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aminiatureworld · 3 years

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Affection

Characters: Albedo, Beidou, Keqing, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,705

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: Sometime we know something is impossible from the start. But still we walk towards it, even if we know it will hurt us. It’s only flirting, only a smile or a hug or some food. Even if nothing comes of it, there is nothing to regret. Even if it hurts.

In which the reader gives affection, expecting nothing in return.

Author’s Note: More “new” characters! I’ve been neglecting Keqing and Beidou, they deserve some love. I hope as always their characterizations live up to expectations! This was very fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it!

I couldn’t tell whether to make this melancholy or fluffy, so I guess I half-and-half-ed it. Best of both worlds, right? Although the tone feels definitely lighter.

Albedo

Your friends never could figure out why you were flirting with Albedo.

“That alchemist has nothing on his mind but work,” one of them once told you, “he’ll never reciprocate your feelings you know.”

“I know.” You’d replied, smiling the sort of smile people put on when they’re trying to show they’re not annoyed. “I know he doesn’t like me in that way, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Because I want to.” You’d shrugged, shifting the conversation to some other topic. In all honesty, it wasn’t as if your friend was lying. But neither were you, not really. There wasn’t any good explanation for why you were flirting with Albedo after all. You knew that he’d never take it seriously, knew you weren’t good enough for it anyways. Maybe that’s why you flirted with him. Maybe it was better to make the slightest fool of yourself than drive yourself mad thinking about something that could never be.

So you continued on your merry, if slightly self-destructive way. Every time you saw Albedo, which was quite a bit considering the fact you were often posted around Dragonspine and spent a lot of your free time in the square right outside his office, you ran his way, asking him what he was doing, or telling him about your own day. You’d developed this habit of leaning in a bit whenever he spoke to you, and the slight pause he gave as his smile grew wider whenever you did made your heart soar.

Not that you ever started thinking there was ever a chance. I mean, come on. Albedo was Albedo and you were you. There was a great deal of distance between the two of you, as if you were standing on opposite sides of a bridge which was liable to fall at any moment. You could shout across at each other, but never did you attempt to walk over to him, knowing it’d surely result in disaster.

Still, why did you flirt with Albedo? The question sort of haunted you at times. You enjoyed his company, you’d even told him you enjoyed his company. He’d smiled his sedate smile, pausing for a moment to look away from the painting he was working on. “I enjoy your company too.” He’d said, before turning back to his work. It was a quiet, calm, even sort of response, just the sort you’d expected. And yet you kept going, and though you made no attempt to push the boundaries or go any farther, you still wondered at times what the point of it was.

Perhaps following that line of thought was a bit dangerous. You found the more you asked yourself what you expected out of your closeness with Albedo, the more absent you seemed to be. It wasn’t as if you were trying to avoid him or anything, no quite the contrary. It was only that you tended to want to be alone when you were thinking about something like this. Reaching out was hard, especially to the person who you were thinking about.

“Are you alright?” You glanced up from the lunch you were pondering over to see Albedo leaning over you. Feeling your cheeks redden you jumped slightly.

“Albedo! Oh I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying any attention to my surroundings! Sit down!” You gestured vaguely to the spot on the bench next to you. Albedo smiled politely, sitting down as directed. He seemed to sober however once he was sitting, scanning your face for something, though you weren’t sure what that something was.

“You seem… absent recently, I was wondering if something was the matter.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly fine!” You shook your hands out in front of you. “I guess I’ve just been sort of busy recently, or maybe a little tired I guess. You know that the festival is coming up, right? Well Acting Grand Master Jean is really running us ragged! But I promise I’ll be back to normal soon!” You laughed awkwardly; it wasn’t as if you weren’t telling the truth per se, just… not the whole truth. But you’d rather not put all your troubles on Albedo, not when he was reaching out to see if you were okay. Smiling once more you attempted to switch topics. “How’s your research? Have you found something new while I’ve been gone?”

“Yes, I’ve begun to study the reaction between macrophage and eukaryotic cells in contrast with prokaryotic cells, and how adding elemental effects to reactions either speeds up or slows down the reaction. But I’m glad to hear you’re alright,” Albedo seemed to relax a bit, leaning backwards slightly on the bench, “everything has been much quieter with you gone. It’s unnatural, I can’t focus as well. I keep finding myself distracted by little things. I look forward to participating in our conversations once more.”

“Well I’ll be there soon!” You promised, heart fluttering slightly. Did he really mean that? I mean sure, it didn’t mean anything more than what was on the tin. Your situation hadn’t changed that much. Still, it meant something to you that Albedo wasn’t just tolerating your presence, that he was actually somewhat involved in your friendship. “I promise I’ll have some very interesting topics of conversation when I come back.”

“Good.” Albedo nodded once more before smiling slightly sheepishly. “My workspace is currently going through a cleaning and the lab isn’t supposed to let any foreign substances in in; would you mind terribly if I ate with you?”

“Not at all!” You responded. “I love spending my free time with you. What have you brought?”

Why did you flirt with Albedo? Why did you seek out his presence despite you and everyone around you knowing full well that it was never going to come to anything? What did you even think of Albedo? Well you could answer that last one at least. You loved him. You loved him very much. And even if he didn’t reciprocate the way you did, even if your friends told you it was pointless and your mind chastised you for putting yourself through the ringer, even if all that was true, you weren’t going to stop. Because you were Albedo’s friend and he was yours. And for now that was enough.

Even if a part of you continued to hope that one day this would change.

Beidou

Beidou was utterly out of your league and you knew it.

It wasn’t exactly a difficult conclusion to come to after all. Brash, outspoken, good with a sword, Beidou embodied that sort of restless, self-reliant spirit you wish you yourself could emanate.

It didn’t hurt that Beidou had essentially rescued you from destitution, having found you languishing in a corner of one of the seedier docks of Liyue, and having taken you in quickly after the fact. You owed her a great deal, and was glad to do so. After all you’d fallen hopelessly in love with Beidou.

Life aboard a slightly illegal ship was bound to be an intimate one. Everyone knew everything about everyone else, and it was very difficult to find someone that hadn’t heard about your crush. Someone who wasn’t Beidou, that was. Although it wasn’t like you attempted to hide it; you just never brought it out in the open. And who could blame you? How could anyone who’d nearly died of starvation waiting for some sort of divine help compare to the bravest captain you’d ever met?

So you two settled into a routine of sorts, at least in your mind. You ate every meal as close to her as possible, something which had been difficult at first but as the “secret” spread around became almost comically easy, you discussed your plans with her first, gave her various trinkets you’d found in your travels, asked her opinions about your weapon then asked her to train with you. The training sessions had almost killed your resolve not to tell her, nothing was so intimate as having someone constantly checking your posture, moving and arm here a leg there, closely monitoring how you moved and acted.

All the while you said nothing. It felt selfish after all to even think about it. Beidou had many a time told her crew that they were one big family. On top of the obviously platonic motives behind her love for you, you weren’t about to impose on the crew by trying to take the spot as favorite or partner. It’d make you feel sleazy.

But damn if sometimes your resolve wasn’t tempted. It was the night after a particularly successful raid, and everyone was drunk out of their minds. Even you were tipsy, although compared to the rest you were positively sober. Sitting next to Beidou, who was walking up and down the tables making speeches of various levels of comprehensibility, you thanked the archons above that this woman had saved you. It was all worth the pain and suffering, if only to see her smile, which was blinding at the moment.

“You were brave, my dear compatriots! Distinguished! Honored! Positively courageous!” Beidou let out a slight “hic”, her vocabulary always did turn a bit grand when she drank too much. “Indeed, I’m sure not even the greatest of emperors had an army which could rival the visage of our band of brothers! Storming the deck, why we all might’ve perished! Damned visions, they’re for cheaters! For fraudsters! You all fight without them, and in doing so you prove yourself far more valiant, far more exemplary than they do!” Evidently Beidou had forgotten she herself was a vision wielder. Then again, so had everyone else.

“On this night of victory, of perilous and prestigious triumph, I wish to congratulate the greatest of warriors! This! My proverbial right hand man, the distinguished…” Beidou turned around towards you, gesturing in a very flamboyant sort of manner. You stood there, shocked by the sudden attention, blushing deeply, brain so filled with awe that you only half realized Beidou couldn’t remember your name.

“Yes! This person, this noble scalawag!” Beidou lifted you up so you were standing next to her, archons was she strong. “Now I don’t believe in laws, but if I did I’d marry them I would! You all ought to be more like them, mark my words I want to see some shaping up! There are no levels on this ship, but if there were they’d be higher than you all! Pay attention to my words, they are final!” And with that, speech apparently over, Beidou planted a soft, if slightly messy, kiss on your cheek.

If it weren’t for the people around you, you might’ve fainted.

The next day announced itself with a headache, though as the least hungover of the group you were put in charge of dishing out the medicine and water. The whole ship appeared to be groaning, and though the crew was usually quite active and excited at almost any hour of the day, you could tell that most of the men and women just wanted to roll over and go back to sleep.

“Captain wants to see you when you’re done with your rounds.” There were a few other people helping you out, and the one that informed you about this raised an eyebrow as you promptly turned white as a sheet, before a splotchy shade of red covered your face. What was she going to say? Had she remembered what had happened the night before? You admitted to yourself that maybe banking on Beidou forgetting was a doomed cause from the start. Beidou was perhaps brash and a lover of alcohol, but her memory was sharp, and she somehow managed to never drink herself to total incompetence. If you challenged a drunk Beidou to a duel your chances were going to be about the same as if you’d challenged her sober. Hell maybe they’d be even worse. With that grim thought in mind you distributed the last of the medicine, wiping your hands needlessly on your clothes before walking towards the captain’s cabins.

You loved Beidou’s cabins, they somehow seemed both incredibly grand and inexplicably homey. With furniture made out of a plush and luxurious red sort of material, it was nonetheless crowded by knickknacks; drawings, carvings, and other such paraphernalia littered the shelves and the dressers. Beidou had once told you almost all of it was from current or former shipmates. The luxuries they stole had no use in her home.

“Captain Beidou?” You ventured. The captain was at her desk, scribbling out something, probably a plan. She loved to plan in her free time, whether or not the plan was something doable or a total fantasy. Now she looked up, setting her pen down and smiling her classic, cocky grin.

“Ah, my favorite shipmate. How’re we feeling today?”

“W-well!” You managed to get out, a bit distracted by the nickname. Ah, it seemed she had remembered at least part of it. “Um, captain, I was told you wanted to see me.”

“Yes, I did. I’ve been thinking since last night, thinking a great deal, and I was wondering, what would you think to becoming my partner, in a, well, romantic sort of sense.”

“So suddenly?” You replied, eyes widening but nevertheless cracking a smile. Beidou’s confession had been blunt, devoid of all the usual flourishes. And yet it was what you wanted, what you’d always wanted.

“Well why not?” Beidou shrugged nonchalantly. “After all considering how you’ve been acting towards me for the past few months, I figured why not become my partner. Unless I’ve been reading you wrong of course.”

“No!” You exclaimed. “I mean yes, I mean, well yes to the first and no to the second. I’d love to become your partner, and you haven’t been reading me wrong.” Your gaze dropped to the floor. “I just figured I wasn’t good enough. I mean you’re… you. And besides, you said we were all a family. I figured you wouldn’t want me as a partner.”

Beidou raised her eyebrow slightly as her smile melted into a smirk. Shaking her head slightly she approached you, raising your gaze every so slightly. “Well I can tell you right now I’m not too good for you. Not only are you good with a weapon, but you’re about as tough and fearless as they come. I don’t want to hear about how you’re secretly scared or whatnot. Everyone is that doesn’t matter. But you fight well and without second thought. And I admire that. And as for the speech about family, well a romantic partner is family of some kind. Besides the crew won’t mind, they’ve been talking about it for ages.”

“I guess they have.” You blushed; apparently Beidou hadn’t been as uninformed as you thought.

“Any last words before you’re my partner?” Beidou’s smile was as wide as you’d ever seen it and just as infectious; you grinned back.

“I love you.”

“Good. Now,” Beidou smiled, planting a soft kiss on your cheek and then a peck on your lips – something which left you grasping for coherent thought “let’s tell the others.”

Keqing

Working with Keqing was an experience akin to slowly dying inside.

You’d become somewhat enamored with the Yuheng of the Liyue Qixing ever since you’d first met her. Her brusque and honest manner was refreshing, and when listening to her talk about the archons, about Liyue, about how the past and the present tied together, you never really seemed to question her. She always gave off the impression of intelligence, and, unlike some others you’d met, she had the brains to back it up. And what could you say? Before you knew it you had a crush on her.

Yet working with her showed other sides of Keqing too. She was very self-conscious when it came to compliments. Not that she minded them per se, as one time you’d asked her if your constant praise was a bother. “I just never know how to respond.” She’d admitted, and to be fair you understood that. But as long as she told you she liked them you’d compliment her.

Of course you knew it could never go beyond that. Keqing was your coworker; she was your superior in almost every way, both in occupation and in character. She never lost her cool or found herself off guard when fighting treasure hoarders or when dealing with rowdy citizens. She was efficient, capable, and aware of her incredible abilities. And she didn’t feel the need for a partner, something she had told you every time someone else worked up the courage to ask her out. You couldn’t bring yourself to impose on her like they did, not when you knew what her answer would be.

It was a slightly disheartening existence, and indeed sometimes you wondered what the point of it was, wondered if you shouldn’t just quit. But that wouldn’t be fair, not to Liyue, and not to Keqing herself. She relied upon the other members of the Liyue Qixing to work efficiently and without sudden disruption. And the sudden quitting of someone who was hardly at the bottom of the ranks would’ve certainly done just that.

Besides, Keqing was first and foremost your friend. It was a bit of a fragile friendship, yes, but it was friendship nonetheless; and you valued that friendship well above your own infatuation. If you had to bottle your feelings up so be it. You owed it to Keqing to keep it together, to not impose on her what she obviously didn’t want and to not punish her for it by drawing away. So it hurt, so what? A lot of things hurt, doesn’t mean they aren’t worth doing or experiencing. And this was certainly one of those things.

It was late evening, and most of the cubicles were dark. You sat, writing the last few sentences of a report, trying to ignore the headache that had been developing since earlier that day. A friend had attempted to set you up on a blind lunch date, and though you appreciated their motive the whole thing had been a chore, and now you were late on your work.

“Almost done?” Keqing’s voice broke through your mental grumblings. Looking up at her you nodded, and Keqing smiled in satisfaction. “Good. Can’t have one of our best workers getting sick on account of working too hard.”

“I won’t get sick.” You assured her. Finally stamping the paper you let out a sigh leaning back in your chair.

“A difficult day?”

“You could say that,” you admitted, “a friend went on a slightly appreciated but incredibly unnecessary mission to get me to go out on a date. Honestly, I’d rather her just treat me to lunch.”

“I can understand the feeling.” Keqing frowned in sympathy. “People are too obsessed with the idea of romance, so much so it blinds them. There are more important things in this world.”

“I’d say most people consider love pretty important.” You commented. Keqing shook her head in response.

“Perhaps, but aren’t ideals better than individual wishes? Romance may be fun, perhaps, but there are other things to consider. Besides, I find your company far more enjoyable than I would any date.”

“You do?” You responded, heart fluttering slightly; you hoped Keqing didn’t notice the blush spreading across the bridge of your nose and coloring your cheeks. Luckily it was slightly dark in the office.

“Oh certainly,” Keqing waved her hand dismissively, “you’re the best coworker and friend I’ve ever had. No significant other could give me advice like you do, or help me so much when I’m struggling with work or with my thoughts, and dates are so formal and boring and awkward compared to spending an afternoon with you. Really I’m perfectly content relationship wise with our friendship. Relationships are full of pitfalls, people keeping this little thing from their partner, or omitting that little act. No, better to have an open and supportive friendship like we do.”

“I’m glad you think so.” You replied, and really you did. You’d known since day one that a romantic relationship was off the table. So if you could stay by Keqing’s side and support her, if only a little longer, then you’d be perfectly content.

Even if a part of you still wished that things could’ve been different.

Zhongli

To be fair to Zhongli you weren’t sure how much he understood of any type of human relationship. The fact that the Geo Archon had befriended you in the first place was an achievement in itself.

And yet he had befriended you, and soon you’d found yourself falling in love with the slightly aloof, slightly out of touch geo archon. Zhongli was much more than that of course. Surprisingly open, the ex-deity took to finding out information about humanity with zeal. Always eager to ask you questions and to hear about how your day had gone or how you felt after something particularly happy or sad or gratifying, Zhongli had morphed into a pseudo confidante for you. Someone you found yourself relying on more and more. His gentle nature didn’t hurt either, or his looks for that matter; all in all Zhongli seemed like the perfect sort of person, and though you knew that you’d never be able to measure up to an archon, you found yourself unable to suppress the overwhelming love you felt for him.

Zhongli didn’t seem to mind your openness at all, indeed he sort of relished it, or at least he seemed to. Every time you reached out to grab his hand he gladly slipped it into yours, and whenever you ran up and hugged him after a long period of not seeing one another he always hugged you back. He’d eat lunches with you, and sometimes dinners, and sometimes weekends were spent running around Liyue, or at home listening to one another’s stories or reading one another’s books. It’s truly a magical sort of feeling to share a book with someone. But then again with Zhongli everything seemed magical.

Of course affection aside the whole matter never crossed the line of friendship. You never told him of your affections, and in return Zhongli never initiated anything further than conversation. Not that it bothered you; you felt there was a bit of a gap between you and Zhongli. After all surely it was idealization which caused you to recognize that someone like Rex Lapis had no want or inclination towards engaging in a relationship with a mere mortal. Facts are facts, and there’s no changing them, no matter how much you wanted to.

And yet how odd fate is.

“What is being in love like?”

You looked up at Zhongli, trying desperately to act as if you hadn’t felt your heart rate spike to unhealthy levels.

“Uhm… what do you mean what is love like?”

“I’ve noticed mortals are very enamored with love. I have to admit, my experience with romance is minimal; archons and adepti seldom see romance as something that affects them. But I want to know, as a human, what is love like to you?” There was no mockery or sense of superiority in Zhongli’s face. Not that you expected there to be. Zhongli never looked down upon humans as unequal. Many times he’d told you he admired them. Taking a breath you thought of your answer.

“Well… hmm. Love is very different for everyone. To some love is like an inferno; it’s very sudden and very intense. It sort of burns them up, it’s all they think about. I think that’s less love, more infatuation, but to some that is indeed love. To others love is sort of… staid. It’s being able to rely on them, to talk to them about anything and everything without feeling embarrassed or like you have to put on some sort of show. It’s knowing that there’s someone who will always side with you or help you realize what’s right, or be there when you feel terrible. To them love isn’t passionate, it’s comforting.”

“And to you?” Zhongli interrupted, a look of thoughtfulness on his face.

“Well to me it’s somewhere in the middle, I suppose to most people it’s somewhere in the middle. And this is only romantic love after all. Love is so big, so all encompassing, I think it’s hard to pin down. But to me romantic love is both; it is the passion that causes people to do crazy things and espouse crazy sorts of ideals, and it is the staid comfort of knowing there is someone who will always understand you, and always support you in that understanding.” You paused, realizing you’d been prattling on a bit. “Why, may I ask? Is there a reason you want to know.”

“Yes,” Zhongli admitted, voice slightly less calm than usual. “I, I’ve been thinking about my feelings towards someone a great deal recently; they’ve been alien, although not distressing per se. They feel as if I’m always on some sort of edge, but I don’t feel upset by it. Instead I want to approach it, want to be around the person who makes me feel that way. I wanted to understand that emotion more. I wondered if it was love. Thank you for answering my question, it was most enlightening.”

“That person must be very lucky.” You replied, keeping your tone as light as possible, trying to ignore your emotions, which had risen and dropped so very quickly. “I suppose I’ll have to lay off on the affection now. Part of love is sometimes being a little bit jealous, at least in the beginning, at least for some people. It’s silly, really, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Zhongli’s tone was surprisingly wry, as if there was a joke somewhere you’d missed.

“Why?” You asked, brow furrowing slightly.

“Because the person whom I was enquiring about is you.”

Honestly you would’ve been less surprised if Zhongli had told you that he was going to run away from Liyue and join the circus. All you could manage to sputter out was: “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” Zhongli chuckled slightly. He raised his hand, gloved fingers ghosting your cheek as he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear. “I’ve suspected it for some time, but I wanted to be sure. Are you alright with me telling you this?”

Alright? You were over the moon! Had you ever been this happy before? You weren’t sure, but you were happy now.

“Of course it’s alright. Zhongli, I’ve liked you for months now.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Zhongli tilted his head slightly in confusion. You stared down at your hands, slightly embarrassed.

“I thought I wasn’t good enough for you. I mean you’re an archon and I’m a mortal. I’m hardly different from the other people of Liyue, and I just, I don’t know, I was scared of rejection, I was scared you’d think I was overstepping and that our friendship would crumble. And I didn’t think I could stand that.”

At first Zhongli said nothing, instead he held out his hand. You gladly placed your palm in his, comforted by its warmth.

“You shouldn’t hold yourself so cheaply,” Zhongli spoke softly, “there are a great many extraordinary things about you. Your affectionate nature, your determination to live even when the world is dark and dangerous, your willingness to open your heart to some ancient archon who knows little of humans. If that’s not extraordinary, I don’t know what is. I don’t feel towards anyone as I do towards you, at least I haven’t in a long time. So don’t think of yourself that way anymore, please.”

“I won’t.” You replied. And it was true. You knew you wouldn’t be able to, not anymore. Zhongli would make sure of that, already you could tell.

To some love burns like fire in the mind, to other it wraps you up in a blanket of comfort. You felt incredibly lucky, for you despite yourself demanded both, and somehow fate had bestowed it upon you. And for that you would be forever grateful.

#is damn a swear word?#I tagged just in case #I have sort of triumphed over my computer #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #albedo #beidou #keqing #zhongli #albedo x reader #beidou x reader #keqing x reader #zhongli x reader #scenarios #my writing #requested

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dolliedarlin · 4 years

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s a f e i n h i s a r m s ⏤katsuki b.

s u m m a r y : after rescuing you during a rescue exercise gone wrong, now Bakugou can't shake you off from clinging onto his arm.

l e n g t h : 2.9k

g e n r e : fluff

w a r n i n g s : cursing from our beloved explosion boy

p a i r i n g : bakugou katsuki x f.reader

a / n : this idea came out of nowhere so instantly got to writing it. i'm sorry for any grammatical or spelling mistakes. this honestly gives me Juvia and Gray vibes from Fairy Tail...they were my favorite couple after all so, yeah...even reader has a water quirk -oopsie! whelp! we can see where my inspiration comes from at least. enjoy they read my lovelies!

It all started when Bakugou saved you during a rescue exercise that went horribly wrong for you.

The ceiling had collapsed from above you and, no matter how fast you were at trying to avoid the falling debris, it was still able to trap your leg. With it's crushing weight, several bones in your leg were snapped, leaving you vulnerable and immobile. Your horrifying cry of pain could be heard throughout the building as it bounced off the walls, alerting your classmates, who were sent into an instant panic.

Most of them had traversed through the fragile maze left by the torn-down structure as you had stubbornly stayed behind to ensure that everything transpired smoothly behind your teammates. With the frail state of the infrastructure, it was difficult for your team to travel back to your location without possibly triggering further collateral damage that could potentially cause further harm to you.

Things weren't looking their brightest.

The pain in your leg had crawled up the rest of your body and paralysed you with its stinging bite. It almost brought tears to your eyes but you had to be strong, you couldn't just sit around and wait for help. That isn't what a future hero should do. With the dry air around you, you wouldn't be able to use your quirk so you got started on trying to push away the sizable chunk of ceiling that had trapped your leg beneath it yourself.

