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levi-inthesun · 4 years

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Loving Someone

This is for @stuckonjbbarnes writing challenge with the song Loving Someone by The 1975.

Summary: In order to protect your heart, you made up the “only fuck once” rule, dictating that you could not sleep with the same person more than once. Then Carol Danvers comes back to the compound, to stay. Will this rule bite you in the ass?

Warnings: Swearing, references to smut, dirty talk?

Paring: Carol x Reader

A/N- I did not edit this.... so sorry

“What are you doing tonight?” Sam asked as you both slowed to an easy jog.

“Probably just gonna go the bar,” you reply easily.

Sam stops abruptly, “How long are you going to stay in denial?” There isn’t any malice or bite to his words, just genuine concern and it makes you feel uneasy. You make some non-committal noise instead of answering and finish jogging to the doors of the compound.

You do your best to avoid Sam the rest of the day, which wasn’t too difficult until it’s time for you to leave for your favorite bat. Except Sam is standing by the door, dressed and ready to go. As you approach, Sam has that look in his eyes and you know you cannot convince him to stay home unless you stay home tonight.

“You driving or are we getting an uber?” You ask, throwing your cropped leather jacket on.

“I’ll drive,” Sam decides, grabbing a random set of keys and you both make your way to the garage.

The bar is only slightly packed, which is, in your humble opinion, optimal. You like to have room to breathe, more specifically though, room to dance with whatever woman consents.

You skip over to the bar and order a rum and coke and chat with your favorite bartender and Sam watches from a booth he’s claimed.

“You know, you are a lot less closed off here,” he casually says while throwing a peanut into his mouth.

“Are you just going to therapize me the entire night?” You (semi) joke.

Sam shrugs and you take a long sip of your drink before moving towards the dancing people.

The night went on how every weekend-night goes. You get pleasantly buzzed/on the edge of drunk, dance with hot women, and eventually, go to either your place or their place where you will (hopefully) ravish each other.

You wake up slowly, a faint pressure on your hip. You hear the woman behind you breathe deeply before stretching gently.

“Morning,” she says softly, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder. “I’d love to stay for breakfast, er,” she looks at her phone. “Lunch but I’ve got a meeting later.”

You nod and watch her hop around throwing her clothes back on. “I’m just gonna use the bathroom then I’ll be out of your hair,” she says, watching as you sit up and the sheet pools around your waist.

You raise an eyebrow in reply.

Once she’s left (with her phone number written on your mirror with the lipstick she was wearing last night), you throw on a pair of sweats and one of Sam’s shirts before making your way out to the kitchen.

“She was cute,” Sam says, throwing something in the microwave.

You hum in agreement and look through the fridge, eventually settling on an apple.

“Oh, we’ve got a meeting at 3,” Sam informs you. “Captain Marvel is back in town and she has some stuff she needs to brief us on.”

“Captain Marvel is a woman, huh?” You ask Sam, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

“You do know that not everyone is bisexual, right?” Sam teases. He grabs his bag of popcorn out of the microwave and starts to walk out of the kitchen before turning back. “Uh, maybe don’t have a one night stand with our teammate?”

You are ready to crawl into a hole or have the earth open up and eat you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Carol greets you, a mischievous glint in her light brown eyes.

“Oh, fuck me,” you whisper before composing yourself. “Hey, Carol,” you say, shaking her hand.

“I already did,” Carol states, voice low, before switching gears to get the meeting started.

The entire meeting is spent trying to listen to Carol talk about possible issues outside of the earth’s orbit, but really you just end up staring, flashes from last night taking over when she moves a certain way. The other part is spent sending death glares at Sam and Bucky who are having the time of their lives at your misery.

Carol excuses herself to take a call and you lean forward, finger-pointing at the men across from you.

“You knew!” You whisper scream, “You couldn’t have warned me? What the hell?”

Sam grins, “I just… Listen, I was going to when I realized it was Carol, but then I remembered that it is 5 million times more fun watching you suffer.”

Bucky cocks his head to the side, “Wait, did you hook up with Carol?”

“Some spy you are,” you grumble as Carol walks back in, a slight frown on her face.

“Apparently I’m grounded for the next… well,” Carol pauses, taking a deep breath, “foreseeable future.”

Sam and Bucky high-five under the table, then volunteer you to show Carol around.

After showing Carol around the compound you decided you needed to go out again tonight. During the tour, Carol was extremely flirty, which was welcomed- except for the fact that she was a teammate and not a one night stand. To avoid her, you spent the rest of the day hiding in your room and searching your closet for the perfect outfit to wear. You ended up in a crop top with high waisted, wide-legged pants, and after checking yourself in the mirror you walked out of your room with your head held high. Luckily no one was in the kitchen and you were able to leave the compound without anyone noticing, or so you thought.

The club was vibrating with energy as patrons drank too much and danced as much as they could. You downed a shot at the bar then headed into the crowd. At the heart of the masses, you threw your hands in the air and danced, not caring who with. Soon a pair of large hands gripped your hips. Turning your head to the side, you glanced up at the beautiful man before leaning your body into his. Time was non-existent as you danced with the man and you were positive the feeling of his hand on your waist was burned into your skin.

“You want to get out of here,” he asked, lips at the shell of your ear and voice low.

“I’d rather stay here and dance for a little while longer. That good with you?” You replied eyebrow raised.

Instead of saying anything, he rolled his eyes and walked away, attaching those large hands to some other woman.

You rolled your eyes and sighed as you headed back to the bar and ordered a beer. You sat down and took a long drag from the bottle before popping some peanuts into your mouth. A remix of your favorite song came on, causing you to down the rest of the bottle before heading back into the throng.

You moved your own body with the mix of bodies around you, circling your hips, running your fingers through your hair. You saw a familiar hand slip around your middle and in your alcohol-induced haze, you thought it would be a good idea to test fate.

Lips crashed together as you both got out of the taxi and headed towards the compound.

“Wait,” you cautioned, “ Gotta make sure no one is up.”

“It’s 3 am, Y/N,” Carol countered, “Who is going to be up?”

You chuckled before heading into the common area, Carol trailing behind you. When you found everything dark and empty, Carol’s voice cut through the silence.

“FRIDAY, are any of our teammates up?”

“No,” FRIDAYS voice replied, volume lowered for how late early it was, “All Avengers except you and Y/N Y/L/N are asleep.”

A mischievous look took over Carol’s features as she stalked towards you, causing you to back into a couch, almost falling over the back of it.

Carol quickly caught you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing her lips to your neck with open-mouthed kisses, causing a low moan to escape you. She then traced her tongue from the pulse point below your jaw over to your mouth.

“You’ve gotta be quiet, baby,” Carol teased, voice low. “If you can do that, I’ll reward you by taking you to my room and fucking you so hard you can’t help but scream.”

A soft whimper left your lips and you nodded, crashing your lips against hers.

