with their pleas for air, and Shang Qinghua can see spots begin to dance before his vision.

Something grabs onto the very back of his robes, then, and he’s dragged out of the water and lands heavily on a patch of what he’s able to eventually identify as grass, once his mind has enough ragged gasps of sweet, sweet oxygen to get itself into working order again.

He rolls himself over and onto his knees, fisting his hands in the grass as he spits out mouthful after mouthful of water. His eyes sting with tears, but thankfully he’s so soaked he doesn’t think they will be all that apparent to anyone who thinks to look at him now. He brings up a hand, to press the back of his fist into his mouth and smother the sob that wants to burst free. He doesn’t really succeed.

There’s an odd sound from nearby, almost like an engine of some sort, which is incredibly confusing because Shang Qinghua hasn’t heard anything of the like since his last life, where the world was much more industrially advanced. There’s a brief moment of confusion, where his mind races in trying to correlate the sound with something that makes more sense, before something big and warm presses against his side and nuzzles heavily into his neck.

Shang Qinghua blinks, dumbly, vision still swimming in such a way that it makes his aching, pounding head revolt in nausea, but after a moment he’s able to turn his head to the side and get a mouthful of fur instead of a visual.

He splutters, reeling back, which of course gives the Flying Thunder Deity, which is no longer flying nor deity-sized, to press forward even more. It knocks the befuddled Shang Qinghua into the grass and clambers over him, purring loudly and aggressively all the while as it nuzzles him and butts it’s head into his again and again.

“Um,” someone says, and Shang Qinghua blearily looks up from the now normal-sized tiger to find a group of disciples staring down at him, looking just as confused as he feels. “Shang-shibo?”

He blinks, head canting toward the side as the Flying Thunder Deity shoves at it with it’s leathery nose. It’s purring so loudly he can feel it in his jaw. “Yes?”

“Would you, uh…” The disciple speaking gestures at him and the tiger. “Would you like help?”

“Hm,” Shang Qinghua considers the offer, laid flat out on the ground as he is while being aggressively cuddled by a suddenly, oddly, terrifyingly over-affectionate tiger that had literally, just a few moments ago, tried to eat him. “.... Hmm.”

“Mwrrrr,” the tiger echoes, long whiskers tickling Shang Qinghua’s face.

“...Shang-shibo?”

“Qinghua!” Ah, look who finally decides to join them!

Liu Qingge barrels to a landing in the grass right beside him and barely has time to yank his sword up from under himself when the newly enamoured tiger jumps to its feet, bristling and hissing like a house cat facing an annoying, yapping dog that’s intruded into their home.

Liu Qingge is very visibly confused at the newest course of events, but there’s still a level of rage that thrums underneath it, and he readies his sword against the Thunder Deity, muscles twitching in anticipation that far exceeds his usual excitement for a fight. For some reason, that Shang Qinghua is currently too dazed to even guess at, it has become personal.

The tiger’s tail flicks, it’s sharp teeth bared as a growl erupts from its throat, and Shang Qinghua apparently had lost all common sense during his fall into the lake, because he props himself up on one elbow and reaches out his hand to curls it into the damp, wet fur around the tiger’s neck.

Immediately, the beast stops growling. It even turns its back to Liu Qingge! In order to plop down into Shang Qinghua’s lap and nuzzle it’s face into his neck, purring once again at full blast. The Bai Zhan disciples that are gathered a few hundred feet away make a series of quietly alarmed sounds. What the fuck! Liu Qingge looks just as confused.

“Qinghua?”

“I don’t know, shidi,” Shang Qinghua says, shrugging. It sends a ripple of pain that spikes in his lower abdomen and winds up his side, and he winces. “Ow.”

“You’re injured,” now Liu Qingge is frowning at him, but he doesn’t move to come any closer. His hand is whit knuckling the hilt of his sword, and he glances between Shang Qinghua and the tiger in open puzzlement.

“Yeah, kinda got impaled on its teeth,” Shang Qinghua replies, and makes a face. “When they were, uh, you know, bigger. Before...”

“It shrunk.” Liu Qingge states, scowling.

As if on cue, there’s a bright flash of light that momentarily blinds him, and the weight in Shang Qinghua’s lap shifts. Once his vision clears, he glances down to find a small, fuzzy little tiger cub gazing up at him with big, round, glistening eyes.

Shang Qinghua stares at it. The cub purrs, much softer than it had in its adolescent form, and gently butts it’s head against his chest, mewling quietly.

Shang Qinghua tears up. He can’t help it. He struggles to sit up, gathering the cub into his arms as he goes, and holds it against his chest. It’s fuzzy little ears perk up, tickling against his collar bone, and Shang Qinghua swallows.

Liu Qingge stares, as well, about as absolutely befuddled as the rest of them. After a moment, though, his face clears of its confusion, as if he’s decided to simply discard it, and he gives a shrug, hefting his sword arm up a bit and taking a step forward.

Shang Qinghua startles, scooting back a bit even though it pulls at his injury. “Shidi?!”

“It will be easier to kill, like this.” Liu Qingge says, nonchalant.

Shang Qinghua clutched the tiny, purring little tiger to his chest, aghast. “Shidi, no! It’s a baby!”

“It’s not,” Liu Qingge frowns at him. He points at the cub, who continues in its mission to aggressively cuddle the An Ding lord. “It’s a fully grown adult Flying Thunder Deity. It can just change its size.”

Shang Qinghua pauses. He pulls the still-purring cub away from his chest and holds it up to his eye-level.

“You tried to eat me,” he accuses.

The tiger cub blinks once, slowly, and lets out a tiny mewl in response.

“....” Shang Qinghua wraps his arms around the tiny thing and cuddles it to his chest. “I forgive you!”

“Shang Qinghua,” Liu Qingge exclaims, exasperated. Which! Not fair! Shang Qinghua wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him! So really, this is all Liu-shidi’s fault to begin with!

He tells him as such, and Liu Qingge scowls grumpily one response.

Shang Qinghua stands to his feet. And immediately tilts to the side. Liu Qingge steps forward, sword sheathed, to catch him around the waist, and the tiger gives a startled meow as it’s suddenly squished between the two of them.

Both men stare down at it. It blinks up at them for a moment, before turning to nuzzle it’s face into the dampened collar of Shang Qinghua’s robes, closing its eyes as if it's decided to take a nap then and there.

“You can’t tell me you’re going to kill it,” Shang Qinghua says. His words are beginning to slur together. “It’s too cute, Qingge!”

Liu Qingge tenses slightly at his given name, as he always seems to do when Shang Qinghua uses it. If he didn’t want him saying it, he shouldn’t have given him permission in the first place! After a moment, the man relaxes, and something about his face is… not as fierce, somehow.

Shang Qinghua doesn’t know what that means.

“You’re soaked,” Liu Qingge says. “... And injured.”

“Impaled,” Shang Qinghua reminds him, blinking his eyes slowly. They feel a little heavy. Maybe the tiger had the right idea of a nap. “Almost drowned.”

Liu Qingge frowns at the reminder. He stoops down after a moment and scoops up Shang Qinghua’s legs. Normally, he would protest being bridal carried like some maiden, but right now he’s way too tired. He rests his head against Liu Qingge’s shoulder, the tiger purring sleepily on his stomach, and closes his eyes.

There’s a quiet cough. “Shizun.” One of the disciples speaks. They sound embarrassed, for some reason?

“We’re heading back to the sect.” Liu Qingge announces.

“The, ah… the tiger?”

There’s a long moment of thoughtful silence. Then, “It’s your Shibo’s.”

“Ah…. okay….”

Shang Qinghua turns his face into his shidi’s collar and falls into a doze.

#svsss prompts #shang qinghua #liu qingge #liushang #scumbag villain self saving system #vodka answers #vodkassassin fanfiction #dancibayo #monster hunting

[javajunkieao3]

Never Have I Ever: Post-Series Fic

Ben Gross prided himself on being smart.  And falling in love with Devi Vishwakumar?  Well, that was just about the dumbest thing he could do.

           But, it happened anyway.

           He didn’t exactly know when, but somewhere between first grade and watching her dance with that tool, Paxton Hall-Yoshida, she had gone from the person he always wanted to beat to someone he genuinely hoped would win.  Because she deserved that.  After everything she went through with her dad and then everything after, she deserved a win.

           But, did that win have to be him?

           “Of course, it’s him,” Ben said, voice colored with defeat and just a hint of indignation.  He still hated losing.  Even if he technically wasn’t in this game.  Aneesa was waiting for him over by the punch.  “It’s always been him.”  

           Beside him, Eleanor said, “What?  No, it hasn’t.  After you took her to Malibu, she wanted to choose you.”

           Ben listened incredulously as Eleanor explained how she and Fabiana had talked Devi out of choosing him.  It was fucked up, and he was going to tell her as much, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Devi, imagining how different things would have been. It would have been him with her, not that glorified meat puppet.

           “So, just for the record, it hasn’t always been him.”

           Eleanor walked off after dropping her figurative bomb and he stayed rooted in place, not knowing what to do or think next.  He wasn’t used to this level of indecisiveness and he probably would have just stayed there, staring at Devi dance with another guy, if Aneesa hadn’t come over, sliding her hand over his shoulder.

           “Hey, I thought you were meeting me over by the punch,” she said, glancing over at where he had just been staring.  “Oh wow, good for Devi.”

           Aneesa looked up at Ben, noting the tense set of his jaw.  “But…you don’t think that.”

           “What?” he said immediately, finally looking away from the slow train wreck happening across the dance floor.  “I don’t care about them.  I mean, he’s a tool who, based on what I’ve seen, can barely read above an eighth grade level.  But, I don’t care.”

           “Uh, yeah, you do.”

           “Aneesa-“

           “Ben, I saw the way you were looking at them. At her.”

           He went to argue, but then realized he had no defense.  Aneesa ducked her chin to her chest.

           “Okay.  So, I guess I’m going to go now.”  She turned to leave, but then stopped, turning back.  “Don’t mess this up for her?”

           He didn’t know what he hated more, the implication that he would mess things up or the fact that Aneesa was maybe a little right. The song ended and he watched Paxton and Devi kiss before Paxton dipped his mouth to her ear.  Devi nodded at whatever he said, and then Paxton walked away, not letting go of her hand until the distance made it necessary.  Devi’s grin widened and Ben hated Paxton even more.

           Devi stood alone on the dance floor for a moment, seeming blissfully content, and then she caught his gaze.  Ben noticed that her grin dimmed slightly and then she walked over, clasping her hands nervously in front of her.

           “Look, I know what you’re going to say,” she began.

           “No, actually, you don’t.”

           She widened her eyes slightly.  “Okay.  Then, what are you going to say?”

           I know you wanted to choose me.

           “I’m happy for you, Devi.”

           It wasn’t what she expected, and not what he wanted, so they both felt out of sorts.  But then her shoulders slackened, a genuine smile spreading on her face, and Ben knew he did the right thing.  Because she deserved the win.  Even if it wasn’t him.

           “Thanks, Ben.”

           Paxton came over with two glasses of punch and handed Devi one, his now free arm going around her waist.  He gave Ben a lukewarm hello which, given their history, wasn’t entirely unfounded.

           “Anyway, I’ll see you around,” Devi said.

           “See you around, David.”

           Paxton looked at him strangely, but Devi only smiled wider.

-----

           There were only a few weeks left in the school year after the dance, and Ben did his best to keep his distance from Devi.  She hovered a bit after learning about his and Aneesa’s breakup, but then they all got busy with finals and then the schoolyear ended.  Ben was grateful for the time apart.  He didn’t know how long it took to fall out of love with someone, but he figured summer break’s three Devi-free-months should do the trick.

           That summer, he lined up a volunteer program to pad his college applications just like every other summer.  He was supposed to help out with pro bono work at his dad’s firm, but at the last minute his dad hired a law clerk instead so that he could bill out his time at a markup.  So, he was stuck with a retirement home.  Everyone volunteered at retirement homes, which meant it was the last thing Ben wanted to put on his resume.  But, there was nothing else left and it was better than nothing, so he grudgingly accepted a spot at one about fifteen minutes from his house and prepared himself for a summer of moth balls and stories about “the war”.

           Instead, he got Devi.

           “I thought you were working at your dad’s firm this summer,” Devi said.

           “Something came up.  Weren’t you supposed to do Habitat for Humanity?”

           Devi nodded.  “I had an incident with a hammer.  Apparently, you aren’t supposed to bedazzle it.”

           Ben smirked.  “You bedazzled your hammer?”

           “Oh, yeah.  I added feathers, too.  Honestly, it was an upgrade.”

           “I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t want to take you,” he mocked.

           Devi shrugged.  “Probably for the best.  I mean, would you want a house built by me?”

           “You make a fair point.”

           “So, here we are,” Devi said.  “Slumming it at the retirement home.”

           “You may want to say that a little louder.  I don’t think the guy in the back with the hearing aid heard you.”

           “But, you know what, if anyone can make the best out this, it’s you and me, Gross.”

           She flashed him a smile and he felt it all the way down to his toes.  This was going to be a long three months.

----

           It turned out, Ben was surprisingly adept at being around old people, and Devi was an immediate crowd pleaser.

           “Even Marvin likes me,” Devi said.  “And I’m pretty sure he’s a low-key racist.”

           “Not that low key.  He specifically asked me to help him fill out a banking form yesterday because, as he put it, your people are good at that.”

           “Damn.  Remind me to not give him an extra pudding cup.”

           One of the long-time residents, Gladys, rolled by with her walker and said, “Benjamin, don’t forget my granddaughter is visiting this afternoon.  I told her all about you.”

           “I won’t forget, Gladys.”

           “Look at you, Benjamin.”  He rolled his eyes.  “Using the residents to get a date.  Honestly, it’s sort of genius.  If I wasn’t dating Paxton, I would totally use these guys to pimp myself out.”

           “Slow down, David.  Gladys came to me about her granddaughter.  I’m not that desperate.  I have options.”

           “Sure, you do, Ben.”

           “But, um, you and Paxton?  That’s going well?”

           He didn’t know why he asked.  You don’t ask the girl you’re in love with how her relationship is going, but he asked, and now he had no choice but to hear the answer.

