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crimsonrae · 3 years

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Drowned Desires

Summary: Pirates plunder wasn’t always jewels and gold. Sometimes their bounty was flesh. Captain Cavill had found his treasure in the shape of a feral woman.

Pirate!HenryxOFC

Warning: Kidnapping, coercion, trapped, spanking, ultimatums, dry humping, masturbation. Dark Themes below. read at your own risk.

A/N: I have written and rewritten sections of this several times, but it took nearly deleting it all by accident to get me to post. I hope you all enjoyed.

Drowned Desires

Wooden planks whined and groaned as waves licked and lapped at the ship's underbelly. It was a familiar tune, as much as the heavy thumps of feet upon the deck, the clash of swords, and the cries of men – so familiar that the Captain heard none of it as he perused the papers and trinkets hidden away in the desk of his now fallen counterpart.

His men never understood his predilection for ship diaries and official correspondence, not when there were shinier prizes at hand. Yet, he understood what they did not...information would always fetch a far higher price than any piece of jewelry – not that he didn’t take his share of that too.

A faint smirk spread lazily across his lips as he drew his finger across beautifully inked letters that denoted the mark of nobility. His mind already hungered for the letter's contents – for what could nobility want in the Caribbean wild?

“Captain!” Sapphire-iced eyes flicked to the cabin door with disinterest before returning to his venture, “Captain!”

With a roaring slam, the door flew open to reveal his first mate, but he was not alone. A wild maelstrom of silk impressively blocked the large man from view as guttural grunts and screams filled the cabin.

Henry raised an innocuous brow as he watched the virulent struggle, silently amused by the brief glimpses of frustration on Brooks’s face as he maintained his hold on what Henry could only assume was a feral girl.

“Be quiet!” Brooks barked, finally having enough as he shoved the girl to the ground. His bulky frame took up the entirety of the cabin’s exit as he glared almost mutinously at his captain.

Henry licked his lip and smirked before peering curiously over the edge of the wide desk to the sprawled form below. A mass of hair flipped back to reveal a startlingly beautiful and mature face. Unbidden, lust stirred within his veins.

Not a girl, then. A woman.

A very angry woman, Henry mused as he sat back and stared at his first mate, “Is there a reason why she’s not locked in the stores with the others?”

“She ripped Thatcher’s ear clear off, Captain. He’s demanding recompense.” Brooks intoned wearily as he kept a watchful eye on the now oddly quiet woman.

Henry’s brow arched higher, if possible, as again he leaned over the desk to take in the fallen woman. She was paying him no mind, having come to her knees. Her eyes shifted about the room as if looking for an exit or a weapon. It was then that Henry was able to note the faint glimpse of red staining her skin – not on her hands, but her neck and mouth. It wasn’t hard to deduce what Thatcher had attempted that had cost him his ear.

“I take it young Mr. Thatcher, is currently being attended to which is why he’s not here to plead his case.” Henry murmured, as he took in the long line of her throat and the gentle swells that teased the hem of her bodice. Blood had stained her flesh here too, but he found his cock twitching despite her dishevelment. He could see why Thatcher had chosen her.

“Aye, Captain.”

“And what say you, woman?” Henry queried lightly, smirking as her gaze finally alighted on him. Wariness, fury, and a touch of fear – but not as much as he expected, “Should I let Thatcher have his pound of flesh?”

She said nothing, her fine eyes narrowing into a fierce glare. It made him want to grin. How had Thatcher missed the fire she emanated? But then, the deckhand was not the brightest of his crew.

Henry tilted his head, “Oh, don’t play mute now. Not after the ruckus of your entry.”

He barely had the words out when something wet hit his cheek. If it were possible the entire cabin stilled, even the creaking of the ship had quieted. The captain’s amusement with the situation had disappeared as he stoically wiped the spittle from his person.

“I suppose I should be grateful to still have my ear.” He muttered with deceptive gentleness as he leveled a cold stare onto the woman. She stiffened in preparation of an attack, but none came as his attention turned back to his first mate, “Leave us.”

There was a moment of hesitation before the cabin door swung shut with as decorous a roar as it had been opened. To the woman still kneeled on the floor, it was almost like hearing a nail pounded into her coffin. There was little point in trying to leave. She would merely end up on the deck with the savage crew that had taken the ship hostage. If she were lucky then she might make it to the water, but that was only a slower death.

“What’s your name?” His words were measured and deliberate, “And do not spit at me again lest you wish to feel the back of my hand.”

“...Mary.” She muttered after a moment.

Henry snorted, her pause had given her away, “Too pious a name for you. Try again.”

She huffed indignantly, but acquiesced, “Elowyn. Elowyn O’Dara.”

There was a faint lilt to her voice that agreed with her name, though even this moniker seemed too tame for her spirit, “Ms. O’Dara, why aren’t you locked in the stores with the other passengers?”

If eyes were daggers, he’d be dead as her glare became pointed, “Your man already told you.”

“Surely, you don’t simply have a predilection for tearing off ears – or shall I say a taste.” He prodded, wanting his suspicions confirmed, “What exactly provoked you?”

“He looked at me funny.” Elowyn hissed bitingly.

Henry pursed his lips, a reproach on the tip of his tongue when better sense prevailed him. Despite the grand silks she wore, her gown was ill-fitted. The sleeve came within a breath of falling off her shoulder and her speech while refined was far blunter than any gentlewoman. He had a new suspicion about his little spitfire.

“Is that all it takes?” Henry taunted as he towered over her. Well aware that her dangerous mouth was aligned to an appendage far more valuable than an ear. In fact, it was the image of her mouth and that appendage which enticed him to draw closer still, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze and avoid undue embarrassment. He swore that he could feel her breath even through the thick leather of his trousers.

Elowyn growled, though the flush of her cheeks belied any indifference, “Why should it take more?”

“I think it would take more.” He stated quietly. His finger curled under her chin and urged her to stand. He wanted the full measure of her. Not the defiant victim she had curled herself into.

The fabric of her gown swished and whispered as it draped around her body like a protective cloak. Her eyes sparkled wildly at him, warily – like twin pillar flames of a candelabra. He had no doubt that she would attack him as fervently as she had his man if he were to push his luck. He was tempted to try anyway...but a greater desire lurked in his heart.

She would bend to him first.

He let his finger trail down the line of her throat as he kept his gaze locked with hers, taking in every twitch and tremble that she tried so valiantly to hide. His touch smoothed across her shoulder, warm and chafing against her delicate flesh until, at last, he reached that clinging hem.

Almost thoughtfully, he traced that strained neckline, “Tell me, did your mistress press you into her dress to hide, or have you been trying to pass yourself off as a gentle lady for your voyage? Graces and airs do open many doors.”

Elowyn stilled as his words took home, “I’ve no idea of what you speak.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” Henry hummed knowingly, “A good liar you are not, Ms. O’Dara. Which makes me inclined to think you were pressed into this gown. However, like recognizes like and I think I’ve merely unsettled you.”

“The devil would be unsettled by you.” She murmured; heat resonated through her bosom as his fingers hovered over her swells, but he didn’t touch... just teased.

He grinned roguishly, amused by her scorn, “Either way... it does beg the question, how are you going to keep yourself from ruin? Even if you leave my presence – and that of my crew’s untouched – you’re still caught in something of a predicament, lass.”

Confusion furrowed her brow at his words and only deepened as he stepped away from her to lean against the ornate desk behind him. Smug and insufferable it galled her to ask after his meaning, “The only predicament I’ll have is giving the navy a name for the swine that dared board this ship.”

Henry barked a sharp laugh before giving a mocking bow, “Why Captain Henry Cavill at your service, milady? But do you honestly think that if I were to return you to the stores below that assumptions wouldn’t be made?”

Elowyn’s lips pursed, a silent refusal to entertain his inquiry. It only delighted him.

“You’ve been gone too long, lass. They know why Ole Thatch took you. Probably already assume that you’re dead. And let’s say you were pressed into this gown by your mistress... Loyal though you were, what use does she have for a spoiled maid? Best to send you on your way. And if you are a gentlewoman, word of your ruin will reach all and sundry before the ship is even done being berthed. No hoity-toity wealthy gentleman will look at you twice. All your prospects gone.”

Her cheeks were scarlet with humiliation, and she gritted her teeth as she scolded him, “Does this please you? These cruel games? I demand to be taken back to the stores.”

His eyes twinkled mirthfully, “Oh that’s it, Luv. Not bad for a gentlewoman, but you should tremble a little more to sell it.”

She barely bit back a snarl, even as her body moved without permission. To the surprise of both Henry and Elowyn, her slim hand snatched the pistol tucked into his belt and had it pressed under his chin before either could blink.

“Get. Off. This. Ship.” She sniped, hand minutely trembling as she stared straight into his now unimpressed eyes.

Outside the sounds of battle and the thumping of steps had dwindled to a steady few. His crew had overwhelmed the other and were taking what ever they could find back to the Kalliope. His time aboard was limited anyway... but still, it wouldn’t do to have this slip of a girl think she gained the upper hand. No longer was he willing to see her submit, but he would see her pride broken.

It was time he acted like a pirate.

“I intend to.” He murmured.

It wasn’t what she had expected him to say, and her moment of bafflement worked to his advantage as he ducked down and threw her over his shoulder. She screamed in much the same way she had in entering the room.

He heard the soft click of his gun and grinned when she comprehended that there was no bullet to be shot. He had used his powder on boarding, his pistol now a pretty decoration for his ruthless image. Her screams became even more enraged.

He chuckled and ignored her pounding fists to his back as he stepped out to the deck, “Brooks!”

His steadfast first mate appeared with nary a word and a raised brow. Yet, Henry knew he wouldn’t ask the question dancing on his tongue, “Ms. O’Dara will be joining us. See to it that the rudder of this ship is disengaged and gather the men back aboard Kal. I want to be sailing with the wind within the hour.”

“Aye, Captain.”

No further words were spoken nor needed between the two though that hardly stopped the squalling of the harridan thrashing his back. Grunting in frustration, he crossed the boarding ramp in two steps as his palm placed a resound slap onto Elowyn’s wriggling rump. A silent warning to be still which she did not heed.

“Put me down!”

It must have been the hundredth time she had shrieked this, but as Henry crossed the threshold of his cabin he decided to finally obey, “Very well.”

Grim amusement touched his lips as he tossed her onto his bed, her skirts flew wild, and he caught a tempting glimpse of the thin cotton of her bloomers. Those would not last long, like the whores of Nassau she would learn to stay bare beneath those skirts.

Ever defiant, Elowyn flew up from her supine position and slid from the bed before he could blink. Her speed was impressive, but she was not fast enough to beat the closing of the door as the lock clicked into place. Smirking, Henry seized the bottle of whiskey from the corner of his desk as he fell languidly into his chair to watch the despairing storm that descended upon his captive.

Elowyn yanked heartily on the handle, a torrent of panic and anger spurning her heart. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she was furious to find a sob pulling at her throat as the sands counting down her freedom quickly dwindled. She could not be trapped here. It simply was not to be born.

All the while, Elowyn could feel his gaze burn into her back. Not for the first time her stomach clenched under the weight of his attention. She detested the stirrings of lust his visage had enticed; his quiet perusal of her body had done much to set a simmering awareness along her skin that could only be calmed by the touch of another.

She slammed her palm against the hardwood of the door as her head became bowed with defeat.

“I am no one’s whore.” Her voice hoarse from her screams broke the expectant silence.

For a moment, the captain wondered if she could read minds. However, the longer he was in her presence the more he thought she was an innocent maid... if only her protest had not been so despondent. Tired. Bitter. As if this was a situation not uncommon.

“Aren’t you?” The words were spoken with seemingly little thought as Henry took a light swig from his bottle. A pleasantly harsh warmth burned over his tongue and down his throat as the dark liquid sought out his blood.

A low snarl emanated from her, and Henry watched curiously as she whirled to face him. His breath was stolen by the fury in her watery gaze. Her lips had curled back into a sneer, and she stood defiant. Wrathful, proud, and stunning. She was Circe reborn.

The entertained glint that shined in the face of her rage, merely cemented her ire as she strode across the room with the full command of a Goddess. She let the dress fall from her shoulders to twist and drown around her torso before falling lost to the floor. She trod on it and over it with little care.

Henry devoured the view of her corset and bloomers. Her curves were more pronounced with the clinging material of her undergarments and yet not enough. He’d rather see her bare.

Elowyn pointedly ignored the hunger of his countenance and snatched the whiskey from his hand. Her throat bobbed deliciously as she downed one mouthful and then two before throwing the bottle at the very door she longed to escape through.

A sharp thunk and the glittering clatter of shattered glass echoed through the cabin. Henry arched a brow in mild disappointment, “That was a very expensive bottle.”

“That I’m sure you stole.” Elowyn countered as she moved to straddle his lap. Her gaze was taunting as her fingers laced into the collar of his shirt, “Is this what you wanted, Captain?

He hummed, amused by her show of bravado, and respected her attempt at taking control, but he could see the quivering girl just below the surface. He delved his hands beneath the hem of her corset, gliding calloused fingers around the satin flesh of her waist. Goosebumps raised like waves in a storm at his touch.

A sharp gasp left Elowyn’s throat as one hand slid down beneath her bloomers to grasp the firm muscle of her bottom and squeeze. It was like lightning had been released across her hide. Visceral mordant liquid pooled in her loins, and she tried not to squirm. She didn’t want him to see how affected she truly was, even as evidence blossomed across the flimsy material guarding her.

Yet, as she held his dark stare, she swore that the staccato beating of her heart had given her away. A cool thrill shivered across her skin, only to be chased by a flaming warmth that she could not control. Beneath the rough cotton of her corset, her nipples puckered and pebbled, and she felt a shameful heat spread over her breasts to her collar and up her neck.

He hadn’t even kissed her.

He leant forward, teasingly drawing his lips along the shell of her ear. Henry grinned at the small shivering whimper that spilled from her lips at such an act. He had to wonder if she was worried that he would do to her what she had done to Thatch. Tauntingly, his tongue shot out and suckled her delicate lobe into his mouth as her knuckles whitened to match his collar.

She mewled prettily and arched into his hold, unable to voice the word stop. He wouldn’t have, even if she begged.

He lathed attention to her sensitive appendage for another few seconds before gently nipping the tender flesh, “I think this what you wanted, lass.”

She swallowed tightly and tried to bring forth the dispassionate woman that had brought her to his lap, “No.”

“No?” Henry almost sang, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. He nuzzled the plush swell of her cheek, breathing a kiss to the corner of her mouth as his fingers made quick work of the laces of her corset. A faint copper taste dazzled his tongue – had she enjoyed the taste of Thatcher’s blood?

Her breath hitched as she felt the boned fabric slide from her bosom. It took every ounce of strength not to fold her arms in and hide. She had tried to out bluff the monster but had goaded him into action instead. Brute violence would not remove her from this situation. She knew this instinctively, and as his bristled cheek chafed against the silk of her neck and chest, Elowyn became uncertain if she wanted to be removed.

Gossamer licks of pleasure pulsated from his rough skimming, and his hot breath ignited a current of desire that made her stomach clench with need. She felt suddenly empty and as his supple lips latched onto her pointed teet, she keened. Unthinkingly, she rocked into his pelvis in a feeble attempt to fill the throbbing void between her legs. Her cunt dripped and twitched needily as he suckled.

Elowyn sputtered and gasped at his forceful pulls, pressing down harder into his lap and ultimately onto his erection. She wasn’t sure when, but her fingers had delved around the bandanna holding back his wild mane as she tried not to fall into his ardent mouth, but she was helpless against his assault. He would devour her.

“Please.” She breathed.

Henry smiled and lightly bit down on her tortured tit, admiring the dark hue her sensitive flesh had garnered from his attentions, before moving his attention to her other breast, “Please, what?”

She arched as he began his attack anew. Her hips coming alive as she undulated frenetically against him. A pressure had started to build, a delicious force stood just out of reach and she just... just needed.

Henry’s strong hands dug into her hips stilling her movements. He knew that she was on the cusp of climax. He could smell the heady scent of her arousal, but such satisfaction would not be had until she took his cock.

Elowyn wailed in frustration, “Please!!”

“Please, what?” He iterated again. His fingers latched onto the seam of her bloomers. One fierce tug would be all he needed to tear her undergarment in two.

Her pride screamed at her to remain silent, but the wanton in her demanded she cave. Elowyn bit her lip as she tried to stave off another plea. Instead, she sought out the lace of his breeches and swiftly freed him of his leather confines.

Henry allowed her this and watched with a jovial grimace as she took in his hidden pistol. Her eyes widen at his size, her thighs clenching over his at the thought of taking him. He would not fit, but he would certainly fill her. She dragged a curious nail over his weeping head, jolting as his manhood twitched and bobbed under her innocent exploration.

He hissed, “Either suck me off, lass, or finish your request. If I must choose what comes next, you will find little pleasure in my actions.”

Her gaze flew up to his, noting the seriousness she found staring back at her. She swallowed tightly, “T-take me.”

A cruel grin twitched at his lips, “Take you where?”

She bristled at his mocking, “Copulate with me, like the pig you are.”

SMACK!

She gasped at the pain that flared through her hind-side and barely refrained from moaning as the reverberation echoed with her desire.

Henry tutted, “Name-calling when you’re begging? Not very gracious. Especially as you were the one to come to me, Luv.”

“Bastard!” She spat and choked on another moan as he assaulted her rear once more.

He grinned, “Enjoy that do you?”

She cursed him again and he laughed, “Should I take the cat and nine tails to you? What a saucy minx you’re turning out to be.”

“I loathe you.” Elowyn murmured through gritted teeth, “What do you want from me?”

He smiled bitingly at her, “Ask nicely and remember my title.”

She growled and tore from his hold as her pride won out for the moment. He watched her with the gaze of a predator as she discarded the last of her garments. She flung herself onto his bed and splayed her legs wide. She would not capitulate to him.

At least not verbally.

Henry’s mouth watered greedily as her nimble little fingers delved and played with her soaked mound. She was playing a very dangerous game. She stroked her sweet little nub with feverish intensity, allowing her moans to fill the cabin like a sonorous symphony. She put on a lovely lurid show and he couldn’t pull his gaze away as she ran a finger along the edge of her cunt, teasing him with a view of her seeping hole. It took little time for her to find that pleasure peak again and even less for him to lose his patience.

In less than three steps he was between her legs, knocking her hands away from her lush garden.

In two breaths, he was poised at her entrance.

In one kiss, he speared her with the intensity of a hunter claiming his prey.

He swallowed her raucous cry and reveled in the silent tear the swam down her cheek as he brutal entrance. Unbridled heat scored up his manhood as her wet cavern suckled him reluctantly to her womb. He had warned her what would happen if he were to choose.

Groaning, he could not still for long and raised his knee for leverage as he began a brutal pace toward release. Despite his harsh embrace, it was not long before her hips met his, seeking salvation from his unrelenting torrent.

Her muscles strained from being split, but the sharp ache was diminished by the relief of being so completely stuffed. Her pride wailed in horror at being proven the whore, but Elowyn cared little. Pleasure scalded and overwhelmed her like a bubbling hot spring.

Henry was everywhere.

Grasping, biting, prodding, and shoving.

He pulled sounds from her throat she had never heard before... but she was no better. Willing, she spread her thighs wider for him, welcoming his passionate tempest as he soundly cast her to the waves of ecstasy.

She cried out fervently as she drowned, and her body clung to him as if it were a buoy. Her walls became a vice, now trapping him to her as she fell victim to her carnal desires, “Captain!”

Henry watched her erupt through half-hooded eyes, captivated by the euphoria that descended upon her. He groaned as her walls clenched even tighter around him, demanding his seed.

He thrust once.

Twice.

Thrice more before he gave in to her delicious demand and came with a roar, filling her to brim as he enjoyed the way his cock spasmed in time with her tremors. Lazily, he pressed a kiss to her temple as she quivered against him.

Elowyn peered up at him with wide eyes, shame seeping into her mien as the weight of her actions crashed down onto her. She tried to cover herself, but Henry refused to let her move. He trapped her wrists above her head as he trapped her stare with his, “You have a choice now, lass. Be a good girl and warm this bed or walk out of this cabin and warm my crew’s. Either way, you’ll be a whore, but whose... well that remains up to you.”

Tears welled as he pulled out of her with a wet plop. Only then could she see the image she painted. Ruined and laid bare before the man who had stolen her as he fixed his trousers and shirt. She hated how little she had resisted him, how much she still wanted him. She had no recourse. He had extracted his pound of flesh as she drowned in her desires.

She would be his whore.

It was then she knew that Captain Henry Cavill wasn’t merely a pirate, he was the devil too.