When you woke up, the first thing you realized was that you were alone in Carol’s bed. You quickly looked around, finding her room empty.

“God damnit,” you muttered to yourself. “I was supposed to go to the club and find someone else to sleep with.”

Your muttering continued as climbed out of her bed to find your clothes scattered throughout her quarters.

You didn’t notice right away when Carol walked back in, giving her the opportunity to admire your half-dressed form.

You were about to put your bra on when you noticed her, leaning up against her desk with two mugs of coffee in hand. Her lips turned up in a smirk as she saw what she thought looked a lot like relief flood over you.

Standing there, bra hanging around your middle, still staring at the gorgeous woman you’ve slept with twice now, you were overwhelmed with confusion. You quickly shook your head and fixed your bra and Carol pushed off the desk towards you.

“Thought you might want some coffee,” she said, handing it over.

“After last night I’ll probably need a pint,” you whispered, taking a sip.

“What was that?” Carol asked eyebrow raised.

You coughed and looked up at her before clearing your throat. “Uh, I just said I’d probably need a pint after last night.”

Carol smiled, “And why is that?”

“Seriously, Carol? Do you need to hear me say it?” you asked.

“Yes,” she replied simply. “Say it.”

You set the coffee down on the nearest flat surface before stepping closer to her. “I need a goddamn pint of coffee because you fucked me into almost every surface of your room until I couldn’t form a coherent sentence.”

“And I’ll do it anytime you’d like,” she told you, voice husky.

You quickly cleared your throat, then located your shirt and headed towards the door. “I wouldn’t count on it,” you did your best to keep your voice even. “I rarely sleep with the same person more than once.”

You spent the following weeks avoiding Carol unless absolutely necessary, which included going to a different bar and staying more sober than you normally would, just to make sure you didn’t accidentally end up back in her arms bed.

“You’ve been drinking less,” Bucky stated with a questioning look on his face.

“And what’s that to ya, bionicle boy?” you responded, taking another bite of leftover pasta.

Bucky shrugged, “ Just curious. I-”

“Not just curious,” Sam interrupted, walking out from around the corner. “There are very few things that can get you to drink less. So what is it?”

You huffed and was about to deny them when Carol walked in, sweaty from the gym. She greeted you and you smiled in response, then did your best to not watch the bead of sweat trail down her neck.

You sighed inwardly when she walked out of the kitchen.

Sam and Bucky shared a look before narrowing in on you.

“You just sighed,” Bucky accused, “What happened between you and Carol?”

“I bet I know,” Sam said. “I bet you slept with Carol a second time, breaking your only fuck once rule.”

You tried to interrupt Sam, but he wouldn’t let you.

“BUT! Not only that, you have a crush on her,” he finished.

“I do not!” You exclaimed, trying to sound annoyed.

“Your voice just went up an octave,” Bucky observed, “Which means you are lying.”

“What do you have to say about that?” Sam questioned.

You could feel your face heat up and you jumped off the counter. “I’d say,” you turn to them, legitimately annoyed now, “That it’s none of your business.”

Instead of stomping off to your room, you walked out the front door and headed in whatever direction your feet took you, ending up at a park. Taking a deep breath you sat down on a nearby bench and let your head fall back so you were looking up at the sky. You stayed like that for a while, just watching the soft clouds roll by, mind empty.

At least, it was empty until you looked up and saw two women holding hands, watching their kid go down the slide.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself.

You thought about what Bucky and Sam had accused you of, and you knew they were right. You had a big ole’ fat crush on Carol Danvers, fucking Captain Marvel, the woman who played your body better than anyone ever had. That’s when memories flooded your mind.

Memories about people from your past who you had cared deeply for, and who all betrayed your heart. The last one was just after you dropped out of college, right before the Avengers recruited you. After her, you swore you’d never care for anyone in that way ever again. It was just easier that way. Except, when you looked back up at the couple, you felt a heavy loneliness come over you filled with a special kind of pain.

You looked away and your eyes caught on a woman who looked too much like Carol. You rolled your eyes before scrubbing your hands over your face.

“Y/N?” Carol’s voice called out, causing you to tear your eyes from a spot on the sidewalk, surprise etched into your features. “I was looking for you when Sam told me you walked off, upset. He said you’d probably be here.”

“Oh,” you said quietly.

Carol took that as an invitation to sit down next to you, allowing some space between.

“I was looking for you because I am fed up with you avoiding me,” She stated. “I’ve been tired of it for about a while now, actually.”

You let your eyes slide over to the woman next to you, eyeing her carefully.

“Another reason I came looking for you is because I was worried about you,” she said softly. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Well, I’m fine,” you said far too quickly.

“Obviously,” Carol chuckled.

You were both quiet for a few beats too long when Carol spoke up again.

“It would be easy for me to be upset with how you’ve been treating me without acknowledging something probably happened to cause you to react like this,” she said, “So, I’ll just say this once and leave the ball in your court.” She turned her body towards yours and your body turned all on its own to face her. “It sucks that someone, or multiple someones, hurt you so badly in your past that you’ve decided to make your ‘only fuck once’ rule, all to avoid developing any sort of connection or feelings for anybody ever again. It seems like your rule to avoid connection is hurting you more than you thought it would, so I know there’s hope,” Carol stood up abruptly to stand in front of you.

“You should be loving someone,” she finally said. “Just, fucking let yourself love someone.”

You sat there staring at her, heart beating out of your chest because you knew she was right. You stayed silent because you were scared of how much you have already started falling for her, and you were searching for the right thing to say.

Carol hung her head in defeat before turning to walk back down the path she came, pausing like she wanted to say something else, but changed her mind and began walking away from you.

“Carol?!” You called as you walked into the common room, “Carol! Where are you?”

“Can you stop yelling,” a gruff voice pleaded from the couch. “She’s not here.”

“Do you know where she is?” you asked, “Buck, I need to find her.”

“I think she went to a bar,” Bucky said with a sigh, realizing he wasn’t going to be able to continue napping.

“Thanks!” You said, running towards your room to change your clothes.

You had gotten FRIDAY to disclose which bar Carol was at, and sped through New York traffic on your bike, getting there in record time.

As you walked in, your eyes scanned the room looking for her. You walked over to the bar to ask the bartender if they’d seen her, and they pointed to the far side of the room. You looked her over, noticing how she was leaning up against the wall, talking to some gorgeous woman. It reminded you of the last time you slept together, how sexy she looked leaning up against her desk.

The song changed to Loving Someone by the 1975, bringing you back into the present. You watched her for a moment longer, gathering your courage when she looked past the woman in front of her and locked eyes with you. A smile tugged at her lips giving you the courage you needed to close the distance. You saw her say something to the woman who waved her off before she met you halfway.

You both stopped in the middle of the bar and she looked to you expectantly.

“You were right,” you admitted. “I made that stupid rule to try to protect my heart and I think I honestly caused it to break too many times.”