           “Yeah, it is,” Devi said.  She tucked her hair behind her ears as she smiled, and Ben wished he could sink directly down into the ground.

           “That’s great.”

           “Yeah.  It is.”

           That afternoon, he asked Gladys’ granddaughter out on a date.

----

           Ben could always tell when Devi and Paxton were fighting by her mood.  She had never been good at hiding her emotions, and while in a relationship, that hadn’t changed.  He noticed it a few weeks in.  She went back into the employees’ area and shoved her bag forcefully into the cubby hole.

           “Did the cubby hole do something to you?” he asked.

           “No,” she said stubbornly.  “The cubby hole is doing nothing.  Which is the problem.  The cubby hole just sits there playing video games all day.  Which, sure, I can play some Mario Kart here and there.  I’m a team player.  But, at a certain point, enough with the stupid video games.  I am not dating freaking Yoshi!”

           Ben was quiet for a moment and then said, “I didn’t know a cubby hole had apposable thumbs to play video games.”

           She shot him a look, but then couldn’t help but laugh.

           “The cubby hole was a metaphor.”

           “Yeah, I caught on to that.”

----

           Ben found it remarkably easy to be around her, even as his feelings stayed rooted to the core, and at a certain point he became resigned to it all.  Maybe Devi was just one of those people he would always have feelings for.  Isn’t that what they said about your first love?  You could move on, but you never really forgot it.  So, he would love her and just move on.

           He dated Gladys’ granddaughter, enjoying himself but never really feeling anything beneath surface level.  But, she was nice enough, and Gladys was delighted by the pairing, even as the volunteer coordinator was not.

           “Just don’t have sex anywhere on property,” she had said in a huff.

           “I, uh, won’t.  Thanks for the clarification.”

           He was dating someone else.  He and Devi were finally sort of back to how they were before.  And then he accidentally ate pecans.

           “Oh my God, Ben, your mouth is getting huge,” Devi said, eyes wide with concern.

           “I am so sorry,” Gladys’ granddaughter said. “I thought the muffin was banana-walnut, not banana-pecan.”

           “Do you have an Epi-Pen or something?”  Devi barked at the terrified looking volunteer coordinator.

           “No, and even if we did, I don’t think we can technically use it on a non-resident.”

           “Are you freaking kidding me right now?  Do you see him?”  She pointed at Ben, whose face was rapidly growing in size.  “You know what, I’ll just handle it myself.”

           Devi dragged him out to her car, which was concerning since he knew she only just got her license the week before, and he also knew based on what she told him that her passing was a total fluke.  

           “I think I’d rather go into anaphylactic shock in there,” he said, already turning back toward the retirement home.

           “Don’t be dumb, Ben,” she said, forcefully pulling him back to the car.  “You are not going into anaphylactic shock.  I’ll take you to my mom’s office and she can give you a shot or something. She’s only a few minutes away.”

           He reluctantly got into the car, and Devi started her car, forgetting to put it into reverse before she pressed on the gas. The car lurched forward, nearly hitting the one parked in front of them, and Ben said, “Please don’t let me die in this car.”

           “No one is dying today, Ben Gross.  So, calm down, okay?  I got this.”

           It was not exactly a smooth ride, but true to her word, five minutes later they pulled into a parking spot in front of Dr. Vishwakumar’s office.  They burst into the office, Ben now leaning a bit on Devi as it became harder to breath.

           “I’m pretty sure I’m going into anaphylactic shock,” he gasped.

           “No, you are not.  You are fine.”  Devi’s words were calm, but her tone was not.

           Nalini Vishwakumar walked out of her office and stopped short when she saw Devi and Ben.

           “What in the world – Benjamin, what happened to your face?”

           “He ate pecans which, turns out, he’s also allergic to,” Devi said quickly.  “Can you give him a shot or something?”

           “Devi, you should have taken him to the emergency room!” Nalini said, rushing over to her daughter and Ben and bringing them back to an examination room.

           “The hospital was farther away.”

��          Ben became to gasp for breath and Nalini hissed, “He’s going into anaphylactic shock.”

           Ben could barely breathe, but he managed a, “Told you.”

           “Well, how was I supposed to know!”  Devi said loudly.

           One shot of epinephrine and an IV full of antihistamines and cortisone later, Ben could breathe again, but Nilani made him stay for a while longer so that she could observe him.  She put he and Devi in one of the unused examination rooms, and told them to let her know if he had any more trouble breathing.  Devi sat next to him, her knees pulled tight into her chest.

           “I’m sorry that I almost killed you.”

           “You’re not getting valedictorian that easily.”

           He was joking because, yeah, his throat had almost closed up and she probably should have taken him to the hospital and not her mom’s office, but it was fine now.  Except, when he looked over at Devi, she still looked scared.  After a beat, she launched herself toward him and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.  

           “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, rubbing her back.  “I’m okay.”

           She pulled away and gave his arm a light punch. “You really scared me.”

           “Yeah, well, next time I’ll double check my banana-walnut muffin actually has walnuts.”

           “And I’ll believe you when you say your throat is closing up.”

           Devi’s phone rang and he saw Paxton’s name flash on the screen.  He asked her, “Do you need to get that?”

           He watched her hesitate before sending it to voicemail.

----

           Devi and Paxton broke up a week later.  He found out from one of the retirement home residents, who he overheard telling Devi, “You’re better off, Devi.  Take it from an old woman.  You have the rest of your life to be with one person.  Now is the time to be free.  Sow your wild oats, if you will.”

           “Um, I don’t really know what that last part means, but I feel you.  I mean, I’m too young and hot to be tied down, right?”

           “Exactly.  You know, I have a grandson you might be interested in.  He’s pre-med.”

           “I appreciate the offer, Beatrice.  And offering me your grandson after I just broke up with my boyfriend?  Savage. But, I think I need to take some time by myself.”

           That afternoon during bingo, Ben casually brought up the breakup after calling out B-27.

           “Are you okay?” he asked.

           “Yeah, I’m okay,” she said.  She ran the machine and picked out the next ball.  “B-13!”  She put the ball down and said in a regular volume voice, “We just didn’t have that much in common.”

           “Yeah, I bet,” Ben said automatically.

           “Wow, okay,” Devi said with a laugh that didn’t exactly sound reassuring.

           “I didn’t mean,..” he trailed off, because he kind of did.  “Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay.”  He paused and picked up the next ball.  “N-7!”

           “Bingo!”

----

           Summer was coming to a close, and so was their time at the retirement home.  For some reason, Ben felt an impending sense of dread.  Sure, he would still see Devi, but it would be different.  Everyone else would be added back to the mix, including Paxton.  

           Their last big event at the retirement home was a movie night.  They set up a projector in one of the recreation rooms and made it up like an old theater, complete with velvet ropes and individual little bags of popcorn. They even wore old-timey usher costumes they rented from a local costume shop.

           “Does yours also smell like nachos?”  Devi asked.

           “Yeah.  I’m trying not to think about it.”

           The movie was It Happened One Night, and Devi and Ben sat in the back, watching the movie along with the residents.  It was secretly one of Ben’s favorites.  He and his mom had spent little time together when he was growing up, but she shared with him her love of old movies.

           It was the Jericho scene, where Clark Gable’s character was setting up a sheet between him and Claudette Colbert in their motel room.  He stripped down to just his undershirt, and Devi mused, “Clark Gable was super bangable.”

           “Shh,” Ben said.  “This is my favorite part.”

           Devi looked over at him and grinned.  Feeling her gaze, he glanced over and felt his breath stop when their eyes met.  They were close, and in the darkness her eyes seemed to glow.  He always thought she had pretty eyes.  Even before, when he hated her more times than he liked her. He felt an urge to lean forward. It would be so easy.  Just the slightest lean and his mouth would be against hers.  But, that would just be a kiss in the back of a dark room.  He wanted more.

           “Eleanor told me that you wanted to choose me after Malibu.”

           She blinked rapidly.  “What?”

           “After you scattered your dad’s ashes.  She said you wanted to choose me, but they made you also consider Paxton.”

           “Okay.”

           “Is that true?”

           Devi didn’t answer, so he kept talking.

           “And she said that you started the rumor about Aneesa because you thought that we were dating and you were jealous.  And, you see, I’ve had it in my mind all this time that it was always Paxton.  And that I was, I don’t know, some detour on the way, but-“

           “You were not a detour,” Devi said immediately. “You were…you were perfect.  And I messed us up.”

           “So, Eleanor was telling the truth?”

           Devi nodded.  “Yeah, she was.”

           Ben took a deep breath.  “Devi.  I’m going to kiss you now.”

           She nodded, all business, but he could hear the nerves in her voice when she said, “Okay.  Thank you for the advanced warning.”

           He leaned in and captured her mouth with his.  The kiss was sweet and unhurried, like they had all the time in the world.  And in a way, they did.  There was a noise behind them, and they pulled apart abruptly.  Their supervisor stood over them and said, "Remember what I said about no sex on property?"

"Are you kidding me right now?"  Devi said.  "Who is having sex in these gross costumes?"

"You'd be surprised."

The supervisor walked away, and Devi looked at Ben.  "You don't think she meant..."

"I think she absolutely did."

"I need to take this off immediately."

#never have I ever #ben x devi #devi vishwakumar #ben gross #never have I ever fanfiction #post-series fic

[amostimprobabledream]

And He Walks With Flames (Dabi x Reader) -Part Three

The old man is still talking, his voice flattening to a self-important drone, but Dabi isn’t listening.

He tends to pick and choose when he tuned into the miserable old fuck's ramblings, since he knew most of it would amount to nothing in the end. It would soon all be ashes. Since he'd been brought to this sterile shithole, he'd entertained himself with fantasies of exactly how he was going to kill the old man and those crawling little assistants of his - and oh, didn't Dabi have so many options to choose from? The thought makes his fingers twitch with excitement, like they are flexing of their own accord in anticipation of the event.

But that, too, has eventually gotten boring. That was something they didn't often mention about captivity – its fucking tedious whenever you don't have humans in white coats poking at you or running their little tests with their precious machines. If Dabi wasn’t keenly aware of how temporary this all was, and since he knows he’s too powerful for them to really be able to hurt him, he probably would have lost it a long time ago. He never did take too kindly to being…restrained.

So imagine his joy, his fucking glee, when the idiot humans had actually done as he demanded and brought you here to him, like a lamb to the slaughter. Oh, Dabi may be behind a barrier and have those magitech guns pointed at his head, just waiting for an excuse to open fire, but that doesn’t matter. Just as long as he can see you again, he was prepared to tolerate doing so with restrictions in place.

For now.

You stood there, gazing up at him with a dark scowl forming on your pretty little face at the pet name, just as he'd suspected you would. Yet it felt quite natural to him, wrapping around you in a veil of false intimacy he knew would make you squirm.

The very fact he wasn't supposed to have even laid eyes on someone like you made it all the more hilarious to Dabi that he'd been able to demand your presence here before him, all with the threat of sinking back into his unresponsive state if not properly indulged. Even behind this barrier and with all the little enchantments cast on the place, he held plenty of sway. Getting humans to dance to his tune was something he never tired of doing. Their false sense of superiority over him would be their undoing.

"Don't call me that." you snap at him in a bitchy tone, narrowing your eyes a fraction. He wonders if that’s supposed to be intimidating.

"Mm? You don't like that?" Dabi asks in a mock-apologetic tone, his smile nothing less than scornful as he tilts his head. "What should I call you? Angel? Baby? Honey? I'm all ears, princess."

You open your mouth to bite back at him and he wants to laugh - you're clearly not accustomed to being spoken to like that and it only makes him want to do it more. Such a spoiled little thing. Getting you all huffy and flustered, such a sharp contrast to your smart, academic clothing and attempts at maintaining a detached demeanour, is the best entertainment he's had in weeks. You’re so damn cute when you’re annoyed.

"We brought the girl as you asked, demon," interrupts Fuji, and Dabi feels a vein of irritation puncture his pleasure at teasing you. He's had enough of the Director's voice to last him a lifetime, which is unfortunate since the old fuck seems disinclined to shut his mouth any time soon - he does like to hear himself talk. "Now will you co-operate with us?"

"You really are interested in me, aren't you?" Dabi hums, tail swaying laconically behind him. "How flattering. Or...could it be you're hamstrung by your lack of options? Hmm? Seems like I'm the only demon you've got in here. How pitiful."

"That's awfully confident talk, considering you're the one currently being held captive." Director Fuji replies casually, and Dabi snorts softly but with derision. "And here I thought demons could sense one another - either this facility is better fortified than I had thought, or you're overestimating your powers."

"Perhaps." Dabi replies lazily, as if this is of no concern to him.

You bite your lip as you watch this exchange.

You had expected Dabi to fly into a rage at that. Weren't demons supposed to be famously volatile? Either he's unusually composed for his species, or the ancient depictions of demons have a rather more extreme point of view than previously thought. Then again, no doubt Dabi knows that excessively aggressive behaviour on his part will result in some pretty painful magical retaliation and doesn't care to risk it, or he just doesn't think the Director is worthy of his rage. And no doubt the humans who used to fight demons in the history books would certainly see them far more monstrous than the detached viewpoint of a scholar who has likely never even seen one.

Yet even with all these safety measures, you cannot help but feel uneasy with Director Fuji casually divulging this information to Dabi. Knowing that he has potential allies somewhere in the building may well encourage him to act out, maybe even mount an escape attempt. From what Father has said, of all the demon specimens the facility has managed to acquire, Dabi is the anomaly. Is it because he's the strongest of all of them, or merely the most human-like? For all you know, there could be a horde of the terrifying, red-skinned beings depicted in your textbooks chained up in the basement. The thought makes a shiver crawl down your spine.

Dabi’s eyes turn back to yours and you stiffen.

“Why did you want me here?” you say, deciding to cut him off before something else obnoxious spills from his mouth, which seems to be an occupational hazard when it comes to this guy. “What’s the point?”

Dabi shrugs elegantly, tail flicking.

“Why not? You weren’t supposed to be in here at all, were you? Yet in you marched like you had every right. It made me curious. Plus, it’s nice to see a decent pair of tits around here.”