It didn't take long before you realised that your attempts were futile. Judging from the way your arms shock under the weight as you awkwardly gripped at the ceiling fragment, you wouldn't be able to get out on your own. Losing hope, you let your tears accumulate to the surface of your eyes and were just about to let them flood over your lashes when an explosion broke a hole in the wall to the right of you. The instant you turned to its direction, your (e/c) orbs met with the piercing red eyes of Bakugou. The explosive blonde didn't say anything and just hurried to your side with a scowl, easily lifting the weight off of your leg before delivering a blast that pushed the hard stone ceiling over onto it's back. You were about to say your thanks when the blonde saw the state of your leg and grumbled as he picked you up in his arms and made a run for the exit he had made.

Everything happened in the blink of an eye, primarily because the jumbled emotions you were going through was hard to process individually as well as conjointly. However, one thing that you were sure of as you stared up at the frowning blonde carrying you in his arms, was that you had never felt safer than in that moment.

After that day, the way you acted around Bakugou was never the same.

You never really had a fixed friendship group. Sometimes you would sit with Midoriya and his friends, sometimes with the Bakusquad, sometimes with the rest of your classmates (but not Mineta) and even with those from class 2B. However, you were beginning to hang around the Bakusquad more and more after the incident of your rescue.

None of them really complained about it, not even Bakugou, in fact, they loved that you were spending time with them, especially Mina as she finally had another girl to help her through the other boys' antics. It was a surprising thing coming from her, seeing as she partook in mischievous antics of her own from time to time, sometimes, even joining in with Kaminari and Sero's playful pranks.

Truthfully, you seemed to be the only other level-headed person aside from Kirishima in Baukgou's eyes so, although he was grumbling under his breath at first, he wasn't too opposed at your newly established presence amongst the group of 'annoying weirdos that followed him around'.

This was a good sign for you and helped you to quickly get comfortable around the blonde.

Nobody knew this about you at the time but you're actually a very affectionate person, you just haven't been able to find someone to direct that affection towards so you've been a bit touch-staved. That was getting fixed really soon, however, because, now, you know exactly who to shower your affection on.

It started with little things such as simply standing closer to Bakugou than usual. He would throw you a narrowed glare but after you flashed him a smile, he would relent with a huff as he turned his attention away from you. It didn't take long for him to get used to you being so close but the instant he had grown familiar with your close proximity, you gave him a reason to send another harsh stare and growl your way.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing to my hand you stupid extra?!" he snapped at you, almost showering you in saliva from the way he was shouting in your face.

"Holding your hand," you replied bluntly, flashing a wide grin up at him with your eyes closed. In protest, the explosive blonde tried to tug your hand away, shouting demands for you to let go. This is when he realised that you had suddenly grown a monstrous amount of strength as he wasn't able to successfully pull his hand away from you. In fact, his tugging had the opposite effect and encouraged you, to not only, interlace your fingers with his but also to hug his arm to your chest using your other hand.

"GET OFF ME!"

"Don't you like holding my hand, Bakugou?" you asked with an endearing pout and subtle whine in your voice as you looked up at him with big teary eyes.

"NO! I DON'T!" his hopes of getting you to let go proved futile as you just continued to smile and hold him tightly. Eventually, he gave up and let you cuddle his arm throughout the school day, glaring at the people that dared to look and point. Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, and Mina all commented on his laughable position, chuckling under their breath at how it didn't suit him to be so close and affectionate with a girl.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?! SAY THAT AGAIN YOU BASTARDS AND I'LL BLAST YOUR FACES OFF!" he was about to chase them down as they shouted and ran away from him, their laughter hanging in the air. If only you weren't still hugging his arm.

"Don't do that Bakugou," you pouted and pressed your cheek into his shoulder.

"Hah?" he gave you a look of offended confusion. No one dared to keep him from beating up those idiots, who called themselves his friends, before.

"I'll have to let go of your arm if you do that,"

Bakugou doesn't know why but he didn't put up much of a fight after seeing how dejected you looked at the idea of having to let go of his arm.

As time progressed, many people grew bolder in teasing Bakugou as your holds on the male grew even more restricted, which gave them ample time to run away if need be.

One day, when you had been cuddling into Bakugou's side whilst hanging out in the common room with the rest of his group, Kaminari couldn't hold back his jealousy at the fact that someone as ill-tempered as Bakugou was getting more attention from a girl than he was.

"I can't believe you get cuddles from (Y/N) every day, Bakugou," Kaminari began as you giggled in return, "It's Not Fair!" the electric emitter cried with tears in his eyes.

"Then you have her!" Bakugou barked, attempting to pry you off him just to throw you at Kaminari as you flashed the explosive boy an extremely upset expression.

"No!" you cried, clinging onto him as tightly as possible, "I only wanna cuddle Bakugou!"

At this, the explosion quirk user sighed in exasperation and slumped back into his seat on the sofa, letting you sit on his lap and nuzzling into his chest as his arms stayed immobile at his sides. In the background, Kirishima set about comforting Kaminari as Mina and Sero laughed at the comical scene before them.

Your need to cuddle and be close to Bakugou didn't stop there, however, you even had the guts to embrace him at inconvenient times.

There were instances where Bakugou would be cooking dinner in the dorm kitchen and you'd come up to hug him from behind. His only response to your embrace, after you had done this to him time and time again, was to continue cooking and to cook enough for the two of you.

The first few times you were valiant enough to bring the red-eyed temper teen into your arms, he had put up his usual fight before ultimately giving up. The case would be that you'd skip up to him with your usual close-eyed smile, pull him into a hug that he wouldn't return as he'd do his best to continue whatever it was that he was doing, treating you like dead-weight hanging off his torso. Sometimes, he needed to throw you over his shoulder or carry you in his arms to be able to do whatever he had to do properly.

Take for example, walking up a set of stairs, he would throw you over his shoulder and make his way up the steps as quickly as possible to ensure that fewer people saw. Times when you had been particularly eager to stand beside him, even when he's training, he'd use you for practice.

It started off as your idea, actually.

"Why don't you pretend that I'm an injured person and carry me in your arms as you run to safety?" you suggested as you held your arms out, smiling happily up at him. He was stubborn at first but eventually, he was carrying you in his arms as he ran laps on the UA track lines. It felt so good to be in his arms again that you would always end up nuzzling your face into his neck no matter how sweaty he got.

"Don't do that, idiot. I'm fucking sweaty!" he'd reprimand you often.

"But I like your sweat Bakugou,"

"HAH?!"

"It saved me that one time and I'm sure it'll save me and others many more times in the future too," you'll never forget the tomato-red blush his face flourished into that day.

Nobody knows why you came across as so persuasive to the blonde that he let you do whatever you wanted. However, from their observations and the speculation that stayed between the rest of class 1A ended up reasoning that Bakugou was too touch-starved to willingly fight you off him. It was cute. The two of you were secretly dubbed the cutest couple in class 1A despite not officially dating.

Your admirable persistence at staying beside Bakugou at all hours of the day has continued for several months, and now, Bakugou as well as the rest of your classmates, wouldn't be able to see you without seeing the explosive blonde close by. Often times, you would cuddle up to him on the common room sofas as he read a book or played the games he was forced into doing by his 'idiot' friends. Your interactions were amusing to watch and helped the rest of your classmates see a different side to Bakugou.

The desire you had to stay by Bakugou's side flourished and blossomed over the months as your initiation on being close to him made you learn more endearing things about him. He's very misunderstood so you're glad you took the time to get to know him.

"You don't mean to be mean, do you, Katsuki?" you whispered his name with the most affection and ever so gently as you reached up a hand to tenderly caress his sleeping face. He had managed to fall asleep with everyone else at a weekend night together. The previous week had been exhausting and so the Bakusquad suggested an evening of fun to lift the weight of stress off everyone's shoulders before another week of stress is piled on top of them again. "I sometimes wish more people can see the good in you," you continued, suppressing a yawn, "but I'm greedy,"

Bakugou will never admit that he heard your little confession that night as you slipped into the world of sleep cuddled into his chest atop him.

As of recently, you had been pestering Bakugou to hug you back whenever you went up to embrace him but he wasn't going to willingly comply until he found out why exactly you were being so clingy. He knows he isn't the best person to be affectionate with and that you somehow were able to see through that, not that he would ever admit to there being something deeper going on behind his constant untamable temper.

The blonde can see you with so many other guys who were more deserving of you than he was, like Kirishima and even that stupid Deku. No matter how irritated it made him feel to see you with other guys, he knows that it was ultimately better for you to be affectionate towards them than him. It didn't make sense to that someone like you was always so desperate to be beside someone like him.

The day he saved you during the rescue exercise was a one-time thing. That couldn't be your only reason. Bakugou needed to know your way of thinking and decide for himself if it was equitable enough to let you continue what you were doing or to push you towards someone else, whether you do it willingly or not, he didn't care. He needed to focus on becoming the number one hero, not you.

It wasn't until the class had another hero rescue exercise that Bakugou finally got an answer to the reasoning behind your behavior towards him.

Somehow, the two of you ended up trapped together. Bakugou could easily cause an explosion to get out but not without causing the rest of the building collapse atop both of you at a rate and amount that would overwhelm the explosion emitter. Your water emitting quirk was limited at the moisture in the dry air surrounding you so you wouldn't be able to help much if you wanted to.

Despite the dire situation, you were still smiling and moving about without a care in the world.

"What are you smiling about idiot?!" Bakugou snapped at you, his frustration at his helpless situation making him act out, what made it all the more infuriating, however, was knowing that you knew from the gentle and understanding smile you directed towards him.

"Because you're with me Bakugou," he was speechless, "whenever I'm with you, I know I'm safe so I can be calm and think of things rationally," your smile only grew at his stunned and blinking expression, it took a moment but a boost of Bakugou's ego was soon rushing in as he felt his heart do something weird in his chest. It made him blush but you didn't need to see that so he quickly turned away so that the only evidence of the blush on his face you witnessed was at the tips of his ears, "in fact, I think I have an idea on how to get out,"

Using your water quirk, you drew as much moisture from the air as you could before you took a limited amount from your lungs. You fashioned the water in your hands into a gentle drill that you then used to dig your way out from the building. You needed to take multiple breaks, however, as utilising water from your lungs required you to hold your breath but in no time at all, you and Bakugou were out and safe.

After that day, Bakugou finally hugged you back every time you embraced him.

He became less grumbly at the fact that you were always reaching out to touch and cuddle up to him, actually, he made it a point that you would only want to be close to him and no one else. Everyone practically saw the hidden smirk on his lips every time he pressed your happily smiling face into his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist tightly, with his smirk all the boys around him he would glower at as if to stake his claim over you and the affection you were showering him with.

Bakugou could get used to this. He should've given you a chance earlier because he surprisingly liked having you wrapped up in his arms, your face tucked into the crook of his neck, your chest pressed up against his as your arms wrapped around his torso.

"Katsuki," you looked up at him as he grunted in return, maneuvering your face back into the junction between his shoulder and neck. It was a place that your face fit perfectly into and he needed you to always have your face pressed up against that area or else his neck would feel too exposed and naked, "since you're okay with hugging me back now..."

"What is it?" you didn't answer so he pulled away to look you in the eyes, "Spit it out,"

"Can I have a kiss?"

“Uh-“

n a v i . | bnha mlist

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou headcanons #bakugou imagine #bakugou fluff

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i-did-not-mean-to · 3 years

Text

Boys and sticks - Chapter 6

Sorry, I cannot stop writing this shit...

(Actually writing Chapter 10 right now)

Fandom: Hobbit (College AU)

Characters: @linasofia x Thorin, me x Ori

Words: 1,4 k

Warning: accidents and slight discomfort

I swallowed heavily.

“When I was much younger, yes.” Why would I deny what was true; he didn’t strike me as the judgemental type.

“Oh.” Ori said “oh” a lot, I found, and even in the darkness, I could imagine his sweet mouth puckered in that entirely kissable and adorably self-forgotten way. When I lifted my phone again though, his long fingers wrapped around my wrist gently and he murmured: “Let’s stay in the dark like that for a moment longer.”

My pulse quickened. All the things one wanted to do in the darkness were out of the question with someone like him and I hated the fact that I lacked Tova’s brazen self-assurance in these matters. Perhaps, he just wanted to deny me the sight of the burning blush sitting high on his cheeks like the midday sun illuminating the peaks and valleys of his face, which would have been outright cruel if he had known how much I loved seeing it.

His skin was still against mine and that rush of heat that everybody knew, and nobody talked about flashed through me; it was akin to the feeling of falling from a great height or of missing the last step of a staircase: an electric bubble of nothing flying from the pit of my stomach to my throat where it burst into sparks of pure light.

I wanted something to happen and yet, I was almost certain that it wouldn’t.

“Was it nice? Did you enjoy it?” His voice seemed much closer to me now, but I could not see him, and anyway, he had that way of blocking out everything else when he was around. Trying to pay attention to the professor with him within the range of 2 rows was near impossible sometimes, so I was used to this effect.

“I guess so.” Oh, it had been much too long and all the Thranduils in the world had not swayed me to give in to my baser needs and wishes. As Ceri had called it so callously, I was “hung up” on the very man standing a few steps away from me; just within reach and yet, miles away.

“So…are you seeing someone…in that way?” Did he read my thoughts? What was going on?

I laughed despite my deep despair. “Me? No, until the moon clashes into the sun and the oceans dry up, I fear I’ll be waiting for something that will – in all probability – never happen.”

Go to university, they said, it will be fun they said, you’ll have lots of sex, they said.

Nobody had warned me that I would develop a crush – right off the bat – on a bloke who seemed to only be aware of women when they were signified by the female pronouns on a page of paper.

With a groan, I turned to find the battered old couch standing next to the “popular novels”-section, hoping that Tova had more success tonight than me. “Where are you going?” He followed me effortlessly; God, we spent way too much time in the library if we could move through it without even seeing anything.

“I’ve promised not to return to the room tonight, so, I’ll sleep here,” I sighed, sinking into the cushions, and conjuring up a cloud of dust and dead skin that made me cough. “That is not safe,” he demurred.

His weight settled next to mine slowly. “You can…I mean…” He fell silent again.

A bony hip dug into my fleshy one as the dilapidated piece of furniture caved under the weight and made us slide into a hollow carved out by countless asses over the years. “Use your words, Ori!” I chuckled.

“You can sleep in my room?” He offered in a rush. “Yeah, sure, you have a game tomorrow. You need your sleep. I’ll be fine,” I replied, dismissing his valiant efforts of keeping me safe so the books wouldn’t gnaw on me while I slept.

“Then I’ll stay with you. I don’t want to leave you here,” He insisted, drawing up his legs under his chin – by the way the couch sagged even further – and curled into a ball.

“No, you’re not. You need your sleep.” I swallowed the “darling” that hovered on the tip of my tongue. “I’ll be okay. I’m not the most valuable player. Either way, we’ll suck. If I understood you correctly, Thorin will not sleep much tonight either and I’m almost sure that Dwalin is drunk by now.” He laughed.

It was a warm, melodious sound, like wind making the autumn leaves dance or like the gurgle of a brook deep within a forest; I might have heard nothing else for the rest of my life and never felt like I was missing out on the world.

“Or am I making you uncomfortable?” He suddenly exclaimed, scrabbling to get more distance between us which resulted in him sliding right back and slamming into my hip which made me topple sideways, my dress riding up and his hand landing square on my thigh as he tried to right himself.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” he moaned, pushing against the limb – it only pressed me further into the upholstery and did nothing to get him up – and trying desperately to get away from me. Classic Ori.

“It’s a leg, dude, you’ve got two of them.” I gave his thigh a squeeze to underline my words. Hell, all that running with sticks seemed to do wonders for the body, I thought hazily, unable to retract my own hand.

On the other end of the campus as told by Tova the next day

“So…erm…what do you want to do?” Thorin asked sheepishly, throwing doubtful glances at the two pretty beds – made perfectly – and obviously unsure if he was allowed to ruffle them by sitting down.

“Play cards.” Tova rolled her eyes. “Okay,” he agreed readily enough, and she was tempted to just knock his big, woolly head against the white plaster wall. “I don’t even have cards, Thorin,” she confessed between gritted teeth.

“Ah.” He rubbed his hands against the fabric of his jeans and looked around once more. “Is that…is that Ori’s poem?” He asked when his gaze fell on the beautiful piece of paper hung above Jia’s bed.

“It is. She’s terribly smitten with that dude, God knows why.” Tova laughed, biting her lip only a second later; she should not have said that. “Please don’t tell him if she has no chance, she’d never forgive me!” She gripped Thorin’s forearm pleadingly, her eyes imploring him to keep the secret.

“What? He wrote it for her, didn’t you know?” Thorin looked down on her in utter amazement.

“What?” Tova’s eyes were about to bulge out of her skull. “Surely not, he’s not…forthcoming,” she contradicted.

“He’s my friend, let me remind you, and I promise you that Dwalin recites it in his sleep sometimes so many times have we heard it before Ori even dared read it in class,” Thorin chuckled good-humouredly. “She didn’t catch that? Oh, well, he’s shy, that’s all. You seem very…self-possessed young women and…” His words ran out like a river in the middle of summer, drying up slowly in a symphony of dying notes.

“And what, Thorin?” Tova pressed, her eyes huge and enquiring as she looked up at him, her body so close to his now that she could feel his heat radiating into her naked thighs.

Again, he swallowed heavily, “And it’s hard to know if you’re playing games or…”

“Games?” Tova cocked her head; after all, she was not the one with the sticks and the balls. “Well, you promised me a dance, but it was cut cruelly short.” He laughed and she had to remind him that he had been the one to run away to get a new beer, not her.

She would not have minded staying in his arms for hours, the fresh smell of upper-shelf shower gel pervading the air between them and his soft smile raining light and sapphire dust onto her uptilted face. For a moment, she had thought that he would actually kiss her, but he had broken away at the pinnacle of tension, almost seeming embarrassed by the cloak of intimacy that had fallen around them.

“I liked dancing with you. It’s not that…” he murmured in a thick voice, laden with thoughts and emotions that didn’t quite make it to the surface but swirled within his eyes like smoke under water.

Putting on one of her favourite songs on her phone, Tova extended her hand to Thorin in invitation. “Alright then, let’s dance.”

#chapters 1-5 on my page #ao3 same handle #the hobbit #fanfiction #thorin oakenshield #ori #linasofia #me #seduction #but not going so well #sigh #men are dumb #frustration #college au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

She [1]

Warnings: non-consent sex (series)

This is dark! Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Steve Rogers’ life is turned upside down by a reporter.

Chapter Summary: You meet Steve Rogers for an interview but he’s not what you expected.

Note: I’ve been trying to chill the last five days but I obviously got some writing in. It has resulted in this impromptu series and I hope you all like it. It’s looking like it will be about 10 chapters when all is said is done but that being said, I am still working on it.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Reader

Your left ankle bent as you leaned heavily on your heel. You stood before the thick walnut door, a round frosted window on its face. The townhouse stuck out on the old Brooklyn row and all knew its resident. It surprised many that he remained in the borough and he was cherished all the more for it. He was the golden boy of New York.

Well, that’s what people like to believe. You weren’t there to paint another flowery picture of the saviour. You were there to speak with the real man behind the plan. There was a story behind Steve Rogers that had yet to be told and when you were selected to tell it, you knew you had to do it right. The task was both daunting and humbling. It could be your big break.

You knocked and adjusted the bag that hung from your shoulder. You didn’t miss the group of kids at the end of the block gathered around for a glimpse of their hero. The door opened and you were greeted by the man himself. He smiled at you as his hand rested on the curled door handle.

“Hi,” He greeted you. “Thanks for coming. It saves me a lot of trouble.”

“Not at all,” You shook his hand.

You’d spoken to him briefly over the phone and negotiated the time and place for your interview. You agreed that him coming to the office would cause too much of a flurry. You were sure he was over that.

“Come in,” He stepped back and waved you through.

He closed the door as you looked around the entryway. A thick banister with the same dark wood as the walls led up to the second level and a finely carved archway peeked through to the next room. It was cozy and a lot quainter than you expected. The exposed brick above the panelling lent it a warmth.

“Shoes?” You stopped by the mat.

“Your call,” He said. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Thank you, Mr. Rogers, but I’m fine,” You assured him as you stepped out of your heels. You’d hate to scuff the hardwood. “I’m sure you're just as impatient as me to begin.”

“Steve. And yeah, I suppose. I don’t really do much more than pressers and usually, I don’t do much talking.” He confessed. “Just through here,” He pointed to the front room.

You nodded and stepped through. He directed you to the pair of armchairs before the artificial fireplace and you set your bag down as you sat. He lowered himself across from you as you reached into your bag and pulled out your phone and notebook. You swiped up and flicked your finger across the screen.

“Do you mind if I record you? It helps with editing and of course, accuracy,” You said.

He scratched his jaw and shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Great,” You hit the red dot and set the phone down on the small table with the mic facing him.

🖋️

You were a bit surprised by how it had all unfolded, but, you supposed, you were right when you said no one was ever exactly what they seemed. Steve was nice enough as he showed you the door but you could see the agitated impatience behind his eyes. You should’ve eased him into it more. Timing was everything.

Even so, you had promised your editor a story and if you didn’t deliver after being chosen for such a coveted one, well, you would never see its likes again.

So you sat at your desk in your small but comfortable city apartment. It was nothing compared to the star-spangled hero’s walk-up but it was home. If you could work the interview the right way, it might mean an upgrade, or at least a television that didn’t flicker.

You hit play on your phone for the third time that night. Steve Rogers’ voice was etched into your brain. And that tension in his forehead, the tic in his jaw. A thinly veiled wrath unexpected of the valiant soldier-turned-saviour. You shivered and paused the recording. It was almost startling how quickly he’d turned on you, but you weren’t entirely innocent.

You stretched your fingers over the keyboard and sighed as you stared at your blinking cursor. You couldn’t just sit on this forever. You had a deadline and an extension was an impossibility, if not a death warrant for your career.

So you hit play and began to type, pausing to play back snippets as you went.

🖋️

‘It’s early afternoon in the heart of Brooklyn. Amidst the old brick buildings that line the cracked sidewalks is a townhouse unlike any other. The home of a man born there over a century ago. A living ghost that haunts the block. Most would say he is a friendly spirit.

Steve Rogers answers the door as a boy lets his baseball roll under a car and his friends lower their mitts to watch. A teen on a bike, a ring in his nose, even slows to admire the hometown hero as he smiles; a beacon of the borough. A glimmer of hope for all to think that the block is not the whole world.

He greets me like an old friend. “Hi.” The same smile seen in newsprint. He thanks me for coming and ushers me inside. This is the first time I’ve met him in person. I can’t lie; I’m intimidated. I’m just another person in debt to this great veteran.

His house isn’t what you would expect from a man as prestigious as him. No medals hanging on the wall, no vainglorious cut-outs of his image, or pictures of him shaking hands with men in suits. Only framed baseball cards along freshly laid wood-panels. It’s like any other house in Brooklyn, just newer. An ancient skeleton revived.

We sit in the front room, he offers me a drink. I’m not very thirsty. I’m more anxious to start talking. I can see he is too though his facade is hard to crack. He tells me to call him Steve as my recitations of ‘Mr. Rogers’ become almost pathetic. We begin.

Interviewer: “Great.” I hit ‘record’. “I’ll start by saying you have a nice place.”

Steve: “Thanks.” He seems to relax as he leans back in the chair which is nearly too narrow for his broad shoulders. “It took a while but I think it’s coming together.”

Interviewer: “Can’t take the boy out of Brooklyn, I guess.”

Steve: “Wouldn’t leave it for the world.” He smiles again, though he never truly looks less than amiable.