Carol raised an eyebrow, urging you to continue.

You let out a sigh, “Aaaand I like you and that scares me,” you admitted.

Carol smiled, “Well, then can I buy you a drink?”

You shook your head, pulling the keys out of your pocket, “I’m good. You wanna go for a ride?”

Carol’s smile stretched further over her lips and she nodded, so you took her hand and walked out of the bar.

#dani250 #carol danvers #carol danvers fanfiction #carol danvers fanfic #carol danvers x reader #carol x reader #reader insert #Captain Marvel #captain marvel fanfic #captain marvel fanfiction #the avengers #The avengers fanfiction #The Avengers fanfic #carol danvers smut

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thinkingoutlouddblog · 5 years

Text

doubt us

Summary: Harry is less famous than y/n, causing the whole world to believe he’s using her for her success.

Tags: angst, fluff, famous reader x less famous harry

A/N: thank you so much @littledreamybeth for this request! I appreciate it so much xx

I am taking blurb requests at the moment (this one just ended up being a bit long) so please send them in!

It wasn’t the instagram comments that affected Harry.

Though they were on every photo he posted of his love - whether it be a picture of the two of them backstage at his concert, or a picture of y/n fast asleep on the couch, having crashed after her own - he paid little attention to them.

Sure he saw them, read a few.

“Usually such a private person… and yet he’s posting all these photos of y/n… couldn’t possibly be chasing clout,” commented one of y/n’s fan on his photo of his love, smiling in the sand and drowning in the widest brim beach hat to exist.

“Can’t wait for y/n to realise he’s just a gold digger looking to elevate his career,” another wrote, bringing a frown to his face.

He shook his head at himself.

These people didn’t know him. Didn’t know y/n. They were either just over-protective, devoted fans or jealous ones. They didn’t affect him.

With that thought, he locked his phone.

It wasn’t the news articles that affected him.

Not the flurry of them that were published following his concert in New York.

“At his concert in New York on Saturday night, Harry Styles was accompanied by girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N for a duet, covering the classic ‘You’re Still the One’ by Shania Twain in an attempt to increase both his album and ticket sales, with his upcoming Australian tour yet to sell out,” the first lines of each article would read.

“Y/N, as per usual, has had no trouble selling out her upcoming international stadium tour, beginning early 2019,” each article would somewhere read.

“Will this attempt actually cause an increase in sales? Considering Y/N’s busy schedule with the impending premiere and press tour for her most recent film, A Star is Born, I would say no one could be expecting a second duet anytime soon,” all of them would conclude.

And though they were right, yes his Australian tour was yet to sell out, and no there would not be another duet anytime soon, they were dead wrong about his intentions.

He had suggested it because he loves that song, he loves y/n and there’s nothing he loves more than performing with her. And they had never done so in front of a crowd before. New York was always going to be a special show so he wanted to do something special for the crowd and do something special for himself and his love.

People had taken it the wrong way but that was okay. It didn’t make it any less special for himself and his love. Nothing ever would.

It wasn’t even the people who were close to him that affected him.

“Doesn’t it bother you that your girl is more successful than you?” One of his mates had asked him one day.

Taken aback, Harry had looked at his friend with his mouth open, trying to figure out how best to reply, but his friend filled the dead air first. “I mean no offence, you’re obviously doing really well but this girl is one of the biggest singers and actors on the planet right now. You’re successful but just not that level you know? Doesn’t it bother you?” He asked out of curiosity, not malice.

“No mate, not at all,” Harry paused, gathering his thoughts, “I’m just proud of her and everything she does. People just expect that I’ll be bothered because I’m a guy, and my girl is more successful than I am. No one would ever expect a girl to be bothered because her boyfriend has a more successful career than she does. And generally they aren’t. And neither am I.”

“My masculinity is clearly not as fragile as yours is mate,” he finished with a teasing tone and a laugh.

It was, however, the people who were close to you that affected him.

“Let me take a picture baby,” Harry laughed as you sat at your friend’s Christmas party with a glass of champagne in your hand.

“Fine, one picture and then I’m going to the bathroom,” you giggled, smiling for him and then poking your tongue out when Harry took way more than one.

As you slipped away to the bathroom, Christmas crown still adorning your head, Harry looked at the photos he had just taken of you, smiling to himself over his love.

“You’re not going to post those are you?” The voice of your friend, the host of the party, burst his bubble.

“Um- I was going to. Unless I shouldn’t for some reason?” He shifted, uncomfortable under your friend’s menacing gaze.

“Oh no, go ahead. I get it. You need everyone to know you were at the most exclusive Christmas party in London with the y/n y/l/n. Gotta climb those charts somehow,” she smirked at him and without another word turned right around and walked away, leaving Harry in absolute shock.

He felt as though someone had plunged a dagger of ice into his stomach. Everywhere he looked, everyone seemed to have the same expression as their host. Judging. Disapproving.

He sculled his champagne and yours in less than a minute.

When you returned to where you had left him, he was nowhere in sight.

By the time you found him in the large mansion in which your friend lived, nearly an hour had past and far too much of the bottle of whiskey in Harry’s hand had been emptied.

He was drinking with a few other people you didn’t recognise, all of them just as wasted as he was.

“There she is!” Harry yelled. “My lovie! The only person here who doesn’t hate me!” He giggled to himself, even though his words only brought you confusion.

“Hey, we don’t hate you anymore man,” one of his new drinking buddies slurred, patting him on the back.

After an hour of trying to find Harry, just to find him in this state, you were far too mentally drained to play into their little game, whatever the hell it was.

“We need to go now Harry,” you wrapped your arm around Harry’s waist trying to lead him away. “Thanks for taking care of him guys,” you said to his company. Even though you did shit all.

“She’s not kicking me out is she?” Harry asked worriedly as you led him towards the door.

You laughed at his clearly drink foggy mind, but played along. “Why would she be kicking you out, love?”

“Because she thinks I’m just a gold-digging, fame seeking asshole who’s using you,” he slurred, but you picked up on his completely serious tone.

“What?” you stopped walking, completely shocked by his words. “Who told you that?”

“She did,” he frowned at you.

“Well that’s bullshit and we both know it okay?” you continued walking, just metres from the car now.

“Now I’m going to pop you in the car and then I’m going to go back inside and grab something I left behind. Then we can go home and get you into bed, alright?”

Harry nodded as you unlocked the car. Once you helped him into the car, you marched back on into the party.

Your eyes locked onto your target within minutes of re-entering the mansion, and you made a beeline for the party host.

“Hey y/n! I see you’ve lost your attachment,” she joked as you approached.

Without a word you snatched her drink out of her hand and basically slammed it on the nearest surface, needing an outlet for your blinding anger.

“You keep your bullshit lies about Harry to yourself, do you hear me? That man loves me, okay? Not my fame, not my money, not my connections, me. Sorry if you can’t relate to that in your own life, but don’t go projecting your own issues onto me and Harry,” you spat, trying your best to refrain from yelling.