You know he expects you to squawk and flounce out in a huff, so you stays rooted to the spot, still scowling at him. The urge to cover your chest is strong, but you manage to overpower it, aware of how still the room has gone. It’s like only you and Dabi exist, and the thought is both frightening and oddly exhilarating – among all these scientists and supposed brilliant minds, you’re the only one he cares to speak to. He answered Dr. Fuji’s questions, yes, but he barely even looked at him. You’re the one he directly spoke to. That gives you some modicum of power, even if you’re not sure how best to use it just yet. “You don’t frighten me, demon.” You make sure to tell him calmly.

Dabi quirks an eyebrow at that.

“Oh?”

The word is loaded with tension, a little hiss on the syllable that makes you shiver, but you know he can’t do anything to you in his cage. So, you tilt your head back and offer him a bland, beatific smile.

“Sure, you might have some strong demon magic. That’s par the course for demons as humanoid-looking as you. I know quite a bit about demonology, you see. Not like these scientists with their tests and machines, but in other ways. It’s an interesting subject, and one you interrupted me from by making me come here with some pathetic attempts to get under my skin.”

You give a shrug.

“But you’ve overplayed your hand. Now everyone here knows you can speak and understand everything they say. No more treating you with kid gloves, so I guess that means there’s a lot more tests coming your way now. But really, how powerful can you be?”

Your smile widens into a smirk as you go in for the kill. He wanted you to come here? Then that was exactly what he’d get – you weren’t some trembling coward who would stand there like a deer in headlights just because a big bad demon spoke to you. You were your mother’s daughter, after all.

“After all, you’re the one behind bars.”

There’s silence. A silence that blankets the lab like snow, and Dabi’s smile remains in place, but his eyes are cold and piercing as they stare at you. You feel tingles erupting through your body, like you’ve narrowly avoided being bitten by a wolf and are only inches away from its jaw still. One of the assistant researchers is outright staring at you, open-mouthed, like you’ve suddenly sprouted a tail, or your skin has turned blue or something else miraculous and inexplicable.

"Director, we'll be taking our leave now." Father says beside you, making you jump.

To be honest, you had completely forgotten he was there. Evidently, he isn’t comfortable with the way the demon behind bars is looking at you either, even if you think it’s a little late for that. Still, he’s glaring at his boss with an unusually fierce look of disapproval on his face.

"Our part in this is over."

"Hmm? Oh, yes, yes, fine." Director Fuji says, not even glancing at the pair of you, far too excited that he’s gotten the response he wanted from Dabi to care. "You may leave."

Relief washes over you and you risk a grateful glance at Father. Perhaps he feels bad that his forgetfulness caused this in the first place, and it's spurred him to go against the Director's whims for once, but he's right, you hardly need to be here now that Dabi is apparently feeling conversational and you're only too happy to get back out into the afternoon air.

The rush of relief doesn't last long, though, and you mourn its absence because, as you turn to go, a voice calls out to you, lashing around you like a lasso. Despite yourself, perhaps because you don't want it to look like Dabi frightens you - don't want to admit he does - you look back.

Those eyes. Whenever you look at Dabi you can see he's powerful, but you don't spend a lot of time thinking about the various forms power can take, the nuances of it. But when your gaze meets his, you feel like you've been pulled under by a whirlpool. Everything around you, the lab, the director, your father, all of it disappears and only he remains. Only he is what matters. That look burns everything else away, whispering promises to you that you don't want to hear.

So why are you listening?

"I'll be seeing you again soon, sweetheart." Dabi says in a low voice, like it's meant exclusively for you. "Real soon."

Anger unfurls inside you like a flower. Who does this…specimen think he is? He certainly can talk big, but the reality isn't looking so good for him - poked and prodded at by plenty of magically gifted humans and a container built specifically to hold creatures like him. The only reason he got his way today is because the Director couldn't help but indulge his scientific curiosity. But he’s an arrogant bastard to assume he'll be indulged a second time.

That thought in your mind, you sneer and flick your hair back.

"Don't count on it, demon."

Is it your imagination, or did a flicker of something cross his face when he took note of your refusal to call him by name? Maybe you only saw what you wanted to see, but either way it makes you feel a little better, to know something you said bothered him.

You stride out of the lab, knowing he's watching you, that he has no choice but to stand there and watch you disappear from his sight, without knowing if you'll return or not now that the scientists have finally gotten him to speak. He can hardly pretend not to understand them now.

~

Mother was right.

Anybody who is anybody seems to have shown up to the fundraiser tonight.

You smooth down the skirt of your dress, vaguely aware of your palms being a bit on the damp side. It’s not just the amount of people in the room, either - the entire room feels stiflingly humid and you’re glad somebody thought to open the doors to the balcony.

Ribbons of gold are hanging from the ceiling, attached to dozens of balloons. The tables are also draped in gold-coloured tablecloths and everywhere seems to have been polished to within an inch of its life. The dinner won’t start for a while yet and you didn’t eat anything before hand, worried about spilling it or your stomach sticking out unflatteringly. So, you remind yourself to take it easy on the champagne as you snatch up a flute of it from a passing waiter. Still, the drink does taste good as it goes down, bubbles fizzing on your tongue. You press your fingers to your lips with a little smile.

You hear your name being called and glance over to see a figure manoeuvring through the crowd towards you and your smile morphs into a grin.

“Momo!”

She looks ravishing, of course. She always does, in a silver gown that sparkles like a diamond. Her jewellery is simple and understated, but you can tell from a glance that it’s expensive. It’s odd to see her without her trademark ponytail, but it looks great on her. You hate yourself for it, but you can’t help but instantly compare yourself, your clothes, your hair, your style, to hers and wonder how you measure up. You suspect you may be lacking.

You do your best to push those thoughts away – you’re Momo’s friend and you shouldn’t view her looking amazing as some kind of failing on your end. Anyway, it wouldn’t do to get all maudlin right now, not when you have so many people to talk to and things to see.

“You look amazing!” you tell her, giving her a hug. “Is that dress new?”

“Oh…sort of,” Momo shrugs, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, beaming shyly at you. Ah, so she used her magic to make it, then. Usually, Momo buys her clothing like everyone else – she’s certainly rich enough to afford it. But every once in a while, she’ll use her magic to create an outfit and it looks like that’s the case tonight. It’s good to know Momo sees this event as important to, that you and Mother aren’t just making a big deal out of nothing. “You look great too, I’ve always liked that necklace on you.”

You touch it, pleased, but you can’t help give her a playful nudge.

“And of course, I bet your parents are looking forward to the auction, right? They could probably afford to buy every lot here, if they wanted to.”

“Don’t be silly!” Momo replies, but she’s giggling. “Though mother did hear about some sort of rare lamp that might have belonged to a djinn that she was fascinated about. And I’m sure there are other things that would be so useful for our magical studies, I hope there are some representatives of the academy here who can participate in the bidding!”

You hadn’t even thought of that – trust the genius Momo to be thinking about the potential of the academy getting their hands on some magical oddities.

“That’s a good point. I’m sure we’ll run into a professor or two,” you say, risking another sip of your champagne. “They party hard, these intellectual types.”

Momo laughs again, and you do too, the mental image of Professor Nedzu getting drunk a pretty hilarious one. You don’t even know if he can drink, but maybe tonight you’ll find out for sure-

“Look!” Momo suddenly whispers.

You hear gasps near the entrance to the building and turn around, eyes widening when you realise who has just walked in. Your mouth falls open.

“It’s him.”

The rumours were true. You don’t know how Mother pulled it off, but when some of the crowd parts, you spot the unmistakable red-and-white head of Prince Shouto Todoroki.

Thought it’s strange for the youngest child to be the heir to the throne, you can admit that there’s an aura to him, a certain stoic regalness to his features. It’s common knowledge that of King Enji’s children, only Prince Shouto is able to use both fire and ice magic, the perfect combination of elements, and it is this reason that he is considered the ‘true heir’. What Princess Fuyumi and Prince Natsuo’s opinions are on being passed over for their supposedly weak magical ability has never been discussed publicly, and the less said of Queen Rei (or ‘the Mad Queen’, as some circles call her in whispers), the better. You did hear a rumour once about someone else. A firstborn Prince who disappeared under mysterious circumstances, but you’ve never put much thought into it. How can a Prince just go missing? Wouldn’t people be looking for him if that were the case? It just seems too farfetched to be true.

“Should we go talk to him?” you blurt out without thinking, yet the idea of inconveniencing the prince in any way fills you with dread.

“Well…” Momo says, also glancing Prince Shouto’s way, and you know it’s not a trick of the light that her cheeks hold the faintest hint of a blush. “Perhaps later, when he isn’t busy? We wouldn’t want to be rude and interrupt him when he’s speaking with important people…”

Right. You wouldn’t want to be rude.

Still, excitement fizzes through you veins as reality hits you full force. You’d been viewing this evening as having a chat with a bunch of stuffy old academics older than your father, but now you’re beginning to understand why Mother had been so insistent on you dressing up and brushing up on conversational topics. Not that you’re out to catch yourself a husband or anything – you’re way too interested in your academic career and honing your magic for that – but that doesn’t mean you’re not interested in doing other things. Especially with people who look like Prince Shouto.

“Momo!” calls a voice, and you make a face. Ugh.

“Oh, it’s Iida and his family!” Momo says, glancing at you, knowing your distaste for your classmate very well. He’s just so pompous and annoying and he always makes lectures drag on far longer than they need to by asking unnecessary questions. “I’ll just go say hello, okay?”

You nod, knowing that a family as well-connected as Momo Yaoyozoru’s means she’s probably going to have to say hello to a lot of people tonight.

“No problem, I’ll catch up to you later.”

She nods at you, a grateful smile on her face, before she moves over to speak to what looks like Iida’s older brother, Tensei. You quickly slip away before the younger brother can spot you, which is easy enough with this many people here. You mill around the room, taking another sip from your champagne. You feel a bit like an actress playing a role, perhaps ‘girl at the party’. As you walk, you pass by a mirror and glance at it, making sure you haven’t smudged your make-up or something.

You have to admit, the dress you’re wearing looks good on you. You found it in the back of your wardrobe after seemingly throwing everything else you own onto your bed. But the searing shade of blue complements your skin tone well, and the style of the dress flatters your figure without being too revealing. You’ve seen a couple of people glance your way, and it feels nice when it’s in a place as wonderful as this. And it’s only for tonight, so there’s no pressure on you to look like this every evening.

Soon the auction for magical artefacts will start, though you’re not planning on buying anything – your parents might not be struggling to make ends meet, but you have student loans to think about. Plus, there’s no way you could afford any of them, especially not with the lords and ladies here when they want something.

As you move further into the hallway, you notice there seem to be stalls and tables, probably merchants flogging their wares. Curious, you move to inspect them. Strange objects lie on a bed of black velvet, some of it recognisable to you, others you’ve never even heard of. The intellectual in you is dying to know more. “Are you enjoying the party?”

You glance up at a voice.

A man, you’d guess he’s in his mid-thirties or so, is watching you from a stall right at the end of the hallway. It’s a bit bigger than the others and you suddenly realise he’s actually sitting in front of a tent of some sort.

“I am, yes,” you reply, moving a little closer to have a look at what he might be selling – just because you have no intention in participating in the auction doesn’t mean you won’t buy anything. “Are you?”

The man smiles and there’s something about him…it’s hard to explain, but you’re both curious and wary. Like every word you’re saying to him is being weighed and measured for every possible meaning, even ones you didn’t intend. Yet he doesn’t look like a merchant trying to sell his wares to rich patrons. There’s something else going on here, and you want to know more.

“I am,” you say, making your tone light and pleasant as you look over the items on the table in front of you. One of them is a crystal ball, and it seems to be the real deal, not one of those knockoffs you sometimes see. “What is it that you’re selling here?”

“I’m a fortune teller of sorts,” the man replies, still wearing that charming smile. “I tell people what may lie ahead. Though I should say for clarity purposes that it is not an exact science.”

“Oh, Tarot cards?” you say, delighted. “I’ve never had my cards read before. Are you still offering readings?”

It might seem a little bit of a strange thing to indulge in at a party, but until you can reunite with Momo, you’re on your own and the auction doesn’t start for a little while yet. Though you know you were invited here, it’s still a little intimidating to walk around among such giants in their respective fields. Especially in such an outfit as the one you’re wearing – usually you dress nicely but comfortably, since you spend most of your time either studying, attending lectures or occasionally going out with your friends. Nobody needs to wear high heels while they’re listening to the origin of magic, for example.

Anyway, you’ve always wanted to do this, why waste the opportunity?

“Certainly,” the fortune teller says, standing up and gesturing. “Please, come inside. I find atmosphere is rather important to properly do a reading and it’s far too noisy out here for appropriate mystique.”

You laugh slightly at that and follow him inside the tent. It’s much bigger inside than it is on the outside – you presume some sort of illusion spell is at work, or perhaps the tent itself is enchanted. It’s dark in here, candles sitting all around the perimeter of the tent. Normally you’d be wary of that being a fire hazard, but looking closer, the flames have an unnaturally white tint to them instead of the usual cheerful yellow, so you assume they’re enchanted to not burn in case of accidents. Anyway, you know enough magic to conjure water if there is one.

“Let’s do this at the table,” the fortune teller says, sitting down and gesturing to the chair opposite. “Would you care for some herbal tea?”

“Oh, no thank you,” you say, relieved to have a good excuse to refuse, holding up your champagne flute. “I don’t think herbal tea and champagne mix.”

He chuckles, bowing his head in acknowledgement.

“I suppose not.”

You sit down opposite the fortune teller, breathing in the fug of incense, a pleasant, slightly spicy smell lingering in the air. The table is covered with a purple cloth, and you notice there are various posters and tapestries covering the walls of the tent, though the lighting isn’t bright enough to make them out well.

You slide over some coins, uncertain of the amount, but your guess is either accurate or the fortune teller judges it fair, because he accepts them with a small smile and a nod but doesn’t comment any further. Instead, he reaches for a black pouch sitting on the table and begins to shuffle the cards in elegant hands, and you notice he’s wearing a ring, a dark pink gemstone winking at you in the candlelight as his hand moves.

