#he also commented on my grey hairs twice in what i think was meant to be a joking way | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daisybeewrites · 3 years

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Academy Blues

sometimes you punch the bag, sometimes to bag punches you

word count: 4.5k

warnings: none. heavy handed use of italics

ship: Dousy (Daniel Sousa/Daisy Johnson), background Fitzsimmons and Philinda

ahaha.. and the fun begins (the cryptic-ness is for a reason i promise)

“Ow!!” Daisy exclaimed. This was the second time today she had gotten distracted and let the punching bag swing into her. Sans Bobbi or Mack, her usual workout partners, there was no one to hold the bag still while she was pummeling it. Her side of the gym was entirely void of people, most opting to use the treadmills or other cardio machines lining the wall of large windows that faced the forest to the south, or stick to circuits on the resistance machines throughout the middle of the gym. The universe seemed to be telling her to get in some boxing, so she walked over to the bag with the intention of punching until her arms hurt.

Now her nose hurts, too.

“You need a spot?” May asked, silently crossing the padded floor to Daisy.

She nodded. Waiting for May to get into position, Daisy stretched out her arms over her head and across her body, twisting her torso to feel her abs stretch. When May gave her a thumbs up, Daisy started to punch the heavy bag again, this time with a little more force now that she knew it wouldn’t fly back and hit her in the face.

“Something on your mind?”

“No,” Daisy grunted. “Just slacked off the last few weeks. With everyone gone on break there wasn’t as much of... everything, I guess, to keep me in a routine.”

May nodded. “Breaks can be tough. No classes, schedule disrupted, more free time than you know what to do with. I get it. If you ever want a time-filler, text and I’ll be there.”

Daisy nodded, going back to silently punching. The breaks weren’t all bad. They only happened eight times a year, five two-week breaks and three three-week breaks. Enough time that those with families and lives outside of SHIELD could visit and vacation, but not fall behind. Plus, it gave Daisy the campus pretty much to herself. Only about forty students stayed at The Academy over breaks, and it seemed to decrease every time.

Another good thing about breaks was that Daisy got to know more people personally. Whether it was how the tall, fifth-year red head took her morning coffee or that the new group of first-years liked to run the same trails through the forest as she did. So, when an entirely new face had cropped up out of nowhere, Daisy was intrigued. He walked with a limp, had nice hair and kind eyes. She didn’t recognize him, and despite the fact that he had arrived the same day as the rest of the first-years, he was definitely the oldest of the pack. That was unusual, Daisy had thought, SHIELD almost always recruits directly out of high school or college. The last time anyone over the age of twenty-five had been accepted to the Academy was when Daisy herself had started. However, that was a bit of a… special situation.

Every morning, New Guy crossed through the computer lab and waved, smiling confidently at Daisy. His sudden appearance and amicable interactions confused her. Classes weren’t in session, but he always had a backpack with him. Maybe he had tutoring with one of the professors? A new student trying to catch up before the term even began — an enigma.

Once classes had started, he still came by everyday. Daisy liked to think it was because he wanted to see her. They had never spoken more than tired greetings to each other, and yet Daisy felt herself pulled towards him. She shook off the thought. It made her skin crawl, thinking about the last time she felt such a magnetic attraction to someone.

She realized May was studying her through the mirrors lining the wall next to the row of punching bags. She cleared her throat and asked, “Is my form okay?”

May gave her a long look that clearly said, ‘You know that your form is fine.’

Daisy pulled her eyes away from May’s stare, announcing, “I’m going to fill up my water, do you need any?”

May shook her head, pulling out her phone.

Daisy bent down to grab her water and headed to the back of the gym, towards the locker rooms. A couple of reusable bottle-filler stations were stuck into the wall, right next to the PT rooms. Daisy couldn’t help but peer into the closest one as she listened to the sound of water streaming into her bottle. It was filled with floor ladders, yoga balls, sports med supplies... New Guy. Huh.

Wondering why he would be sitting in a dark PT room by himself, Daisy took a swig of her water before continuing to fill it up. He hopped off the table as the lights came on, a young doctor-type walking in a smiling. She was reminded of his limp when he walked towards her, shaking her hand and flashing a large smile. Cute, Daisy noticed. Wait, no, what?

Daisy promptly turned and headed back to the wall of mirrors, choosing to ignore the smirk on May’s face.

“Ready?” Daisy asked.

“Actually,” May began, “Why don’t we get in some sparring? You’ve been at this for over an hour.”

Daisy caught the glance May threw at the half-assed wraps on her hands and nodded. With only a few jitters, Daisy quickly helped May unroll the sparring mats onto the floor. Daisy had only sparred with Yo-Yo since she got back from Columbia visiting her cousin. Sparring with May was an entirely different level.

After some warm-up drills, May silently took charge and got into a fighting stance. Daisy rose up on her tip-toes, then rocked backwards. The grey padding beneath her looked a lot softer than it felt while being slammed onto it. A quick lunge from Daisy and a swift deflection by May, and the two women were off.

Across the gym, Daniel Sousa and the doctor were chatting, watching Daisy and May.

“They look like they’re barely breaking a sweat,” Daniel commented after May leaped off Daisy’s leg, flipping forwards and attempting to grab Daisy around the shoulders. Daisy rolled backward, throwing May over her and getting to her feet as the shorter woman jumped up into a wide stance.

“You’ll get back to that level,” The physical therapist assured him.

Daniel shook his head. “Maybe. I hope so. If not, I’m a damn good shot, anyway.”

The doctor chuckled before motioning back to the PT room. “C’mon, you still have thirty minutes stuck with me before I release you from daily therapy.”

“It’s only been three weeks?” Daniel questioned, confused. They walked through a black door to a small room. Grey cabinets on one side, a black table on the other, physical therapy tools lined up in organized sections.

“Most of which was just assessing you. You already know the exercises and stretches, and you completed the physical therapy recommended by your primary care physician before you came to us. You have the strength mostly back in your residual limb, at least to the point where sparring shouldn’t do any damage. I still expect you to show up at least twice a week. Especially since you’re starting field training with May.”

He smiled. “How do you know about that?”

“I have access to your file, Sousa,” She reminded him, “I also know you were late to her class on the first day. Not a smart move, in my opinion.”

Daniel cringed at the memory of heads turning his way, watching him limp to the only open seat in the very front. May’s comment— “Thoughtful of you to join us, Agent Sousa,” —still turned his face a slightly embarrassing shade of red when he thought about it.

Noticing his uncomfortable silence, the physical therapist put on a sympathetic face. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. I was late to my first class, too. Professor Martin, advanced physiology. Granted, I was seventeen...”

Daniel playfully glared at her.

“...but I suppose that’s no excuse. Let’s get started.”

The rest of the day went by without Daisy or Daniel seeing much of each other besides a fleeting glimpse while changing classes. Not that they were looking for the other, or anything.

A few hours later, before dinner, Daisy was sitting on the counter in the girls’ dorm bathroom, watching Jemma curl her hair.

Jemma Simmons was one of the only people she immediately loved at SHIELD, and the first person she had trusted on Coulson’s team. Over the course of a couple months, they became closer than Daisy had ever been with anyone, spending almost every waking moment together. Over time, Daisy had grown to love the rest of the team, too, learning that they had also been hand picked by Coulson. Though, technically, Daisy hadn’t been chosen for the team. She was picked up as a consultant. But it didn’t matter, as the ragtag team had quickly been disbanded.

Knives shoved into your back can have that effect.

After the end of the team, Code-named Bus Kids, Daisy, Fitzsimmons, Tripp, and May and Coulson had come to the Academy to continue working with SHIELD. Daisy and Tripp were assigned as partners in their ops training, Fitzsimmons were partners in the lab, and May and Coulson still checked on them as if nothing had changed.

But people get busy, and it had been awhile since Jemma and Daisy had properly talked to each other.

“Does the bruise on my nose look like it’ll go away any time soon?”

Jemma glanced up through the mirror, shrugging. “It should. What did you do to it?”

Daisy fiddled with her hands, only answering when Jemma turned to face her fully.

“I kinda, uhm, got punched...”

The stern look Jemma gave Daisy quickly melted into laughter as the brunette added, “...by a punching bag.”

Reaching up to turn Daisy’s face towards the fluorescent bathroom lighting, Jemma gently ran a finger along the angry red splotch on the top of Daisy’s nose. She jerked her head a bit, wincing at the contact.

“You should be fine, I’ll grab some of the good anti-inflammatory meds from the medical storage.”

Daisy thanked her, hopping off the counter to grab an eyeliner pen. “So, how is Fitz? Is this a real date night or are you guys ‘just hanging out’?”

Jemma smiled at his name and rubbed her neck. Daisy smiled back at the subconscious reaction.

“You two are so meant for each other,” She teased.

Jemma tilted her face up towards Daisy, allowing her to start applying eyeliner.

“He hasn’t really defined it. We’re ‘going out’, but we aren’t dating.”

Daisy finished the subtle cat eye, shaking her head. When would he learn that Jemma would only believe they were together if he said, ‘Hey, Jems, I’m completely and totally in love with you and I want you and I to live happily ever after!’

Daisy watched Jemma inspect herself in the mirror, touching up her mascara.

“You look amazing. He’s a fool if he doesn’t see it,” Daisy assured.

Jemma smiled. Her Sheffield accent had gotten thicker over break, Daisy noticed, as Jemma responded, “He does, I know he does. We both just have trouble, you know? Voicing our thoughts and feelings.”

Daisy definitely knew…

“Well, he could do with a good reminder sometimes. If y’all are going to keep going on these not-dates, you might as well show him what he’s missing by staying just friends!”

Jemma laughed, smiling gratefully. She took one final look in the mirror, swishing her knee-length royal blue dress and fluffing her hair. “Okay, well, off I go. Have a good night, Daisy.”

Daisy gave her a thumbs up and went to watch out her window as Fitz handed Jemma a hand-picked bouquet of (slightly squished) wildflowers and took her arm to lead her to the parking lot.

Daisy sighed and turned away from the gold and pink sunset. She opened her personal laptop, immediately bombarded by three windows running programs. One was running an innocent algorithm to clean all the useless, unused files from her computer, one was a simulation that could (hypothetically, no harm no foul) hack the Pentagon, and another was trying to find video and audio feed from Los Angeles, four months ago.

Daisy’s gaze lingered on the last one, not expecting anything new. She sighed and picked up her laptop, deciding to go visit Mack in the garage. It was only seven on a Friday, he’d probably be there working on the run-down, close to falling apart Harley he had bought off an old friend for $200. Mack had been working on it for months. Daisy wasn’t even sure it had half its original parts.

A short trip across the grounds and a trek over a winding path cut through a field of thick tallgrass later, Daisy arrived at the garage.

The monstrous steel and concrete building was like a plane hangar and mechanics lab forged into one. Workstations around the edge were strewn with tools, motors, and half-finished pieces of tech. Shining black SHIELD vehicles and even two quinjets sat in the middle, outlined by rectangular blocks of tape and paint. Catwalks crossed the upper level so that mechanics could reach the tops of planes when necessary, though SHIELD planes hardly ever came to The Academy unless they were being used for a lesson.

Daisy followed the sounds of tinkering and the quietly moving shadows to Mack’s workstation. She carefully leaned against a nearby SHIELD van, not wanting to interrupt his work.

Now, to say that Mack wasn’t easily frightened was an understatement. Daisy had hardly ever seen the muscled giant of a man so much as jump. Ever since discovering this, Daisy had taken every opportunity to try to scare Mack. It was not going great.

Daisy pulled out her phone, silently thumbing through emails and checking Instagram. She was about to walk over and tap him on the shoulder when Mack turned around and screamed.

Clutching his chest, Mack exclaimed, “Tremors, what the hell?!”

“I just wanted to come check in,” Daisy giggled, happy that she had finally snuck up on Mack.

Mack stood with his hands on his hips, smiling wide, before cocking one thick eyebrow and gesturing at her face.

“What happened to your nose?”

“Punching bag won this morning,” She shrugged.

Mack shook his head, laughing in a deep rumble. “You wanna help me with this?” He asked, pointing to the small device on his desk.

She didn’t answer, just reached out to take a small screwdriver from Mack’s very large hand. He showed her how to twist it to create leverage without it slipping while he messed with some wires, and eventually he seemed satisfied.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Mack asked casually.

Daisy nodded, her grumbling stomach betraying her.

Mack eyed her up and down. “Sure. Well, I’m hungry, so let's get something to eat and then we can take the bikes out.”

Daisy liked the feeling of being on a bike, the wind in her hair and steady vibrations from the engine soothing her ever-present headache. Ever since this revelation, if Mack went out on his motorcycle, he invited Daisy to ride with him.

At first, Daisy had been skeptical. What was so great about a two-wheel speeding death trap? One of her best friends had driven a gleaming 1969 Dodge Charger, and she had enjoyed riding with the windows down, but it still wasn’t the absolute best experience of her life, like most motorcyclists claimed a ride could be. However, once Daisy had finally taken Mack up on his offer, she was never hesitant to accept another invitation.

In the canteen, Mack piled a plate high with salad ingredients and baked spaghetti, scooping some off into a bowl for Daisy once he got back to the table. She took a fork and picked at it, chewing the crisp lettuce slowly.

Once they were both finished, Mack put his plate and utensils on the circling dish belt. He let Daisy lead the way back to the garage. She immediately grabbed two helmets and Mack’s gloves.

“That leather jacket gonna be enough to keep you warm? I have a couple old flannels in my bag if you want one.” Mack offered.

Daisy picked at a loose thread on the worn black jacket, nodding and throwing a ‘Thanks’ over her shoulder. She quickly rifled through his duffel bag, pulling out a faded black and blue flannel and shrugging it on under her jacket.

Mack mounted his black and silver bike, Daisy choosing a smaller SHIELD one. She kicked the kickstand back with her foot, finding her balance. She followed Mack as he revved the engine and took off out of the garage. Daisy heard him speak into the helmet’s mic.

“I upgraded the bikes, bigger tires and a better visor. It’s more efficient. Plus, when I’m out on the highway, cars don’t push me around.”

Daisy gave him a thumbs up, focusing on the feeling of air flowing around her. She sped up as she reached the road. She felt as if she was flying high into the air, fighting the laws of physics. On the back roads surrounding the Academy, as familiar as the back of her hand, Daisy relaxed and let herself fall into autopilot.

She heard Mack in her ear, still talking about the bike. She had heard it all before, but there was something centering about listening to Mack retell the evolution of his bike for the hundredth time, like a kid who begged to hear the same bedtime story every night.

It was freeing, speeding down a deserted road on the bike, stars above and pavement below. Pine trees reached for the sky on each side of her. Shrubbery and grass waved to Mack and Daisy as they raced forward.

A slight burn pricked her eyes that she knew wasn’t from the wind. Daisy needed this after a stressful first couple weeks back in class. To be honest, it was what she needed all the time. Daisy was exhausted. Her powers may not be visible, but they were always on, always bouncing around her body. Times like these, though, Daisy felt free. Releasing the constant grip she had on her self-control, she let the vibrations of the engine flow through her. Slowly, surely, Daisy let her guard down. A whispering warble crept into her ears over the wind. She could feel the way the pavement below and the humid late-August air around her absorbed the miniscule quakes, bouncing lightly off the tall trees like a quiet laugh reflecting off the walls of an echo-chamber.

About an hour later, Daisy and Mack were rolling back into the garage. Daisy couldn’t hide the slight redness in her eyes, but the smile on her face told Mack he didn’t need to worry. The pair silently did maintenance on the motorcycles, re-fueling them for later use and checking for any loose parts on Daisy’s.

Daisy headed back to campus, refusing Mack’s offer to walk her back to the dorms. She would be fine on her own. Besides, Jems might be back by now, she could ask about Fitzsimmons’ date. Or she could wait until breakfast tomorrow and tease them both.

Daisy stopped in her tracks. Out of the corner of her eye, a shadow slipped behind a building. Daisy felt her back tense, her hands curling into fists.

Any remainder of twilight light had faded while Mack and Daisy maintenanced the bikes. Daisy couldn’t imagine that any of the trainees that went to parties at the nearby universities were back yet, but no student in their right mind would want to simply walk around the dark campus of the Academy.

She kept walking, more alert. No sounds apart from her steady breathing and the rustle of grass beneath her feet reached her ears. She walked slowly toward where the shadow had disappeared. It looked as if it was headed to the biochem building. Daisy raised her hands, quietly running towards the white building, slightly crouched. She circled it once, twice, before deciding she had been imagining things, the shadow was only a trick of the light. It seemed so real though, so solid…

Daisy shook her head and crossed the courtyard, heading towards the dorms. It was late, and she had important things to do tomorrow. She was probably just tired from her ride with Mack.

Behind her, unnoticed by Daisy, the shadow quickly crossed the field behind the biochem building, slinking into the tallgrass.

The next day, Daisy woke to the sound of her alarm blaring 90’s RnB at six thirty AM, sharp. She quickly shut it off and stared at the ceiling for a moment before groaning and dragging herself out of bed. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night after her encounter with the shadow.

The sun was slowly ascending in the sky, golden light filtering into her windows. It was early, but she didn’t have the energy to go workout. Instead, Daisy stretched on her bed and sent a quick text to Jemma asking to meet up later to gossip about her date.

She grabbed shorts and a cropped sweatshirt, quickly dressing and making her way to the bathroom. She clipped her hair back, brushed her teeth, washed her face and headed back to her room. Trying her best to cover the bruise that had turned from red-violet to a blue-ish tinted black, she did minimal makeup. It’s not like it could get any worse, she thought bitterly. The concealer wasn’t much use.

Deciding to ignore the bruise, Daisy stood up, grabbed her backpack with her personal laptop and journal and headed to the canteen.

There weren’t many students around campus this early in the morning. Most were either asleep or nursing a hangover in their dorms. A few dedicated trainees were scattered amongst the different buildings, either in the gym or studying on their favourite bench. Daisy made a beeline for the canteen, hoping that no one had drank all the fresh coffee yet.

She slipped through the doors, sending small smiles to the students she made eye-contact with, faltering when her roving gaze reached a set of twinkling eyes the color of coffee. Maybe, she thought, I should go over and talk to him. What’s the worst that can happen?

She quickly poured herself a cup of coffee and grabbed a cinnamon raisin bagel from the pastry cart. Checking to be sure he wasn’t sitting with anyone (she wouldn’t want to intrude), Daisy walked around to the back of the large room, sitting in a spot diagonal from him.

After a few minutes of silence where Daisy ate her bagel and pretended not to feel his eyes on her, she turned and faced him.

“Good morning,” she said.

He dipped his head and raised his paper cup of coffee at the same time in response.

Does he not want to talk to me? Daisy questioned herself. She tried again. “So, is the coffee good?” He glanced at her cup that she had been sipping. Daisy recovered, “You know, in your opinion. I love the coffee here, the slightly burned aftertaste goes well with cream and sugar.΅

To her relief, he smiled. “Yeah, it’s good. I don’t usually use cream or sugar.”

Daisy raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Ah, more of a bare necessities, no-nonsense guy?”

His nose scrunched a little in thought, as if he was assessing his entire personality to see if it aligned with Daisy’s coffee psychology. He nodded finally, elaborating, “I was in the army. Most of us drank it black while deployed. I never got out of the habit. But, to answer your question, I like to think of myself as low maintenance.”

He sent her a small smile that had her insides melting just a bit. Daisy hid behind the rim of her coffee cup, trying to think of a response. Luckily, New Guy saved her.

“How do you drink your coffee?”

Daisy lowered her own paper cup, clearing her throat. “One half and half, just a bit of sugar. If I’m super tired I’ll add more.”

“So you probably adapt easily and have a deep hunger for answers to all your questions?”

Daisy’s eyes quickly flicked down to her coffee, wondering if her coffee order really exposed that much about her. Daniel laughed, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “I’m kidding. I noticed how you’re always in the computer lab before class, and Yo-Yo told me that you use that time to research.”

Daisy felt a blush creep up her neck. Yo-Yo knew New Guy? And gave him information about her schedule?

Daniel quickly explained, “We see each other in the halls a lot. And we have a class together. She noticed me in the lab and thought I knew you.”

Daisy relaxed. Yo-Yo had become increasingly more friendly to strangers the longer she spent at the Academy.

“I remember the first time I met her. She was so angry that SHIELD had stopped her from exposing the police in her city as corrupt. Our team was sent in to help her finish what she had started, destroy weapons and take down the corrupt members of the department. It was fun,” She chuckled.

Daniel watched her through his thin clear-frame glasses. She winced a little as her nose scrunched with laughter, recalling another story about a mission gone awry that Yo-Yo saved.

“How did you get that bruise?”

“What?”

He pointed to the spot on his face that mirrored the position of the bruise on hers. “The bruise. It looks like it hurts.”

Daisy shrugged, “Not as badly as getting shot. But you know, sometimes you punch the bag, sometimes the bag punches you.”

Despite the playful nature of the statement, Daniel couldn’t help but hear alarm bells in the back of his mind. She had been shot?!

Daisy noticed the change in Daniel’s demeanor and switched tactics, “It’s just a bruise. I wasn’t paying attention and the punching bag flew back and hit me in the face.”

Daniel laughed, becoming more and more intrigued with the enigma sitting across from him. Well, at least this enigma was beautiful, even if she had lost a fight to a punching bag.

A look of pure confusion overtook Daisy’s features. “Excuse me?”

Daniel’s face flushed bright red. He said that out loud. Daisy was still smiling though, Daniel let out a nervous chuckle. The two lapsed into an awkward silence. Daisy was finishing her bagel when he spoke up again.

“It was good talking to you,” he said softly.

Daisy’s eyes wandered his face with an unreadable expression. “Yeah, it was.”

He resisted the urge to offer to walk Daisy to wherever she was going as she headed out of the doors of the canteen, coffee with one half and half and pinch of sugar in hand.

————————————————————————————

hi hellooo! whatd you think? comments and notes are appreciated! (will go back and edit this later, for now i sleep)

tag list: @jaanulore

#agents of sheild #aos #dousy #timequake #fic #angst #fluff #fitzsimmons #mackelena #philindaisy #jemma simmons #leo fitz #daniel sousa #daisy johnson #/#melinda may

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superheroesofbothuniverses · 3 years

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An Enchanted Evening(Wintershock)

“I hear Pepper and Tony are throwing another Disney bash. You excited?”

Darcy looked up from her laptop as Clint stuck his head in her office to deliver the news. It never failed, if something interesting was happening, he’d be stopping by to discuss it. He was worse than her great aunts when it came to gossip, Darcy thought fondly.

“Yeah, but I’ll have to find a date. I don’t wanna be Giselle without a Robert, unless I can get Jane to go with me. She loves going as the evil queen.”

Clint looked confused.

“I thought you and Barnes were an item. I see you together all the time, looking all cozy.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, Clint,” Darcy sighed. “He doesn’t seem to want anything more than friendship right now. But he is pretty great at the whole friend thing.”

“If he did want more, would you go out with him?” Clint pressed, watching her searchingly.

“Totally,” Darcy admitted, knowing better than to lie to him. “But don’t you dare interfere and ruin this for me. I don’t want to push him away after how long it took me to get him to warm up to me.”

Bucky had been very skittish when he’d first arrived and Darcy tried the technique she’d used when befriending neighborhood feral cats: kept her distance while offering friendly greetings and looking as non-threatening as possible, left plentiful treats around, and cracked ridiculous jokes in his hearing in hopes of earning a smile. It had taken several months, but Darcy succeeded in Operation Befriend Bucky.

“Who are you and Laura going to go as?” Darcy inquired, trying to change the subject.

Clint grinned. “OutlawQueen, of course,” he supplied.

“Oooh. Going with the Once Upon A Time ship. It’s perfect,” Darcy admired. “Can’t wait to see it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a lot of work to do if I’m going to be able to afford the dress I’ve got my eye on.”

“Just so long as you show up,” Clint relented. “See ya, Doc.”

With a wink, Hawkeye made himself scarce and Darcy returned to her work, trying not to picture Bucky dressed as a Disney prince.

Bucky had just finished an intense workout and was trash talking Steve in a way only a best friend could get away with when his long suffering friend decided to turn the tables on him.

“So I hear you’re the only one who hasn’t RSVP’d for the big disney ball,” Steve commented. “Thought you would be going with Darcy.”

“How many times do I have to tell you we’re just friends?” Bucky sighed.

Steve gave him a look of utter disbelief and sighed.

“Still in denial. But you do know you can accompany her as a friend, right?”

“And have to hear you lot gossiping even more? No thanks,” Bucky muttered, even as he really wished he had the guts to ask Darcy. Despite what he’d told Steve, Bucky was very interested in the new astrophysicist in a definite more-than-friends way, but so far, he hadn’t seen any signs that she shared this interest, so he’d stayed quiet rather than ruin one of the best friendships he’d made in his post-Hydra life.

Steve just smiled knowingly at him.

“If you change your mind, Darcy is going as Giselle from Enchanted. Nat told me yesterday. They’re going shopping for dresses tomorrow.”

“Never heard of her,” Bucky muttered, splitting off from Steve to take the stairs to his floor. The next evening, a Blu-ray of Enchanted had appeared on his coffee table. Bucky turned up his nose, but Natasha’s commanding note had him sighing and watching the movie anyway.

Despite the typical Disney cheesiness, Bucky found himself enjoying himself and actually laughing a few times at the antics of the ridiculously over the top Prince Edward. Robert seemed a more realistic hero for once and he found himself sympathizing with the man. Bucky was pretty sure there wasn’t going to be a happily ever after for himself, either.

After the movie ended, he sat and thought for a while, then called Natasha.

Darcy bought her dress, shoes, and jewelry, happily spending way more than she normally would thanks to her long hours and careful saving up for the day. The wine colored fit-and flare dress looked amazing on her and the skirt swirled in a very satisfying manner when she turned around.