You turned to everyone around you who had stopped what they were doing to spectate the commotion. “And that goes for all of you as well. One wrong word about Harry and I can promise you, you will be out of my life quicker than you can blink.”

With that, you turned and left, smirking to yourself.

Later that night, after Harry had emptied his stomach of the worst of the booze and you had helped him shower, the two of you laid in bed together. You stroked his hair gently as he held his stomach loosely, regretting every sip of alcohol he had.

“They’re not going to bother you anymore,” you whispered, just wanting to take away every single ounce of hurt he had ever felt.

“I know. I figured when you didn’t actually come back with anything that you had probably gone in to sort them out.”

The two of you laid in silence for a moment, just facing each other.

“You know nothing that they said is true right? And you know that I know everything they said isn’t true?” you spoke softly, reassuringly.

“Of course I do, lovie. The world may doubt me, but I will never doubt us.”

Tell me what you think of this or send me ideas for other stories or concepts!

#harry imagine #harry styles #harry styles angst #harry angst #harry styles fluff #harry fluff #one direction imagine #harry x reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry blurb #harry fic #harry styles fanfic #harry fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine

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plumoh · 6 years

Text

[NatsuYuu] your own person

Word count: 1901

Summary: Natsume Takashi is not Natsume Reiko.

Note: AO3 link

One-shot: your own person

The youkai tilts her head, mild confusion painted on her face as she considers him.

“You're not Reiko, then?”

Natsume smiles, eyes crinkling with that kindness he always shows to anyone who was willing to listen, and he shakes his head.

“She was my grandmother. She passed away, I'm sorry.”

As he watches the youkai bobs her head in understanding and leaves, he thinks about all the people Reiko-san has met, all the ones she's helped one way or another, to the point that decades later they still fondly remember her, and wonders if she's ever wanted to leave her trace in the world with so much clarity, for beings she only could see.

His fingers curl into fists, and he heads home.

***

He has never heard good things about his mother's family—there seems to be a general consensus about the way his relatives should talk about them, like they were completely cut off from the others and constituted a whole world on their own. Natsume has never seen any of them.

While his mother is spared from the sharpest and nastiest comments, surely because she showed so much love and care towards her husband, Reiko-san is the target of all this gratuitous cruelty only known to those trying to assert superiority over others. He's heard it all; a weirdo, a dangerous woman, a libertine, a crazy dropout. Someone who was too strange to understand, too harsh to listen to, too difficult to put up with, too much to live. Wherever she goes, problems follow, like a curse she's brought onto herself with her solitude.

A liar, when she claims she's only helping, and not causing disasters right and left.

Natsume manages to catch the echo of these accusations because he knows what is right. He is probably the only one alive remembering how anxious and lonely she was, how bright she appeared when she was challenging people, how incredible her entire aura was. He can't blame them for only seeing what they can, just like how they can't imagine a second world wrapped around theirs, but he can blame them for rejecting her without trying. He knows there are people out there who must have reached out, who have believed her, but he regrets they weren't strong enough to erase the black smears on her name.

Their similarities probably end here, at their shared oddness.

***

When Hinoe catches wind of a particular request a youkai made involving baseball bats and strength, she laughs and laughs until she can't even properly draw from her pipe.

“A battle? With you?”

Natsume's eyebrow slightly twitches at seeing her shiny eyes and traces of tears behind them, as she spectacularly fails at repressing her mirth before his unimpressed look. She smiles, a bit mocking and a bit fondly, like she expected a cutting remark coming her way, but when it doesn't, she shakes her head, leaning against a tree.

“Why would he want something like that?” she asks.

“Apparently he wanted to, and I quote, 'get a feel from the past',” Natsume sighs. “Reiko-san beat him in a fight.”

“Of course she did. She was strong, after all.”

There is no hidden meaning or malice behind this statement, but Natsume still—feels his core shake, by innocent but charged with emotions words he can only try to understand. Hinoe has been at Reiko-san's side for a while (years?), and has witnessed many times demonstrations of the strength she carries like a shield. She is human, yet the youkais respect her and admire her, because she's reliable, and kind—kind in her own way.

“What did your twig arms do against that youkai?” Hinoe teases, finally smoking her pipe without choking.

Natsume's cheeks turn a shade of pink, and he looks away.

“I accidentally punched him in my flailing.”

Another bout of cackling takes over Hinoe, though she's less surprised by the outcome than by the duel in itself. Natsume supposes it's fair, since he does end up punching youkais quite a lot, whether he likes it or not—and that's a perfectly normal reaction to have when you are chased by crazy beings unwilling to listen to you! He apologized, of course, but the issue remains that he didn't win the duel, and even if the youkai assured him it was a draw, it felt more like a personal loss that simply reinforced the idea he can't protect himself.

“Reiko would have beaten him with that bat easily, but you didn't do too bad, kid.”

Hinoe grins at him, face veiled with pride, or maybe wistfulness, but either case she seems to be pleased. Natsume's mouth forms around words he wants to say, then decides against it, and settles for another one of his smiles.

“Thank you.”

He thinks about the baseball bat, the memory of Reiko-san swinging it like second nature to chase away youkais to protect another one, all the while sporting a smile that promises hell for anyone standing in her path. He thinks about what led her to develop such a confident and assertive presence, and wonders.

***

“Please, Natsume-sama! Help us!”

“You idiot, ask nicely! Don't you remember how easily Natsume-sama defeated that powerful youkai that day?”

“Ah, I apologize for being so rude, Natsume-sama!”

The two little tree youkais bow deeply, almost touching the tatami floor of his room, and Natsume sighs, way more used to this sight than he should be. He idly strokes Nyanko-sensei's fur, eyes trained on the figures of the youkais going this far to get help, even from someone they fear.

“I think you are talking about my grandmother, Natsume Reiko. I'm her grandson.”

The two youkais lift their heads, sending each other confused glances, then their faces light up in understanding, like they just remembered what the current rumors were saying, if they heard any.

“Human lives are so short, I often forget that,” one of them says.

“That they are,” the other agrees. “Such a shame. Natsume Reiko seemed invincible.”

Youkais don't age, and basically live for eternity, only seeing time pass without much worry about what they do during the day—napping appears to be a popular choice. Natsume doesn't think he would want that kind of life, and Reiko-san probably didn't, either, despite all the praise she seems to get from youkais.

“I might not be as strong as Reiko-san, but I'll do my best to help you,” he answers with a smile.

He's stopped stroking Sensei at one point, which perhaps explains why he's suddenly groaning, so Natsume resumes his petting with a chuckle. The youkais look at them curiously, but don't comment.

“We appreciate it, Natsume-sama. Your kindness goes beyond our expectations.”

“You own something as great as the Book of Friends, yet you are willing to help us small youkais! Truly, thank you!”