#Pirate!Henry #AuHenry #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x ofc #fanfic #fanfiction #dark theme #Drowned Desires

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padawanlost · 3 years

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Hello there! I just wanted to ask about something that’s been confusing me real quick: did Anakin lord over others with his Chosen One status or not? Because I thought he was insecure, disliked all the expectations that came with it, and didn’t really believe in that old prophecy to begin with. But, in Jude Watson’s books he thinks he deserves all these things because of it and rubs that status in other faces? I just need some clarity please lol thank you so much and I adore your blog ❤️

No, not at all. If anything, one of Anakin’s biggest difficulties was to assert himself in front of others (specially people in power).

This is a man who is considered a hero of the galaxy, of the most powerful jedi ever, married, soon to be father, beloved and respect by his men and even complete strangers…yet…look at how easily he submits.

If Anakin had been anything like some ‘fans’ like to pretend he was, he wouldn’t be the character portrayed on screen. He’d more like characters like Tony Stark, someone who is completely confident in his abilities and is not ashamed to admit it. But that’s NOT the character we see on screen, or anywhere else for that matter.

The Jedi Council didn’t want me, either. Being the Chosen One didn’t count for anything. Master Yoda wouldn’t train me, or Windu. Every member of the Jedi Council had had something more pressing to do than help him work out what this terrible, galaxy-changing power of his meant, and how he should live in its shadow. He still wasn’t sure. Anakin recalled standing there in that grand, polished Jedi Council Chamber, surrounded by what felt like fear, and disdain, and bewilderment—who were those Masters to feel bewildered, that the only person there who cared if he lived or died was Master Qui-Gon Jinn. And they stopped him training the Chosen One. Qui-Gon hadn’t cared what the Jedi Council said. He’d trained him anyway, a Padawan in all but name. Why am I thinking of all this now? Haven’t I put it behind me? Haven’t I had enough bad memories since then to take their place? Haven’t I vindicated Master Qui-Gon? [Karen Traviss. The Clone Wars]

Anakin enjoyed praise from Obi-Wan, but often became sullen when he was reprimanded. Obi-Wan assured him that he himself had been frequently reminded by Qui-Gon to be more mindful of the Force, but somehow even the slightest criticism managed to leave Anakin feeling stung. First they tell me to do my best, then they tell me I’ve gone too far! ANAKIN SKYWALKER IN THE RISE AND FALL OF DARTH VADER BY RYDER WINDHAM

Despite Anakin’s desire to distance himself from the slave he had once been, he was unable, or unwilling, to shed the other aspects that had defined him on Tatooine. He still dreamed of glory, still craved adventure, and never lost his appetite for high-speed thrills and the desire to prove himself in competition. THE RISE AND FALL OF DARTH VADER BY RYDER WINDHAM

Anakin was liked by the other students, but he had no close friends. He was not loved. Obi-Wan told himself that Anakin’s gifts naturally set him apart. But in his heart, he grieved for Anakin’s loneliness. JUDE WATSON [JEDI QUEST: THE WAY OF THE APPRENTICE]

Just when Anakin thought he’d passed that elusive finishing line that said adult, experienced, seen it all, he realized he was still twenty, Jedi or not, and the wounded boy in him still rose to the surface—provoked into angry violence, scared of abandonment, and still in need of approval. KAREN TRAVISS [STAR WARS: THE CLONE WARS NOVELIZATION]

[Obi-Wan] knew, glancing at his Padawan’s eager face, that Anakin meant well from the bottom of his heart. If Obi-Wan saw a shadow on that heart, he knew it would pain his Padawan to know it. In many ways, Anakin was still a boy. A wounded, loving, anxious boy with great gifts he did not fully understand. Yet he was also a young man, close to maturity, who could do great harm. To others, yes. To himself, most of all JUDE WATSON [JEDI QUEST: THE SCHOOL OF FEAR]

“I just…” Anakin stopped. He took a ragged breath. “I thought you would be proud of me.” I am proud of you. Obi-Wan wanted to say the words. They were true. He was proud of so much in Anakin. But now was not the time to tell him that. Or was it? JUDE WATSON [JEDI QUEST: THE SCHOOL OF FEAR]

Fixing broken machines was like a meditation. Fixing broken machines was an antidote to every pain, every loss, every fear, every defeat. Fixing broken machines kept him from going mad. CLONE WARS GAMBIT: STEALTH

You are very observant, Ferus, but you must accept that I know him better than you,” Obi-Wan said carefully. “Anakin can be arrogant. I know that. But he is also learning and growing. He is respectful of his great power. He does not abuse it. He is younger than you, but he has seen much injustice, many terrible things. I do not think it so wrong that he wants to change things. You must understand that it isn’t ambition that drives him. It is compassion. OBI-WAN KENOBI IN STAR WARS – JEDI QUEST: THE CHANGING OF THE GUARD BY JUDE WATSON

Taking them, she looked up at him and shook her head, even though it still ached. “It’s odd. You’re nothing like I expected.” “Why?” he said, perching on the edge of the nearby chair. “What did you expect?” “I don’t know,” she said, floundering. “I can’t say I’ve ever given the Jedi much thought. I mean, not as individuals. I never expected to meet one—let alone two. I don’t tend to go places where your skills are needed. But—well—you’re gentle.” That made him smile. “As opposed to what?” She swallowed the pain-tabs, washing them down with a mouthful of water. “Oh. You know. The HoloNet news—it portrays as you as this—this—heroic warrior. Larger than life. Charging into battle, lightsaber flashing. Scourge of the Separatists. That kind of thing.” She shrugged. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

“Ten years in this place, and still he was an object of interest. Of speculation. All their hopes and dreams hanging on him like decorations on a bantha skeleton at Boonta Eve. He hated it.” [Clone Wars: Wild space, Karen Miller]

[Anakin] did not like the fact that he had won. It seemed wrong that he had stepped so far out of line, and yet had been retained as a Padawan. He did not like the unease this victory, if victory it was, produced in him. Above all weaknesses, arrogance was the most costly. They keep me here because I have potential they’ve never seen before. They keep me in training because they’re curious to see what I can do. I feel like a rich man who never knows whether his friends are true-or whether they just want his money. This was a particularly galling thought, and certainly neither true nor fair. Why do they put up with me, then? Why do I keep testing them? [Greg Bear’s Rogue Planet]

The only piece of media where Anakin is more ‘openly’ arrogant is in The Clone Wars (2008) but even then, he doesn’t flaunt his alleged ‘status’ over everyone. His arrogance is reflected more through his disobedience, not open defiance and antagonist behavior towards his peers.

But hey, what do Hayden Christensen, George Lucas and most Star Wars writers know? lol

PS: thank you! <3

#ask #skybiee #anakin skywalker #sw meta #meta: anakin #txt

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magpie-to-the-morning · 3 years

Text

On Fire from Within

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Tags: Self-Indulgent, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, the helmet comes off, Blindfolds, Sex Pollen, Dirty talk, Mostly in Mando’a, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, PiV Sex, Din is soft and a mess, and so am I, so much Mando'a because I cannot be stopped, Please let me know if I missed anything

Summary: Reader is a newish crew member on the Razor Crest. She was helping out on a bounty hunting mission when she got hit with a laced dart at a shady brothel. It's a sex pollen fic lads, you know how this goes!

Read on Ao3

“Fuck,” you swore softly, pulling a small barb from the back of your neck. It’s only a little thing, a geometric pattern of angles and sharp points. Odd for a piece of shrapnel, but surely nothing to worry about. The small wound wouldn’t be worth the Bacta gel. You tossed it away before walking up the ramp into the Crest.

“Everything ok?” Mando stepped away from the controls of the carbonite chamber. You hadn’t realized he was so close, and startled when you heard the question crackling through his modulator.

“Yeah, it’s nothing. That bastard frozen yet?”

“Just about.”

“Good. That place made me want to scrub the inside of my skin.” You’d just finished helping Mando drag a bounty out of a local bar running an illegal “pleasure house.” It certainly hadn’t deserved the name, and you were more than happy to provide an initial distraction so Mando could come in for the kill. (The metaphorical kill, sadly. You would have been happy to leave the owner of that awful establishment a smoking crater on the floor of his bar, but apparently that was “not following the brief” and “wouldn’t bring in as much money for fuel.” Pfft). There had been a little static on the way out, and you assume that’s when you’d picked up that bit of metal. “I’m going to hit the refresher, unless you need it first?”

The bounty hunter shook his head and moved towards the ramp. “No. I’m going to trade in the puck and get us out off this rock. You go ahead.”

You checked the controls of the shower. Again. You’re sweating, and as much as you try, you can’t get the water cold enough to soothe your burning skin. You arch your back, moaning when the stretching movement sends a dart of pleasure straight to your aching cunt. Fuck, why are you such a mess all of a sudden? You slip a hand between your legs and are shocked to discover that you are already dripping wet. You rub the back of your neck and it hits you- that wasn’t shrapnel. It must have been a dart laced with something, and knowing the type of place you were in, you’d bet any amount of credits it was a nasty aphrodisiac. “Those bastards…”

You drag your hands through your hair and take a steadying breath. Ok, you can handle this, pull yourself together… Nice empty ship and a hot shower. Nothing you haven’t done before. You let your hands drift lower, massaging your breast and tweaking an already pert nipple. You’re already so close…

An hour later and you’re sobbing from want. Why can’t you just. Fucking. Come already? You’ve tried everything, every fantasy, every technique or touch, and nothing. You try again, stroking your clit and spiraling towards release before it slips away again, a jolt of pain rebounding through you. “Damn it!”

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You freeze. You hadn’t realized how much time had passed, of course Mando is back. What had he heard? “Um, nothing, it’s fine!” You wince at how falsely this rings, even to you.

There’s a pause. “Open the door.”

“… no? I’m not-“

“Open the door. Or I will break it down.”

Shit. You have a second to grab a towel before the door clangs open. Mando is through the door and into the tiny room in an instant, hand on his blaster. He checks all the corners which, takes about 2 seconds, before turning that implacable, visored gaze on you. “What’s going on with you?”

“Jeez, Mando, I-“ you try to bluff your way out of it for a moment before giving it up for lost. Even if you could explain away everything else, you know your flushed cheeks and glassy eyes will give you away. “Fine, just, promise you won’t laugh?”

“Is something funny?”

“No, it really isn’t.” You sigh. “So, I didn’t realize until we got back to the ship, but someone back at that hole in the wall hit me with some kind of dart. I think it was drugged.”

“Show me.”

“I chucked it just before I got on board, but this is where it hit.” You pull your wet hair back to show him the mark on your neck. Mando crosses the floor in one step, and you feel one of his gloved hands steady your shoulder as he takes a closer look. That small touch is enough to drive you wild, and you bite back a groan, leaning into his touch.

“Dank ferrik.” Mando pulls his hands away like he’s been burned, and your cheeks flame again, this time in embarrassment. “There are red marks at the injection site. I’ve, uh.. I’ve seen this before.”

You grit your teeth, finding it easier to talk about when you’re not looking at him. “It hurts, Mando and I can’t make it stop. How long am I going to feel like this?”

“Until it runs its course. Usually, a few hours. And it will get worse.”

You swear again, tears of frustration slipping down your cheeks. Mando stands there for a moment, flexing his hands and looking unsure of what to say. Finally, you hear a deep breath and, “let me help you.”

You startle, sure you’ve heard him wrong. It’s only been a few months since you signed on as his only crew member, a live-in mechanic and occasional extra pair of hands for certain bounties. You’d thought about it, of course. At first you’d seen this as just another short term gig. Some light repair work, the odd stint of standing lookout or patching up his wounds or acting as a distraction for a tricky bounty. The longer you spent with him though, the longer you started to see the man beneath the armor, his dark humor, his unexpected kindness, his tendency to throw himself into harm’s way for the sake of a code you can’t begin to understand. Stars, and that voice… but you knew he would never return those feelings. The idea of him offering himself to you now, out of pity or worse, obligation…

“No.” You move to shoulder past him.

He grabs your wrist. “Look, Y/N, I know I may not be your first choice but-“

You whirl around to glare at him. “Not my- damn it, Mando!” You kick the waste bin in sheer frustration. “I’ve wanted you for weeks and just because I don’t want you to feel cornered into sleeping with me you have the fucking gall-“

“Close your eyes.”

You blink in confusion. “Wait, what?”

“Do it. Now.” You shiver at the steel in his voice and comply without another thought.

There’s a soft hiss, and the clang of metal set down on metal. He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t… You start in surprise, feeling his leather-clad fingers cup your face and tip your chin up. “Are you sure you want this?”

You laugh, a little shakily, amazed to hear how deep and rough his unmodulated voice still is. “Are you?”

The next thing you know, he’s got you backed up against that wall. You gasp, reaching to pull him closer. His mouth slides over yours, lips warm and surprisingly plush. You deepen the kiss and moan, needing so much more. He responds by reaching down, pulling you up to straddle his waist. Trapped between the wall and a cage of Beskar, you’ve never felt freer. You card your fingers through his hair, marveling at the curls under your hands. Mando gasps, already sounding ragged. “How do you want me?”

You drag your nails down his scalp and lick your way up the column of his throat. You taste salt and pant into his ear, “in the cockpit chair.”

Mando groans. “You have been thinking about this, haven’t you, sweet girl?”

“Less talk. More chair sex.”

He huffs a laugh against your neck and pulls you from the wall, carrying you through the ship like you don’t weigh a thing. You make it through the corridor, with only a few brief stops against walls and doorways. Mando sets you down once you reach the cockpit and you whine at the lack of his touch, but still keep your eyes closed. He kisses your forehead. “Patience, sweet girl.” You give up the last shreds of your dignity and moan, rubbing your thighs together. “Can’t, I need you to touch me now.” You hear a few soft clinks, and realize Mando is removing his armor, piece by piece. Not wanting to be outdone, you toss your towel aside. Your eyes are still shut tight, but you add a hand to cover them, afraid you’ll forget yourself. You may not understand his beliefs, but you are damn sure going to respect them, even now.

There’s startle at a ripping sound, and Mando asking “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Good. Keep your eyes closed.” Mando pulls your hand away, pressing a kiss to your palm before knotting a blindfold around your eyes. You feel yourself pulled down to his lap. You twine your arms around his neck and lower yourself until you’re straddling his hips, grinding as close to him as you can.

“Tell me what you need.”

“Touch me.”

He’s eager to comply, and you shiver as you feel his hands (his hands, not the gloves, stars) skim up your sides. Mando cups the back of your head, drawing you closer as he kisses and licks his way into your mouth. You immediately open your lips to his, stroking his tongue with your own, teasing the roof of his mouth to egg him on. You’re rewarded with a small groan, and Mando palming your left breast. He strokes your nipple with his thumb, rolling and pinching it to make you arch your back. “What else?”

“Maker, that’s so good… talk to me, Mando, don’t stop touching me.”

“Never, mesh’la.” Mando rolls his hips and makes you squirm against him. You can feel his arousal, pressed so close to your own, separated only by the canvas of his trousers. You mewl and buck your hips against him.

“Oh gods, yes…”

Mando chuckles as your breath speeds up. “You’re so gorgeous, Y/N, going to take such good care of you. Going to make this so good for you.”

He bends his head and sucks one of your nipples into his warm mouth, and you nearly black out. The sheer relief of such a touch when you need it so badly nearly undoes you completely. “Mando…”

“Din.” The word is muffled against your chest, and you have to ask “what?”

He rests his forehead against shoulder. “My name, Din Djarin.”

“Din,” you taste the short name, adding it to what you’ve learned about this man. This capable, dangerous, surprisingly gentle Mandalorian. How can such a hard man be so… This train of thought is interrupted as another wave of desire bowls you over, making you shudder with need and pain. “I need more, Din, please…”

You don’t even need to finish that thought before you feel his rough, calloused fingers drifting down your belly and lower, lower… You lean back to give him easier access, his other arm coming to rest around your waist, holding you up. You gasp when he strokes your folds. “Me’bana? You’re so wet, mesh’la. Is this all for me?” He doesn’t wait for a response before slowly fucking two of his fingers deep inside you, dragging the pads over your G-spot over and over. He’s a quick learner, adapting to touch you harder or softer, quicker or slower, as you gasp and buck your hips. “So good for me, so wet and ready. Do you want me to make you come?”

“Yes, yes, please Din, I’m so close…” you whine.

Din rubs your clit while fucking his fingers into you. He bites down on your earlobe, whispering, “Then come for me, cyare.”

You do. You cry out as you feel yourself coming apart under his hands, your hips thrashing despite you as you moan and call out his name. When you drift back to yourself, you’re grateful for his supporting hold as waves of pleasure continue to roll through you. Din strokes you through all of it, only backing off when your breathing slows and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You exhale slowly, taking stock after that release. “That was… whew…” Now that you have a moment to think clearly again, you can feel your mind spinning up to overthink this. Will you ever be able to look at your employer (partner? friend?) again? Not that you can ever look him in the eye anyway, but what if he’s completely disgusted with you after this? Your racing thoughts pause when you hear what can only be Din sucking your slick from his fingers.

“Maker, you taste as good as I hoped you would.” Thoughts: gone. Brain: empty. There can’t be any room for overthinking when your head is suddenly full of HE THOUGHT ABOUT TASTING ME?! “How do you feel?”

You force yourself to consider this. You can already feel the fire in your core roaring back to life. “Good, but, I can already feel it ramping back up.” You blush. “Not that I didn’t… I totally did, but.. sorry…”

“Shh, k’uur. I get it. Just relax and let me take care of you.” He stands up, depositing you gently in his seat. You only have a moment to wonder at this sudden shift before feeling him kneel down in front of you. Without even thinking about it, you let your legs fall open to him. “That’s it, sweet girl, let me see that pretty pussy.”

If you weren’t already positive you were running a fever, that would have tipped you over the edge. Din runs his hands up your thighs, his breath ghosting over your throbbing core. “Ibac’ner. Ni copaanir dinuir gar ner lalat akay gar jair.” Is he… praying? You’re past the point of caring, all you want is for him to stop sucking marks into your inner thigh and finally move to where you need him most. You nearly scream when he drags his tongue up your slit. He flattens his tongue against you, humming appreciatively as your roll your hips. He wraps his arms around your thighs suddenly, jerking you closer towards him. “Jatisyc, ni larayc teh gar.”

You are glad of the blindfold because you are so far beyond controlling your face. Din’s tongue feels like it is everywhere at once, tonguing your cunt like it was your mouth one second, then laving your clit the next. You curl your toes and howl when he sucks your clit into his mouth and you feel the barest hint of teeth around you. “So close, so close” you chant, reaching down to hold his head right where you need it.

Din releases your clit, licking circles around it instead. “You liked that, didn’t you cyare? Do you like it a little rough?”

You shudder, thrilled to have been caught out so soon. “Gods, yes.”

Din chuckles and you hope you haven’t slipped up by confessing quite so enthusiastically. “Oh this is going to be fun. I am going to ruin you, mesh’la.” He dives back into your pussy, licking and sucking and nipping at your thighs like a wild thing. You whine and arch your back.

“Hold. Still.” Din’s arm clamps over your waist like an iron bar. “How am I supposed to finish you off, if you won’t stop writhing around, you etyc dala?” When you push your luck, trying to squirm free, you feel a sharp slap to your thigh. “Are you going to be a good girl and let me make you come? Or should I leave you here by yourself?”

“No, please, I’ll be good for you I promise!”

“Damn right you will,” he snarls. Without warning, Din shoves two fingers into your cunt and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking hard. You come in a rush, screaming his name.

You’ve barely come down from that high before chasing your next. While your first orgasm left you with some temporary relief, this one only stokes the fire even higher. You seize Din’s face from where he was resting his cheek against your thigh and pull him to your mouth. Reticence is a distant memory and you devour the taste of yourself from his mouth. When Din leans back and groans from this spectacle, you palm his length, spear-straight and hard as Beskar under your hand. Din shudders underneath you, and you can almost see the effort of restraining himself. You trace the shell of his ear and murmur “Why are you still wearing pants?”

Din rushes to his feet, pulling you from the chair and pushing you up against the nearest wall in one smooth motion. He holds you in place with one arm across your breastbone, panting with effort. “Hang on, I don’t want to rush you.“

You wish you could look at him, to show you the burning desire in your eyes, how much you truly want this. Alas. You settle for dropping to your knees and fumbling blindly with the fastenings of his trousers.

“Dank ferrik…” a muttered oath somewhere above your head. Din reaches down to help you, drawing his cock out. Once again, you wish the blindfold wasn’t necessary. You can feel the velvet-soft skin of him, trace the head of his cock and stroke up and down the length of him, but you wish you could see him. You breathe over him and, holding his shaft to help guide you (and madden him), lick just under the tip of his cock. You run your tongue around the ridge and lick your lips before taking him as far down your throat as you can. Din hisses and unleashes a stream of Basic and that same tongue he’d been speaking earlier. “Fuck… ori jate, ori jate, yes, Y/N. Parer, ke’pare, ah!”