“You’re going to be turning heads tonight,” Natasha commented as they hauled their purchases home. “Especially a certain someone.”

She wiggled her eyebrows and Darcy sighed.

“Whatever you say. I have no comment,” she said rather stiffly.

Natasha laughed.

“You say that now,” she said.

In the end, Darcy went by herself to the ball, having chickened out about asking Bucky, which she was already kicking herself for. Oh, well. At least she looked fabulous in her dress that looked just like the one Amy Adams wore for the dance.

She perked up a bit when she got to the fancy ballroom Tony had rented and met the rest of the Avengers in full costume. Sure enough, Clint and Laura were Robin Hood and Regina and looked amazing. Tony and Pepper were Captain Hook and Emma Swan.

“Aren’t you a little grey to be Captain Hook?” Darcy teased him. “But that’s a nice costume.”

“Hook’s a lot older than he looks,” Tony replied, waving his fake hook hand around.

Natasha and Steve were Ariel and Eric, which was an unexpected choice, but Nat looked great in her slinky, iridescent turquoise dress and Steve was a fabulous prince. Sharon and Sam were Rapunzel and Flynn Rider and Wanda was Princess Elsa, complete with a gorgeous icy blue dress and fabulous blonde wig. Thor strode around dressed like Hercules and Darcy hung out with him for a few minutes, exchanging small talk.

“Are you also unaccompanied, Darcy?” Thor asked.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “But I’m hanging out with friends and feeling fabulous, so I’ll be alright,” she assured him.

She completely forgot what she’d planned on saying next because Bucky Barnes arrived and was looking so gorgeous, she found she couldn’t breathe.

Bucky, feeling stiff and awkward in his fancy costume, was keeping his eyes peeled for Darcy, even as he greeted Steve, Nat, and Sam, all of whom seemed very surprised, but pleased to see him.

“She’s over by Thor,” Nat whispered helpfully and Bucky looked where she indicated and felt his heart skip several beats and his mouth go dry.

Darcy was looking incredibly gorgeous in a dress like the one from the movie, which was a simple design, but very flattering on her. She’d left her dark hair down and had simple silvery earrings that sparkled in the light from the massive overhead chandeliers.

In this moment, Bucky knew he was a goner. These were NOT platonic friendly reactions he was experiencing right now. Not at all. She locked eyes with him and her own widened, and she full on smiled at him, which propelled him towards her, now oblivious to everyone else in the room.

Darcy swallowed nervously as Bucky approached, looking stunning in an embroidered dark blue jacket clearly meant to replicate Robert’s costume from Enchanted. He’d pulled his hair back into a small ponytail and it only added to the appeal.

“Hi,” she said softly, giving him a smile.

“Hi,” he answered back, looking at her in a way that made her feel downright giddy.

“Wow. Darcy, you look beautiful,” he told her, sincerity oozing from his voice.

“Why thank you,” she replied, trying to resist the urge to fan herself. “You’re looking pretty fabulous yourself. I’d say what a happy coincidence we picked the same movie, but I know our meddling friends better than that.”

Bucky grinned at her.

“Yep. And I have to tell them they were right later.”

“Right about what?” Darcy asked, knowing what the answer was but wanting to hear him say it.

“That I’ve got it bad for you, doll. I didn’t think you felt the same way, so I’ve been trying to ignore it, but I don’t think that’s possible anymore.”

The way he was looking at her was giving Darcy tingles all over and she took a step close to him.

“We’re a couple of fail boats then, because I’ve been feeling the same way, and was also convinced I was stuck in the friend zone,” Darcy admitted. “All our friends could see it, but we sure were oblivious.”

“We were. As a trained spy, I should be embarrassed, but I’m just happy,” Bucky told her. “Wanna dance?”

“Gladly, handsome,” she told him. “I heard you’re very talented in that department.”

Bucky flushed a bit, but shrugged.

“People exaggerate, but I did enjoy it back in the day. Let’s hope I’m not too rusty.”

If Bucky was rusty, Darcy certainly couldn’t tell because she was enjoying herself too much. She’d never danced with a guy who could lead as well as he could and it was glorious. Looking into his blue eyes, she couldn’t help but flush at the expression in them and wondered if she looked equally smitten.

Bucky was thinking about how perfectly they fit together and how her eyes were downright sparkling. That look she was giving him was downright dangerous and he never wanted this moment to end.

They ended up dancing through three more songs before Darcy pulled him away from the party.

“Tired already?” He asked teasingly.

“Bucky Barnes, you’d better kiss me right now, or so help me, Thor…..” she threatened playfully, pointing her finger at him. She didn’t have to say it twice. Bucky had been wanting to kiss her for a long time and just like with the dancing, proved to be very skilled.

“That good enough for Ya?” He finally asked.

“It’s a great start,” she whispered as she caught her breath.

Across the room, their friends looked on in amusement and approval.

“Nice work,” Steve told his girlfriend, who was looking very pleased with herself. “I thought you’d have to lock them in a closet or something.”

“Don’t think that wasn’t on the table if they kept being oblivious or Barnes refused to show up tonight,” Natasha admitted. “And I used to think YOU were the stubborn one.”

Steve laughed.

“You’re my favorite Disney prince, Bucky Barnes,” Darcy told him as they swayed together to a slow song.

“Just don’t expect me to sing or talk to chipmunks,” he muttered playfully. “Gotta draw the line somewhere.”

#wintershock #fluff #Disney inspired #darcy lewis #Bucky Barnes #I just watched enchanted

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jay-and-dean · 4 years

Text

Firefly Chapter 9 : Twenty eight years old, Come what may

By Roonyxx and Jay-and-dean

Pairings : future Dean x reader ?

Summary : 40 years in Hell, but he didn’t spend all this time all alone, he had her.

Prepare to know what happened during those years Dean never talks about. To immerge yourself in Hell, only lit by the mysterious kid growing here…

And to see some of your favorite villains again : Crowley, Lilith, Lucifer… And also Sammy and Jack…

Serie Warnings : Hurt!Dean, Hell (torture, even if we tried to not give it graphic descriptions, creepy demons, blood, violence), swearing, angst, future fluff and smut.

This story is in both Reader’s POV and Dean’s POV

Wordcount : 5900

Note : This is our second collaboration. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like we did for Same.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

This story will be around 10 chapters and we intend to edit it every Saturday if nothing delays it.

Firefly Masterlist

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

——————————————————————————————

9. Twenty years old : Come what may

Reader’s Pov

She opened her eyes in a gasp, almost like she had slept holding her breath. She put her hand on her chest and immediately, the smell of the bunker calmed her.

This was no Hell, and even if it had been, the Winchesters had made sure Hell would never be what it was before : No Lilith or Alastair, no Lucifer, no knight of Hell…

She let go of the pillow she was holding like she once used to hold Mister Teddy bear; and looked around at the grey room. A little smile appeared on her lips : Everything was perfect.

She didn’t own anything, since Lucifer didn’t really let her pack before locking her back in Hell, but Dean had made sure that her room was welcoming enough. A little alarm clock on the nightstand, next to her glass of water and little bag of candies, a few books behind her bed, because she had always loved books so much ; he had also given her a few extra pillows.

She looked at her open closet, smiling at the memory of going to buy clothes with Dean on the second day. He didn’t want to take the risk to take her far, so they went to the closest store in Lebanon, a tiny store, where only one pair of jeans suited her, so she had bought two of them, two shirts, a few underwears, and a pair of sneakers. But her perfect items were the one Dean had given her. She really didn’t need anything else.

She sat and looked down at her wrists, they were now healed from the deep wounds caused by years of tugging at the chains but a mark was left, a scar. She rubbed her thumb on it, wondering if it would stay, thinking of the books she had read about those people who suffered slavery, their scars couldn’t disappear…

Her eyes wandered in the dark, and the red light of the alarm made her frown, she shivered.

6:28 am.

That meant the bunker would probably be silent... And silence wasn’t her favorite sound.

She got up on her tiptoes, tugging at Dean’s t-shirt to cover her panties. And, as discreet as she used to leave her princess room with her teddy bear in her hand, she sneaked out.

No blood all over the corridors and no scream anywhere. Dean wasn’t being tortured, he was sound asleep in a bed, not even too cold or too hot, just perfectly surrounded by pillows and safe.

A sound caught her attention in the kitchen, the calming, already familiar sound of the coffee machine in the morning, and the intoxicating smell that came with it.

A light smile on her face, still on her tiptoes, she walked to the kitchen to see who was at the origin of that comforting morning sound.

“Hi Sam” she smiled, when he appeared in her field of vision.

“Oh, hi Firefly” he said, immediately correcting himself. “Y/n.”

“You can call me that” she smiled sincerely, earning an awkward chuckle from him. “Is Dean still sleeping ?”

Sam nodded and handed her a coffee, she took it and started blowing on it. The feeling of the flavored steam on her face was one of the things she loved so much about life. One of the million things.

“D-Dean told me about what you’ve been through to lock Lucifer, and save us all, and me, from his cruelty” she started hesitantly. “I know it isn't worth much next to what you had to live but… Thank you. Thank you so much.”

His eyebrows raised a little, and he looked down while nodding.

“No, it- it means a lot actually” he said. “Thank you for helping my brother in Hell.”

“I didn’t” she answered right away. “I tried. But he still got tortured everyday, he still had to bleed to death on that concrete floor; cold as death or hot enough to make the blood puddles boil… And I still slept in a bed.”

Sam frowned, biting the inside of his cheek once or twice.

“You…” he finally spoke. “You had more than your share of horrors. You can’t blame yourself.”

She smiled kindly, she wasn’t ready to stop blaming herself, and as long as she would hate her kind, or at least half her kind that much, she couldn’t really forgive herself. But she had tried, and she was holding on to this.

“I’m going to get back to bed, with Dean” she stated. “Unless you need me for anything.”

“O-okay” he said, surprised, blinking a few times. “No, I dont… Be careful though, Dean is an angry sleeper.”

“He wasn’t angry last morning” she shrugged and left the kitchen still on her tiptoes, her mug close to her face.

She pushed the 11 door slowly, immediately smiling at the strong smell of Dean filling the room. He had been sweating, the room was a little warmer than the corridor, like his body had created a lot of heat during the night.

He was sleeping on his back, the covers crumpled next to him, his black t-shirt bunched up, slightly showing his lower stomach.

She entered slowly, carefully closing the door behind her. She walked to the nightstand to put her coffee there, Dean loved the smell of coffee waking him.

Then she put one knee on the bed, then the other, to join him in the middle of it.

“It’s me” she whispered when he reacted in his sleep to her movements. “It’s me Dean.”

She laid next to him , not daring to touch, just enjoying him being so close.

“Morning Firefly” he grunted, stretching his arm to reach the first part of her he could.

His hand landed on her bare thigh, grasping it to bring her closer.

Her hand flattened on his chest and her leg snuggled above his, his soft blond hair tickling her ankle. She looked up at the side of his face, her lips against his shoulder.

“I’m going to get up” he said sleepily.

“You don’t have too” she whispered, lifting her arm to stroke the hair on his temple.

She had held him so often, she had stroked his hair countless times… But now that it wasn’t to escort him to his millionth death, everything was different, a true Heaven.

“Yeah…” he said, wrapping his arm around her. “So tell me more about Sue.”

She smiled wide. For once, she also had stories to tell, she could finally debate about the best songs of Led Zeppelin -she hadn’t forgotten one- and tell him what food she liked the most.

Dean’s pov

The bar was not too busy, and just the good, enveloping amount of loud.

Sam kept looking around worriedly, like some monster was going to show up to hurt them because he had recognized her. But Dean was unfazed, sipping at his beer, his arm on the back of her chair. He had seen her power, and now he was sure of something : Not much could really hurt her, and if anyone tried, he would just rip them like he did Death, Abaddon and Lucifer. Nothing would stop him.

“I was so drunk !” she laughed out loud, telling her story, joy lighting up her whole face, her entire body living her words.

He smiled, engrossed by the sparking in her eyes.

“Sounds like a great evening” Sam nodded.

“Yeah” she said. “It was the first night I knew exactly where I was going to sleep” she added with a serious shadow on her face.

Dean wrapped his arm around her and used his big hand to put her head on his shoulder. She sighed in content and put a hand on his chest.

They stayed like this for a few moments before she got up.

“I need to pee, Jesus beer !” she said before she left.

Dean watched her leave, drinking a sip of his beer. His flannel made her look small, he remembered how her dresses used to make her so tall.

“You just let her go by herself ?” Sam asked.

“What ?” Dean gave him a mocking face. “I know she is not a big fan of loneliness but I’m pretty sure she likes to be there alone.”

“Someone could recognize her” Sam insisted, ignoring his brother’s comment.

“I gave her a phone, a necklace with sigils to keep her hidden, put a tracking chip in her shoe… You heard what Billie said, no one can recognize her, she learned to vanish into the crowd when she faked her death, her powers are hiding themselves” he stated in a deep voice. “She has been a prisoner all her life, give her a break.”

“I know, I’m… I’m worried sometimes” Sam said. “I really like her, but there are moments when you seem blinded by her, Dean.”

He didn’t answer and leaned to the back of his chair, looking at the restroom door to see her come back.

Dean was not blinded by her. He knew what everyone was thinking.

They were not hating her, and, after they met her and saw the light within her soul, they even grew pretty fond of her, who wouldn’t ?

They just didn’t understand that bond Dean and her had, no one did.

And Dean himself knew it was strange. He had seen her grow, and she had seen him die a thousand times. They had fought and hoped together, and they had suffered. What she had seen all of him, kneeling in his guts to hold his hand… No one could really understand that.

Having her in his home, in his life, was confusing, scary and disturbing. Thinking so much about Hell was unbearable the first three days, and at some point he really feared that it would stay insufferable. And so he stayed occupied, buying her clothes and some girl products, reading on Cambions, interrogating Demons and Angels… Even Billie.

But Firefly was not the darkness of Hell, she was the light out of it.

The next three days became easier. He felt relieved, like somehow, his hope being alive was a closure for him. A way to give some of his memories more sense and to let go of a part of it.

And so their bond grew. He remembered their kiss, so long ago, and spent a few hours in his bed wondering if their connection was this kind of bond, or not. And obviously, he had no idea. Of course she was pretty, beautiful even, and had the most radiant smile… But for now all he could really think, was that he needed her there, and that she needed to live for real.

He was confused, and, the more he was failing, for once, to find the right words to explain to his family why she could sit in the driver seat of Baby and turn on the engine without a flinch of him ; why she would always know when he was cold or hot, hungry or bothered before he even noticed ; how well she could know every details of his story… The more their bond made everyone wonder.

Castiel had been the most suspicious, his too serious frown hiding almost entirely the blue of his eyes. He had stared at her, and warned the brothers a hundred times about what a Cambion could do. Sam had reassured him like he could to avoid any poor choice from the angel, and Dean had just ignored him.

But when Firefly jumped in the angel's arms, her big eyes wet, thanking him a thousand times for freeing Dean, taking his hand to kiss his knuckles… even Castiel didn’t seem so sure of her dangerosity after all.

Sam was trying his best to understand what was going on, to hide his worry behind his usual kindness. Firefly coming to their life was even more disturbing than Jack’s birth, because it wasn’t new the same way for both brothers.

But once again, each time he felt slightly threatened by the connection between the young woman and his brother, she said or did something that showed how admirative she was of him, and how much she was ready to work on earning his trust, and possibly his friendship.

Jack was never worried, but curious, somehow craving answers about himself in the being that was both so opposed and so close to what he was.

She finally came out, meeting his eyes the second she passed the door and grinned at the music playing. She stopped in the middle of the bar, slowly swinging on the blues notes of guitars, her now shortened but still pretty wild hair nonchalantly moving on the red and black flannel, her hips moved by invisible waves…

And that’s when Dean knew the bond was indeed Love, and that, even if she needed freedom and to leave for other men, he would never stop being desperately in love with his Firefly.

While his heart was pounding at the realisation, she came closer and took his hand.

“Dance with me” she asked him.

Dean gave her an awkward chuckle and he could see his brother smirking in the corner of his eye.

“I don’t really da-” he cut off his own sentence and stared at her smile, who was he to put a damper on her mood, how could he resist that smile of hers ?

With a little groan he got up from his seat and grasped her hand tighter.

“Of course” he went with her to the jukebox, leaning down to her ear and whispering. “What song do you want, sweetheart ?” he stood behind her with his hands on her hips, feeling her move underneath his palms.

“This one” she put in a coin and as the song started to play.

Dean turned her around to guide her to the middle of the floor.

“Elvis Presley ?” he questioned,amused, as she put one hand on his chest and another on his shoulder.

“Yes” she murmured.”I love this song”

Her head came resting against his chest, making a small smile form on his face at the sweet gesture. He wrapped his arms around her protectively, enjoying the feeling of her against him, ignoring Sam’s look, and some other people glare on them. He knew perfectly well how silly they looked, like a prom in the middle of a small town bar. And he didn’t care the slightest.

They swayed slowly to the song, held by each other, floating in the song. And after a little while, Dean couldn’t help but whisper the lyrics in her ear.

“Take my hand. Take my whole life too. For I can't help falling in love with you” his lips brushed against the shell of her ear, his nose in her hair.

His heart was beating fast, he was even a little afraid she would hear it.

And when she looked up at him, he just fell harder for her. Her beautiful Y/E/C eyes shone in the dim light of the bar, those eyes that could make anything bearable, her smell surrounded him and at that moment it was just the two of them, all he could feel was her and that’s all he ever wanted to feel from now.

By the time the song slowly came to its end, they both had stopped moving, lost in each other.

He cleared his throat and let her go with a slightly awkward smile.

“We should head home” he said with a hoarse voice, his eyes having a hard time not looking at her lips.

“Yes, home” she smiled as she said it, like she was testing out the word for the first time and liked how it sounded.

And Dean would be wrong if he didn’t admit he loved the way it sounded from her lips.

Reader Pov

Dean parked the impala back in the silent garage. They all got out and made their way inside.

“Thank you for tonight, I really enjoyed it” she told the brothers as her hand rested on the doorknob of her room.

“Yeah it was fun” Dean said as he looked at her, his tongue peeked out to lick at his lips, so Y/n knew something was making him a little nervous.

“Yeah, it was” Sam repeated, his eyes flickering between his brother and Y/n.

She could see a faint smile on his lips when he wished them a goodnight as he rounded the corner to his room.

“So…” Dean started. “You think you will sleep okay, Firefly ?” he asked.

“I will Dean, you too ?” she kept her hand on his chest, the need to touch him and have him close all the time was so strong.

He nodded, smiling at her worried face, his hand pushing a stray hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, I will” he whispered. “No one is going to hurt me, or you.”

She gave him a small smile, reached up on her tiptoes to peck his cheek.

“Goodnight Dean.”

“Goodnight Firefly.”

She entered her room, her cheeks hurting from smiling. The entire night she couldn’t stop thinking of that one time they kissed, in Hell. It was so long ago and in the heat of the moment, but she cherished that memory like her most precious gift, it had sheltered her from being depressed in the street, and it had kept her sane in the cage.

She had been in love with him for so long, she didn’t even remember not loving him with all her heart… but did he like her that way ? Could he look past the fact she wasn’t human ? That she could, like Castiel said, be dangerous…

She crawled into her bed with all these questions turning over in her head.

_______________________

A familiar scream woke her.

“N-No stop !” she heard.

Dean.

She jumped up and ran to the room next to hers. She could hear his whimpers through the door, her heart aching at those familiar gasps of pain, she carefully opened it and went inside.

He was sweating, his hands tugging at the sheets, panting and a worried frown on his face. She couldn’t stand to see him like this.

She made her way to his bed, sitting next to him to stroke his hair out of his sweaty forehead.

“Dean, it’s okay you’re safe.”

She sat up against the headboard and pulled him into her the best she could, his face immediately nuzzled into her chest, looking for safety. Her hand came up to stroke the back of his head, he was shaking. She started humming the song they danced to earlier, and when she did, his hands let go of the sheets and wrapped around her, holding her tight against him as his breathing slowed down.

She could feel his eyelashes brush against her neck as he slowly woke up.

“You’re safe Dean, I got you. No one is going to hurt you” she whispered to the top of his head.

“T-Thank you” his voice sounded just like it did when he was in Hell, right after his body was healed but his mind couldn’t yet process what had happened.

“It was Hell” she stated, she didn’t need to ask, she knew how it sounded, she had grown up with it after all.

“Yeah, and then purgatory, Micheal,...” he sighed.

She angled her head back to look at him, she could see the weight in his eyes, the horrors he had seen. Knowing he had been freed from Hell was her biggest joy, but knowing he had known more horrors in his life made her both desperately sad, and raging with anger.

“Life has been impossibly hard on you” she said as she stroked the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Yeah, you can say that… I did some stupid things too” he said with a defeated voice.

“If you do them for the right reasons it’s not stupid Dean” she told him.

“I… I killed people, I used to have this mark, The Mark of Cain” he swallowed hard. “It turned me into a demon” he whispered.

Her throat closed up for a second, she knew of the mark, she read about it when she was looking for a way out of Hell.

“A demon ?” she asked, a little shocked.

“A knight of Hell actually” he said. “I thought of you when I was… I- I was horrible, I hurt so many people… I was the very thing I hunt” he whispered.

“It wasn’t the real you, Dean” she said.

“I know, Sammy cured me. He saved my ass so many times” he scoffed.

“I’m so glad you have him. You protect each other...” she inched down the bed to lay next to him, their noses almost touching.

It was just that easy, being with him, that comfortable. He didn’t move, he didn’t look away, his lips so close to hers that she almost could feel them, his glistening freckled skin roamed by shivers.

“I’m sorry I thought you weren’t real… If I had known I-I would have looked for you, Firefly” his voice wavered with emotion.

She put her hand on his cheek.

Dean needed comfort and tenderness, he was carrying so much, he always had been so brave… Maybe he didn’t want any of the tenderness she could give, but maybe, just maybe, what she was craving to give him would actually be a great comfort for him.

“Dean. We found each other. I’m never losing you again” she whispered against his lips.

“I’m never letting you go either” he moved his face closer to hers, his lips brushing hers.

The tips of her hair started floating a little in anticipation, she could feel the rage she had always contained in herself fall totally silent for the first time, and her powers slightly vibrate at his touch. Her eyes were flicking from his to his lips.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she could feel his, and all of him, whole and alive under her touch.

How many times she had dreamed of holding him like this, just not to hold him together, to keep his head out of his own blood, but just to feel his hair and his skin.

He let his tongue run on his lips, like he did so often, and she thought about kissing him so hard her lips trembled. She thought about the things she experienced without him, even if he never left her mind.

When his beloved lips caught hers in a tender kiss, she closed her eyes again, like she had the first time, to focus on the heavenly feeling of him. But Dean didn't give her time to draw it out.

He moved above her, claiming her mouth deeply, his burning tongue taking advantage of a moan escaping her to find hers. He was so tall and big, his body on hers looked like an eclipse. His broad shoulders rolling to support the weight of his back, giving this man, who already was the most noble, something feline.

“Firefly, I…” he stopped, panting above her. “That’s probably not a good idea.”

He was afraid of breaking her heart, she knew it, he was afraid of making their relationship blurry. He was probably disturbed by their common past. She knew he was troubled, but she wasn’t.

“I think we both need this” she stated calmly. “It’s a harsh night in the middle of a harsh life, Dean. Let’s just make it softer. Tomorrow, come what may.”

“Come what may” he repeated, leaning to kiss her again, his hungry mouth drifting to her jaw and the pulsating vein on her neck.

And Y/n had a thought for that guy she had slept with the first time, how his kisses felt weird and his desire uncomfortable… This was different, and new.

“Why are you smiling like that ?” Dean’s soft voice brought her back from her mind.

“I’m just experiencing something new” she whispered, her hands going under his shirt on his lower back to feel the delicious curve here.

“I…” he stiffed a little. “You told me you had already had sex.”

“Yes, I wasn’t talking about that” she smiled, but his questioning frown didn’t fade right away, his body and mind were still on alert from his nightmare. “You won’t let a smile stop you, will you ?”

“No” he almost growled, bending to nibble at her neck again.

Her hands slipped inside the back of his pajama pants, happy to find no underwear on her way. She pushed him down on her a little by his ass cheek, fingers digging in his muscles there, earning a low moan against her chest when his hips met hers, and his cock got trapped between them.

His body was desperate, hands trying to touch everything at once, grazing her neck and collarbones, grasping her sides, seizing one of her breasts through her shirt… Her eyes opened on the ceiling, and she noticed a few tiny stars floating in the air.

She gasped when she felt his cock twitching, calling for attention on her pelvis, growing between them. That man she had loved for so long, the Prince Charming Sue wished she would find, her Dean… feeling desire for her.

Trying to spread her legs for him, she realized her too large pants, the one Dean had given her, was stuck under his strong and heavy knee.

“Dean…” she whined trying to get free.

“What is it ?” he lifted his head, his warm green eyes searching her face.

“My pants” she started but he didn’t let her finish, moving above her to tug at her pants, taking them off all the way.

She smiled looking down, he was kissing up her legs. Her hands reached his head, pushing her fingers through his still sweaty locks. Once again, his hands couldn’t have enough, short nails digging in her thighs and going up to meet her panties.

He flattened his large palm on her underwear, covering it totally with a smirk she didn’t know yet on his face. She felt small, he felt even bigger.

“Can I touch you ?” he almost groaned against the shivering skin of her thigh.

“Please do” she nodded, shyly spreading her legs.

Of course he was talking about this part of her, he had already touched all the rest….

His hand didn’t leave her panties going down between her thighs when he could, feeling her folds through the white fabric.

And the little stars multiplied.