“The Book of Friends doesn't define who I am,” Natsume weakly protests, seeing how his two visitors don't give the impression to register his words.

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he pauses. He glances at the book in question, facing him with its ordinary cover. Many times he has wondered why it was called the 'Book of Friends', if Reiko-san never intended to see any of them again; it's an odd decision he can't even begin to understand, but he realized that maybe, maybe, this one difference is what truly sets him apart from his grandmother. He doesn't possess her bravery, he can't inspire admiration right away—he's just a teenager trying to fix the wrongs he stumbles upon. And if he collects friendships across the country, when Reiko-san fought against them, then perhaps he should accept it.

He is too preoccupied with staring at the Book of Friends to notice Sensei opening an eye to watch him.

***

Natsume has to admit that even for him, it's rather late, and he didn't think it through before involving himself in yet again another mess (by Nyanko-sensei's standards). Going back home covered in bruises and dirt isn't a sight the Fujiwaras has never seen, though, and while he loathes worrying them, he isn't seriously injured, so he can still get away with a little lie.

“If you stopped helping every single insignificant small fry, you'd be less trouble!” Sensei grumbles, waving a paw at him from his perch on his shoulder. “You twig!”

“At least I'm not fat like you, Sensei,” Natsume retorts without batting an eye.

There is hardly anybody on the roads, humans and youkais alike, which allows Natsume to relax. Being surrounded by youkais all day long is always tiring, especially if they need something specific or if he ends up in dangerous situations—that is to say, every time. Today is no different, with the returning of a few names on top of that.

Natsume thinks he's toughened up, after all these encounters, but he's still not Reiko-san, and will never be.

Something is shoved at his cheek and travels to his nose, and he hisses, swatting at it until he realizes that it's Sensei's paw.

“What are you doing, Sensei?!”

“Stop mulling over stupid thoughts and get home! I'm hungry!”

Natsume shoots Nyanko-sensei a quizzical look, not completely following his meaning. Sensei is narrowing his eyes at him, like he dares him to say anything back or to spout out nonsense, “just like he usually does”, apparently, and that in itself is enough to draw a chuckle from him. Sensei is waving his paw at his face again.

“What are you laughing at? Hurry up!”

“Yes, yes.”

His steps are a bit faster, a bit lighter, as he crosses roads and fields to get back on the familiar path home. He bypasses the tree housing a bird youkai that always greets him in the mornings. In one of the small shrines, another youkai decided to take up residence to rest before resuming her journey. Natsume knows these people.

For a few minutes they don't speak, only listen to the sounds of the night. Then, Sensei looks up at the sky.

“These youkais think you're grand and incredible because they probably never met a human stupid enough to help them without sparing a thought for his own well-being. They don't know you're just a stick-man with one brain cell set on helping anyone who so much as makes eye contact with you.”

That brings a smile on Natsume's lips, the one that shows enough relief to know that it's sincere, not some kind of substitute to build a wall around him. He lifts his arms and gathers Sensei in his arms, squeezing a little bit too hard probably, but the beast doesn't complain—he stays still.

“Reiko-san was an amazing person,” Natsume softly says. When Sensei doesn't reply, he continues, “She did what she thought was right for her, and for the others.”

He keeps walking. He can see the street of the Fujiwaras' house from a distance.

“She wasn't kind to everyone,” Sensei comments.

Natsume wonders. “Maybe. Her kindness was different.”

“You're not Reiko. I would have even more trouble keeping you in check if you were half as ruthless as she was.”

Natsume brings a hand on top of Sensei's head to scratch it, and this time the curve of his lips feels less strained, less heavy.

The Book of Friends sits in his bag, protecting all the friends he has yet to meet.

#natsuyuu #natsume yuujinchou #natsume takashi #nyanko sensei #hinoe #my fanfic

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liggytheauthoress · 6 years

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and I have officially gotten bingo for @badthingshappenbingo!

prompt fill for @purplenerd777, who requested Faraday/Red Harvest with big brother instinct

may or may not be sliiiightly based on my relationship with my own younger sibling

crossposted to ao3

Red Harvest isn’t somebody who people tend to engage in casual conversation. Most who don’t know him tend to take one look at his appearance and decide he’s either beneath their notice or likely to butcher them the second they turn their backs, and the people who do know him know that he’s not exactly one for talking anyway.

Joshua Faraday is not most people. He talks to Red the same way he talks to just about everyone else: like he’s actively trying to get himself punched in the mouth. He prods and teases and frequently toes the line between being playful and being outright insulting, but miraculously, Red has yet to murder him in his sleep.

Sometimes, Red even shoots back with an acerbic comment of his own, which seems to honestly delight Faraday to no end.

Sam doesn’t question it. As long as they aren’t physically at each other’s throats, he’s okay with Red and Faraday constantly taunting one another.

However, Faraday apparently takes issue with other people crossing the lines he crosses with Red on an almost daily basis.

Sam witnesses this firsthand one afternoon, when they’re all settled in a saloon after a long ride. Most of the Seven are circled around a table in the corner, watching Faraday holding court over the poker game. It’s quiet and relatively peaceful - which, naturally, means it can’t last for very long.

One of the other men at the poker table has been glancing over his shoulder at Red for the past half hour, and Sam hears him mutter something that’s less than civil, but that doesn’t sound very different from what Faraday says to Red half the time.

Which is why it’s somewhat surprising when Faraday goes very still and slowly places his cards on the table.

“You want to say that again, friend?”

Sam can’t see the other poker player’s face, but his tone is taken aback and somewhat annoyed. “Beg your pardon?”

“I asked if you want to say that again.” Faraday’s voice has taken on the low, dangerous tone the others know means he’s very close to doing something stupid and probably violent. Vasquez has his hand halfway towards his gun and Billy is turning a knife over in his fingers, clearly ready in case things go sour.

“You got a problem with what I said?”

Faraday’s eyes flash. “I do. That man you just insulted happens to be a friend of mine. And I don’t take particularly kindly to people insulting my friends.” He pushes his chair back like he’s preparing to stand up. “So if you have a problem with him, why don’t we go outside and discuss it like civilized gentleman?”

Sam holds his breath, knowing this could go downhill very quickly. But it seems the offending man isn’t in the mood to make a bigger deal out of this than has already been made, because he holds up his hands in a show of deference. “Look, I didn’t mean anything by it…”

“Damn right you didn’t. Now I think you owe my friend over there an apology, don’t you?”

The man splutters a bit in indignation, but a glare from Faraday seems to subdue him into turning around and mumbling one of the most half-hearted apologies Sam has ever heard.

Throughout all of this, Red has looked more amused than anything else, and he’s clearly enjoying himself right now. He nods to show that all is forgiven - although Sam doesn’t miss the comment he makes under his breath in Comanche.

Faraday seems to be appeased, because he pulls his chair back in and picks up his cards once more. The atmosphere is a little tenser than it was before, but that’s it.