He’s right about atmosphere, there’s an ambience here that would have been lost if you had sat down for the reading outside in the loud, crowded, white and gold decorated hallway. In here, in the dark, a secretive hush falls over you and the fortune teller that makes you wriggle in anticipation in your seat. This is the kind of place that goes beyond magical, like something truly mystical could happen here, even if you’re aware that this is just a bit of fun, nothing more. But you don’t want to offend him by not taking it seriously.

He smiles, and spreads the cards across the table, face down. The pattern on the back is pretty, black and silver and faintly gleaming in the dim. The flames atop the candles around the tent flicker, as if they want to lean in to listen to what’s about to unfold. The fortune teller looks at you and his eyes hold yours.

“Shall we begin?”

#Dabi #My Hero Academia #Reader Insert #Dabi x Reader #Touya Todoroki #Boku No Hero Academia #BHNA x Reader #Demon AU #Supernatural AU #Writings #Fanfiction

[lovelyirony]

 cosmetology anon: this is for you, although I tweaked the idea a bit. i hope you don’t mind! 

Acquiring Tony Stark as an Asset had been purely by chance; after all, he wasn’t planned on being in the car. He was still an insolent teenager, angry with the world and angry with his father. They didn’t think he would’ve gone to a business party. 

But his mother...well. They hadn’t thought that Tony Stark was a mama’s boy. 

Because there Tony is, gasping for air while glass glitters all around him, looking near about like an angel that was torn from heaven with how it surrounded him. 

They had thought he was dead.  

At least, up until the point when he had looked Winter Soldier dead in the eye, said “hey you fucking asshole” and got a pretty damn good shot in the thigh. 

Someone on the brink of death might have tried the gun, but never the insult. 

So Hydra gets a brand new toy. 

Not easily broken, which is a pain-and-a-half to deal with. At least with the Winter Soldier, he was too delirious with blood loss to notice who was operating on him, what they were attaching. 

Tony Stark is on a whole other level. 

He bites, he kicks, he scratches. Quite annoying, they just want him to tire himself out. 

“Stark Industries doesn’t negotiate,” he hisses, trying to kick one of the nurses in the teeth. 

“Who said anything about negotiating?” says the head doctor viciously. His teeth glint in the fluorescent lighting, scalpels reflecting brilliantly onto the walls. “As far as the media knows, you’re dead. No one is going to come looking, and no one even knows who we are.” 

They make him sleep on a cot nearby Winter Soldier. Which is terrifying, to say the least. Not that he can kill him. He can’t touch him either. 

He’s in a deep freezer. Eyes closed, thank god. But they put him there and they tell him all about how he came to be there. 

“Everyone thought Barnes hit a rock and died,” one of the techs says, checking the machine. “He nearly did, but Zola helped us fix him up. Course, that was after a couple of times where he got to someone’s neck, and that was even before programming.” 

“Programming?” 

The tech leers at him, grinning. He’s standing, Tony’s sitting. It shouldn’t be as intimidating as it is. 

“Oh yeah, Stark. They’re gonna fix you all up.” 

“I don’t need fixing.” 

“Tell that to Winter Soldier.” 

“And what if your little machine gets rid of me, hm? Kills me?” 

“We add you to the other disappointments, or we dig a shallow grave and hope you’re found decades later.” 

Not exactly promising. 

But here’s the thing: the tech was wrong. They won’t add him to the pile of disappointments. 

The last time he went to a therapy appointment, his therapist said he had a “deep-seated need to be liked and be useful, which could be dangerous later.” 

He’s assuming that Doc Chesterfield wasn’t exactly expecting Tony to be in the running towards becoming America’s Next Top Murder Machine, but Doc wasn’t really the kind of guy who was “in the know” about a lot of things. 

That need to be liked and useful was about to come in handy.  

Barely able to legally drink, he goes to the main doctor in charge. “You need me.” 

The doctor looks at him incredulously. 

“You think we need a kid to do all this shit? You think we haven’t figured it out?” 

“You can’t have Barnes-” 

“Winter Soldier, boy.” 

“Fine, your little toy soldier. You can’t keep him out longer than necessary, otherwise his brain realizes that all of you are shitty and tries to break out. Again. You need someone else to take a look at it, and I’m the best bet you got.” 

“And why would that be?” 

Tony grins, and they see a shadow of what he has had in his life, exactly just who he used to be. Who he still is, at the moment. 

“Whether you want to admit it or not--I’d say go ahead and admit it, I’m fun like that--I’m the smartest one in the room, maybe in the country. Maybe in two countries. I could swing the UK, it’s not like they’ve had anything interesting for the last hundred or so years--” 

“Get to the point,” the handler hisses. 

“I can help with arm maintenance. I’m not gonna do anything else to this poor guy, but I wanna stay alive and I’m not letting you erase my fucking mind because you want to have another toy soldier to march to your drum.” 

“You almost make a compelling case,” the handler says. “We do need a mechanic on the arm, so to speak. But if he only comes out when we need him...well. Maintenance is manageable.” 

Tony pushes his chin out. 

“I can do better than your best.” 

“Unfortunately, I don’t care. You’re too big of a liability.” 

It is at this moment that Tony realizes he cannot talk his way out, or fight his way out, but damn he gets a scalpel and tries. 

Manages to slice across the face of the handler. Nerve damage, tissue damage, quite potentially a very ugly nose. All very nice. 

That gets him moved up by a month. 

They send him to a chair that’s probably a lot worse than he’s imagining, give him a mouth guard, and tell him to scream all he likes. Sometimes it’s better to not have a voice later. 

They say it like they’re quoting one of those shitty articles from Cosmopolitan that discusses the top forty-five best ways to move in the bedroom or something. He and Rhodey use to read it all the time whenever they visited one of the sororities. 

(He misses Rhodey, more than words can say. The tears burn in his throat as the chair powers up, but he doesn’t dare cry. He hasn’t told them about Rhodey, and he doesn’t want him used against him. 

He doesn’t want to be used against Rhodey.) 

- 

Tony Stark becomes the Mechanic. He stares too long, moves a bit slow at times, and doesn’t like people touching his things. 

Hydra thinks it’s a success. 

-

Tony thinks they should’ve done more than three sessions of go-round for their little buzzy-chair. 

-

Just god, have none of them had to act before? Is that what this is? 

So long as he doesn’t show any aspect of any real personality, they think he’s a walking-talking robot. 

Should’ve just called him Chatty Cathy and attached a pull-string to his back with loadable phrases if they were just gonna call him the Mechanic and think his silence and weird staring habits were fine. 

Winter Soldier needs maintenance. 

Tony tries very carefully to keep his persona up. He thinks he’s doing a good job until the nurse leaves the room for her smoke-break and Winter Soldier gives him a look that’s so...different. 

"They think you’re like me.” 

“I am.” 

“No.” 

“And how can you tell?” 

“You’re not hurting my arm.” 

“Well I can, if you wanna be a masochist about it.” 

He blankly stares. 

“Why didn’t it work?” 

“Not enough rounds.” 

“We need to stop talking or they’ll watch the cameras.” 

“Got it.” 

Tony is not facing the cameras. They have no suspicion now, and if they can’t see him move his lips, then there’s no worry. 

He faces Winter Soldier. 

“You wanna get out of here? Tap once on your left, right on my thigh for yes. Twice for no.” 

Tap. 

There it is. 

“Well, it’ll take time. You okay with that?” 

Tap tap. 

“I can’t make wishes come true,” Tony says sarcastically. Soldier hides a smile. “But. I have someone who might be looking for me. Or he’ll know it’s me.” 

“A friend?” 

“Something better. Family.” 

It takes a little while. Despite Hydra’s incompetence at programming Tony out of his own system, they’re good at watching. They’re good at sniffing out undercover plans, so they set nurses to watch him and give him the worst food in his life. 

And he can’t say anything about it. 

They’re probably rations leftover from World War II, and here he is, pretending like it doesn’t bother him. 

The first mission they’re out on, Tony wants so badly to break free. It looks too easy, probably because it is. 

“The first time I escaped, they dragged me back and nearly gave me a matching leg to go with the arm,” Soldier murmurs in Russian. 

(Tony’s had to take Russian classes. God, he’s lucky he has an eidetic memory otherwise he’d be up a paddle with a slotted spoon.) 

“What, didn’t want to put more value on yourself?” 

“Something like that,” Soldier says grimly. “Pay attention. They’re gonna put you in a cafe, have you run surveillance. You report back to me. Call me Winter.” 

“Call me Mechanic.” 

“That’s the name they chose?” 

“Didn’t count my vote.” 

Winter snorts. 

“Time to get a move on.” 

Tony has never been good at hiding his emotions, but by god he’s learning on the fly. At least Winter has a mask, and they’re...well, they’re working on one for him. 

It’s not exactly priority, because everyone in the world thinks he’s dead. 

- 

Well. Shouldn’t say everyone. There is one guy who has decided that Tony didn’t die. 

James Rhodes is a very smart guy, graduated top of his class at MIT and has full honors. 

He also knows that Tony has fallen off of beds, out of chairs, down one flight of stairs, and tripped on just about everything. 

And he’s lived. He has defied near-death experiences before, and he’s been fine. 

Maybe Rhodey is crazy. He most likely is. 

But he doesn’t mind being crazy if no one can actually confirm that Tony died. The funeral was closed for the family, not even Rhodey could go. 

“Sorry kiddo,” Obie had said, not sorry at all. He’s never liked the kid, thought him too blunt about situations that he didn’t need to be blunt about. 

So Rhodey thinks that this is a conspiracy, only he doesn’t want his best friend to end up on a YouTube video five years later talking about the “tragic disappearance” and how “no one could figure it out.” 

He’s James fucking Rhodes. Sometimes goes by Rhodey. And he’s got this. 

- 

Winter Soldier does not “got this.” He is currently being thrown against a wall, and grunting as he looks at the target. 

Tony is currently trying very hard not to have a full-blown emotional show-off, because he is supposed to be fixing up some of the weapons and sending them out. 

It is rather stress-inducing, once you start thinking about it. 

He tries not to. 

God, he’s not even getting pizza after that. He’s probably going to get some bullshit like a vanilla nutritional protein shake. 

Out everything he’s been put through, and that’s the thing that makes him retch.

 - 

Barnes is looking...rough. He got shoved a lot, the mission didn’t exactly go to plan, which turns out to be quite the large problem. 

Because Tony took over. They found out that he can actually assemble weaponry and aim with nearly-one-hundred-percent accuracy. 

They think it’s because they fried his brain and injected some sort of back-alley-serum. 

It’s not. 

He’s not even sure if their serum worked, if he’s being completely honest.

But this? Oh god. 

The doctors look at him with an almost giddy joy. 

“We’ll have Soldier train you.” 

"He is not going back into the cryogenic chambers?” 

“No, not...not until you prove yourself.” 

“I have proven myself accurate with mechanical fixes.” 

“Always best to diversify your skills.” 

“Expand.” 

(Tony’s been messing with them a lot. They’re not positive he knows advanced vocabulary. He does, he just hates them.) 

Barnes is...not exactly excited that he’s not becoming an ice-pop. 

“I’m...training you?” 

“Yeah, looks like it. You wanna teach me how to choke someone with my thighs?” 

“Only when they send the Widows.” 

“Who are they?” 

“Best damned assassins you’ll ever have the displeasure of experiencing.” 

“Aw, you’re learning how to curse!” 

“Shut up, they’re onto us.” 

- 

Winter Soldier and the Mechanic have a...cordial relationship. At least, out of the ring. 

In the ring, they don’t rather like the other that much. Mechanic much prefers to avoid Soldier at all times. 

“You can’t just run from every opponent,” Winter hisses. 

“You’ve been doing it since 1948,” Tony responds in a robotic tone, nearly missing a kick to the shins. “I don’t see why not.” 

He smiles at that one, looking at Tony. 

He was...Tony was unique. He would whisper stories in the dead of night, mostly about a man named Jarvis and a boy his age named “Rhodey.” 

“His parents...they didn’t actually name him that, did they?” 

Tony has to bury his face in his pillow to hide his face from laughing. 

Winter got a good look at that smile. 

It’s chillingly nice to look at it, and maybe that’s because he hasn’t smiled in years, or maybe it’s because he’s never seen another person smile with joy in it for decades. 

- 

For a couple more months, nothing on their side happens. 

Rhodey, however, learns how to use Tony’s homemade AI for illegal purposes! 

He’s figured out lots of things. 

Tony was never confirmed dead. Technically, he’s a missing person. 

Which means they don’t know if he’s dead because they never found him. 

Secondly, there’s a strange email to someone who goes by Zola. 

Well, Rhodey and Tony didn’t stay up until three a.m. to solve impossible codes for nothing. 

James Rhodes figures out that the Winter Soldier isn’t some whispered about myth, and so he decides to try and find him. 

He’ll need to ask Mama if he can use the sedan, but it should be fine. After all, he has a friend to find. 

- 

Hydra is getting too used to having them out. Tony’s been coaching Barnes on not letting his reactions be at the front and center. 

He’s remembering a lot more. Starting to become a bit more human-like. 

He actually doesn’t like the food now, which is a tasteful improvement. 

“When we get out,” Tony whispers in night. “I’m going to make sure that you get the best goddamned pizza the earth has ever seen. And we’ll celebrate your birthday.” 

“When is my birthday?” 

“I...huh. I don’t know. That’s not the fact I remember from school.” 

“So you remembered that my favorite movie star was Hedy Lamarr, but not my own birthday?” 

“In my defense, Ms. Lamarr is far more memorable than a simple date on the calendar.” 

Barnes smiles. 

“I can’t wait to see a picture of her.” 

“You will, soon.” 

- 

Rhodey is getting close. 

The only barrier is convincing his mama to use the sedan. 

“What for?” 

“A trip.” 

“To?” 

“Washington DC?” 

“Why are you questioning that, young man?” 

“Um, because of gas money? Maybe?” 

Mrs. Rhodes stands up to her full height of five-foot-two and stares. 

“What’s the real reason? I didn’t raise a son who could lie to his mother successfully.” 

Rhodey sighs. 

“Tony’s alive. I think. I’m, like, ninety-five-percent sure.” 

Her face softens. 

“Oh baby, you’ve talked about this with your therapist, and-” 

Rhodey glares. 

“It’s not about the therapist’s opinion, mom. I broke into some records. There was a closed-casket funeral, and technically? They didn’t have a body for Tones. I know he’s out there, and I think I got a lead with the help of Jarvis.” 