She arched her back, her core tightening in an exquisite pressure. She gasped in a jerk of her thighs, surprised that touches so soft could bring a pleasure so intense. She had never known that. She was aware of everything that was Dean on her, all her senses high on him, and her body reacting to the electricity roaming her whole body.

Love, she thought. It was love making her insides burst in such delicious flames.

“Oh wow” he groaned. “You’re soaking those poor panties.”

And the new grin she had just discovered appeared on his lips again. The tiny stars were now numerous enough to make the ceiling look like a clear summer night.

His lips travelled up to her lower stomach, his nose tickling the skin here while his lips feisted on it.

“Firefly…” he whispered before his bright white teeth caught the hem of her underwear, to drag it down with him.

She needed him. She painfully needed to feel him, close wasn’t enough, he had to be inside of her.

So she sat with her legs on both sides of his strong thighs, making him sit back on his ankles, his knees digging on the mattress, and grabbed his face to kiss him, to feel her hero anywhere she could. He seemed to need the same thing : his arms grasped her ass cheek, carrying her up his thighs to rest on his crotch.

She moaned loud when she felt him, so hard, pressed against her bare folds.

“I need you” she whined. “Dean, I need you so much.”

“I got you” his voice was deep and warm, his parted lips leaving a layer of steam all over her neck.

They were both too eager to wait a second more.

Dean held her strongly with one arm while he almost got on his knees, pushing his pajama pants down with the other hand before he sat on his ankles again.

She looked down, her delicate hand reaching between them to wrap around him. He was hard and twitching, but his skin was soft.

“Yes…” he moaned.

“I need you” she just repeated while he was panting against her shoulder.

Saying that, she lifted her hips slightly and lined him with her to slowly sink on him.

“Fuck…” he groaned when the head of his cock entered her and kept gasping and moaning as she took more and more of him.

She hummed at the stretch of him inside of her, her walls throbbing softly to adjust.

The little stars started to fill the room a little more, like hundreds of fireflies surrounding them. But, even if they acknowledged them, they both were too engrossed in each other to really pay attention.

Y/n breathed out in relief, like she had needed Dean inside of her as much as she had needed air all this time. Her head fell back when her pelvis reached his, filled so completely by him.

“Firefly” he moaned, like it was now the only word he knew.

His hands, still holding her ass cheek, grasped her tighter and moved her on him, making her grind on him hard.

“AH !” she cried out at the pressure on her clit mixed with his cock moving against her walls.

Her hips started to move along with his hands, in back and forth moves, in circles, until he started trusting up in a trail of growls and she couldn’t move anymore, holding on to him, kissing and licking his neck with a raging hunger.

Hearing his groans and moans, she looked up to look at him, to actually see what pleasure looked like on a man she had seen suffer beyond everything. And it was beautiful.

More than the stars and the sea, more than snow in the trees… It was more beautiful than all she had dreamed of when longing for life.

The expression on his face could have been confused with pain, but Y/n knew better. His mouth was open and his eyebrows were up above his nose, and the little stars were reflecting in his eyes.

Bending on her, he caught her lips, trying to kiss her during their speeding dance, and failing to just pant loudly in her mouth.

Her whole body was shaking with pleasure, she could feel every inch of him deep inside of her, and her body react to it. Her skin was on fire. In a loud whimper, she let her head fall on his shoulder, her fingers sliding along his sweaty neck.

“Look at me” he said. “Firefly, look at me.”

With great effort, she looked up, resting her forehead on his, unable to focus on anything else than the orgasm preparing to hit like lightning inside her core.

She had felt pleasure before, and even came a few times, but what was growing inside of her was way more powerful than anything she had known…

And when it blew up, she silently screamed, her whole body falling back on the mattress as she clenched around Dean, her thighs shaking, her arms limply falling above her head. He was still trusting inside of her, holding her hips up on him.

“OH FUCK” he groaned after a few sharper thrusts.

His hips jerked and his stomach and thighs trembled when he came, falling too above her. He caught his body on his arm to avoid crushing her, keeping her up on his lap with the other hand to not slip out of her body just yet.

“Firefly” he murmured again, in the aftershock of his own orgasm.

“Dean” she answered in her high.

Her fingers went up, wiping the golden dust, vestiges of the little stars’s explosion, off his shoulder, a lazy smile on her face.

After a minute, he carefully moved next to her in a grunt, slipping out to lay on his side toward her. She stayed on her back, in the same position she had fallen too, only her head turned to him to give him a large smile.

“You’re covered in gold” he chuckled softly.

“You too” she reached his head to shuffle his hair, but it was too wet and she only spreaded the dust on it. “Oh oops.”

His eyes were glowing with joy, roaming her face, a small smile hanging on his lips.

She enjoyed every second of this peaceful moment, knowing too well that it couldn’t last. Dean was a complex man, hurt and abandoned too often, he wouldn’t let go to a peaceful tenderness so easily.

What she hadn’t anticipated was how fast his defences would grow back… His smile faded and the bliss vanished from his face. Something she didn’t like shadowed his features : Guilt.

“Firefly…” he sighed.

“I know, Dean” she cut him. “This was one time. This was to feel better. A good moment in a harsh life.”

She didn’t want him to feel guilty because of her. He cupped her face and pecked her lips before he grabbed the band of his pants to put it up.

“Do you want me to leave ?” she asked very low.

“No” he shook his head right away. “No stay… I didn’t say that to… you know, but just so you don’t imagine that I… I just… can’t really be with someone, and you… We… are complicated.”

She nodded and turned to her side to take him in her arms, nuzzling on his chest. She could wait for him all her life, she could even wait for something that would never come, that didn’t frighten her.

“Fall back asleep” she said. “I’m chasing the demons.”

Dean’s Pov

He held her close as he watched her sleep. A little smile on his face as he was drawing patterns in the golden dust that covered her entire body. She was so precious to him. She was too good for this dark and rotten world.

She was too good for him…

He had never felt this way about someone, this intense feeling, as if all the little stars that flew over his head mere hours ago were now blooming in his chest. But this life didn’t allow those kinds of feelings.

A deep sigh left his mouth as he thought of all the people that used to be close to him. Charlie, Kevin, Bobby, Jo, Ellen,... so many of them had met a merciless fate because of him.

Because he was poisonous. He would never let that happen to her.

He looked down at her as he felt her nuzzle deeper in his chest. It was then that he promised himself he would do anything to protect his Firefly. Even if that meant breaking his own heart, because after all...

Wasn’t he the biggest danger for her ?

(Next and last chapter on @roonyxx blog last week)

________________________

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gacy-lajla · 3 years

Text

karasuno x trans!reader

warnings: accidental and intended misgendering, transphobic comments like twice and probably a curse or two

summary: after outing yourself as a trans man you were forced to live with your uncle Ittetsu Takeda and transfer schools

a/n: heya i’ve been binge watching haikyuu this past month or less (currently through half of season 4) and i just really really wanted to read some content where the reader is transgender!! i’m agender (they/them or he because we don’t have neutral pronouns where i live)

_____

Training started just like always, after a quick warm up everyone got back to improving on their skills. The team worked like clockwork as they practised as a group – of course not leaving out a little banter here and there. Coach Ukai was currently talking outside with Takeda which was nothing too out of the ordinary. The team was used to depend on themselves and coordinate accordingly. What they didn’t expect was for the two absentees to enter with a third person again. You. Tanaka and Nishinoya were the first to react, curiosity making the served ball drop.

“Is that a new manager?” Nishinoya’s eyes lit up as he took in the figure of the new person – Karasuno sure was lucky in that regard, it seemed.

“She looks cute, but not as cute as our Kiyoko!”, Tanaka added in, standing next to the Libero.

The other players attention was on you shortly after, taking your presence in before Sugawara scolded the two friends for being distracted that easily and to keep their eyes on the ball. They were about to resume when Takeda called for everyone’s attention. Quickly gathering around the coach, the teacher and the newcomer they bowed their heads in greeting, just as you did.

Harshly giving you two pats on your left shoulder blade Ukai made you step forward with himself, giving you a reassuring smile in the process. You rubbed your cold hands together, nervousness taking over your body as all eyes were now set on you. Catching on quickly the man introduced you to the team himself.

“Everyone, this is (y/n), a third year. He recently transferred to this school and will be joining our team from now on, I expect you to be respectful towards him.”

You bowed again giving a small “pleased to meet you”, thankful that Ukai spared you of making a fool out of yourself by tripping over your own words. After that you got a short introduction from everyone, trying your best to remember their names immediately but that wasn’t really your forte so you just told yourself you’d pay attention to the others calling each other’s names.

After that you warmed yourself up to join them in the actual training. During that time you couldn’t help but listen in on some of the conversations as there wasn’t much else to focus on.

“Isn’t that a girl? Why is she training with the boys?”

“Yeah, wouldn’t it be better if she just joined the girl’s training?”

“I heard that she’s actually a he.”

You didn’t pay attention to who was talking – they seemed not to be part of the volleyball club – but it sure hit you in the most vulnerable of all places. Just until recently you had been playing with the girls from your former school. You actually transferred because, after coming out as trans, you have been excluded from any gendered club activities as the authority was unsure about how to handle a case such as yourself. There were also some actions inside of school which convinced you that your former school was not the ideal place for you to stay at. Not only that but your parents sent you to stay with your uncle – Ittetsu Takeda – because obviously you were ungrateful towards them. Not that you really mind, he’s much nicer and way more understanding – well, still in the process of understanding, but at least he’s trying his best, which was nice.

“It’s weird calling someone with boobs ‘he’.”

Your jog slowed down, your mind trying to focus on suppressing tears that threatened to appear. Taking a deep breath you gained some tempo again before taking a stop next to the coach again.

“I think I’ve warmed up enough, am I supposed to just… join them?”

Ukai nodded so you continued to walk towards the line waiting to receive their spikes. In your old team you didn’t really have a set position, rotating it around inside the group as the sport wasn’t taken too seriously. Though opponents were cautious of you every time you went out on an attack you had to admit that you had more fun in a defensive position, receiving the ball was one of the best feelings you could imagine while playing on the field. But when it came to skill you would probably be considered an all-rounder.

It didn’t take long until it was your turn to hit the ball – two setters being present making progress like clockwork. You got a pass from a grey haired boy, Sugawara if you remembered correctly. It was easy to remember him, he just had a sweet aura about him which made it easy to remember his name. The moment the ball hit your hand and the ground on the opposite side of the net immediately after, silence befell the room. The Libero didn’t manage to get the ball by a hairs width. Turning towards the setter you nervously played with your hands.

“Could you try to pass the ball a little higher next time? I might not be the tallest person but I can jump pretty high.”

After a brief silence a smile flashed on his face – which you immediately returned -, giving you a thumbs up. “Sure!”

Moving out of the way a boy about your height came up to you, looking at you with bright and sparkling eyes. You didn’t remember his name but you were quite sure he was a first year.

“Can you show me how you did that? When did you learn that?”

You were stunned into silence for a second, wondering what he could possibly mean. He must’ve meant your spike, right? You’ve noticed that they tended to spike their balls quite far which you didn’t – a force of habit since in your old team your teammates struggled to get the ball higher up most of the time. Rubbing the back of your neck nervously you chuckled a bit.

“Well, my old team didn’t really have a setter that managed to keep the ball at the perfect height every time so I had to adapt, I guess? So when I jump too high I just try to get the ball on the other side as close to the net as possible. It took me some time not to touch the net in the process but with enough training it just happens less frequently.”

“Woah, that’s so cool! Do you mind staying after training so you can show me, please?”

“Sure, I don’t see why not.”

After that you got quite comfortable with Sugawara’s sets which never seemed to falter. It finally felt like you were playing volleyball with people who shared the same enthusiasm as yourself which was a nice change. After a few more turns everyone was gathered again. The coach announce that you’d be playing one set before packing up for the day.

The opposing team consisted of Daichi, Sugawara, Tanaka, Kinoshita, Hinata, Yamaguchi and Nishinoya. You were teamed up with Asahi, Ennoshita, Narita, Kageyama and Tsukishima. To be honest, you really hoped you’d end up with the setter you’ve been training with already but that wishful thinking should apparently be denied. You wondered if the coach did it on purpose because he noticed you avoiding the other setter until now? Whatever it was there was no time to complain, not that you actually would.

You started in the back left – thankfully not serving the ball as you struggled most with it. You always made little mistakes, if it was throwing the ball too high or too low, but most commonly not noticing that you stepped over the line. Yes, when you hit the ball you usually hit it hard but if it didn’t reach the other side of the net or flew into the out there was no use to it.

The whistle ripped you out of your thoughts, focusing on the game. Yamaguchi had the first serve. It seemed like the ball was heading straight for Ennoshita next to you but in the last moment it drifted off to the side towards you. Noticing this you quickly sprang into action, diving for the ball. Despite managing to touch it there was no way of it to be saved, the first point going to the opposite team. That had to be a jump float serve! Impressed you looked at the boy breathing a quiet ‘woah’ before resuming your position. Ennoshita turned toward you as well.

“You react quick, I’m sure we’ll get the next one!”

You smiled at him, nodding.

The next serve was easier to react to as Yamaguchi failed to hit the ball right, resulting in Ennoshita successfully receiving. Next thing you knew your teams setter passed the ball towards the guy with the ponytail in front of you, spiking the ball with confidence only to be received by Daichi.

“Good spike!”, you cheered the guy in front of you, receiving a shy ‘thanks’ in return.

The other team struggled a little with the received ball, the second touch not reaching the setter resulting in a successful block from the tall blonde with the glasses, earning your first point. Encouraging words were exchanged and your team rotated its players clockwise, you now standing in the front left, ponytail standing to your right and Ennoshita behind you, Narita having the next serve. His hit seemed a little unstable but ended up rolling over the net, earning you yet another point.

His next serve seemed more intentional but was easily received by Daichi once more, passing the ball to Sugawara who set the ball nicely for Tanaka, but the tall blonde managed to touch the ball taking a direct course towards Narita once again who passed the ball towards your setter. You took the opportunity to run forward, either receiving the ball or distracting the other players – you assumed that he’d play to the ponytail guy again since the middle blocker was smaller by a few heads and thus less likely to block the ball. Sugawara, opposite of you, kept you covered, not joining the small redhead. And just as you predicted ponytail got the ball. What took you a little by surprise was the height the first year student reached, he was easily on par with you. But that didn’t help as a point was scored nonetheless.

The game went on, a head to head game. Your team had 12 points while the opponents had 14. You had scored none of the points, the setter not having played once in your direction. It bugged you, yes, but you also tried to be mindful. You’ve never had any interaction with that guy so it would be hard for both of you to get used to one another, possibly making you lose more points than you would gain.

You nervously fiddled with the volleyball in your hands. It was time for your first serve and your gut was telling you something really bad was about to happen. You’d definitely screw this one up. You really wished you’d practised your serves a little more now. If you didn’t jump you probably wouldn’t be able to score at all because you knew from experience that your standing serves always ended in home runs. Gulping down whatever was blocking your airway the moment you heard the whistle you took a deep breath before throwing the ball. Taking a few quick steps you jumped, dread filling you the moment you hit the ball with all of your might. It wouldn’t be high enough.

Oh no.

A loud thud was heard and the person in front of you stumbled a little forward, holding the back of his head before falling to his knees. Panicked you rushed towards the setter, the looming silence making you wince with every squeaky step you took.

“I’m so, so incredibly sorry! Are you okay? I didn’t mean to hit you like that-”

You cut yourself off the moment the dark haired setter whipped his head around and glared at you. Taking a few steps back others rushed to his side, helping him up asking if he was alright. Reassuring them that he was alright everyone went back to their positions, albeit reluctantly. And not like this situation was humiliating enough already, the moment the coach spoke up you really wanted to be swallowed by the ground.

“(y/n), you stepped over the line.”

You felt your soul leave your body, Asahi, now to your left tried to assure you that everything was alright. But for the rest of the game you didn’t dare call out for the ball once, not having scored once in the end despite winning by a narrow margin. You really feel like you’ve fucked up this one.

After cleaning up you quickly threw on a sweater to keep yourself warm. You were about to call out to you uncle to wait for you when something quick made you stop abruptly. It was Hinata.

“Do you still don’t mind showing me that spike you did? It was really awesome and I want to see it again!”

_______

a/n: thank you for reading! I’m not sure how i want to continue this, i might just turn this into one overall thing with no focus on one character (i’d probably write something similar for other schools as well) or i might split off from here so there would be different ‘routes’ (also including other schools! as in karasuno reader and kuroo, bokuto, akaashi or whoever)

feedback regarding this would be nice :0 have a nice morning, day, evening or night <3

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oh-my-may · 3 years

Text

Sugar, spice and everything nice ✵ Osamu Miya x reader

making christmas cookies with Osamu! ft. an Atsumu appearance at the end!

pairing: Miya Osamu x gender neutral reader

warnings: very mild swearing? (also this was not proof read so forgive any mistake you might come across)

genre: fluffy fluff

word count: 2.7k

Day 1 of my december/christmas event! I won’t be posting the works in chronological order/ the way they are on the list and rather in the order I like best. Decided to post this one first because I recently also made cookies and it really got me in the christmas mood :) Have fun!

Also sorry that this was not posted on the 1st as I was planning on, but I was really struggling with uni and time management lately, but I wrote this on one afternoon and I am kinda proud!

Your eyes slowly traced over the scenery in front of you: baking ingredients neatly plastered all over the counter, the packages even sorted from biggest to smallest, starting with the flour and ending with eggs. In front there stood a bunch of bowls, all of the same kind and just in different sizes, all of them stacked together. The work space of the kitchen had been cleaned and the light bouncing of the counter almost blinded you if you looked at it for too long. And of course, in front of all the counters, dressed in a candy cane coloured apron and messy hair stood Osamu, who was going over all the ingredients for what felt like the fifth time, making sure nothing was missing. Every now and then he looked up to give you a small smile before he returned to the task at hand.

After a few minutes you had enough and sighed dramatically, leaning over the counter as you stood opposite of him. “Samu, do you really think this is the way to do this?” The man in question looked up at you in confusion, the expression and widened eyes suddenly making him look several years younger. “Why would it not be? I’m just making sure everything is in order.” You bit your lip as a smile made its way to your lips. You finally moved and made your way around the counter, your fingers brushing along the border of the kitchen counter. “Look, I don’t know about you, but to me making Christmas cookies was always more of a messy experience, which in no way is to be seen as negative.” You slowly took his hands, which still hovered over the ingredients, and pulled him closer to you. “What I really like about you is that compared to your brother you like things neatly organized and ordered, but maybe put that aside for today, mh? For me.” He analysed your face critically for just a split second before he sighed and looked away. The way you looked up at him with your big eyes have always had a strong effect on him. “Alright”, he sighed and raised one of his hands to brush over your hair. “Then you’re the boss for today.”

You face brightened up immediately and you clapped your hands in an excited manner as you moved past him to play some festive music and he could only watch in delight, seeing as this made you so happy. He helped you put on an apron and then obliged to your commands as you researched your favourite recipes and slowly got to work.

Frankly, his preparations made the whole process a lot easier and faster in the beginning, as you just had to mix all the ingredients together. Everything was still in order and neatly organized during the first round, you had big fun rolling out the dough and deciding which shapes to cut out of the dough in front of you. You two bickered over the decisions, Osamu insisting on making the cookies look “elegant” with a bunch of fancy decorations like almonds, walnuts, even pistachios and expensive chocolate. You smiled at him as he explained his ideas but then slowly put your hands on his broad shoulders and got on your tip toes, before leaning in and cutting his words off with a soft kiss. You felt Osamu tense up and relax under your grip as his hands followed your hands from his shoulders down your extended arms to your waist, pulling you closer. But you leaned away too soon, tipping the tip of your finger against his lower lip. “You could have just told me to shut up, y’know” he mumbled and you grinned, shaking your head. “We both know that that is not the truth, ‘Samu.” Osamu looked not especially pleased as you clearly compared him to his brother, as they were both the same when it came to this. You giggled and turned away, trying to slip out of his grip. When he didn’t let you, you pouted and reached for the first thing near you – which, unfortunately, was the package of flour. You took a hand full of the white substance and threw it right at him in defence, not thinking twice. Poor Osamu got blinded by the white mist and struggled to breath for a few moments, coughing in some of the powder. “Oh my god” was the only expression the could leave your lips repeatedly as you took in the scene and watched your boyfriend struggle and dance around weirdly in an attempt to get rid of the haze in the air, waddling his arms around. You really wanted to help but all you could do was laugh more intensely with every second that passed.

Eventually, the flour disappeared and all that was left of it was a small film of it on the kitchen counter and the floor. And, of course, Osamu as well. His silver hair was now coated in white chunks of flour and you could see some smudges of it on his face and apron. He considered you throroughly for a while, his eyes scanning your figure from top to bottom, before he also grabbed the flour and you gasped, putting your hands up in defence. “WAIT! PEACE! I want peace! I’m sorry!”

Osamu stopped in his tracks, watched you for another five seconds and then sighed and slapped the flour on the counter. “Fine, then. We should continue on with the cookie baking or we won’t be finished until tomorrow morning. But this isn’t forgotten. I will take my revenge.” You nodded, trying to take his words seriously, but you couldn’t help but let a few wheezes escape your mouth in the process. “You’re right, we should continue.” You got closer to him again only hesitantly, until he took your wrist and pulled you next to him with an annoyed look, but you knew better. Just as much as you, he enjoyed these little games and playful times in your relationship and you smiled at him as you both resumed work on the cookies.

This time however, after the first trays landed in the oven, the dough preparation was messier, as you needed to focus on many things at once. Making sure you got the measurements right, cleaning up the used bowls and other materials and checking on the cookies in the oven. You got a bit more experimental with the cookies this time, adding more spices or other ingredients to create new textures for the dough. You didn’t speak much this time around, rather you enjoyed each other’s company, the festive smell lingering in the room with you and the bright melodies echoing from the walls, finding their way right into your souls. Sometimes Osamu would playfully bump into you as you were cutting out the cookies, and when you looked at him he had already gotten back to work, yet there was a mischievous smile lingering on his lips.

When you were finished cutting out the cookies, you were ready to put in the remaining trays into the oven, but Osamu halted you, putting another figure made up of dough on the tray you were holding. “What’s that?” “A cookie.” “It has a weird shape.” “It’s not finished just yet. Stop judging my work now and focus on not burning your fingers babe.” You rolled your eyes but took his comment with a smile, considering his thoughtful figure scanning the recipes after you were done with your task. There was still flour on his features, but for whatever reason it made him even more charming, as the soft yellow and red lightning from the Christmas decorations illuminated him. Some of the lights were reflected in his dark grey eyes, making it seem like there were tiny stars dancing in them. He looked up suddenly when he noticed your figure not moving, a questioning look in his eyes. But they grew a lot softer and formed into a smile when he took in your features and walked up to you, lacing both of his big hands on either side of your face, squishing the soft skin of your cheeks. “You’re so adorable, sweetheart.” He cooed and moved his nose against yours. Your breath hitched as you finally realized what he had meant. Even though it was already warm in the room, you had still managed to blush wildly at the sight of your boyfriend, your face heating up unnaturally in the process. A chaste kiss is left on the tip of your nose, before Osamu takes his hands off your face and places them on yours instead, intertwining your fingers. “Let’s wait until the last cookies are finished, yes?” He mumbles just above your ear, warm breath brushing along your hair, causing your to shiver. A consenting hum left your vocal folds as you leaned into his large figure, his heartbeat right under your ear beating at a slow and steady rhythm. Before you knew it your bodies were moving slowly, feet brushing over the tiles on the floor along to the soft beat of Cold December Night now flowing through the speakers. There was something incredibly reassuring about the weight of his head on top of yours, his cheek brushing over your hair and his hands on your waist and back trailing nonsense patterns on the fabric of your sweater and yet you felt it right through your skin. During the last chorus of the song your felt Osamus hand wander up from your waist, along your neck to your face, his fingers holding up your face to him, his thumb trailing over your bottom lip before pulling you in for a kiss, starting up slow but slowly pressing you towards the counter, your hips pushing against the edge of it. Your hearts beat sped up with every time Osamus lips captured yours, every single time a bit more passionate than the last. You tasted the sweetness of his mouth, asserting that you certainly where not the only one to try some bits of the raw dough, smiling at this realization. But then something cold and weird hit your face, something with a structure you couldn’t determine right away. Your eyes suddenly opened in shock, staring at your grinning boyfriends face through a soft haze of white. It took you a whole second to realize what had just happened “SAMU!” you screamed in horror, his unstoppable laughter ringing in your ears. You sighed in frustration and angrily moved your hands to your face to brush away the chunks of flour that surely found its place on your cheeks and even forehead. Osamu took a second to look at you, before he returned to laughing wildly. You blew away some hair that was messily hanging in your face, letting the situation wash over you and watching as your boyfriend enjoyed his victory. You couldn’t really be mad at him, you had it coming after that situation earlier today. So there was nothing left to do for you other than sit it out.

After Osamu had finally calmed down, he got closer to you again, his hand hovering over your head. “You look like a vampire, sweetheart.” You just glared at him and he chuckled, sighing. “Alright Dracula, the cookies should be done soon, come on.” He dragged you to the oven, where you prepared the different chocolates to dip in and decorate the cookies with, as well as all the sprinkles and icing. When everything was done, you hurriedly decorated all the baked goods. Trying to make special patterns on the cookies turned out to be a lot harder than you both thought and sure enough one time Osamu got distracted and upset, so he just pressed his in chocolate covered finger to your nose, but you ducked away the second he tried to lick it off. “That’s nasty, keep that kinda behaviour out of the kitchen, Miya.” “But you liked it just a few minutes ago.” He whispered sheepishly and grinned, earning an elbow hit from you. You will sure as hell not sacrifice hundreds of cookies for his horniness, that was for sure. After several such attempts and only two clap backs from your side, he finally gave up and resumed to decorating the cookies. He even got every much into it, which surprised you somehow. He kept on giggling to himself, but he wouldn’t let you see what he was doing. “Not until it’s finished and dried!” he insisted, so you went back to decorating the rest of the cookies.