Sam is suddenly reminded of his sisters. The way he and they used to eternally tease and badger one another - sometimes badly enough to make people who didn’t know them think there was actual malice intended - only to turn around and explode at anyone else who tried to cross those same lines.

Maybe that’s what’s going on here.

Although both Red and Faraday would probably be horrified by the comparison.

#badthingshappenbingo #purplenerd777 #my writing #mag7

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dontcallmecarrie · 7 years

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Fic Idea: The Fix-it Version [I Probably Won't Be Writing Because I Can't Do Romance To Save My Life]

Warnings: mental health issues, dubious morality, probably OOC in some places, extreme/severe Wanda bashing [which culminates in character death; if that’s not your cup of tea, sorry, maybe next time?], a JARVIS that’s uncomfortably close to Skynet, and a mindtrip of epic proportions [that can probably be classified as cruel and unusual torture, Inception-style]. Semi-canon compliant, through a certain point of view, though with shameless timeline fudging.

...On the plus side, there’s also Science Bros [kinda], and Team As Family feels?

[The attempt at romance in here could fit with probably any pairing, I just picked this one because I used to ship it a lot harder in the past.]

Also, heads up for a very, very long post. [Sorry about that.]

Edited only to put in a cut, because I’m not kidding as to how long this is.

Tony Stark was a genius.

It was a fact of which there was no doubt, he had the test results from age three to prove it, even his greatest critics were forced acknowledge his intellect. Not to mention his impressive track record involving new patents and elements, or that one of the media's names for him was "the Da Vinci of our day"-- he was a genius, full stop.

That the world somehow forgot was another matter.

Sure, he was surrounded by superpowered people—gods and spies and doctors with breathtaking anger issues— but it still got old, the way everyone seemed to forget his multiple doctorates with each explosion. His laundry list of awards, hell, the new element he’d created, seemed to get overshadowed by the people he ran with. [To be fair, it'd be kind of hard to see past the Crown Prince of Asgard, but still.]

Point is, his brain's wired differently. It may sound arrogant, but it was true. Tony Stark had a gift that let him interact with the world on a level far beyond most mortals' ken, was able to take and assimilate data and work miracles.

Reason this all comes up is because a) that meant mental health issues were a special sort of hell, and, b) Wanda really didn't know what the fuck she was doing when she tried to screw with his mind.

What I’m getting to is this:

Tony never really snapped out of the initial mind-whammy Wanda hit him with, back in Sokovia.

It wasn't something she'd expected; she'd practiced with plenty of people, and yet the one guy she'd sworn revenge against for years gave a single panicked gasp, before slumping over and promptly going comatose.

Here's the thing: Wanda hadn't accounted for how his mind would accept the data presented. Like all other things, Tony's gift for rapidly processing and assimilating other input took this newest development, and proceeded to take it and run with it.

Tony's trapped in his head, stuck with only his inner demons and Wanda's malice. He doesn't notice; between his PTSD, and the way his greatest strengths are now being used against him, Tony only knows he's being confronted with his worst nightmares being turned reality, and the worst part is? It's a prison of his own making.

Every single subconscious fear is being dragged to the forefront, from betrayal to his own inadequacy at protecting those he loves. He's being torn down again and again by strangers wearing familiar faces, and Tony knows something's off but he can't quite pinpoint what and… and it's getting to the point where part of him's so bone-tired he sometimes can't help but wonder: would death would really be that much harder? Because as time goes by, he's getting so, so worn and he's so alone, that he's nearing his breaking point. [Just like Wanda had wanted him, in that moment when she'd thoughtlessly toyed with the very fragile and very powerful thing that was Tony's mind.]

There's just one problem: Wanda did her job too well.

See, JARVIS was the first to notice something was so, fundamentally wrong: Sir's readings had flickered erratically, but then after the female Enhanced had taken her leave, he had remained unresponsive to his increasingly desperate attempts to get his attention. Even as he notified the Avengers to this newest development, however, he set to scouring the world for the Dead Person Walking who'd dared to harm Sir. [He'd eviscerate them, would make them bleed and burn the world with a smile if it meant Sir's safety, Sir, please, wake up—]

The Avengers aren't ones to take this lying down, either.

Clint's especially vicious, at first; he's the first one to reach Tony, sees the fading traces of red in his eyes, remembers when his world had become awash with blue, and his hands don’t shake when he takes a shot at the fleeing duo [even though he so, desperately wants to]. The cry of pain he hears is vaguely cathartic, but vanishes the moment he hears Tony's first whimper and something is Not Right, this is beyond his pay grade, he needs backup stat!

Natasha's expression is blank, and that was everyone's first tip as to how furious she was. She hasn't let go of her phone, between keeping her friends updated [Pepper had cried when she'd heard Tony wouldn't wake], and scouring her contacts list for anyone who might have a shred of a clue as to how to help. She refused to give up on her friends, and Tony'd shared his coffee with her more than once at three in the morning, and they'd commiserated about tough choices and bloody pasts and second chances one too many times for her to consider him anything but.

Bruce is taking readings. He hasn't stopped, because the alternative is looking at the too-still and far-too-silent figure on the bed rather than the data, and if he does that… they'd have to deal with the Other Guy, who has some Strong Opinions as to his favorite person's current state— no, make that their favorite person: Bruce is very reserved, can't afford to be anything else, but somehow, despite everything, Tony'd managed to wriggle past his defenses with his constant chatter and Star Trek references and snacks and if he thought about it too much he'd have another Code Green, nope, focus on those brainwave patterns and see what he could do—

Thor had rushed to Asgard with the Scepter in tow, intent on returning with assistance, because Midgard was still so young in so many ways but he knew what branch of magic Lord Anthony had been a victim of, had heard Loki mention it offhandedly once or twice in their youth when showing off the power of enchantments, and there had to be a healer or magician willing to help—

Steve, meanwhile, has been taking it the worst: he'd been bantering with the team not five minutes before, and now he's seeing Clint, sharp and brittle in a way that was dangerously similar to the New York fiasco, and snarling about magic and oh god that was Tony.

Steve's heart had stuttered when he saw his body, and Natasha's bumping shoulders with Clint in an effort to help calm him down and Bruce looks like he's about as controlled as ever, but Steve's just. Drowning.

Because he's lost another friend, now; he'd just started to heal from Bucky's death, when the HYDRA reveal happened, and Tony'd been there for him afterwards, had been a good friend and helped him and Sam in their search. Tony'd been one of the last reminders of his past, had been a walking memorial of the generosity of an old friend [for all that Tony had hated to talk about his father, he was the spitting image of the man Steve had known, in some ways], and now? He's just…lost.

Steve had been talking to Natasha and JARVIS as to how to break it to Tony gently about his growing suspicions about HYDRA's involvement in Howard's death.