“I thought Jarvis was dead.” 

“Not Edwin, Mama. Tony’s creation, an AI named Jarvis.” 

Mama looks at him carefully. 

“You sure this is what is going to make you happy?” 

“I don’t care about being happy, I want to see if I can bring him home, Mama.” 

She dangles the keys. 

“If you scratch this car up, I will not hesitate to tell every single aunt at church about this and have common sense walloped into you.” 

“I promise I won’t,” Rhodey says. “I know what I’m doing.” 

“I’ll pack you a bag. And you need your church clothes.” 

“Ma...” 

“Don’t Ma me, I’m your mother, I know what’s best,” Mrs. Rhodes says, sweeping into the kitchen. “Don’t tell your daddy what you told me, you’ll give him a heart attack.” 

“I thought I was gonna give you a heart attack,” Rhodey says. 

She turns, eyes twinkling. 

“You got a lot of learning to do, young man. But go on to DC for me.” 

First stop: gas station. 

Next stop: saving Tony. 

- 

If Tony had known that his friend was so dedicated to saving him that he would drive his mama’s sedan five miles above the speed limit, perhaps he would have stayed put and played nice. 

But Tony did not know this, so he was currently working on fixing Barnes’ arm to shoot projectile missiles that looked like screws to the security cameras. 

“You think they’re counting each screw when none of them even know what your arm can actually do? Not like Zola is physically around anymore,” Tony mutters, holding a screwdriver in his mouth. 

“What’s your plan for escape?” 

“Element of surprise, my dear Watson.” 

“Don’t like that,” Barnes mutters. “What’s your plan once we’re out?” 

“New York City.” 

“That’s it?” 

“You underestimate exactly how much you can hide,” Tony says. “Believe me. We’ll live in an apartment in Queens.” 

- 

Rhodey is about ten minutes away. 

Tony and Bucky have eventually decided to break out, and are having a lovely time shooting a base and putting people through the walls. Really, they shouldn’t have made it out of drywall. Too easy. 

“What fucking vehicle are we taking?!” Barnes yells. 

“I...I will work on it!” 

“You didn’t think about that?!” 

“I was thinking about escaping from a shitty Hydra base!” 

- 

Here comes the sedan! 

- 

Rhodey thought there was only one person, so now the ex-assassin is sitting on his little sister’s school folder, and getting pink glittery on his military pants. 

This was not the plan. 

He is also still only going five over the speed limit, because this is Mama’s sedan. 

He forgot about the little sticker at the back that says “My Son is on the Honor Roll at MIT!” 

“Rhodey love of my life, please go faster than forty miles an hour,” Tony hisses. 

“I can’t believe you’re alive, let me do one thing at a time,” Rhodey stresses. “I bought you hot fries, they’re on the floor in the green bag.” 

“You thought of road trip snacks?” Bucky asks. 

“Yes! And who are you?” 

“Bucky Barnes.” 

Rhodey whips his head around. 

“You lived?” 

“I’ve been told. Eyes on the road and turn left.” 

One tire barely is on the road as he whips the wheel, slamming onto the curb. 

“We are not allowed to fuck my mama’s car up!” Rhodey yells. “Tony, Bucky...do whatever you have to.” 

“How amenable are you to me paying for a new back window?” Bucky asks, left arm already raising. 

“What do you mean-?” 

And...there goes a projectile! 

- 

After twenty minutes of driving around, ten of that being avoiding police blockades, they finally are out on the highway, no one in sight. 

Tony finally breathes. 

“Put on your seatbelt,” Rhodey murmurs. “To New York?” 

“To New York.” 

- 

By all accounts, the table of three men who look slightly rattled and in danger is not actually the worst table that waitress has ever had. 

In fact, the only odd thing that she’s going to say about it is that the young man on the left is wearing a polo shirt, and it is not Sunday, so no church services. A personal outfit choice. 

The man in the middle seems to know this. 

“Rhodey, seriously?” 

“What? It’s laundry day!” 

“I know you had other shirts. I know you did.” 

“Just because you hate polo shirts doesn’t mean you get to hate on me, especially after the shit I just pulled.” 

“He has a point,” says the man on the right. 

“You have no opinion on this. I just met you.” 

“Are you guys ready to order?” She asks nervously, tapping at her notepad with a chewed-up pen. 

They all stare blankly at the menu, and then back at her. She taps her pen one more time. 

“I’ll...um...give you some more time.” She shakes her head. She’s not gonna ask, she doesn’t get paid enough. 

-

Rhodey looks at the two of them. He knows that things...well. 

Tony probably isn’t going to be playing Jeopardy! with this experience. 

Hell, he probably won’t want to see a therapist about this, and Rhodey will have to play Jeopardy! or some obscure dating show simulation with Tony to even help. 

And then there’s the matter of a man who’s supposed to be dead. 

That and...Rhodey decided to finish up college with a master’s degree. 

No one ever said life was easy. 

But. 

It might be fun. 

#also sorry i included the chatty cathy line it's because of commercials that i watch #yeah my dad has these CD's of old commercials and it includes the sixties ads for mattel dolls #very cool also very annoying #let me know what you guys think! #rhodeytonybucky #anyways i think it's fun #rhodey had to borrow his mama's sedan AND get gas for it on the way back btw #bucky barnes #tony stark #james rhodey rhodes #james rhodes #war machine #iron man #winter soldier #hydra #blood tw #injury tw #yeah rhodey's stressed and also right all the time #tony is. well. he's himself. #i'll put this on ao3 later

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone -Chapter 26

Title: Preparations

Warning:  it’s filler.  I figured we needed some cute daddy Tyler. lol

Tagging:  @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @alievans007​, @miss-smutty​, @tragiclyhip​

“When you met mumma, you guys were working together, right?”

Addie poses the question as she sits atop the kitchen island; legs swinging back and forth as they dangle over the edge, the heels of silver and gold glitter infused jelly sandals lightly thumping against the wood. She insisted on bringing one of her favourite pairs of shoes from home; arguing that she didn’t care that they were ‘out of season’ and that she would wear what she wants, when she wants, and no one could tell her otherwise. In the end they’d gone perfectly with the new ‘Christmas’ dress she’d picked out Bloomingdales; a vibrant yellow concoction with capped sleeves embellished with strips of lace, a sash around the waist that ties in an enormous bow at the back, and an elaborate tulle skirt several layers thick that shimmers in the light. Forgoing all the burgundy, emerald green, and red dresses that had lined the regular priced racks in favour of an outfit from the leftover and highly discounted summer section. It was a hill Esme hadn't been willing to die on; preferring that Addie showcase both her independence in choosing her own outfit, and being proud of her personal style and preferences. And it suits her; as bright and adorable as her personality with just enough ‘no fucks given’ sprinkled on for good measure.

While tiny and seemingly fragile, she can be extremely assertive and adverse to any form of compromise; tenacious to a fault and digging her heels in and sticking to her guns when she feels she’s one hundred right about her stance. Even if there’s mountains of proof to show that she is, in fact, completely wrong. Someone so stubborn and feisty lingering inside that cute, wee package; able to hold her own while out playing with her older siblings and not afraid to get a bloody nose or a fat lip or a black eye. And not deterred in the slightest when she DOES get injured; right back to what she was doing only hours after getting stitches or a cast removed. Not shying away from climbing trees or splashing in mud puddles or helping muck out the goats stalls while wearing clunky rubber boots paired with a Disney princess dress. Very much like her older sister had been at that age; enjoying being physical and active and playing sports and rough housing one minute, then showcasing her more ‘girly side’ the next. Loving trips to the salon with mummy for manis and pedis; enjoying picking her own shade of polish and then getting to sip orange juice from a champagne glass while getting a facial and her hair trimmed. Collecting dolls along with various rocks and shells and beach glass. Superhero figures taking up residence on her bedroom shelves right alongside stuffies of her favourite animals -koalas, sloths, and kangaroos currently at the top of the list- and snow globes from different parts of the world. Her closet filled with not only frilly dresses and sparkly leggings and colourful sweaters emblazoned with unicorns and french bulldogs and flamingos, but old hand me downs from her brothers; ripped and faded jeans and tattered t-shirts and board shorts.

“Right,” Tyler confirms, as he tends to running a brush through her waist length hair; damp from misting it down with a spray bottle in order to easier part it into sections.

It’s a far cry from his old life; his beaten and busted up hands with their multitude of scars and calluses once used to being soaked in blood and caked with dirt. Large and weathered with misshapen knuckles, they’d long ago gotten accustomed to hard, manual labour and the brutality that he’d had to inflict on others; fists that pummelled bodies and faces and fingers that pulled triggers and wrapped around throats and choked the life out of combatants. And while they still get caked in mud from working around the house and they’re still entrusted to load magazines and are capable of taking a gun apart in thirteen seconds flat, they’ve morphed into other uses. Beginning with diapering babies and tending to the impossibly tiny snaps on jumpers, buttons on little sweaters, and zippers on sleepers. Moving on to tying kid sized shoe laces and cleaning and patching up skinned knees and elbows. Advancing to far more difficult hair styling techniques than the simple ponytails he’d began affixing on Millie when she was a toddler; various styles of braids adorned with ribbons, and snapping barrettes and clamping clips into place.

Being a girl dad is unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. The six short years -despite the little time he’d actually been home- he’d spent with Austin had prepared him for raising boys. His son, when healthy, had been extremely active and fearless and full of curiosity and energy; getting as messy and as dirty as possible and loving every second of it. Obsessed with superheroes and sports and always clad in clothing that displayed his favourites; football jerseys and baseball caps and sweats emblazoned with Superman or Batman logos. He had been terrified twelve years ago when the news had come in that Millie was in fact going to be a girl; not only envisioning frilly dresses and a closet full of pink and those ridiculous headbands parents insist on putting on their infants, but thinking back to his own treatment of women. The days when he’d used them for nothing more than sex; random strangers picked up in bars or that he’d meet on the street in whatever city a job sent him to. A failed marriage; putting more of a priority on the military than he did on treating his wife properly. And all he could think about was how having a daughter was somehow a punishment for the bad shit he’d done. A little girl that he’d have to protect from guys like him.

It was hard to get used to; big fingers having to master putting in tiny earrings and tending to impossibly small zippers and buttons , getting comfortable with the amount of pink and purple in their rooms and closets. Eventually graduating into attending tea parties and playing with Barbies and helping make crafts; getting used to paint on his palms and between his fingers and glitter stuck under his nails and in his hair and beard. Determined to be a hands-on father even if its activities are way outside of his comfort zone; gymnastic meets and dance recitals as opposed to lacrosse matches and football games. Being a girl dad isn’t for the weak; having to worry about your little girls’ hearts being broken and if the guys they pick will treat them right and if they themselves will make smart and responsible choices as teenagers. And the hormones; the up and down emotions and the drastic switch from bitchy to overly sensitive. Having a wife go through it once a month is enough. never mind the thought of three other girls. The worry of how he’ll handle not only the emergence of puberty, but if all four female ‘clocks’ decide to sync up. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle THAT; all the women in his life going through the cramps and the moodiness and the demands to be coddled and babied one minute and left the fuck alone the next.

“Does that mean mummy beat up and killed bad guys too?”

“No. She never did any of that stuff. That was my job, not hers.”

“What did she do?”

“She tracked down the bad guys. And where they were doing mean things to good people. Then she told me...or guys like me...where they were so we could go and take care of things.”

“So you could go and kill them?”

“You don’t always have to kill people. Sometimes it’s enough to just rough them up a bit.”

“And other times they fight back and try to hurt you and you have to hurt them first?”

“Pretty much.”

“Have you killed a lot of people?”

“Not that many," he lies. It's actually a staggering amount; the death toll -from his hand alone- in Dhaka putting the count well over three hundred.

“How many is ‘not that many'?’”

“I don’t know, Peanut. I’ve never kept track.”

“But you’ve helped more people than you’ve hurt. That’s what mummy said when I asked if it was true. If Tyler was lying when he told me you kill people for a living.”

“That’s a while ago. That you asked mummy that.”

“I was three. That’s a whole two years ago. But sometimes I think about it. Especially when you go away. I think about you having to kill people.”

“And what do you think WHEN you think about that? About what I sometimes have to do?”

“I dunno know,” Addie shrugs, and then lifts the spray bottle clutched in both hands and holds it towards her face; giggling when she pulls the trigger and catches some of the mist in her mouth.

“Does it bother you? When you think about it? That I’ve killed people? That sometimes I still have to?”

“Why would it bother me?”

“Kind of a hard thing to hear, don’t you think? That daddy has to do stuff like that?”

“It’s your job. It’s what you do. You have to hurt people to save other people. And sometimes, if they try and hurt you first, you have to kill them. Because if you didn’t, they might kill you and then you never come home and we never get to see you again. It’s not THAT hard to hear. I’d rather you kill someone and come home than never see you again.”

“You know,” he plucks the spray bottle from her hands and dampens a section of hair. “You’re pretty smart for only five.”

“Smart like mummy.”

He leans in to press a kiss to her cheek. “Cute like her too.”

“Are you going to get in trouble? For killing people?”

“Who would I get in trouble with?”

“God. Isn’t that one of the things we’re not supposed to do? Kill people?”

“How do you know about that? We don’t talk about that stuff at home.”

“I hear things. At school. Some of the older kids talking. Are you? Going to get in trouble? For killing people?”

“Probably,” he admits. “I’m sure I’ll face some kind of judgement for it. When my time comes.”

“But wouldn’t it be okay ‘cause you only kill bad people? That were hurting good people? Wouldn’t that be allowed? And if you had to kill someone so you could come home to us, wouldn’t that be okay too?”

“I don’t know,” he snags a yellow cloth ribbon off the island and begins braiding a section of hair around it. “I’ve never thought that far ahead about things.”

“It would suck if you got in trouble for helping people. That wouldn’t be fair at all. If you got sent to hell for doing stuff like that. I mean, you were doing something GOOD. You weren’t doing something bad. You HAD to kill evil people to help good people. And to make sure you come home to mummy and us kids. I can’t see you getting in trouble for something like THAT.”

“Doesn’t make much sense to me either. But not a lot does anymore.”