When you were finished with all the cookies, the first ones you had worked on had already dried and you tried to steal looks at Osamus work. “What were you giggling about earlier, huh? What’s so funny about decorating cookies?” He looked at you almost a bit offended. “Isn’t Christmas supposed to be a holly jolly time? Am I not allowed to be happy and smile?” You sighed and playfully smacked his arm, but he turned away before you could do it a second time. “Fine, take a look. I really tried my best… With some.” He added the last part in a quieter but amused tone as you considered his cookies. You finally recognized the shapes, he had taken many of the human/ man formed cookies to decorate. Grunts escaped your lips as you looked at what could only resemble Osamus team mates, considering the colour of their clothes and hair. Everything else somehow… Didn’t look as recognizable. “What happened to their faces.” “I lived out my inner fantasy – punching a volleyball in everyone’s face. This is what I imagine it to look like.” You couldn’t hold the laughter anymore as your eyes kept on flying over the tray and got stuck on a collection of cookies that all portrayed the same person. “Is that your brother?” you laugh loudly, looking at all the cursed faces on the cookies. Osamu nodded proudly. “Looking as good as never before.”

After your laughter has faded out into a long sigh, your eyes landed on the last cookie that Osamu made, considering it carefully. “Is that-“ “That’s us, babe.” Osamu states proudly and lifts the cookie up so you can look at it better. “I hope I don’t offend you with this, but it’s just really hard capturing your real beauty on a damn cookie. You look nowhere near as bad as your dough twin-“ You cut him off with a quick kiss. “Shut up, it’s perfect. I wouldn’t have been able to do any better.” You giggle against his lips before he pulls you in for another kiss like the one before, this time you could just hope he didn’t have any ulterior motive of pressing baking ingredients in your face. But of course this time you were interrupted as well.

“Eww, don’t you two know that the kitchen is a commonly used space in this house? Would you please mind NOT spreading your hormones across every surface in this damn house?” Atsumu enters the house in that exact moment, the sight in front of him not exactly being the first thing he expected OR wanted to see. When you both turn to look at him he drops his bag, his expression changing to something between confusion and disgust. “What the hell happened with you? Are you not supposed to cover the cookies with chocolate and not other people?” When neither of you answer he just grunts and sloppily moves past you to investigate the products of your work. Osamu rolls his eyes at his twin and you grin, the anticipation building up. You could only imagine what Atsumu’s reaction to his cookie-selfs would be like, but the reality was so much better.

“YA! SAMU! What the hell is this? Ya think this is funny or what?” Atsumus angrily picks up one cookie of himself and points it at his brother like someone would with a sword, however it was not frightening at all. Osamu turns quickly to wink at you, before he answers his brother “I don’t know what your problem is, this looks better than you ever have or will.”

~ Cue them bickering and fighting in the kitchen and you kinda have to intervene before someone gets hurt because this is a KITCHEN and you don’t want to imagine what this could end like with all the knives around and such~

THE END

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1a-imagines · 4 years

Text

@otaku-explosion request: #8 Fem s/o slapping/punching/etc (you get the point) whichever boy of your choosing from (Izuku, Bakugou, Eijirou) then promptly kissing them or doing something else in affection then saying something like "I love you, but if you ever pull a stunt like that again shit is going down" these boys would drive me nuts doing the stuff they do. whether its ridiculous, dangerous, or both

A/n: I love all your requests so much you genius.

Bakugo:

"Don't you fucking dare!" You yelled at your idiot of a boyfriend, knowing what that glint in his eyes meant. You had seen it all too many times before.

He was about to run head first into a villain fight and go ham without even thinking of a plan first.

It was how he always liked to do things, fighting first and thinking later. But right now, after having assessed the situation, you decided it was too dangerous, and there was no way you were letting him run headlong into certain doom without a plan this time.

You usually trusted his instincts, they were very impressive. He wasn’t much for thinking strategies but he was smart enough to think and fight at the same time. So you always trusted him not to do anything too stupid, but this time felt different somehow and you didn’t like it.

“Stay here, it’s dangerous.” Bakugo said, completely ignoring your previous comment.

“Uh! yeah! I know! That's why I'm telling you not to go- Katsuki!” you yelled at him as he ran out into the chaos, ignoring you once again.

You could not believe that he had just completely ignored you- or, no, you could believe that. When in battle he always became twice as stubborn than he usually was.

You were just in shock at how stupid he was being right now.

Of course, you knew he was strong but something but you couldn't shake the feeling that you were running into a trap.

And as much as you trusted Bakugos instincts; you trusted yours more.

You two had been paired off from the main group of heroes when they got word of the villains splitting up, but you were skeptical as to why this particular villain was wandering around alone?

Even if your group splits up, the smart thing to do would be to split up into smaller groups rather than go off on your own and try to take on the heroes one by one.

It just didn’t sit right with you. These villains might be strong but even an idiot would know better than to try and take down pro heroes alone.

You peaked over the wall you had been hiding behind to watch as Katsuki used a sneak attack to blow the villain through the wall of the building.

You would have smiled proudly at your boyfriend but it was too easy for your liking.

He seemed to notice that too and stayed on guard.

He sent you a singular look and you knew to stay back. It was best to stay hidden in case more villains showed up.

Then you could at least take the upper hand by surprising them.

This was how you two worked. He was a head on fighter with amazing strength, and you were the sneaky, strategic one. All of these traits paired together made the both of you an unstoppable duo.

It didn't take much longer for your suspicions to be confirmed.

Two more villains jumped out at Katsuki, and the one he had put through a wall jumped back up.

He had used himself as a dummy to lure out the heroes!

"Fucking DAMMIT!" You heard your boyfriend yell in annoyance.

Your heart jumped into your throat as you watched him take on three strong villains alone.

You hated this, why couldn't he just have stayed back and listened to you?

Either way, you had to wait for him to signal for you to jump in.

Bakugo made sure that all three of them were focused on fighting him, and when you had the perfect opportunity to jump in he gave you the signal.

When you snuck over to them you were able to catch them off guard enough to immediately take one of them out using your quirk. Though the other two seemed like they were going to be a lot harder to take down.

Their movements were fast, and their punches were strong.

Though, they still weren't good enough for the strongest power couple of pro heroes.

You two were most known for being the strongest partners in the industry. So it wasn't a surprise when you kicked their asses.

Despite your victory that didn't mean to say you left with no injuries.

Right as you finished tying them up more pro heroes showed, letting you both know it was over and the heroes had won. All that was left to do now was go get your injuries looked at.

You both sat down on the edge of the entrance to an ambulance, having your injuries looked at.

"Looks like you only left with minor injuries!" The paramedic smiled.

"Hmm. You might want to wait a minute?" You grinned all-too-innocently over at your boyfriend.

"What are you talking about babe- OW! WHAT THE FUCK!?"

Bakugo yelled as you leaned across and punched him in his arm as hard as you could.

"That's for not listening to me!! I was worried sick! Honestly!! You should know better than to run head first into danger like that! I know you're stubborn but my god-"

"Hey- We won didn't we-"

"Don't interrupt me!" You cut him off. "You ever do that shit again and I'll kill you myself!!"

At this point the paramedic had rushed off, not that you could blame her. You wouldn’t want to be in between a couples argument either.

Especially not this couple

“What do you want me to do? Say I’m sorry for doing my job?”

You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “That would be a good start.”

He groaned and threw his head back, feeling exhausted from the conversation. You were lucky he loved you enough to actually swallow down his pride for you. “Fine- god you’re hard work sometimes- I’m sorry, happy now dumbass?”

You mouth fe agape. “Oh wow- you actually apologised.”

“HUH!?”

You let out a laugh at his expression which only seemed to tick him off more.

“I’d never actually make you apologise for doing your job- though it’s sweet you still did~.”

He stared at you in disbelief. Were you trying to piss him off? Why the hell were you making him say sorry and then laughing at him!? From the corner of his eye he noticed a small cloud of grey smoke. He glanced down at his hands to see them smoking.

He released a sigh in order to calm himself down, something he had gotten considerably better at doing since those school days. He crossed his arms, hiding his hands in his armpits in an attempt to stop the smoke.

He was used to this behaviour from you, you always liked to keep him on his toes and test his patience.

Though… for some reason, he didn’t mind as much when you were annoying him. If it were someone else he probably would have blown then into the ground by now.

In a way, he kind of liked how you challenged him. It kept your relationship unpredictable and interesting.

As he was grumbling to himself he didn’t notice you crawling over to him and was caught off guard when he felt a kiss placed onto his lips.

He looked at you with irritated eyes and you laughed again, noting that he was hiding some embarrassment in there too. The way that his ears tinged red at the sudden affection made your heart melt. He could be cute when he wanted to be- mostly when he wasn’t talking.

You sat beside him and curled into his side.

“You had me worried, idiot…” you muttered softly into his chest.

He sighed again and put an arm around you. “You shouldn’t worry.”

“I know, You can take care of yourself, but sometimes I panic when I see you running into danger.”

He knew exactly what you meant, Whenever he heard you were caught in the midst of a big fight or whenever he saw you on the news his heart always stopped for a moment. It was hard being heroes and dating at the same time. But at the end of the day, you both knew you were too strong for some low life villains to defeat you- Or at least that’s what you both told yourself to make it easier.

In all honesty, you had each other's backs and you knew as long as you were together you’d both work your hardest to make sure nothing bad happens.

You just had to have a lot of faith and trust in each other.

“Luckily, you’ll have me to back you up.” You looked up at him and sent him a sly smile which, in turn, made him roll his eyes.

“Lucky? My ‘back up’ just punched me!” He backfired.

“Don’t pretend it hurt!” you laughed, You weren’t all that strong, and you knew fine well he had trained himself to be able to withstand strong hits. Even your worst punch could barely make him flinch. As you had learned from all the training you did together.

Bakugo chuckled. “You’re right, it was weak.”

You huffed through your nose, turning your head from him. “You’re also lucky I love you.”

You felt two lips being placed onto your cheek and you blushed when you felt his warm breath hit your ear. "I love you too."

Midoriya:

You carelessly ran through the halls of the hospital, often being yelled at by the staff you passed. A few of them had tried to stop you before you caused some sort of damage but you couldn't stop- even if you wanted to, you couldn't find it in yourself to slow down.

You knew you shouldn't be running like this in a hospital but you didn't care! Worry had completely overtaken all of your senses and all you wanted was to see that messy green hair you loved and those sparkling, jade eyes.

After getting the phone call to tell you that your boyfriend was in hospital, yet again, for being reckless, you dashed over here as fast as you could and you had no intent to stop until you got to him. You had no idea what condition he would be in, you didn't even know if he was awake!

As you finally arrived at his room you noticed the door was open and you skidded inside, your body hit against the door frame as you came to a rough stop. You panted heavily as you leaned against the door frame, your eyes trailed over to your boyfriend who was currently sitting up in the bed.

He looked alarmed that you had burst in here like you did. He was expecting you to show up any minute but not to fly through the door!

His left arm was in a sling and both his legs were bandaged up along with his head. It looked like Recovery girl had already been here, but he still looked pretty beaten up.

You shivered, not wanting to imagine what he had looked like before the treatment.

"Y/n!! You're here-"

His bright smile from seeing you was immediately replaced with an expression of shock as you ran over to his side and punched him right in his uninjured arm.

"Ow! What-"

"Do you know how worried I was!?" Your voice cracked as you tried to cover your tear filled eyes with your hair. “They didn’t even tell me what happened! All I knew was that you were seriously hurt! Do you know how scary that was!?”

You didn't want him to see you crying. You had always promised to support him ever since you were little. You told yourself that no matter what danger you two found yourself in you would never stand in his way of being a hero.

But he was just so reckless sometimes!!

Today had been too much for you to handle, it had tested your strength, it had tested your ability to not break down, but it turns out you weren't as strong as you thought.

For a second, when you received that terrifying phone call, you thought they were going to tell you he had died, or didn't have long to live. You had never felt such a numbing pain in your whole life.

You were used to getting phone calls from the hospital but usually it was from Izuku himself, telling you what had happened and that he was ok. So when you got a call from a doctor telling you he was currently undergoing surgery you panicked.

When they told you he was going to be ok you felt like you could breathe again, but the numbing emotion never left you. The whole journey to the hospital you felt like you were in a daze.

In fact, you could barely remember how you got here. It was like your body was on auto-pilot. All you could focus on was your own pounding heartbeat.

"Y/n…"

You felt a large hand come up to cup your cheek and lift your head up. It was only when you met his green eyes that you realised your vision had become blurry from the tears welling in your eyes.

When you shut your eyes they finally fell. You leaned into his hand, grabbing his forearm with both of your hands and holding him close. He was alive, it was ok. There was no reason to be upset.

So why were you still crying?

You felt the pad of his thumb gently caress your cheek, wiping away the tears. He stared at you with a heartbroken expression. He hated doing this to you. He hated being the reason you had to worry so much. He had honestly expected you to leave him by now. You deserved so much better and yet… you stayed.

He didn’t know why. Why was he worth this to you? You were way too good for him.

"I thought you died." You whispered helplessly.

You didn't even have the chance to open your eyes before you felt the hand leave your cheek and wrap around your waist.

He pulled you down into his chest, holding you there protectively as you cried into his shirt. You welcomed the hug whole heartedly and made yourself comfortable on the bed beside him.

"I know I said I would always support you but today was too much." You lifted your head from his chest so you could smash your lips against his. It was like a way of telling yourself he was still alive. He was ok and you didn't need to worry anymore.

"I love you so much, but if you ever do something so reckless like that again then villains would be the least of your worries." You joked with a small smile, though your eyes were still tear filled. You wanted to lighten the mood. The last thing he needed after such a big fight was to be surrounded with more sadness.

Your dazed boyfriend shook his head. It seemed the kiss had caught him off guard.

He let out a soft laugh as his fingers gently ran through your hair. "I believe you, i'll make sure to keep that in mind."

Oh yeah, he had seen your "bad" side on a few occasions. Luckily he had never been the target of your wrath and he fully intended to keep it that way.

He never wanted to be the reason you were upset.

As he looked down at your teary eyes he made a mental note to try harder for you. To be more careful so you didn’t have to worry as much. He would work himself down to the bone if it meant you would never have to feel this way again.

"I'm so sorry I scared you princess. I'll try to be more careful."

You smiled at him before stuffing your face back into his chest. "No you won't."

His lips parted in shock at your response.

You knew him too well. When he's in the heat of battle there is no stopping him. He's like a completely different person and if he has to take a risk to save someone's life you knew he would always do it without a second thought.

You knew exactly what you were getting into when you started dating him. That's why you always did your best to never get upset when he got hurt or did something stupid.

He couldn't find it in him to reply, he didn’t know what to say. You were right, he would probably do this again at some point. Of course he wasn’t planning to, but it was just in his nature, when the times called for dangerous plans and reckless actions- he had to do it. Otherwise how could he call himself a hero?

But- god did he hate worrying you. He hated when you would have to see him like this.

And that’s exactly why he needed to get stronger. The stronger he was then the less likely it was he would be hurt this bad again and finally his precious loved ones could live in peace.

Of course you had your fair share of worrying him. You could be pretty reckless too, but it was all a part of the job description. It was something you both had to learn to overlook, you loved each other enough to deal with the worry.

"I'm sorry for punching you." You muttered into his shirt after a while of silence. He was still petting your hair with his uninjured hand, it was comforting.

You heard him chuckle. "You should be, I knew you were getting stronger lately but ouch! You have one mean right hook on you." He joked, feeling happy when you laughed into his shirt.

Making you smile was always one of his top priorities. It was especially important if he was the reason you were sad in the first place.

When you lifted your head again, you rested your chin on his chest as you sent him a soft glare. "Yeah, so make sure you're more careful. I don't want to have to do it again."

"Trust me, I don't want to have to feel that again." He rolled his shoulder, the stinging still lingering. "But I did deserve it this time… I mean, what kind of boyfriend makes their girlfriend cry like that?"

Uh oh, it seemed he was starting to blame himself for everything. Typical izuku. But there was no way you were allowing this on your watch!

"The heroic kind?" You tilted your head. "I know I might have been upset but you still saved all those people and single handedly stopped the villain, right? Or at least that’s what the news reporters are saying. So Don't beat yourself up. You're a true hero."

His cheeks turned red as he shyly shifted his eyes away. You smiled when seeing him trying to hold back a smile and failing miserably. It was so adorable!

“For some reason, it always sounds more special when you call me that." He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"A hero?"

He nodded, his eyes softening as your noses rubbed gently in a light eskimo kiss. "Thank you, honey. I promise, I'm going to get stronger for you. So you don't have to worry anymore."

Kirishima:

The blaring sound of sirens and flashing lights surrounded you as you finally made it onto the scene. They were slightly overwhelming you in your panicked state. This is the aftermath of what you had seen go down on tv, it was awful.. Much worse than what the cameras were able to show.

That only worried you more.

Right now, you were only looking for one guy. The same guy that had given you a million heart attacks in just one afternoon while simultaneously saving the day.

There were so many people around here you were worried it would take a lot longer than you anticipated to find him.

Everyone from pro heroes to police and ambulance crew were here. It was a pretty big crowd and it didn’t help that so many of them were rushing around.

You were careful not to get in their way, you didn't want to make things worse. From what it seemed the situation wasn’t great already and you were sure they wouldn’t appreciate a frantic person rushing around to find their boyfriend.

Honestly, you think it would be easy to spot bright red, spiky hair in a crowd, but nope.

You looked through every ambulance, you asked every pro hero you passed but you still couldn't find him and the worry was starting to grow, or well, more so than it was before.

You anxiously fiddled with your hands as you walked around calling out for him. Though it might be unlikely he would hear you over all the noise.

Walking around the scene alone with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company wasn’t helping either.

You remembered seeing the mass destruction of the villains quirk on Tv and your boyfriend was one of the heroes in the center of it all. That was the last thing you saw before the camera cut out and you rushed out of your shared home to run to his location. You had been happy to see it was over when you arrived. The villains had been successfully captured and locked away.

But where was Kirishima!?

Oh god, what if he was hurt!? What if he was trapped somewhere!? What if he was kidnapped or- worse! Maybe they already had to take him to hospital because he was so badly injured?!

Your thoughts were clouded with bad images and it made a lump rise in your throat. You felt your eyes stinging with tears and you had to shake your head to keep it together.

No, no. You've got to stay strong. Maybe he was just being seen by a doctor- you haven't checked everywhere yet. There was no need to worry!! But what if he-

"Hey babe! What are you doing he- oof." he was cut off as you instantly spun around at the sound of his voice and tackled him into a tight hug.

Though he was caught off guard he was able to catch himself, and you, from falling onto the ground.

He was surprised to look down and see you shaking as you buried yourself in his chest. He didn't know what to say, what had shaken you up this badly? His arms came around to encase you into a tight hug, maybe that was all you needed right now.

"I was watching on Tv and all I saw was you running in and then that big cloud of smoke. Then the camera went off and I assumed the worst. I know you can take care of yourself but-"

So that's what this was about? His chest began to ache at the thought of you being at home and having to helplessly watch something so scary.

His arms around you tightened. One hand holding your head to his chest as the other stayed on your waist.

It was as if he was trying to shield you from the rest of the world- and it was so comforting.

"Hey! Hey! It's ok. I'm fine. I appreciate the worry, and I'm sorry for scaring you like that." He pulled back just enough for you to be able to look up and see his smiling face. "But I'm ok! See? Only a few little scratches!" He reassured you before pulling you back into his tight embrace.

"Honestly? I would've done the same thing if I was in your position! I would've freaked out too, but you don't have to be scared anymore."

You clung onto him as if your life depended on it. You were filled with such relief that you weren't even sure you were crying from sadness anymore. It was more happy crying- happy that he was alive.

"Luckily for us, Everything went pretty well- though… I guess I was pretty reckless back there." He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

You weren't sure what it was about his acknowledging that he was reckless but I sort of ticked you off. If he knew it was reckless then why did he do it!? He should've been more careful!! There were so many other pros on the scene!! Why did he try to take it all on alone!?

You pulled back from the hug and punched his arm.

"Wh-"

"Damn right you were reckless!! What were you even thinking!? You could've been seriously hurt!"

"But babe I-"

"No! Shut up!" You cut him off again by roughly grabbing his collar and pulling him down to meet your lips in a rough, heated kiss.

"You ever pull a stunt like that again you'll be in big trouble mister!" You glared up at him.

"O-ok." He blinked, completely dazed at what had just happened. All your emotions coming out in one big cluster and he couldn’t keep up.

You were happy he was alive and wanted to kiss him all over his stupid face but you always wanted to punch him again for scaring you like he did!

However, all kirishima could think about was that he found this assertiveness kind of hot.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you looked away from him when you realised he was no longer listening to you. He was staring at you with a dazed look, his cheeks were red and you could only wonder why he was thinking about it.

The way he was looking at you was making you blush.

"Did you even feel that punch?"

He snapped out of his thoughts and laughed at the question.

He swung an arm around you. "Not really, but that's not to say you're not strong. You're super strong! I just have a high pain tolerance is all!"

You smiled up at him, cupping his cheeks with your hands. "I know. I have such a strong and manly boyfriend." You gushed and his cheeks turned red. Once again your mood had changed. Today has been a crazy day for your emotions and you couldn't decide whether to be happy or mad at him.

"H-hah- b-babe not in front of the guys." He said from embarrassment.

“Huh?” you questioned, following his eyes and turning around to find kaminari and sero making kissy faces at him.

You laughed.

It was rare for him to get embarrassed, he wasn't someone who cared about pda. In fact, he was usually completely open with showing love and affection for you in public.

This was a rare, and very cute, side of him.

"Looks like you got told huh dude?" Sero laughed at him, having witnessed you scolding him.

"Oh don't even get me started on you two!" You sent them a glare which immediately prompted them to shut up. "I saw you both being just as careless back there!"

"Oh uh- well…" kaminari started as they both slowly backed away from you, you could see they regretted making their previous comments and decided to ditch before you scolded them too.

You laughed as you watched them go and turned back to Kiri who was staring at you with a goofy grin.

"Have you been checked over for injuries? Are you ready to go home."

"Oh I'm more than ready to go home." He muttered in a low husky voice. You blinked twice at the statement.

"Huh? What's that mean?- and what's with that face!?"

He stepped closer to you and swung an arm around your waist, pulling you in close and leaning down to mutter in your ear.

"You're kinda hot when you're mad."

#bnha scenarios #bnha scenario #bnha headcanons #bnha imagines #mha imagines #mha headcanons #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha scenario #mha scenarios #katsuki bakugo imagine #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #midoriya x reader #kirishima x reader #izuku x reader #izuku midoria x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction

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kyber-crystal · 4 years

Text

Be Careful

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: ~2.7k

Summary: You patch up an injured Captain after he comes back from a rather rough mission late at night.

Warnings: mentions of blood, violence, soft steve, cocky steve :)

A/N: this was one of my older oneshots...so it sucks

"Thor, it's 3 in the morning. Why are you trying to cook Pop-Tarts in the toaster at this ungodly hour?"

"My apologies, Lady Y/N. I did not mean to wake you," the Norse god gave you an innocent smile. "I heard toaster Pop-Tarts are quite delicious, so I decided to try my hand at making some myself."

"No no, it's fine," you waved him off, "I've been awake for a while, anyways. You can just carry on if you want, but try not to blow anything up, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am."

You'd been waiting for Steve to return from his solo mission, and currently, you, Thor, and Sam were the only ones awake in the compound. Not wanting to fall asleep without knowing if he was alright and returned in one piece, you were planning to stay up for as long as necessary. Fatigue was tugging at your eyes for a while now, but you couldn't care less. You'd handled worse things than sleep deprivation.

Just as the Pop-Tarts finished cooking and Thor took them to his room to eat as he watched Gossip Girl by himself on his MacBook, you decided to watch TV to fill the silence that had settled in around the lounge.

Around half an hour later you heard the elevator doors slide open, revealing an exhausted-looking Steve Rogers. His face was streaked with dust and debris, dried blood sticking to his dirty-blonde hair and a tired look in his icy-blue eyes, but you still thought he looked perfect regardless.

"Hey," you greeted him as he stepped forward, setting his duffel bag off to the side.

"I made it," he exhaled, "it was a bit of a pain trying to escape, but other than that, it ran pretty smoothly."

"That's good," you nodded. He inhaled deeply as he sat down at the edge of the couch.

It was only until you looked down and saw he was clutching his side that you realized he'd been severely injured.

"Shit shit shit shit, Rogers, what the hell happened," you muttered frantically as you tried to pull him into a more upright position to examine his wound. "Who hurt you?"

"HYDRA. And language," he croaked out, laughing lightly before being overcome by a coughing fit, wincing in pain. "Ow, that hurt. But I'm fine."

"No, you're not fine!" you whisper-shouted. Blood was seeping through his uniform and gushing out of his wound at an alarming pace. "You think you can stand and walk for a bit? I need to get you down to the lab to treat your wound. Bruce is asleep so I can't get him."

"Maybe?"

You let out a sigh of disbelief, slinging an arm across his shoulders and helping him down the hall to the lab, sitting him down in a chair you pulled up next to the examination table. You quickly grabbed all the necessary medical supplies and set them down next to him.

Steve took his hand off his stomach and you tried not to faint at the sight of it coming away covered in blood, making bile rise up in your throat.

"That bad, huh," he joked, but grimaced when he tried to move slightly.

"Stop moving!" you scolded as you came forward, "you're gonna make it worse if you do! I need to take the bullet out, so don't move."

"I'm fine," he reassured you.

"No, you're not. Now shut up and stay still."