You hum around him, loving the sound of him absolutely losing it. “Too much?” you ask, all innocence.

Din actually growls. “Yes. Don’t stop, please.”

You smile, hoping he can see you amidst his unraveling. You bob your lips over the head of his cock, once, twice, before sliding down the length of him as far as you can take. Din’s fingers tangle in your hair and you can feel him jerking his hips, holding back from fucking your face like he clearly wants to. You pull back again, letting go of his cock with a wet pop. “Don’t hold back, baby, I want all of you.”

This is more than Din can stand. He hauls you roughly to your feet, kissing you with abandon. “Say that again?”

“I want you Din, please. I fucking need you.”

Din grabs one of your legs and holds it over his hip. He teases your entrance while you beg him, rubbing against your folds. You moan in relief when he finally thrusts home, stretching you and dragging against your walls. You rake your nails down his back, biting at his shoulder. “Gods, yes, that’s so fucking good. Don’t hold back. Unh, yes, yes, yes…” He is pounding into you now, setting a brutally quick pace- just like you need. You try to kiss him but you’re getting sloppy and your kiss is more just dragging your open mouth along his jaw, panting as he fucks you. “Din, I’m so close…”

“That’s good, you’re so good at taking this cock aren’t you, mesh’la? Me'copaani? Do you want me to tell you how I’ve fantasized about fucking you over the console almost since you came on board? Do you want to hear how good it feels to be buried in your cunt, with your tight pussy around me? Because it is good, Y/N, and I am going to fucking destroy you.”

You scream his name. “Gods, Din, I’m gonna come!”

He seizes you by the throat, not hard enough to cut off your air but more than enough to let you know who is in charge now. “I want to feel you come on my cock. Come on, cyare, give it to me. Come. Now.”

It’s the full on bounty hunter voice command that slams you over the edge. You come hard, shaking in Din’s arms and soaking his cock. You absolutely would have fallen without him holding you up. He fucks you through it all, and as the aftershocks roll through you, you realize the screaming urgency has finally quieted. You can just about remember talking him through his own release before slipping below the cool depths of unconsciousness.

—

“Y/N? Here, drink this.”

You blink awake and feel a cold glass pressed into your hand. You take a sip. The icy water grounds you, and you take stock of your surroundings. You’re curled up in the captain’s seat, warm under a slightly tattered woolen blanket, or maybe a cloak? It takes you a moment before you realize what else is different. You can see again. “Din?”

“I’m here.” His voice is distant, slightly fuzzed. You look around, seeing him once again hidden beneath the helmet. “How do you feel?”

You’re still restless, like some distant part of you needs to get up and run or fight or fuck, but your limbs are feeling a bit heavier now and it’s easier to breathe. “Better.” You lift the glass again, drinking the rest of the water like you’ve never tasted anything so sweet.

Din lays his hand on your cheek, and you’re relieved to find that at least this bit of him has not been covered up again. “You’re still running a temperature but it feels like it’s easing up.” He takes the empty glass from you, setting it aside before taking your hand and drawing you up. “Come on, let’s get you to your bunk.”

You rise, unsteady on your legs after several rounds of fairly vigorous sex. Din steadies your elbow, guiding you out of the cockpit. “Sick of me already?” You’re aiming for a light tone but you know you missed the mark.

Din turns you to face him and studies you for a moment. “Yeah. Probably going to drop you off on the next planet we hit.”

You narrow your eyes at him, looking at your own skeptical face in the reflection of his visor. “Oh yeah?”

He presses his forehead to yours, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “No, ner kar’ta.” You couldn’t tell before, but now you’re almost sure he’s smiling. “I think you’re stuck with me for awhile.”

_________________________________

Mando'a Translations mesh'la beautiful

Ibac’ner. Ni copaanir dinuir gar ner lalat akay gar jair. This is mine. Going to give you my tongue until you scream.

Jatisyc, ni larayc teh gar. Delicious, I (am) drunk from you.

Etyc dala dirty girl

Ori jate so good

Parer wait

Ke'pare wait (emphatic)

Me'copaani? What's this?

Ner kar’ta My heart

#Din Djarin x Reader #Din Djarin x Female Reader #Din Djarin x F!Reader #More reformatting reblogs not new content #May change the banner later too #I'm not as wild about this one #Din Djarin #x reader #Fic #My fic #The Mandalorian #Mandoa

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antiloreolympus · 3 years

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7 Anti LO Asks

1. Do you know what really gets my blood boiling about this comic? Persephone and Demeter's relationship.

In the myths, Demeter and Persephone loved each other more than anything. Their reunion is so important - it marked the coming of spring and growth. A whole cult was dedicated to this for crying out loud. Yes, the myths were far from perfect, but the Persephone and Demeter myth showed the strength of a loving mother-daughter relationship with Demeter searching endlessly to find her child that was ripped away and had her innocence forcibly taken.

Now, RS is not the only author to make Demeter this over-bearing mother type in order to put more positivity onto the Hades-Persephone relationship. However, RS takes this trend to a whole new level - to the point where I would even consider it misogyny.

How is it, she takes this beautiful mother-daughter relationship and makes it out to be an abusive and controlling one, and then takes the Hades-Persephone relationship from a forceful one to a loving, perfect relationship with no problems? How is it ok to ruin one relationship to elevate another?

I understand that many versions of the myth try to downplay Hades' actions, and even make it so Persephone actually falls in love with him and there is no rape. But it doesn't change that this relationship was problematic, and meant to represent the loss of innocence.

Then fans have the gall to claim this comic is feminist and then claim on top of that that Demeter and Persephone's relationship was the same in the myth? These fans clearly don't know the myths, and neither does RS.

Making Hades a good person is fine. Changing it up a bit to make Persephone's loss of innocence something else is also fine. But ruining Demeter and Persephone's relationship? Especially when Persephone has to spend half the year with her? So horrible.

2. im sorry, but rachel cant introduce KRONOS coming back and then dropping it for several episodes to focus on a stake-less trail and persephone not knowing what lingerie to seduce hades in. like thats too much of an earth shaking development and huge stake plot point to just ignore for months to focus instead on something as minor as hxp's relationship, which only points out a huge flaw: why is hxp's relationship so minor in this? isnt the whole point supposed to be about them?

3. I think LO completely dropped the ball over Hades’ characterization.

From the first ep I thought ok, this is good, we have some bones to see he’s not that lucky in love and is just tired and lonely, and while ignoring the creepy actions towards Persephone, I thought ok, Artemis hates him, Hestia hates, even Ares hates him, maybe once Persephone finally sees the underworld and probably gets to know him it’ll be a clever twist and they’ll be proven wrong. The underworld will turn out to be fair and just, the citizens will love Hades, he’ll be revealed to be a good leader and king and not like his brothers, it’ll be like everyone saying Hades of myth isn’t actually that bad, and it’ll help reinforce why this sweet and bubbly Persephone wants him, she sees the real him, not the mean rumors and assumptions, this is perfect.

And then it just didn’t happen. The exact opposite happened, actually.

We’re shown the LO underworld is cruel and unjust, where the poor dead are forced into slavery and Hades created a harsh class divide with him and him only on top, the citizens hate him, the underworld gods don’t trust him and openly seem ok if he’s taken out of power, he’s not a good leader and king and doesn’t even want the job yet keeps it for his own ego and grip of power m, and on top of it all he is just like his brothers, if not worse. He loves to get violent over any little slight against him, he hoards wealth and resources to enrich himself while his citizens starve and struggle to survive, he’s corrupt, he controls all the media and laws to bend to his will, sleeps with his brothers wife for centuries behind his back while claiming to be holier than thou, he has sex with his secretaries who are made dependent on him for any way to survive, and now he lusts after his barely legal intern who is also now dependent on him for her way to survive, and that’s only what I remember off the top of my head.

LO perfectly set up to prove Hades isn’t the devil or the false pop culture assumption that he’s evil and to show some actual facts from myth, and yet Rachel only ended up reinforcing exactly that and even making him even worse with her made up ideas, all while thinking having Persephone ignore or excuse it somehow makes it not bad or even a good thing. It’s honestly kind of impressive just how bad of writing that actually is.

4. Chapter 172 is not that interesting. It’s setup had me excited to see Hephaestus and Hera and learning more about echo, but it’s cut so short. Because again the story can’t leave HXP out for 2 seconds.

I can also see why Zeus is gonna go insane.

5. i agree w/ other anon. LO should have pulled a PJO or a BoZ and just made up OCs and have them interact with the gods than whatever Rachel thinks shes doing, which is lying she's being accurate and faithful while completely changing all of it, removing what is needed, and adding what isnt so that it lines up with no actual myth besides like, various 50 shades fanfic she read in 2015 and some popular tumblr text posts.

6 . the animation studio behind blood of zeus literally can only draw one face for the men and one face for the women and they were still able to make the gods all look distinct and hot while LO can't even bother to use more than 6 colors and can only have the women look as tiny as possible with the biggest boobs while the men are all just lego men.

7. ////FP SPOILERS////

Okay so like I stopped reading LO way back before season 1 ended, and a majority of my knowledge of the series comes from what I read here on your blog which is enough for me lol and I decided to read the latest 5 chapters just to see what's up (on zahard. I refuse to give the actual series any views)

And I just. Could not take the whole scene with Daphne running from Apollo seriously? The anatomy and art inconsistency was so distracting that i genuinely could not find it serious. Even when Thanatos discovers her hibernated body I couldn't take it seriously because of how she looked?

And when Hades had that call (??? Was it a call? Or his inner dialogue? I couldn't really tell ngl) with Zeus and said he's causing Persephone unnecessary distress, and that she didn't pose any threat. B!tch??? She killed a ton of mortals??? She has no control over her powers???? She's literally a fugitive for the aforementioned things??? She apparently woke Kronos up? (Idk if anyone knows about that, again my knowledge only spans to whatever I read here) Hello????

And I have a lot to say about the chapters starting the trial but I'll only mention one thing; Hades saying "I don't think blindly supporting my little brother would be doing him any favours (as a ruler)" had me cackling. This is coming from a guy blindly supporting a girl he's literally only known for a few weeks, who's like what, only recently turned 20? Sit tf down Hades you're not cool, you creepy ass overgrown smurf.

Overall I still hate this series lmao. Regarding art though I feel like I wouldn't be so miffed about the anatomy much if the character designs were consistent and the story was compelling. They literally change hairstyles and body types frame by frame, and it's distracting.

The timeline from what I read here is laughable. 4 years in publication with almost 200 chapters and you're telling me only like a month has passed canonically. That's wild and such poor writing.

And as someone who literally will sympathise with any lead character pretty quickly, the story makes me hate them. It makes me want to root against them. I also hate the fact this trash is somehow top ranked on webtoons when so many other stories are far better then it.

Anyway, many thanks to this blog for existing and allowing me to dump so much text here to vent out my hate for this series lmao. You the mvp fam, hope you're having a good day 🥂🥂🥂

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

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stanknotstark · 3 years

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Devil In The Details

I had fun writing this I’m not sure it’s what you really wanted tho...I’m not sure if I’m gonna write the reader part yet tho idk is that something everybody would want? A reader who doesn’t like the sand? Cuz someone gave me an idea for it...*cough my wife *cough* hahaha Idk after reading this tell me if you want a reader part and if so I’ll write it!

Summary: REQUEST. Loki hates the sand and after a nasty prank you decide to exploit this small detail.

“I can’t wait, Loki! You’ll love the beach!” You smile at Loki who gives you a smile back. You don’t miss how his smile is stretched thin. He hides his feelings really well but not from you. You can read him like an open book and while you know it disturbs Loki that you can, you still have pride about it.

You know Loki is going to hate the beach. You’ve noticed that when he eats he can’t stand having crumbs on his hands and constantly wipes them on his napkin and tries to do everything in order to not eat with his hands. After a particular mission involving Sandman Loki had taken an hour-long shower and wouldn’t let you touch him until you yourself had washed away all the sand as well. He has this small thing about crumbs, or sand, or any small particles, that you plan to exploit. You want revenge.

Loki had pulled a prank the other day and it had involved you. You had been hanging out with Natasha and Wanda when Loki had come up and kissed your cheek. He pulled back, his hands grabbed your hair, and you heard a snip of scissors. You sat there frozen watching Natasha and Wanda’s reaction. They both looked behind you at Loki with wide eyes.

Loki isn’t stupid. He knows you take a lot of pride in having long, beautiful hair. He couldn’t have missed that when it rains you’re more worried about your hair getting wet than yourself. He couldn’t have missed that you’re constantly running your hands through your hair to make sure it’s perfect at all times.

Loki isn’t stupid.

At least, not often.

You stand to full height and turn to Loki slowly. You can feel your face fill with fury as you look at Loki who stands there, holding your beautiful locks, with a sly smirk on his stupid lips.

“Run.” You grind out. Loki is quick to turn and start running and when you start to chase him he actually starts laughing. The gall of this man. “Loki, I’m literally going to kill you!”

Loki makes a turn and races for the door that leads to the stairs, your lock of hair waving in his hands with furious movement as he runs. “If you catch me!” He throws over his shoulder while laughing.

You both reach the stairwell and Loki runs down the stairs, landing on the common area floor, and he throws the door open with wild strength so it stays open long enough for you to throw yourself into the room behind him. You reach out a hand and grasp his shirt in your fingers but he pulls forwards and the shirt slips from your grasp.

“Loki!” You yell enraged. He answers with a snicker.

The dead man running sees Steve and Tony standing close and talking so he pushes in between them. You follow, shoving Steve with a small sorry. Loki runs into the dining room and you both stop running, staring each other down from across the big table.

“Darling, listen-” Loki starts holding out his hands in a placating way. You growl as you watch your beautiful hair wave in his hands, causing the opposite reaction Loki was going for. He notices what’s going on and magics your hair away.

“Listen-”

“What’s going on?” Tony asks as he rushes into the room behind you with a concerned look on his face. He probably noticed how your face had murder written on it.

“I’m going to kill Loki, that’s what’s going on.” You move to the right but Loki moves to the left of the table to keep a good distance from you.

“If you would listen-”

“What did he do?” Tony asks over Loki’s response. Steve walks into the room and sees the tension. He moves towards Loki. You assume it’s because he’s trying to protect Loki from you. Smart man.

“He cut my hair.” You growl out, glancing at Tony whose eyes become comically large.

“Loki, I thought you were smart. That was a stupid move, really stupid, like, I can hear the wind whistling through your ears bud. ” Tony tells the god who rolls his eyes.

“If any of you would listen to me-” Loki is cut off when you yell and jump the table to slam him to the wall. Steve is quick to grab you around the waist and pull you from Loki. Your strength is no match for a super soldier’s strength. That doesn’t stop you from fighting Steve’s hold though.

“I did not cut your hair!” Loki yells, pushing from the wall and holding his hands out again.

You look over his face and calm yourself. “Steve, did he cut my hair?” You ask the man holding you, not trusting Loki. Steve still holds you but holds you at arms length so he may examine your hair.

“Uh, there’s-” He starts but Loki waves his hand at you. “Oh.” Steve exclaims, shocked. You feel one of his hands come to your hair and caress at the locks. “No, your hair is fine.” He finally concludes.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath through your nose. The tears that come can’t be fought.

“Darling-” Loki says in a sorrowful voice as he reaches for you. You shake your head, jerking from Loki so he can’t touch you. You pull from Steve’s grip so you may leave and cry in peace. You know it’s just hair and maybe it’s stupid to cry about but you had really felt true fear that he had messed with it.

It’s a whole day before you let Loki approach you again. By this time you’ve already made plans for revenge.

When you arrive at the beach you don’t miss the grimace Loki gives as he looks at the sand. He wipes it off his face when you fully turn to him though.

“Find us a spot and I’ll get all of our stuff.” Loki tells you when you both get out of the car. You let him have this small time to mentally prepare himself for the torture you’ve prepared for him. You make your way down to the beach and find an open spot to set up that has an umbrella to protect you both from the sun. Loki is slow-going to make his way towards you. You watch as he really tries to not wince every step he takes in the sand. You kind of hope sand makes its way into his shoes.

He quickly sets two towels down under your picked spot then watches as you undress to your swim suit under your clothes. When you bend over to take your shorts off you hear Loki give a sigh and start undressing.

Good, you can’t help but think.

When you’re undressed you glance at the bar nearby. “I’ll go get us some drinks.” You state, grabbing your wallet and leaving Loki. When you reach the bar you order your usual drink and Loki’s favorite when he’s having a rough day, gin and tonic. You order and turn to watch Loki.

Loki stands there under the umbrella glaring at the towel on the ground as if it might actually bite him if he lies on it. You chuckle under your breath. You then watch him shake his head and sit on the towel with hesitance. He sits with his knees drawn up as if trying to minimize how much of his body touches the sand that no doubt got on his towel.

The bartender brings your drinks over and you pay him. You’re quick to come back to Loki and hand him his drink. When he takes a sip he sighs and thanks you in a grateful tone.

You sit on your towel and give him a smile as you sip on your own drink. “So, I was thinking, have you ever built a sand castle?” You ask with a raised eyebrow at your uncomfortable lover.

Loki looks over to you with a look of dread that he is quick to hide, just not quick enough for your keen eyes. “No. Isn’t that an activity for children?” He asks, trying to deter your plans passive aggressively.

You shrug and give an embarrassed smile. “It is...I just-” You cut yourself off to make your acting more dramatic, “Never mind.” You babble out and look away from Loki to the crashing waves and open water.

You can tell Loki doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he wages war in his mind.

“Perhaps you could show me how to do it, I’ve never tried.” He tells you with open honesty.

You look over to Loki with soft eyes. This man was truly in love with you if he’s willing to build a sandcastle with you. It’s nearly enough to make you stop your plan of torture.

Nearly.

You nod at him. “After our drinks I’ll show you!” You say in an excited voice, your body slightly jumping in place like an overexcited child. Loki loses his look of distress for a second as he lovingly smiles at you.

You set your drink aside and lay down on your towel. Your hands come to clasp over your stomach. You don’t outright look at Loki but you watch from your peripheral. He looks at you with apprehension.

Loki sets his drink near yours between the towels in the sand and looks out towards the water. You hold back a snicker as he closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. He slowly lowers himself to lay on his back. He lays there really tense for a few seconds before he forcibly relaxes.

You get a good idea and smirk to yourself.

“Sweetheart, you seem tense, do you want a back massage?” You ask Loki who looks at you with wide eyes.

“I-um…” He responds.

You sit up and tap on his arm, telling him to turn over. Loki follows your prompt and turns onto his stomach. You straddle his hips and run your hands down his back. He shivers, probably because you had let your hands touch the sand before you dragged them down his bare back.

Without Loki watching you, you let out a wicked smile.

You work your hands into his built up knots. “What made you so tense?” You ask as you dig into one of the knots and Loki groans. He turns his head to the side so he can partially see you from his peripheral vision. “Probably the fact that I made you cry.” The god lies with ease.

You hum. “You won’t ever touch my hair for a prank again, will you?”

Loki chuckles. “Never.”

“Lesson learned then.” You shake your head with a smile. You knead your knuckles into a particularly nasty knot and Loki hisses, his body tenses up, and his hands come to rest on each side of him. His fingers twitch like they want to dig into the ground but he remembers it’s sand.

When you get that knot worked out Loki relaxes under you again.

“I truly am sorry, darling. I did not know how much you valued your hair otherwise I would not have done that prank.” Loki apologizes again. He had apologized the second you let him talk to you again after the prank. And again right before you both went to bed too.

“I know.”

“Do you? I cannot help but feel as if you do not believe my words.”

You sigh and get off of Loki and sit on your towel. Loki is quick to sit up again, looking at you. His hands rub across his chest so the sand that was stuck now falls off him.

You grab your drink so your hands have something to do. You look at the sand and think about what you want to say. Loki patiently waits.

“I know you’re sorry, I know you won’t ever do it again I just-” You let your eyes trail from the sand to the waves. “I’m still hurt about it. I know that’s unreasonable I just...I don’t know, I mean I know it wasn’t anything personal.” You let your feet toe at the towel's edges. When you look over to Loki he is looking at the sand in thought, his fingers fiddle with the drawstrings on his bathing suit. He takes a few seconds before he looks up to your eyes.

“What may I do to make this up to you?” He asks you with raw seriousness.

You slightly raise your drink. “Finish your drink so we can make a sandcastle.”

Loki takes the hint that you don’t want to talk about this subject anymore and picks up his drink.

“As you wish.” He says, knocking his drink with yours in a small cheer.

You both finish your drinks in a comfortable silence, watching people run past and children splash in the shallow waves.

Loki finishes his drink first, you follow not long after.

“Sun screen!” You say, digging in your beach bag and pulling out a SPF 100 bottle. Loki helps you with your back and you his. You grab the plastic sandcastle bucket from your bag then the both of you are crawling from under the umbrella into the sunlight towards the wet sand.