“I’ll be really mad if you get in trouble and sent somewhere different than me. I don’t want us to be in two separate places. I want us to be together. All of us. You and mummy and all us kids. I don’t want us to all be separated. Well, maybe Millie could be. Because she’s mean to me. All the time.”

“Millie is going through some stuff. She’s going to be a teenager soon. A lot of drama leading up to THAT.”

“She says I’m annoying. That she used to really like me when I was a baby and couldn’t do anything. But now I can do lots of stuff and I can talk and she says that pisses her off. That I’m a bratty little sister.”

“You are NOT bratty.”

“Right? That’s what I said. She’s bratty if anything. Am I annoying, daddy? Don’t lie. You can tell me the truth.”

“You are not annoying. If anyone is annoying, it’s Millie.”

“I said THAT too! But she’s mean. She even threatened to cut my hair off. Shave it. Because I couldn’t find my brush and I borrowed hers and she didn’t like that. So you know what I did? While you were gone?”

“What did you do?”

“I took the tops off two Oreo cookies and I ate the middle and then I put in mayonnaise and I put the tops back on and gave them to Millie. I told her I was being a good little sister and bringing her a snack. And she put a whole one in her mouth! She almost puked!”

He can’t help but chuckle. “You actually did that?”

“Yup. It was awesome. I laughed so hard, I almost peed! But then she started chasing me around the house threatening to kill me. Mummy was screaming at her to lighten up, that it was just a joke. And then she told mummy to shut up and Tyler got mad. REALLY mad. He tackled Millie and grabbed her by the hair and pushed her face into the carpet. Then he put her in a figure four leg lock and made her cry.”

“Millie told your mom to shut up?”

“Oooops…” Addie tilts her head back to look at him, a sheepish smile curving her lips. “....I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part.”

“Who told you not to tell me? Millie?”

The five year old shakes her head.

“TJ?”

Another shake, followed by a tiny “No.”

“Addie…”

“It was mummy! She said not to tell you because you’d get pissed off and you didn’t need to. Because she took care of it right when it happened. Well, Tyler did. He was really, really, REALLY mad. She learned her lesson. I’m sure of it. He made her cry. Lots.”

“Did that happen a lot? Millie getting mouthy with your mom?”

“Not really.”

He stares pointedly down at her.

“A few times,” she reluctantly admits. “She said some things that were really mean. To mummy. And she said the F word once, too. Mixed with the B word.”

“She said that ? To your mom?”

Addie chews nervously on her bottom lip. “Yeah, she called her an f-ing B word.”

“What did mummy do?”

“She didn’t get a chance to do anything. Desi freaked out. And he’s really big and he can be really scary when he wants. Like you. Desi told her that she should never, ever talk to her mum like that. And that you’d be really mad if you found out. And that she’d rather deal with him than you. Which is true. Desi might be bigger than you, but you’re definitely tougher. I mean, he doesn’t kill people for a living. You do.”

“Things were pretty bad, huh? While I was gone.”

“A little. Millie went off the reservation. Big time. She’s lucky she’s even breathing. ‘Cause Tyler was ready to kill her. And I don’t blame him. You’re mad, aren’t you. Are you mad, daddy?”

“A bit.”

“You know how I can tell? That you’re mad? Your neck moves. Right here,” she reaches up to press to fingertips against the side of his throat. “Where the bad guy shot you a long time ago.”

“How did you know about that?”

“Mummy told me. I asked her how you got that scar. She said that a long time ago, her and Ovi were in trouble and you had to get them out of a really bad place. And then you made sure they were safe and sound, but a bad guy shot you. In the neck. And that’s why you have the scar there.”

“Did that scare you? Hearing that?”

“A little, I guess. I mean, you could have died, right?”

“I could have, yeah.”

“And then you and mummy never would have gotten married. And had kids. Millie would be the only one to exist. None of us would. So yeah, that part scared me a bit; that the bad guy could have killed and none of us ever would have been born. Did you kill him?”

“Eventually.”

“Mummy said she stayed with you. After it happened. And that she went back to Australia with you and that’s how she ended up there. It’s where you guys got married. And had Millie and me and Kota and Brookie. That we were the ones born there. So we’re REAL Australians, like you. Everyone else is American.”

“Everyone else WAS American. You’re all Australian now.”

“How does that work?”

“A lot of papers you have to fill out. To become a citizen. But you all are. Mummy and I made sure of it.”

“Is mummy an Australian too?”

“By marriage, yeah.”

“It’s a good thing she married you. You’re a lucky guy, daddy. That someone like mummy fell in love with you.”

“I am,” he confirms. “Very lucky. She’s a pretty good mummy, huh?”

“She’s the best mummy EVER. If we could pick our mummies, I’d pick her. Because she’s nice and she gives good cuddles and kisses and she tells the best silly jokes. And she’s super smart and really cute too. And little! Like me!”

“That’s where you get from. Being so cute and wee. You’re just like your mumma.”

Her eyes sparkle as she smiles broadly up at him; the corners and the bridge of her nose crinkle. “And that’s a good thing, yeah?”

“A very good thing,” Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he brushes the tip of his nose against hers; smiling at the way she throws her head back and giggles.

He’s seen her mother do that exact movement and expression a number of times; excitement while on the rides at Disney World with the kids, when she’s had one too many glasses of wine and even his terrible ‘dad jokes’ are suddenly hilarious, when they’ve been on one of their ‘mommy and daddy’ vacations and she’s gotten up the guts to try something new and exciting; emboldened by his encouragement and forever feeling safe and secure as long as he’s by her side. So much of Esme in the tiny little girl in front of him; tenacious and ferociously intelligent and loving deeply and fearlessly. Knowing the darkness and the horrors that exist in the world but not allowing herself to be tarnished by it; always finding ways to smile and laugh and find the beauty in every day.

“What do you think mummy would have done if she didn’t do the job she did?” Addie inquires, when she finally drops her head back down and he’s able to return to tending her hair.

“I don’t know. Teach? Be a nurse? Maybe a doctor?”

“How would you have met her? If she didn’t do her old job?”

“Maybe I would have met her on the beach. In Australia. Maybe she would have come there on a vacation.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you would have gone to where she used to live. In Chicago.”

“She used to live in Colorado. That’s where she was born and where she grew up. Chicago is a totally different place.”

“She used to live by the mountains. When I was in her tummy, you guys lived on a hobby farm. And you had goats and chickens. Mummy says we still own that house.”

“Yup, we do. We rent it out.”

“Can we go there one day? I’d like to see it. I’d like to see where you guys were living when I was in mummy’s belly. Is that where I was made?”

“We’re pretty sure that’s where it happened. Not many other places it could have been.”

“Maybe we can go and visit. And I can see where I was made. That would be fun. I want to see the mountains.”

“Maybe one day.” He finishes up the first braided pigtail, securing it with an impossibly small elastic before turning his attention to the other section of hair.

“If you met mummy a different way, would you have still liked her? Would you have still fallen in love with her?”

“Yup. Why wouldn’t have I? She still would have been mummy. She still would have been the same person. Still would have been the most beautiful girl ever.”

“Do you think she still would have fallen in love with you?”

“I sure as hell hope so. Would sure suck if she didn’t. Your mumma is pretty special, Peanut. She’s the love of my life. Took me until I was thirty five to meet her.”

“You were married before, though. To Austin's mom. You didn’t love her?”

“I did. But not in the way I love your mum. Your mum? That’s who I want to spend the rest of my life with. Grow really, really, REALLY old with. It’s a whole other kind of love. And you know what? It’s not easy to explain. You just know what you feel.”

“Imagine if things were opposite? If you went to Colorado and met mummy instead of her meeting you in Australia and working with you? And then you would have stayed there; where the snow and the mountains are instead of the beach and the ocean. How come you moved? Why didn’t you guys stay? Where the mountains are?”

“Things changed. We weren’t happy there anymore. We needed to get away. Go back to the place where we were the happiest.”

“In Australia?”

“Yup.”

“That’s where I’m happiest too. I love it there. I love how warm it is; the sun and the sand and the water. I like the sound it makes; listening to it when I’m trying to fall asleep. And I like how the beach feels; between my toes and when I let it run through my fingers. And I love my room and my toys and my school and my friends and all the goats and our pigs and our chickens. And Charlie. I love him the most. I love making him peanut butter sandwiches. I’d miss him the most. If we had to leave. We won’t have to leave will we, daddy?”

“I don’t see why we would have to.”

“I don’t ever want to leave Australia. It’s perfect there. It’s where I was born. And where you were born too. We have that in common. We were BOTH born there.”

“Yeah…” he grins, and presses a kiss to the back of her head. “...we were.”

“I mean, we have other stuff in common too. Because you’re my dad and that means you helped make me so that means half of me is half of you. The other half is from mummy. And we both love surfing. And animals. And Vegemite. I LOVE Vegemite. It’s sooooo good.”

“Speaking of Vegemite, was it you that left the Vegemite and Nutella sandwich for Santa?”

Addie giggles. “Maybe…”

“Why would you ever put the two of those together?”

“Tyler made it for his school lunch once and he let me try a bit and it was really good! So I thought Santa might like to try it. Part American, part Australian.”

“You know, that’s pretty genius. And it worked. I tried a bit and it wasn’t bad.”

“Right?! You wouldn’t think it would work, but it does. Somehow. Kind of like you and mummy.”

“What’s THAT supposed to mean?”

“You and mummy are so different. You’re really tall and big and she’s really short and small. Like, you know how mummy is a morning person? She’s always really cheerful and smiley? And you’re not? You’re moody and miserable. A total grump face! And you don’t like to talk until you’ve had your first coffee. With three shots of espresso in it.”

“You notice all that stuff?”

“I notice everything. Mummy says I’m very observant. And that I have really good instincts. Like you. She says ‘cause my tummy tells me if something is right or wrong. And yours does too. You know how else you and mummy are different?”

“How?”

“Mummy talks to everyone! She’s very talky talky. A chatterbox.”

“Geez,” Tyler grins, and tugs playfully at the completed pigtail. “I wonder who ELSE is a chatterbox?”

“She’s a social butterfly. She makes friends everywhere she goes. People like her. Because she’s so bubbly and cute and she makes peoples hearts feel warm because she’s so nice to them. You’re more serious. You don’t talk a lot. At least not to people you don’t know. People are scared of you sometimes. Because how big you are and because you got all the drawings on you and the scars and stuff. They think you’re mean. ‘Cause of all that.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think you’re just daddy. I KNOW you’re not mean. I KNOW you’re a nice guy. I KNOW you give awesome hugs; your arms are big but they feel nice and they wrap all the way around me! If people really paid attention, they’d see that you’re nice. You have soft eyes. They’re blue and they’re pretty and they’re kind. Especially when you smile and they go all crinkly. If people really gave you a chance, they’d see you’re not scary at all. You’re only like that if you HAVE to be. If bad people are near mummy or us kids.”

“Are you ever scared of me?” It’s a recurring thought; if his children ever pick up on the worry and the tension and the fear that comes with his issues. It’s a feat some days; forcing himself out of bed and putting one foot in front of the other. Wanting nothing more than to stay under the covers and surrender to the exhaustion that comes with doing battle with his own mind every day. But his family is his number one priority, whether it’s a good day or a horrible one. And he’ll ‘fake it until he makes it’ as long as his children and his wife know that they’re loved; provided and cared for and made to feel safe and protected.

“Why would I be? Why would I be scared of my daddy?”

“Well, you know what I do for a living. You know what I’ve had to do to people. Does that scare you?”

“Nope. Because that’s just your job. It’s not who you are. When you come home, you’re just daddy. You take us bike riding and hiking and swimming and surfing. And you help us find rocks and shells and you let me sit on your shoulders when we walk on the beach or go into town. And we take naps. On the hammock. I love our naps on the hammock.”

He smiles. “So do I.”

“Sometimes I get a little worried. When you get upset. Or you and mummy argue. I don’t like when you guys argue. I always worry that you’ll hate each other. That you’ll get a divorce. And then you won’t live with us. It makes me sad when I think about that.”

“You don’t need to be sad, Peanut. That’s never going to happen. I’m never going to go and live somewhere else. I’m going to stay right where I am; with you guys and your mumma. And just because we argue? That doesn’t mean we’re going to hate each other. I could NEVER hate your mum. And I’m pretty sure she’d say the same thing about me. We love each other. Very much. Divorce is NOT something you need to think about. But do I ever scare you? Have I ever?”

“I don’t have a reason to be scared of you. Because you love me. You’d never hurt me. I never worry about that. Not even when you yell and your voice gets REALLY loud. I know you’d never do anything mean to me. Just to bad people. And I’m not a person. I’m a GOOD person.”

“You definitely are. You’re a VERY good person. An amazing little person.”

She smiles. “Like mummy.”

“Just like her. More than even I ever realized.”

******

“Addie…” TJ singsongs as he saunters into the kitchen, both hands tucked behind his back. “...what are you doing?”

“Tyler!” She cheerfully greets, and excitedly waves to him with both hands. Her entire face lighting up at the sight of her second favourite male in the house

She’s become extremely close to her oldest brother during her five years on earth; idolizing him and turning to him for help and comfort when daddy is either caught up with one of the other kids, tending to work related matters, or out of the house -and sometimes even the country- all together. And TJ dotes on her in return. Spoiling her and babying her ever since she was an infant and he was always more than willing to help change her diapers and give her feedings. In awe of how tiny she was and how she’d look up at him with so much adoration. He’s the quintessential older brother; patient and loving and ready to kick anyone’s ass that dares messes with her.

“Look at my dress! It’s the one I picked out when I went shopping for mommy. That I kept a secret. Isn’t it awesome?”

“Awesome just like you. It’s really pretty, Ads. Your favourite colour too!”

“Yup! Mummy bought it for me. She said it’s perfect for me. For my personality. It reminds me of Belle’s dress. From Beauty and the Beast.”

“Looks a little like it, I guess. But you know what? It’s even prettier. And you’re more beautiful than Belle. WAY more beautiful.”

“Really?” she gasps, and a noticeable blush creeps into her cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of her ears. “You really think so?”

“I REALLY think so. Belle has nothing on you. You’re the prettiest princess EVER. Way prettier than ANY of them.”