"What's with the hesitation?"

"Um...you need to...remove your suit..." you spluttered.

A smirk came across Steve's face. "Sure."

"Not here!" you raised your voice. "You know what...just...take off the top...part..so I can get to your wound easily..."

"If you wanted a piece of this, you could've just asked," he grinned cheekily.

"Shut up!" you squeaked. "Just...take it off."

You sucked in a breath as he slid the top part of his suit off, revealing his toned shoulders and torso.

"I'm sorry for making you all flustered."

"Shut! Up!" you whisper-shouted as you began to treat his wound, flinching at the spark you felt running up your body when your skin came in contact with his during the process. "I'm not flustered!"

You almost cringed as he hissed in pain when the metal tweezers came in contact with his skin, trying to keep your fingers from shaking as you removed the bullet. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, this'll only take another minute..."

Letting out a breath of relief you didn't know you'd been holding inside, you dropped the bullet onto a tray off to your side and wiped your hands before grabbing the thick roll of bandages to wrap up his wound.

"There," you dusted off your hands, "it's over. I'm gonna clean up your face now, and then you're going to not overwork yourself by not sparring four hours a day for the next week."

"Y/N..."

"Listen to me, Steve. You aren't gonna get better if you keep overworking yourself, so you're gonna do as I say and rest."

"Aye aye, Captain," he mock saluted you.

"Now," you sighed, "if you aren't tired, I can go make us some coffee if you want."

"That sounds nice," the super-soldier agreed.

"Try standing up on your own now," you said, "if you can't I'll help you over there."

"Y/N, I'm fine," he reassured you as he gripped the edge of the table and stood up, "see? Stop worrying. I can handle myself perfectly well."

You sighed again. "Alright, fine. Let's go, then. Get changed first, then meet me in the lounge once you're done."

You headed to the kitchen and as he sat down at the couch, now changed into a soft white T-shirt and grey sweats, you plugged in the coffee maker and got out the pods from the pantry. Hopefully, Tony wouldn't mind you using a few of them.

God, you really needed to stop staring at him so much.

But it's not my fault he wears tight shirts all the time! another voice yelled back inside your head.

"You okay, Y/N? You look kinda pale," Steve commented as he looked back to see your now-pale face.

"Yes, what, huh?" you blinked several times, shaking your head and snapping out of your momentary daze. "Yeah, I'm okay. You want your coffee black, or with milk?"

"Black," he replied simply, rubbing his forehead and yawning, stretching his arms up in the air.

You poured the coffee into two separate mugs once they were ready, putting milk in one and handing one over to Steve before taking a seat next to him on the sofa. "Now, will you tell me how the hell you got hit? I should know that, at least."

"Caught in the crossfire," Steve replied simply. "Got unlucky, and took a hit, right as I was getting the data files downloaded."

"Sounds like a repeat of Montpellier," you raised an eyebrow at him in suspicion, "except that time, it was me."

"Trouble always seems to find us, huh," he hummed, taking a sip of his drink.

"When I was the one to get hit, I knew what I was getting myself into. I jumped in front of Peter to take a bullet meant for him. You, on the other hand, decided to just jump into the fight without looking at the possible outcomes."

"Wow, sounds like you actually care about the great Captain," he smirked. "Thought you had no heart."

"You're funny. I'm not completely heartless, you know. I care about people."

"Well, well, well, look what we have here," you heard someone clap slowly from behind you and when you turned around, there stood a rather smug-looking Pietro. "Heartless warrior and Cap finally getting some action. Nice."

"Since when were you awake? I thought you were sleeping," you were now confused.

"I was playing against Sam in Mario Kart this entire time. I think that's a solid enough reason to stay up," the speedster explained. "Steve, when'd you get back?"

"Fifteen minutes ago."

"You didn't die?"

"I'm here right now, so no."

"Oh, Y/N, when you were patching him up did you get to see his abs? He's totally ripped, you know, I hope you didn't get too carried away staring—"

"Pietro!" you snapped, cheeks going bright red, much to his amusement. "Really?"

"What? I'm curious!"

"I had no choice but to see!"

"You make it sound like you didn't enjoy it."

Steve chuckled as your cheeks grew an even deeper shade of scarlet. You groaned loudly, gulping down your coffee in just three more large gulps to save yourself from having to reply to his comment.

“Okay, Speedy, I’ve had it with your comments, now shoo,” you waved a hand at him. “Go to bed.”

“Need I remind you I’m no longer a teenager and I don’t have a bedtime,” he scoffed before walking away. “Also, ship it!”

You sighed and let your head fall into your hands.

After several more minutes of the strained silence, Steve cleared his throat. “Thanks for fixing me up back there. I would’ve bled out if it weren’t for you.”

“That’s not reassuring at all,” you mumbled into your hands.

He chuckled again. “I’m sorry. I’ll try not to get shot next time.”

You lifted your head to glance up at him. “You said that when Fury sent us on that mission to Montenegro and I had to drag you back to the jet because you got shot, twice. And I did it with a concussion, dislocated shoulder, and a severely sprained ankle. Wanda brought me breakfast in bed for four days after that.”

“You’re making me sound a lot heavier than I really am.”

“Yeah, you outweigh me by sixty pounds at least. Of course you’re gonna feel heavy to me.”

“I thought you could bench press 300? That’s over twice your weight.”

“That’s not an actual human being.”

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that someone like you who’s so light can lift so much.”

“I’m lightweight?”

“Compared to 300, or in my case, 180, then yes. But hey, most of that’s muscle,” he winked at you, rolling his sleeve up slightly and flexing his bicep. “So how’s the view, Y/N?”

You rolled your eyes. “Showoff.”

“You love me.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Seriously, though...” Steve’s voice softened, as did his gaze on you, “thank you.”

“...For?”

“For staying up late to wait for me, even though you don’t like doing so. It’s nice to have someone to look forward to when I’m coming back home.”

“I never said I didn’t like staying up.”

“Y/N, I know you like the back of my hand,” the corners of his mouth turned up in a small grin, “I’m pretty sure I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Bet. What’s my favorite color?”

“That’s easy. It’s blue. But like you consistently remind everyone who asks, it’s not just plain blue. It’s the blue only found in the deepest corners of the ocean that are furthest from the shore. You had the highlights of your suit changed from grey to this shade, after Fury forced us on that vacation to Sicily and you refused to leave the beach because you’d fallen so in love with gazing at the horizon. When we returned, Clint kept teasing us because it looked like we were trying to coordinate our stealth suits with one another.”

You were shocked and taken aback, not expecting for him to memorize what you’d told him word for word. “Okay...what’s my biggest fear?”

“Failure. Failing to protect those you love, failing to succeed in your job as an Avenger,” he said softly, “Ever since Phil gave word of your parents’ passing four years ago, you grew extremely overprotective over what family you had left, which happened to be the team. You refused to let your mission partners out of your sight and if they did, forced them to stay on call at all times. You couldn’t afford to have whatever happened to your parents happen to your teammates, because bearing that burden would be too much for you to handle.”

You swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “Yeah...um. What was my job before joining the initiative, and what made me join the team in the first place?”

“A brilliant student, you graduated two years early to become a trauma surgeon for the next four years. At first, you were reluctant to accept Fury’s offer because you’d dedicated your life saving people instead of doing the opposite. Violence was the very last thing on your mind so the Battle of New York was rather difficult for you to cope with after it ended. Continuing to be able to save people in your new line of work and seeing thousands more look up to you was what pushed you to keep going; you didn’t want to let them all down.

He laughed to himself, recalling the memory. “I didn’t expect you to be so relentless on the battlefield. You never told any of us you were also training under SHIELD at the same time you were going through med school, so Nat and I were blown away when we saw you fight. I’m pretty sure Clint fainted when he saw you shoot out electricity bolts. Thor was insistent on seeing if you could lift Mjolnir afterwards.”

“I offered to be SHIELD’s lab rat because nobody else was willing to step up, so here I am,” you chuckled lightly, “those powers ended up coming in handy in the operating room sometimes...during emergency surgeries.”

“You’re amazing,” Steve exhaled. “I can see why so many people look up to you as a role model.”

You laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck. “I’m not that special.”

“You are. You’ve impacted millions of lives, Y/N. The world owes you a debt.”

“You know me so well, Captain. I’m surprised you remember the little details...Tony sometimes forgets my birthday and here you are, listing off every little thing easily.”

“I’m just observant, that’s all...” he hummed, a ghost of a smile on his face.

“If you answer this question right, then you’ve won it all,” you challenged. “What’s my opinion on finding love?”

“You always claim to be opposed to falling in love, but I know you better than that,” he explained. “You’ve only started showing the signs of being in love a few months ago, but your heart was stolen many years prior by one man.”

Was it just you, or did Steve look almost...hurt as he spoke?

“Who’s that one man?”

“You’re asking me?” he raised an eyebrow at you, shifting slightly into a more comfortable position that wouldn’t put too much pressure on his abdomen. “How would I know that?”

“Because you know me better than anyone else in the compound,” you stated.

“Why don’t you describe him for me, then.”

“For starters, he’s extremely loyal. Always sticks by your side and will stay loyal to you until the very end of his days.”

“Sam?”

“No. I’m not finished,” you held up a finger to interrupt him. “He’s a great leader and the slightest bit cocky, but he’s got a great sense of humor and at the same time, he can be very serious. He always knows how to make you feel better even when you’re in the worst mood, and gives the best hugs known to man. My favorite color isn’t just because of the ocean, but his eyes...I think that’s what made me start loving blue in the first place.”

Your eyes widened and you immediately shut your mouth, realizing you’d gone off on a mini tangent. Steve didn’t look all that surprised, but rather amused.

“You’re in love with me?” A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Don’t let it get to your head, Rogers,” you muttered.

“If you’re in love with me, then that’s good because I’m in love with you too.”

Now it was time to be taken aback a second time. “W-what?”

“You heard me right.”

“I think the medication I gave you is making you a bit too loopy.”

“I’m being honest. This is the real me talking here, Y/N.”

A red light going off in the corner of the ceiling made you both look up and groan.

“Well done for finally fessing up, kiddies?" Tony’s smug voice came over the intercom. “When’s the wedding?”

You flipped off the camera before standing up and walking away. Steve just shook his head and chuckled.

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trickkombowerskru · 4 years

Text

Off The Clock-Poly!Bowers Gang Imagine

Request: Anonymous: Aw, so excited to see that you're back- and your requests are open! I was wondering if you could do a Reader(neutral pronouns) x Polyam! Bowers gang, and maybe a hurt/comfort sort of thing? like maybe the reader has gotten back from a long day of work, where customers were really awful, etc- and they just want to stay in and cuddle with the boys? or something along those lines- whatever you decide.💖

A/N: Sorry it’s kind of short anon 💕

Warnings: Not really a warning, but gender neutral reader

You clocked out of work and let out an exasperated sigh getting into the car. The diner was absolutely packed today, and while that usually meant more tips it also meant you had to deal with so many rude soccer moms, annoying kids, and even some creepy old men.

You drove home thoughts of the worst of them replaying in your head. You wanted nothing more than to take a nice hot bath and cuddles from your boys. You smile thinking about both as you pull up to your place.

The five of you had gotten a nice little apartment with cash you had all save up -most of it being form Vic and Patrick- it was nice being out of Derry, especially because you were with all four of them.

High school relationships were always tested after graduation, but it seemed like you and your boys were more than on the right road. I mean as right as it could be for the five of you anyways.

You open the door throwing your keys on the counter, smiling when you see Reggie in his recliner, Vic snuggled into his left side and Henry snuggled into his right. While Patrick was god knows where.

You always loved seeing their softer sides, and especially now that Henry didn’t have to worry about Butch, damn could he be a cuddle machine sometimes. It was so adorable, you never would’ve expected to see his softer side more, but it made sense.

Reggie turns his head to see as you unbutton the first few buttons of your uniform, running your hand through your hair.

“Hey Baby, rough day?,” he asks,a soft look in his grey eyes.

“You could say that,” you reply.

“You wanna talk about it?,” Vic asks.

“Too much to talk about,” you tell him.

“Do we gotta kick some ass?” Henry questions.

“If you kicked all these asses I’d get fire, but I appreciate it,”

“Although I wouldn’t mind you coming in, and at least scaring this one creep, Randy,” you shudder saying his name.

“Why what’s Randy do?”, Patrick wonders, coming out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel.

“Just makes really creepy comments to me, and tries to grab my ass,” you explain.

“Randy...you got it Babe, we’‘ll be sure to make him think twice” Henry sneers when saying his name.

“Anyway enough talking about that sleaze, everything was a mess today, and I just wanna take a bath, and then get some cuddles honestly, after today it’s all I need.”

“Oh well...you want cuddles in the bath?”, Patrick smirks, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You turn and smack his chest.

“Thanks, but no thanks Casanova,” you turn down.

“Well when you get out you got it,” Vic smiles.

You give each of your boys a kiss before heading, in the bathroom.

You strip away your works clothes, found your favorite bubble bath, and just let the warm water calm and relax you after all the shit. It feels like forever has passed when you finally step out. You go into your room, yours was the lone one, where as Pat and Henry, and Vic and Reggie shared the others.

Once you change into comfier clothes, your boys are right there by the door, and ready. You lay on your bed, getting into a good position to fit the five of you, Reggie being the closet to you since he was the best cuddler after all.

You ask your boys about their days, and just listen as they hold you close, a perfect way to unwind, eventually you end up falling asleep in in their arms.

After the day you’ve had your boys let you rest, smiling at how peaceful you look. They know you deserve this, and generally each end up drifting off themselves one by one. This feeling of absolute bliss coming over all of you.

#it 2017 #henry bowers #henry bowers imagine #henry bowers x reader #nicholas hamilton #patrick hockstetter #patrick hockstetter imagine #patrick hockstetter x reader #owen teague #victor criss #victor criss imagine #victor criss x reader #logan thompson #belch huggins #belch huggins imagine #belch huggins x reader #jake sim

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kettlequills · 3 years

Text

the burning fire within

Henon's shirt rips while he is cutting wood. He takes it to Tinoryn to be mended.

My entry for TES Fest 21, prompts family and apotheosis. CW: referenced character death, fantastic racism - it’s set in Windhelm, you know the drill. I also wrote this in about an hour at 2am last night so, uh, enjoy. On A03 here.

Henon Virith was angry. Nothing new, that. He hefted the axe over his shoulder and brought it down with a satisfying crack. Two neat halves of firewood fell away to collapse perfectly onto the growing stack either side of the chopping stump. He swung the axe again. Crack. Again. Crack.

He could do this with his eyes closed. Sometimes he did, imagining sneering Windhelm guards under the axe’s blade. Imagined he’d found the insincere bastard that had come swaggering into the Grey Quarter one day, to inform Henon his mother had been ‘found dead’.

“Hunting accident, looks like, no sign of her partner,” the guard had said. Had the temerity to look at Henon softly. Henon remembered the words like they’d been burned into his soul.

“My-” Crack. “-condolences-” Crack. “-lad.” Crack.

Three more logs joined their split fellows. He rolled his neck until it cracked and kicked the piles in just the right spot to have them topple down neatly so it looked like he stacked them. Another log went on the stump.

Henon had anger enough to fuel him for years.

His next chop was powerful enough that his axe stuck into the chopping stump. Helon grunted. Placing one foot on the stump, he grabbed the axe handle and yanked. The burning muscles in his shoulders bunched under his shirt. He tugged, once, twice, then heaved as hard as he could. With a crunching rip, his shirt tore across the shoulders. The axe came loose.

Henon bit down on his knuckled fist and the molten fury that ignited the sleeping fire in his body. Deliberately, he lowered the axe onto the stump. Then he closed his eyes, exhaled slowly through his gritted teeth, tried to remember the breathing exercises the Priestess had taught him last winter to control his anger. Henon inhaled, exhaled.

Once. Twice. Three times.

In his mind’s eye, he pictured the searing rage inside of himself as a bonfire. It would be wild, messy, sparks ripping off the crackling wood like arrows. Heat would roll from it like a wall, and the flames inside would laugh and leap like crackling tongues.

“That sounds like a good fire, Henon,” the priestess’ encouraging voice was gentle in his memory. “It’ll keep lots of people warm. But an unchecked fire will set beds alight at night. How much fire do you think we need right now?”

“Not much,” Henon muttered aloud.

Henon imagined, carefully, lovingly, pressing soft cold soil over the edges of the fire, tightening its circle. He kept going, shovelling handfuls round the edges, shaping the fire he saw until it was bright and strong, but no bigger than a hearth-fire, banked and safe for the night.

One final time, Henon exhaled, then opened his eyes. Calm settled like a blanket onto his stiff shoulders. Without the punishing ache of the anger he’d used to fuel himself, Henon suddenly became aware of just how sore he was, how sweaty, how his arms trembled with fatigue.

He glanced at the sky. The sun was halfway down the sky, hovering almost directly over the Palace of Kings. No wonder. He’d been chopping wood for hours.

Henon cast an eye over the piles of wood. His mind ran quickly over the calculations as he vaulted the ice-slick rail onto the steps of Candlehearth Hall. The sums came easy to him; he didn’t need to look twice.

No Susanna to watch him today, calling laughingly for him to take off his shirt; he’d have to go in and ask for his earnings directly. A shame. Henon liked Susanna. Liked kissing her even more, when she leant down over the railing rosy-cheeked. She was soft, everywhere soft, like bitter anger had never found her. She made quiet animal noises, warm breathy sighs, when he touched her, her breasts, her hips, between them. It was fun, and casual, and she was always happy to see him.

It didn’t take Henon long to collect his wages and stack the fruits of his efforts by the fireplace. Even sour old Nils was grudgingly silent at the amount, though the door closed on a snappish comment when he saw the rip in Henon’s shirt baring his shoulders.

Henon jogged down to the Grey Quarter, letting the surge of annoyance work itself out through the drum of his feet on stone. He’d get his sparking shirt fixed. Nils didn’t need -

Exhaling raggedly, Henon focused on the hearth fire, the little curl of smoke that would lick out the chimney. By the time he had made it to Avalathil Tailoring, he was clearer-headed.

The tailor’s was poky and small, and the old sign’s paint was curling. Below it, a brazier sat, thickly fed with coals and fire-runes. Henon paused by the brazier, looking down at the soft red glow of the runes, and felt a little surge of warmth that had nothing to do with the brazier.

Tinoryn. He always left a little flick, right at the end, like a signature.

Henon went inside.

“Welcome to Avalathil - oh, hi, Henon.” Tinoryn was bright and cheerful as ever. He bounced up from his stool behind the counter with a wide, infectious grin. “How are you? I thought you were working today. Did you finish early? I’ve heard the ships are coming in, they might want more help unloading if you want extra work. We’ve had two sailors already come in with mendings, and one of them mentioned getting a whole new outfit commissioned, if you can believe that!

Apparently they went to Solstheim, you know, that island off the coast, you can see it from the Point when it’s clear out? Anyway, well he liked the look of the clothes they wear, and he wanted something similar that wouldn’t ‘have him freeze to death faster than a skinned horker’.”

Something in him settled at Tinoryn’s chatter. He was always the same, always happy, always with a story to share. Henon found himself smirking as Tinoryn imitated the sailor’s dour tones.

“I’d want to see that,” he said.

Tinoryn’s nose wrinkled. “Eurgh! A skinned horker? That’s gross, Henon. It would be all wet and red in there, like muscles! It would bleed everywhere! Though I suppose they do have to skin them to get the furs off. But definitely not while they’re alive! That would be horrible. We add clothes, not take them away here. Speaking of,” Tinoryn’s smile, somehow, became even brighter, until Henon swore he could see each and every one of his teeth, “Can I do anything for you? Ruvene’s not here, so you just have me.”

“That’s just what I want,” Henon said, and shrugged off his shirt. He had to wrestle with the buttons for a moment, and when he looked up, the highs of Tinoryn’s cheekbones had flooded with pink and his soft lips were parted. He didn’t react when Henon thrust the ripped shirt towards him, his gaze trapped somewhere at Henon’s chest. “Tinoryn?”

Self-consciously, Henon rubbed at his chest. He couldn’t see anything there, apart from maybe a bit of sweat in his chest hair. Tinoryn was much more fastidious than Henon, but it was just sweat. Tinoryn’s attention made him feel odd, prickly-warm, like he wanted to square his shoulders and straighten his back. He’d been shirtless around him plenty before.

Tinoryn blinked, then his eyes refocused on Henon’s face and he was back to beaming. “Yes! Of course, I’ll take that. Just another fix? Hmm, yes, you’ve torn it, right across the shoulders. Nasty! But it won’t take that long and it’s been dead in here today, all of our orders are all done that I can do without Ruvene’s permission, and you know I’ve read everything I brought. I have been so bored I started talking to the mannequin. I’m calling it Dolly. Because it’s a doll? Or a mannequin, I suppose. A doll for clothes. I can do it for you right now! We’ll have to add in a panel here for you if you keep broadening up though.”

“Not now,” Henon interrupted uneasily, “Just - can you fix it? Like it was?”

Tinoryn’s eyes softened. “Yes, just like it was. I know how important this is. It suits you, by the way. It’s the last one, isn’t it? From your father, Azura keep him.”

“Thanks. And yeah.” It sounded a bit strangled, but Henon couldn’t bring himself to care.

It was stupid, probably, but he trusted Tinoryn not to mess it up. Ruvene would have just added the panel to the back, grumbling at Henon for sentimentality. But of the shirts that Henon had inherited from his father, the others were gone, all torn, ripped, mended to oblivion by Tinoryn, or lost over the years. When he wore it, he thought of their shapes, how they were probably the same in the arm, but that his father’s wrists had maybe been thicker, because it was stretched there. Henon didn’t remember much of his father. Henon had not been that old when he’d been found dead on the docks, sitting on one of the crates he was meant to be unloading, frozen to death with a peaceful smile.

“Uh, how much?”

He fumbled awkwardly for his belt pouch, but Tinoryn was already waving him away with a sunny smile.

“Ruvene’s not here,” he said conspiratorially, “No one will know, let me just fetch my needle and thread. Besides, no need to charge for such a simple fix.” He hopped up and rummaged around under the counter, fishing out a small wooden box with a triumphant, “Ha! There you are. I swear it hides… You know I can teach you to do this, if you want.”

Slipping a silver thimble onto his thumb, Tinoryn pulled Henon’s sweaty shirt into his lap. He eyed the rip critically, holding the needle between his lips as he threaded it. Henon watched, impressed by his dexterity.

“I don’t need to know,” said Henon dismissively. “You’ll do it.”

Tinoryn smiled down at Henon’s shirt. “That’s true.”

Henon rounded the counter and dragged Ruvene’s unused stool over with a clattering scrape of groaning wood. He slumped onto it and rested his tired arms on the countertop with a groan. Their knees pushed together under the counter for space, Tinoryn’s bony leg warm against his even through layers of clothes.

“You don’t have to stay, it’ll take me a moment,” Tinoryn added, glancing at him from under his eyelashes as he stitched. They were thick and dark, curly like his hair.

“I’ll wait,” said Henon. He didn’t have many other shirts, and besides, whenever Tinoryn’s bright eyes strayed to Henon’s bare torso, the tips of his ears flushed cherry-red. It made Henon feel powerful in a way he couldn’t describe, like how he felt when Susanna clung to him brokenly when he touched her. Like Henon was the only ship in a storm he had created.

“Alright then,” said Tinoryn, and then he quieted, concentrating on his work.

Henon fiddled with a coin as he waited, a septim from this morning’s earnings. It flew, golden gleaming, around his slate-grey knuckles, spinning over the countertop like he held it on an invisible string. Idly, he played a counting game with himself, one taught over long hours of solitary boredom. One, two, three spins to the right, seven, eight, nine, to the left, one flick up, twelve. Then back around again, adding each number of spins, until he tired of it. Numbers were easy, but soothing, too. They were predictable.

He was beginning to feel tired, sleepy, even. His fatigue was catching up to him. The pressure of Tinoryn’s leg against his was comfortable, the sound of his breathing familiar. The shop was warm and quiet, a little dusty in places, with thick bolts of fabric hanging down from the walls. The mullioned windows were frosted white, dim shapes passing by and setting distant shadows to chase each other across the rolling hillocks of prepared cloth. Dolly the mannequin waited patiently in one corner, crowned by a glorious confection of gull-feathers and snowberries wrapped in stained jade silk, someone’s earnest attempt, Henon thought, at making spring into a hat.

Henon flipped the coin into the air and caught it, a shining disc like the sun held between his thumb and forefinger.

“Wow,” said Tinoryn from beside him. “How did you do that? That’s amazing! You just caught it, so fast!”

Henon glanced over, and Tinoryn’s expression was unreserved and inquisitive, brilliant with pleasure at the trick. “It’s not hard,” he said, uncertain how to name the feeling that Tinoryn’s eagerness aroused in him. “You just, look, like this,” he demonstrated.

“Can I try?” Tinoryn asked, eyes round, and Henon handed the coin over.

Tinoryn made a valiant attempt at throwing the coin, but it hit his hand as it fell, rebounding sharply off his knuckle and disappearing into the darkness below the counter. “Ouch!” exclaimed Tinoryn, “Oh, that is much harder than it looks. You made it seem so easy! Do you want me to find your coin - oh-”

Henon had already slid off the stool into a crouch, scanning the darkness for a glint of gold. He grunted, it was dark, and dusty under the counter, cluttered with boxes and cloth scraps. He spotted one or two needles, but no coin.

“Here, let me help,” Tinoryn said above him, and Henon looked up at the gentle snap of fire crackling into existence.

What he saw then arrested him completely.

It was Tinoryn, just Tinoryn, but… Tinoryn was leaning forward on the stool, his boot planted on the floor to stop him from falling. Henon reached to touch his calf, felt the muscles engaged in supporting his weight through his trousers, and had no words for the nameless surge of feeling that pooled in his gut.