You hand Loki the bucket mold. “Fill it with the wet sand and compact it.” Loki does as you tell him. You’re impressed when he digs a hand deep into the wet sand and doesn’t even flinch. When he fills the bucket up and compacts it you bring him to the dry sand and he understands what to do. He sets the bucket on the sand and lightly taps at the plastic so the sand will come out without sticking to the bucket.

You appreciate the view. Loki is on his knees in the sand, he worries over the bucket with a focused look on his face. His chest glistens from the sunscreen he put on and there is a slight blush that crosses his chest under the sunlight. The solid green swim trunks make his pale skin glow. He muscled legs stretching and flexing as he moves around the bucket.

Loki slowly lifts the bucket and a perfect castle sits in the sand. He is quick to smile back at you, satisfied with his work. It’s enough to make you fall deeper in love with the man.

He quickly stands and comes to your side. “Shall we make it bigger?” He asks you with giddy excitement. You let out a small laugh and nod.

Loki quickly collects more wet sand and you start searching for seashells to adorn the sandcastle with.

By the time Loki finishes the castle it is three buckets high. Three castles support two castles, then those two castles support the last one on top. You show Loki all the shells you picked up and both of you chatter excitedly as you decorate the sandcastle.

You don’t miss that Loki makes sporadic trips to the water so he may wash the sand off of him. He tries to lie about it when you ask and responds that he’s just getting overheated and needs some water on his body to cool him down. If anything, you think it’s probably a half-truth.

When Loki comes back and you put the final shell on the castle you stand and smile at Loki sheepishly.

“Loki…” You start. Loki grabs you by the waist and hugs you to him, swaying from side to side.

“Yes, darling?”

You pull away but Loki doesn’t drop his hands from your hips just holds you at arm's length with a cute frown.

“I...Well...Ok, see, I wanted revenge for what you did and now I’m starting to realize I shouldn’t have done this.” You get out in an apologetic voice, a slight wince on your face.

Loki’s frown lifts to a look of amusement. “You knew I wouldn’t like the sand…” He replies softly.

You actually cringe at his remark. “Possibly.” You say in a high-pitched voice.

You gasp with a horrified look on your face because two kids run past and when one throws a handful of sand to the other kid it misses and hits Loki’s back instead.

You bite your lip when you see sand falling from his hair and face. At least the kids apologize before they’re running off laughing again. You simply watch as the amusement falls from Loki’s face and he closes his eyes.

“May we leave?” He says in a dangerously calm voice.

You nod but realize he can’t see it so you blurt out a yes and rush to your spot to pack everything up. Loki is right behind you, making sure to pick up the bucket you had brought, and as you panic he grabs your arm so you look at him.

“Calm down, sweetheart. I will not die from a little sand.” Loki says in a gentle and calming tone.

You feel your shoulders relax and take a deep breath. You nod and begin packing the stuff again, this time slower. Loki helps and it takes less than five minutes to begin your trek back to the car. As you pass the showers you bump into Loki’s side and nod at them. Loki looks at you gratefully before he’s handing you the beach bag and rushing over to the shower. You follow him, just slower. When you come to stand at the edge of the shower you watch Loki wash off with a lot of appreciation.

The water cascades down his back and your mouth goes dry when Loki brings his hands up and through his long black locks, tilting his chin up into the spurting water as he does. When his face isn’t in the direct spray he looks over at you. A smirk crosses his face as he rubs all the sand off his body and watches you watch him. When you catch his eyes you clear your throat and look away. Loki chuckles but doesn’t say anything, thankfully.

Once he has washed off what he can reach without undressing completely he comes to your side and grabs the beach bag from you once again. You both begin the trek back to the car, Loki dripping wet as he walks beside you.

“I’m impressed.” Loki states out of nowhere. You look over at him dumbfounded. “I’m impressed because you noticed a small detail about me and exploited it as revenge.” He explains with a small smirk, he doesn’t look at you though, just keeps his face forwards.

You let out a devious laugh. “I am dating the God of Mischief, gotta keep you on your toes somehow.”

Loki doesn’t answer you, merely shakes his head as he now genuinely smiles.

When you reach the car Loki packs everything up as you start the car so it can cool off. Loki doesn’t use one of the towels to dry off probably because they had been on the sand. He gets into the passenger seat, wet.

“Stark has the money to clean his cars without a second thought. I am not using one of those towels to dry off.” Loki confirms your suspicions when you look at him with an accusatory look.

You can’t fight the laugh that bubbles out and Loki smiles at you as he puts on his seat belt. You shake your head and focus on backing out of the parking space.

When you’re on the road back to the tower you let your arm rest on the console. Loki is quick to hold your hand in his.

“I love you.” Loki exclaims out of nowhere as you sit at a red light.

“Even after I made you go to the beach as revenge?” You ask as you squeeze his hand.

Loki squeezes back. “Even more so after that.”

“Never had a woman stand up to you after your pranks?” You ask. The light turns green so you can’t see Loki’s expression.

“Never.”

You hum, glancing over to him, when you can, and you find him smiling a loopy smile as he watches the road.

“You can prank me, that’s fine, just don’t ever do anything with my hair, please?” You focus on the road as you speak.

“Of course.”

“Just know, if you prank me there will be revenge.”

You can hear the smirk in Loki’s response. “Oh, I was hoping there would be, darling.”

Tag list: @justfangirlthingies @biancablack2474 @creeping156tin @ajeff855 @high-functioning-lokipath @silver-lupines

#loki x reader #request filled #loki #loki laufeyson #reader insert #my writing #I JUST REALIZED I NEVER MADE THEM GET IN THE WATER WHOOPS #oh well

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themuseandantarctica · 2 years

Text

* 𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔

sentence starters based on jill mccorkle’s short story collection crash diet, from the story “departures”. most of them have been changed to make them more ‘sentence starter friendly,’ namely in changing them from third-person to first-person. change however necessary.

tw: death, especially that of a loved one, some nsfw, divorce

❝ i have been going places all alone for three years now - airports , shopping malls , fairs , political rallies , any place where i can be surrounded by people without having to interact with any of them. ❞

❝ why don’t you watch tv ? ❞

❝ it’s not healthy , all this time alone. ❞

❝ why are you punishing yourself ? ❞

❝ nobody even uses that word in front of a widow - intercourse. ❞

❝ punishment was that day three years ago when i got the call that [name] had died. ❞

❝ i keep wanting to remove the old dull toys and replace them with fluffy pastel bears and cats. ❞

❝ little did i know , the right man was still married at the time. ❞

❝ i knew i’d find somebody eventually ; you know , somebody who could be a father figure , not of course that i think a father figure is important. they aren’t. men are not always necessary. ❞

❝ can you imagine ? the gall. the poor taste. ❞

❝ they talked a lot about how [name] had the most sense. how he was the caring child. ❞

❝ how dare you ask to bring such a trollop to my house when we still haven’t gotten over your divorce ? ❞

❝ it was the lousiest thanksgiving known to man. ❞

❝ well , i’m no grace kelly. ❞

❝ imagine getting dressed up like that at the beach. ❞

❝ maybe they’re vampires. ❞

❝ maybe they’re spying on us right now. ❞

❝ they don’t want us to meet because then we’ll all just have ordinary boring vacations. ❞

❝ it’s not so boring. i love doing nothing. ❞

❝ we had been careless , wild , and reckless , thinking that if something did happen we’d deal with it later. ❞

❝ disappointed ? ❞

❝ they deserve better , don’t they ? ❞

❝ maybe they’re happy. what do we know ? ❞

❝ i have gotten used to the largeness of the bed , the quiet ticking of the clocks that his snores and breathing had always hidden. ❞

❝ i come to loud public places to absorb the emotions. ❞

❝ what do you miss most about [name] ? what would be your pick of a day if you could have ? ❞

❝ [name] says i can just keep searching until i find the perfect service , no matter the cost , isn’t he wonderful ? ❞

❝ when you said you had spaghetti , i thought you meant real spaghetti. ❞

❝ [name] and i would go after each other like crazed rabbits and we wouldn’t stop until we fell out with exhaustion. ❞

❝ if chef boyardee is not good enough , then you’ll have to do your own shopping and cooking. ❞

❝ this was carved by a reformed alcoholic who is serving a life sentence for murdering his wife , mother , and child. ❞

❝ he has found religion and sees his art as a manifestation of his cleansed soul. he is a new man. ❞

❝ imagine , writing to tell me such a thing. ❞

❝ that’s not so much for her to ask. ❞

❝ what is it you’re looking for ? ❞

❝ what happened to the normal child ? ❞

❝ i keep asking the question and wishing [name] could answer. ❞

❝ i am convinced i can live with just about anything. it’s what i can’t live without that poses a problem. ❞

❝ [name] left her. she’s all alone. he ran off with his very young secretary and where does that leave her ? ❞

❝ i think he died. ❞

❝ yeah , he died all right. she’s too peaceful for him not to be. if he’d just left her she’d be furious , breaking things , screaming for the lawyers. he died all right. ❞

❝ in my worst scenarios , tragedy came to us from beyond the boundaries and frames of our every day lives : a car running a red light , an airplane engine dying , a stray bomb planted in a building where we happened to be visiting , a lunatic with a submachine gun in a fast-food chain. but instead it came from within , a heart that had never threatened anything except too much love , a fragile , easily broken organ. ❞

❝ ‘ see you tonight , honey. ’ that’s the last thing [name] said. ❞

❝ people are lined up to catch a glimpse. ❞

❝ i worry about [name]. i just don’t think he seems satisfied. ❞

❝ son , i’ve got to tell you , i’ve never been able to pass a bar. ❞

❝ i hope that test is all that’s bugging him. ❞

❝ he’ll be home soon. ❞

❝ see you tonight , honey. ❞

❝ i think now that [name] was onto [name]. he always seemed to know things. ❞

❝ this [name] fellow wants a woman in the house. i can tell. it may take a dozen children and shackles but he’ll find a way. ❞

❝ sometimes it makes me mad that he knew so damn much. ❞

❝ i got tired of listening to what was going on in their lives. i wanted my own life. real or not , i wanted to be a part of something that was of my own design. ❞

❝ how can you just stand there ? how can you be at peace ? ❞

❝ but why are you at the airport ? ❞

❝ people shouldn’t ask so many questions so close to the holidays. ❞

❝ why don’t you get interested in a continuing program ? ❞

❝ you’d be great at the soup kitchen , a breath of life for the down and out. ❞

❝ and who will give me a breath ? ❞

❝ they don’t want me to talk about [name] anymore. they don’t want me to talk about how he looked in the casket. ❞

❝ he looked okay , but his mouth was wrong. [name] never held his mouth that way a day in his life. ❞

❝ i want to slap her , to shake her , to tell her for godssakes get a divorce. ❞

❝ don’t tell me what loneliness means. don’t you even try. ❞

❝ some nights i can’t sleep because my mind flashes picture after picture , like slides. ❞

❝ the last time i was here i witnessed a scene involving a lost child. ❞

❝ we want you to be happy , [name]. nothing more. ❞

❝ i would not have thought to remind myself how fragile it all is , fragile and precious. ❞

❝ can you believe this ? ❞

❝ can you image a parent not keeping a better watch ? ❞

❝ oh god , there you are ! ❞

❝ my husband thought i had her. i thought she was with him. ❞

❝ sometimes i imagine that i will turn in a crowded place and see him there , that we will reach each other with a babbling of how it was all a misunderstanding , that he didn’t really die. ❞

❝ you can’t leave your heart nowhere. you’d die. ❞

❝ that’s true , you’d die without your heart. ❞

❝ what’s a cable car ? ❞

❝ i thought i’d never get here. ❞

❝ you have such a morbid mind , sweetheart. ❞

❝ everywhere i look , there is the message : life is fragile , so very fragile. ❞

❝ i guess your person missed the flight. ❞

❝ i hope you have a good trip. ❞

❝ they are parent and child - family. ❞

❝ now i feel like a ghost , like someone haunting someone else’s life. ❞

❝ there are details i will forget and need to reinvent in a simpler , gentler way. ❞

❝ i will bake a chocolate cake so big and so rich that everyone will need to lie down right after dinner. ❞

#rp meme #rp starters #sentence meme #sentence starters #prompts #rp prompts #writing prompts

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middleearthpixie · 2 years

Text

More Than Meets the Eye ~ Chapter Forty-Seven

Author's Note: I wanted to apologize for the delay in updates - I’m still in the midst of two other fics, and real life and things just keep getting between me and the keyboard…

Summary: Thorin and Arielle enjoy a relaxing evening in Dale,

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield/Arielle (Elen) Farran (female OC)

Characters: Arielle, Thorin, Belle Caisys

Rating: T

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2,823

Previous chapters can be found here and on AO3

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @ocfairygodmother @exhausted-humxn-being @shalinizhara @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover

It was a beautiful night in Dale, with a light breeze blowing in from the water and as they strolled along the town square, Arielle leaned her head against Thorin’s shoulder. They enjoyed a nice, quiet dinner and were now walking it off.

“What’s on your mind, mesmel?” he asked, pausing by a stand selling sweets. He glanced down at the array of candies still on display despite the late hour. It was a beautiful, warm night and Dale’s streets were still littered with people, and the open-air market in the town square was the hub of commerce.

“Nothing, really.” She smiled as she met his gaze. “I was just thinking about when the fair was here. I still only remember part of that night, you know.”

“Which part?”

“I remember falling and tearing the knee out of my leggings. I remember how much I enjoyed being with Kusela and the others. She won a sapphire at the ring toss and I won a bottle, which I promptly left behind at a pub.”

She looked over at him. “And I remember being so jealous because Belle was with you and you had already made yourself clear that you and I were never going to happen.”

“I was a fool.”

“Yes,” she nodded, “yes, you were.”

“I’ve since learned the error of my ways, though.” He chuckled, then pointed to a small block of dark chocolate. “Do you eat this?”

“Dark chocolate?” Arielle smiled. “I would live on it, if I could.”

He grinned, turning to the vendor. “Wrap that up, if you would.”

The vendor’s eyes went wild. “All of it?”

Thorin nodded. “My wife likes chocolate. All of it.”

“But, sir, that will cost a fortune!”

Thorin smiled. “I assure you, I can well afford it. So, if you would be so kind?”

Arielle tucked her arm through his. “It will take me a lifetime to get through that. Please,” she smiled at the vendor, “only a quarter of it is necessary.”

“Are you certain, mesmel?”

“Thorin, I’m positive.”

He sighed. “Very well. As the lady requested.”

The vendor smiled. “Of course.”

As he left to slice the block and wrap it, Arielle said, “You have to be mad, thinking I could eat that much chocolate.”

“We could melt it down, for Tiri when she’s a little older. A cup of hot chocolate was a treat when I was a child.”

“Thorin, she is but a month old. It will be some time before she is old enough for hot chocolate.”

“It will keep, don’t worry.” He handed the coins to the vendor, and took the wrapped package in return. “Have you never had hot chocolate?”

“I’ve not. We could not afford chocolate when I was a little girl, Thorin. By that point, the Master had our taxes and rents raised so high, any leftover coin went to food and coal for the stove.”

“Well, when we return to Erebor,” he gestured to her with the package, “I will make some for you and you’ll see why being a queen has its perks.”

“I already know it does,” she leaned her head against his shoulder, “because one of them is seeing you naked.”

He chuckled, only to have it interrupted by a low, “Well, what do we have here?”

Arielle’s gut kinked at the sound of Belle Caisys’ voice floating up from behind them. Thorin had mentioned seeing her when he was in Dale earlier, but she didn’t think the woman would actually have the gall to approach them.

She turned, forcing a smile to her lips as she said, “Why, hello, Miss Caisys. How have you been?”

Her smile turned genuine as Belle’s eyes narrowed. Her nose was far flatter than it had been, and more than a little crooked and Arielle knew it was terrible of her, but she felt no remorse for having flattened that nose. Belle had it coming.

“I’ve been wonderful, Elen, and you?”

Arielle felt Thorin stiffen and before he could say anything, she smiled. “If you don’t mind, Elen is my brother and I prefer Arielle to it and either way, I am wonderful,” She turned that smile to Thorin, who relaxed a bit against her. “We’re both a little frazzled, and enjoying a night away.”

“Baby keeping you up?”

“She’s getting better. But, yes.” She tucked her arm through Thorin’s. “Thorin, you did show her a picture of Tiri, didn’t you?”

He grinned. “I did, but I will gladly do so once more.”

Belle’s jaw tightened and Arielle waited for her to insist she didn’t need to see it again, but all Belle did was murmur, “How nice.”

Arielle pressed her lips together as Thorin dug the small folio from his pocket and flipped it open. It was childish and petty to take such delight in torturing Belle this way, but it was the least she deserved, after all she’d done at Erebor.

“She is beautiful,” Belle said, her voice soft with a wistfulness that Arielle did not expect. For a moment, guilt twinged her insides. Perhaps, in some twisted, selfish way, Belle did love Thorin and perhaps it hurt her to see him happy with someone else, to have a family now with someone else?

But, at the same time, Belle’s misery was her own doing. She brought it upon herself and Arielle could not bring herself to feel any more charitable toward her.

Thorin tucked the folio back. “So, if you will excuse us, Arielle and I have but this one night and I really feel the need to not share her with anyone.”

Arielle pressed her lips together as Belle scowled at him. “Enjoy your night.”

“We shall.” Thorin slid his arm about Arielle’s waist and gently turned to guide her toward the end of Dale, where the road rose to overlook Erebor, at the spot where he’d asked her to marry him.

“I almost feel guilty,” Arielle said softly as they reached the low wall at the end of the road. In the distance, Erebor glowed with a welcoming light and she sank onto the wall to just gaze at it. In little more than a year, it had become home. The restorations were nearing completion, the dank chill had been removed for good, and she found she loved it far more than she ever loved the small, drafty house in Esgaroth or the overpriced, dingy flat just around the corner on Stone Street.

“Guilty? Why?”

“I’m not normally unkind to anyone. I know all too well what it’s like, to have people mistreat you.”

“Mesmel,” he sank onto the wall, draping a leg over each side, “you were mistreated for reasons over which you had no control. She chose to try to hurt you, to out you before everyone. She is probably lucky you are as kind a woman as you are. A less kind woman would have sought revenge upon her for what she did.”

“Oh, I wanted revenge and I sought it,” she peered at him over her shoulder. “I married you.”

“Ah… so I’m your revenge.”

She nodded. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

He pursed his lips for a moment as if in thought, but then he shrugged and tugged her back against his chest. “I can live with that.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

His laughter came softly in her ear. “I thought it might be.”

They sat there in comfortable silence for a while and she just gazed out at the lights of Erebor, glowing like so many welcoming beacons across the windswept plains between it and Dale. How many nights had she come out here, after the Battle of the Five Armies, just to escape the dreariness of each day, which meant burying the war dead, and when that was done, keeping an eye on the children of Dale, trying to earn enough to help Elen out so he wouldn’t feel as if he supported her? Those days felt like a lifetime ago and while she was glad they are behind her, she didn’t resent having to go through them. Although they’d always been close, she and Elen grew closer still in the days following their mother’s death, and for that she would alway be grateful.

Thorin gave her a gentle squeeze to jolt her from her reverie as he murmured, “What’s on your mind?”

“I was just thinking about how much has happened in the last almost two years. Your arrival. Smaug. The Battle of the Five Armies. It is as if a lifetime of events happened in the span of a single heartbeat.”

“When the Company and I first set foot inside Erebor, I thought we’d never see the day when it was restored. And now look where we are with it. Almost finished.”

Is this what it looked like back when you were a boy?” She leaned against him, smiling as he reached around to set the chocolate on the wall between her knees and wrapped his arms about her.

“It’s close, yes. It won’t ever be the same, of course, but I think it’s come a long way from the rundown pile of debris it was.”

“So,” she peered at him over one shoulder, a smile playing at her lips, “does this mean you will have a coronation soon?”

“I think so.” He nodded, then pressed a kiss into the top of her head. “I think I should like to crown you as well, mesmel.”

She sat up and twisted to meet his gaze. “What?”

“I think you should be crowned queen. You’re my equal and I think your title should reflect that.”

“But, I’m not a dwarf. And I don’t think anyone would be happy with a half-Elf, half-Man queen.”

“The future queen is only a half dwarf. And if we should have a son at some point, the same will apply. I think it safe to say that Erebor will not have a full-blood dwarf king or queen as long as my line continues. Nor would it, if Kili were to find himself thrust in the role, for his children will be half-Elf.”

“I don’t know,” she shook her head, turning back to sink against his chest once more. “I just… I cannot see myself as queen of anything. I’m a peasant half-breed from Dale by way of Esgaroth, Thorin. I haven’t a drop of royal blood. I was your valet, remember.”