I: “Only to save it,”

S: “I do what I can.

I: “More than most; New York, Sekovia, the world. You’ve done it all. Do you ever just take a break?”

S: “I try. And sometimes I get a chance to just… be here.”

He looks around, proud of himself, of his home.

I: “Any hobbies?”

S: “You know, I used to love to draw. Nothing special, you know. But I found it calming. I actually bought a bunch of pencils and a pad but I never touched them. I’m sure they're just sitting up in my closet, neglected.”

I listen intently, imagining this man bent over a notebook. It’s an absurd picture as my mind returns to the man in his cowl with shield in hand. The red, white, and blue bullseye is more suiting in my head than a pen.

I: “Anything else? Anything you actually do?”

S: “I like to run. Helps me get to know my neighbours, reconnect with my roots. I read… a little. I’m still not really into the whole internet thing but I try. I still get the newspaper just to read the strips and fill in the weekly crosswords.”

He confirms my suspicion. A man lost in time, but it seems he has found his place.

I: “A man for all times. And you work? I’m sure you get tired of talking about it but well, there’s been a lot of speculation about a possible retirement.”

He ‘s silent as he looks away and fidgets in his chair. He becomes the rehearsed hero at his podium.

S: “I’d hate to fan that fire but I think it’s only natural to consider it.”

I: “Thinking of settling down?”

S: “It’s always a thought but I’m not stupid. It’s not that simple. I’m not the type of man that gets to settle down.”

This remark might break the heart of every woman in Brooklyn and beyond but it seems to hurt him more. A grim truth for a man who many would say has the world in his hands.

I: “And if you did hang up the shield, is there anything you want to do? Anywhere you want to go?”

S: “I’d like to try fishing. I’ve heard it’s relaxing. I love the city but it’s nice to get away now and then.”

I: “Is there anything keeping you from retiring? Besides the obvious; we all know you’re a good man and a great hero. You’ve shown commitment to the city, the world, humanity.”

He looks to the artificial fireplace and shrugs. He’s thinking; perhaps censoring his response.

I: “Co-workers? The world is well aware of what you did for your old friend. And it has proven to be a point of contention, even after the pardon.”

He clears his throat and he’s no longer smiling.

S: “Bucky is an old friend and a commendable soldier. He does his job well. I wouldn’t take anything back. He has more than earned his place.”

I: “So, if you retired, you believe that he would retain his place among the team?”

He’s frowning now. He adjusts his posture so that he seems even bigger than before. A formidable opponent, if not an overwhelming one.

S: “He is not there because of me. He’s there because of himself. Because he is an asset to the world.”

His blue eyes are darker now. No longer the crystalline waves shining in the sun but those foreboding tides which crash together beneath the moonless sky. My ship has gone awry, carried by an errant wind.

I: “Well, I can’t help but point out that many wouldn’t agree. You put yourself and several of your associates on the line to save him. To bring him into your fold. To place a man who was once a national enemy beside you. I hate to say it but, frankly, even if he were pardoned on his own merit, I fail to imagine him being allowed the same access to confidential intelligence and tasked with the protection of civilian life.”

His hands are fists. I could put up a front and say I’m not nervous, but I am. I have done what I once thought impossible. I have angered Steve Rogers.

S: “He wasn’r Bucky, but he is now and he has been cleared. I’m sorry, but I thought you were here to talk about me.”

I: “Yes, I am, but the world is well aware of your friendship with Mr. Barnes and all its implications. It is hard to separate him from your life.”

S: “I agreed to talk about me.”

His tone is set in stone. I attempt to stay calm myself.

I: “We are talking about you, but we can move on. Now, even with its dissolution, there are still questions being asked about the Sokovia Accords and your opposition to it. While many can acknowledge the need for your team and their work, they can’t help but wonder at the lack of restraints placed upon it. There are regulations even for the FBI and CIA and other protective services. So why should you be exempt?”

He sniffs and stands up slowly. He retreats behind his chair and nears a table along the wall. He distracts himself with a signed baseball. I don’t have a chance to ask who scribbled along the stitches as he tosses it and finds his voice.

S: “I never disagreed with the sentiment of the Accords. As heroes, of course, we should have obligations. Our first and foremost being the protection of innocent lives. The hardest to uphold but we do it.”

He is ever the statesman but he isn’t finished and his voice gets low. Dangerous, even.

S: “At the same time, we put our own lives on the line and you come here and nag me about formalities? What is it you want? Paperwork? Reports on how I threw my shield to stop a bullet from striking an innocent bystander? How a piece of shrapnel nearly severed my tendon as I threw myself in front of a speeding vehicle?”

I: “With all due respect, I am only asking about transparency. People deserve to know more. They deserve the truth.”

S: “Is that what you’re looking for? The truth? You want to know what we don’t tell you and your readers?”

He puts the baseball down and his hand is on his hip, disapproving. I suspect his lecture will continue. He nears the chair and grips the back of it as he narrows his eyes at me. I fear he might throw it in my direction though for now, I hope it should act as my own shield against him.

S: “About how I have to lie about how many men I lose to keep this world safe. Because I can’t scare the people. Because I have to keep on this mask of the brave hero.”

His eyes go to the ceiling. He takes a breath to calm himself. I can tell he wants to continue. That he is holding back something which has brewed within him for a very long time. It is a moment before he speaks again.

S: “We’re done here. That’s it. Turn your phone off and go.”

The interview is over. What happens next will remain off the record. I leave with a mouth full of bile. My childlike wonder has been extinguished. I came to seek out the man behind the shield and I have done just that, but he is not who I expected.

I was ready for a humble man, a man like any of us; the same wants and desires. Still human despite his enhancements; despite his superhuman status. What I discovered was a man who’s exceptionality has nurtured a sense of entitlement.

And we do owe him our lives, our gratitude, we owe him the world. Yet I cannot dismiss the sense that he might regret his good deeds. That to him, it has become a thankless chore. That we are the needy children and he has been burdened with our cries for help.

So we should not be surprised or upset upon his retirement, not if, but when it comes. And we cannot fault him for his departure. It has been a long-time coming.’

🖋️

You took a breath and sat back in your chair. You rubbed your cheeks as the recording began to repeat itself. You stopped it and checked the time. You’d spend your morning editing and hope you would be ready for submission by the evening.

As you hit save, you felt an odd tremor deep inside. This could be it. Your big story. Or you could be tired and entirely up your own ass. You only hoped it was the former.

🖋️

You sat across from Poppy as she read your article through the glasses which sat low on her long nose. She was just past forty and wouldn’t look it if she didn’t wear the ridiculous half-circle spectacles. She wore a shade of red which paid homage to her name and her lipstick was just as bold. Her long lashes flicked up as she lowered the pages and her blonde hair fell behind her shoulder.

“Well…” She said carefully. “It is…interesting.”

You swallowed nervously as you teetered on the edge of the acrylic seat. Her long manicured nails played with the corner of the article.

“I had initially planned to have this in the back pages. No one really cares about the Avengers anymore.” She said. “But this is… I will discuss it with our marketing team but I know a feature when I see it.”

“A feature?” Your lips parted and you sat back as you gripped the thin arms of the chair.

“Oh, yes,” She said. “Another celebrity break-up is not exactly scandalous and to be frank, I do tire of that ridiculous narrative. But this… you will be hearing from me soon.”

“Uh,” You stood awkwardly at what you were sure was a dismissal. “Thank you.”

“For what? Doing my job? Should I thank you for doing yours?” She countered.

“N-no,” You stuttered.

“Go on then. I’m certain you have other work to do.” She tapped her long nails. “You certainly will once this is ready to print.”

You nodded and left her. She was already on her phone before the door closer behind you and you looked around the blindly bright office. It would be your first feature and it was the first article which had earned you more than a passive grumble from the woman. Perhaps you hadn’t been so foolish to think you had actually done something well.

#Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #she #dark fic #dark!fic #au #series #fic #mcu #marvel #captain america

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sillyfeathers · 4 years

Text

Fight Scene (Jade West x Reader)

Fight Scene Prompt: "I'm not going to say this!" / "Oh, I see now. You're just ticklish." Characters: Jade West, reader (romantic) Summary: When you are partnered with Jade for a drama project, things were always bound to get interesting – and it doesn’t help that you’re definitely probably crushing on her. Warnings: fluff, mentions of breakup Words: 1946

A/N: for the gays :’) I have been binge watching victorious in quarantine and falling back in love with jade west so welcome to my very first romantic fic! I really enjoyed writing this and there will probably be a part 2. I hope you enjoy!

“I’m not going to say this!”

You glared at Jade, the script you two were supposed to be working on scrunched up in your right hand.

“Boring,” she replied, indifferent. You scoffed, straightening out the piece of paper.

“Maia says, ‘Look, Valerie, it's Trek Boliver, that horrible criminal that ruined my life!’ –”

“I don’t see what’s so bad about it!” Jade cut you off.

You gave her a pointed look, continuing, “And then Valerie says, ‘Wow, Maia, we should kill him!’” You crushed the paper back up.

Jade hesitated, then shrugged. “What’s the problem?”

You knew she was just trying to get on your nerves, but you had an entire scene performance due tomorrow, and you were getting frustrated.

“Come on, West, you’re obviously trying to get back at Beck.” Jade let out a loud, sarcastic laugh.

“I dumped him, Y/L/N, why would I be trying to get back at him?”

“Because you miss him? You guys were together for years – you know you’re allowed to miss him, right?”

For the first time since you’d started this project, Jade fell silent. Her eyes were locked on the ground in front of her.

After almost a minute of silence, you decided to speak.

“I know you’re a great writer, Jade, and I’m not so bad myself. If you actually put some effort in, we would totally get a higher grade than Beck and Robbie.”

You saw her head tilt slightly, and she raised her eyes to meet your gaze.

“Instead of making him feel bad by killing a metaphorical version of him, we could outsmart him.” She spoke slowly, musing over what you said.

You nodded along, afraid to say anything that could jeopardize the somewhat-amicable conversation you two were having right now.

“Alright!” she exclaimed suddenly, making you jump. “You’ve convinced me! Let’s make this the best damn scene Sikowitz has ever seen.”

Almost 4 hours later, the two of you had successfully put together and rehearsed a scene that had just about everything, and you were damn proud of it. It had a plot twist, a fight, a moment of potent pathos, while still keeping in a tiny bit of shade towards Beck – you couldn’t fully convince Jade. There was pretty much no doubt in either of your minds that this would beat Beck and Robbie. Hey, they didn’t stay up until 2am writing theirs!

“We did it!” you yawned, half-heartedly punching the air. Jade grinned as you collapsed onto the couch, scrolling through the script on her laptop.

“Actually, Y/N – Y/L/N,” she corrected herself, shaking her head. “Can we go over that fight scene again?”

You groaned, throwing your arms over your face. “Whyyyy?”

“Because, as funny as it would be, I don’t want to actually hurt you.” She started to pull you off the couch as she spoke, and you felt your heart skip a beat when her hands closed around your wrist.

“Fine,” you grumbled, yawning again. “From, what, two lines beforehand?”

She nodded, and you couldn’t help but smile slightly as you watched her morph into character.

You cleared your throat. “Valerie, this isn’t you!”

“Oh, Maia.” As per the blocking, she began to slowly walk towards you, and you had to force yourself to stay in character.

“This has always been me.” She finished the line, and so the fight scene started.

It was well choreographed, Jade’s intensity pairing nicely with your more placid style. You went through the steps as if it were a dance: swing, catch, turn, kick, duck –

“Wait, hold on.” Jade stopped, and you kicked out at nothing, stumbling. She chuckled as you regained your balance, rolling her eyes. “Can we change that part? It’s awkward to grab you by the shoulder.”

You shrugged, nodding. “What would be better?”

She paused, her hands moving slightly as she gestured out the motions of the fight.

“Okay, like –” She reached forward and grabbed at your waist, surprising you. You jumped backwards, gasping slightly.

She squinted at you. “What was that?”

You tried to keep your cool. “Nothing, sorry, you surprised me.”

Jade seemed doubtful, but let it go as you returned to her. She demonstrated the move again, only making it a couple of seconds longer before she felt you flinch.

She had her arm locked around your waist for the next move now, pulling you close to her, and she glanced down, her eyebrows raised.

“Seriously, am I hurting you or something?” She would never have admitted it, but there was a hint of concern in her voice.

You shook your head, pressing your lips together. “No, no, it’s fine.”

She let out a light laugh. “Alright then – we just have to figure out how to get from here to the end.” Her brow furrowed in thought. Just like before, she began to gesture the motions with her hands, her fingers gently flicking against your skin as she puzzled it out in her head.

You froze, looking down at her hand that was still firmly secured around your waist. Her fingers were in constant, absentminded motion, her nails tapping along your side and hip. A tiny squeak escaped your lips. “W-West!”

“Huh? Is something wrong?” She looked down at you again, her fingers still moving. You tried to splutter out a coherent response, but all that you could get out was a mumbled, “No…”

For the first time, Jade seemed to notice what she was doing with her hands. She shifted her gaze to her fingers, which were still marking out patterns on your skin. Your head was pressed to your chest, and you were squirming almost imperceptibly in her grip, not wanting to alarm her. But, alas, it wasn’t enough.

“Oh, I see now.” She spoke slowly, drawing out the words, and to your dismay you felt the tickling at your side become more deliberate. “You’re just ticklish.”

Before you could speak, she’d spun you out of the hold and had reached both hands down to scribble at your sides. You let out a surprised shriek, biting back laughter.

“Jahahade!” You batted at her exploring hands, refusing to meet her gaze. “We need to figure out the scene!”

She was grinning now, finding it all too easy to pin you down onto the couch and straddle your waist.

“Yeah, but that was before I discovered this.”

Despite your valiant efforts to stop her, she managed to wrestle both of your wrists into one hand, pulling your arms above your head.

“Wait!” you squealed, shaking your head madly. “This – don’t – I swear – please –”

You were cut off by a determined scratching between your ribs, and the giggles finally spilled out.

“WEHEHEST, LET ME GO!” you shrieked, squirming around as much as you could.

“West? I don’t know a West, I’m Valerie Sinclair, and I just love to tickle my dear friend Maia Lahey!” She had put on that stupid southern accent you loved so much, and as she tickled down to your stomach you felt your face heat up.

“That’s not how Valerie speaks!” you managed to squeal amidst your laughter.

“Well, that sure as hell ain’t how Maia laughs but look at you go!” She released your wrists, but you were so weakened by the tickling and teasing that you didn’t get a chance to fight your way free before she started to knead her thumbs up your sides. You threw your head back in mirth, and even though you couldn’t see her, you could hear the smirk in Jade’s voice.

“My oh my, I do declare we’re discoverin’ a tickle spot,” she teased, fluttering her torturous nails under your arms. You squealed again, clamping your arms to your sides.

“I’M GOHOHONNA KILL VALERIE!”

Jade gasped, wiggling her trapped fingers at a frightening speed.

“My goodness, that’s not how I remember this scene goin’!” she exclaimed. You were beginning to lose your breath, and you could only let out a half-whine, half-hysterical-giggle as she relentlessly tickled you, nails scribbling across your stomach and sides with no indication of stopping.

After a few more unbearable minutes, your laughter began to turn silent, and she decided to let you go. You kicked her off the couch, curling onto your side, giggles still streaming from your lips as you tried to get rid of the lingering sensation. When you finally worked up the courage to look up, you were met with a very smug Jade West, the corners of her lips upturned and her eyes crinkled.

“Well that was fun,” she remarked, tilting her head at you. You glared back at her – and if looks could kill, this one probably wouldn’t have been that effective, what with your small smile and red face.

“You sounded like Tori,” you eventually grumbled, pushing yourself up off the couch. You were startled by a loud clap, followed by an even louder cheer.

“Because you said that, Y/N, and only because you said that, I will not exploit your weakness for the rest of the night!”

You raised your eyebrows at her.

“What?” she defended herself. “She doesn’t think it sounds like her.”

“Just the rest of the night? That’s it?”

“Don’t push it, Y/L/N.” She wiggled her fingers menacingly, and you blanched, shooting her another glare.

“So, um –” you cleared your throat – “Where were we?”

“Valerie, this isn’t you!”

“Oh, Maia. This has always been me.”

As the fight scene began, you could see Cat in your peripheral vision on the edge of her seat – just the reaction you and Jade were hoping for. It had only taken one more hour to perfect the scene last night, and it had ended with the two of you sleeping at awkward angles on the couch, so now your neck was sore and your arm hurt if you bent it the wrong way – but it was worth it.

You felt Jade grab your waist as she pulled you into the next move (you were prepared this time) and you made eye contact. She tilted her head ever so slightly, and you felt the slightest twitch at your side before she let go, and the scene continued.

By the time you were on the last few lines, you could see your entire class clearly engrossed in the story.

“Maia, I’m sorry, you were right. I let all of this get under my skin. I should never have hurt you.”

“No, I’m – I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have rushed you like that.”

And, finally, the end was upon you. You took Jade’s wrist and went to pull her into a hug (her idea, it mirrored the opening tableau), but suddenly, you felt her stop, her hand on your shoulder.

Before you could register what was going on, she was moving even closer, and her hands were cupping your face, and your eyes were closed, and she was kissing you – and you were kissing her back.

You were pulled from the moment – the so, incredibly perfect moment – by the sound of applause, and Cat’s cooing. You both pulled back, smiling at your classmates as if everything was normal, but she squeezed your hand as you took your bows.

The rest of the class was a blur, and you couldn’t remember anything that Sikowitz said, or if Beck gave you an odd look as you left the stage. All that mattered to you that was by the time you left school that day, Jade West had her arm around your waist, and as she gave your side a pinch, her lips were pressed against your forehead.

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hecticcheer · 3 years

Text

Hyponatremia (unfinished T/M/A fic)

Fiveish months ago I tried to write a fic based on this scenario post I made. I’m super definitely never gonna finish it, and, it just kinda trails off at the end? Also it’s very rough. Features some American measurements in brackets that I’m too lazy to convert, if that gives you an idea. But I figured I’d post it anyway on one-slice-of-cake>no-cake principle.

As for the plot... uh. Jon has a headache; Martin tries to help, but makes it worse. For *checks notes* ~4200 words. If it has one saving grace, it’s that you can mmmmostly understand it without prior knowledge of T/M/A? Long as you know Martin’s living in the Archives to hide from an evil worm monster, you should be good.

As usual, Jon was the first person to join Martin down in the Archives that morning, sometime between seven and eight. And, no more unusually, Martin had twelve-plus hours of nervous energy to work off, and nobody to shed it on but his boss. “Morning. Sleep well? Tim said you still had some work to do when we left for the pub, but I didn’t see you when I got back so you can’t have made too late a night of it.” (Jon shook his head.) “Shame you couldn’t join us, by the way. Elena and Clarisse and them destroyed us on geography, and Sasha says you’re pretty good on maps and that. Maybe you could’ve saved us.”

“Doubt it,” said Jon. Martin waited for him to add more to that thought, but instead he just sort of stood there. Pinched one nostril shut and inhaled experimentally through the other. Trying to figure out which one was clogged, maybe? Tim said Jon’d said he had a headache; maybe it was a sinus thing. Not that this was exactly reliable intel. On pub-quiz Wednesday Tim always regaled him and Sasha with Jon’s latest excuses not to join them. They were always bad, but some were so bad Martin suspected they weren’t so much Jon’s lies as Tim’s lies about Jon’s lies. Probably not a great idea to mention this one, then. He’d stick to the first excuse Jon had allegedly given:

“Did you finish what you were working on?”

Jon closed his eyes, for a bit longer than the average blink, but not long enough to count as a proper wince. “Not even close.”

“Oh. What… was it?”

“Cabinet of statements from 2003. Or at least, nominally from 2003, though by my count less than a third of them actually date from that year.”

“Yikes. Need any help? Extra pair of hands, or.”

“Not right now.”

“2003,” Martin mused—“are you still looking for Mr. McKenzie’s statement?”

A short, but hearty sigh. Enunciated, practically. He didn’t open his mouth until afterward, but Martin could see his nostrils flare around it. “No. Three days ago, when I started to look through the cabinets marked 2003, I was looking for Mr. McKenzie’s statement. Now I just want to find out which statements in there I can’t send straight to the discredited section.”

Jon stood in the open doorway to his office by this point, hand on the knob as if to remind Martin of his eagerness to close it behind him. Even so Martin tried to peer past him into the office, looking for a discard pile of statements he might offer to shuttle away himself. This was pretty hard to do surreptitiously, though. He’d hoped his eyes would land at once on the tallest pile, at which time he could point to it and say, Are those the discredited ones, then? But from his vantage point all the piles on Jon’s desk seemed taller than usual.

“Right,” Martin said instead; “good luck.” He smiled weakly and returned his gaze to Jon, meaning to restore eye contact before he remembered how seldom Jon looked at people’s faces anyway. At this moment both his eyes were covered by the hand not on the doorknob. It would’ve been weird, he figured, to just duck out now while Jon couldn’t even see him, so Martin told himself to wait until he opened his eyes and only then back off.

But then Jon just stayed like that, for ages, with his fingers on one temple and his thumb on the other, blocking all possibility of sight. Eventually Martin felt like he had no choice but to say, “Are you alright?—or, I mean, how’s your head, by the way? Tim said….”

“It’s fine.”

“Ssssso it—doesn’t still hurt, then?”

“I’m fine, Martin. Thank you,” Jon said, but in one of the least thankful-sounding tones of voice he had. And then he closed the door, without even waiting for Martin to back up.

—

“Thought you might like coffee this morning instead of tea. It’s got more caffeine, and, that’s supposed to help, right? Plus I remembered what you said on your birthday about tea having tannins just like wine does. Of course, for all I know coffee might too—”

“It does.”

“Oh. Well… maybe the caffeine’ll cancel it out and you’ll break even? Or, I don’t know, maybe if you already have a headache they can’t trigger one.”

Jon’s answering Hm sounded pessimistic. Sure enough, as soon as Martin had finished his sentence he said, “I’m not that lucky.”

“Probably not,” Martin agreed with a laugh. “Still, least it’s hydration. Though caffeine’s a diuretic, so if I recall correctly you only get about half, volume-wise. That mug’s about… [twelve ounces,] I’d say? So it probably counts as about [six toward your sixty-four].”

“Yes, yes,” replied Jon, picking up his bottle of water and shaking it. When he set it down again, one look confirmed what Martin had suspected from the sound it made—it was nearly empty.

“Oh hey, look at that! Looks like you’re doing a pretty good job even without…” he trailed off, realizing too late that the most logical end to that sentence was my help, and that that was a pretty pompous way to refer to a coffee he was pretty sure Jon didn’t even want. So instead he said, “I’ll go refill that for you.” And before Jon could look up Martin scurried off to the break room with it.

The water dispenser should’ve been changed yesterday. When the water got this low it took ages to fill even a mug, much less a tall bottle like this one. It startled as a trickle, and by about halfway up the bottle slowed to a glorified drip. In his mind he pleaded with the water spout not to make so much noise; promised it he’d put in a new one as soon as he’d returned Jon’s water to him, mouthed encouragements to it. Not much farther, just to the top of the M, come on, you can do it. (The bottle was an Institute freebie, with Magnus Institute inscribed on it in black-bordered green letters. Martin had one just like it somewhere in his flat. Worm bait now, he supposed.)

By the time he brought it back Jon’s eyes were on the statement in his hands. Skimming, by the looks of it, rather than either actually reading or pretending to.

Martin endeavored to set down his refilled water audibly, but not painfully loudly. But Jon’s answering “Thank you” took him so much by surprise that at the last moment his wrist jerked and the bottle fell over.