“Oh goodness!” She clamps both hands over her mouth in embarrassment, then giggles into them. “Like mumma? Just as pretty as her? Mumma is the prettiest EVER.”

“Just a smaller version of her.” TJ leans in close and presses the tip of his nose against hers. “Guess what I have? What you forgot in my room?”

“Adeline!” she cries, when he reveals the item he’d been keeping behind his back. And she snags the doll from him and showers its head and face with kisses as she clutches it tightly to her chest. “Adeline! I’m sorry I forgot you! I didn’t mean to!”

“I kept her safe for you,” TJ says. “So Declan wouldn’t grab her. You know how he likes to get a hold of dolls and torture them. I didn’t want him getting her. She’s way too pretty and I know how much you love her.”

“He’s mean to my dolls! He’s always taking their heads off and putting their arms where their legs should be and crazy shit like that.”

“Hey,” Tyler frowns, and tugs on the half braided pigtail. “What did I say?”

“No bad language. Especially on Christmas Day. I can’t help it though; sometimes it just slips out. If you didn’t swear so much around us kids…”

“That’s it. Throw me under the bus.”

“You swear A LOT, daddy. Especially in the car. When other people don’t drive fast enough or use their blinkers. If mummy knew exactly how much you DO swear around us, she’d be mad. REALLY mad.”

“Your mum has a worse mouth than I do.”

“As if!” Addie scoffs, and he can’t help but smile; easily hearing Esme’s voice and picturing the expression on her face; the corner up her mouth and her nose scrunched up in disgust, eyes slightly narrowed. “Thank you, Tyler!” She curls an arm around her brother’s neck, squeezing as tight as she can. “You’re the best! Thank you for keeping her safe from the Ginger. You’re the best brother EVER! I only trust you with her. And daddy. That’s it. You guys are big and strong and will keep her safe no matter what.”

“What the hell are you wearing?” He addresses his son as the latter moves to the fridge, pausing in the braiding of Addie’s hair to survey TJ’s wardrobe a pair of ill fitting and impossibly baggy jeans, an enormous untucked dress shirt with its sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a loose pink, purple, and grey striped tie.

“Your pants. And one of your shirts.” TJ reaches into the fridge and grabs a carton of chocolate milk and a jug of white. Closing the door with his hip and carrying them to the counter by the sink; pouring a mix of both into a plastic tumblr retrieved from the dish rack and then snagging two straws from the cupboard. “Mum told me to. She said none of my clothes were good enough for Christmas dinner. All my jeans have holes in them and all t-shirts have to do with surfing. We’ve never had to dress up for Christmas dinner before. Why do we have to start now?”

“Your mum’s trying to make things perfect. To avoid drama. With your grandmother.”

“Too late. Grandma brings drama with her. And drops it on everyone else.” He drags a bar stool across the floor and places it in front of his little sister. “Here Ads,” he holds the cup in front of her. “A yellow straw just for you. So you don’t have to share my germs. Let me hold it; so you don’t spill anything on your dress.”

Giving a delighted squeal and a smile of appreciation, she takes a pull from the straw. “I think you look handsome, Tyler. You’re growing up. You’re going to be as big as daddy soon.”

“It’s going to be a while before I’m THAT big. But I’m going to work on it. As soon as I’m allowed, I’m going to lift heavy too and put on ALL kinds of muscle.”

“Then you can go after bad people too. And beat them up and kill them when you have to.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Tyler suggests. “Something tells me mummy might have an issue with that.”

“Why doesn’t mum just tell grandma to get lost?” TJ inquires. “It’s not like they like each other. They never have. They’ve always fought. I remember how they’d get into it at Christmas. When we were still living in Colorado. Grandma would get drunk and she’d pick fights with mum and mum would fight back and cry and then you’d go off on grandma. Is that going to happen this year? ‘Cause it’s been nice and quiet at Christmas. Do we HAVE to listen to grandma's shit?”

“What did I just tell your sister? About the language?”

“She’s five, but she’s right. It IS hard to stop and it does just come out. But do we, dad? Do we really have to put up with her?”

“It’s one night. I think you can manage. If I can grin and bear it, so can you. Suck it up.”

“If she starts in on mum about ANYTHING, I’m going to lose it. That’s my mum. No one talks to my mum like that. I almost taught Jacobi a lesson. For calling mum cute and wanting to ask her out. I’ll teach grandma a lesson too. I’m not afraid of her.”

“If anyone is going to teach her a lesson, it’s going to be me. You stay out of it. Your mum wouldn’t want you getting into it with her. You’re TEN.”

“Doesn’t matter how old I am. That’s MY mum. And no one is going to treat her bad. We’re supposed to protect her, remember? You and I.”

“You’re supposed to be a kid and stay that way as long as you can. I’M supposed to protect your mom. And I think I’ve been pretty damn good at it for the last twelve and a half years. And if your grandma starts? I’ll stop it. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Why does she hate you so much anyway? Is it still the same crap? How she’s pissed because you stole mum away from her family and moved her all the way to Australia? ‘Cause you got her pregnant before you married her?”

Addie scowls. “Who cares? Lots of people have babies and they aren’t married. And so what if mummy didn’t go back home and she stayed with daddy? She’s an adult. She can do what she wants. And she wanted to be with daddy. None of grandma’s business. I’mma tell her that too. If she starts saying mean things about daddy or mummy. I’mma tell her what for.”

“You’re not going to do a thing,” Tyler informs her. “You’re going to leave all the telling off to me, got it?”

“I don’t like her,” Addie says. “She’s not a nice person. She has a mean smile. And her eyes are empty. They don’t sparkle or anything like that. Are you sure that’s mummy’s mummy? Because when mummy smiles, her eyes sparkle. She LOOKS happy. Grandma? She just looks mean.”

“No one likes her,” TJ grumbles. “Best thing we ever did was get away from her. But IS that why, dad? Is that really why she doesn’t like you? Because she still thinks you stole mum and took her all the way to Australia?”

“It’s a few things.”

“I bet it’s the job too. I bet she really has a problem with THAT.”

“Again…” Addie huffs dramatically. “...who cares? So what if daddy kills people? They’re BAD. They deserve it. He helps good people and sometimes when he’s helping them, he has to kill the bad guys. I don’t see a problem with that. If they try and hurt him or kill him, he HAS to kill them first. So he can come home. To us. And mummy. It only makes sense.”

“If Ads can get it, ANYONE can,” TJ says. “She’s only five. What’s grandma? A hundred? If a five year old can get it…”

“Daddy makes the world a better place because he gets rid of the bad people,” Addie continues, as she takes another sip of the drink her brother offers her. “If we had less bad people, everything would be great. There’d be less wars and less people getting hurt and everyone would love one another and be happy. Daddy’s doing a good thing. By sticking up for people. Like you do. At school. You beat up the bullies when you have to. Remember the older kid that tripped me and shoved my face in the mud? Remember him? He’s in grade eight AND you kicked the crap out of me. Because he picked on me.”

“You’re my sister. It’s my job to protect you.”

“And remember that other guy? On the playground by mummy’s store? The one that pulled my hair and told me I was adopted because I’m small and I don’t look like any of you guys. You freaked out on him and made him apologize and scared him away. He’ll cross the street now if he sees you coming.”

“You can’t let bad people get away with doing bad things,” TJ reasons. “If you don’t stop them, they’ll just keep doing bad stuff.”

“Exactly! So it’s a good thing that daddy goes after the bad guys. Grandma needs to learn. And she needs to learn TODAY. You should tell her, Tyler. You should tell her off. You’re not scared of anyone.”

“Not being scared of anyone or anything is not always a good thing,” Tyler informs her. “If you’re not scared, you don’t take a situation or people seriously. That’s when you get hurt. And you know what? No matter how big of a bad ass you think you are? There’s always a bigger one out there somewhere. Believe me. I’ve learned THAT lesson the hard way.”

“The guy who shot you just got a lucky one in,” TJ reasons. “You were already hurt. You weren’t one hundred percent. Some guy had already shot you, hadn’t he? A sniper?”

“What’s a sniper?” Addie inquires. “Is it like Swipper on Dora? Something like him?”

“We don’t need to talk about that,” Tyler says. “You don’t need to know that stuff. Not until you’re older. WAY older.”

“A sniper’s a guy that hides somewhere and shoots you,” TJ replies. “Somewhere where no one sees him. It’s why they’re so dangerous. You don’t even know where they are. They just shoot you. And they kill you before you even know what happened.”

“But daddy didn’t get killed. If a sniper shot daddy, shouldn’t he be dead?”

Combing his hand through her bangs, Tyler tips his daughter’s head back. “What did I just say? About you not needing to know about this stuff?”

“I’m curious now. Tyler said they hide and shoot people and kill them. How come you didn’t die? If a sniper shot you?”

“I guess he didn’t manage to get a good shot in.”

“It was the other guy that almost killed him,” TJ says, and takes a sip of the concoction in his hand. “The one that got him in the neck. That’s when he almost died. Mum saved him.”

“How? How did mummy save daddy? Daddy…” she swivels around in her stool to face him. “...how did mummy save you? Did she shoot the bad guy back?”

“Mum stuck her fingers in his neck,” TJ says. “To stop the bleeding. Or he would have bled to death.”

Addie’s eyes widen. “She DID?”

“When you’re older, MAYBE I’ll tell you more more about it. But for now…” Tyler places his hands on her shoulders and gently turns her back around. “...you don’t need to know this stuff. And you…” he stares pointedly at his son. “...don’t talk about this around her. She doesn’t need to know about this. She’s a baby still.”

“I’m not a baby!” Addie objects. “I’m five! I can almost ride my bike without training wheels. Babies can’t do that.”

“Just don’t, alright?” He addresses TJ. “Don’t talk about this stuff around her. Because she’s going to repeat all of this and she’s going to repeat it to your mum and that won’t end well. For you OR me.”

“It happened though. I mean, it’s part of how you guys met and got together and ended up getting married and stuff. It’s your history. I don’t see why…”

“I said ENOUGH. No more. Not around her. Got it?” He’s on edge; the mere mention of Dhaka and the incidents on the bridge playing straight into the anxiety and the panic he’d felt the night before; when he’d woken up from the nightmare and been on the verge of losing control and had turned to the fentanyl for relief. And it scares him; how easy it had been to not only access the powerful med, but actually take it. He’d encountered no resistance or hesitation; remorse and guilt not setting in until the following morning when he’d woken up and it had been the first thing on his mind. It’s alarming how quick things can return; an addict’s mind and behaviour.

Nodding, TJ holds his hands up in surrender.

“You’re both going to be nice tonight,” he says, and finishes Addie’s final braid. “To grandma. Because your mum is already stressed out enough and we don’t need to make it worse for her. So if the best you can do is smile and nod, just do that. I’m not asking you to kiss her ass. I’m just asking you to be civil. Can you handle that?”

TJ nods.

“You?” He tugs on one of Addie’s pigtails. “Can you do that? Be civil?”

“Do I have to be near her? Or sit on her lap? ‘Cause I draw the line there.”

“You don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Just don’t be a little asshole, alright?”

“Me? I’m Mary Freaking Sunshine, remember? That’s what Grandpa Koen calls me.”

“Well then live up to it and be nice to your grandmother. Smile until your face hurts, got it?”

“What do I get out of it?”

He smirks.

“Mummy says to always negotiate. Never settle for the first offer. Can I sleep in the big bed tonight? For being nice to grandma?”

“No.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he lifts her off the stool; pressing a kiss to her cheek before setting her on the ground.

She turns to face him. Head cocked to the side and one hand clutching her doll, the other planted firmly on her hip. “Can I have ice cream for my bedtime snack?”

"Maybe."

“Maybe isn’t good enough.”

“You ARE just like your mom, aren’t you.”

“I’ll be nice if I can have ice cream for my bedtime snack and you snuggle with me and draw on my back for half an hour. And that’s after FOUR stories.”

“You're bossy, you know that? Two stories.”

“Three. That’s as low as I’ll go.”

“I will give you two stories, ice cream for your snack, and forty five minutes of snuggling and drawing on your back. Instead of half an hour. We got a deal?”

Her eyes narrow as she considers it; nibbling on her bottom lip and swishing her hips back and forth. “You’re good at this.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Peanut. I’ve dealt with tougher than you. What do you say?” He offers a hand. “Deal?”

“Deal!” she agrees, his hand easily swallowing hers as they shake on it.

Grinning, he runs a hand over the top of her head and then drops a kiss on her hair. “You really DO have a lot of your mum in you.”

“Great things come in small packages,” Addie reasons, standing on her tiptoes as he leans down and pecks her lips. “Thank you, daddy!” she chirps. “My hair looks beautiful. You always do it perfect.”

“Pretty hard not to when my subject is so cute. Good thing I married your mum, huh? So I could have a kid as cute as you?”

“You really are a lucky man!” she declares and then cheerfully skips out of the room.

“I hope grandma is on her best behaviour,” TJ says, as he finishes the drink in his hand and then slides off the stool and returns it to its place at the island. “Because if she DOES start on mum, it’s going to be a wild night. I really hope she watches her step.”

“My too, kiddo,” Tyler sighs, and reaches out to tousle his son’s hair. “Me too.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

[procrastinatorimagines]

Could Have Been More Part 5 (Final)

Fandom: Chicago PD / One Chicago

Series: Could Have Been More

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 (Final)

Characters: Hank Voight x Reader,

Warning/s: kidnapping/assault

Word Count: 3,298

Summary: So you’ve had your heart broken, accidentally derailed a police investigation, allowed a mass murderer to escape and now? Now you were bound and gagged and tossed in the back of a van, but Voight would get to you in time, right?

This was, without a doubt, the worst place you’d ever woken up, and you’d had a pretty interesting college experience. Your head felt like it was weighed down with cement as you tried to sit up, your wrists and ankles chafing and straining against rope ties. You weren’t tied down to anything specifically, but once your eyes focused more you realised that that wasn’t necessary, the man with the gun sat on a crate in the corner provided plenty of incentive for you not to try anything. 

“Nice and slow,” he warned like you could actually do anything but that as you struggled to get into a sitting position, resting your back on the van wall as your head pounded in time to the bumps of the tires below, vibrating the whole van as you drove along. 