“First, I’ve told you, I do not ever wish to hear you refer to yourself as a half-breed anything again. And you don’t need to have royal blood. You’ve married the king.”

“King Consort is all the title I need and I don’t even need that.” She picked up the bag holding the chocolate and carefully turned toward him. She’d brought leggings with her, and wore them now, so felt no self-consciousness about sitting the way he did, a leg on either side of the wall. “I don’t want to rule, Thorin. I wouldn’t know what to do. I just want to raise our children, keep Elen out of trouble, and talk Dis off the ledge every now and then where Kili and Tauriel are concerned or where Fili is concerned. You were groomed for this, you’ve spent your life preparing for when you’d rule, even when you had no kingdom. And you are good at it. You are a natural leader and they all love and respect you.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, his eyes soft and thoughtful. “They love you, too, you know. I know the staff was angry with you for a while, but I daresay that is not the case any longer. I think they would wholeheartedly accept you as their queen.”

She wasn’t at all certain how she felt about that. As she’d told Thorin, he’d been born into this life, had been groomed to assume his place on the throne when the time came. And while it took far longer than anyone could have ever predicted, he still knew what to do, he knew how to lead. It came to him as naturally as breathing did.

She could not say the same thing at all.

“Thorin, you’ve seen how I get when I’m flustered. I ramble. I get clumsy. And that isn’t a good look for a queen.”

“It is when they are traits that make her adorable.”

She smiled even as she shook her head. “You find them adorable now, but you didn’t back when you thought I was Elen.”

“No, I didn’t. And I admit, the rambling gets tedious at times—or it did, since you don’t seem to really do it all that often any more—but in time, you would adjust.” He caught her hand to bring to his lips, where he brushed a kiss along the backs of her fingers. “As for being clumsy, I only minded it at first because it was a little unsettling to have my valet grabbing my ass.”

She couldn’t help but laugh as she said, “I was horrified that I’d done that, you know. I thought I’d given myself away for sure.”

He lowered her hand. “If I’d known then you were a woman, I’d have sacked you on the spot. It was a difficult enough decision to make when I did find out, not to mention, when I thought I knew, but couldn’t prove it.”

“Thorin, you pinned me against the wall in our bedchamber and kissed me like there was no tomorrow.”

“A moment of weakness. You’re a beautiful woman and I am but a man, amrâlimê. But,” he kissed the back of her hand again, “I want you to at least think about it, Arielle. And even if you turn down a crown, you will still be my equal and my partner in any decisions that need to be made.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, dwarf.” She looked down at the thick fingers holding hers. “Although, Queen Arielle does have a nice ring to it.”

She met his gaze and he smiled, then leaned in to brush her lips with his. “Let’s go back to the inn,” he murmured, “and see if we fit that tub together.”

Water sloshed gently as she sank back against his chest. Thorin sighed softly, wrapping wet arms about her, leaning back against the hammered brass side. She fit perfectly between his legs, and she sounded sleepy as she murmured, “I don’t want this night to end.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss into her wet hair. “You don’t miss getting up every three hours to soothe a crying baby?”

“Well,” she hesitated, “I miss Tiri, yes. But I don’t miss being at her beck and call. Just imagine if I hadn’t miscarried her twin? I’d be completely barmy by now.”

“I would have brought in help,” he told her, trailing his fingers along the supple muscle of her upper arm. “And I still think we should do so, anyway. A nanny is not a terrible idea, you know.”

“I don’t know, Thorin. It doesn’t seem right, pushing Tiri off on someone else. She’s our baby.”

“You aren’t pushing her off on anyone. You are trying to do what’s best for the both of you. And if having some help is what’s best, we should do it. I don’t want to see you exhausted all the time, mesmel. How do I convince you to have second child otherwise?”

She sat up to glare at him over her shoulder. “Bite your tongue, dwarf. Your first child is only a month old.”

“I know, but I do like how one gets children, so…”

She smiled. “Then I suppose I shouldn’t tell you that Narnerra told me that as long as I’m nursing, I shouldn’t have to worry about becoming pregnant again.”

This was news to him. “Is that so?”

She nodded. “That’s what she said.”

“But, she probably didn’t take into account that my boys are probably far stronger than that of a typical dwarf. Being the king and all.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your boys?”

He tried to hold his serious expression, but couldn’t. With a chuckle, he eaed her back again him. “Let’s just enjoy this evening for now. Tomorrow will come soon enough and reality will intrude upon us again. But for now? For now, it’s only you and me and I’m just about ready for another round with you, amrâlimê.”

He expected her to playfully elbow him or something of the sort, but to his surprise, she sat up and turned toward him. The sight of her naked and wet, with silvery droplets clinging to her pale skin, was enough to fire his arousal and it wasn’t but a few minutes later that the sounds of water sloshed and sighs of pleasure filled the air and wafted out through the open window to the street below.

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #AUJ #Thorin Fic #Everybody Lives AU #Is it hot in here?#Woman in Disguise

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winter-turtle · 3 years

Text

Familiar-Unfamiliar - Winterturtle - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]

Tony mentally shuddered. Taking care of a regular kid was bad enough, taking care of a teenager was even worse, but taking care of an enhanced amnesiac teenager? That was a disaster in waiting. Tony could barely take care of himself, so just how exactly was he supposed to take care of another human being that practically didn’t know anything about the world?

Or villain Tony takes on a role of reluctant caretaker.

The boy’s eyes fluttered open, then immediately closed as the light above him stabbed his eyes. God, his head hurt.

But why did his head hurt? Did he fell asleep on the table again? Did he get hit with a dodgeball?

No… neither of those options seemed right. It was like a good chunk of his memory was missing. Or… more like his whole memory… The boy willed himself to remember, but another wave of pain crashed into his head, making him whine.

“You with me this time, kid?”

The voice sounded familiar, but the boy still couldn’t place it. Where did he knew the voice from?

“Hello?” the man drawled.

“Lights,” the boy muttered.

“Right.”

To the boy’s relief, the lights dimmed, allowing him to open his eyes and take in his surroundings. Huh. What was he doing in a hospital room? Did he get hit with that dodgeball after all? If yes, then he really should do something about…

About who? There was supposed to be name, he knew there was supposed to be the name! Why couldn’t he remember the name? He had to go to… someone… someone who had something to do with chairs… yeah, that someone would definitely help him.

…if only he knew where to find that someone…

The man cleared his throat, making the boy – Peter! His name was Peter! – turn to him. The man with brown eyes and a goatee was leaning on the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and displeased look on his face. Tiny frown settled on Peter’s face as he pushed himself into sitting position. He groaned again, rubbing his face with his palm.

“Great. You’re awake now,” the man continued. “Let me start with this: What the hell?”

“Uh…”

“All this time! All this time, all those encounters we had—"

Peter blinked owlishly at him.

“—I can’t believe they’ve been allowing a kid—”

What the hell was the man talking about?

“—gosh, you’re a kid! You have no business running around like that and putting yourself in danger!”

Oh lord. Was he in trouble? It definitely sounded like he was in trouble.

“—not to mention that this is below my level—”

Well, the man obviously knew him if he was scolding him like that. That was good, right?

“—can you imagine my utter shock—”

“Do you who I am?” Peter blurted out, cutting out the man’s rambling.

It was the man’s turn to be confused. “What kind of question is that? Yeah, I know who you are!” he threw up his arms, then muttered, “I do now, at least.”

Peter was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear that last part, that it should be impossible to hear that last part, yet he did. Yet another mystery to be solved. “Good. Because,” he took in shuddering breath, “because I don’t,” he admitted.

“You… don’t know who you are?”

Peter shook his head.

The man fell silent. Then-

This was a total mess.

“Fuck!”

This was a total mess and Tony had no idea what to do. First the kid saw his face, then the kid got accidentally unmasked and… look, Tony knew he was a villain and the fights kinda became their thing, but he couldn’t just let him lie there in the middle of the battlefield while he was bleeding from the head!

It wasn’t even his mess to clean up to begin with! Some other asshole just showed up, claimed he had beef with Spidey and the rest was history. Tony was more of a recreational villain. It was a hobby born out of boredom. His fights with the spider-themed hero were more of a game to him than anything else. Like the kid was a cat chasing the red dot and Tony was the one holding the laser pointer.

What did he do to deserve this? Was it karma for all the time Rhodey had to take care of him during their MIT years?

Tony sighed for the umpteenth time.

“Sir? Are you okay?”

As he said – total mess. Tony kept stirring the eggs on the pan as the kid sat on one of the barstools, kicking his legs and looking around with those impossibly wide Bambi eyes filled to the brim with curiosity. Tony told him to stay in the room, but did the kid listen? Of course not! Because he was a little shit even if he couldn’t remember a damn thing!

“Don’t call me sir. I’m not that old,” Tony grumbled.

The kid’s head tilted to the side in a way that reminded Tony of a puppy. “Then what should I call you?”

God, he’s been fighting a literal kid this whole time.

Tony considered remaining silent. He was a villain. The kid was a hero. The fact remained unchanged even in their current predicament.

“You’re awfully trusting, you know?”

The kid shrugged. “You clearly know me, so… that has to amount to something, right? And besides, you would’ve hurt me already if you had any ill intentions.”

“How do you know I won’t hurt you now?”

“I just do. It’s,” he gestured vaguely, then let out a frustrated sigh. “Look, I can’t explain, but I have this feeling that tells me you’re alright. Like I can trust you.”

Tony made a grimace that could be compared to the face he was making while constipating. It was a good thing his back was facing the kid. “So I’m making you feel safe?”

Please say no. Please say no.

“Yeah, basically.”

Shit.

Tony sighed again. He piled the scrambled eggs on the plate and placed it in front of Peter. “Tony.”

The kid looked up from the plate. “What?”

“You asked what you can call me. Tony. You can call me Tony.”

The kid beamed. “Okay, Tony,” he said and dug in with the appetite of starving man. Tony piled the rest of the eggs on his own plate and joined the teen. Knowing him, Tony should’ve known the silence wouldn’t last too long.

“How do we know each other?”

“Uh…” Yeah, Tony wasn’t sure he should be telling him that. The kid was unpredictable at best and as much as Tony didn’t want to deal with the amnesiac teen, he couldn’t just release him into the wild to fend for himself. “I think it’s best if we let those things come back naturally.”

And until then, he will have to… take care of him. Tony mentally shuddered. Taking care of a regular kid was bad enough, taking care of a teenager was even worse, but taking care of an enhanced amnesiac teenager? That was a disaster in waiting. Tony could barely take care of himself, so just how exactly was he supposed to take care of another human being that practically didn’t know anything about the world?

The kid accepted that as a good enough answer and returned to his food, allowing Tony to resume the brainstorming on how to un-fuck the situation. There wasn’t much he could do since the amnesia was caused by a blunt trauma to the head. If it was caused by magic, then he could go and drop the kid off at the wizard’s doorstep with a note explaining the situation or something and be done with it. The kid’s only remaining family was out of town for the week, and he couldn’t go to the Avengers for obvious reasons.

Wait, couldn’t keeping the kid here be classified as kidnapping?

“Are you my dad?”

The question was so sudden it made Tony choke on the next bite. Violent coughing fit followed. What the hell possessed the kid to ask that?! He? A father? Yeah, no thanks.

There was a hand hitting his back in an attempt to alleviate the coughing. A moment later, Tony got his breathing under control.

“Are you okay?” the kid asked, worried frown on his face.

“Yes, but no!” Tony cleared his throat. “I’m not your dad. How did you come up with something like that?”

The kid had the gall to look sheepish. “Well… you were scolding me when I woke up. Like… you know…” he rubbed the back of his neck, trailing off.

“Like a parent?” Tony finished.

The kid’s cheeks reddened as he nodded. Then he flinched and his hands flew to clutch his head. Tony was at his side immediately. “What’s up?” he asked while lowering the teen into the chair.

The kid squeezed his eyes shut.

Shit, did Tony overlook something? Was there some hidden injury? He knew he shouldn’t have let the kid follow him! Or… was his memory coming back? If yes, then double-shit because Tony still hasn’t figured out what to do when that happened.

“It’s gone,” Peter whispered.

“What’s gone?”

“I…” he shook his head, “I thought I saw something. Like a brief flash of a picture, but when I reached for it, it disappeared.”

Tony was at loss of what to say, but he knew he had to say something because the kid looked so damn sad, it almost pulled at his heart strings. Yeah, only almost, definitely nothing more. “Hey,” he said, placing his hand on Peter’s shoulder gently, “if you saw a flash of what might have been some memory, then that’s a good thing! That means it’ll eventually all come back!”

God, he really had no idea how he’ll handle this once the kid’s memories came back. There will be no explaining the gentleness. He was a villain. A man of steel! He didn’t do feelings, especially towards annoying spider-teens. But the way the kid leaned into the touch made something in his chest stir.

The kid had multiple incidents like that throughout the next few days, all with the same result. But the one thing Tony discovered was that the kid… wasn’t that bad to be around. He was smart, fast learner and always hungry for knowledge. He could keep up with what Tony said without breaking a sweat. The knowledge, even if buried by amnesia, was still there somewhere.

“Finish your food,” Tony said. “We’ll see what we can do about your memories after that.”

Aside from some painfully awkward interactions, doors ripped out of their hinges and reassurances that it was okay, that there was nothing wrong with him and the strength and stickiness was kind of his thing, Tony would say that they got along.

“We’re part of the same family that branched generations ago because of a conflict involving a plot of land, a pig, a goat, a donkey and witchcraft.”

But how long would that last?

“That’s oddly specific, but no. For the last time, we’re not related.”

“Well, technically, all humans are related.”

“Okay, you smartass, but not like that.”

“Hmm, then… you’re an alien that was sent to look over me because I’m the chosen one destined to defeat evil overlord and bring peace and prosperity to some distant planet.”

“You’re just bullshitting now, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. You didn’t answer though.”

“Eh, even with all the crazy stuff going on in the world from time to time, that is also not correct.”

“Then we’re… rivals!”

Tony paused his tinkering. “You could say that, but not quite.”

The kid’s eyes lit up, excited that he was getting closer to the answer. Before he could open his mouth with another onslaught, Tony spoke up.

“Enough with the guessing game for now. Let’s order some dinner. Do you want anything specific?”

The kid looked thoughtful for a moment, then looked up. “Thai,” he said slowly.

“Does anything seem familiar?” Tony asked as he walked into the living room with their dinner.

Tony nodded. “Thai it is.”

Peter, looking intently at the movie titles since he was asked to pick one, pointed at one title. “I don’t know if it’s familiar, but let’s watch this one.”

Tony nodded. “Star Wars. A classic. Okay, hop here so we can start. I’m starving.”

Peter took the offered container. “Thanks.”

It’s been a week since he woke up in here and as much as the images in his head became clearer, it still wasn’t enough to figure out who he was. He was lucky to have Tony looking after him, even if the man didn’t want to say how they know each other – hence the guessing game.

Another painful onslaught hit him at the same moment as the theme song started playing and the food hit his tongue. Peter flinched. More images flashed in front of his eyes.

A woman with glasses and long brown hair.

A boy with black hair holding some round construction in his hands.

Red and blue… what?

And just like that, the images were gone. Peter let out long sigh. No luck this time either.

But this is good, he thought and took another bite.

As the movie progressed, Peter found himself seeing more images and to his thrill, he even finished some lines of the dialogue – all in his head, of course.

It wasn’t until the Death Star exploded that Peter’s head exploded too. Every single image he’d seen suddenly made sense. Connections reestablished themselves and swooped Peter away in a single wave. His heart began to race. Bending over, he wrapped his arms around his stomach, the stress threatening to give the food the return ticket.

“You good?”

Peter wrapped his hands around his stomach a little tighter. He was sitting next to Tony. Tony was Iron Man. Iron Man took-

“Yeah,” Peter forced out and shot to his feet and speed-walked out of the living room. “Just… bathroom.”

“The Thai didn’t sit well with you?”

Peter could hear the worry in his voice. “I guess,” he called over his shoulder and shut the door behind him. “Okay, okay,” he whispered to himself as he fought off the blush from his face and searched for an exit. His saving grace came to him in the form of the window.

Honestly, Tony told himself it was to be expected. The kid was bound to remember and it was only natural that he bolted once it happened. It was fine though, really. Sure, it stung, but he dd his best to squash the feeling.

He slipped into the night.

Why should it matter that some onesie-clad teenager though of him? As a matter of fact, Tony should be plotting how to shut the kid up so he couldn’t rat out his identity.

Yes, he should be doing that.

But he wasn’t.

Someone knocked on the door, making Tony’s irritation worse. Begrudgingly, he stood up, ready to snap at whoever who dared to disturb his sulking- ahem, he meant… never mind. He opened the door and to his surprise, he was met with empty space.

“Damn kids with their pranks,” he grumbled under his breath. His sour mood almost made him miss the package sitting on his doormat. “Huh,” was all he said. Strange. He didn’t remember ordering anything.

Tony set the package on the table and opened it. The first thing that greeted him was a note with familiar scrawl. Peter’s handwriting. Tony pulled out the letter and began to read.

Hi, Mr. Tony!

So, uh, first of all, let me say sorry that I ran away like that! I just, uh, couldn’t take advantage of your kindness anymore. I didn’t want to be a burden.

Tony frowned. So the kid ran because he was… embarrassed?Not because Tony was a villain? He decided to read on.

Next, let me say thank you for getting me off that battlefield. I looked up the footage and saw that you defended me from that other guy, so, thanks for that too.

I have a proposition for you – you won’t tell anyone my identity and I won’t tell anyone yours. It’ll stay between you and me. Well, and my aunt… But she forced me to talk, I swear! She got home early and didn’t believe me when I said I stayed over at new friend’s place. You can’t lie to her!

So, please, keep my identity secret. You might have your suits, but one does not simply mess with May. I doubt you want an angry Italian lady on your ass…

She also insisted on giving you a gift as a thank you for taking care of me. She made you a date loaf. I’m sorry about that.

Tony frowned again. Why would the kid be sorry about a date loaf? He ripped a piece of it, popped it into his mouth and immediately choked. Not really feeling like cleaning the chewed food from his carped, he forcefully swallowed it down. “Okay, I get it now,” he said, shuddering.

P.S. I hope the knowledge of my age won’t change the way we interact while in our suits. The fights with you are fun but I’m getting bored of holding back so you can win. :P XD

- Peter

Tony gasped.

That cheeky little shit! He was going easy on Tony to let him win?! Oh no, Tony didn’t think so! There will be no more going easy! The kid wanted war? He’ll get a war.

But despite that, Tony found himself fondly smirking. “Next time…”

Someone was watching him. Tony looked out of the window just in time to see a blur of red and blue disappear behind a wall of the house on the other side of the street.

“Sure, kid. See you next time.”

#tony stark #peter parker #villain tony stark #villain irondad #amnesia #amnesiac peter parker #temporary amnesia #peter parker is a little shit #reluctant caretaker #irondad #spiderson #irondad and spiderson #marvel fanfiction #head injury #memory loss

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alicemitch09writes · 3 years

Text

lame

07.

look, i know i’m an asshole but at least i’m trying

“Look at that, isn’t he amazing?” the blond boy yells, pointing at the TV on display, showing one of those heroes in work.

“Uwah, All Might’s so cool!”

(E/c) eyes followed the boys’ gazes, watching a big hulking figure power through villains.

She could only nod, half-heartedly, keeping her eyes on the screen, listening to the two boys go on about how amazing he was.

Booming laughter sounded off from the screen, the two boys anticipating as the hero turned to the camera. “I am here!”

And then, the boys went wild – gesticulating wildly, words of admiration leaving their lips, eyes twinkling with amazement. Honestly, it was easy to like someone as big and prominent as All Might.

But in a world ruled by quirks, and your perception of them tainted at an early age, it was difficult to really set yourself on where you stood.

“Isn’t he the coolest, (Nickname?)” green eyes turned to the (h/c) girl.

“Uh, yeah…” came the girl’s reply, rather dull and lacking in the same energy as the two boys.

“That was a weak reply, (Name)!” the blond boy turned to her, a bit offended. “You should be crying out like me and Deku! All Might’s the coolest!”

Chancing a look at the said hero on screen, she shrugged, unsure how to reply to that. “I mean, I guess he is.”

Both boys froze at their friend’s lack of admiration for their favorite hero.

“Sorry I’m not like you guys.”

“T-That’s okay, (Nickname).” The green-haired boy says, voice shaky and his eyes sheen with tears he’s fighting off, smiling warmly at her.

“Hey, that doesn’t mean I don’t like him, though. He’s just not my favorite hero.”

The blond boy’s carmine eyes widen at that, the three kids began to walk home together once the show was over.

“Then, who is your favorite?”

“Hm…I guess I prefer the quiet heroes, I guess?” she nods, mind thinking of policemen, teachers, cooks, train staff, and fishermen. “Ones that don’t really stand out but are cooler in other ways.”