“Ah! Sorry, sorry.” It had a lid, so, not an actual disaster? Jon did snarl at him though, or at least at the noise. His hands flew up as if to cover his ears, but he seemed to reject that idea halfway through. Just closed his fists around thin air, then leant his temple on one of them and sighed through his nose. “Sorry,” Martin said again. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Jon’s emphatic blink seemed to stand in for a nod.

“Anyway, here’s a further [sixteen ounces] for you, looks like, or thereabouts,” ventured Martin, patting the side of the water bottle with one hand while holding it down with the other so it definitely wouldn’t topple again. “I’ll just leave you to it then.”

“Mm.”

“Good luck.”

—

After his stunt with the water bottle Martin had too much distrusted himself to risk making another big noise with the door, so he’d left it with its tongue sticking out rather than latching it. This meant he made almost no sound when he entered again. The first thing he noticed was that the water in Jon’s bottle still reached the top of the M. It still sat in the same place, too—not out of Jon’s reach but far enough away (Martin had told himself at the time) not to seem an imposition on his space. Almost definitely not where one would set it if one intended to pick it up again soon. His coffee seemed to have fared a bit better though. Half empty, one might say. Optimistically.

The second thing he noticed was Jon himself, who sat with his elbows on the desk, his chin on the heels of his palms, and his fingers arranged around his eyes like fence posts. Like a child peeking out at something they’re too scared to look at directly—except that his eyes were closed.

Martin snuck back to the other side of the door and knocked on it, gently. “Hey, uh, Jon?”

He didn’t look up, and opened his eyes for only a second before shutting them again. But he did drop his hands, threaded his fingers together and set them on the table, and bit his lip. “What, Martin.”

“Er—well, I know you said you’d given up looking for Marcus McKenzie’s statement, but I just realized I never asked if you’d thought to look in the discredited section. I mean, from what he said on the phone it didn’t sound like he took his dad’s statement all that seriously, so, maybe Gertrude put it in there, as, like, corroborating evidence that it wasn’t paranormal, and McKenzie senior’s statement just got misfiled?”

“Martin, I invented the discredited section.”

“Oh.”

“Anything else you wanted to say?”

“Oh, uh, nothing important. Just wondered if you’d like me to take that mug away.”

Instead of responding verbally, Jon picked up the mug and made what seemed a valiant effort to drink a little more of the coffee inside it. From what Martin could tell, he barely managed not to grimace in disgust.

“Do you like coffee? I’m not a big fan of it either, to be honest. Oh, well. If you can’t force that down you’ve still got plenty of water there, I see. Besides, it’ll wash out the taste.” (With an actual heh heh, which came out more like a small dog panting than like human laughter.)

Dramatic, snarly sigh from Jon. “Think I’ll pass. It seems to make it worse, if anything.”

“Oh. Sorry about that; must be those pesky tannins. I’ll just take your cup now then.”

But Jon only tightened his grip on it. “Water, I meant. The coffee’s fine. Not exactly my favorite beverage in the world, but, you were right. It’s a good idea.”

“Oh. Thanks, I’m glad you.” Martin smiled, then frowned. “Wait, water makes it worse?”

“Seems to.”

“Really? Are you sure it wasn’t just—too cold, or something.”

His laugh sounded bitter, hollow—theatrically so, in fact. A perfect Ha ha ha, except he didn’t say those words, didn’t enunciate them like Sasha sometimes did when Tim made a bad joke. He just made the exact sounds they were invented to transcribe. “No, Martin. I haven’t just been giving myself a brain freeze every time I.”

“…Right, of course not. Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” For a few silent seconds Martin picked at a notch in his thumbnail, carved there earlier this morning by a stubborn paperclip. Part of him wanted to tear the nail off and have done, but he knew it would bleed if he did. Nothing to clip it with in the Archives, obviously. “Are you sure you won’t try again? This water’s quite tepid, actually, since I got it literally from the bottom of the barrel—”

“Martin—”

“Sorry, sorry. Just thought it was worth—”

“Don’t you have something better to do.”

“Er… no, actually. Pretty much finished with everything, at the momen…t. Though if you’d like to give me another assignment I’d be happy to—yeah. Do that, for you. Or I mean, for the sake of the Archives; I don’t mean it’d just be, like, busy work. Not accusing you of that or anything.”

“Are you comfortable leaving the Archives?”

For half a second Martin heard this as a hint—an offer? a threat?—that Jon meant to have him transferred to another department. Then he wondered if Jon was hinting it was time Martin found somewhere else to live. “What, like, permanently?”

“No—just as long as it takes to track down and interview Georgie Barker about her role in the statement Ms. King gave us.”

“Oh. Yeah, I think so, uh. Thank you for asking? I mean, Prentiss said she was done with me, right. At least, me personally. And she already knows I’m here, so it’s not like.”

Jon replied shortly, “Yes.”

“I’d like to listen to Ms. King’s statement first, though, if that’s alright. What’d you say it was about? The Cambridge Military Hospital?”

Another short, emphatic, nose-directed sigh. Couldn’t be too stuffed-up then, Martin guessed. “Technically, yes, though Ms. King insists the building itself had nothing to do with it.”

“Huh. What was it about, then?”

“She alleges that a woman she hired to help film one of her ghost stories peeled the skin off her arm.”

“Oh my god! I mean, did you—was she okay? Did she show you her arm? Did it seem to have—you know—skin?”

“Her own arm, not Ms. King’s.”

“Oh.” Martin sighed for himself now, though with relief rather than exasperation. Managed a tiny laugh, as well. “Okay, well, that’s. Creepy as hell, but, not nearly as bad as.”

“Mm. Nor nearly as verifiable as your version.”

“T…rue, no, I guess not. Anyway do you have the tape? I’d like to listen myself, if that’s.”

Jon pointed to a small stack of tapes on the bookshelf to Martin’s right. Sure enough, the top one had M. King, 0161704 sharpied across the label on its side. “Ah! Found it. Thanks.” He had a tape player squirreled away already; on another day he might’ve pretended otherwise, but for the moment he was too relieved not to have to make a pest of himself by asking to borrow one to worry whether the absence of that request might make Jon suspicious.

Besides, Jon seemed pretty… absorbed in himself, this morning. By the time Martin turned to face him again one of Jon’s hands had crept back up to his face, where its fingers now seemed to comb the hairs of his left eyebrow. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Jon do that before, plus doubted the hairs in question needed his help to lie flat. Jon’s eyebrows had always struck him as quite neat. Plus Martin had tried that with his own eyebrows plenty of times before the mirror in his youth, and knew it didn’t work very well even if you licked your finger—which Martin assumed Jon hadn’t. So he figured he should file this behavior in the same box as the earlier fist-clenching-to-avoid-covering-ears thing. As, like, headache-soothing for people who don’t want to look weak. Or unprofessional, or something to that effect.

This gave him a sense of foreboding when he thought too hard about it. But Martin needed so badly to keep this job, now that his flat wasn’t safe anymore. It seemed wiser not to look directly at abstract threats like that. If he could make Jon feel better then it wouldn’t matter, right? Or at least could be put off til next time.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Don’t recall saying I was,” Jon muttered.

Martin winced. He had said he was alright—Martin was certain. When he’d first come in that morning, he’d said he was fine when Martin asked, and then he’d closed the door. Didn’t seem worth correcting him over it, though. So Martin just said, “Try to drink something while I’m gone, yeah? Kool-Aid, for all I care, just. You really don’t look like you’re feeling all that well. And any kind of drink other than alcohol should—oh.”

He looked up, hearing Jon swallow what sounded like a lot more than the tiny sip of coffee he’d managed before.

“Well. Great. Thank you for obliging me.”

Jon continued to gulp down water, while staring right at Martin. He paused in swallowing to breathe, but even then did not remove the mouth of the bottle from his own mouth. When he tried to resume drinking it made him cough instead, and even then he didn’t set it down.

“O-okay, well, I’m sure that’s plenty, don’t—?” Hurt yourself, Martin wanted to say, but feared that would sound patronizing. The bottle was more than half empty now. Jon paused for air again. “For god’s sake, Jon, stop—that looks like it hurts—you don’t have to—?”

At last he slammed the empty bottle on his desk—more loudly than could possibly be comfortable for a man with a headache. Leant his elbow on the table, and between pants huffed a laugh and said, “Care to refill it for me?”

On a sort of autopilot Martin chirped, “Uh—sure! No problem I’ll just,” and rushed off with it to the break room. This refill took much less time, since he’d remembered to change out the thingy. But it still took long enough that by the time he got back he worried, “You’re not going to chug this one too, are you?”

“No,” said Jon, eyes and hands both busy now with a statement hitherto hidden by his elbow. He did not reach out a hand to take the bottle from Martin.

“Okay, I’ll just. Leave this here then. See you after the, uh. Yeah.”

—

And lo, it was as he had feared. Chugging [sixteen ounces] of water did indeed make his headache worse. By ten it seemed to count turning the page of a statement as an exertion worth pounding over. True, by lunch time it seemed to have backed off a bit—until he sat back down at his desk with his fork and plate. On his way to the microwave he’d thought he must be on the mend: his head throbbed a little harder than when he’d been seated, but not so much he’d have noticed the difference had he not set out to pay attention to it. Some food, maybe an ibuprofen or two and he’d be fixed, he’d told himself.

Once he got to the break room, though, he noticed something else odd. His limbs were weak. His knees seemed made of jelly, and wobbled beneath him every time he shifted his weight; his arms were steady enough, but when he set down the pizza box on the counter after retrieving it from the fridge he felt a surge of relief, which he hardly understood until he’d transferred a slice from the no-onion half onto a plate and picked up the latter to put it in the microwave. Even these tiny movements made his arms, neck and chest ache like they do when you hold your breath too long. He leant his elbows against the counter and gulped down air until his mouth felt so dry he couldn’t bear to keep it open. Wondered if he should sit down; he felt a bit dizzy. But he had less than 30 seconds left to wait for the microwave, which he figured couldn’t hurt him.

It didn’t, but the walk back to his office did a bit. Moving his legs’ sluggish muscles made his whole body ache—again like it does when you run too long and have to stop for breath. He figured it must be in a similar spirit that his head waited til he’d sat down to unleash its onslaught. Before leaving his desk he’d grown used to thinking of his heart beat’s faint buzzy shocks like the second hand on a clock, criticizing him under its breath from where it watched behind his eyes. This was… a great deal worse than that. He tried to time the beats against the ticking of his wrist watch, but couldn’t seem to focus on that and breathe at the same time. They were fast, though, at least at first. His heart rate did seem to calm down fairly quickly, but he could swear it never got all the way back down to its earlier rate—at least not before his attention shifted from the speed to just. How much it hurt.

Was that what made his slice of pizza so tasteless? When he cut his first bite, on its way to his mouth he thought he caught a whiff of the red onions with which its tip must have shared space, and only his horror of Tim asking What was wrong with that part, then? when he brought the otherwise-empty plate back to the sink stopped him from scraping that bite off his fork and trying again higher up the slice. But when he finally forced himself to eat it? Nothing. No onion taste, thank god, but everything else too seemed… muted. Hardly worth how the exertion of chewing made his head hammer after each swallow. Jon knew the taste of food was hardly the point of eating it, but? In the absence of everything he normally liked about cheese and meat and bread and vegetables, the fact the cheese squelched in his mouth made him wish he’d never left his bed. The way leaves of soggy spinach flapped over the sides of even his neatly-cut rectangles. His stomach tightened in revulsion, so that in his throat he could feel each swallowed lump shifting from foot to foot, waiting to be let in. Not to mention how the effort of cutting it shook the whole damn table.

He told himself he could skip the crust. If Tim asked about it, Jon’d just tell him it’d gone stale. Just get through the… other part, the crumb, the filling. Between throbs the ache in his tired jaw merged with the one behind his eyes. Why didn’t it always hurt to chew? Did the pleasure of tasting food give you enough endorphins to cancel it out? Would everyone have this problem all the time if we had to live on, say, dry toast?

Right, okay, close enough. Ibuprofen now. No, you idiot—other drawer. In the fantasy versions he’d rehearsed of this moment he clapped four of them from his palm into his mouth at once, and swallowed them dry. But his blister pack turned out to have only three left. Which was fine! Just fine. Better, probably, after so little lunch.

Also, dry-swallowing was kind of a misnomer? He’d never really thought about it before, but. Turned out it would only work if your so-called “dry” mouth had spit in it. As it was the pills stuck to his tongue, leaving streaks of spicy burnt-orange when he tried to claw them back toward his throat with his teeth. When they got far back enough on his tongue he had to concentrate not to gag, and they still stuck—even when he turned his nose to face the ceiling and thumped on his chin with his hand (which, ouch)—at that point he gave up and unscrewed his water. Allowed as little of it in his mouth as would let him swallow these damn things, and wash their stains off his tongue. And it still made his head throb harder.

Jon imagined shooting whoever next told him to stay hydrated. He derived little joy from the fantasy, though; couldn’t not think of the loud, sharp noise it would make.

Returning the plate could wait, he decided; not like it would attract worms in the thirty minutes it’d take for the pills to kick in. Meanwhile he’d just… keep sorting. He took a statement off the top of the pile in front of him and blinked at it over and over, until his vision resolved into a shape he told himself hurt marginally less than the others. 9720406, Nathaniel Thorp. Christ, 1972? “Misfiled” was practically an understatement for that one. And here he’d thought Gertrude had kept that part of the century in relative good order. Still, he stuck it on the all other years pile and reached for another. 0130111, David Laylow. Nope—still not 2003. 0002610, Jennifer Wong. 0910203, Lisa Jones. 0081711, Donald Gately. 0100912, Lawrence Mortimer. 0152101, Uzma Rashid. Ha!—0030707, Seymour… Backsides. Wait a minute. Hadn’t he seen a prank statement with that name before lunch? He grabbed a stack off the 2003 pile and found… Rashid, Mortimer, Gately. Had he switched the—? Look in the unsorted pile again, he told himself. Under where he’d found Mr. Backsides’ tale he uncovered statements 0031212, 0032504, 0031809, and so on. Great. After Seymour he must’ve got mixed up. There was no more unsorted pile—not on his desk, anyway. He’d have to pull some more out of the… open filing cabinet which stood across the room with its tongue stuck out at him. Yeah, well, that could wait too. For now he’d just. Check his email.

#a shifty tract #to be clear hyponatremia is uh. too little sodium in blood. it is the 'eat more salt' ailment #it's very common w/ dehydration so any diuretic (i.e. med that makes you pee more) can cause it?#my plan here was to have martin complain to tim and sasha that he Broke Jon and when he mentions jon said water made it worse ('god why #('didn't i just believe him?') tim as the only Sports Guy in the archives recognizes ah-ha! electrolytes!#and either get him himself or tell martin to get him some trail mix and sports drink #and have jon drag his feet since every other suggestion his coworkers have given him over the last few days of headache &c. has been Garbage #but eventually cave out of pure frustration--enjoy the taste of salty raisin and stale pretzel so much he grins til his face hurts--#and figure out it must be 'cause he switched adhd meds recently #(...tho apparently it's rare for them to have this effect BUT THEY CAN! i have two data points)#nonsearchable tma tag

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dorevenge · 3 years

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where ignorance is bliss - chapter 2: where grass was green

SUMMARY: Obadiah is off to Washington to assist with the war in Vietnam, and Peggy and Maria grow closer, as Maria learns something she wishes she didn't. [AO3 LINK]

CHAPTERS: 1 [2] 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 ☆

November 15, 1959 – Bronx, New York, Obadiah’s Apartment

Struggling to find ways to pass the time after the war, Peggy frequented my apartment. The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division (or, S.H.I.E.L.D., as everyone says to save precious time) has been involved in the fight with Vietnam for a few years now. Obadiah left for Washington right after the Stark Expo to give weapons consult in the war, and I haven’t seen him in almost three months. We would write letters sometimes, and phone even less. I moved into Obie’s apartment to take care of the place while he was away for an indeterminate amount of time, and Peggy crashed in the living more times than she would care to admit.

“Did you love him?” I ask, fixing the two of us another round of Old Fashions. The empty Chinese carryout containers are scattered across the coffee table before us. There’s a good restaurant between the S.H.I.E.LD. Headquarters and the apartment, and Peggy will frequently grab something on the way here.

“I only knew him for a couple months,” Peggy replies, taking the glass. I curl up next to her on the couch, our heads leaning in towards each other. “So it’s hard to say. It could have been. We were both young, thrown together during some of humanity’s darkest days. We were all looking for something to believe in.”

She swirls the glass in her hand, lazily watching the whiskey fall back down the side before continuing.

“What about you and Obadiah? Is this love?”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” The corners of my mouth curl downwards on their own. Peggy notices. Peggy always notices.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“It’s more like paradise when he’s gone rather than when he’s here.”

“Why is he your boyfriend if you don’t even like him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I take a large gulp of my Old Fashion, the whiskey burning the back of my throat. “He’s my fiancé.”

Peggy sits up, and my head slides off her shoulder to the cushion of the couch.

“Your what?” She takes my left hand into hers and finds my ring finger bare.

“I keep it in my sock drawer. Whether out of safekeeping or embarrassment, I’m not sure.” I sit up.

“When did this happen? And why did you say yes?” She looks at me with a tight expression, concern and worry on her face. Her red lipstick is all but gone, a faint imprint of it left on the rim of her class, and her usually tight curls hang loose around her neck and chin. If she weren’t so upset, I’d reach out to tuck one of them behind her ear.

“The last day of the Expo. He… He’s comfortable. We have our routine. We play chess together, I straighten his ties, I smile at the men he wants to invest in his company. I get some of the profits for my charities, and we make each other look good.” I frown at the empty glass in my hand and contemplate fixing another.

Peggy sets down her unfinished drink and looks at me. She has a way of effortlessly shifting her gaze from disapproving to comforting in a second. I never know if I’m going to be talking to the “unrelenting founder of S.H.I.E.LD.” Peggy or the “let’s go shopping and day-drinking” Peggy.

“I’m sure there’s a man out there that complements you and makes you feel good. You just-”

“-haven’t found him yet,” I finish her sentence. I’ve heard it from everyone – my parents, coworkers, strangers who learn I’m 23 and still unwed. 24, I remind myself; my birthday was on the fifth, less than two weeks ago. I feel the effects of the whiskey settling in, my eyes growing heavy and my weight shifting to my stomach. “You’re lucky to have experienced two great loves.”

“Daniel is far from a true love, hence why I stay with you the majority of the week. I’m also fourteen years older than you and have had more time to find them. I was 24 when I met Steve; there’s still plenty of time.”

“There doesn’t seem to be many men like Steve left.”

Peggy was gone without a word the next morning, and I am left alone with a pounding headache. By the time I wake, its well past noon on Saturday, and the mail’s already been delivered under the door.

I rifle through the envelopes once my toast is done, the coffee pot almost full, and the majority of the mail is addressed to Obadiah. Bills and letters of interest from inventors that I’m supposed to forward to him in DC. There’s a letter addressed to me in his precise, meticulous handwriting, but the one that interests me most is from Roxxon Oil Company, a large, thick packet with “CONFIDENTIAL” stamped across it. Naturally, I open it.

Maybe it’s the lingering hangover or the knowledge that Obie would forgive me for anything under the sun, but I rip open the envelope as I sip on my morning coffee, pouring all its contents out on to the table.

Most of the information doesn’t interest me, talking about drill efficiency and rigs and pipelines, until I find the balance sheet and investing information. I did get my master’s in accounting, as Obie tends to forget as he relegates me to a trophy wife. As I drift back into sobriety, the pieces start falling into place. Roxxon isn’t investing in Stane International; Stane is investing in Roxxon, and they were already profiting, working together, inventing together. The copies of the blueprints are of Obie’s design, seeking to create clean energy to replace gasoline down the road. In the last two years, Obadiah has made hundreds of thousands of dollars, with deposits and withdrawals from countless accounts, and reinvesting it, the paper trail deliberately as confusing as possible. I’d call it embezzlement if it weren’t his own company.

I get a scratch piece of paper and start doing the math. It isn’t adding up. Nothing is adding up, the dates and locations, let alone the cash, with several documents addressed from Russia. I sit up, my heart in my throat, pulsing so hard it feels like the world around me was shaking.

Obadiah is not a sneaky man by nature. I knew that he was interested in me before he realized it; I knew when he was going to ask me to go steady with him; I know when he is on the brink of a great new idea. He tries his best to hide things, but every move of his body betrays him. I’ve caught him sticking things in the back of his closet and under his bed more times than I could count, and I’ve never had the opportunity to check with him there. But seeing as he’s away…

Kneeling, I fumble underneath the bed frame until my fingers find purchase on a briefcase, and I slide it out. I wrestle with the knobs until I realize there’s a four-digit code keeping it locked. Before I mess with the dials, I notice the number. 0213.

“Oh, Obie. Do you have to be so predictable?” February 13th was our first date; he chose the day before Valentine’s Day because he believed the holiday of romance should be reserved for people already together, and he made a spectacle on 14th because we were together at that point, by his logic.

The top of the briefcase pops open at my touch, and inside I find numerous telegram slips, copies of both those sent and received. I sift through them quickly, none of them really catching my eye, filled with code words that I didn’t have the motivation to try to decipher. One of them caught my eye, and this is one of the only times Obie’s over-organization paid off because the telegrams were in chronological order.

RECEIVED

September 21, 1957

To: Stane, O.

O., I am glad to hear you secured the trust-fund. Let me know what day you’ll tie the knot, and I’ll tell you where to wire the funds. I might just send you a gift to celebrate.

NEFARIA, G.

SENT

September 28, 1957

To: Nefaria, G.

I’ll be traveling for work extensively the next four months. Please send files to Location 2. She can’t know anything.

STANE, O.

RECEIVED

September 30, 1957

To: Stane, O.

O., safe travels. Remember the end goal – the reactor that threatens our future. It cannot be manufactured by anyone but us, for our sake.

NEFARIA, G.

Prior, my heart had felt like it was running a mile a minute; now, it feels still in my chest. Dead in the water, like a stunned minnow tossed in to attract larger fish. “The trust fund.”

I had been courted before for my parents’ wealth. In college, a boy had pursued me relentlessly. He made me feel beautiful, special, and like the only star in his sky. He had convinced me that love was this roller-coaster rush of emotions, one collision after the other, until his dormmate clued me in on his intentions. That’s why I try to keep Obie in the dark about what I’ll inherit, how big my trust-fund really is. Growing up, I was unaware of how good we had it; all my friends in boarding school were from the same social and financial class, we all vacationed at the same spots and shopped at the same boutiques. It took a lot of eye-opening experiences at university for me to realize life was different for others, and it honed my ability to detect insincere motives. Too little, too late, but I won’t let it happen again.

With shaking hands, I put the papers back in their order, and I snap the briefcase closed, pushing it back under the bed with a force. I return to the kitchen table where I had spread the other documents out, collect them, and place them back as they were. I’m not sure if I need to try to seal it to make it look unopened, or if I should destroy the whole thing. He hadn’t asked me about forwarding this one specifically, so he might not be expecting it. Under the documents, I find the letter addressed to me again. Obie’s handwriting hits me differently now. How well do I actually know the sender?

Mar- (God, I hate it when he calls me Mar.)

I am writing to you with success here in Washington DC. We have made valiant efforts with the war. We expect Vietnam to concede soon. Our troops are vigilant and the best America has to offer, and their farmers pose no threat to us or the hope of victory. I expect to return home to you Friday the 15th of November. I’m sorry, darling, that I missed your birthday, but perhaps I can make it up to you.

See you soon at home,

Your Obie

Friday. Today was Friday.

The living room was a mess. Peggy’s and my drinks and dinner dishes scatter the room, the mail on the table, and I look equally disheveled. I know Obie would be disappointed, as the apartment is always speckless when he’s here.