[maybe it wasn't the Winter Soldier who did it, in this reality; maybe it was someone at the party who'd kept smiling and upping the alcohol content in Howard's drinks, and had sabotaged the brake fluid in his car instead. Thing is, Tony's head is a scary place, and with his growing paranoia and Wanda's influence, he can't help but jump to the worst-case scenario]

And ditto as to his possible crush that Natasha may or may not have been teasing him about for months. The crush that had merited multiple pitying looks from the team, because apparently he'd been very unsubtle in his attempts at hiding it, even if Tony had never noticed because the man was surprisingly obtuse in anything that vaguely smacked of emotions. Yeah, that crush. The one he'd put on the backburner, and was now bitterly regretting it.

So, yes, Steve wasn't doing well.

Time passes, and Thor comes and goes in his forays to seek out help. In doing so, however, the Avengers are only freaking out more and more, because with every hour that passes, Tony's condition only gets worse. His body's visibly getting more stressed, Bruce's tests have him hitting the tea more than ever before in an attempt to get a grip, and Steve hates seeing Tony like this but can't bear to leave [or let go of his hand].

JARVIS was especially distressed when, a few hours into his not-coma, Sir started to cry and call for him, and he'd never felt more helpless than when his sobs tapered off and mutters of a 'Vision' started. In his frustration, he dedicates more firepower towards finding the Dead Person Walking, and redoubles his search for anyone capable of doing anything.

It takes JARVIS less than three days, for him to find Wanda. It takes even less time, to capture her. Natasha is more than happy to aid him in interrogating her, and if the realization that she didn't know what she had done resulted in yet another corpse in a now-abandoned HYDRA bunker? Well...the instigator's death had no effect on Sir's condition meant it was no loss, at any rate. [That she'd shown absolutely no regret about having hurt Sir on such a fundamental level was only part of why JARVIS hadn't been particularly concerned about it all.]

More time passes, and the Avengers are growing increasingly desperate. Bruce had been forced to abscond to the Hulk-proof room after his latest set of readings, because Tony'd been showing all the warning signs for an impending heart attack despite their best efforts to help, and Steve's now going for a new streak in 'number of punching bags broken in an hour'.

Clint and Natasha are only marginally better off; having the knowledge that the witch was dead did something for Clint's peace of mind, but seeing Tony suffer was still grating on his nerves, and their spars grow increasingly vicious as time goes on. [If Steve wasn't even worse off, he'd have been staring in shock; as it was, he could only offer a tired smile when he saw them from his spot in the gym.]

Then, Thor returns with a name: Kamar-Taj.

Apparently, the Earth had magic as well, though it'd been hidden remarkably well. JARVIS takes this newest development, and runs with it as far as possible. The Quinjet was in India within the hour, with Bruce and Natasha calmly making their way to where JARVIS had identified a possible location. Clint's busily guarding Tony and keeping an eye on Steve, who'd wanted to go but was self-aware enough to know he wasn't the best guy for the job at the moment, and Thor was too conspicuous for it too.

Bruce knew enough Hindi to get by without too many weird looks, and the look in Natasha's eyes is enough to keep any potential muggers at bay. They find it quickly, and the wary questions they're asked means they're ushered to a darkened room in short order. Another terse few minutes of conversation finally have the Ancient One, alongside her right-hand man, walking back with the duo. [Bruce has to quell his knee-jerk reaction to run when he feels how everyone's attention when he mentions Thor's mention of 'mind magics' and something about stones? Man, he hated magic.]

A quick portal [that had the Avengers shifting and tensing uneasily when it'd opened, because hello security concerns] trip later, and Steve is a hairsbreadth away from snapping when the Ancient One surges backwards from where she'd run a few cursory hands near Tony's head.

"Who did this?" She asked, devastated fury evident in her tone and the way her companion moved to protect her. "This is an unspeakable act, punishable by death."

"They're dead." Clint replied, cold smile on his face and rolling an arrow [one of Tony's designs, one he'd been fiddling with before Sokovia] between his fingers.

"Good," the Ancient One bites out, "this is a travesty. It's mentioned in our archives, but only strong magicians with years of training even dare approach this, and only ever for healing purposes."

"Is there anything you can do?" Thor asked, "Few mages in Asgard specialize in this branch, and among that number the ones I knew who were capable of it are dead."

She looks at them, at the desperate look in their eyes, at the weariness in Bruce's face and the tension in Steve's frame and utter blankness in Natasha's expression, and smiles.

"Yes. It requires a lot of delicacy and preparation, especially for something that's lasted as long as this, but yes. Your friend is strong; it's been centuries since a human's been recorded with being under this, and they all died within three days."

Steve dented his chair when he sat back down, while Natasha merely tilted her head and replied, "It's been a week."

That added to the urgency, apparently: the Ancient One shared a look of horrified awe with Mordo, and set to work making their various preparations. Within the hour, they were ready, and when she asked if they would permit some of Kamar-Taj's students to observe the enchantment necessary for it, the team had a hurried, hushed debate.

"Please use your discretion. Only those who would not impede the process, I suppose." Natasha finally said, electing to be the Avenger's spokesperson [now that Tony was out of commission nope don't think about it—].

Steve didn't leave Tony's side until a few minutes before the ritual started; and then, he couldn't look away from the growing circle and only blinked when the light got too close to blinding even for him, and when he heard a quietly heartbroken "so was I" and a scream Thor had to help hold him down to keep from interfering.

Clint, meanwhile, shifted the entire time, antsy about magic and couldn't help but envy Bruce for stepping outside [the Other Guy was even less of a fan of magic than he was, and that took effort], and trying not to stare too openly at one of the students who'd elected to watch the ceremony. It was kind of hard, actually; he'd introduced himself as Dr. Stephen Strange, but in the minutes that it'd taken for Mordo to finish setting up the room, Clint couldn't help but notice the way the man hadn't stopped with the questions [much like Tony had with Thor nope nope he'd wake up dammit—] and it was uncanny, especially with the Van Dyke the man was sporting.

The ceremony's completed, and Tony's heart stopped partway through.

Fortunately, apparently Strange had actually been a medical doctor in the past, and between him, Bruce, and the Iron Man suit JARVIS had commandeered to help in this endeavor, restarting it was less stressful than the past few hours had been.

"He should wake soon," the Ancient One told them, "make sure he takes it easy while he recovers, it's not often that people survive a death-curse."

The Avengers in general thanked her profusely, and JARVIS did the same. Then, at long last, they went home.

Tony wakes up to JARVIS' voice updating him about New York's weather forecast and stock prices and his relief of his latest change in status, with the familiar beeping of a heart monitor in the background. [Well, now familiar, at least, between Rhodey and Happy and nope—]

"Hey, Vision, where you at?"

"Sir, who is this 'Vision' you speak of? It is currently May—"

Tony sat up abruptly, heart starting to hammer again as he took in his surroundings. "Vision, where am I? This isn't funny."

"Sir, I am JARVIS. Do you require medical assistance?"