“Ah, there’s this one hero I heard about from Kyoto!” Izuku tells her. “He has a healing quirk, but he’s also really good at martial arts and carries a cool staff with him.”

“That’s Merlin!” the girl gushes excitedly, her walking having a bit of a jump. “The Wandering Hero: Merlin! He’s so cool! I think my grandpa mentioned him before, having trained in our dojo when he was still in training. Ma says he was the prettiest looking man next to Pa. And Pa says his quirk’s extra cool if you get to see it in person!”

(E/c) eyes sparkled the more she gushed about this hero of hers, one he’s never heard of because of his rather elusive nature as a hero.

“That sounds amazing, (Nickname)! I wish my family could have known All Might as well!” the green-haired boy’s tiny fists shook with excitement, sharing her enthusiasm.

“Tch, All Might’s still better. Just wait ‘til I become a hero, (Name)…” muttered the blond, hands in his pockets. “Then you’ll see that I’m definitely the best outta the rest.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, looking at her friend in disbelief. Then mischief.

Getting behind him, she kicks the backs of his knees, causing him to topple to the ground face first.

“Ah, Kacchan!”

“What the hell was that for, (Name)!?”

“That was so lame of you, Katsuki!” laughed the girl, sticking her tongue out as she grabbed the green-haired boy’s hand and proceeded to run ahead of him.

Angered the boy rushes to his knees, cheeks definitely not flushed, and gives the two a chase. “HAH!? WHO’RE YOU CALLING LAME!?”

Three little kids ran down the streets, laughing in their wake.

Traditions in Japan were rather a thing that made the country quite known to the outside world, as many adhered to certain types of customs.

And as per family tradition, certain family never fails to hand over ochugen gifts to the people in your lives.

A (h/c) girl was headed off to the Bakugou’s first, a box full of fresh harvest from her grandpa’s garden. Coincidentally, it also happened to be Izuku’s birthday and she got him special tickets to that superhero exhibit. To commemorate, she had even worn an All Might shirt!

Reaching the Bakugou’s, she put down the Midoriya’s box, before reaching for the doorbell. Someone yelled inside, followed by explosive remarks, which was something she’s rather used to.

Patiently waiting, she felt a buzz, taking her phone out of her shorts pocket, smiling when she saw a text from the birthday boy, feeling the excitement through his text.

The door clicked open, her smile still in place as she furiously texted Izuku back. As she pressed reply, she then pocketed her phone and readily met a pair of carmine eyes.

Except, the owner of said eyes came from the last person she cared for, smile flattening.

For a second there was surprise in his features, softening slightly as his usual scowl set in. His eyes took in her form, the box, then at the ridiculous shirt she had on. “What the fuck are you wear-“

Behind him, a voice called out. “(Name)-chan!”

It was Auntie Mitsuki.

Smile finding its way back, a rather polite one at that, the teen greeted her back. “Hiya, Auntie!”

Shouldering her son aside, receiving a snarky reply she didn’t bother with, the Bakugou matriarch’s eyes shined at the sight of the young teen. “Look at you, growing up so fast to be this cute!” unable to help herself, she reached over to pinch the younger girl’s cheeks before swallowing her into her arms for a hug. Releasing the girl, her carmine eyes then focused and shined at the items in her hand. “Ah, Shihan really has the neatest harvest every summer, thanks for these!”

“We most graciously bestow our gratitude to you, oh great Bakugou Mitsuki!” the teen implored, rather dramatically, earning a laugh between the two, like a running gag.

Bakugou could only watch, quite amazed at their relationship.

“Oi brat, get this will ya?” snapped his mother over her shoulder.

“Don’t tell me what to do, hag!” screamed the blond back, carefully taking the box from her hands.

Their eyes met briefly before she easily slid them away to focus on his mom, an instantaneous reaction.

“You seem dolled up, (Name)-chan. Got a date?”

Humming, she tilted her head to the side. “You could say that,” at that, Bakugou nearly stumbled in his step but she didn’t notice. “it’s Izuku’s birthday today and I’m just having a birthday date with him in a while!”

At the mentioned of Deku, Bakugou froze in his step, looking over his shoulder to take in her attire once more – a gaudy All Might shirt tucked into some simple denim shorts, then some sneakers.

“Aw, ain’t that cute. Oi, Katsuki, why aren’t you with them!?”

Caught, he burst out a reply. “HAH? Why the hell would I spend time with those extras?” his words got the best of him before he could control himself, her brows knitting together, pain flashing through (e/c) eyes for a quick second. He instantly regretted opening his stupid mouth.

“Anyways," he couldn't help notice the slight strain in her voice, feeling his heart drop "I just came to drop by our ochugen gifts. Thank you again for all your help, Auntie.” Grabbing the Midoriya’s gift box from the ground, the teen worked on a smile. “Please tell Uncle Masaru I said hi!” And with that, she was gone.

Both blonds watch the young girl walk away before the door closed. Without a word, Mitsuki walked back in, giving a quick smack to her son’s head before disappearing into the kitchen.

Her hit was rather soft, reprimanding.

Something unpleasant filled his gut as he dropped the gift box on the dining room table and headed off to his room, pained (e/c) eyes haunting him.

You always hurt the ones you love.

Does it feel weird to feel close to someone you haven’t spoken to in years? That there’s always been this sort of connection between the two of you that instantly links you together even after days, months, years of zero contact?

Well, that’s how Bakugou Katsuki feels towards Yuroichi (Name).

Ever since they were kids and he was introduced to (Name), she was all he cared about. Well, there was Deku, but he was second on his list.

(Name) had always been special for him.

But then, things changed.

Since being paired up with Deku for his practical exam, he was unsettled. Well, he’s been unsettled for a lot of things for lots of reasons. But basically, what he’s been unsettled about with Deku was (Name).

While he remembered wimpy Deku trailing behind him, there was always (Name) ready to drag him away or be beside him. Where there was Deku, (Name) was sure to follow. They were like a combo; one was never without the other. He hated it.

Deku had no fucking quirk, was weak, small, a shitty nerd, yet he had the fucking gall to stand up and try to be a hero. With that, (Name) shifted her attention and adoration to him and him alone.

Honestly, he didn’t mind that they were quirkless – they honestly just got in the way.

Still, it fucking hurts that (Name) wouldn’t bother looking his way or even saying a word to him. Fuck, even Deku would acknowledge him even if it were outta fear!

Bullying probably made sense to keep her distance, especially since he loved targeting weak quirkless like Deku and her. But to be on the receiving end of those angry eyes, it made him weak. It may have enforced and asserted his dominance in middle school, but to her, it was a disgusting power play.

He may not be close with her compared to when they were younger, but he’s always kept an eye out for her (and Deku, shut up). He knows that she’s an expert martial artist, bagging and winning several competitions and tournaments, was the pride of the school and her family dojo, sleeps a lot during classes, and sometimes, the older kids would pick on her because they knew she was tough.

(However, after that one time in middle school, she stopped with the fighting and worked on a clean slate.)

She never befriended anyone without a quirk lightly, the majority of her friends either were quirkless or had a really minor, insignificant quirk. She didn’t seem to care nor mind. However, Deku remained her closest companion.

He’d see her a lot – in hallways, in class, on the way home, but he never got to be with her.

Nonchalant, lax, yet kind and sweet to others, but to him, she was forcibly polite and civil.

Those adoring, reassuring, warm (e/c) eyes were reserved for that one shitty nerd.

He hated to admit it, but he craved for her attention, yearned for her approval, and desperately lingered on the fact that they were childhood friends, so he’s obliged to keep a relationship, even when now they’re barely acquaintances.

On his middle school graduation, while he was surrounded by his so-called friends and his parents, his eyes easily caught on two people laughing amongst themselves.

Just seeing them, laughing together with cherry blossoms fluttering to paint an idyllic image, suddenly made him feel extremely lonely. His hold on his diploma slackened, fingers and foot twitching, eyes taking his childhood acquaintances in.

Graduating top of his class, with a bright future set for UA High School. He should be excited, right? Ecstatic even at what he’s gained? Yet why does it feel so lacking?

Carmine eyes began to soften, especially at the smaller of the two. Realization dawned unto him, the occasion was rather bittersweet for (Name), as it was nearing a year since she lost her parents and she couldn’t share the joyous occasion with them. Thankfully, she had her grandfather with her, then Auntie Inko, and Deku.

But not him.

Irked, he left before his mom could find them, no doubt, to use the opportunity to snag a photo of the three.

Nothing hurts more than to realize that the one person – he swore to protect, to keep by his side, had completely shunned him.

At first, they were inseparable. But as the years passed, they drifted apart.

The day (Name) punched him was a literal awakening, a prologue really. It got him worked up. Then the Sludge Incident happened. Her parents died. The light in those (e/c) eyes weren’t as bright as before, even when she got a part-time job.

He knew he was wrong; he won’t deny that (but he won’t say it out loud either), but he won’t ever hide from it either.

After getting into UA, he felt her punch even more at the introduction of his classmates with quirks, as she aptly put it “better and flashier” compared to his.

That stung, hurting his ego.

Damn, the top was a challenge.

But he wasn’t backing down, damn it.

So, what is he was a proud asshole? He had every reason to be! He had compensated with his talents, smarts, and versatility.

Still, to be called out on having a shitty personality boosted only by the fact that he had a strong quirk could do a number to him.

When it came to matters of the heart, he sucked in that aspect.

(h/c) locks, framing a pretty face with (e/c) eyes, they always, always, always manage to catch him off-guard.

Unbeknownst to the green-haired nerd, whenever he opened his big mouth to his friends in 1-A, he’d hope there was something about (Name), no matter how small or insignificant. They even texted.

Pride would always win over him whenever Deku would openly talk about (Name) – Bakugou would pretend to be uninterested, looking out the window while he was actually taking in the nerd’s words like a starved man, he was the only source of news he had because for the first time in their life, (Name) was not there with them. It sucked. (She was very clear on steering away from heroics or people who had a quirk, despite having one herself)

The days were lonelier and duller without her. Deku’s ramblings were something – slightly comforting, but don’t tell him that, but it just missed that one figure next to him.

For all his bravado, just the mere mention of Yoruichi (Name) made him weak. Wait, scratch that, (Name) was a strong person by herself, he did not make him weak, shut up. Hesitate, yeah, that’s the word, she made him falter, hesitate. Whatever.

Thankfully, none of his idiotic ragtag of friends keyed in on that. Save for Deku.

Deku, who’d always known. Deku, that sharp fucking nerd who always tried to be the goody-two-shoes and goaded him to talk to her.

Like fuck he’d talk to him about (Name), fucking no way. He’d rather have his nails done with half-and-half bastard than to have a heart-to-heart talk with fucking Deku.

Still, there was just one thing he was sure of about Deku, one thing he’ll never admit to anyone – or even him, out loud: compared between the two, Deku was always the bigger person. He was kinder, gentler, better.

A part of him would forever be jealous of the fact that Deku had been there for her when he couldn’t. Deku had access to parts of (Name) he was barred from. Deku was protective of her. Deku had (Name).

And as for him? Well, he was probably good as a dead fuck to her.

The punch still stung.

Nothing hurts more than to realize that you never had a chance, to begin with.

From: (Name) Yuroichi

To: Bakugou Katsuki

I’m glad you’re safe.

A day after Kamino…

For once, the Bakugou household was at peace, a day after his kidnapping. The day before, there was screaming, yelling, crying from both parentals that probably had dried off for today. At least for the first few minutes of the day.

The doorbell rang, Katsuki called out to get it, desperate for a bit of distraction from the silence around him.

He opened the door then froze, breath hitching. Two breaths, actually.

Carmine met (e/c).

For once, indifference was not the expression set on her face that he was looking at, but a softened expression. So incredibly soft.

An image of a younger her suddenly came to mind, back to when they first met each other.

“Katsu- “stopping, her lips pinched together, a small frown setting in, not ready to say his name just yet.

Hurt flashed in his eyes, desperately taking her in.

When he was kidnapped, first of all, he was annoyed as fuck, but most of all, he was scared. The League of Villains had him by the neck, literally, immobilized him, just to lure out All Might. And the thing that kept him grounded was her, (Name). The memory of her soft expression after they’d washed the dishes, comforting silence between them, that burnt mark on her neck, her telling him to have fun at summer camp. Her text message.

Remembering her presence at his doorstep, his eyes caught hold of the item in her hand – ochugen gifts, he uncharacteristically gestured at it.

“U-Uh…”

“Y-Yeah…ochugen.”

“My mom’s not home, so…” his words came out lamely, weakly. So, unlike him.

But she was so lost in her head that she could only nod.

Gently, he reached for the box, their fingers brushing against each other lightly.

Something fluttered in his chest, wildly and tightly. Summer seemed to have come quickly as he was beginning to sweat, the smell of burnt sugar bleeding through.

“T-Then…”

“Hn,”

Head still hung low, he took it as her parting, something in his chest twisting painfully, and he slowly turned on his back.

(Before he headed back in, instincts – maybe, or her heart forced her to, she grabbed hold on the back of his shirt, stopping him, and pressed her head between his shoulder blades, taking in his scent.)

Bakugou didn’t move, feeling her shaking hands balling into fists, as though to ground herself.

“I…I know I said this already, but still, I want you to know,” her voice was shaky, but she continued to speak, taking a deep breath. “I’m so glad you’re safe.” The thing in his chest continued to flutter wildly, threatening to come out. “And I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

Silence followed, likening to a pregnant pause, there was more she wanted to say, but the fear of having your feelings get the best of you seemed off-setting in the given situation, so she settled for that.

Before another word was said, she hurriedly grabbed the Midoriya’s box and clumsily left, completely red in the face.

He watched her leave over his shoulder, she almost ran into the gate, fumbling with the box as she headed to the Midoriya’s.

Suddenly, he felt lighter. The punch no longer hurt, leaving a bruise in its wake. This was the beginning of progress with her, it was something. Proud as he is, Bakugou’s never one to admit his mistakes, but for her, he’ll try.

If anything, she was right about everything she thought about him. Especially the part that he was lame.

masterlist • eight

#lame #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki fic #bakugou katsuki angst #bakugou katsuki angst fic #bnha #bnha fic #bnha angst #bnha angst fic #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #mha fic #mha angst #mha angst fic

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misslynn99 · 3 years

Text

Epicenter: Chapter Two

Pro Hero! Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Link on AO3: Epicenter

Link to Chapter 1

Author: misslynn_99 (Me!)

The next morning, the café regulars buzzed around the TV monitors, excitedly chatting about the news. Official footage of the attack had finally been aired. Concrete flew everywhere as the villain lashed out against heroes, sending distraught civilians fleeing from the scene. The scene that every news station had on repeat, however, was that of several tons of concrete on a direct collision course for a young family, until Ground Zero put himself between the two. He squared back one shoulder to pulverize the rubble with a blast, and in that moment, his wild eyes were molten flames, the fine cascade of dust casting a hazy halo around his form.

It was such a harsh contrast to the villain swinging a pillar of concrete immediately after, colliding directly with the hero’s chest and sending him hurtling back against the harsh exterior of another building, slumping bonelessly on the ground.

“He saved them.” You whispered to yourself. Icy needles twisted in your chest. Eijirou had trusted you to care for his closest friend at his most vulnerable. The café was much closer than any hospital to the scene, but your heart skipped a beat, fluttering in astonishment. “He could have died. It’s a wonder he didn’t.” Just how close had Ground Zero been to death’s door when he showed up here?

“Blasty is lucky he’s got a rad, manly partner like me.” Eijirou’s voice startled you, suddenly far too close to your ear.

“Hi!” You squeaked. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“You think I’d let my best girl go un-thanked after saving my partner’s ass yesterday?” His arms swept you into a tight bear hug, twirling your feet off of the floor. Eijirou’s easy smile seemed to smooth over the awkward tension from the day before, as if it were no more than an insignificant blight of an otherwise sunny day.

“Quit harassing the woman, Shitty Hair. We’re here on business.”

“She likes it.” Eijirou had the gall to stick out his tongue. “Isn’t that right?”

“I, I don’t mind.” You couldn’t help but squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, dropping your head forward, and you prayed that no one would notice. This crush was spiraling out of control, as the sturdy muscles that could shatter any obstacle and strong enough to lift cars supported you easily in his embrace.

“ ‘Don’t mind’ isn’t the same as ‘like’.” Ground Zero’s mouth turned even further downward into a scowl. Reluctantly, Eijirou set you down, and you felt cold at the absence of his touch. The tension settled again like a thick cloud, choking out whatever embers of affection you felt for the red haired hero.

“I didn’t mean to impose.” The red-head’s own face was dusted with faint pink, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s no problem.” You tried your best to smile kindly, wincing internally at the memory of his flinch. “Why don’t I get you both some coffee on the house? It’s the least I can do for everything you two do to protect the city.”

“One black coffee it is then!” Eijirou perked back up.

“So, I take it you’ll have the latte, extra heavy cream with two pumps caramel, two pumps cinnamon, and cinnamon-brown sugar mix dusted on top?”

Ground Zero’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have to say that so loud.”

“No shame.” You chuckled despite yourself. “Plenty of people take their coffee sweet, too.”

“Don’t spare Blasty’s feelings!” Eijirou laughed. “Even Mr. ‘Nothing is spicy enough’ likes sweets on occasion.”

“You better shut your mouth!” Ground Zero snapped, his tone climbing with each word. Curiously, Eijirou kept laughing, and tapped at his own ear.

“Right, got it.” The blonde grumbled. “Too loud.”

“Here you go, boys.”

“I have a name, you know.” The blonde held the cup up, scowling. “I’m off work, damn it. You called Shitty hair by his name on the cup.”

“It’s not like you introduced yourself between eating shit against the building and going in for surgery.” Eijirou scoffed.

“And you did?”

“Kiri stayed with me while they gave me IV fluids.” You supplied bashfully. “And I wanted to know when you made it out okay.”

“Call me Bakugou then.” He made a strangled noise. “When I’m not in suit tearing shit up, I don’t wanna hear ‘Ground Zero’ from you, got it?

“Not your given name?” Eijirou seemed to take a savage joy in goading on the explosive hero. “That’s awful cold, Katsuki. She did save you from a hospital stay and a month off of hero work.”

“Or Katsuki, whatever.” If looks could kill, Eijirou would have dropped dead in his tracks. Bakugou’s eye twitched and small firework-pops crackled off of his palms, clenched into fists at his side. You hoped that the café regulars were too enamored with the news and their own conversations to notice the sparks flying.

“I can call you Bakugou, if that’s what make you more comfortable. Wouldn’t want to get on your bad side.” You chuckled, carefully watching his expression for his reaction to the playful jab.

“Kacchan’s bark is worse than his bite, at least off of the battlefield.” A new voice drifted in from the door. The emerald curls, gelled up from his undercut, were unmistakable. “I’m afraid that we didn’t get introduced last night. I’m Deku, but you can call me Midoriya if you’d like.”

“Kacchan?” You grinned wickedly. “Isn’t that so cute!”

Bakugou bristled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you fucking nerd!” He whipped around to snarl at the green-haired hero that had just walked in. For someone who was effectively co-workers with the number one hero, Bakugou acted like he despised the man.

“Aw, pump the breaks Kacchan.” Midoriya scrunched his freckled nose in a wide grin. “I’m just here to say hello to the woman who saved your life last night. So, this is where Kiri has been getting your coffee from? It’s such a nice little café, I think I’ll have stop by more often.”

“Like hell you will! We found it first!” Bakugou growled, stepping between you and Deku, while Eijirou chimed in the background, “I think you mean that I found it first.”

“Boys, boys, you’re all very pretty.” You ducked around the pro hero’s side, attempting to soothe the bickering. “I have plenty of coffee to go around. “

“You’re not keeping her as your personal barista and healer, Kacchan.”

“What happened to keeping this on the down-low?” Bakugou suddenly stiffened, whispering harshly.

“I think someone is feeling a bit embarrassed.” Eijirou rolled his eyes.

“I got my shit rocked on national television, of fucking course I feel embarrassed.” The blonde snapped. “But for her safety, I thought we agreed to keep any rescue shit-talk out of the public eye.”

Wincing, you looked up at him. “I think they’re calling you saving that family the rescue of the year though. And lots of people have minor healing quirks.”

Whipping his head back and forth, he snagged the strings of your apron and tugged you behind the coffee bar, through the doorway into the kitchen.

“Wait!” The two other heroes followed suit, chasing you as Bakugou dragged you out of the public eye.

“You don’t have a ‘minor healing quirk.’ “ He scowled, placing a hand on each of your shoulders, hands trembling as if he were resisting the urge to shake you. You could feel the residual heat of his calloused palms, the threat of an explosion ghosting along your skin and sending shivers up your spine.