I am a flurry around the house, collecting garbage in the bin and dishes in the sink. I tie the heaping garbage bag and leave it by the door, and rush to check my appearance in the bathroom. A scarf around my hairline will make the windswept, frenzied style look intention, and I change into a simple blue sundress. Obie didn’t have a dishwasher, so I put an apron on to protect my dress from the dishwater.

As I was setting the last glass out to dry, a knock resounded from the front door. I could feel it reverberate in my chest, and my heartbeat pulsed in every finger in my hand. Shaking, I set the glass down, wiped the water off my hands, preparing myself to smile and wine-and-dine the man I’ve already committed myself to.

#where ignorance is bliss #wiib reading #what if #marvel #iron man #fanfiction #canary writes a text post

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jackoshadows · 4 years

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So this is a write up on the Jon Snow - Sansa Stark relationship in the books with quotes and excerpts. For the folks who are interested in knowing where these two characters really stand with each other rather than the fanon version that’s often seen on the interwebs.

The relationship between Jon and Sansa can be best described as ‘Indifferent and distant siblings’ and they are the least close out of all the Starks.

The 5 times Jon mentions Sansa in his 42 POV chapters include thoughts on Sansa brushing lady and singing, Sansa being with Arya in KL and losing Lady, her being enchanted if she sees the magical wall, and her telling him how to talk to girls. Like Arya often does, Jon qualifies his description of Sansa with an ‘even’ to indicate how she is different to his other siblings.

He missed his true brothers: little Rickon, bright eyes shining as he begged for a sweet; Robb, his rival and best friend and constant companion; Bran, stubborn and curious, always wanting to follow and join in whatever Jon and Robb were doing. He missed the girls too, even Sansa, who never called him anything but "my half brother" since she was old enough to understand what bastard meant. And Arya . . . he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful.

Compare the descriptions he gives his other siblings to what he says about Sansa. I have often read that Sansa calling Jon ‘Half brother’ or bastard was not a big deal because all of Jon’s siblings did it. And this is true. But the difference is that Sansa ALWAYS made sure to treat Jon that way, when his other siblings interacted with Jon normally. Something that Jon noticed enough that this was the only thing that he highlights for her.

It’s clear from the text that Sansa treated Jon with condescending pity. I would argue that Sansa’s treatment of Arya was actually far worse than the way she treated Jon. For Sansa, Jon was just a low class bastard and his faults were only natural because he was ‘common’. Sansa even condescends to educate him on how to properly talk to girls. Arya on the other hand got bullied because she was a high class noble but committed the sin of being unsatisfactory in terms of looks and behavior.

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. And Jon's mother had been common, or so people whispered. Once, when she was littler, Sansa had even asked Mother if perhaps there hadn't been some mistake.

This is why it made no sense when the show had Sansa apologizing to Jon and completely bypassed Sansa’s treatment of Arya in the books, making it look like Arya was the mean sister. If Sansa had to apologize to anyone it would be to Arya and not Jon.

Sansa’s patronizing pity for Jon comes from the fact that he is of low birth. She attributes emotions like ‘jealousy’ to his birth and pities him for it

Sansa sighed as she stitched. "Poor Jon," she said. "He gets jealous because he's a bastard." - AGoT

If this was what the Night’s Watch was truly like, she felt sorry for her bastard half brother, Jon. - AGoT

She sang for mercy, for the living and the dead alike, for Bran and Rickon and Robb, for her sister Arya and her bastard brother Jon Snow, away off on the Wall. - AGoT

These are the only times Jon is mentioned in Sansa’s POV chapters till AFfC.

When we come to their emotional thoughts of connection and longing and love, let’s see what happens there. For Jon:

He remembered the day he had left Winterfell, all the bittersweet farewells; Bran lying broken, Robb with snow in his hair, Arya raining kisses on him after he’d given her Needle.

Even the thought made him feel foolish; he was a man grown now, a black brother of the Night’s Watch, not the boy who’d once sat at Old Nan’s feet with Bran and Robb and Arya.

That might mean Lord Eddard would return to Winterfell, and his sisters as well. He might even be allowed to visit them, with Lord Mormont’s permission. It would be good to see Arya’s grin again and to talk with his father.

Jon Snow straightened himself and took a long deep breath. Forgive me, Father. Robb, Arya, Bran . . . forgive me, I cannot help you. He has the truth of it. This is my place.

Playing, Jon thought in astonishment, grown men playing like children, throwing snowballs the way Bran and Arya once did, and Robb and me before them.

We know Sansa has played with Bran and Arya and snowballs. But she is not included in Jon’s nostalgic memories.

We see something similar in Sansa’s POV chapters about her family

Tommen was all of eight. He reminded her of her own little brother, Bran. They were of an age. Bran was back at Winterfell, a cripple, yet safe. Sansa would have given anything to be with him.

If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa's dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya.

Merry Crane always had an amusing story, and little Lady Bulwer reminded her of Arya, though not so fierce.

She had last seen snow the day she'd left Winterfell. That was a lighter fall than this, she remembered. Robb had melting flakes in his hair when he hugged me, and the snowball Arya tried to make kept coming apart in her hands.

I don't want any Lannister, she wanted to say. I want Willas, I want Highgarden and the puppies and the barge, and sons named Eddard and Bran and Rickon.

That was such a sweet dream, Sansa thought drowsily. She had been back in Winterfell, running through the godswood with her Lady. Her father had been there, and her brothers, all of them warm and safe. If only dreaming could make it so . . .

If Lady was here, I would not be afraid. Lady was dead, though; Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, her father, her mother, even Septa Mordane. All of them are dead but me. She was alone in the world now.

She remembered a summer's snow in Winterfell when Arya and Bran had ambushed her as she emerged from the keep one morning. They'd each had a dozen snowballs to hand, and she'd had none. Bran had been perched on the roof of the covered bridge, out of reach, but Sansa had chased Arya through the stables and around the kitchen until both of them were breathless.

She had dreamt that she was little, still sharing a bedchamber with her sister Arya.

Jon is completely absent from her thoughts about her childhood in Winterfell and missing her family.

Let’s next look at how Jon treats Arya and Sansa’s respective marriages to Stark enemies. Upon being told by Stannis that Sansa is now lady Lannister, Jon’s immediate thoughts about all this is how Tyrion is faring as a kinslayer! He does not spare a single thought for a sister forcefully married off or her whereabouts and if she was doing okay. Contrast his complete indifference to Robb and Catelyn’s reaction to this news:

Robb took her hand. "They married her to Tyrion Lannister." Catelyn's fingers clutched at his. "The Imp." "He's the Kingslayer's brother. Oathbreaking runs in their blood." Robb's fingers brushed the pommel of his sword. "If I could I'd take his ugly head off. Sansa would be a widow then, and free. There's no other way that I can see. They made her speak the vows before a septon and don a crimson cloak." Catelyn remembered the twisted little man she had seized at the crossroads inn and carried all the way to the Eyrie. "I should have let Lysa push him out her Moon Door. My poor sweet Sansa . . . why would anyone do this to her?" - ASoS

Their rage here is exactly what Jon feels when he hears about Arya’s marriage

By now she’d be eleven, Jon thought. Still a child. “I have no sister. Only brothers. Only you.” Lady Catelyn would have rejoiced to hear those words, he knew. That did not make them easier to say. His fingers closed around the parchment. Would that they could crush Ramsay Bolton’s throat as easily. - ADwD

Sansa is the same when it comes to her complete indifference to Jon. We hear all the time about how Sansa is the queen of compassion and that there’s no character in the whole of asoiaf who is kinder than Sansa Stark. But get this – Sansa has been masquerading as a bastard in the Vale this whole time and not once – not once – does she think of the bastard brother that she grew up with. There is no regret there for how she looked down on her bastard brother.

Catelyn for instance feels a twinge of guilt when she meets Mya Stone in the Vale

It did not please her; it was an effort for Catelyn to keep the smile on her face. Stone was a bastard's name in the Vale, as Snow was in the north, and Flowers in Highgarden; in each of the Seven Kingdoms, custom had fashioned a surname for children born with no names of their own. Catelyn had nothing against this girl, but suddenly she could not help but think of Ned's bastard on the Wall, and the thought made her angry and guilty, both at once. She struggled to find words for a reply.

Meanwhile after being reminded by Myranda Royce that Jon exists, Sansa:

She had not thought of Jon in ages. - AFfC

This is true. The last time she thought of Jon was the three times mentioned above in book one AGoT. Even in book 4 we see Sansa thinking of a way to get away from Littlefinger and never once remembers Jon at the wall.

Littlefinger and Lord Petyr looked so very much alike. She would have fled them both, perhaps, but there was nowhere for her to go. Winterfell was burned and desolate, Bran and Rickon dead and cold. Robb had been betrayed and murdered at the Twins, along with their lady mother. Tyrion had been put to death for killing Joffrey, and if she ever returned to King's Landing the queen would have her head as well. The aunt she'd hoped would keep her safe had tried to murder her instead. Her uncle Edmure was a captive of the Freys, while her great-uncle the Blackfish was under siege at Riverrun.

This is a contrast to Arya trying her best to get to the wall and Jon after leaving KL and sadly failing at every attempt. That’s why the show’s decision to reunite Jon and Sansa while leaving out Arya till the very end is a massive disservice to both relationships in the books. GRRM has invested everything in Jon and Arya’s relationship and nothing in Jon and Sansa’s. Arya trying for 3 books to get to Jon and failing and finally getting there? That’s actual payoff. Sansa thinking once of wanting to see the bastard brother that she forgot about? D&D – let’s unite Sansa with Jon!

Much is made of the ‘it would be sweet to see him again’ line, ignoring the couple of lines that comes before.

She had not thought of Jon in ages. He was only her half brother, but still . . . with Robb and Bran and Rickon dead, Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again.

Lines that demonstrate that Sansa STILL does not get it when it comes to class and relationships. Her attitude here is more – oh well, all my real brothers are dead and only Jon is left, so I will have to make do since I have been reduced to his level it’s ok now.

Then there’s the other line – “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa". I have already discussed this in another post but this was more about Jon kicking down the position to the next in line rather than his overwhelming love for Sansa. At this point Jon had already decided not to accept the offer because of Stannis’ precondition that he burn down the Winterfell Godswood. It’s possible that Jon does accept the KITN/Lord of Winterfell position in the next book if Robb’s will comes into the picture.

And finally we have heard often of Jon’s sexist dislike of the ladies when it’s more Jon’s disdain for a type that embodies Catelyn and Sansa. Jon likes the ladies just fine – he has an appreciation for Alys Karstark and she is not running around waving a sword. It’s their personality - a personality that mirrors Arya’s - that he finds attractive.

A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.

Here Jon demonstrates a weird contempt for ladies brushing their hair. Where does he get this from from I wonder?

Arya was a trial, it must be said. Half a boy and half a wolf pup. Forbid her anything and it became her heart's desire. She had Ned's long face, and brown hair that always looked as though a bird had been nesting in it. I despaired of ever making a lady of her. She collected scabs as other girls collect dolls, and would say anything that came into her head. - Catelyn VII, ACOK

He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest.

And Arya . . . he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful.

She had never cared if she was pretty…Only her father had ever called her that. Him, and Jon Snow, sometimes. Her mother used to say she could be pretty if she would wash and brush her hair…the way her sister did. To her sister and her sister’s friends and all the rest, she had just been Arya Horseface."

“…my hair’s messy and my nails are dirty and my feet are all hard.” Robb wouldn’t care about that, probably, but her mother would. Lady Catelyn always wanted her to be like Sansa, to sing and dance and sew and mind her courtesies. Just thinking of it made Arya try to comb her hair with her fingers, but it was all tangles and mats, and all she did was tear some out."

Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. She loved nothing so well as tales of knightly valor. Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was, you can see that. I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft . . . the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper.

Poor Arya’s disdain for hair brushing is probably why Jon looks down on the ladies spending time on their hair. Jon has always considered Arya an outsider like him and sees the both of them as being unfairly treated by the likes of Catelyn and Sansa. Everything that Jon appreciates in a woman shows us glimpses of Arya and everything that Jon dislikes shows us glimpses of Cat and Sansa.

This is indicative of the fact that growing up Arya was pretty much the only positive female figure in his life and that is why he is looking for an ‘Arya’ in the women he loves and befriends. This is why he gives Needle to Arya, allows spearwives to take over an entire castle and defend it and is appreciative of ‘warrior princesses’.

For example, Alys is physically supposed to look like Arya and both Melisandre and Jon mistake her for Arya in her visions. But, it’s only after they interact and speak that Jon compares her to Arya – because it’s her bravery that reminds him of his little sister.

Jon turned to Alys Karstark. “My lady. Are you ready?” “Yes. Oh, yes.” “You’re not scared?” The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. “Let him be scared of me.” The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled. “Winter’s lady.” Jon squeezed her hand.

There’s also some nonsense being peddled around that Jon had a crush on Sansa because he described her as looking “radiant”. It’s more likely that this is GRRM just being descriptive using character POVs. I mean, we also have Ned gushing about how hot Bobby Baratheon was - thoughts that spawned a thousand NedRob shipping fans...

Fifteen years past, when they had ridden forth to win a throne, the Lord of Storm’s End had been clean-shaven, clear-eyed, and muscled like a maiden’s fantasy. Six and a half feet tall, he towered over lesser men, and when he donned his armor and the great antlered helmet of his House, he became a veritable giant. He’d had a giant’s strength too, his weapon of choice a spiked iron warhammer that Ned could scarcely lift. In those days, the smell of leather and blood had clung to him like perfume.

This does not imply that Ned had a crush on Robert Baratheon. Jon also calls Jaime and Cersei beautiful – does not mean he has a crush on them.

This is Jon’s description of Satin

The boy claimed to be eighteen, older than Jon, but he was green as summer grass for all that. Satin, they called him, even in the wool and mail and boiled leather of the Night’s Watch; the name he’d gotten in the brothel where he’d been born and raised. He was pretty as a girl with his dark eyes, soft skin, and raven’s ringlets.

Soft skin? Uh... But - no offense to the many valid Jon/Satin shippers out there - Jon/Satin is not a cannon romantic relationship unfortunately. Even though there is more interaction and an emotional connection between Jon and Satin in the books to justify shipping them romantically than there is for Jon and Sansa.

So in conclusion, Jon and Sansa have pretty much a non-existent relationship in the books and their plots do not in any way cross or connect with each other. I suspect that will not change in the near future considering Jon is most probably going to become enmeshed in the grand Northern conspiracy that includes Rickon and Arya and has to fight the Others beyond the wall where Bran is. If he does meet up with Sansa, it may well be at the very end as these are two characters who don’t have much of a plot purpose or relationship that requires meeting up.

#Jon Snow #Sansa Stark #Arya Stark #Catelyn Stark #Jon Snow and his relationships with the women in his family #ASoIaF #anti-D&D #anti-GOT #Sansa and Jon #anti Jonsa

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lppsidefics · 3 years

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Meihem Fanfic: Victim Parallel

Chapter 1: Breaking news update

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“The on going situation downtown has erupted into chaos, as two gun men opened fire on a police barricade. The assailants, who have yet to be identified, robbed the Valiant Marks bank earlier this morning, stealing an estimated 36 thousand dollars in gold, and are currently attempting an escape on Hi 20-20 in a high speed chase. Police Chief Wilhelm had this to say on the matter-”

“Duōme kěpà…” Mei switched off the television as the tea kettle whistled in the kitchen. She took the steaming pot off the heat and poured the boiled liquid into a set of prepared mugs, adding a spoon full of cocoa powder to each as she went. Placing the hot kettle on a rag for cooling, she stirred the mixtures a few times, before rearranging the cups onto a tray for transportation.

Only struggling a little with the balance of the serving plate, Mei headed out into the hallway lined with bedroom doors. She stopped at the first door on the right, where a pink and blue poster was plastered over its surface featuring a brunette girl and signed in the top hand corner, “Love D.va.”

Mei tapped lightly, and opened the door slowly, giving a peek into the room before entering. In the large bed that took up most of the space, was the very same girl from the posters layered along the walls. The bed was fixed with blinking colored lights, and stamped with stickers, some peeling from their edges, and wrapped in the blue sheets was a messy head of brunette hair.

“Zǎoshang hǎo…Good morning…Are you still sleeping Hana? ” Mei whispered, and the girl started to wake.

Her eyes were still half closed, and not adjusted to sight yet, as Hana lifted from the pillow, giving a stretched moan as she moved. “Good… morning.” She greeted, and Mei offered a purple mug full of hot cocoa to the tired woman. “Gamsahabnida…”

“You’re welcome.” Mei replied, before exiting the room and moving to the next door in the hall. This one, was littered with bumper stickers from all kinds of places.

Some just said the names of cities, and some had dumb little jokes on them like ‘Is your refrigerator running? Better catch it.’ Reading them gave Mei the urge to roll her eyes, but she’d grown pretty used to seeing them there.

Again she gave the door a soft tap, but this time someone answered. “Who is it?” Said a cheerful voice from the other side.

“It’s Mei!”

“Come right in luv.” Mei obeyed, and opened the door. Inside, a tall woman with chop cut brown hair was sitting in a rolling chair beside the computer desk. “Good morn’n Mei! You bright an’ bushy tailed today?”

“Good morning Lena, I…” Mei paused to consider the question a second time. “…I don’t know what that mean’s actually, but I made coco.” She said with a smile, holding out the serving tray topped with only two remaining cups.

“Oh, Lovely!” Lena exclaimed with excitement, before taking up the red mug printed with a Christmas tree. “Thanks luv, you’re always think’n of others Mei. Here I got this paper to write, an’ you’re bein’ such a dear.”

“It was no problem.” Mei insisted, taking the final cup of cocoa, and raising it in a cheers pose. “I was making some anyway.” The other woman returned the gesture, and they each took a small swig. The realization that the drink was warm came too late for them both, and they lowered the cups quickly with whimpers of pain.

With sounds of distress, Lena spun around in the chair, placing the hot mug on the surface of the desk and covering her face with her hand. “Sorry…” Mei muttered through her own pain. “…I forgot it was so hot.”

Lena gave a chuckle and smiled. “No need to worry luv, I’m alright.” She straightened up in the seat and crossed her legs. “So are you still goin’ to hospital today?”

“Yes, Dr Winston says Bastion’s condition is getting better.” Mei explained with a nod, and brought the steaming mug up to give it a gentle blow. “He might wake up soon, and the Doctor wants him to have a familiar face to wake up to.”

Returning to face her laptop, Lena started clacking away at the keys at a rapid pace that Mei’s eyes couldn’t really keep up with. “Well that’s real sweet of you to go all that way on ah Saturday luv. Emily an’ I are goin’ for a cinema date this afternoon, if I can get this bloody thing done that is.”

Mei wiped a hand across her lips to remove the cocoa left there, and it was then, that the sound of another door swinging open interrupted the conversation, and a still bed headed Hana passed by in the hallway on her way to the bathroom.

“Say Mei, don’t you need to get goin’?” Lena asked without looking away from the computer screen.

“Hm? No, I still need to take a shower, but I’ve got plenty of time, it’s only eleven a.m.” Mei stated, taking another carful sip of her cocoa.

Lena spun the chair back around to meet Mei. “Not quite luv, my clock here says it’s already passed noon.” Bolting towards the laptop, Mei squinted to read the tiny computer clock at the bottom of the screen.

“Bù hǎole!” Mei exclaimed, disposing of her coco mug on Lena’s desk and rushing out of the room. “Wǒ yào chídàole!” She went for the restroom but the handle was locked when she twisted it.

“Ya!” Hana screamed from inside. “Man-eul yeolji ma! I’m in here! Wait your turn!”

The sound of water spraying from the shower indicated that Hana was not going to change her mind, and Mei gritted her teeth with stress before hurrying down the hall to her own bedroom instead. She swung open the door, her panda bear doorplate clacking on its string, before digging through her closet.

Mei’s room was usually quite tidy, but her closet was almost always a war zone of clean and dirty clothes stuffed into hampers and squeezed into drawers. She grabbed the sleeve of a sweater she recognized and pulled the entire garment out of the pile.

Moving to the mirror on the closet door, Mei held the sweater up, inspecting it’s condition before deciding to pull it on over her tank top. It was a long sweater, practically a dress with her short stature, and the collar was wide enough to reveal the smallest glimpse of her dark blue tank underneath.

But she was low on time, and the outfit was nice enough to suffice. Mei swiped a comb from her dresser table and started viciously pulling it through her dark locks. She brushed until her hair was at least manageable, and then wrapped it into a easy bun at the top of her head, stabbing a bobby pin into it just to keep it from falling apart.

Adjusting her thick rimmed glasses, she gave herself one last checkover in the mirror, before scooping her satchel over her head and heading out of the apartment. “Bye! I’ll be home later!” She called out, digging her bare feet into a set of slip on shoes, and out the door she went, hopping down the staircase in a hurried pace.

The bus ride was short since the hospital was only a few blocks away, and Mei was in the building and on the elevator in less than an hour. Reaching the seventeenth floor, Mei found her way to the front desk for check in.

“Hallo Mei-ling!” A familiar voice greeted, and Mei turned to meet it’s owner. Dr. Angela Ziegler practically glided through the hall in an elegant walk, her blonde hair bound into a tail, and her white coat fluttering like feathery wings behind her. “Who are you here to see today my friend?”

“Nǐ hǎo! Dr. Winston asked me to visit with Bastion today. He’s supposed to wake from the coma soon.” The tall angelic doctor stopped beside Mei as they spoke, her hight nearly dwarfing the Chinese woman.

“Well, don’t be too upset if he doesn’t, Mei-ling…” Angela sighed, trading her clipboard chart with another sitting on the desk surface. “After all, this is not an exact science.”

Mei-ling followed the Doctor down the hall, keeping a brisk pace behind her. “I know Doctor. Last year he didn’t wake for a whole month late, I’m just trying to… stay positive!” She cheered with a smile, holding up a resolute fist of strength.

With a short bit of laughter, Angela came to a slow stop before a hospital room. “I think we all need a little bit of your attitude Mei-ling!” She opened the door, revealing the inner long space where machinery beeped and tiny lights flickered with green hues. The room was rather cramped, but that was normal for a room at a hospital, and the back wall was lined with chairs. Mei moved in and sat into one of the seats, depositing her bag in the chair beside her.

“I’ll go let Dr Winston know you’re here. I’m sure he’ll want to see you too.” Angela said before leaving the woman alone with the patient, and closing the door.

With a sigh, Mei shifted her attention to Bastion, whos small body barely filled the hospital bed. The child’s light brown hair was short and fluffy, like he’d just come out of a bath, and his weak little arms laid motionless.

This was one part of the volunteer work she never got used to. Seeing the patients so fragile and deathly, as if their very soul was dangling between life and the after life.

It was particularly upsetting to see children this way.

Mei shook the thoughts from her mind and forced a smile onto her face, deciding that she needed to busy herself with something she scanned the room for a task to keep her preoccupied.

The many gifts and drawings that had previously been displayed in Bastions old room, were now just cornered on a rolling table for transport, and Mei took it upon herself to organize them for the child’s awakening.

She stood and started to re-arrange the flowers around the window, using the nurses station sink to re-fill the vases with water. She collected the cards and propped them up on their folds, along with the coinciding gift.

One by one, Mei-ling hung the crayon scribbled construction papers along the wall, and gathered the toys into a single waiting chair to save space. She picked up a stuffed bear with a tag signed ‘from Uncle Torby’, and tucked it neatly beneath one of Bastion’s thin arms.

He seemed to have a response to the motion, and gave a very low huff.