There was another figure in the van too, you realised, a woman tied up opposite you, masses of red curls and an old punk rock tee... Jenny.

You tried to call out to her, only to find your mouth taped shut, so it came out as a desperate throaty cry, unable to do much else as she lay unmoving. Trying to steady your thundering heart you focused on her chest, letting out a small sigh of relief as you watched it rise and fall, albeit at a much slower rate than it should. They must have done a number on her, you thought, remembering the phone call with a shudder.

But Strauss couldn’t have grabbed you and her at the exact same time... You looked back to the man with the gun, your mind still foggy, but clear enough for you to realise that duh, this van needed a driver too. Strauss wasn’t working alone - did Intelligence know that?

This man was most definitely Strauss, you recognised the salt and pepper beard and bald head from his photo. So who was driving? Not that knowing right now would have done you any good, you kind of had bigger and more immediate things to worry about. You prayed to God or whoever was out there that this van was the vehicle Hank had been on the phone to Trudy about, because if it wasn’t... 

“If I take that ducktape off, will you scream?” Strauss asked, making his way over to you slowly as the van drove along, gun still very much pointed at your head. You didn’t reply. “Screaming won’t help you right now, trust me,” the way he said it was very much a threat, so you slowly nodded, terrified. He smiled sinisterly and removed the tape slowly.

You took a deep breath out your mouth but refrained from screaming, instead, you kicked into autopilot, so overwhelmed with fear and not knowing what to do that you focused on what you could. “I’m a paramedic,” you told him straight away, “I won’t try and fight you or anything, but if you could untie my hands I could check my friend, make sure she’s okay,” you told him, your tone less shaky and more professional than you’d anticipated. 

Strauss blinked, clearly not expecting that reaction, and glanced back to where Jenny lay, barely stirring by his feet. He gave her a harsh nudge with his foot that had your blood boiling but you held back, you were not good to Jenny dead or incapacitated yourself. Jenny stirred slightly and Strauss shrugged. “Seems fine to me,” he commented coldly.

“Is that your professional medical opinion?” You snapped, regreting it instantly as he regarded you like a predator did its prey. 

“Why do you think I care if she makes it out of this alive?” He asked and you swallowed, the images of the his victims flashing through your mind. 

“Well you didn’t kill her straight away, or me, seems like you need us alive,” you replied, remembering how quickly he’d apparently dispatched of his other loose ends - why had he spared you both?

Strauss laughed as you turned a corner, leaning his hand on the side for balance as the roads got a bit rougher; you must be off the main road now, you thought - where was he taking you?

“Well aren’t you a clever one?” He smirked, “and you’re right, I do need you alive, but only one of you, and if I’m honest, if I had to choose between the Sergeant’s girl or the nosy waitress...” he gestured with his gun between the two of you and you grimaced, this guy was pure evil. 

He let you figure out the rest of that sentence as he moved to sit back on the crate he had been perched previously, the logo of the restaurant clear on the side - this must have been one of their delivery vans, not a particularly smart move if you’re trying to avoid the police. 

“What do you want?” You demanded, struggling against the ropes around your wrists as you glared at him. He knew about you and Voight, which was not good, so you’d already figured that you were leverage, but to what end?

The van started to slow before Strauss could reply, a slow smile spreading across his face as the drivers door could be heard opening. You could hear birds and... water maybe just before the door shut again, but when the back opened and another man came in, you were sure you were by the docks. 

This man was... younger definitely, but the resemblance to Strauss was uncanny. You’d remembered from Voight’s file that he’d had a son, Dan? Dom? You couldn’t quite remember his name, but he’d previously dated the dead waitress before she’d started dating the first victim.

This wasn’t good.

“Do we call him now?” Asked... Dan, you were sure it was Dan. Dan looked to his father, gun in the waste band of his low jeans clear. You pulled at your ropes again, feeling them loosening a little as you looked on at the two men. Were they talking about Voight? You had a sinking feeling that they were. 

“Call him here, yes, but we move on straight away, before they can track our location,” Strauss told his son, who passed his father an old flip phone, a burner. 

“Why bother? You could have been out the state by now,” you dared, confused as to why they would dare incur the wrath of Intelligence rather than make a break for it while they still could. You kind of got the previous murders, in the sick sense that they were they only ones who could testify against him, but taking you and Jenny was a big risk. 

“Yeah if your boyfriend hadn’t flagged our passports and put our faces out at every border-” Dan complained but his father cut him off quickly, scolding him like a child, you actually winced when Strauss’ hand came into contact with his sons face, silencing him quickly. 

“Shut up,” he hissed and Dan cowered back, kid had probably faced that his entire life, you actually felt a little bad for him.

Strauss rubbed his temple before flipping open the phone and dialing a number, your heart quickening when Voight answered.

“Hello Sergeant,” Strauss greeted him way to cheerily as you heard Hank growl on the other end of the line. 

“Where is she?” He demanded, word clearly reaching him about you and his officers, you didn’t even know if they were still alive you realised. 

“Right here with me,” Strauss replied, kneeling down to head height and grabbing a bunch of your hair in his hand roughly so that you faced him. “Say hi Y/N,”

You met his eyes and kept your lips firmly closed, you could barely even hear Hank breathing on the other end of the line as he waited for you to answer. Strauss got impatient and pulled your hair back violently, letting go so your head smacked against the side of the van, hard. You cried out at the impact and Hank swore over the phone as Strauss stood back up, satisfied as you held back tears.

“See, she’s here, and alive,” he said, “if you want her to stay that way you’ll do exactly as I say.” You swallowed hard as he paused for dramatic effect, God this guy was pure evil.

“What do you want?” Voight demanded, violent anger coating every word. If you were being entirely honest, you okay with how Voight did his job sometimes, but he could do what ever he wanted to this son of a bitch, he deserved it.

“I want a chopper, I have a license so I don’t need a pilot, but I want to get out of the city, and I don’t want to be followed,” he replied and you couldn’t quite believe your ears, he couldn’t be serious could he? That would never work, he must have been desperate. 

“Done, should I call this number when I have it?” Hank told him quickly and you bit your tongue, nothing you could say would sway Voight’s decisions, he’d go to the ends of the Earth for people he cared about. Your restraints were getting a little bit looser as he kept talking, but you did your best to school your expression, not wanting to give anything away. 

“Excellent, but no, I’m not that stupid, I’ll call you in 20 minutes,” he told Hank, actually believing a chopper could be brought to him in 20 minutes. You heard Hank sigh on the other end, thinking the same as you.

“I’ll do my best but I’ll need more time than that-” Hank tried but Strauss hung up, checking his watch as he did and you realised he’d been timing the call, not wanting to be traced. 

“Destroy it and then get going to the next location” Strauss ordered his son, the rope around your wrists slacking enough so that you could slip your hands free. Strauss seemed to arrogant to not have tied them properly, Dan must have done them, you realised. 

Dan nodeed as Strauss tossed the phone, barely catching it as he took out the sim and broke it all, opening the back to get back to the drivers side as you saw your window of opportunity. 

As soon as the door opened and Strauss turned his back to take his seat again, you lunged for the door, arms out as you threw yourself at Dan. He lost his balance and you toppled sideways, but not out the door, crashing into the cold metal as he frantically pushed you away from him.

Strauss was on you in seconds, dragging you back with force and flipping you onto your stomach, roughly pulling your hands behind your back as you struggled in his grasp. He was able to retie your rope and snapped at Dan to keep going, an order which he shakily obeyed as he jumped out, slamming the door tight.

“You stupid bitch, did you think any of that through?” He snarled as he haulled you up, slamming you back and punching you in the gut before throwing you to the ground where you had previously been sat. 

You only glared in reply as he muttered more sexist insults, the van driving off a few seconds later. 

Taking a breath you looked to Jenny, watching her chest slowly rising and falling, her face paler than before. Let him think you had been stupid, a last ditch effort to escape, better that than know the truth. You’d never leave Jenny like this, or anyone, and you knew you wouldn’t have got far if you’d have gotten out, but that hadn’t been your plan. Resisting the urge to metaphorically pat yourself on the back you were conscious of the weight that was no longer around your neck. 

You’d thrown your necklace outside the van. The necklace that Hank had bought you for your birthday.

They wouldn’t have had a specific location for that call, and you’d seen multiple vans parked outside at this spot of the docks, but they’d definitely be coming to this area, and hopefully your necklace would put them on the right track, at least in terms of checking surveillance.

Or at least, that was your hope, but you didn’t have anything else, Jenny certainly didn’t. 

The noises around you changed as you drove, Strauss keeping his gun permanently trained on you now as the bird tweets turned to dog barks and the van took more turns. Based on Strauss’ history, you could probably guess the general area you were heading now, his old neighbourhoods. 

You didn’t quite get how a well of white man had ended up running drugs on this side of town, but you figured that that was the point, he’d been able build himself up because no one was looking for him, but everyone was looking now.

He was out of moves, and he was desperate. Hank would never give him a chopper, you knew that, you just hoped he had another play. It was Hank, when did he not, you told yourself as you turned yet again, sharper this time as Strauss rolled his eyes at his son’s driving.

Soon, 20 minutes was up, and you held your breath as the car turned one last time and slowed to a stop. There was a look on Strauss’ face now that scared you more than the others, what was his real plan here?

He pulled out a second burner and called Voight: “Times up Sergeant, for you and your girl if you don’t give me what I want,” he informed Hank as you swallowed. 

“I’m not the one whose time’s up,” was Voight’s only reply. Strauss’ face was one of confusion until your heard it, the blessed sound of police sirens, Hank was coming for you.

Strauss dropped the phone in shock as you heard the drivers side door open, and the clear sound of police arresting Dan. Strauss panicked, glancing at you as he pulled out a knife. 

Your heart was hammering, thinking he was going to kill you, but instead he cut the ropes around your ankles, throwing his knife away and pulling out his gun, dragging you to your feet as you heard boots surround the van.

“Albert Strauss, we have you surrounded, come out with your hands up and surrender. It’s over,” you heard Hank radio from outside as Strauss put a gun to your head. 

“It’s not over yet,” you heard him mutter as he forced you to go forward, Jenny stirring finally at your side as he ignores her. At least she’d make it, you thought as he opened the back doors. 

Swat was stood at the ready outside, but Hank made them hold their positions when he saw you.

“Let her go,” he instructed Strauss, not a question or suggest, he was going to let you go. You saw Hank’s gun at his side, finger iching against the trigger as he levelled his gaze at Strauss, his gun firmly planted next to your temple. 

You saw the rest of Intelligence too, guns at the ready as Atwater led Dan to a squad car, cuffs on, but Strauss didn’t seem to care.

“Hank-” you tried, voice filled with fear as Hank’s eyes landed on you, face softening and filled with worry.

“Shut up,” Strauss spat, tightening his grip on you before directing his attention to Hank, “I’ll kill her,” he informed him, no hint of remorse in his voice.

In the distance where Atwater was taking Dan, you could see ambo 61 pulling up, Sylvie jumping out before it had even fully stopped as she watched the scene unfold. 

“You kill her, you die,” Hank told him plainly, “the only way for you to get out of this is to come quietly, hand her over.” Hank knew it, you knew it, Strauss knew it, there was no way out now, it would all be decided now. 

You kept looking at Hank, thinking about eveything you never got to do, the rest of your life that you wanted to lead, you didn’t want it to end here. 

Voight’s knuckles were white gripping his gun as Strauss pondered what had been said. “I’ll never see daylight again,” he told Hank, “my life’s already over, you made sure of that, but at least this way I get to ruin yours now too.”

He was going to kill you, you realised quickly as your eyes went wide. Then, the sound of a gun shot. 

It all happened so fast you didn’t know what had happened, but you knew enough to know that if you were still thinking right now, you weren’t the one who’d been shot as you fell forward, hands catching you at the last second as you tripped out the back of the van.

Strong arms lowered you to your feet slowly as you shook, the side of your face wet with... blood, but it wasn’t yours, you realised. Someone was holding you, asking you if you were okay you realised through the ringing of your ears. It was Hank. Hank was here, he had you.

Looking back a little you saw Strauss on his back in the van, a bullet from Hank’s gun embedded in his head. 

Everyone around you was moving, securing the scene and letting the paramedics through.

“Hank...” you mumbled, trying to make sense of what had just happened. 

“It’s okay Y/N, you’re okay now,” he whispered, one hand on your shoulder, the other on your cheek, looking you over for signs of damage as you tried to breath.

Sylvie reached you quickly, face full of relief as Ruzek helped her into the van, Jenny was getting the help she needed. Good, you thought, still a little disoriented. 

“Y/N,” Hank repeated, bringing you back to reality.

“How did you find me?” You asked him as he reached into his pocket, pulling out your necklace, your plan had worked.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” He smiled with relief.

“I thought-” you choked and he shook his head, pulling you into a hug as tears slipped down your cheeks as you realised just how close you came to dying.

“I know, but you’re alive,” he reassured you as Jenny was brought out on a backboard

“Is she?...” You asked quickly, breaking away from Hank. Sylvie smiled.

“She’ll be okay,” she informed you, squeezing your hand, “I’m just so glad you are too,” she said, her voice cracking.

“What, did you think I was going to leave you with Chout?” You tried to smile, actually laughing when Chout said ‘hey!’ Despite everything, if felt like your chest was cracking to do so. With one last look, Sylvie reluctantly headed back to the ambo, promising to check up with you as soon as she could. 

Hank hadn’t left your side yet, and you realised that he was holding your hand, in public. You looked down at your hands and then back at him, so relieved that he’d come for you, not that you’d ever doubted it.

“Hank-” you started, not sure what you were actually going to say, but needing to say something.

And then he kissed you, in full view of everybody. You could tell it got a bit quieter around you as he pulled away, as surprised by what he did as you were. “I nearly lost you today, I don’t ever want to lose you again,” he told you honestly, raw emotion for the first time as he held you in his arms, “I love you.”

You swallowed and took a shaky breath, still processing everything else that had happened today, but one thing was very clear, no matter what came next, you didn’t want to lose him either.

“I love you too,” you said.

#hank voight #chicago pd #one chicago #hank voight x reader #hank voight imagine #chicago pd imagine #hank voight imagines #chicago pd imagines #one chicago imagine #one chicago imagines #could have been more