In one hand, Tinoryn held Henon’s shirt, the other, a crackling fire spell, humming with magic and energy. He was smiling, as always, bright and soft, and the flickering firelight shimmered off his dark, curly hair, the hint of wetness on his lip. The ties that held his shirt (soft green, like grass) were loose, leaving space for the shadows of the fire to race over his collarbones, a smooth triangle of soft grey skin of Tinoryn’s skinny chest. Henon felt his mouth flood with saliva, felt the strangest urge to lave his tongue along the arches of Tinoryn’s collarbones, scrape his teeth over the skin until it reddened like the tips of his ears.

Tinoryn’s eyes had always been bright, ever since they were children. It was one marker of being a strong mage, that slight lambent glow, like the magic couldn’t quite be contained within him. But now, they looked like the heart of a fire, or maybe lava, brilliant, burning, changing everything in its path. Like a beginning, like being reforged anew, into something divine, Henon felt blood rise warm on his cheeks, knew Tinoryn could see how it flushed his chest ruddy. He wanted -

“I think I see it,” Tinoryn said happily, breaking the spell. “Down there, see, just under that - yes, you’ve got it, there!”

Henon cleared his throat, feeling bizarrely awkward as he slipped the coin back into his pouch. It was just Tinoryn. He straightened up, stretching his back until his spine popped.

“Thanks,” he said, “for the light.”

“Thank you for the practice!” Tinoryn’s face lit up again. “I finished your shirt, by the way! All done, good as new.”

Henon traced his fingertip over the mend. He could barely see it. Tinoryn had done a great job.

“Thanks,” he said again, and reached out to clasp the back of Tinoryn’s neck, his thumb pressing into his curls. They were soft. Tinoryn’s neck was warm and solid under his palm. “It looks good,” Henon added, not wanting to be churlish, but as he stared down at Tinoryn he was not quite sure if he could even remember what the shirt looked like.

“Oh,” said Tinoryn, and his hands clenched oddly in his lap like he was holding them down, and his face flamed red. His ears were pricked forward though, clearly pleased. “It’s my - pleasure, Henon, really.”

“Say,” said Henon, “you want to get out of here? I reckon we could go and nail some helmets with rocks down in the training yard round this sort of time.”

Clearly tempted, Tinoryn bit his lip. Henon watched his teeth press down on the soft flesh and catch on tiny ragged edges of skin, saw how it made his lips flush pinker, saw the wet dart of his tongue. He tightened his grasp on Tinoryn’s neck, thumb smoothing down his hairline, feeling the tiny feathery hairs there tickle his skin.

“I can’t,” said Tinoryn, sounding truly disappointed. “I have to watch the shop for Ruvene.”

“Alright,” shrugged Henon. He grabbed the edge of the counter and heaved himself up to sit on it, grinning at Tinoryn’s delighted surprise. Now he was here, Henon found that he didn’t particularly want to leave. After all, the tiny tailor’s shop did have something in it that held his interest. “Guess I’ll teach you that coin trick while we wait.”

Tinoryn’s radiant smile in answer was more than enough.

#tinoryn othravel #henon virith #skyrim #tesfest21 #inkwrites #tinoryn/henon #dawn #apotheosis #my fic the burning fire within

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goulets · 3 years

Text

Heartland

Chapter: 2/8 Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson Additional Characters: Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Barbara Gordon, Alfred Pennyworth Rating: T (for now) Case Fic/Kid Fic a03 link

The first suggestion is that Jason move back into his old room, just down the hall from Bruce's which is met with an unequivocal not on your fucking life, Bruce.

“Let's get one thing clear: I am not 'moving back in',” Jason hisses, glaring around at all of them. He's whispering so as not to wake the baby, and it doesn't come off quite as intimidating as he'd like. “I just need a bed to sleep in, that's it. Don't do me any fucking favors.”

Dick says, “There's an empty bedroom next to mine, it's not that big, and the bathroom is shared, but – ”

“Sold,” Jason says, and again, the infant sleeping in his arms makes a good old-fashioned broody storm-off kind of impractical.

(jason)

The first suggestion is that Jason move back into his old room, just down the hall from Bruce's which is met with an unequivocal not on your fucking life, Bruce.

“Let's get one thing clear: I am not 'moving back in',” Jason hisses, glaring around at all of them. He's whispering so as not to wake Danielle, and it doesn't come off quite as intimidating as he'd like. “I just need a bed to sleep in, that's it. Don't do me any fucking favors.”

Dick says, “There's an empty bedroom next to mine, it's not that big, and the bathroom is shared, but – ”

“Sold,” Jason says, and again, the infant sleeping in his arms makes a good old-fashioned broody storm-off kind of impractical.

“Okay,” Dick nods. “I'll, um, just show you then.” Bruce looks impassive, and Tim looks like he doesn't quite know what to do with himself, as Dick walks past Jason and Jason follows him up the steps to the main part of the mansion.

Jason doesn't like following behind Dick. It's partly the principle of the thing, because he literally had to die and rise from the grave to get out of Dick's shadow, and even then, it's a matter of distance, and little more. He's far enough off the path of righteousness that the light that shines like a beacon onto Dick doesn't even touch him. So it feels like old news, a habit he grew out of long ago, walking behind Dick, tracing his footfalls, but it's so familiar he half expects to see those stupid fucking pixie boots on his feet when he looks down.

Then there's the other familiar part, the part he’s been struggling not to acknowledge, the awareness that’s been growing in the back of his mind since he set up camp in Gotham. Simply put, Dick is hot. His ass in spandex was the source of way too many semis popped Jason's stupid, flimsy little Robin shorts, and his ass in faded pajama pants is nothing short of miraculous either. But it's not just his body, although Jason wishes it was, not just the shape of his ass and the curve of his spine and the span of his shoulders – Dick is beautiful. He's elegant when he moves, when he laughs, when he's angry, when he's worried, when he's a fucking mess. It's impossible not to look at him, the attention he commands is probably partly due to the fact that he was raised a performer, and partly because that's just Dick.

Jason knows he's one in a long, heavily annotated list of people to fantasize about Dick Grayson. It used to keep him up at night when he was a kid, and not just in that way. There hadn't been a lot of tolerance in the streets for homosexuality – sure, it existed, Jason'd even been on the receiving end once or twice in the unlucky parts of his youth – but you didn't talk about it. So he'd suppressed it, save for those late night visits from his hand in the dark, and then he'd died. Been sprung from the grave, grew up a little, and came back to find that, surprise surprise, the world had grown up a little bit too, and not entirely for the worse. And since then, he's had encounters with men, women, couple aliens, and all that is whatever. This thing with Dick doesn't bother him on account of Dick, well, having a dick. Not anymore.

No, it bothers him because it's Dick fucking Grayson. Golden Boy, Boy Wonder, or as Jason likes to refer to him, Stupid Fucking Bastard With Stupid Fucking Sticks Who Just Won't Fucking Quit. Out of all of them, Dick's the most unchanged. Bruce is hardened, less trusting; Tim is broken; Jason is – whatever the fuck he is, beyond all hope, maybe; but Dick's never lost the spring in his step. Jason thinks he'll probably backflip right into death with a smile on his face, and he won't come back, because Dick is too damn good to be reanimated like some freakish perversion of nature. Jason calls Tim “Replacement” because it's true, Jason was replaceable, but Dick never was. Not that Jason had ever wanted to be his replacement – he hardly knows what he wanted to be to Dick then, even less what he wants to be to Dick now, but it sure as hell isn't some bullshit co-parenting gig with the whole family breathing down his neck.

Of all the fucking days he had to drag his ass down here to gossip.

Dick says, “So, this is it,” and Jason realizes they're outside his new room. The room he's staying in. The room the baby is staying in. That's all it is.

It's not small at all, of course, and the bathroom he's sharing with Dick is also not small, with a stand-up shower and a jacuzzi sized tub, because that's necessary, two sinks, and a ridiculous amount of storage space. He doesn't look at Dick's room, just takes in the furnishings of his own, a queen bed with slate-grey sheets, closet, dresser, desk, bookshelves with a good number of books already on them, and a little windowseat that for some reason makes the back of his throat feel itchy to look at.

Danielle makes a small noise in his arms, and something occurs to him. “Um, where's she supposed to sleep?” He's not an expert, but he's pretty sure babies need cradles – actually, and a lot of other shit, like diaper cream, special baby soap, pacifiers, those sling contraptions he sees people walking around with, and probably a billion other things he has no freaking clue about.

Dick says, “Huh. Good question.”

Helpful, Jason thinks. She can't sleep with him, can she? What if he rolls on top of her? What if she rolls off the bed? What if he has a nightmare and pummels her to death in his sleep? The thought makes him want to be sick, what is he thinking, trying to be some kind of fucking caregiver –

“Jason? You okay?”

Jason blinks. It dawns on him that he's been frozen in place for several seconds now, mind overloaded with the sheer volume of information he doesn't know, endless blank pages supplemented by a thoroughly sourced index of his fears. It's not like he planned for this – ever – he's pretty sure parental ineptitude runs in the family, because his mom sure as fuck never read What to Expect When You're Expecting.

He says, “Doesn't she need some kind of special baby doctor?”

Dick nods. “Bruce'll have Leslie come by and look at her soon. According to the hospital records, she missed her three-month check-in, so.”

“Dick.” Jason tries, and fails, probably, to keep the overwhelming helplessness he's feeling out of his voice. “What the fuck, man – this is crazy. I can't – I don't – where is she supposed to sleep?”

“I can answer that,” comes Alfred's clipped tone from the doorway. Jason turns to see the older man hauling an enormous, tall box into the room.

Jason says, “The hell?” at the same time that Dick rushes forward and says, “Here, let me help you,” and that about sums it up, he thinks.

“Her sleeping quarters,” Alfred says. He and Dick lay the box down, and Jason feels his stomach churn unpleasantly at the picture on the front of a smiling, drooling blonde-haired baby standing in a white wooden crib, fat little fists wrapped around the railing.

“You work fast, Alfie,” Dick comments, hauling another box into the room. This one says Changing Table on the side, and then Alfred pushes a rocking chair in, and Jason will be damned if it isn’t a whole fucking matching baby bedroom set.

“Where the hell did you even get this?” he asks, incredulous. He’s been at the manor two hours tops, hardly enough time for even Alfred to go out shopping for an entire room’s worth of furniture.

“Same-day delivery,” Alfred says smoothly. “I find that being a frequent, loyal customer expedites the process somewhat.”

“You don’t fucking say,” Jason mutters under his breath. Dick is now bringing in box after box of diapers, six huge shopping bags full of baby crap Jason would rather do just about anything than sort through, and some disassembled swing-looking contraption that promises “15 soothing melodies and nature sounds”. The room, suddenly, doesn’t seem so big anymore.

“Hmm,” Dick frowns, looking around. He must be noticing the same thing as Jason. “Honestly, I don’t see all this fitting in here. Alfie, what do you think?”

“You have the adjoining room, do you not, Master Richard?” Alfred replies. He surveys their haul, looking satisfied. Jason feels a tiny bit like he’s going to have a nervous breakdown, which is more or less where he’s been since Danielle was placed in his arms to begin with.

He’d been deadly serious when he’d told Bruce that he’d take her and protect her, but true to half-cocked form, he hadn’t even begun to parse out what that meant. Now that he’s standing in a room that looks like a Babies R’ Us blew up in it, with a human being the size of a loaf of bread snoozing and twitching in his arms, he doesn’t know what he could have possibly been thinking. What Bruce could possibly have been thinking, letting him walk away with her.

Well. Actually, Jason thinks, that about tracks for Bruce’s idea of fatherhood. In Jason’s experience, anyways.

“We’ll put the crib here, I think,” Dick says, leaning the box against the wall opposite the bed. “Changing table can go next to it, and I guess put the rocking chair in the other corner? Bottle stuff should go in the bathroom, and, hmm…” he trails off. “Yeah, we’ll just put the swing in my room. Don’t worry about it, Alfie, I’ll take care of it. You’ve done more than enough, seriously.”

“I’ll leave it to you boys, then,” Alfred says, picking up some of the discarded shopping bags and tucking them under his arm. He gives Jason a long look, like there’s something he wants to say, but seems to think better of it. Jason doesn’t know whether or not to be disappointed.

The silence that falls once Alfred leaves is awkward, bordering on oppressive. Dick doesn’t seem to notice, just keeps opening boxes and stuffing things in drawers and putting on a show of looking like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Jason knows better - can see how haphazardly he’s putting things away, how he’s moving around just to avoid being still. It’s a relief, in a way, to know that he’s not the only one completely out of his depth.

Still, he can’t deny Dick is being about a billion times more useful than him. What else is new.

“I’m just gonna stick this in the closet,” Dick says about a box containing a carseat. “We’ll figure it out later.”

Jason frowns. His car right now is a piece of crap Volvo that certainly shouldn't be hauling around anything as fragile as a baby. Not like he can take her on the bike, either. If they have to make a quick getaway, he’s looking at one-handed free running, or getting some new wheels posthaste.

Danielle grunts and yawns, stretching her tiny hands up and clawing at the material of his jacket. He pats her back, and she settles back into the crook of his arm. It tears at him, a little, watching her burrow into the leather, mouth occasionally opening and sucking, leaving little damp spots in her wake. She’s warm as hell now, practically a furnace, and he frankly wishes he had taken the damn jacket off before she got all comfortable, but he’d rather eat his own gun than put her down. It’s shocking to realize, but he wants her to be closer, wants to hold her right against his skin, against his heartbeat. He’s never felt this way about anything before, about anyone.

He clears his throat. “You seem bizarrely familiar with all this crap,” he says to Dick. “How do you - I mean, I don’t even have a clue what that thing is,” he gestures to the piece of fabric Dick is holding. It looks like the world’s longest scarf.

“It’s a wrap,” Dick says. “It’s for holding the baby. Or ‘wearing’, I think they call it. It’s nice for keeping your hands free. Roy had one for Lian, but it had a lot more buckles than this.”

Jason blinks. Roy, of course. Roy’s told him how much Dick has helped him out when he got full custody of Lian, back when she was still a baby. No wonder Dick is able to snap into action so easily. Jason’s spent a little time around Roy’s daughter, but she’s usually with her grandparents when they get together. For the best, since most of his team-ups with Roy have ended in shootouts and/or catastrophic explosions.

Just another reason he has absolutely no fucking business being anywhere near an infant.

“Hey,” Tim says from the doorway. “Um, here’s this pillow thing.” He holds out a box labeled Infant Lounger, and Jason is officially calling bullshit, there’s absolutely no way babies need this many goddamn surfaces to simply exist upon when, as far as he can tell from his one hour of baby experience, there’s no chance you’d ever want to put one down anyways. It’s all just one big racket - except for the diapers, probably.

“Thanks, Tim,” Dick sighs, opening the box and pulling out the lounger. It’s covered in a cutesy little whale pattern. “Well, that’s adorable, isn’t it?”

Tim looks skeptical. “If you say so.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “You didn’t come up here just to deliver a whale pillow, Replacement.” Dick shoots him a reproachful look, but screw him. “What’d you find out?”

Tim, to his credit, looks relieved to have an excuse to get to the real reason he’s there. “Well, we can officially rule out anyone from Intergang as a suspect. Their whole operation is a bust now. Word is Mannheim is pulling all the survivors out and regrouping, probably off-world.” He nods to Jason. “We’ve ruled the League of Assassins out, too.”

“So, who does that leave?” Dick asks. “Locals? Who are the major players in the East End?”

“There aren’t any,” Tim says. “The whole neighborhood’s been a power vacuum since...well.”

“Since me,” Jason snorts.

“It’s all small-time gangs, nobody with the firepower or the logistic capability to pull something like this off,” Tim goes on. “Which means we’re either looking at somebody new, or there’s a major territory grab that we somehow haven’t caught wind of.”

“Who patrols the East End now, anyways?” Jason asks.

“Nobody, unless Barbara sends the Birds out there. Used to be you,” Tim says mildly.

Jason works his jaw. “Last I checked, your boss is the one who wanted me out of there.”

“Last I checked, you didn’t take orders from him,” Tim replies, voice cool and even. Jason suddenly understands what an infant lounger is for - it’s a safe resting spot to hold your baby when you need both hands to throttle your aggravating family members.

“Oh, knock it off, both of you,” Dick says irritably. “Tim, are you running down leads for this?”

“I guess so,” Tim shrugs. “I was here on the Intergang expansion in the first place. Bruce and I are going to check out the bodies later this evening, get ballistics reports and see what else we can find. The paperwork is coming in pretty slow on the law enforcement side of things.”

Jason twists his mouth in disgust. “GCPD, dragging their heels? Shocking.”

“Pretty much,” Tim affirms. “They’re just happy the Intergang faction’s dealt with. I don’t think they want to look into it too closely.”

Even with a baby on the hit list, Jason thinks bitterly. It’s enough to make a person want to pick up and move altogether.

Danielle moves suddenly in his arms, stretching her tiny body and kicking one leg out against his ribs. She whines, twisting her head away, and when she turns back to look at him, her brown eyes are wide and watery.

“Shit,” he murmurs. “Dick, help. She doesn’t look happy to see me.”

Dick appears at his shoulder. Danielle whines again, flailing her limbs against Jason’s chest.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Dick coos, right in Jason’s ear. Oh, sweet Jesus, Jason did not think this one through at all. He feels his face flush, and has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at Dick to back the fuck up.

“Look at you,” Dick goes on, oblivious. “You’re awake now, huh? You need some attention, sweetie?” His breath is warm against Jason’s neck. Jason is going to crawl out of his skin.

Danielle’s eyes flicker towards the sound of Dick’s voice. She grunts, then turns abruptly and mouths at Jason’s armpit. Jason feels like his heart is gonna jump out of his goddamn throat. It’s been - God, he doesn’t even know, months? The better part of a year? - since he was this close to another person without his helmet on. His brain is screaming at him, escape, fight, neutralize, but even louder, there’s a piece of him overriding everything, a fist deep in his chest clenched around something he thought he’d left back in the Pit.

Danielle whines louder, kicking, and the fist clenches tighter.

“I don’t - ” he starts to say. His voice comes out breathy and ragged, he stops. Swallows. Get a grip, for fuck’s sake. “Maybe you should take her, I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing.”

“Just rock her,” Dick suggests. His arm comes around to Jason’s elbow, and now Jason can’t help it, he jerks away violently. The little body in his arms goes stock still for a moment, hiccups, and then the sound of wailing fills the room.

Jason swears. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, like that means a damn thing to a baby. “Shit, I’m really sorry, Danielle.” He holds her upright against his shoulder, rubbing her back like he’s seen Roy do with Lian when she’s upset. “I’m an asshole, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She hiccups again, and makes a displeased noise that sounds vaguely chastising. Fair enough, he deserves it. Anything is better than crying.

Dick is looking at him, overbright, and Jason averts his eyes. Briefly, he makes eye contact with Tim, who looks incredibly uncomfortable. Good.

“I think we’ll leave the morgue investigation to you guys,” Dick says to Tim. He seems to have realized he overstepped. “There’s a lot to do here, and I still have my regular patrol. I’m guessing you’re going to the docks this evening,” he addresses Jason.

“I want to, but.” Jason rocks Danielle pointedly. “Kinda got my hands full here.”

“You don’t think we can leave her for a few hours?”

“What the fuck, no,” Jason says, incredulous. “Even if she wasn’t being targeted by some psycho, you can’t just leave a baby, what’s wrong with you.”

“Even I knew that,” Tim says, obnoxiously.

“She wouldn’t be alone, jeez,” Dick protests. “Alfred is here.”

“I’m protecting her,” Jason reminds him darkly. “Alfred has enough shit on his plate.”

“Okay,” Dick says, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “She’s pretty attached to you anyways, so you’re right, it’s probably best if we do that.”

Jason isn’t sure whether or not he’s being patronized, but flips Dick the bird just to be safe. Dick pretends not to notice.

“Drake, your input is being requested in the Cave,” Damian announces from the doorway. Christ, it’s a whole fucking family reunion, and he can’t escape. “Personally, I hadn’t even noticed your absence.”

Tim’s expression goes from vaguely aggrieved to fully constipated, which soothes some of Jason’s irritation. Bruce’s demon spawn is a complete and utter terror, but he’s so like his mother that Jason can’t help liking him. He’s not stupid enough to look down on him in a fight - he heard secondhand what Robin did to Victor Zsasz - but his heart’s just not in it when he spars with Damian. So sue him, he’s got a soft spot for kids, no matter how lethal they are.

“Keep me updated,” Jason says to Tim.

Tim nods, one hand on the doorframe as he exits. “Will do. Sure you don’t want to come along? Autopsy is daytime work.”

Jason grimaces. “Been there, done that. You guys can poke at dead people, I prefer to get my answers from ones that are breathing.”

Damian scoffs audibly. “Breathing until you finish with them, you mean?”

Jason ignores him. He turns his attention back to Danielle, who is starting to mouth at the collar of his jacket more aggressively. Shit, he probably shouldn’t let her do that. This jacket isn’t too old, at least, but he’s smoked his way through a dozen packs of cigarettes in it already, not to mention all the bad guy spatter it’s probably absorbed. Surface cleaners can only do so much.

“Perhaps you’d like to offer her this,” Damian says imperiously, holding out a bottle. “You know, children her age require feeding every three to four hours.”

“...Thanks,” Jason says, suspicious. He doesn’t think Damian would attack him when he’s holding a baby, but he looks like he’s considering it. Warily, he takes the bottle. It’s warm. “Did you make it?”

“It’s infant formula,” Damian replies bitingly. “It requires no scientific mastery.”

Alfred made it, then. Jason exchanges a look with Dick, who quirks an eyebrow almost imperceptibly.

“You don’t need to stay, Damian,” Dick says. “I’m just gonna be putting together furniture. You probably have homework to do, right?”

Damian looks affronted. “My studies aren’t so taxing, Grayson. What furniture?”

“Baby furniture, for Danielle. Nothing you need to worry about.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “You’re dismissing me because you want me to argue, so that I’ll stay and help you.”

Dick is the picture of innocence. “I really don’t need help. I assembled all the furniture in my apartment, I know what I’m doing.”

“I also know what you’re doing.” Damian walks to the box holding the crib pieces, hands on his hips. “A simpleton could do this.”

“They make it pretty user friendly.”

“I’ll get my tools.”

Dick looks quite pleased with himself as Damian rushes off. Jason can’t help but laugh.

“Nice,” he says, shaking his head at Dick’s impish grin. “Hold her for a second, I’m gonna take my jacket off.”

Danielle whines more insistently when he passes her to Dick, and doesn’t stop when he takes her back. He cradles her upright in one arm, bouncing her a little to keep her distracted, and touches the nipple of the bottle to her mouth. She latches on eagerly, and he tries and fails not to smile at her enthusiasm, the delighted kicking of her legs as she eats, her eyes trained on his face like laser beams. He feels - full, almost, like a balloon in his chest is slowly filling up, a window he’d nailed and soldered shut is being pried open again.

There are holes in Jason’s memory, things the Pit couldn’t restore, fragments of his life that were beaten out of him, or left in the ground, or atrophied and rotted away during his lost year after waking up. When he first came back to Gotham, he’d filled all those empty spaces with rage and spite, but he’d burned through it all in a few months and found there wasn’t enough left over to keep filling them, to stop him from noticing the edges of remembering in his mind, the sensation of familiarity that would abruptly fade into nothing. He’s learned to navigate around them, but there’s never been a moment that he hasn’t known they are there. They’re a constant reminder that he died Jason Todd and came back Almost Jason Todd, the same person but without all the pieces.

The feeling he has, feeding Danielle - the warm smell of her, the force of her gaze, so human and yet so alien, the clutch-and-pull of her small hands against the fabric of his shirt and the scarred skin of his hand - it’s like she’s reached right into the center of him and dragged forth the memory of being whole. He isn’t, he won’t ever be, but he can remember it, and it absolutely takes his breath away.

“You good?” Dick asks, softly.

Jason swallows. “Uh-huh,” he manages. It’s a damn good question. Jason isn’t frequently good, he’s often satisfied, often pissed off, often (less often, now) steeped so deep in madness he’s out of his mind. This is something else, he thinks. Something close to shattered, but it’s also close to good, because even though he’s in a thousand goddam pieces, the pieces, for once, are all there.

“Wow, Jay,” Dick murmurs. “You’ve really got a way with her, you know.”

Jason waits to answer until he’s sure his voice won’t betray how shaken apart he is. “She just doesn’t know any better yet,” he says. “Probably at this stage, it’s all the same to them.”

“She didn’t eat this well for me,” Dick says, and Jason can’t tear his eyes away from Danielle to look, but he can hear Dick smiling. “Face it, Jaybird, she chose you.”

“Shut up,” Jason replies, but it’s so subdued it’s practically a whisper. He can’t even deny it - she did choose him, and even if he can’t fathom why, even if it terrifies him, he can feel it all the way down to his bones. He’ll do anything for this little girl. Shit, she’s already got him shacking up in the last place he’d ever want to be. She’s got him thinking about sensible family cars, for Christ’s sake. He hasn’t even known her a full day, but she chose him, and he knows he’d die for her as instinctively as breathing.

“This had better not take long,” Damian says, reentering the room with his toolbox in hand. “I have training to finish.”

Dick laughs, but it’s a little off, somehow. Jason still doesn’t look - if he had to guess, he would say that Damian managed to surprise Dick, but that doesn’t seem very likely.

“Sure thing, Dami. The changing table is probably the easiest, if you have things to do.” Whatever Jason thought he heard, it’s not there anymore. Dick’s voice is back to being smooth and casual, pointedly so, which probably means Damian’s about to -

“In other words, you want me to assemble the crib,” Damian says flatly.