Tony froze from where he'd been running a hand through his hair. "JARVIS?" He breathed, and then looked around again carefully, "Oh, god. I lost it, didn't I?"

JARVIS was alarmed when Sir started laughing, and then his breath hitched and he started crying.

As such, it was perfectly understandable that he urged the Avengers to hurry; Mr. Barton and Ms. Romanov had been sparring in the gym while Capt. Rogers had been coming back from lunch, and Thor was currently in the middle of yet another Q&A session with the Ancient One concerning possible extraplanetary threats and magic.

Tony was barely getting his bearings back, and wondering what the hell was going on, when the door burst open, and what the fuck?!

He couldn't quite hide a flinch when Steve surged towards him, relief evident on his face, and…what.

Why was he being hugged? Was this another attempt to kill him, wasn't Siberia enough? What the— why was Natasha smiling? No, strike that; why was Clint smiling? Bruce was here?! And why was he hearing JARVIS' voice from the walls and not from Vision, again?

"Oh, god. I've really lost it this time, haven't I?"

The story comes out, of course.

Tony doesn’t know why Steve refuses to let him go if at all possible, but the part of him that hopes this isn't just some nervous breakdown isn't shy about enjoying the hugs [even if they got almost too tight in some parts, like when his voice broke when talking about Ultron, or the Civil War and it was all his fault—] and the way the team didn't seem to hate him [for once].

Actually…Tony isn't sure if he's really lost it, but he's also not sure if he wants to find out. Because here, JARVIS lives, and Rhodey can walk, and people actually listen to him about his worries and actually seem to care—

Clint and Natasha share a Look, the more Tony goes on. [Clearly, they'd been too merciful, when dealing with Wanda.]

Bruce greeted Tony with a smile, and then gave him some personal space: he knew him well enough to know it'd be appreciated, and what with the way the rest of the team was acting, Tony'd be lucky if he so much as went to the bathroom without an armed escort for the rest of the year.

Thor, when he arrives, tries to wrap Tony up in a hug—which makes for a dicey situation, because Steve refuses to let him go and Natasha and Clint are also a lot more likely to try to cuddle right now after the scare they all had. There may or may not be a small battle royale going on in the living room for the best spot on the couch, whenever Tony so much as gets up for a glass of water.

[aka Tony gets all the hugs]

Steve, meanwhile, is just as bad as JARVIS regarding his willingness to let Tony out of his eyesight. That is to say, he's very unwilling to do so. As in, barely willing to let him out of arms' distance, and that'd been before he'd heard about Tony's ordeal. [He hadn’t noticed Tony's flinch at first, but it's not until he heard about the 'Civil War', and Siberia that it hits home, just why he'd reacted that way, and it hurts.]

JARVIS has been in Sentry Mode since Sokovia. He has yet to let Sir out of his sensors' range, and the odds of that ever happening lower with each day that passes. Not that Sir's complaining; more than once, he'd simply called, "JARVIS?" just to hear a response, and seemed to take comfort in his updates about the situation.

Colonel James 'Rhodey' Rhodes had been in the middle of a mission, when JARVIS informed him of Tony's coma. If it hadn't been so sensitive, he would've up and vanished, but as it was he was the only thing between a warlord and a poor province until backup arrived, and though he burned to leave ASAP, he couldn't. [Tony'd never forgive him.]

The moment the op was over, though, and the people were safe, James pushed his suit to the limit to get to Tony's side, where his best friend was awake and coherent and rushing in for a tight hug just like he'd been after Afghanistan. He knows exactly why Rogers refuses to let go of Tony [even if it's for starkly different reasons; the man was not subtle at all, and if he hadn't known Tony for years, James'd wonder if he was being purposefully obtuse, because this was getting ridiculous].

He stays for as long as he can manage, and the way Tony just collapsed into his side each time means he's sharing increasingly concerned looks with the Avengers, because he's known Tony to be rather stoic about some things [ha—understatement of the year], and yet the friend he's known for decades teared up the moment he strode into the room, and what the hell happened to him?!

But no matter; he'll be there for Tony. Just like always.

Pepper's much the same way, having been dealing with investors in Japan, and able only to arrive after all had been said and done [though she'd noticed the haunted look in Tony's eyes, and made a note to talk with James and JARVIS about what actions needed to be taken to remedy this]. She wraps him up in a hug when she first sees him, and the way he'd only slowly relaxed was enough of a warning in and of itself, to her.

She's got a business meeting coming up, but in the meantime she and Tony curl up and watch old French movies with the lights off, and sharing blankets and granola without a care for crumbs. [She smiles when he finally loses that last edge of tension, when he slumps bonelessly against her and the couch, and doesn’t make a comment about the blinking earpiece he’s got, the one JARVIS likes to use whenever Tony’s out and about and needing a discreet way to stay connected. Tony was strong, he’d pull through. And she’d help him, whenever he asked it of her, as per usual.]

Time passes, and Tony heals.

He stops flinching at everyone’s sudden movements, stops startling whenever he hears JARVIS, gradually starts opening up again and lowering his guard, inch by inch. Slowly starts to up his chatter again, and the team’s never been more relieved than when the familiar strains of AC/DC start to filter through again, after months of silence [because Tony only ever played music when he was comfortable, when he felt safe and happy and secure with his place in the world].

Time passes, and everyone gradually moves on, though JARVIS' Sentry Mode is still a constant shadow to Tony and the Avengers' paranoia regarding magic never really goes away, not until months after Stephen Strange becomes a consultant and they see him and Tony bantering about facial hair and Arthur C. Clarke and doctorates.

Time passes, and when Thanos arrives, it's to an Earth with a set of guardians all as fiercely protective of each other as a pack of wolves, a tight-knit and cohesive unit devastating both on the battlefield and off of it.

[Suffice it is to say, Thanos doesn’t walk away from that particular encounter.]

There’s more going on in the background, of course. Exhibit A being the romance subplot [that could apply to just about any pairing in this scenario], and I’ve really skimmed just how long it takes for Tony to heal from experiencing canon events.

Steven Strange’s part got shifted up in the timeline, and the Ancient One doesn’t die; instead, he ends up being a consultant for the Avengers, but his focus is on keeping the New York Sanctum safe. [Mordo, Wong, and James Rhodes just share a Look, the moment they first see Tony Stark and Stephen Strange in the same room. It may or may not have been one of horrified awe, of ‘oh god there’s two of them’, minutes before the first explosion started.]

...FYI, this JARVIS is basically TWiFFON’s JARVIS, and just my approach to him in general. That is to say, his focus on Tony’s safety and happiness is one of [if not the] biggest motivation for his actions, and a morality a lot more nebulous than most would probably be comfortable with, given he’s basically Skynet as is.

#fic idea #fic ideas #orignal outline #The Romance Fic I Probably Won't Be Writing #canon went screwy years back here's my attempt to fix it #long post #sorry about that

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