Mei sat in the chair again, leaning into speak to the comatose boy. “Nǐ hǎo Bastion…” Though she knew he couldn’t hear her, Mei hoped it would bring him some sort of comfort, trying to let him know that he wasn’t alone. “…It’s Mei-ling, remember me?…”

“…I’ll be right here when you wake up okay?…” The child made no movements, but Mei smiled at him anyway.

Soon after, Dr Winston entered the room, ducking his head slightly to fit under the door frame. “Ah, hello Mei-ling! How are you today?”

“I’m doing fine Doctor.” Mei responded with the nod of her head, and then both their attentions turned to the sleeping child.

Winston sat on a wheeled stool and awkwardly maneuvered himself over to the patients bed. “And how are you doing Bastion?” The Doctor asked jokingly, pretending to listen closer to the boy for an answer. “What’s that Bastion my boy? You’re ready for lunch? You and I both!”

The man laughed boisterously at his own humor, and Mei stifled a giggle. Dr Winston was a tall, muscular man, with thick black hair and a patchy beard. His glasses were comically small on his wide face, and his voice was gruff but warm. He’d been Mei’s teacher in college and now she apprenticed under him, learning what she can about the medical field.

“Let’s get started shall we?” Winston said, taking up a syringe and filling it from a small canister on the table beside him, then, he injected the liquid into Bastions iv tube.

Mei nervously watched the medicine travel through the tube, though she couldn’t really see the water like substance, and the two fell silent as they waited for a response.

Nothing. Bastion didn’t move or make a sound, he just slept calmly, and Dr Winston scratched the back of his head with a massive hand. “Well, that was anticlimactic…” He said with a sigh, and then turned his attention to Mei who was seated across the bed. “…Give him sometime, I’ll check in again later.”

With a nod, Mei relaxed in her chair, and Winston left her alone once again with the patient. Utter silence retaking the room.

#Meihem

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sirenfromthelostcity · 5 years

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The One Where The Reader Finds Out

A/N: Sooooo sorry this took so long to post but it’s finally done! I was actually kinda struggling with this request a bit bc I couldn’t see Jack as a pinning type of guy (he’s just so frickin smooth and handsome how come ppl aren’t throwing themselves at him??) but this was actually really fun to write once i got stuff in order. It’s kinda modeled after this episode of Friends (The One Where Ross Finds Out) so you’ll see some similarities if you’ve seen the show. This is my first ever Jack Traven imagine so i really hope i got his character right or at the very least you guys kinda enjoy it. Feedback is always appreciated but now I leave you to it! <3333

Words: 4.2k

Jack Traven can be described as many things. His fellow colleagues at the LAPD often use words such as reckless, bold, and dauntless to describe their fellow comrade. His close friend and supervisor Harry would call him straight up crazy but also very intuitive and clever. As for you, his best friend, you would say that Jack Traven is nothing short of compassionate, valiant, and brilliant. For the most part, all of these descriptions of Jack do not fall short of his actual disposition. But what would best describe him in his current situation is painfully conscious of how painfully oblivious he has been.

It has been nearly two months since Jack had the brilliant idea to go on a double date with you, your current boyfriend Ian, and his then girlfriend Scarlett. Although you weren’t initially too fond of the idea he meant no harm by it. All he wanted to do was meet the new man in your life and judge if he was good enough to be with his best friend. His vigilant nature is something you’ve always admired about him and it is because of this that you agreed to the double date.

“So,” Ian turned forward in his seat to face Jack now that you and Scarlett have excused yourselves to the ladies' room, “you’re the infamous Jack Traven, (Y/N)’s mentioned you a lot and to be honest, I was a little intimidated by you.”

“Don’t sweat it, man, (Y/N) likes you a lot, I can tell.”

“I sure hope so,” he sheepishly smiled. “So you two are childhood friends?”

“Yeah, I’ve known her for most of my life. We met when we were kids through mutual friends, we lost touch after high school but reconnected when I joined the force a few years ago and found her in the forensics team.”

“And the bond has been restrengthening ever since, huh?”

“Yes it definitely has,” Jack chuckled briefly before taking on a more serious demeanor. “Listen, Ian, (Y/N) is really important to me. She is an amazing, smart, beautiful, and extremely down to earth woman who doesn’t deserve to have her heart broken.”

“Don’t worry Jack, I know I’d be a fool to not recognize (Y/N)’s worth. I know we haven’t been together for long but I really care for her.”

“I’m glad to hear it. It would be a real shame if I have to kick your ass,” he joked.

He remembers laughing and even toasting in your honor with Ian that night shortly after that conversation. He remembers the great food, good service, and the exuberant vibes of the restaurant. For the most part, everything was going great that night. Then he saw Ian wrap an arm around your shoulder, effectively bringing you in closer to him, and stirring feelings of unease deep within Jack. At that moment, Jack mentally reasoned with himself that he was simply being protective of you. However, he wasn’t able to conjure another sound explanation for why he’d feel a tug at his heart strings whenever he’d catch you smile at Ian or interlock your hands with his.

Jack rubs at his temples, recalling the night of your double date and mentally kicking himself for not reacting to his own signs sooner.

“Sir,” the waiter calls out to Jack, pulling him out of his reverie. “Are you ready to order or would you prefer to give your party some more time to arrive?”

Jack pensively casts his eyes on the empty seat opposite of him, a seat reserved for an already late blind date Harry had arranged for him due to being tired of seeing Jack “all mopey and sad about (Y/N).”

“Y’know,” he sucks at his teeth, “if I’m gonna eat alone tonight I’m gonna do it right. I’ll have the steak with steamed potatoes, a side of mac and cheese, and a beer. You guys have that here right?”

“Yes we do, sir. Which one would you like?”

“Surprise me,” Jack hands his menu to the waiter and the waiter disappears into the kitchen to post the order.

A moment later, the waiter returns with a beer for Jack and he wastes no time in opening it and gulping it down. He stares at the empty seat in front of him and continues to ponder on you and the rather disheartening news you had given him earlier in the week.

“He asked you to go on a vacation with him?”

“Yeah!” you beamed.

“A vacation,” he repeated in feigned joy. “Together… with Ian?”

“Yes, Jack,” you laughed. “For about a week I believe.”

“And only after two months together…. Wow…. Things are getting pretty serious between you guys, huh?”

“Well, two and a half months now and I guess so,” you shrugged. “I mean, I really like him. He’s one of the sweetest guys I’ve ever met, after you of course. Plus, I’ve been feeling really stressed out with things lately so a few days off and being in different setting just might be what I need right now.”

Jack motions to the waiter for another beer and the waiter readily complies. Once again Jack downs the drink as quickly as he received it in an attempt to drown his sorrows and his longing to be with you.

Moments later a slender, short-haired brunette donning a chic black dress hurriedly enters the restaurant.

“Good evening, ma’am,” says the hostess, stopping the mysterious brunette before she can venture too far, “can I help you?”

“Yes, Hi. I’m really late for a date,” she replies, her eyes surveying the restaurant for her date, “he’s probably- Oh! He’s over there!”

The waiter is handing Jack another beer and taking the empty bottle to discard it when the brunette approaches his table and introduces herself.

“Hi, you’re Jack right?”

“Yeah,” he looks up at her in question.”Are you Annie?”

“Yeah I am and really late, sorry about that but my bus caught some traffic on the highway.”

“It’s no problem,” Jack rises from his seat and quickly straightens out his brown suit jacket before shaking her hand and pulling out her chair in which she gladly sits on.

Jack signals for the waiter and he promptly returns with a menu for Annie and waits patiently for her to order. Since Jack already finished his second beer he requested a bottle of wine for him and Annie and once the waiter exits their date resumes.

“So Harry tells me you’re in the force with him,” Annie starts.

“Yes, I am. What else did he tell you?”

“Don’t worry, it was all the good stuff,” she smiles and Jack gives her a small smile back.

“In that case, he probably didn’t have a lot to say,” he jests.

“Don’t sell yourself too short now, it was enough to get me to come here.”

“Well, since you know about me, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

Annie starts to go on about her interests, her job, how her day went, and her connection to Harry and his wife, Patty. Her connection to Harry and Patty is actually a pretty good story. Too bad Jack is too zoned out to pay attention to it. Annie is by no doubt charming and attractive but Jack can’t help his thoughts and attention from shifting back to you and Ian.

I’m not just jealous. How can you go on a vacation with someone you’ve only known for like two months?

But how can an idiot like me not have notice he’s in love with his best friend?

Time passes and the waiter stops by to collect their now empty plates. Jack nods every now and then and has been downing cups of wine quicker than he can notice. However, Annie does.

“Um, are you okay?” she questions.

“Hmm what? Yeah, why?”

“Oh, I don’t know, you just seem a little-”

Jack’s cup makes a loud clinking sound with the now empty wine bottle as he attempts to pour himself every last drop of the bottle before haphazardly tossing it into the ice bucket and chugging his cup of wine.

“Jack,” Annie calls for his attention.

His drunken eyes shoot up in question before releasing a tired sigh, finally recognizing what he’s doing.

“I’m sorry. I’m not normally like this on dates, or in life, I don’t even drink wine like that. You’re great, you’re beautiful, it’s not you,” he rambles.

“What is it then?”

“It’s me-– well, it’s this friend of mine.”

Annie, knowing exactly where this conversation is heading, props her elbow on the table and rests her head on her hand.

“Does this friend happen to be an ex-girlfriend by any chance?”

“Not exactly,” he looks down. “She’s my best friend. We’ve been friends since we were kids so we’re really close. She’s always been the one person I know I could trust indefinitely and she’s always been there for me, she just… she means so much to me.”

“Oh, I see, and what’s the issue with this best friend?”

“She’s going on a vacation with her boyfriend.”

“Wow, no, yeah, that seems,” she furrows her brows in confusion, “awful?”

“I mean they just started going out,” he motions with his hands. “Would you go on a vacation with a guy you knew for only, like, two months?”

“No, not really–”

“Exactly! He exclaims. “Why do they even have to go on a vacation? Why can’t they just go on another date or just hang out, something less serious than a vacation, why not go out to dinner or something, do one of those… what are they called? What are they called? What are they called?” he snaps his fingers, trying to think of the word he wants to say and not realizing he just said it.

“Uh, a date?”

“Yes!” he exclaims again. “Man, you’re so smart.”

“Yeah,” she flatly says. “Listen, you clearly have feelings for this friend of yours. Why don’t you just, I don’t know, tell her how you feel?”

“It’s too late for that,” he slumps in his chair. “(Y/N) has a boyfriend now and I’m just an idiot who didn’t know about his feelings soon enough. And she’s happy, she looks happy. It’s not right of me to ruin her happiness just because I want to be with her. I just wish I could get over her, why can’t I get over her?”

Annie huffs and her bangs gently fly up.

“Look, Jack, I’ve been where you’re at. You’ll get over her. You just feel like this now because you haven’t gotten any closure–”

“Closure!” he enthusiastically points at her. “That’s it! I need that! How do I get that?”

“Well, there’s no one way to it. Really it’s just whatever it takes so that you can finally say ‘I’m over you.’”

“I’m over you,” he repeats and motions with his hands. “That simple.”

Jack begins to look around his surroundings and an idea strikes him when he sees a man behind him talking on his cellular phone.

“Excuse me, sir,” he calls for the stranger’s attention but when that doesn’t work he scoots his seat closer to the man, nearly falling off from it, and continues to call for his attention until he finally turns around.

“Hold on a second,” the man says into his phone before directing his attention to Jack. “What?”

“Hi sir,” he slurs, “can I please borrow your phone? It’ll only be a minute.”

‘“I don’t know if you noticed but I’m currently using it”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you’re in the middle of having dinner with a pretty lady and you being on your phone right now is rude.”

After bickering with the stranger for a few minutes, and being quite unsuccessful in getting him to give him his phone, Jack grunts in frustration and begins to search for his badge.

“Look I didn’t wanna do this but,” he flashes his badge to the now startled stranger, “LAPD, sir, I'm gonna need you to surrender your phone to me right now, I don’t wanna have to call for backup.”

“Oh my god,” Annie murmurs under her breath, rubbing at her temples with her hands.

As expected, the man finally yields his phone to Jack and he quickly thanks him for it before turning back to Annie in his seat and dialing your number. His eyes are squinted and he messes up the first two times when marking your number but he finally gets it right the third time. He gets your answering machine and patiently waits to leave you a message.

“Hey (Y/N), it’s Jack. Just calling to let you know that I’m good. Everything is all good now. I’m really happy for you and Ian and the sudden vacation you’re both gonna go on. Feel free to bring me a keychain from wherever you go because I’m over you. That’s right. I am over you. And that, my darling (Y/N), is what we call closure.”

Jack lazily holds the phone above the ice bucket before dropping it in and leaning back in his chair and Annie immediately calls the waiter for the check.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next day…..

Jack is awakened by a pounding ache in his head and the sudden exposure to daylight makes him cringe in pain even more. He slowly rises from his bed, closes his curtains, and goes to his medicine cabinet in the bathroom to search for some aspirin. Upon finding the desired drug, he pops one into his mouth, turns on his bathroom sink, and uses his hand to cup the water to drink and swallow the pill. He takes a few more gulps, finding himself suddenly incredibly thirsty, before brushing his teeth and putting back the aspirin. It’s when he closes the medicine cabinet and sees his reflection in the mirror that he realizes he’s still dressed in last his clothes from last night which prompts an important question in his mind.

How did I get home?

Jack cautiously opens part of his curtain and searches his neighborhood for his car. When he doesn’t find it he assumes his date called him a cab and is actually grateful she didn’t allow him to drive himself.

His date.

What was her name?... Andrea?... Or was it Anne?... Annie?

Immediately he begins to feel embarrassed for how foolish he must’ve acted last night. He already knows he’s gonna be getting an earful from Harry since he’s the one that set up the whole thing in hopes of helping John move on from you. Yet, it’s not like he didn’t want to try.

Jack sluggishly makes his way towards his kitchen heading specifically towards his refrigerator for a hangover cure. Right as he’s opening the door to his fridge he hears someone knock on his door. He glances at his watch, noting that it’s only a little past eight thirty in the morning, and wonders who could be at his door so early.

“Morning, sunshine,” you greet Jack when he opens the door.

“(Y/N)?”

You give Jack a quick once-over.

“You’re dressed a bit formal for our breakfast plan but I’m digging the dapper look,” you make your way to enter his apartment and he quickly moves aside, letting you in and leading you to his kitchen.

“Breakfast plan?” he questions again.

“Yeah, we were supposed to get breakfast today, don't you remember?” Jack stays silent with a pensive look on his face and you have your answer. “From the look on your face I take that as a no. Oh, how did your date go last night?”

“How’d you know about that?”

“You told me about it,” you chuckle. “Jesus, how much did you drink last night, you seem pretty out of it.”

“I might’ve drunk a little bit past the average standard of too much.”

“Wow, was the date really going that bad?”

“I honestly can’t remember much but I know it was less than ideal and I know for a fact it was my fault.”

“Why do you say that?” you wonder and suddenly you find yourself being looked at rather oddly by Jack. “And why are you staring at me like that?”

“I Just– I think I had a weird dream about you but I can’t remember.”

“Well that sounds fun. Maybe you can tell me about it over breakfast, if you’re still up for it?”

“Yeah, of course,” he nods. “Honestly food is just what I need right now. Just let me change,” Jack turns around and makes his way to his room but abruptly stops to turn towards you once more. “Did you and I speak on the phone last night by any chance?”

“No, I spent the night at Ian's. I actually haven't even had a chance to check my messages yet, mind if I use your phone?”

“Yeah sure, I’ll be out in a few,” Jack casually swats his hand in the air as an okay before retreating to his room.

You thank him as you move to retrieve his phone and dial your number and code to your answering machine. After about a minute you’re finally able to check your messages and smile in delight upon hearing Jack’s voice.

“Jack, I got a message from you.”

Immediately Jack comes out of his room, wearing only a tank top and his dress pants from last night and a look of panic on his face.

“You sound so wasted,” you giggle.

“(Y/N), give me the phone,” he quickly makes his way over to you but you start to move away towards the living room.

“No way, I love listening to your drunken rambles,” with a secure grip on the phone you run to one side of the couch and Jack anxiously follows.

“(Y/N), I need the phone, give me the phone, give me the phone now,” he pleads, anxiety clear as day in his voice.

Committed to retrieving the phone from you, Jack chases you in circles around the couch until he’s finally able to tackle you onto the couch and swat the phone away from you. However, by the look of pure shock on your face, he knows he’s too late.

“Shit,” he starts, rising from the couch and running a hand down his distressed face, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!…”

“You… you’re over me?” you slowly start to sit up on the couch. “When–when were you… under me?”

Jack continues to groan and pace the area, “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“I mean… it was only a message addressed to me. But… Jack… do you… are you … Jack,” you stand up and grab his arm, stopping his pacing and implore him to explain.

“Okay… okay fine,” he clears his throat. “So-uh basically, lately I realized I have-uh feelings for you…”

“Oh...,” you slowly sit back down to process Jack’s confession and Jack joins you on the couch.

“(Y/N), please say something.”

“.... Pineapple.”

“What?”

“You said say something and I can’t really think of anything to say at the moment.”

“Okay, that’s fair, this is all pretty sudden.”

“Ya think?” you scoff.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do this or Ian. I didn’t mean for you to find out this way. Actually I didn’t mean for you to find out about this ever, I know Ian is a good guy and he makes you happy–”

“Yeah, he is a great guy and he does make me happy,” you say aloud, yet it’s more to yourself as you’re struggling to make sense of all this. “Oh god, Ian,” you rub your temples. “Why now, Jack? Why couldn’t you realize all this before?”

“I mean, what difference does it make now… unless…. do you?... (Y/N)....”

You sit silently hug yourself.

“(Y/N), do you have feelings for me?”

“Yes, Jack, I’ve had feelings for you for the past I don’t know how many years now,” you snap, standing from your seat and pacing back and forth.

“Wait what?” now Jack stands from his seat and stops right in front of you accidentally causing you to collide with him and he instinctively holds you to steady you. “You–you’ve had feelings for me? Are they… are they over?”

“Are you over me?”

You gaze into each others’ eyes, each searching for an answer to their question. You catch Jack look at your lips and you can’t help but look back to his. Before either of you know it you’re slowly leaning into each other until there’s nothing left between you and your lips finally meet. Jack’s arms immediately snake around, bringing you in closer as he kisses you hungrily. You kiss him with the same craving and hunger as this is what you’ve wanted for so long. Yet, after a few seconds you pull back breaking the kiss and turning away from him.

“I’m sorry,” you turn once more to look at him before heading for the door, “I have to go… I just can’t right now, Jack.”

With that said, you exit his apartment and Jack slumps down onto his couch. He traces his lips with his fingertips recalling the taste and feel of yours lips on his before throwing his head back and sighing.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Later that day…..

Jack enters his apartment with Harry following behind him.

“You want a beer?” he asks Harry.

“Can’t.”

“What are you practicing sobriety all of a sudden?”

“Yeah, when the Nile runs dry.”

Jack laughs as he enters his kitchen and opens a beer for himself, Harry leans on a counter and Jack joins him to stand on the opposite side.

“I actually can’t right now. Patty and I have dinner plans in about an hour and I can’t be late or I’ll miss the earful she’s gonna give me for how drunk you were on your date with Annie and if I miss that it’s only gonna be worse when I get home.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I really did want to try and move on but the entire night I couldn’t get (Y/N) out of my mind. I still haven’t talked to her since this morning ...”

“(Y/N) just needs time, Jack,” Harry reaches over the counter and comfortingly pats Jack’s shoulder.

“What if I lose her, Harry? And I mean completely. What if she doesn’t even want to keep me as a friend?”

“That’s not gonna happen. No matter what she decides, you guys have been friends for years and I know (Y/N), she’s not just gonna throw all that down the drain. You guys will get through this.”

Harry glances at his watch and begins to straighten himself out to leave.

“I gotta go. You’ll be okay?”

“I’ll find a way to be fro tonight,” Jack takes a few gulps of his beer. “Thanks again for taking me to bring my car back from the restaurant.”

“You can just pay me back a beer some other day. See you tomorrow, Jack.”

Harry exits Jack’s apartment and he’s about to go into his room until he hears a knock on his door. Thinking it’s Harry, he puts down his beer and goes to open the door.

“Rethought that beer did you– (Y/N)...,” he momentarily freezes.

“Hey, Jack, can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jack moves aside allowing you to walk in and you stand by his kitchen counter. “How are you?”

“Honestly? A lot better. And you?”

“At the moment I’m just really glad to see you. (Y/N), can we just forget what happened this morning?”

“Jack–”

“I don’t wanna lose you, (Y/N), I know you’re with Ian and I know things could probably get kinda weird because of what I said but I don’t want to not be with you in any way.”

You smile at his sincerity and your heart flutters within you as you say your next words.

“I don’t want to not be with you either,” Jack grins in relief at your words. “And as for Ian, he really is a great guy… but he’s not you.”

Jack’s eyes light up at your words.

“You mean?...”

You nod.

“I broke up with Ian. It’s always been you, Jack.”

Instantly Jack wraps his arms around you bringing you in for a tight, warm hug and briefly lifting you up. You happily giggle and hug him back, blushing when he pulls back to kiss your forehead.

“You have no idea how happy you’ve just made me,” he kisses your forehead once more. “Aw man, poor Ian, though.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. Now that I’ve had time to think about it we were moving kinda too fast with the vacation, he’s great but I did kinda just meet him.”

“Well his loss is my gain and I am not letting you go,” he looks lovingly into your eyes before slowly leaning in and capturing you both in an ardent kiss.

The first kiss of many that is to happen in your newfound relationship and the kiss that is to kickstart the new chapter in your lives together.

#jack traven x reader #you #keanu reeves #hope y'all enjoy!

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fandom-collective-writers · 5 years

Text

The Dragoness Unleashed

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Masamune x MC (Mai)

Prompt: I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that.

Warning: A little smut at the end

Word Count: 2154

Written for: Anonymous @ikemen-discord-writers

Written by @kiarigirl

Summary: When the men go off to war, what is a dragoness supposed to do? Mai gathers a few ladies to assist her in a counter offense that no one will see coming.

A/N: Thanks to the overwhelming support on my last Masamune fic, I have decided that I would make this part 2 of The Dragon series

Part 1 Thank you to @whalebubblez @muggzc @louveau @prettybird8 @pandapeachez for requesting this couple get their own series.

Mai watched through the early morning haze as Lord Nobunaga and his retainers headed off to war. That included the man she was promised to marry, the One-Eyed Dragon of Oshu, Masamune. It hadn’t been long since she first arrived in Azuchi offering herself as a bride to him as a way of earning protection for her village. She wore a valiant smile that masked her true concern, The war would begin soon and no matter how prepared men on either side trained, there would be death. There was no way to know if or when she might see Masamune and the other warlords again. For all she knew, they could lose the war which put her village right back in the path of danger. With that knowledge hanging over her like a Damocles sword, Mai made a hasty retreat back to Masamune’s manor.

Shogetsu met her at the door, as if welcoming her into his owner’s domain. With little more than a resigned sigh, Mai petted the tiger kit. “He’s gone off to war, so I guess you’re my responsibility until he returns. We’ll keep each other company until Masamune comes back.” The kit circled around Mai’s feet before finally padding off to one of the bedrooms. Mai moved to the writing desk that Masamune had given her shortly after he had accepted her as his wife to be. With unhurried strokes, she began writing a letter to her father. When finished, she sent it with a Date clan messenger with instructions to wait for his reply.

Elsewhere, Nobunaga and his men stopped to set up camp. “We will stop here to set up a camp. Make certain that the medical tent is protected.” He recalled an earlier skirmish in which enemy forces had poisoned the water supply and desperately wanted to avoid that from happening again. He needed all of his men healthy.