“Pretty sure I said changing table,” Dick repeats, exasperated.

“Enough with your mind games Grayson. They aren’t subtle, you’re embarrassing yourself. I’ll assemble the crib, since you seem to think it’s too challenging for you.”

“If that’s what you want,” Dick says evenly. Jason finally catches his eye, and he winks. “I’ll start working on the changing table - the way she’s eating, we’re gonna need it soon.”

Anxiety flits across Damian’s face, and he scowls hard at Jason a split second later. Jason shrugs one shoulder at him peaceably. He’d be lying if he said he had no reservations about changing diapers either, but hell, he signed up for this, didn’t he? People even more dysfunctional than him must have figured it out over the years. And considering his extracurricular activities, he can hardly be getting squeamish over a little baby poop.

Danielle, having paused her eating to look around, makes a short fussing sound and then latches onto the bottle again. Jason adjusts his hold and brings her up a little higher. She curls into him automatically, the fingers of her little hand splaying against his shirt, right over the intersection of scar tissue fanning across his chest. He’s never let anyone touch him there before. It doesn’t feel….bad. At all.

It feels like waking up after a long, disorienting dream. Like climbing down a mountain and taking the first breath of oxygen-rich air.

It feels like being home.

***

(tim)

“Here’s what we know,” Bruce says, pulling up the footage from Oracle. “One month ago, Cy Reynolds and a couple dozen henchmen took over the Eastern port for Intergang. They demo’d the warehouses the Dragons were operating out of, and the old Falcone hotel. They brought in tech, weapons, and what appears to be equipment from Apokolips to construct a boom tube.”

“Just what we need,” Tim mutters.

“Two days ago, Cy Reynolds, his wife, and their adult son all turned up dead. Each was shot twice in the head, execution style. Oracle, any update on ballistics?”

“Negative,” Barbara’s voice comes through the computer speakers. “Forensics are taking their sweet time.”

“We have sixteen other bodies, identified as Reynolds’ second tier of command within Intergang and their respective families.” Bruce pauses. “This includes three children. A fourth was targeted, identified as the child of Mitchell Howard and Linda Torres, but she somehow survived.”

“And made it all the way to St. Aden’s in Coventry,” Tim finishes. “Records say Torres lived on the edge of Little Italy.”

“Has your group seen any signs of new groups operating on the East End?” Bruce asks. “There’s a short list of suspects who could have pulled this off in two days.”

“If there are, they’re way underground,” Barbara says. “You can rule out the Golden Dragons, most of the ones left in that area joined up with Intergang. They’re focused on turf wars in Chinatown, they wouldn’t bother defending the Eastern port.”

“That fits with our intel,” Tim says, trying not to sound annoyed. This started as his op, and he’d ruled out the Dragons from the very beginning. Bruce’d had barely a passing interest until Jason got involved, and now Tim has been demoted to pinch-hitter on his own case. He’ll deal, but after the year he’s had, it’s a little hard not to take it personally.

“The killers’ modus operandi ranges from shooting to stabbing, which suggests human suspects,” Bruce says. “Targeting families suggests the mob.”

“The Falcones used to control the whole east side,” Tim says thoughtfully. He’s surprised it never occurred to him. He’d been so focused on new territory feuds, he hadn’t stopped to think that it might be an old territory feud. Maybe he deserves to be a pinch-hitter. “Any chance they’re making a comeback?”

There’s a flurry of typing on Barbara’s end. “Funny you should mention them. We had five bodies from the Falcone family turn up over the past six months. Some of these could be accidental, but I tagged it as suspicious after the third one.”

“So, a rival family,” Tim says, slowly. He racks his brain for a list of crime families in Gotham’s history. Who’d even bother going after the Falcones these days? They haven’t been truly active in Gotham for over two decades, but, Tim supposes, some rivalries never die. “The Maronis are locked up….maybe the Odessa Mob? Could they be making moves?”

“Nightwing would know if they were expanding past Bludhaven,” Bruce says. Fair enough. Wouldn’t make sense for the Russians to stage a hostile takeover when they’re barely holding ground across the harbor, anyways. “Who are the victims from the Falcones?”

“That’s the weird part. They were all straight, as far as I can tell. One shoe store manager, two housewives, a scuba instructor, a graduate student, and an entrepreneur. Barely a drug charge between them.”

“Could they be unrelated?” Tim asks, glancing through the reports..

“No,” Bruce says decisively. “It’s too much of a coincidence. These murders are all connected.”

“I agree,” Barbara says. “Based on proximity alone, but combined with the destruction of the old hotel, it’s all adding up to something.”

Tim doesn’t argue. They’re right - if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that coincidences are never just that in Gotham. The connection is there, they just need to find it.

“That hotel was Carmine Falcone’s crown jewel, back when he was in power,” Bruce says. “If the Falcone family is behind this, they could have been retaliating.”

“That’s a hell of a lot of bodies to drop just in retaliation,” Tim says doubtfully. “And to what end? If it is them, it has to be more than that.”

Barbara puts new footage on their screen. “Here’s what I pulled from last night’s traffic cams. Looks like the person who killed the baby’s parents is the same one who dropped her at the orphanage.”

Tim studies the grainy figure on the screen. They’re wearing a hood and limping slightly, but from the approximate size and shape, they appear to be -

“A female assailant,” Bruce says. “Not a pro. This person couldn’t have taken down a man like Reynolds.”

Tim stretches his arms over his head. “So, multiple killers.”

“Fits the mob angle. Give me an hour or two, and I’ll have an ID,” Barbara says. “Oracle out.”

Tim watches Bruce pull stills from the footage and run them against his video backlogs. On a separate screen, he watches Colin draw baby Danielle out of the Safe Surrender box, look around at the camera, and then hurry out of view.

“Red Robin, what exactly is going on over there?” Barbara asks quietly over the comm in his ear. She must have opened a private channel, because Bruce doesn’t show any indication he’s hearing her too.

“I’m gonna hit the training mat,” he says to Bruce. He gets no acknowledgement, which is more or less what he’s learned to expect.

“It’s been kind of a shitshow here,” he replies, once he’s out of earshot of Bruce. “What have you heard?”

“That Robin brought home a baby, and Red Hood adopted it, and now he’s moving back in to take care of it.”

“You’re pretty much caught up, then,” he says, stifling a laugh. “And Nightwing is helping, which is even weirder.”

“No shit,” she muses. “He’s helping Red Hood?”

“I guess? I was just with them, they’re kind of getting along, actually.”

“They had a decent rapport going when Nightwing took over as Big B,” Barbara says. “Robin wasn’t crazy about it. I think he wanted N all to himself.”

Tim considers this. “I always thought Robin didn’t like Hood because of his methods.”

“I’m not about to psychoanalyze Robin on a line I know he could hack if he wanted to,” Barbara says dryly. “But I’m sure that’s part of it. Hang on, B is lighting up the family line.”

Tim switches over. Bruce says, “We’re going to have to make some adjustments to patrols, while Danielle is in our care.”

“Black Bat and Batgirl are still in Florida,” Barbara says. “They should be wrapping up their case in the next day or two. I’ll put them on the South End when they get back.”

“Good,” Bruce says. “Signal should also be back in Gotham by then. Red Robin, you’ll need to put activities with the Titans on hold. I’ll have you covering the Northeast corner, including Crime Alley and the Bowery.”

“That’s my turf,” Jason snarls over the comm. “You can’t just go giving away my patrol. I gave you the East End, and look how that fucking turned out.”

“I wasn’t finished. Red Robin will cover those areas when Red Hood is otherwise occupied.”

Tim closes his eyes for a long second. Great. Now Jason will be gunning for him, again.

“Nightwing, your coverage of Bludhaven is non-negotiable. Robin will join you, temporarily, and fill in for you on the nights you need to be absent.”

“Really?” Dick sounds pleased. “Hey, Robin, did you hear that?”

“Of course I did,” Damian says. “Father, I accept this assignment.”

Unfair, Tim thinks, petulantly. He thinks Barbara’s probably right about Damian wanting Dick all to himself, but they all want Dick all to themselves. It’s complete bullshit that Jason and Damian, by far the least deserving, are the ones getting him.

“Oracle, we’ll need the Birds to fill in the gaps.”

Tim can almost hear Barbara rolling her eyes. “That’s what we’ve been doing, Batman. I’ll ask Huntress to keep her eyes on the Narrows. I’ve already got half my monitors dialed in to the East End. If anything happens there, I’ll be first to know.”

“Good,” Bruce says. “We’ll debrief again after tonight.”

There’s a long pause, and then Jason says, “Replace - Red Robin, we better talk if you’re taking my patrol tonight.”

Tim swallows. “Just so you know, I didn’t ask B to assign me.”

“No shit you didn’t. No one in their right mind would. No idea why he’s gone off the fucking deep end about this, like we haven’t dealt with way worse.” Jason sounds aggrieved. Tim can hear baby squealing noises in the background.

“Twenty bodies in one weekend isn’t nothing,” Barbara says. “This only happened because we were lax on patrol. No one was covering that area while Red Robin was gone.”

“I had informants on the ground,” Tim protests. “We were in touch.”

“It’s not your fault, Red,” Dick says immediately. “Oracle didn’t mean that. We should have been covering. It’s our bad, not yours.”

“I could have been covering,” Jason grumbles.

“Last time there were this many dead gangsters on the docks, you were covering.”

“Oh, fuck you, Boy Wonder.”

“Boys,” Oracle says, none too pleasantly. “I’m muting the family line now, so you’ll have to bicker like schoolgirls in person. Oracle out.”

Well, if he’s on the training mat anyways, he might as well get a workout in. Tim grabs his bo staff and scrolls through the training menus on his phone until he finds one that’ll thoroughly kick his ass. It’s stressful, having this many people in the manor. Tim doesn’t have a single clue how to act around a baby, much less how to act around Jason Todd with a baby.

Conner will find this hilarious, he thinks, whenever he gets back to Earth. Not the murders, obviously, but he’s always taken particular delight in Tim’s family drama. He’ll have to tell him about it next time they see each other - if they ever see each other - if Conner is even talking to him -

Tim shakes his head roughly. He’s been doing so well at not thinking about Conner, and truth be told, a hiatus from the Titans will probably do him a world of good on that front. He can’t take any more of Bart’s overcompensating, or Gar and Cassie’s whispering when they think he isn’t paying attention. At least when Bruce and Damian second-guess him, it’s not because they think he’s heartbroken, or whatever.

Because he’s not.

Probably.

The program starts, and then immediately ends when Tim takes a holographic missile to the chest. Crap. He hits the restart button, pushes everything else out of his mind. Dealing with his encyclopedia of dysfunctional relationships can wait. This, at least, he knows how to do.

***

#jaydick #haven’t posted fic on this website in many years and the text editor has really tanked i gotta say #what do you have against center alignment tumblr #where did the nice word processor go #Ugh #anyways here’s this #fell face first back into bats so i’m finishing this wip from 2013 #my fics #heartlandverse

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middleearthpixie · 3 years

Text

Someone to Watch Over Me ~ Chapter Four

In honor of Fanfiction Writers Appreciation Day, I thought I'd move up tomorrow's chapter and let it go out into the wild today. So, if you enjoy it, please let me know - comment, reblog, recommend, what have you! <3

Author's Note: Here is where the story will begin to mirror the events of The Hobbit, with some poetic license taken, of course.

Summary: Thorin and Seren arrive in the Shire, and she meets the Company, as well Bilbo Baggins.

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield/Seren (female OC, formerly of Dale)

Characters: Gandalf the Grey, the Company, Bilbo Baggins

Rating: T

Warnings: The sexual tension between Thorin and Seren ratchets up a bit now.

Word Count: 4,359

Tagging: @tschrist1 and if anyone else wishes to be added, just let me know!

Thorin stared up at the ceiling, only just barely able to make out the stains on the plaster. Water stains, most likely. He couldn’t imagine what else they might be. Didn’t want to imagine what else they might be.

To his right, Seren was sound asleep in her bed. Every now and again, she let out a snore that made him smile. At least one of them could sleep. He was far too busy mentally berating himself for his idiocy earlier.

He hadn’t meant to try to look down her tunic. It simply… happened. He didn’t know why he asked her about it, either. Up until the words crossed his lips, he had given no more than a passing thought about the fact that she was a girl pretending to a certain extent to be a boy. Her reasoning made perfect sense, after all, and he could hardly fault her.

But once she’d told him her secret, his eyes slid of their own accord to her chest. There was no indication whatsoever of any sort of curvature. Which made him wonder. Which made images pop into his mind. Images he neither wanted nor needed.

Trouble was, they were there now and that was why he couldn’t sleep.

Perhaps it would be easier if she looked more like a mountain troll. Or a goblin. But, in fact, she was actually cute. Pretty, even. Her hair was a pale, shimmering gold, like that of the elves of the Woodland Realm. She kept it back in a neat braid, which she then tucked into the neck of her tunic (stop thinking about that damn tunic!)

But her eyes were by far her most striking feature. They were wide and green, but unlike no green he’d ever seen. The outer ring of her iris was the deep green of a forest in summer, but as the color swirled nearer to her pupils, it softened to paler green, and finally yellow. They were almost mesmerizing in their tranquility. By far the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.

And that was also why he stared up into the darkness, at the questionable stains. The fire smoldered on the grate. The fire she’d ended up having to start because all he was successful in doing was crumbling the flint like a fool.

That seemed to amuse her as she took it from him, saying, “Perhaps I should do this. I have the feeling that nasty little man at the desk wouldn’t be too keen on giving me another flint, knowing I’d be using it to keep a dwarf warm.”

He’d rolled his eyes. “I’ll go down and get a new flint. He won’t dare try to put me off.”

“You don’t know that.” She’d shaken her head. “He might have steel of his own or worse. It would be better for me to deal with him, if it comes to that.”

His gut twisted with irritation over that. A girl coming to his defense. Of course, it wouldn’t be the first time she came to his defense, much as he hated to admit it. He appreciated it, but would rather not think about it, if at all possible.

Which led his mind right back to what happened earlier. He groaned softly into the darkness, rolling over to punch his pillow as he tried to will himself to sleep. It didn’t help. All he could think about now was what she kept hidden beneath that oversized tunic. And that was enough to drive him mad. His imagination ran wild, torturing him as the night wore on and the logs on the fire were slowly consumed by the flames.

He rolled onto his side, facing Seren. A mistake. She lay on her side, facing him, with only the light sheet drawn over her. In the darkness, without the shapeless clothes to hide her, the curve of her hips, the slope of her waist, were as plain as the nose on his face. And when he closed his eyes? It made things worse. Now he saw her in the rain, peering up at him as she had that first night. Rain beaded on her cheeks, caught in her eyelashes, shimmered against lips that he suddenly wanted to taste.

He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to will alway the sudden rush of desire he felt for this woman. No. She wasn’t for him. She was of Man and should stay of Man. Dwarves and Men would do well to remain far apart from one another. Nothing good could come of his desiring Seren Gilwynn, nothing at all. He would enjoy himself in the moment, no doubt, for he had the feeling she would be far different from any woman he’d known prior to meeting her, but in the end, it could never work. They were far too different and their paths would never be the same.

Now if only he could convince himself of that.

Finally, sleep crept in and his eyes slid shut. But, his dreams were every bit as frustrating as his waking thoughts; steamy and erotic and when he woke at the first light of dawn, the ache that settled into him was all too real.

He opened his eyes slowly, his entire body humming from the force of his dreams. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d dreamed so vividly and as his gaze fell upon Seren, whose back was now to him, he bit back a groan. Perhaps letting her accompany him was a terrible idea, after all.

No. He’d overcome this. It would pass, as every other infatuation did. He had far more important matters with which to concern himself, and with that, he threw back the quilts and sat up. His trousers were draped over the foot of his bed and he slid into them before crossing to Seren to catch her shoulder.

“We need to move on,” he said, giving her a gentle shake. “Seren?”

She rolled over with a low sigh and her eyes slowly opened. She gazed up at him and his belly gave a sharp flip as a sleepy smile lifted her lips and she said, “I was dreaming about you.”

“Were you?” He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible as he turned away.

“I was, yes.” The linens rustled and he peered over his shoulder to see she’d sat up and was now rubbing one eye with a fist. “It was interesting, really. We were in an earthen cavern, surrounded by goblins. And one was about to stab you through the throat, when Gandalf appeared.”

He spun around to face her. “What?”

“It was so odd,” she said softly, looking up at him. “But so vivid. I’d swear it was real, but we are right here in Bree, and there are no goblins here, so…”

He sank onto the edge of his bed. “Perhaps you should remain here, or in the Shire. If we are to go to Erebor and face a dragon—“

“That dragon destroyed my home as well,” she told him, her voice low and soft. “I want it to pay as much as you do.”

He looked over at her. Her eyes held a sadness he hadn’t seen before, and his first instinct was to offer her comfort. “So, you and I fight for the honor of killing Smaug?”

To his relief, she offered up a sleepy smile. “I don’t delude myself into thinking I could kill a dragon. But I would like to be there when it happens.”

“How is it you lived in Dale, yet I only ever saw you that one afternoon?”

She lowered the hand that had been rubbing her eye. “I didn’t wish you to see me.”

“You hid from me?”

“More or less, yes. I watched you, but after that day, you thought me a pest. I’d follow you if you came into Dale, with my little sword at my side, just in case anyone thought to give you trouble.”

“I thought you a pest?”

To his discomfort, she nodded. “You caught me once, around Athluna Farydale’s shop. I’m sure you’ve put it from your mind, but I remember it as if it was yesterday. I confess, Mr. Oakenshield, I had a bit of a crush on you back then. You were so handsome and fearless… But then, you laughed at me and said I was but a child and I should go home.”

He tried to bring up the memory, and little by little, it came into focus.

He’d first spied her as she ducked behind a table displaying Miss Farydale’s goods, and had thought nothing of it. But then, the distinct feeling of being watched had settled over him and at least twice more, he’d turned to catch a flash of blonde hair disappearing around a corner, behind a table, lost in a crowd.

It went on that way as he’d made his way from one end of the square to the other, when finally, he ducked behind a corner and as the girl passed, he stepped out to grab her by the arm, growling,“What are you doing?”

The tiny girl with long blonde curls and wide green eyes blinked up at him, gazed up at him as if the sun rose and set on his shoulders. In one hand, she held a sword. At first glance, he thought it was a toy, but then realized it was anything but. Small, perhaps, but honed to a lethal degree from the looks of it.

He released her, folding his arms. “I’m waiting.”

Those green eyes met his and to his surprise, her fair cheeks grew pink as she stammered,“I—that is, you—well… I mean… I’m here for you to watch over.”

They winced in unison and he’d replied, “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m here to watch over you. In case Alfryd tries to make good on his threats.””

“Watch over me? Whatever for? I need no one to do such a thing. Especially not a child. Run along now, and bother me no more.”

“But—“

He didn’t wait for her to finish, but turned and stalked off, shaking his head at the very thought of that child thinking she was protecting him from the people of Dale, from Alfryd. Laughable.

“That was you?” he murmured, reaching for his tunic, draped over the foot of the bed as well.

As he drew it on, she said, “It was. Do you remember? I made a fool of myself.”

“I remember I was far too old for you at the time.”

“Yes, you probably were.” She kicked back the coverlet and rose and he swallowed hard at the sight as, once again, she was in only her tunic.

To make matters worse, her trousers lay draped over the table, before the windows, and as she stepped before them, the sunlight streamed in behind her and the effect stunned him into silence. No matter how he tried not to look, he couldn’t help but see the outline of slender, shapely thighs, softly curved hips, the slope of her waist, and the faint hint of those bandages of which she spoke last evening.

He turned about, the only way he could avert his gaze. “I was and I still am and we need to go.”

“Well, it no longer matters,” came her pert reply and he breathed a sigh of relief as the swish of fabric against skin reached his ears. Her trousers, hopefully. Unless of course, she was trying deliberately to drive him mad. “I’m not that same girl any longer.”

A relief that. He turned back to find her dressed once more, which came as another relief for him. Now, they just need to make for the Shire and once the entire Company was assembled, his thoughts would no longer center on the girl in his room at the moment. In time, she would just be one the others.

Or so he hoped.

“So,” Seren was saying as she tugged on hose that had seen better days, “how long will it take us to reach the Shire?”

“No more than a few hours.”

“Good. And do you know where we’re going?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” he replied as he fastened his scabbard about his hips. “But, we’ll find it.”

“And if we don’t?”

He offered up a long look. “We will.”

“Very well.” She tugged on her left boot, then her right, and straightened up. Her brows pulled low as she peered at him. “Is something wrong? You look a little flushed this morning.”

“I’m fine,” he told her, shrugging into his fur wrap and then his cloak. “We need to move.”

“If you say so.”

He held open the door for her. The sooner he put this room, and its two comfortable beds, far behind them, the happier he’d be for it. Perhaps then his thoughts would stop torturing him.

Seren shielded her eyes from the sun as she waited for Thorin to emerge from the inn. Something bothered him. He avoided meeting her eyes, or even looking directly at her, and that made her smile. He had no trouble doing so until she teased him about catching him trying to peek down her tunic. It wasn’t until she’d teased him about it that this sudden change came about.

Was it possible that he really had tried to look down her tunic? She thought that’s what he’d been doing, but it was entirely possible she was wrong.

Or so she’d thought.

Then, he came thudding down the steps and out into the road and she smiled up at him. “I thought you’d gotten lost.”

“It seems our innkeeper friend thought we damaged the room. I don’t know what he thought we were doing, but he charged us an extra fifty for it.”

“Fifty?” Her belly kinked sharply. She didn’t have much more than a hundred or so left in her purse. Still, she set her sack on the ground to open it. “Well, let me—“

“Worry not about it,” he said, catching the sack to lift it in one smooth motion and thrust it back at her. “I let him think we’d had the time of our lives up there and paid him. It was the quickest way to get out of there.”

She bit back a smile. “I wonder what he thought we were doing?”

He shrugged. “I neither know nor care. Now, come along. We still have a way to travel.”

For the first time since catching up with him at the bridge, when he’d dragged her into the underbrush, she fell into step alongside him. “How far is the Shire from here?”

“About half a day’s walk. We will be there by nightfall.”

“And is there an inn there?”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. But no matter, we will find somewhere to sleep.”

She cast a sideline glance up at him. The sunlight danced along the dark strands of his hair and highlighted the silver streaking through it. The small silvery cube braided into his hair caught the light, threw it off in flashes of blue and white light. “What is that?”

“What is what?”

She gestured to her own ear. “That block in your hair. What is it?”

“It’s a rune. Woven in by my nephew, Kili, when he was a toddler.”

“And how old is he now?”

Thorin glanced down at her. “Not much older than you, I’d wager. He would like you.”

“Really? What makes you say that?”

He shrugged. “Kili likes pretty girls. Fili as well, but he isn’t quite the flirt as his brother is.”

Hearing him say he thought her pretty did something odd to her. It made her belly flip in a way that was as delicious as it was unnerving. But, she didn’t wish to embarrass him again, and so merely smiled and said, “Tell me more of them.”

“Kili and Fili?” He glanced down at her, then looked ahead once more. “They are the sons of my younger sister, Dis. They are typical boys—reckless and headstrong and eager for a fight. You will meet them at some point in the next day or so.”

“I look forward to it,” she replied.

Perhaps it was but her imagination, but it seemed to her that his shoulders tensed with her words. But then, he said, “And they will most likely thank you,” and smiled down at her.

They walked on in silence a bit longer. As the sun warmed the air, she unfastened her cloak to drape it over her arm, and winced at the hint of sweat trickling down between her breasts. The linen wrapped around her was even warmer, and she wished she at least had the satisfaction in knowing she’d be able to unbind herself soon.

But, the truth was that as long as she traveled with a group of men, she would have to pretend to be a boy. And that mean remaining wrapped tight.

Not exactly the most pleasant of thoughts.

She tugged her braid from her tunic. The ends of it rubbed oddly against her skin, which irritated her as the healing blister on her foot irritated her, as the cut on her arm irritated hers. But, she kept her complaints to herself. Mama always said it did no good to complain and that energy was best spent trying to find a solution instead. Trouble was, the only solution was to confess her true gender and she wasn’t at all certain that would be wise. Thorin, she could trust. The others? She didn’t know them. And anyone else with whom they might cross paths, such as orcs, goblins, or trolls? She definitely did not want any of them to know the truth about her.

“Thorin?”

He peered down. “What?”

“Do you think I should come clean about who I am to the others? To Gandalf?”

He stopped and faced her. “Why?”

She also stopped and shrugged. “It’s warm. And that makes me a little… uncomfortable.”

She half-expected his gaze to lower, as it did the night before, but to her surprise, he held her gaze as he said, “It’s up to you. No one will touch you, if that is your fear. But, I cannot say the same for anyone we might meet along the way.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said softly, looking off into the distance, where the fields rolled an even deeper emerald green than the woods from which they’d come. She saw curious buildings in the distance, ones that looked as if they’d been built into the countryside. It all looked so lush, so peaceful, it was unlike anything she’d ever seen. She’d never been this far west before.

“How uncomfortable are you?”

“Fairly.” She resisted the urge to tug at the bandage where it rubbed along the left side of her ribcage. “My skin gets sore.”

“How quickly can you rewrap, if necessary?”

She smiled up at him. “I’m quick. Maybe a minute or two. As I said, I haven’t much to wrap.”

He looked around, only there was nothing but rolling lush fields, beautiful lush trees, and those odd buildings in the distance. Behind them, Bree was but a smudge on the horizon. “Unwrap yourself then. At least for a night or two.”

“Here?”

He nodded. “No one is around and I promise,” a hint of mischief glinted in his blue eyes, “I will not try to peek.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Do you really promise?”

Another nod. “I really promise.”