“You have a self-destructive healing quirk that has major potential to get you kidnapped. Do you know the League of Villains would do to get their hands on you? Or fuck it, the Hero Commission? They’d keep you caged up like some animal to fix up their toys as they broke so that they could be sent out scot-free again.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Midoriya and Eijirou recoil, especially as the blonde hero turned his ire towards them once again. “Is some kind of joke to you two? Kirishima, if you could take two minutes to keep it in your pants, and Deku, if you could be serious, we need to come up with a plan.”

“Yes, Kacchan.” Midoriya and Eijirou nodded.

“Where do you live?” His burning eyes narrowed in your direction once again.

Swallowing thickly, you met his gaze. “In the loft above the café.”

“Hmm. Who all knows about the full extent of your quirk?”

“Just my parents, and my best friend from middle school, who moved to the states while we were in college.”

“Maybe she should stay with one of us?” Midoriya offered. “Just to see if anyone’s decided to target her?”

Panic froze your feet to the floor. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” You laughed nervously, fiddling with the apron strings tied at your hip. “I mean, you’re all very nice, but I could never ask that of anyone. I’m up at 4 in the morning to get the café ready to open at five, and walking alone in the dark is not my forte.” Especially if I might as well have a big target painted on my forehead now.

“The League definitely keeps an eye on our flats. They might not have made the connection that she’s done anything yet, but moving her in would be a surefire way to draw their attention. Also, there’s no way the Commission would just ignore someone else hanging out all the time.” Eijirou argued. “I think it would be better to set up surveillance on the café and her loft, and maybe get her a panic button or something.”

“A panic button.” Bakugou snorted. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but there are these novel things called ‘cellphones.’ “

“And if she can’t call?” Midoriya raised an eyebrow.

“Brave words for someone who dropped his location to Icy-Hot, with literally no context, in the middle of an alleyway, and he magically appeared anyways.”

Sighing and stepping between the two bickering men, Eijirou held his hand out expectantly. “Here, I’ll put our numbers in your phone. We should probably scope out your apartment later.”

“I close at five tonight.” You offered, passing your cell to him, contacts open. “I’ll probably be done cleaning up by six, but you’re free to drop by whenever you get the chance after that. All of this feels pretty crazy though. It’s not like I did anything out in the open.”

Turning on the full force of his overwhelming intensity, Bakugou rounded on you once again, having caught the tail of your conversation. “There’s a couple articles floating around. You’re in the pictures, being floated to the hospital, and some low life bloggers are wondering how I was fine so soon afterwards, when Recovery Girl was on the other side of the country for some other case.” Venom dripped from his words, as if this were your fault somehow.

“It’s not my fault that I helped you!” Anger leaked into your voice. You couldn’t believe that he had the audacityto blame you for this. “Don’t talk to me like it is. I couldn’t not do anything. It’s a wonder that hit didn’t do worse, and I am certainly not responsible for them taking me to the hospital with you.”

In frustration, you stormed out of the kitchen, straightening your apron and apologizing to the handful of customers who were waiting by the cash register. A friendly smile and a few discounted coffees later, they sat down at a booth. The heroes were still in your kitchen, and you felt your resolve to ignore them crumbling. “I did give Kiri and Bakugou free coffee earlier.” You mumbled to yourself, a mischievous idea taking root; Bakugou’s buttons were so easy to press.

Leaning around the corner, you poked your head back through the kitchen doorway. The heroes froze, their argument in low tones evaporating with your return. “Midoriya!” You grinned, drawing out the syllables playfully and deliberately ignoring the blonde hero’s angry stare. “How do you like your coffee? Sweet as you are?”

“Uh, umm” He stuttered and his eyes darted between you and the door. “With oat milk, white chocolate and toffee, and iced please.”

“Coming right up! On the house.” The sound of sparks dancing off of Bakugou’s palms eased your flare of anger, taking a little bit of satisfaction in riling up the blonde in return, and you set about making the drink.

The trio must have finally decided to drop their discussion, and shortly followed you out to wait by the coffee bar. Bakugo turned his back to you, eyeing the door and clutching his coffee while Midoriya and Eijirou resigned themselves to facing you, their awkward expressions apologetic. The other café patrons were thankfully still transfixed by the TVs, oblivious to the situation at hand.

“Here’s your phone back.” Eijirou mumbled, setting your phone on the counter. “He doesn’t mean it. He’s just frustrated and annoyed, nothing against you personally. It’s just kinda how he is, ya know? He takes it out on everyone. He’s been this way since he was a teenager, but he doesn’t blame you. Promise.”

“Hmm. I suppose I can accept your apology on his behalf, just this once.” You whispered back, sliding a coffee cup to Midoriya, who sipped it gratefully.

“We’ll be back later. Come on, nerds.” Bakugo’s voice was gruff as he called over his shoulder. “We have a meeting and a patrol shift soon.”

The heroes left and an unease settled in your gut at their absence, acutely missing their larger than life presence. Even as the customers milled about, coming up for refills and pastries, their words weighed on your mind. Villains and Heroes had never been a major point of contention in your life; a quirk like yours wasn’t suited for the spotlight, and like thousands of others, accepted your fate as a civilian.

The coffee shop felt like a homage to another era, before quirks existed. The small planters bloomed in the window display under your mindful care, without any sparks of magic to enhance their color or growth. The coffee beans that arrived each week were roasted delicately by hand, and each new drink was born from trial and error; no surprising powers of charm or persuasion lured customers to your door. It was an honest life that you were proud of, built with hard work and love.

Ringing up another customer and brewing the earl grey tea for a London Fog, it felt like your head was ringing. Your quirk had never been an active threat to your well-being. You had gained some control over the years, having only been able to tend minor scratches and bruises as a child, but never showed enough promise to be recruited into the medical field as a young teen. Even now, the drawbacks were too great. Healing left you exhausted, and the more extensive the injury, the greater the fatigue.

It wasn’t like you came from a family of fantastic heroes either. Your mother worked as a doctor in a wound care and surgical center because she could clean infected tissue at the expense of the patient’s energy. Your father’s quirk was completely unrelated to your own, allowing him to sculpt metal by heating his hands, albeit without flames. It was hard to believe that the arguably worse version of your mother’s quirk made you a target, but the underlying assumptions behind it sent shivers of fear down your spine. If there was no regard for your well-being, your quirk could be indispensable, could be used to patch anyone up at the expense of draining you dry.

Nevertheless, the hours ticked by, dread worrying the pit of your stomach. Bile rose in the back of your throat the longer your anxious thoughts raced. Without the grace of someone with a more offensive quirk, there was little you could do to defend yourself.

Maybe Bakugou was right to be annoyed, but he didn’t have the right to be such an ass about it. Closing time was only half an hour away, and the customers had dwindled in the shop. The pleasant humming of customers faded, exposing every raw nerve that you had. The last person was out, and at 5:06,

... there was a knock.

Snapping to attention, you jerked towards the doors, feeling a strange mixture of relief and annoyance upon seeing Bakugou waiting by the door. Sighing, you called out, “It’s still unlocked.”

He didn’t enter though. He leaned partially against the window with one hand, the other shoved deep into the pocket of his white jeans. He had the hood up on his black and gold hoodie, but not enough to conceal his distinctive blonde hair and you could have sworn his red eyes could burn a hole through anything as he peered in the window. He must not have heard you, and you steeled your resolve to go and let him in.

“Shitty Hair sent me.” He grumbled.

“Hmm.” You hummed in response, wandering back behind the counter to tuck away the extra bottles of syrup and take down the pastry display. “Make yourself at home then.”

The hero looked even more uncomfortable, his shifting gaze never lingering on anything for too long, before he spotted the bottle of disinfectant. To your surprise, he started wiping off tables, but you don’t breath a word, afraid to break the uncanny silence.

At 5:45, Eijirou, Midoriya, and a woman you could only assume was Uravity knocked, and Bakugou dropped the supplies as if he had been burned. Midoriya was the first to heckle him, teasing “Kacchan, I didn’t know that you could be helpful!”

“I was bored, you damn nerd. That’s all.”

The heroes were almost unrecognizably causal. Uravity and Midoriya were in matching letterman jackets, sky blue and patterned with delicate pink cherry blossoms falling from slender black branches, with Shouto written across the back in a beautiful script. Eijirou was also devastatingly casual, wearing baggy, low-rise black jeans and a white v-neck that dipped dangerously below his collar bones. His long red hair was up in his trademark loose ponytail, spilling over his shoulders and down his back.

“So nice to see you again! I’m Uraraka.” Her smile glowed as she bounced forward to greet you. “It’s nice to really see the place that Kirishima and Bakugo talk so much about.”

A frown creased your features. “I think I would have remembered Bakugou coming in for coffee. Doesn’t Kiri just get his?” You mumbled, panicking as you realized it was out loud.

Thankfully, Uraraka giggled. “No, he just won’t let Kiri get coffee from anywhere else now. I think the whole agency knows his order by now.”

“It’s just the least shitty.” Bakugou growled. “But whatever. I have shit to do, so let’s get this over with.”

“Lead the way.” Midoriya smiled kindly.

The stairs to the flat were in the kitchen, the door tucked out of sight next to a supply closet. Butterflies fluttered in your chest, and a sudden self-consciousness that almost froze you in place. The apartment was an intimate insight into your life and personality. Your reading was on the living room table, and cherished photos hung on the walls. Is my laundry hanging up to dry? You winced at the thought.

“Welcome!” You forced a smile and led them to the kitchen table. “So, what do you need to check out?”

“We’re not trying to invade your privacy more than necessary.” Midoriya looked solemn, glancing at you shyly from underneath his lashes. “I was thinking we should put a camera right in the stairway that faces the entrance, another on the fire escape, and one on the outside of each of your windows. Then, we can just set up a bunch around the café.”

“Oh,” You relaxed into your seat. “That’s not as bad as I was expecting.”

Midoriya and Uraraka were sitting ram-rod straight at your table, posture stiff and schooled. Eijirou was examining your end table in the living room, carefully turning your favorite candle in his hands, while Bakugou trailed behind like a sullen shadow.

“We just want to make sure you’re safe.” Uraraka reassured. “We’ll probably change the patrol route to make sure that we stop by here, but we won’t be in the shop every time. If nothing is weird, we’ll leave you be after a while.”

“I’m glad.” The remaining tension left your shoulders, and you let out a sigh of relief. “I really don’t want to put my life on pause. I’ve worked really hard for what I have here. “

“Of course!” Eijirou looked over his shoulder, now surveying the sliding glass door that led to the fire escape. “This is the best place in town, and I don’t think I’ll ever stay awake through another Commission meeting without my usual again. Plus, we owe you big time. It’s our fault that you’re starting to get some media attention.”

“Do the cameras need plug-ins or batteries?” You asked cautiously.

“Nah, they’re the special surveillance ones Chargebolt rigged, and we’ll get a notification if the battery is less than 25%. We’ve just gotta get them set up. Uraraka can up to stick them, then make ‘em weightless so they don’t fall down.”

At Eijirou’s words, you could see Uraraka tapping her fingers, jumping up to stick the device to the ceiling. With a frown of concentration, she pulled out her phone, checking the feed and fiddling with the camera until it was angled to her satisfaction before drifting back to the floor.

“We can take it from here. Feel free to go back to closing, or what you usually do in the evening. Don’t be afraid to let us know if you need anything.” Midoriya nodded before excitedly leaning in closer, eyes sparkling with the enthusiasm of a little kid. “Also, at some point, can I study your quirk? I keep notebooks of all different quirks I encounter, and yours is so interesting.”

“Shut your trap, nerd!” Bakugou growled from behind Eijirou, who jumped and clutched his partner’s arm. “Stop acting like we’re at the damn zoo. Save it for later.”

“Am not, Kacchan!” Midoriya whined. Turning to you, he put up his hands in a peace gesture. “I think we better get going, though. I think today’s probably been quite the day for you. Uraraka will set those up outside, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

Snagging Bakugou’s sleeve, Midoriya pulled him unwillingly down the stairs, with Uraraka having already moved on to install the security cameras in the café. Despite his tough front, the blonde didn’t fight too much, only grimacing and batting away the other hero’s hand as they left.

“Hey Kiri,” You said nervously, before the hero had the chance to follow his teammates out of your apartment. “Thanks for having Bakugou come over to be there while I was closing. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what you guys said this morning. I just feel so uneasy, like every stranger could be dangerous and I can’t do anything to save myself. It really set my mind at ease to have someone else there.”

“I bet.” He winced with sympathy. “But I didn’t ship Bakugou out here. He volunteered, and you didn't hear that from me.”

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #fanfiction #reader insert #bakugou katuski x reader #female reader #she/her pronouns #pro hero bakugou #aged up characters #pro hero au #coffee shop au #angst with a happy ending #reader has a healing quirk #canon typical violence #somewhat graphic description of wounds #slow burn #no beta we die like men #Ground zero Au

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livesincerely · 3 years

Text

always yours, always mine

Also on Ao3. Rated E.

Disclaimer, this is another A/B/O fic, which I know isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, so feel free to skip over this one if that’s not something you’re into <3

00000

“Okay,” Davey says after the third time one of the boys flinches away from him: Albert, this time, who lets out a panicked yelp and all but tucks and rolls, head over ass, in his attempt to keep Davey from touching him. Given that Davey had only gone to clap a friendly hand on his shoulder while they line up to get their papes, this seems like a drastic overreaction. “What aren’t you all telling me.”

They actually have the gall to look surprised—as though they’ve been anything even approaching subtle in the not-quite fifteen minutes that have passed since Davey arrived in the square—and their guilty, hang-dog expressions might’ve been comical if he wasn’t so annoyed.

“Well?” Davey says, arching an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over each of them in turn. “What is it?”

Race snatches Albert’s cap off his head and thwaps him with it. “Nice goin’ Albie, you done gave it away!”

“What was I s’pposed’ta do?” Albert says, disgruntled, rubbing his forehead. “Jus’ stand there?”

“No, but you were s’pposed’ta handle it discrete like, dumbass—”

“Oh, sure, ‘cause it’s just that easy—”

“None of you would know discrete if it socked you in the jaw,” Davey cuts in, his hands making their way to his hips as he stares down at them. “Now, what’s going on?”

There’s a long silence as the boys all glance at each other, shifting guiltily, but none of them willing to be the first to break.

Finally, Racetrack sighs. “This was a stupid idea anyway,” he mutters. He rolls his shoulders back and looks Davey straight on, opens his mouth to speak—

Henry elbows him in the side, hissing, “Race! Don’t tell him!”

“Albert already ruined it, we might as well come clean—”

“I didn’t ruin it!” Albert cries.

“You kinda did,” Finch says with a shrug. “You were really obvious, Al.”

"What was I s’pposed to do!”

“I say we just tell him,” Buttons chimes in over Albert’s protests. “Davey’s gonna figure it out eventually—”

“—and he’s gonna be more upset the longer we keep it from him.” Specs adds. Buttons points at him as if to say, yeah, see?

“You just don’t want Davey to be mad at’cha,” Romeo says, accusatory.

“Do you want Davey to be mad at’cha?”

“....No.”

“I’m gonna tell him,” Race announces to the group at large.

Multiple voices interject all at once, shouts of disagreement and words of encouragement all jumbled together.

“Race, you can’t,” Crutchie says with a shake of his head, his quieter tones just barely heard beneath the others’ bickering. “Yesterday was bad enough and you heard what Jack said! He doesn’t want to say anything—“

“Yeah, well maybe if Jack wasn’t such a moron, it wouldn’t’ve gotten so bad in the first place—”

“So, this is about Jack, then?” Davey asks, loudly, and the silence that falls is so sudden and absolute that it almost seems to echo.

The boys all look at each other, apprehensive. Then Racetrack blurts, “Jack’s in rut!”

“Jack’s… what?” Davey says, startled, because out of all the possibilities he’d suspected, this wasn’t anywhere on the list. “I thought he was sick?”

“He didn’t want us to tell you,” Crutchie admits, apologetic. “He didn’t want’cha to know.”

“Jack’s in rut and he wasn’t going to tell me?” Davey says, confused and a little hurt. “But… why?”

“Because he’s an idiot?” Race offers, rolling his eyes. “He wasn’t exactly forthcoming with any typa explanation but he’s probably freaking out about some stupid alpha thing—”

“Hey,” Mush protests weakly. Sniper just shrugs as if to say fair enough.

“—and he’s been all keyed up since Tuesday, stinking like frenzy and frustration—and not the fun kind,” Racer continues, wrinkling his nose at the memory. “Plus, he can smell you on all’a us when we get back to the Lodging House every evening; he nearly tore Buttons’ arm outta its socket yesterday when he caught your scent on his sleeve, just from wantin’ it so bad.”

“He didn’t hurt me,” Buttons assures him when Davey looks his way, alarmed. “Nothing like that—you know Jack would never. But he’s driving himself crazy stayin’ away from ya, and havin’ your scent around without you there with it is only makin’ things harder on him.”

“But, why doesn’t he just…” Davey asks, trying to think of a delicate way to say fuck it out, even as something in his chest bares its teeth and snarls at the thought of Jack even considering a rut partner.

“You’re kiddin’, right?” Race says flatly, thoroughly unimpressed. “Please tell me you’re kiddin’, because I can only deal with one of you bein’ stupid at a time and Jack’s already called dibs on this week.”

“So, what, he’s trying to just wait it out when he knows that I would—“

Davey stops himself, flushing. It’s no secret, how he and Jack have been circling each other—teetering on the brink of becoming more, just waiting for something to finally give—but he’s reluctant to talk about it too openly, the possibility of him and Jack still feeling oh so fragile where it’s tucked away in the deepest corner of his heart.

Because he’d thought that they were on the same page, thought that there was an unspoken understanding between them that one day, eventually… But if Jack didn’t want him to know about his rut, hadn’t asked Davey to keep him company through his cycle… Davey chews at his lower lip, stomach twisting up in knots.

“Didn’t I just tell you not to be stupid?” Racetrack asks—frowning, but with no real heat to his words—and Davey realizes that his scent has taken on a sour, anxious note as his thoughts spiralled. “You can’t possibly think that he’d want anyone but you riding this out with him.”

“Except, he doesn’t want me there,” Davey points out. “You just said that he didn’t want me to know—”

“Yeah, but not ‘cause he don’t want you,” Racetrack assures him, as though this is plainly obvious. “‘Cause he really, definitely does: he’s puttin’ up with the rest of us ‘cause he loves us and ‘cause he don’t gotta choice since we all live together, but he wants you. I think he wants you so bad that it scares him.”

Davey tilts his head, running his tongue over his teeth as he considers Race’s words. But it’s not even a choice that needs contemplating, really, not when it’s Jack.

“I’ll go over and check on him,” Davey decides, a little voice in his head whispering yeshelpprotectfixsoothe. “See if I can convince him to let me help him.”

The boys all sag as one—it’s clear that they hadn’t wanted to go directly against Jack’s orders but are relieved that Davey’s going to step in.

“Thank fuck,” Elmer mutters. “I can’t take anymore of his goddamn pacing.”

“Felt like I was havin’ sympathy pains, watching him prowl around,” Mush agrees, rubbing a hand over his chest like he can feel an ache there. “Don’t know how he’s managed to hold out so long—I can’t imagine tryin’ to get through a cycle without Blink now that we’re together—”

“I’ll handle it,” Davey says, determined, the feeling in his chest crystalizing into something solid and certain and unshakable.

“We’ll let your folks know where you are,” Crutchie tells him, clapping Davey on the shoulder. “Just go an’ take care of him—god knows he ain’t gonna take care of himself.”

“And don’t let him run you off,” Race advises. “You know how he gets.”

“I’ll handle it,” Davey repeats firmly.

00000

Davey smells Jack before he sees him: the air is heavy with his cedar and summertime scent, undercut with the smoky sweetness of his rut, so potent that Davey almost goes dizzy with it.

“Jack?” he calls out, announcing himself out of politeness rather than any real need—he’s positive that Jack smelt him the moment he arrived. “Jackie?”

The hair on the back of Davey’s neck stands on end, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and Davey turns just as Jack steps out of a side hallway, his face shadowed with tension.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Jack rumbles, watching Davey with dark, dark eyes. He’s only wearing a pair of thin sleep pants, his skin dewy with a sheen of sweat, and even from where he stands, Davey can feel the heat rolling off of him in waves.

“Oh?” Davey says, arching an eyebrow. “Because I’m pretty sure this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

“Which one of ‘em squealed?” Jack asks with a growl of frustration, raking a hand through his hair. “No, don’t tell me, it was Racer, wasn’t it?”

“Why didn’t you tell me your rut was coming up?” Davey asks, getting right to the point.

“I didn’t wanna put’cha in that position,” Jack says evasively, gaze falling to the floor.

“And what position would that be?” Davey questions, crossing his arms over his chest.