Once camp was set up, the warlords gathered around for a war council meeting. “Hideyoshi, I want you and Mitsunari with me. We will meet the God of War head on.” A silent pause was taken as he looked between his remaining three vassals. “I realize you have fought the Tiger of Kai before Ieyasu but I need your specialty here so I am sending Masamune to face Shingen.” If he felt any remorse or regret about his choice, Nobunaga hid it well. “Mitsuhide, you are to aide whichever of us that needs it.”

With their orders, every man gathered his troops and prepared for the coming battle. Before heading off to face Shingen, Masamune approached Nobunaga privately. “Lord Nobunaga! Might I have a word with you before we head out?” His normal wild ‘ ready to murder some people’ face, suddenly clouded over as he stood before his lord. “If anything happens to me. If I die in battle, promise me that you will honor my promise to defend Mai’s village. I think she’d do well as a wife to Mitsu--,” but before he could finish the name of the man he trusted Mai with, Nobunaga silenced him.

“You do not have permission to die today, Masamune.” That was all Nobunaga had to say on the matter. He refused to promise something that would never need a promise. He mounted his horse and ordered the march into the midday battle. Masamune stared wide eyed at Nobunaga before wiping away the concern he felt. He climbed atop a magnificent black steed and with only a sword thrust led his men towards Shingen.

Meanwhile, in the village where Mai was raised, a messenger stood before the village elder. “I see. This is very problematic.” He read the words on the letter once again before finally turning to the messenger. “The battle begins today for you, but for us it never ended. I will send six girls with. Tell her I can not offer more and for that I am sorry.” The elder walked to an adjacent room. To the dismay of the messenger, Mai’s father returned with six women.

“I am certain Lady Mai will be grateful for the women you are sending her.” The messenger looked to the women a bit woefully unsure of how they would all get back to Azuchi before nightfall.

Once outside three horses were readied for the journey back to the castle. “I shall pray for Lord Oda’s success in a swift war.” The elder looked at the women he chose to help aid his daughter. To the unsuspecting eye, there was nothing remarkable about them but the elder grinned. “Be safe,” he advised before the women mounted horses two to a horse.

By the time night fell over Japan, the Date messenger and his six charges were safely approaching the gates of Azuchi. Mai stood stoic as she watched half the number of people return as expected. Six, better than none, she mused to herself. “Welcome to Azuchi. Come, you all must be hungry.” It wasn’t a question of if, but rather a command to join her. “Even you, Tarou,” she hinted, which earned her a shocked look from the messenger.

Tarou’s eyes were like starless skies as he learned that years earlier each and every woman at the meeting had been trained in espionage. Chou was one of two war widows who had the good fortune to meet with Mai when she was barely an adult. Chou, Tarou discovered, was a very skilled geisha. Emi and Hana were twins who were orphaned at birth. Their parents believed, wrongly that the sign of twins meant impending disaster. Naturally they had been wrong about the girls who now worked as maids as part of their spying. Kasumi, it turned out was the youngest of the bunch. At the age of fifteen, her village was burnt to the ground. Shingen had taken her in and seen that she was trained to spy on his enemies; little did he know he was actually training a woman whose life his men had destroyed. Then there was Yua, the second war widow. She was the niece of Yoshimoto Imagawa, but had no love for the man. During dinner, Mai discussed her plan for herself and the six women she had been granted.

At a camp hours from Azuchi, the cries and groans of injured men filled the night sky. Those who could eat did while others took turns helping tend to the injured. “There weren’t as many injured as anticipated,” Ieyasu said trying to sound optimistic despite his usual gruff nature.

“Still, too many if you ask me. Lucky none have died yet.”

The trampling of horse hooves grew louder as they neared the camp. The dark moonless sky made it nearly impossible to tell who it was until the rider was upon them. A messenger bearing not the attire of the Oda or even the Date clan but that of the Akechi approached the camp. The horse slowed but had not come to a halt when the man leapt from it. “Lord Mitsuhide. I bring you a message from Azuchi.” He realized too late that the others were close at hand and covered his mouth with a tessen.

Masamune recognized the fan immediately, his one good eye stared at Mitsuhide’s messenger. “Where did you get that?” His hand reached out for the fan.

The messenger jerked the tessen back in time to prevent Masamune from grabbing it. “I was returning from my duties when I spotted a group of women and one of your men approaching Azuchi. I followed them at a safe distance. One of the women dropped this when Lady Mai met them at the gate.” The look of shock fell upon nearly every warlord’s face; all but Mitsuhide and Masamune.

“I see,” Mitsuhide grinned, trying to provoke Masamune, “and how many women exactly arrived tonight?”

Masamune’s hand reached for his sword waiting for the man’s reply. “I was too far away but if it was between three and six. If they doubled up on horses that is.” He tossed the weapon to Mitsuhide. “Perhaps women from her village?”

Masamune stormed off into the darkness muttering something that no one quite made out. Once alone he looked in the direction of Azuchi and gave a loud scream of frustration. The sound was loud enough that it frightened small creatures that had been hiding in the tall field of grass.

Sometime later, all of Kasugayama and Azuchi men had fallen asleep save for a couple of look outs on either side. The small band of women worked their way to their directed targets. Two women settled in the village nearest the encampment of Kenshin while another two found lodging closer to Shingen’s location. The last two, Kasumi and Yua went to Kasugayama Castle. There was no way to get messages to Mai, but she trusted that all would go according to plan. In the dark of night, Mai tripped over a body that was lying hidden in the wide grass.

She attempted to get up, but a strong hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back to the ground. She opened her mouth to scream when her eyes finally adjusted to the smokiness of her surroundings. “Masamune?”, she questioned.

“Lass, what are you doing out here? It’s dangerous. You should go back but I have some questions before you do.” He pulled her into his embrace. Oh yes, he had questions for her, like why did she leave Azuchi after night fall and who were those women that the messenger had seen. Just as he opened his mouth to question her, Mai kissed him, disorienting him and his mind in the process.

She peeled open his kimono, eyes looking for wounds or sign he had been in battle. When no new injuries were found, Mai smiled down at the man she had started to fall in love with. Her fingers slid her kimono open revealing her naked body to Masamune. He stared at this bold as brass woman who wanted to make love to him on the eve of another battle. He was like a deer caught in the headlights, trapped between what he was doing and should be doing. “Why don’t we just say I missed you too much to stay home?”

He grabbed tight onto her arms and eased her down over his ever hardening cock. It was a bad idea, but god he couldn’t help himself. When the universe sends you a woman to keep you calm, warm and sated, you don’t turn your back on the universe. He thrust up until his body was almost one with Mai’s much smaller and softer body. He grunted softly into her ear. “You know you won’t be permitted to stay. Come morning, I have to send you home.”

Mai moaned as she pressed kiss after kiss along his neck. “Are you not enjoying this, Masa? I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that.” She teased him for being so quiet when no one else seemed to be awake. Her fingers danced over his chest until they found his nipples.

Did she just challenge his manhood? He rolled her over onto her back; with the right angle and more control of the situation, Masa drove harder into his wild dragoness. Even with only one eye he was able to see how his actions affected her. “Sing for me, princess and together we will hit those high notes you are so very fond of.” Smoldering heat rippled through the both of them as her tight walls clamped down on his thick shaft.

Her body twisted and contorted beneath her dragon. Each thrust of his hips only impaled her that much deeper until at last her moans rang like the sweetest melody. Her orgasm hit quick and hard leaving her in a flinching puddle of splayed arms and legs. Once certain that he had given her what she needed, Masamune pulled free on her and rolled her onto her hands and knees. He eased into her ass as he leaned in biting her ear. “Now, let me show you how a dragon roars.”

He plunged deep into her, hands latched onto her soft supple hips as he made use of her in ways neither envisioned; at least not on a battlefield. Masamune’s rhythm and tempo ensured that both him and Mai would be well pleased, if not a little sore. With nothing but earth to dig her hands into, Mai leaned down making her body into a wedge shape. This angle was perfect for Masa who let out a loud roar as his orgasm hit and he felt the tell tale spurting of his seed into her body. Once satisfied, both Mai and Masamune collapsed back to the ground. He closed her kimono with his arm so that when morning came, no one would see the vision that would one day be his wife.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen fanfic #ikesen masamune #kunoichi #mai is the dragoness #fluff #ikesen smut #part two #Maybe request

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spiderman-homecomeme · 5 years

Text

Something Old

Part 1 of “And a Silver Sixpence in Her Shoe”

AN: Hey guys! I’m back with another multi-chap, though a much shorter one! This was just an idea I had a few weeks ago and I thought it was too cute not to write. It’s short. It’s sweet. It’s FLUFFY. Get ready for a Spideychelle wedding everyone!!! This story follows the poem: something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue :)

Read here or on AO3

Her nails are digging into her palm, one hand clenched while the other taps at her thigh in a hiccuping rhythm as she paces the short stretch of hallway just outside his room.

This was a bad idea.

Wasn’t it?

No, it was fine.

If he could do it, so could she.

The thundering beat of her heart accompanied by the tightness in her chest tells her otherwise. She knows that it’s normal, her body’s own physiological reaction in response to a significant amount of acute stress, something perceived as a threat to her very survival. It was fight or flight, and in that moment, she was leaning more towards the latter.

Yeah, flight was sounding pretty good right about now.

And though it wasn’t necessarily life and death, knocking on Peter’s door, asking him to hang out-- even after all the confessions and kisses on the bridge-- might as well have been.

But damn it, they had one more (very much unplanned) night in London, and she wasn’t about to let it go to waste. Due to the terrifying nature of that day’s events, all flights out had been cancelled and rescheduled for the next day, the entire class being put up in some fancy hotel, once again, by someone whose name rhymes with Fick Nury. Although she desperately wanted to be home after the fiasco that was this “vacation,” she knew a night to cool off was probably for the best. After all, Peter had been dangerously, just all around, way too close to dying; getting on an eight hour flight right after with no rest in between would probably not be good for his overall well-being.

Which was why she was second guessing her decision right now even more, if that was even possible, her hand toying with the silver chain around her neck, coming down to the broken glass pendant.

She’s just convinced herself that maybe this really was a terrible, no good idea, about to turn right on her heels, when the click of his door opening stops her. He startles slightly at the sight of her, his brows raised, mouth twisted into a cute little “o,” eyes blinking owlishly in surprise. “Hey.” A breathy chuckle escapes him, a shy grin breaking across his features.

“Uh, hey,” MJ replies lamely, feeling as if all of the oxygen’s been taken out of the room. Her own lips fight back a dopey smile as she offers a weak wave.

A beat passes.

Peter clears his throat, eyes falling on the piece of jewelry hanging quietly around her neck. He’s unable to hide the way his cheeks warm and redden, his lips twisting as he bites back a shy smile at the sight of the Black Dahlia necklace he’d given to her just hours before.

It’s a look that Michelle can’t help but think looks ridiculously good on him. Almost unfairly so.

He gestures to the necklace, opening his mouth to speak but finds that he’s unable to form coherent, human sentences.

She glances down, her voice soft. “Oh, uh, yeah. I… put it on.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, not entirely sure why he felt that was an adequate response. “I, uh, was actually gonna come see if you wanted to, uh, hang out. For a bit.”

The smile on Michelle’s face threatens to grow, and she glances down. “Me, too. I mean, I was gonna see if you wanted to hang out. Not… Not me,” she laughs breathily. “That’s… that’s why I was in the hallway. To come see you. Uh, yeah…”

God, how did he do that?

How was he the only person that could possibly make her so damn nervous? Make her bumble and ramble on like some kind of lovesick puppy?

“Do you wanna…” He falters, glancing down at his hands. “Do you wanna maybe come in? We can like, watch a movie or something? It’s all on Nick Fury’s bill, so we could probably get whatever we want on pay-per-view…” He jokes, scratching the back of his neck as he rocks on his heels.

MJ doesn’t even take more than a second to consider. “Yeah. Yeah, totally. That’d be… That’d be cool.”

Peter instantly relaxes, letting out a breath of what she can only assume is relief as he beams at her.

“Awesome.”

And it was, if she could say so herself, awesome.

Yes, it was awesome, even if they did spend a majority of the actual movie sitting approximately fifty feet away from each other on the bed, still only looking at each other when they thought the other couldn’t see.

(Spoiler alert: they both could.)

She’d catch herself playing with the necklace more than once, and she’s at least ninety percent sure Peter had too.

Not that she cared really.

The way she’d see him from the corner of her eye, the tips of his ears turning an adorable shade of pink, the way he’d struggled to bite back the dumb little grin tugging at his lips. When she’d felt his pinky lightly, cautiously graze hers, his hand slowly intertwining with her own… It was enough to make the dozens of butterflies in her stomach start to spontaneously combust all at once.

She’d gone back to her own room close to one in the morning, biting at the inside of her cheek to prevent her grin from growing any wider, feeling as if her body could’ve gone into cardiac arrest after Peter had landed a particularly sweet goodnight kiss right on her mouth.

And she’d fallen asleep that night, the faint smile on her face never having left, her fingers smoothing over the glass pendant of the necklace.

It’s almost the same that next morning, seeing him at the complimentary breakfast, sitting across from him at the small table as they both munch happily on some Fruity Pebbles.

The same feeling’s there when they board the plane home, finally sitting together and using Peter’s dual headphone adapter to watch a plethora of both depressing and funny movies, per her request. His eyes light up, same as they had the night before, seeing the pretty, broken necklace around her neck.

And of course, the giddy warmth MJ’s been experiencing only skyrockets when she feels Peter’s head fall onto her shoulder, the cutest, faintest snore coming out of his mouth as he naps.

Her eyes pore over the book in her hand, absentmindedly touching her necklace, her fingers delicately toying with the shattered pendant. Peter had been so sad, so disappointed seeing it broken in her hands, the way he’d rambled on and on about his plan, how sorry he was, still making her stomach to backflips and somersaults.

But it didn’t matter to her that the necklace wasn’t “perfect.”

Not in the slightest.

Her lips press into a fond smile when she feels Peter shift, nestling even closer than before, and she leans her head down on top of his, eyes closing.

She really did like it better broken.

She wears the necklace everyday.

Absolutely never, under any circumstances, takes it off.

No exceptions.

(Well, maybe to sleep. And shower. But those were the only times.)

And every time Peter sees her wearing it, he always has the same reaction, the same one as that one night in London, without fail; he looks down briefly, his lips pressing together in a valiant effort to keep the timid smile tugging at the corner of his mouth from getting any bigger. He does this, even as they reach their first anniversary.

And their second.

And their third.

And so on.

She’s wearing it the day they actually define their relationship, Peter’s voice the faintest bit shaky as he sits on the opposite end of the couch, asking what if they were “boyfriend and girlfriend.”

And her answer had been surprisingly simple, disguising her own frayed nerves and churning stomach under thinly veiled nonchalance as her eyes meet his.

“I mean, I’m wearing this, aren’t I?” She’d asked in return, hooking her thumb underneath the silver chain. At his unsure silence, her expression had broken, and she’d glanced down, laughing nervously at her own lame attempt at a joke. “I mean, if you… if you wanna be.”

“I do,” Peter breathes out, worried expression melting away into a smile. “Do… Do you… wanna be… my girlfriend?”

Just as before with his first question, her answer is quick and simple.

“I do.”

There are other necklaces over the years, of course; ones that friends give her. Ones that her parents give her. Even ones that Peter gives her.

But, no matter what, she always comes back to the shattered black dahlia.

It’s weird, how something so small can mean and hold so much. She’s never considered herself an overly sentimental person, never being one to care much about physical objects, but for some reason (and she has a vague idea as to what that is), her entire worldview practically flips on its axis, just for this piece of fine Italian jewelry.

There’s so much to that small necklace, the one he’d first given her all those years ago on the Tower Bridge, and with it comes all of the butterfly-inducing memories of that night and day. Their first kiss. Their first confessions. The beginning of their relationship. Watching movies in his hotel room late at night.

Really, it means more to her than she could ever possibly even begin to admit.

And Peter seems to know without her ever saying a word. After all, he feels the same way.

There’s not a single important milestone or event that she’s not wearing it.

She wears it with her near matching black prom dress.

To any and all decathlon meets, especially nationals, because she has this faint inkling that, hey, it might bring them some good luck.

To her dad’s family reunion, hiding in the corner of the room with all of the other introvert Joneses.

To birthday parties.

To graduation.

Everywhere.

Her mom had noticed, always smirking quietly to herself seeing the piece of jewelry hanging delicately around her daughter’s neck. “You’re gonna end up wearing that thing on your wedding day, aren’t you?” She had joked at one point, the warm, teasing glint in her eyes impossible to ignore as she’d helped a college Freshman MJ move into her dorm.

Then, Michelle had rolled her eyes, stomach flip-flopping in embarrassment at being so called out. She hadn’t answered, instead ignoring her mom’s question as she unconsciously reached a hand up to fiddle with the necklace in question.

And now, nearly six years later, she smiles at the memory, holding the same necklace in her hands, thumb tenderly smoothing over the still shining black glass as she’s zipped into a simple, yet beautiful white gown.

There was a past to this old necklace, one that was so precious to both MJ and to Peter. One that would be with them always, wherever they went. No matter what.

And her mom had been absolutely right.

#spideychelle #petermj #peter parker #michelle jones #peter parker x michelle jones #fluff #fic #silver sixpence fic #rated: m #more tags to come in future chapters #:))))#enjoy!!!

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cinnamonbundit · 5 years

Text

Dude, I Think I Love You (Prologue)

You made an unlikely friend in local pyromaniac, Charlamagne “Sharky” Boshaw, when you came to Hope County. Now, several months later, you both have been traveling from region to region trying to save as many citizens as possible, while also making sure Sharky didn’t burn down entire forests. Aaaand maybe you both secretly (or not so secretly) have a thing for each other. Smut in later chapters. This fic will not be completely canon because I wanna fix the garbage mess Ubisoft has created.

Word count: 1306

Warnings: cursing (LOTS), vulgar/promiscuous language, smut (later)

You never thought in a million years you’d be where you are today, but then again what normal person would expect they’d be trapped in bumfuck nowhere surrounded by crazy cultist, who are led by an even crazier family. That fateful day of the helicopter crash/arrest gone terribly wrong had flipped your life upside down both figuratively and literally.

You’d be lying, if you said you hadn’t at first felt overwhelming feeling of hopelessness. Sometimes you even thought that maybe you should’ve just walked right out of that church. But now all your friends and Marshall Burke were gone, taken by those self-righteous dickheads to “save” them. You were all alone aside from Dutch, but of course, Dutch didn’t always make for the greatest conversationalist. You had never felt so alone surrounded by so many people.

You couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that the weight of Hope County rested on the shoulders of a freaking rookie deputy, who by the way had only been a deputy for a little less than a year. The temptation to just lay down in one of the hundreds of doomsday bunkers built by crazy preppers forever was almost overpowering until..

Until you met him that crazy disco-loving redneck, who probably loved fire more than alcohol, Charlamagne Victor Boshaw IV. He was the first actual person to join you in your fight against the Peggies. Boomer was obviously the first actual fighter you had rescued because hey it was cute dog why wouldn’t you. To be totally honest, it was pure fate you had found Sharky while on your drive.

Subsequent to hearing about the loose cougar in the Whitetail Mountains named “Peaches”, you made plans to take a trip up there from the Hope County Jail. You were just barely out of the jail’s driveway, when you saw the smoke coming from the mountains just ahead.

You sat there debating on whether or not you should head up the dirt road to observe the scene and make sure no one or no thing was harmed. As you drove closer you could just make out the shape of the trailers and the sound of.. Disco music? Did people still listen to that in public let alone recreationally?

Mildly confused and especially intrigued you kept driving up the path until you finally reached the trailer park. You pulled off to the side and tried to exit the car as quietly as you could not knowing yet what you would be dealing with it. You could never prepare yourself for what greeted you on top of one of the many trailers, holding a flamethrower.

“What up, Shorty! You come for the barbeque?”

“The wha- where the hell are your pants!?”

A smile crept on your face at the memory, and then you were pulled from your thoughts, when said pyromaniac shifted on the bed above you. He had begged for the top bunk, after telling you how once, when he and his cousin Hurk were younger, Hurk had called dibs on the top bunk in their cabin at the Breakthrough Camp. When it came time for them to bed, Hurk had jumped onto his bunk causing the bed to crumble and crush the bottom bunk. Now Sharky would’ve usually thought that sort of thing was the funniest shit ever, if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was laying on the bottom bed and was simultaneously crushed beneath Hurk’s bed. He swore he broke at least two ribs that day… ok maybe it was just his wrist.

A soft snort from his bed broke the silence in the quiet bunker, and you had to stifle a giggle out how cute it was. You couldn’t risk waking him. At least one of you deserved some sleep, after going around all night “kicking names and taking ass” as Sharky put it. You tried to focus on his breathing, hoping it would lull you to sleep…

You were jolted from your sleep when you heard a thud followed by a crash. Looking around the room, you could make out the figure of Sharky, who was only illuminated by the faint glow of the bathroom light, but you could see that he was holding his foot, hopping in nothing except his boxers.

“Oh shit. Did I wake you, Dep?” He said, after hearing a quiet chuckle escape your lips, making you immediately cover up your mouth with your hand as an attempt to stifle your laughter. “A-are you laughing at me, Shorty?”

Through your laughter, you just barely got your reply out. “Sorry, Shark. Are you ok?” You asked once you had collected yourself, only to laugh again at the goofy face he was making as he feigned offense.

“Well, you see I couldn’t see shit because I didn’t want to be rude to Sleeping Beauty and turn the light on in here, so I, very heroically I might add, walked through this creepy ass bunker to take a shower. Then I stubbed my toe on that table and may or may not have knocked off the lamp.” His ramblings sent you into a fit of laughter, which he joined you in. Through your laughter, you dramatically replied, “My hero.. How can I ever repay you for embarking on such a valiant journey?”

“For starters, you can go hop in that shower because no offense, dude, but you kinda smell like Hurk, after Uncle Hurk locked him out of the house for a week and made him sleep in a pigsty, and it’s a real turn off.” You released a snort at that causing a grin to creep onto his face. “Damn, you’re already startin’ to transform, Dep, I think it may be too late,” he said, while leaning back onto the wall behind him with a shit-eating grin on his face. You playfully gasped and threw the pillow from your bed at his head, which he easily dodged. “Shit, Dep! Haven’t you put me through enough pain today!” He said theatrically, while placing a ringed hand on his chest.

“You’re such a dork,” you said through giggles, and you saw his smile return to his face as he leaned his head, hair still wet from his shower, against the wall. “Well alright I guess,” you started, rising from your spot on the bunk bed, “I’ll get in the shower just for you m’liege.”

He watched you as you slowly sauntered over to him with an unreadable expression on your face before you grabbed ahold of his face and brought it down to you level. His eyes opened wide in shock before you squished his cheeks, forcing his lips into a pout. You lost your composure after seeing his reaction to your closeness and let out a small laugh before starting to speak.

Slowly and quietly with a grin on your face, you mewled, “Sharky,” before you squooshed his face again, which caused him to close those baby browns of his, and shook it slightly. “If you used all the hot water again, I’m gonna kick your ass.” You laughed out, and released your hold on him and (carefully) moved his head back to its spot on the wall with your pointer finger. With that he opened his eyes and sighed watching you walk away and into the bathroom behind him.

It was no secret that you too had been dancing around each other, after one night at the Spread Eagle where you both got hammered on Mary May’s stash, and ended up drunkenly making out in one of the booths. With his head leaned against the wall he listened to you move around in the small bathroom, before he heard the squeaking of the faucet coming to life, followed by a squeal. He shook his head clear of the sexual thoughts and broke out in a knowing laughter.

“Sharky, you dick!”