And with that, he turned his back to her. She looked around, then dropped her sack, shrugged out of her scabbard and set the knives down, then tugged her tunic free to reach beneath it. The bandage was knotted between her breasts, and it took her only a minute to work it free and then, with a low sigh, she unwound the length of linen. At first, the sore patch just below her left breast stung, but after a minute or two, the sting faded. The relief was so great, she couldn’t hold back her lusty sigh.

Thorin turned back to her then. “Are you all right?”

She held up the roll of bandages, tossing it into the air and catching it in the same hand. “Freedom feels wonderful.”

He grinned and she didn’t miss the hint of blush that crept across his cheekbones. She couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “You are blushing, Thorin Oakenshield.”

“The deuce I am,” he retorted, turning away.

But she wasn’t letting him off that easily. She darted about to stand before him again. “You are, you know.”

Then, she tossed the bandages at him. “Catch!”

He did just that. “What are you about?”

“Did you ever have a splinter that hurt. That hurt no matter what and when you finally got it out, it just felt so good, that your mood improved tenfold?”

“I have.” He tossed the roll back to her. “If it hurts so much, why do it?”

“Because I have to. You don’t understand. You’re a man. A dwarf warrior. No one will trifle with you. I, however,” she pressed a hand against her chest, “have no such luxury. I have to pretend to be what you already are and hope no one learns the truth.”

“I know the truth.”

She dropped the roll into her sack and gazed up at him. “But I know you won’t tell anyone. I trust you.”

“No one will harm you, Seren. Not as long as I walk this earth with you.” He stepped closer. “I give you my word. If you wish to remain unbound, know you will be safe with us. With all of us.”

He sounded so serious, his eyes holding not a hint of mischief and his blush had vanished. She knew her trust had yet to be misplaced or unfounded. She nodded. “Will you tell anyone?”

“Not if you don’t wish me to, no.”

“Can I let you know once I’ve met everyone?”

“Of course.”

She nodded. “Good.”

“We should keep moving. We still have a bit of a way to go.”

She nodded and crouched to slip the sack’s strap over her shoulder again, then stood and they continued along the road to the Shire. The sun sank low, streaking blue and coral across the sky. Red skies. A promise of good weather to come. Thank the maker the rain had finally come to an end.

But the landscape was deceiving, as it seemed they wandered from one end of the Shire to the other. She began to wonder if Thorin had any clue as to where they were actually supposed to be when he stopped for the third time, muttered something under his breath and said, "There it is!"

It was a house built into the hillside, with brilliant green trim and a round door that looked like the bottom of a barrel. On the brilliant green door, someone had carved a sigil and Thorin sighed as he grumbled, “Easy to find, my foot.”

Seren peered through one of the windows. Warm light filled the interior, and she heard the cheerful stamping of feet and the muffled voices rising as one in song. A party? It seemed odd that this was where Gandalf had sent them, and she was about to say as much to Thorin when he rapped on the door with a fist.

She held her breath as it swung open and Thorin leaned in to say, “Gandalf! I thought you said this place was easy to find? We lost our way. Twice.” He ducked as he stepped through doorway. “We wouldn’t have found it at all, had it not been for the mark on the door. You remember Seren, don’t you?”

He turned, saw she still hung back, and reached to catch her by the wrist. As his fingers brushed hers, a jolt rippled along her arm, strong enough that her head snapped up and she looked at hi. But he didn’t seem to notice as he tugged, pulling her through the doorway into a small house. For the first time in her life, she felt tall—almost giantlike—in that house. Everything was small. The furniture was tiny, the ceilings were low, she almost had to bow her head as she followed Thorin into a cozy, warmly lit dining room and found herself staring at twelve very curious dwarves and one very stressed halfling.

“Who’ve you there?” A dwarf with huge white hair and an even bigger white beard, gestured to her.

“Everyone, this is Seren Gilwynn, of Dale. He will be accompanying us and—” he held up a hand as a chorus of protests rose—“Enough. I’ve seen him with steel and his fists. He will be an asset.”

Then, he turned to her. “Seren, this is the Company.” He pointed to the white haired dwarf and moved along the crowed, “Balin. Dwalin. Oín. Gloín. Bofur. Bifur. Bombur. Nori. Dori. Ori.”

Then he moved to two young dwarves, both strikingly handsome, one blond, the other dark. “Fili. Kili.”

His nephews. She smiled. There was no way she would ever remember all their names, but at the same time, she nodded and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.”

They all greeted her with friendly, if confused smiles and minutes later, she and Thorin sat at the table, plates of something delicious before them, and she just listened as Gandalf outlined their plan for retaking Erebor, with the halfling being the burglar who was going to take something called the Arkenstone. The halfling who looked terrified at the very prospect of doing so.

With a sigh, she settled back in her chair and just listened. And as she did so, she couldn’t help but gaze over at Thorin. Had he felt that jolt when they touched or was she just projecting what she wished he would feel? Because truth be told, she still had a crush on him. Only now, she was no longer a child and that could mean serious trouble for both of them.

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #fanfic writer appreciation day

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

Note

Or, if you're more in the mood for something fluffier, “It’s too cold for you to come out here without a jacket on” from the protective sentence starters!

Combined this prompt with your “ for the holiday fluff prompts, how about any combination of one or more of these: ❄️ ☃️ ☕️ 🥘 🧩 ~ “ and went with flurries + holiday coffee date. hope you don’t mind it being a little derivative!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28370325

It had been a few years since there had been a white Christmas. Snow in London didn’t last long anyway; it would be snowplowed off the streets and turn gray and slushy or melt under the trampling boots of passerby on their way to work or school. This meant that even when it did snow, no one held out much hope for it to last longer than a day, two at most.

All this to say that Jon didn’t think much of the snow when he saw the flurries drifting outside his bedroom window. It had clearly just started snowing– didn’t even seem like it was sticking. He really didn’t think he’d need a coat. His bus route took him less than a block away from the institute and he resented the way his puffy winter coat made him feel: bulky and heavy, restricted at his joints. His thick white woolen sweater, made with oversized yarn and thrown over his collared shirt, would work fine. He thought he looked rather fit like this, hair half-knotted and curling over his shoulders. Tim would give him shit for having an “academia” aesthetic but, he “worked in academics, Tim. Every aesthetic I have is an academia aesthetic.”

Jon was, as usual, the first person to arrive at the archives. Diligently, he began his workday ritual, cranking up the thermostat and pulling the day calendar on his office wall to reveal the 23 December and chuckling to himself at today’s cat: all grey and massive, green eyes staring at the observer innocently. Sasha was next, blustering in her red peacoat, calling a greeting, and shaking it off before hanging it on the coat hook in the bullpen. Then came Martin and Tim, who had begun carpooling after realizing they lived less than two blocks away from each other. Greetings from the pair, “Happy Early Christmas”es. Now, the quiet, empty archives hummed with life and warmth. Jon, now seated his desk in his small office, could hear the chatter taking place in the main office space, the electric kettle humming in the breakroom, the Christmas music being argued over from the small speakers. All felt right. The Archivist smiled to himself and settled into work.

“What the hell? Tim!”

“That wasn’t me, Sash! I’m right here!”

“Calm down, you two. It was just the lights.”

The commotion outside his office confirmed to Jon that he wasn’t the only one whose office lights had suddenly blinked once and cut out. For just a moment he was reminded of Julia Montauk’s story about Mr. Pitch, but shook his head. They were fine. He stood and made his way to the breakroom, eyeing the also dark room, now lit by three phone torches. Being the underground section of the Institute meant they didn’t have much by way of windows, save for the single squat one high up in the breakroom, and Jon could see from here something was blocking the light that usually streamed through.

“I think it’s the whole Institute,” Jon offered unhelpfully. “Can one of you ring Rosie and check?” He turned and wandered absently into the breakroom to investigate the window. It was covered with snow. Frowning, Jon grabbed a chair and dragged it beneath the pane, climbing and pushing on the window.

“I think you need to unlatch it.”

“Jesus Christ, Martin!” Jon swayed and recovered his balance. How could he not hear such a large man come up behind him? He did try the latch though and pushed again. Once, twice, th-

“Fuck! Cold, cold, cold!” The snow that had piled up against the window had shifted and fallen through the gap Jon had so helpfully created; his face, glasses, and sweater generously dusted with cold and white. He sputtered and brushed it off himself, feeling dot of cold seep into his skin. The pane had been cleared though, and Jon could see, as he shoved the window closed again, blustering snow sweeping through the alleyway the window looked out on to. Jon turned back, seeing Martin’s face red with the effort of suppressing a laugh. “It’s snowing. Hard.”

“Yeah,” his voice wavered, lips parting in a warm smile. “I-I guessed that.” Even so, Martin offered Jon a hand and he took it, stepping off the now-wet chair with little grace. “Let’s see if there’s word from Rosie. Sasha was calling her when I came in.” Jon nodded wordlessly, holding Martin’s a little too long (it was so warm! And he was so cold) before letting go and leading Martin into the bullpen.

Sasha was lounging in her office chair, a finger curled in her thick hair, with her legs on her desk and her free hand holding her mobile to her ear. She was nodding, brow furrowed, and kicking Tim idly, who was perched on her desk, feet perched on the handles of one of her desk drawers and shining his torchlight in her eyes while she scowled at him. “Alright, brilliant Rosie. Tell Elias we send our warmest, fondest regards. Especially Tim. Oh—What’s that, Tim?” She eyed her perched friend mischievously; his eyes were wide, and he shook his head vigorously. “Oh. Tim says to tell Elias that he’s deeply in love with him and has been since the day he started.” She listened for a moment and nodded gravely. “Mmhmm. Thank you Rosie. I’ll let him know. Happy Christmas!”

“You little-”

Jon cleared his throat and Tim snapped his head up, eyes alight with mirth. “Bossman, I’m being slandered! You can’t expect me not to defend myself.” Jon chose to ignore his comment, though his expression was soft.

“Sasha, any word from Rosie?”

“Mhmm. Two things. Firstly, power’s out in the whole building. Apparently there’s a bit of a blizzard. Elias said we can have the day off. Secondly, Elias said he’s promoting Tim to his personal ass-isstant.” Tim howled and lunged at Sasha, who was giggling madly. Martin had lost it now too and was chuckling behind his hand at the scene of the taller woman scooting away on her rolling office chair from her dear friend. Even Jon scoffed, eyes following the pair affectionately. Jon didn’t notice he was shivering until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw the silhouette of Martin.

“Are you cold? I’m feeling it too. I think the heat’s off with the power.”

Jon shrugged noncommittally, turning his eyes back to the vague forms of Sasha and Tim, who had given up on their wrestling and were sharing the office chair, Tim lounging across Sasha’s lap and scrolling on his phone. At this, Sasha perked up, nudging Tim. “If it’s gonna get cold in here and we have the day off, we should go get coffee! There’s a cute new place across the street from the park. Steamed Beans or something.”

“Beaned Steams,” Tim mumbled under his breath, extricating himself from Sasha’s lap and getting to his feet, smoothing back his hair before refluffing it expertly. “I’m game. But Sasha’s buying my drink because she’s being a bully.”

Martin nodded, rocking on his toes behind Jon. “I’m in. But the snow is intense. Bundle up if you don’t want frostbite.”

Silence stretched in front of Jon. Of course he hadn’t thought to bring a coat today. There was no way his sweater could weather the snowstorm going on outside. He’d have to say no and wait it out, hope the snow dies down. Or he could just embrace it. The park wasn’t that far away…Four or five blocks. Not far enough to call a cab and too far to walk unprotected. Shit.

He’d been quiet for too long. The other three were poised, waiting for his response. “I don’t think you would let me say no if I tried,” he relented. Tim whooped and clapped Jon on the shoulder as he passed him, grabbing his coat and winding a scarf around his neck.

“That’s the spirit, Sims! C’mon, get your coats and we’ll leave before the weather gets worse.” Jon meandered into his office, the chill hanging in the air, and searched the room for any abandoned coats he may have left behind. He was a bit forgetful (and a bit of a packrat) but he was pretty sure he’d taken home his forgotten clothes before Halloween, when Tim was threatening to dress up as him for the archive party Sasha had hosted. The only thing he found was a pair of fingerless gloves, abandoned in his desk drawer. He slipped them on, flexing his hands against the knit fabric, and shrugged inwardly. It would have to do.

Jon closed the door to his office, locking it as he did so, before turning to see his assistants standing in the hallway, wincing at the lights they shone at him. “Jon? Where’s your coat?” Sasha’s voice was equal parts accusing and patient, like reminding a child to wash their hands.

“I-well, I didn’t bring one today,” Jon flushed like he had been caught in a lie. “The snow wasn’t that bad when I left the house. And I, I don’t like the way it feels to wear one.” He held up hands helplessly. “I have these.”

Martin crossed his arms over his vested chest and the tails of his scarf. “It’s too cold for you to go out there without a jacket on. Too windy. You’ll catch pneumonia and die or something.”

“You can’t catch pneumonia like that, Martin. It’s a wives’ tale.” “You get what I mean! You can’t just wear a sweater and button up and fingerless gloves of all things and call it winter gear.”

Tim was stroking his chin thoughtfully, head cocked. “Would the old married couple shut up? I think I have something.” He took off his coat and unzipped the inside, extricating a fleece lining from the waterproof shell. “Here,” he draped it over Jon’s shoulder when he refused to take it. “If you don’t wear it, Martin has to buy all our coffees. You wouldn’t want to do that to sweet ol’ Marto, would you?”

Jon shrugged on the coat, grateful for the dark to hide his scowl and blush.

Sasha let out a noise of realization. “Oh! I have something too.” She disappeared and returned in less than a minute, holding out a knitted cap of some kind. “I keep a spare for when it’s too cold down here.” The inside was soft, lined with silk or satin or something, and Jon could feel some sort of applique on the side. Realizing there was no way he was going to win this fight, he tugged on the hat, frowning at the way it squished down the knot of hair he had so carefully arranged to be just the right amount of messy and structured.

Martin was stepping forward now as well, stooping slightly to wind a scarf around Jon’s neck and gently tucking the ends into the neck of the fleece. “Uh, here.”

“I-hm,” Jon struggled for words, feeling warm from more than just the new apparel. “Thank you, all of you, I suppose. I’ll-ah, I’ll give them back to you after.”

“No rush!” Tim nudged Jon with his shoulder as he grabbed Sasha’s hand, pulling her through the hallway to the stairwell. “Come on, I need the most expensive drink they sell in my belly, pronto!”

As the Archival staff left the Institute, they waved goodbye and wished a Happy Christmas to Rosie, who was packing up her own desk. They pushed themselves through the rotating door, immediately bowing their heads against the blinding white snow and the buffeting wind.

“Shit,” Martin said, pocketing his glasses. “No point in having these out. The one day I don’t bother with contacts. Are we sure we shouldn’t cab?” Jon glanced at the road, somewhere between slush and ice.

“I don’t trust lorry drivers on a good day.” Martin hummed an agreement.

Sasha led the way, the four keeping tight together against the wind and cold, the whirling of the snow drowning out all conversation, save for Tim’s occasional directions via his smartphone. Jon removed his own wire-rimmed glasses eventually, tired of them fogging up and of the snow melting into blurred spots, obscuring his vision even more. Martin held out his hand and Jon passed them over for Martin to put in his pocket. There was no one else out on the streets, no cars, no people. Jon imagined as they walked that they were the only four left in London, cursed to wander alone forever. His theory was proven wrong, however, when eventually the warm orange lighting of the coffee shop beckoned, the name Bean Village painted on the window.

“I think Sash’s name was better,” Tim declares in a low voice as they stamp their feet against the welcome mat and shake off snow from their hair and clothes. Jon removes the knitted cap to see the faux leather flower applique and the embroidered “S” he hadn’t been able to see in the dark, chuckling to himself and stuffing the mauve hat in his pocket. Their faces were all various toned shades of pink and the heavy heat of the air of the café, smelling strongly like coffee beans, vanilla, and cinnamon, made Jon’s once-numb nose and cheeks tingle as they were brought back to life.

Jon squinted at the chalk-written menu, moving to push up his glasses only to feel his hand falter when he found the nosepiece not there. “Oh-uh, Martin. Can I have my glasses?”

Martin frowned. “Ah, huh? Oh! Yes-yes, of course, sorry!” He fumbled for Jon’s glasses, drying the remaining melted snow on the hem of his shirt before handing them back.

The Magnus Institute’s archival staff were the only four customers in the store at present and made a point to order probably more than necessary, scones and muffins (blueberry for Martin and Sasha, cinnamon for Martin, a pumpkin muffin for Jon) in addition to the teas and coffees (chai lattes for Jon and Martin, a caramel latte for Sasha, and some sort of ridiculously sweet mocha for Tim), despite it being barely eleven in the morning. Jon saw Martin make a point to slip some extra money into the tip jar as well, feeling warmth bloom in his chest as he decided to do the same.

Honestly, this, squeezed into a booth, leaning into Martin’s side, with Tim and Sasha across from him, chatting, swapping stories, and sharing some institute-related memes Tim had drawn up on his phone, was the best Christmas gift Jon could have imagined.

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fanfic #season 1 archive gang #s1 polycule #kinda?#not officially but its the vibes that count #timsash #jmart #at the least #holiday fic

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

Text

Ten Sides (Part 33)

I don’t exactly know how to tag this but a warning on this chapter as I feel like some of the language can be unsettling for mental abuse survivors and, though the chapter doesn’t contain sexual harassment, some of the language might be similar? Maybe the best way to but it would be to say that there’s a CW for objectification.

Normally tears don’t come easily to her, not when she has to induce them herself. It only takes thinking back to the not so distant past to coax them forward. She hates the feeling of his hand on hers as he leads her down the hall. She worries that she is appearing too lucid so she lets herself stumble. The man sighs deeply as though she is an inconvenience. As though that isn’t exactly what he wants. “This way he mumbles.”

She knows the way, he has forced her to walk it so many times now. She knows the way though she hasn’t been down this hall in ages. She didn’t expect to have such a visceral reaction to trekking it once again. It comes like nausea. Her stomach drops and her throat runs dry. This time when she shakes it isn’t drug induced.

He chuckles, “keep walking, it isn’t that hard, we’re almost there.”

Which is all the more reason to come to a standstill but she lets him drag her into the room regardless. He leads her to the surgical table, she can smell the vines, their musky, freshwater odor. It leaves her stomach heaving. Agni, she hates the smell of sea plants...

“Get yourself comfortable.”

He knows well that the chill of the table’s metals offer no comfort at all.

“Since you’ve been a good girl, we won’t use the straps today.”

She waits for him to turn before letting out her sigh of relief. She lays herself back upon the table, staring at the ceiling. The same ceiling she’d been forced to stare at before. She shudders, feeling entirely queasy. For a moment she wonders why she is doing this to herself. For a moment she forgets that this is the only thing that will drive the nightmares from her mind once and for all.

Control. She will let old scenarios play themselves out. They will end the way that she wants them too.

They will if she can stave off the panic that comes with such familiar discomforts. A tear slips from her eye. She hadn’t meant for it to do so.

“You’re pretty when you cry.” He purrs as he fixes the first vine to her forehead. “Do you know that?”

And he will be pretty when he is a smear of blood on the floor.

“You’re better off this way. Trust me, you are. You’re more likable when you’re mindless.” He drums his fingers upon the side of her head. “When I’m done with you I’ll let you go back to your friends. I’m sure that they’ll appreciate my work; they’ll find you much more agreeable.”

It shouldn’t, but somehow it still stings. She realizes then, that she has made a mistake. She has made progress, sure. She has begun to rebuild old friendships and make new ones. But, Agni, she is still riddled with her own innate insecurities and the man has seen enough of her mind to exploit those.

If only she could reassure herself that he is wrong beyond a simple awareness that, even if he isn’t, that she’d rather be resented for her stubborn and unlovable personality than to have it wiped clean to make room for an uncannily sugary one. At least if she is unlikable, she knows that she is still Azula through and through.

“Don’t look so forlorn.” Sangyul chuckles. “You aren’t complete yet. But don’t worry, you will be. I’ll fix you.”

Her breath hitches in her throat. She needs someone to fix her but, spirits, not him. She needs to fix herself. She will fix herself.

“Now I’ve watched the Avatar do this many times and I think that I’ve found a way to use electricity to activate the vines without the Avatar’s help.” He declares. “We’re going to test that on you. I anticipate this hurting.”

She goes tense.

“If you don’t squirm too much, we won’t need the restraints.” He pushes her back onto the table.

She wonders if she should put a stop to this now. But no. No, that wouldn’t be good enough to drive off the nightmares… She can’t keep her breathing level not when lightning sizzles on his fingertips. She hadn’t realized that he was a lightning bender. She hadn’t realized that he could bend at all. Thank Agni, he doesn’t know that she can also bend again.

The lightning surges through the vines, it tickles her head in the most bitingly unpleasant way. She gives an involuntary whimper and his lips curl into a wicked grin. She closes her eyes and works the current away from her head. She hasn’t exactly mastered redirection yet--it still stings terribly. And the vines on her head glow. He sends a few more bolts before withdrawing a long thin metal stick with a clay handle.

“See, this is going to help me guide the electricity. In theory, the lightning will do for me what the Avatar could do with spirit energy…” He mumbles. He presses the stick to her forehead and drags the current along. The sensation is tingling, agonizingly so. She can feel tiny fingers of lightning touching the strings of her mind.

She closes her eyes. Eyes that water reflexively. The charge dancing in her mind is much more chaotic than Aang’s touch. When he had entered her mind he had entered with clarity, purpose, the ability to gauge how the colors of her aura were reacting to him. The electrical charge has no such ability. It is erratic, touching the fearful muted blue strands of her aura and dying them an even duller grey a sad grey--the result is anxiety inducing. It bounces back and strikes a different strand green. Guilt and self loathing trickles in.

She squeezes her eyes tighter. Her breathing becoming increasingly erratic. She needs control. She needs to take it back. The electricity has none of the guilt and compassion that Aang had, had. Aang...he no longer needs to touch the threads to dye them shades of red and pink. She takes several deep breaths. It is hard to relax with currents running through her mind, harder still with an enemy in such close proximity and damn near impossible with her mind left so vulnerable. But her mind is still hers. She lets herself burrow back in her mind, retreat into a familiar place. She can hear the rush of water as it slaps against the side of the boat, can feel the wind tugging at her hair. Mostly she can feel the flame of her chakra lapping at her belly, hear it crackling in her ears… It is hers, her chakra, her fire, her mind...

The lightning dances around in her head, but it doesn’t reach any further. It no longer corrupts. It can’t corrupt. Sangyul withdraws the metal rod and steps back. Her body jerks and convulses. Only twice--maybe it has been jerking this whole time. She isn’t sure.

“Now sit up.” He demands.

Dizzy, pained, she obeys. She tries to shake the daze from her head. Spirits, it hurts so terribly. Sangyul brushes a curtain of her hair out of her face. “Good girl.” He comments again. Her ears are ringing. “Now stand.”

She isn’t ready to stand, she thinks that her legs will buckle if she tries.

“Stand.” He growls.

She forces herself to her feet. It takes everything she has to remain upright. “Now,” Sangyul smiles. “Your hair has gotten quite long again…”

She swallows, her stomach lurches. Her tears are very real now and it only seems to delight him more. She knows what he is going to ask of her next. He presses a blade into her palm, it nips her skin and several dots of blood blossom upon it. But this time when she raises the blade, it won’t be to her own face where her scar is tingling with more fury than ever.

.oOo.

He finds her in the corner of the room, legs drawn up to her chest, cheeks stained with tears. Aang stoops down and touches her cheek, she doesn’t move an inch. Her eyes are hollow, dim. He takes her hand, her bloody hand and squeezes it. He runs his free hand over her locks. Locks that are clumped together with drying blood. It is smeared upon her face, her chest. It soaked through her shirt.

“Azula?”

She looks up, wordlessly. Her lips part.

He knew that this whole thing was a bad idea.

She souches forward and he expects her to begin crying into his shoulder. But she doesn’t, despite the soft tremors of her body, she remains quiet. He rubs her back as he takes the blade from her hand.

“Aang, what’s going on?” Zuko asks.

“It’s over.” Aang replies as he hoists Azula upright. She holds her own weight but still leans very heavily into him. “Sangyul is…” He gestures to the body. Its throat is carved into a smirk as wide as the one that never had a chance to leave his arrogant face.

“Is Azula okay?”

“Azula is fine.” She grumbles.

Zuko clears his throat, “I guess I should have asked you directly, huh?”

Aang squeezes her tighter. “Are you sure that you’re okay you just...you know…”

“Killed a man.” She elaborates. “He needed to die, Avatar. I just…” She pulls back and seems to study his face.

He is fairly certain that he knows what she is looking for and he won’t let her find it; he is afraid but he fights to keep it out of his eyes. He knows what else she is looking for, “I love you, Azula.” His lips brush against her ear.

She swallows and finally she returns his hug. Holding her feels like holding a dragon; dangerous, unpredictable. Unstable. He wishes that he wasn’t afraid.

She won’t hurt him. He knows that she won’t and so he scoops her into his arms. “Are you ready to go home?”

“I can walk on my own, Avatar.”

He wants to remind her that she just went through some sort of hell. Wants to tell her that it isn’t a good idea. But he can’t, not here. Not in this room. “Is that what you want to do?”

She nods.

It is instinctual to ask her if she is sure. But he remembers what she had requested quite a while ago and he resists. Instead he offers, “if you get tired of walking, let me know.”

She nods again. He has a pretty decent feeling that she will end up letting him carry her at least part of the way to the airships.

“I’ll send the imperial firebenders to make the rest of the arrests and I’ll meet you on the airships.” He glances at Azula. “Take care of her, please.”

“She can take care of herself.” Aang replies. He just hopes that she’ll let him help for a change. Her hand tightening around his is it’s own reassurance.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Aang #Azulaang #Fanfiction

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