A/N

My first crack at fic writing I guess. You may remember me mentioning writing this fic, and obviously this is nowhere near how this whole thing is going down. This chapter is pretty boring cuz I’m just trying to set the mood. I’ll let them have a moment of bliss before chaos insures. I’m still trying to think of a title but I’ll tell y’all when I figure that biz out.

Feedback is appreciated!

#sharky x reader #sharky boshaw #sharky boshaw hc #far cry 5 #far cry new dawn #fc5 #fcnd

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imagine-loki · 5 years

Text

Wedded Bliss

TITLE: Wedded Bliss CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 31 AUTHOR: MaliceManaged ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Odin determined to find Loki a wife in a misguided, though somewhat well-intentioned attempt to ‘mellow him’. … RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: For those of you who missed the fixed link from the last chapter about Edith’s new uniform, try this one instead. Also, kiss my ass, photobucket. You had one job.

________________________

Loki was, they discovered, something of a natural at the game once he got the hang of the gun. Moving in the shadows was something he had centuries of practice in and between him and Natasha, they had a highly adaptive battle strategy in no time. Which is not to say that Tony’s team didn’t put up a fight – with Hawkeye on their side, they were bound to get plenty of hits in regardless of it not being his favoured weapon – but ultimately they were simply outmatched.

Edith ducked behind an empty cubicle just in time to dodge a splat of bright red fired from Tony’s gun. She leaned against it while she reloaded, catching her breath, only to notice movement to her side; with a hissed curse, she scrambled to round to the other side of the cubicle in order to avoid the onslaught of white as Steve bore down on her position.

“Nowhere to run, Edie!” Tony called as he moved to join Steve, only to let out a startled curse as he found himself pelted by green and black paint as Loki and Natasha revealed themselves, making him realise it had been a trap.

As soon as Steve saw what happened he turned and fled the room right the way he came in, as that had been Tony’s last ‘life’, meaning it was now three against one until he regrouped with Clint. Tony grumbled something along the lines of firing Steve, causing the rest to laugh, then he walked off to join Bruce in the control room.

“Well, that’s one down, two to go,” Edith said, “Of course, one of those two happens to be Clint.”

“Who’s down to four lives,” Natasha reminded.

“Good point,” she glanced up at one of the cameras, “How we doing?”

“You have five lives remaining,” JARVIS counted, “Agent Romanoff has eight, Mr. Odinson has nine, and Captain Rogers has six.”

“Thanks, J,” she turned back to her teammates, “So, what’s the plan?”

****

The orange pellet only narrowly missed Steve’s head, and Edith let out a slight gasp as he turned towards her and dove back down behind the overturned table. When she was sure he wasn’t going to return fire, being a tad preoccupied with Natasha, she dashed from the table and towards the door nearest her, only to stop short as Clint popped out from inside the room beyond and left a purple splotch on her helmet’s faceplate from his head shot.

“Dammit! How did you even get in there??” she cried, removing her helmet so she could see.

“Trade secret,” was all Clint said as he rushed past her to go help Steve.

Edith walked into the room, setting her helmet and gun down on the desk inside, and took out a packet off wet wipes from her pocket to clean her helmet with. That done, she replaced the helmet, grabbed her gun and went to brace herself at the door; she peeked outside in time to see Clint score a kill shot on Loki while he was focused on Steve ducking for cover and groaned. Moving quickly she ducked out, took aim and fired, managing a hit on Clint’s lower back right at his spine, causing him to swear rather viciously as he had momentarily forgotten she was behind him.

“Well, that wasn’t very wholesome of you,” Tony voice came through the tower’s PA system, causing them all to laugh.

Edith’s laughed turned into a shriek as Clint fired at her in retaliation, ducking back into the room and narrowly dodging another head shot. Loki nodded to Natasha and then ran out ahead of her, sacrificing another of his lives to shield her while she took out Steve with a head shot and Clint with a shot to his chest then ducked through a door to the side.

“Come on, guys; you’re making us look bad!” Tony complained.

“You were the first taken out, Stark!” Clint retorted.

“They had it out for me!”

“Can’t imagine why,” Clint muttered, causing Steve to snort.

****

It came down to Loki and Steve in the end. Clint had picked off Edith, then he and Natasha ended up taking each other out, leaving Loki with three lives and Steve with his last to face off. The captain put up a valiant effort, but ultimately Loki gained the upper hand with a well placed shot to the heart. Afterwards they went up to the common floor for some much needed lunch of their favourite Chinese take out, which resulted in another somewhat-friendly argument over the last eggroll; by the time it was over, they noticed it was already gone, though JARVIS claimed not to know who took it.

Natasha dragged Clint and Steve off when the food was gone, reminding them they had SHEILD business (aka: paperwork) they couldn’t keep putting off, and as Tony poked fun at them JARVIS helpfully reminded him he had a meeting he’d promised Pepper he’d attend with her, which in turn resulted in Edith pointing and laughing at him.

Once they’d all left, Edith turned to Loki accusingly. “Alright, confess; you took it.”

“I did no such thing; I still had half of mine left at the time,” Loki replied, causing her narrow her eyes at him.

“Come on; I didn’t take it and JARVIS claimed he didn’t see who did.”

“Actually,” Bruce spoke up, “It really wasn’t him.”

Edith stared at him for a moment then let out a laugh. “So you won JARVIS over, too, huh? Oh, Tony’s going to love that when he figures it out.”

“He should have thought about that before letting me spend so much time alone in the labs.”

“Speaking of the labs, Dr. Banner; I have the results of your latest tests,” JARVIS announced.

“Great!” Bruce replied excitedly, getting to his feet and making it halfway to the elevator before turning back to Edith and Loki apologetically, “Sorry, I, uh…”

Edith snorted. “It’s fine, go ahead, Tony 2.0.” They laughed at that and Bruce went on his way, eager to continue his work. Edith moved to sit closer to Loki and leaned against him, resting her chin on his shoulder, earning an amused look. “So, how’s this day panned out so far?”

“It has been… entertaining,” he replied, not quite sure how much he wanted to reveal of his feelings on the subject yet. “Although, I would like to know what happened in this ‘summer of ’04’?”

“Nothing,” she replied entirely too fast, causing him to raise an eyebrow, “Look, I was an overeager thirteen-year-old; shit happens. Nobody was hurt. Everything was replaced. End of story.”

He chuckled, mentally making note to ask Pepper, doubting Tony would say anything, at least to him. “I would be interested in playing the game again, though; it was quite fun.”

“That it is,” she poked his ribs gently, “Just know they’ll never let you and Nat team up again.”

“No, I daresay they will not,” he concurred lightly then gently pushed her off himself and stood. “I should reply to father about the feast.”

“Wouldn’t he know your answer by now?”

“Well, yes, but I should still write them. It is only polite.”

She hummed. “What am I going to do, then? Everybody’s busy.”

“How should I know, Edith? You are your own person,” he replied with a roll of his eyes.

“True, but annoying you is fun.” At his unamused look she giggled and stood on the couch to kiss him without having to stand on her toes, then hopped off and walked to the elevator, turning back to him halfway through the open doors, “Coming?”

He huffed amusedly despite himself and went over to join her. They rode up in silence, Edith taking out her phone to check her accounts until they reached his floor, where they parted after a quick hug so she could continue up to hers.

#Loki #Lover #God of Mischief #Others #Submitted fic #submission #wedded bliss #chapter 31 #MaliceManaged

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jadekitty777 · 5 years

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The Hero’s Road

Warning: Definitely has spoilers up to Volume 6, Episode 4

Rating: K

Word Count: 3.5k

Ao3 Link: The Hero’s Road

Summary: Though every reincarnation was new, their role was always the same. This time around, Ozpin was set to be the guide, Oscar the driving force and, as always, Ozma was the spirit.

Things just… weren’t exactly going as planned right now. [Set sometime after Volume 6, Episode 4]

Notes: So this is completely dedicated to @undeadwicchan who’s post here inspired me to do a character study on the three Oz’s (Ozma, Oscar and Ozpin). Beyond briefly utilizing the idea of Ozma coming to the rescue for Oscar, it doesn’t actually have much to do with the framework of the post itself - which, all the kudos to you for such a kickass headcanon; it would be seriously awesome to see executed in true canon. Nevertheless, with this volume making me all sorts of fond for the precious trio, this was just the jolt I needed to get writing something of my own!

It had been a long time since Ozma had been required to surface to the full forefront of control.

But Oscar, young and inexperienced as he was, could not handle the swarm that overtook Brunswick Farms. Roused by the cries for help, he swiftly took the reigns and joined the fight alongside team RWBY and Qrow. Yet, hindered without Ozpin’s melee experience, he relied entirely on his magic to combat the force – tipping them all off that he was neither of the two they had come to expect to see.

As soon as the last Grimm faded, they turned on him, as he expected they would.

“What are you doing here?” Sir Branwen’s voice was as sharp as his weapon. Unlike his kin, fear did not shake him; he stood taller in the face of adversary. Were the man a true bird, one might believe such a valiant personality would go up against even an eagle. It was a quality that was hard not to admire.

But when faced with it in opposition, even dug deep in their mind as he was, he could feel the pang from Ozpin’s heart. He fathomed that no matter how many times he was reborn, there would always be those select few that their desertion would strike hard enough to unbalance them. It was just unfortunate that those around them often forgot the fact they were still entirely human themselves.

“Do you know how many lifetimes I have led?” Ozma questioned. He turned to face them, their combined ire doing nothing to weigh him. “Ninety-three. The ninety first and second were the closest we’ve ever gotten to unifying humanity. A hundred years to end a war and bring about comradeship among our kingdoms. To create technology and advancements the world had never seen before. To build the schools and raise a defense force for the many less-abled.” He stepped forward, his voice rising with his righteous fury, “And one night was all it took to see so much of that undone. One night for irreparable damage to be done.” He looked to Lady Xiao Long as he said this, watching as her gaze averted. He turned to Lady Belladonna and Lady Schnee next, “For fear and uncertainty to halt us.” Finally, to Lady Rose and Sir Branwen, “Or for those to be lost that could never be returned.”

The snow crunched underfoot as Qrow challenged him, “That’s not-”

“One mere hour for you all to lose your confidence.” He swept his cane in indication of them, stalling it to point to the man. When only silence reigned, Ozma placed it down, crossing his hands over the top. “I am not naïve to what the power of destruction can do. It is in it that has my former love so lost.” He shut his eyes, briefly seeking the one locked away; but Ozpin still was not ready to give up the key. “It is in that, I find myself lost as well.”

“Then how can you ask us to fight an enemy we can’t beat?!” Yang snapped, her fire refueled. Another quality that was easy to admire, but when misdirected, became her greatest obstacle.

“Then I will not.” He replied simply. “I instead ask you to fight for what is right. Every moment we delay is a chance for Salem to continue her advance. Atlas and Shade are no doubt her next targets. Every life we can save by merely intervening is worth it. However, whether you stand by me for that end or not is only a choice you can make.” He walked past them, heading back for the farmhouse they had come to make their own.

“Where are you going?” Asked Lady Schnee.

“To lie down. I used a tad too much magic. Oscar will need time to recover.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “And he, like all of you, needs time to consider what he truly wishes to do.” He continued onward.

What I wish to do? Oscar repeated faintly.

Did you truly not believe you had a choice? He thought back.

Silence was his only answer.

Ozma quickened his step just so. It seems he had more work to do.

When Oscar awoke, he was neither on the couch he had laid down on nor in the farmhouse at all. Above him were the branches of trees, sunlight streaming through and dappling along the ground, confusing him with their lack of snow and cold. As he sat up, it was with a start he realized he was not alone.

Ozma sat on the ground a few feet from him. He may have been meditating but at the sound of movement, his eyes opened. “Ah, it was much easier to call you here than I feared.”

“What’s going on? Where are we?” Oscar demanded. Things were already weird enough in his head; if he found out he had some crazy super ability to astral project, he was done.

“Calm, young one.” Ozma replied, raising a hand. “You are still asleep. This is merely a mental space in which we can talk. As for where we are…” He looked about. “You’ll have to tell me. It is your psyche after all.”

He looked around, realizing the other man was right. He did know this place. “It’s one of the forest trails that leads back to my farm.” It was the same one he’d taken to leave.

There was a rattle of armor as the other stood. “Then perhaps we can take a walk together. I’d enjoy to see it.”

Yeah right. Still, Oscar allowed himself to be helped up, doing his best to keep up with him as they walked down the dirt path. As they did, he could not help but sneak glances at the man. He truly appeared as if he were someone who stepped right out of a fairytale, with armor meant for a knight and a cape befitting a superhero. Even his body language seemed strong, with his shoulders and head high, his stride long so that it forced Oscar to take two steps to his every one. How could he walk with such confidence when everything in his life had gone so wrong?

Ozma caught him staring and smiled at him. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yea!” Oscar looked down, his face heating. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Whatever you would like. I’m sure you have a lot on your mind.”

He thought of asking the one he’d just thought, but quickly shook it aside. He went for something safer instead. “Why do you want to see my dingy old farm? I’m sure it’s nothing nearly as amazing as the stuff you’ve seen.”

Ozma chuckled. “You know, I always loved adventuring. It was what made me decide to set off from home. I wanted to see the world. Experience everything to its fullest.” He waved his hands outwards, encapsulating a sight Oscar could not see. “My travels brought me to so many places. Grand castles. Beautiful canyons. Stunning oceans. And yes, even ‘dingy’ old farms.”

“And you left, as easy as that.” He shook his head. Figures.

“I never said it was easy. My father was furious. Every night he told me I was throwing my life away. And my mother cried and cried.” Ozma looked away and though his smile stayed, there was something sorrowful there. “I don’t think I could have ever disappointed them more.”

Like a Grimm to a mourner, he couldn’t help but wonder what his own parents would have said, had they still been around. He felt something settle against his gut uncomfortably. A weight he hadn’t felt in years, but its presence was as agonizing as ever. He ran a hand over his face, trying to act like he was brushing away an itch and not the burn in his eyes. “So why did you do it?”

“It was all I wanted. I didn’t want to live with the regret I hadn’t tried.” Ozma placed his hand over his heart. “It just felt right.”

His feet stopped, the sentence striking a painfully familiar chord in him and words spilled out before Oscar could help it, “Is that why I felt that way when I left? Was it you!?” So many emotions were filling him he didn’t know where one began and another ended, but anger seemed to take the helm, raising in a great tidal wave inside of him. “Huh?! Was it?! How many other things haven’t been me?! What else is just you or him or, or someone else!!”

Ozma reached for him, “Oscar-”

“No!” He smacked the hand away, stumbling backwards. “When I was younger, I used to dream about it, you know? Setting out on my own big adventure. Becoming a hero like the ones we saw on TV. I thought that was what I wanted.” He looked away, his fists so tight at his side they shook. “But now I get it. I never had it in me to leave. It’s… it’s always just been you, hasn’t it? And that’s what it’s going to be like, isn’t it?!” He bowed his head, fighting down tears but not the other’s approach this time, or the hands that laid on his shoulders. He let his head thunk against the metal breastplate. “I didn’t even get a choice! It’s not fair!” Metal rang as he slammed his fist against the other’s chest. “It’s not fair!!”

The arms that encircled him tightened. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s not.”

He hit him again, strength waning. By the third strike it was barely more than a weak knock. He slumped against him. “I’m just going to disappear, aren’t I?”

“Of course not.” Ozma’s voice was soft, almost fatherly in a way he’d almost forgotten, as he spoke against his hair. “If Ozpin nor I have disappeared, why would you?”

Oscar snuffled, tilting his head up, “But Qrow, he said…”

“An injured heart will say much in an effort to ease its own pain.” He stepped back, just enough to look at him properly. “I will not lie and say that the lines do not blur at times, but there will always be a distinctive you in here and your input is always as important as ours. And you will always have the right to choose.”

“What about at Haven?” He bit back.

Ozma laughed softly. “The same can be said about Jinn.”

His eyes widened. “I- That was- I was just-”

There was a shake of his head and a hand on his shoulder once more as the man lent down to his eye-level. “I apologize, it was not an accusation. Merely an observation. None of us have been very fair to each other. But while the past can’t be undone, we can change moving forward. If this coexistence is to work, that is.”

“So what if I said I wanted to go back home?” He challenged.

He expected him to blanch or backtrack. But Ozma only smiled and said, “Then I’ll help you buy the train ticket this time.” The hand on his shoulder squeezed; a reassuring touch. “Is that what you want?”

Oscar looked away, wiping away tears. “No. I dunno. Maybe.”

He rose. “What is it that makes you uncertain?”

A sigh heaved from deep in his chest, focusing on the dirt between their shoes. “I’m… not like you guys. I’m no knight running out to save damsels from towers. Or some wise professor who can motivate a whole school of people to be these great fighters.” He laughed bitterly as he threw up his hands. “I couldn’t even get that guy to shut off those stupid turrets! I’m not particularly smart or skilled,” Finally, he looked up at other. “Or brave.”

An eyebrow rose like a startled exclamation. “Are those the things that you believe a hero to be?”

“Of course they are!” When Ozma’s expression did not change though, Oscar felt uncertain suddenly. “…Aren’t they?”

He hummed thoughtfully as he waved to the trail before them. As Oscar took his place beside him again, he was given his answer, “They are good qualities, certainly. But one can be skilled, yet never use them to assist others. One can be smart, but remain uncaring to other’s plights. One can be brave, but recklessly so.”

“So then, what does make a hero?” He asked.

Ozma’s eyes glittered merrily. “What is it about Lady Rose that impresses you so?”

Ruby? “Well she’s… amazing.” He thought back on the train, how easily she got Dudley to listen to her when he couldn’t. How she commanded her team to focus. How even now her words to him back at the house at Haven still inspired him. “She can motivate others.”

“What do you think it is about her that gives her that ability?”

As he tried to think it over, he found he couldn’t pin down something tangible. It just seemed to be something that was inherently there. A piece of her that made people want to stand beside her. Something in the way she viewed the world, with such a bright and kind spirit, that made others want to do the same.

… Oh. “Her heart.” He said finally.

“Yes.” Ozma nodded. “A good, strong heart is first thing a true hero needs.”

Oscar placed a hand over his own. Did he have that?

“If I may be bold,” He added, tone amused. “I do think it is also worth saying that I do not often witness fourteen-year-olds rushing across the top of speeding trains. I believe what you lack is not any of the things you think you do, but merely your own self-belief.”

“What do you mean?”

“To have faith in others, first you must find it in yourself. Though, I will admit, in the face of failure, it can be one of the hardest things to hold onto.” As they reached towards the end of the trail, the world grew dark and grey as storm clouds hovered overhead, blocking out the sun. Ozma’s expression seemed to do the same as looked into the distance. “No matter how strong they are.”

Oscar stared as well, discovering that they had not entered the plains that would lead to the farm, but a courtyard leading to a school he had never seen in person, but recognized as if it were his own home. “Beacon.”

“How curious. I did say before this was your psyche we were traveling in. So why do you think it brought us here?” Ozma quipped.

He gazed upwards slowly, to the office he had once been able to mentally photograph perfectly, and knew exactly who was hiding within it.

Oscar squared his shoulders and held his head high just like his companion. “I think it’s telling me it’s my turn to rescue someone from a tower.”

He walked forward.

A quiet, familiar ding roused Ozpin from his stupor. He lifted his head from his arms, finding it as heavy as the rest of him felt. He could hear the gears around him turning, and realized where he was. Asleep in his office again? Then no doubt it was Glynda coming to chastise him. He reached for his glasses, slipping them on to at least appear more presentable – and with it his hazy vision cleared, startling him when instead of his dear assistant, it was two familiar gentlemen approaching.

Right.

He was dead.

(How was Glynda doing? And… how long would it be until the truth got to her? What would she think of him then?)

“Ah, time for The Walk?” Ozpin asked, willing himself not to sink back to sleep.

“Wait. This is a thing?” Oscar asked.

Though he couldn’t muster a laugh, he could not help but be lightened by the boy’s simple innocence. He was going to go on to be a great reincarnation.

“It’s a practice I sometimes perform once my new host learns the full truth. I find it helps to uplift the spirit.” Ozma replies. “Though, it’s usually not this soon.”

Oscar turned to him. “I learned sooner than you?”

Ozpin crossed his hands, smiling to the boy. “Four years, to be exact. I was also twice your age.” He focused on one of the larger cogs underneath the glass surface if the desk, watching it turn. “I’m embarrassed to admit I purchased a one-way ticket to Vacuo that same day.”

“…What made you stay?”

What indeed. “As luck would have it, whether it be good or bad, a rather… problematic student was sent to my office that day. If I recall, this time around he had intentionally set the dust lab on fire.” Though, it could have also been the time he clogged the drain of the courtyard fountain. The record had become quite extensive. “Most of the other facility believed him to simply be a destructive sort. But I suspected different. Yet no matter how many times he was sent to my office, no matter how many conversations we had, I couldn’t get him to speak a word. He would just ask for his punishment in his crude way, pay it, and be back in a week.”

Ozpin rose to his feet, heading to his window that overlooked his former school. “That day though, on what I thought would be my last, I took a chance and acted on my suspicions.” His eyes darted to Oscar’s reflection as the boy approached. “You see, Beacon was always a school designed to have a low entry requirement. It was a school meant to train the best of the kingdom, but also be a shelter many could seek refuge in. Quite a few enrolled were those thrown from their own homes. So, I questioned him if that was what had happened to him and I learned more than I thought he would offer.”

He shut his eyes, still able to picture so clearly the seventeen-year-old Qrow that had eventually dissolved into tears, angry and pained by a world that didn’t want him and so full of hate at himself for a semblance he could not help. It seemed to be an impossible problem. Fortunately, Ozpin knew a bit about those. It was surprising to realize just how much of a difference a little empathy could go to heal a hurt soul.

“I did not stay that day for the war. I stayed because he helped remind me why being a professor could be so rewarding. I enjoyed having a part in my students’ lives, to help guide them into finding better ones.” He sighed. “I realize now that I’ve repaid him rather poorly for that.”

“So then, how are you repaying him any better by hiding away here?”

Ozpin turned to the boy, unsure if he was more surprised by his gall or his bull-headed honesty. In the background, Ozma started to chuckle.

“I did not lie before. I – we – do not know where to go from here.” And after so many lifetimes trying, maybe it was time to admit they just weren’t cut out for the task.

But it was Oscar, despite how he often quivered in the face of Grimm, who nodded and said. “Yeah, I know. And that’s scary.” He shifted on his feet, admitting softly, “But it’s even scarier facing it alone.”

That, more than anything, snapped him into wakefulness. You are meant to be guiding him Oz. What are you doing?

He placed a hand on his shoulder, knowing how much weight it was already carrying and much, much too much for one so young. “I’m so sorry, Oscar.”

“I am sorry too.” Ozma finally spoke, crossing over to them. “To both of you; that you must bear the burden of my mistakes as if they are your own.” He looked to each of them. “But if it is something we must bear together, then let us bear it equally, as we too should be.”

Oscar’s eyebrow rose in confusion, looking towards him for help. “Uhh…?”

He smiled. “He means that I need to stop treating you like a child."

“Oh.” He replied, seeming to take that newfound growth in. Whatever conclusion he came to made him nod once more, before he spoke again, “I’m sorry to both of you as well. I thought I was doing something right, with Jinn. I thought I was helping but all it did was end up hurting everyone.”

“You are certainly not the only one.” Ozpin agreed. The more he let those words sink in, the more he realized he was not the only one who needed to hear them. “Oscar?”

“Yes?”

“When we awaken, there’s someone I’ll need to speak with.”

The boy frowned. “Okay. But if he punches us again, I’m hitting him with the cane.”

Ozpin finally found it in him to laugh again.

#Oscar Pine #Ozpin #ozma #rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby6 #rwby6 spoilers #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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