It takes Jack several seconds to answer. “Didn’t want’cha to feel… obligated or nothin’. Like you hafta be here, like you hafta help me with this, jus’ ‘cause we’re...”

“I don’t understand,” Davey says, watching him carefully, a spark of realization starting to dawn. “How is this any different than you helping me through my heat last month?”

Jack’s spine stiffens, tension thrumming through him like a live wire, but he lets it go just as quickly as it arrived.

“Come on, Davey,” Jack says, voice heavy, his mouth pressed in a thin, unhappy line across his face. “You know what I mean. You know why it’s different.”

“Sweet, stubborn, overprotective alpha,” Davey murmurs with a sad sigh, shaking his head. “Jackie, you’re not going to lose control and go wild just because you’re in rut, it doesn’t actually work like that—”

“Are you sure?” Jack says darkly. “Are you absolutely positive? ‘Cause I’m feelin’ pretty fuckin’ outta control, here, Dave. Feels like I might bust outta my skin any second, my instincts are goin’ goddamn nuts, I can barely sleep, can barely keep my fuckin’ head on straight, and there’s this hollow, empty spot between my lungs that aches every time I breathe, and I can’t— I can’t—”

“Jack,” Davey says, low and soothing. “You have to stop fighting your instincts. I know you think you’re protecting me by holding yourself back, but I promise that there’s nothing to worry about. Let me help you, darling. Please?”

Jack wavers—not like he’s convinced, not like he’s found any sort of faith in himself, but like he no longer has the strength to keep arguing—and that more than anything has the alarm bells going off in the back of Davey’s mind.

“Jack,” Davey beckons, soft but firm. “Jackie, love, come here.”

Jack takes a stumbling, hesitant step forward. Davey meets him halfway and draws him into a tight embrace, one arm wrapped securely around Jack’s middle, the other guiding Jack’s head to rest against the curve of his throat.

Jack’s hands settle cautiously against the small of his back, his nose tucked right against Davey’s scent gland. He takes in a single, shaky breath, then crumples like a puppet that’s had its strings cut, that salty, bitter note of distressed alpha finally fading from his scent.

“Dave,” Jack whines, snuffling desperately at his neck. “Davey.”

“I know, Jackie,” Davey murmurs, hugging him even tighter. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

They stand like that for several minutes, just holding each other—Davey pressing gentle kisses to the top of Jack’s head while Jack clings to him, relaxing more and more with every inhale.

“Can you look at me for a second, love?” Davey asks, craning back as much as he can without letting go. Jack grumbles but obediently tilts his head back—now that they’re closer, Davey can see that his eyes are glassy with fever, his skin flushed beneath his tan. “When’s the last time you ate something? Or had anything to drink?”

“I dunno,” Jack says, shrugging. “A while, I guess. H’ven’t been keepin’ track.”

“Let’s get some food and water into you, okay?” Davey says. “You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten.”

Davey leads Jack along the hallway and down a set of stairs into the basement, following the traces of Jack’s scent in the air to find wherever he’s been hunkered down for his rut.

He quickly discovers what must be the Lodging House’s cycle room. It’s cold, cramped, and uncomfortable, not a hint of carpet or wood or anything to cover the wall-to-ceiling concrete that encloses the space, and Davey’s heart aches at the thought of Jack waiting out his cycle here, alone, for these last couple days.

He takes stock of the room: there's a wooden bed frame with a lumpy mattress pushed up against one of the walls, covered in a plastic mattress protector and made up with a cheap set of sheets that are stale with sweat, and a single threadbare blanket to go with it—no pillows. There’s a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter sitting on a table in the corner, a mostly full pitcher of water and a glass next to it, and there’s a stack of towels and linens tucked underneath the table with a wash basin.

“Think you can eat something?” Davey asks.

Jack shrugs again but doesn’t answer. Davey decides to interpret this as a yes.

“Sit down for me, darling,” he says, making quick work of fixing Jack a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of water.

Jack hovers close for a second, then finds a spot right on the floor, leaning with his back against the far wall.

“Go ahead and eat this for me,” Davey instructs, handing over the food. Jack accepts it from him by route, but makes no move to actually take a bite. “Jackie, please. You need to eat something.”

“‘M not hungry,” he mutters.

“I know you aren’t, but that’s just the rut talking,” Davey says, running a hand gently along his arm. “You’ll feel differently once you’ve got some food in your stomach.”

Though he’s clearly not thrilled about it, Jack manages to choke down half of his sandwich and two glasses of water. Once that’s taken care of, Davey starts stripping the dirty sheets off the bed, piling them into the corner to be washed later, then remakes it with a fresh set.

“Do you want to try laying down for a while?” Davey asks as he finishes, smoothing away a wrinkle near one of the mattress corners. “You said you haven’t been sleeping well—”

“I think you need to leave,” Jack interrupts, the words coming out in a low, gravelly rasp.

Davey goes very, very still, a sudden flare of heat prickling low in his stomach.

He slowly turns around. Jack rises to his feet with all the grace and power of a jungle cat, his eyes shaded dark with hunger and his scent burning like a wildfire, staring at Davey like he might devour him whole, the air between them growing heated as the next wave of his rut kicks in.

Davey barely resists a whimper, his own scent spiking sugar-sweet in response as desire pulses through him. He wants to rub himself all along Jack’s front, until that smoky-spicy-cedar scent is imprinted into his skin. Wants to lick the taste of it right out of Jack’s mouth.

“David,” Jack growls. His eyes are scorching. “You gotta go, sweetheart. You gotta leave right now.”

Davey swallows around a suddenly dry throat, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth, but his voice is remarkably steady when he says, “What if I don’t want to leave?”

Now it’s Jack’s turn to stiffen. “Davey,” he says sharply. “I know you’re tryin’ to help, but trust me, this ain’t like your heats. You don’t wanna be here for this.”

“You haven’t actually asked me if I want to be here for this,” Davey points out, taking a single step forward. Jack’s hands ball into fists at his sides. “You’ve just assumed that I don’t.”

“Because you don’t understand how—” Jack’s jaw snaps shut as he cuts himself off, expression tight.

“Answer me this then,” Davey says when Jack doesn’t continue, stepping closer and closer until they’re standing toe to toe, chest to chest. Jack’s nostrils flare, the muscles in his arms tensing and flexing, and that mouth watering scent spikes even stronger. “Do you want me, Jackie?”

“Of course I want’cha,” Jack groans, and one of those big, hot hands finally curls around Davey’s waist—not pulling him any closer, really, but like Jack just can’t help himself. “What kinda question is that? This ain’t about not wantin’ ya.”

“Then why is it so hard for you to believe that I want you too?” Davey asks. “That I want you like this? That I want everything you’re willing to give me?”

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” Jack insists, stubborn. Davey would admire his dedication if it wasn’t so exasperating. “I’m— I can’t control myself as well when I’m in rut, I get rough, possessive—”

Davey rolls his eyes.

“You’re my alpha, Jackie,” he says dryly. “Possessive kind of comes with the territory.”

Jack’s eyes go wide. Two seconds later, Davey realizes what he’s said: this is the first time either of them have openly acknowledged what they are to each other, and voicing it aloud, saying it so plainly… something in Davey’s chest thrums with energy, with connection.

“You... “ Jack’s throat works for a moment. “You think of yourself as mine?”

“Jackie, I’ve always been yours,” Davey says, cupping his hands around Jack’s face, so true and so tender that he aches with it. “And, I think you’ve always been mine.”

Jack pulls one of Davey’s hands away from his face and curls his own around it, pressing a kiss to Davey’s knuckles, then to his palm, and then to the inside of his wrist, his gaze growing more heated with each one.

“Mine,” Jack growls, a hint of teeth scraping against Davey’s pulse as he pulls away. “You’re mine.”

“Yours,” Davey breathes. “All yours.”

Jack’s eyes flash red, then he’s drawing Davey in for a hard, demanding kiss, pressing a thigh between the hot space between Davey’s legs. Davey gasps at the first brush of Jack’s lips against his neck, the slide of Jack’s hands shifting down to palm at his ass, his fingers digging into the swell of Jack’s biceps for purchase.

“Take these off,” Jack growls, yanking Davey’s shirt out from where it’s tucked into his pants. “Take them off before I tear them off you.”

Davey fumbles for the buttons on his shirt, liquid heat pooling low in his stomach. Jack’s hands trail greedily at every bit of his skin as he uncovers it, thoroughly distracting and too good to ignore, and after several minutes of scrabbling, interspersed with long, frenzied kisses, they eventually manage to get their clothes off.

“Bed, cielito,” Jack says. “We need to— Bed.”

Davey hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t move, his face buried against Jack’s shoulder, biting at the skin there until it bruises.

“Dave,” Jack tries again.

“I’m busy,” Davey mumbles, mouthing at the sharp line of Jack’s collarbones.

“And I’m about two seconds away from pushing you down and fucking you right through the floor,” Jack says, voice laden with promise. “So get on the goddamn bed.”

“I really don’t see what the issue is,” Davey teases, still not moving an inch. “The floor is closer, isn’t it?”

Jack snarls, curling a hand around Davey’s nape and pulling him back up into another frenzied kiss.

“Mouthy— little— smartass—“ he pants, his teeth dragging along the tendon in Davey’s throat. “I’m gonna eat you out ‘til you cry.”

He wraps his hands under Davey’s thighs and hoists him up and back. Davey lands on the mattress with a soft bounce, barely given any time to situate himself before Jack is on top of him, pinning him down with rough hands and spreading him wide before following through with his threat, tongue lapping at Davey’s entrance in broad, greedy strokes.

“Ah,” Davey gasps, fingers tight in Jack’s hair, scrabbling for some kind of anchor as Jack licks him open.

Jack lets out a low rumble of approval that vibrates right against where he’s most sensitive, his body growing even wetter, even slicker at the sound and feel of it. Jack swirls his tongue around his opening, making Davey’s toes curl against Jack’s sides, then presses in—Davey cries out, a harsh, desperate sound that tears out of him as he grinds up into the sensation.

“Jack,” he gasps, mindless, hips jerking uselessly in Jack’s unrelenting hold, body pulled taut and stretched loose at the same time, pleasure coiling in his belly. “Jack, I’m— I can’t—”

One particularly filthy swipe of Jack’s tongue has Davey’s breath hitching in his chest, head thrown back as the feelings swell and crest, and it only takes one more teasing flick before Davey’s coming with a broken moan.

“Jack,” he croaks when his lungs reinflate. “Holy shit.”

Jack’s mouth and chin are shiny with slick, his pupils blown wide and shaded with satisfaction.

“Told you,” he says smugly.

Davey tugs him down into another messy kiss, needing to lick that handsome smirk off his face. Then he rears up and flips them over so that he’s the one on top now, kneeling over Jack with his legs straddling Jack’s lap.

“My turn,” Davey murmurs, reaching down and taking Jack’s length—thick and hard and wet at the tip—in hand, lining it up at his entrance.

Then he takes a breath, leans back, and sinks down onto it in one slow, smooth downstroke.

“Mmn,” Davey sighs, his eyes slipping shut as his body adjusts to the stinging stretch of finally being filled. He’s thrumming with tension, with heat, his thighs quivering where they’re spread wide around Jack’s hips, hands splayed against Jack’s chest for leverage, and it feels so good he could almost choke on the pleasure of it.

Jack’s hands flex jerkily against Davey’s sides, then go wonderfully, bruisingly tight, thumbs pressing hard against the divots of his hips.

“Fuck, Davey,” he groans, staring up at Davey with dark eyes tinged with red, lovely and wanting. “You’re gorgeous, sweetheart. So fucking gorgeous and absolutely perfect for me.”

“For you,” Davey agrees, grinding down in a tight, deliberate circle, ass flush against the cradle of Jack pelvis, and Jack’s scent burns even brighter, smoky and sweet. “And you’re all mine, aren’t you darling?”

“Always,” Jack promises.

Davey rises up then drops back down, carefully at first but quickly finding his rhythm, rocking his hips in a steady back and forth motion that sends liquid fire sparking up his spine. Every slip and drag of Jack’s dick inside of him feels like being shaken apart and pieced back together all at once, aching desire coursing through him with every slap of skin against skin.

“Davey,” Jack pants, his hips bucking up to meet Davey’s own as he rolls down again, and Davey moans through the bursts of bliss that explode behind his eyelids. “Oh, fuck, that’s good.”

“Jack,” Davey gasps, leaning forward to tuck his nose against Jack’s neck, nipping at his pulse point as he grinds down in his lap, the scent of summer and cedar and mate, mate, mate anchoring him even as he goes a little scent drunk on how right it all is. “Jackie, I— oh, yes, just like that.”

Jack pulls him down into the next thrust, hard and fast, and Davey cries out, twisting his hip as he sinks into it.

“Perfect,” Jack grunts, those hot, rough hands squeezing tight. “God, Davey, you look absolutely incredible. So fucking pretty, sweetheart, feel so good riding my cock.”

Davey works his hips that much faster at the praise, so much so that the bed starts rocking underneath them, the squeaky creak of the wooden frame echoing through the room in time with his own heaving breaths. He’s so wet now that he can hear Jack fucking him, hears the slick, dirty squelch of Jack’s knot pressing a little deeper inside of him every time they clash together, driving closer and closer to completion.

“Harder,” Davey pleads, his thighs burning from the effort of keeping up his pace but still needing more. “Jack, please—fuck, alpha, please—harder.”

Jack snarls—a low, rumbling, dangerously sexy sound—and his eyes bleed red, his scent washing over Davey like blazing fire. He leverages his legs up, bending them at the knee with his feet flat against the mattress, and when he thrusts up into Davey on the next roll of his hips, it feels so impossibly good that Davey’s mouth falls open around a broken, guttural little keen.

“O-oh,” Davey says, the word catching in his throat, barely able to think with how completely and utterly Jack is destroying him, his knot starting to thicken and swell against his rim as their bodies meet again and again. Davey arches his back, planting a hand against one of Jack’s bent knees for balance, chasing blindly after his pleasure, and Jack makes a noise like he’s going out of his damn mind, a possessive growl tearing its way out of his throat. “Oh fuck.”

“Say it again,” Jack orders, eyes on fire.

It falls out of Davey’s mouth, desperate and true: “Alpha, alpha, my alpha—”

“My omega,” Jack says, his voice low and gritty, rut and desire clouding his gaze. “Mine.”

They’re both teetering on the edge. Jack’s knot is catching on every thrust, fucking him open in torturous, delicious increments, and Davey wants, wants, wants.

“Jack,” Davey’s head hangs heavy between his shoulders, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he pants and sighs. “Jackie, yes, give it to me, give it to me, please, yes—”

Jack’s hands slide lower, clench harder, and Davey has one second to delight in how much he loves the feel of those big hands curled around him before the world spins and he lands flat on his back again with Jack braced above him, his eyes wild and vivid red. He grabs the backs of Davey’s thighs and pushes his knees up towards his ears, hardly faltering at all before he’s driving back inside again, fast and hard and so, so deep, and Davey’s boiling, blistering from the feeling of Jack, always Jack, pulsing inside of him, etched right into the seams of his heart.

“Mine,” Jack growls again, nipping viciously at the base of Davey’s throat, tongue swirling over his scent gland like he’s already trying to taste his claim. Davey tilts his head back with a needy whine, unable to do anything except offer himself up to him, freely and wholly. “Mate. Mine.”

“Jack,” Davey whimpers. “Jack, I— I’m—”

“You’re going to come for me,” Jack orders, pistoning his hips even harder, and the new angle means that he’s tagging that sweet spot inside on every other thrust, fierce and relentless.

“Yes,” Davey moans, sparks flying at the edges of his vision. “Yes, I’m— Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t—”

Jack presses him down, snaps his hips forward, sharp, and his knot finally catches, swells, and locks inside of him. Heat thrums, then surges through him, white hot, at the searing stretch of it and Davey comes so hard he goes lightheaded, body rippling and writhing through wave after wave of pleasure. Jack manages a couple more filthy grinds of his hips before he’s tumbling over the edge right after him, capturing Davey’s mouth in a breathless, bruising kiss as his orgasm rocks through them both.

When he feels like he can move his limbs again, Davey lets his legs slip down to wrap around Jack’s waist, looping his arms loosely around Jack’s neck. He turns his face towards Jack’s temple and inhales, smiling softly when he catches the smoky, spicy, cooling-embers scent of a sated, happily exhausted alpha.

“How are you feeling, darling?” Davey murmurs, brushing Jack’s sweaty hair off his forehead with a gentle touch. “Alright?”

Jack mouths something unintelligible against his collarbone, a solid, grounding weight sprawled bonelessly on top of him. Davey cups his hand around the nape of Jack’s neck, then strokes soothingly down his back, his mind a wash of hazy contentment.

“‘M good,” Jack grunts. “I’m… fuck, Dave.”

Davey huffs out a laugh, then presses a kiss to the high point of Jack’s cheek. “Fuck,” he echoes hoarsely, still recovering from his high.

“You?” Jack asks, nuzzling clumsily at the column of Davey’s throat. “Feelin’ okay?”

“Better than,” Davey decides, his body aching deliciously around the hot, hard knot pressed inside of him, stomach sticky with with own release, his thighs wet with slick and come, neck littered with marks, the air thick with their combined scents, spring and citrus and cedar and sweet melded perfectly together, and he feels totally, entirely, completely— “Feel claimed.”

Jack’s body twitches, his knot throbbing as he spills another burst of pleasure deep inside of him. Davey hums, pleased, some base omega instinct purring with satisfaction at how wonderfully full he is.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” Jack eventually gets out, voice rough and raspy and wrecked. “You can’t just— Have mercy on your poor alpha.”

“My alpha,” Davey agrees. “All mine.”

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #*editor's note #*the writing desk #*final cut #tease series #yep yep yep yep #I’m sorry for nothing

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Hot Blood [1]

Warnings: non-consent sex

This is dark! (mob) skinny Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Synopsis: Steve Rogers is on the rise in the New York underground as you’re trying to keep your own place there.

Note: This will only be two parts because I couldn’t fit it into a oneshot. Yes, I took liberties in terms of not making Steve brittle as a twig so forgive me for that. Also this is back in the 1940s, so keep that in mind. :) Otherwise, I love writing my skinny boy and hope you like it too.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

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

You wanna prove you're the better man You wanna reach for the things that nobody can

🌆

You checked your watch as you strode down the sidewalk. You felt the snugness of the bundle just under your jacket as you pulled your hat lower over your eyes. At the right angle, you seemed a man about his business. A closer look and you were nothing but a woman in pinstripe trousers.

Another day, another drop. You were tiring of the tawdry tasks but the reality of your position, of your sex, was inevitable. The men were back from the war and the women were expected to return to their kitchens. Well, most of them.

It was easier in the days before victory. When you were the one sending others on your tasks. But Vic had survived his campaign in Italy and he was back with a vengeance, and few scars. The only thing which kept him from tossing you entirely was that you’d kept his organization afloat in his absence. You’d even thrown the feds off his trail and onto another’s.

Even so, life wasn’t what it was. You had to take orders, had to swallow your pride. Well, it was better than living as some bastard’s wife; better than a secretary in a tight skirt. You checked the time again and looked ahead to the brick building with the rusted horseshoe over its door.

You neared and leaned against the bricks. You turned to face the street and watched pedestrians pass. You knocked with your elbow. Two knocks, a pause, then three more. You waited and listened. The door shifted and you spun quickly as you muttered “iodine” and the code word saw you past the man on the other side.

And yet, another change. The warehouse was empty. You looked to the man who’d answered the door. It wasn’t the usual fellow. You frowned and your hand went to your waist and felt the wooden inlay of your pistol.

“Wouldn’t do that,” The man warned. “Boss is on his way. He doesn’t care for corpses. Too much clean up.”

“Boss?” You kept your hand poised but didn’t draw. “And who exactly is your boss?”

“People fall for that?” He ignored your question as he pointed to your jacket.

“Fall for what?”

“You don’t exactly fill out a three-piece,” He reached into your pocket and you gripped your gun. He pulled out a silver cigarette case and popped it open. “Well, you know…” He gestured to his shoulder, “In some ways.”

You scoffed and shook your head as he offered you a smoke. He shrugged and put one between his lips.

“You didn’t tell me who your boss was,” You said as he struck a match and lit the cigarette.

“Vic didn’t tell you?” He asked. “Heli don’t run Brooklyn anymore.”

“He mentioned there was trouble but there always is in Brooklyn,” You tilted your head and ran your finger along your pistol handle.

He chuckled and took a drag.

“Bucky,” He held out his hand. “Boss will be here soon.”

You shook his hand and retreated, pacing two steps back and forth as you waited.

“This isn’t how it goes. I drop the money and go.” You stopped. “Never more than five minutes.”

“You got somewhere to be?” He asked. “You must be popular with the boys. Hell, war was so long, they’d fuck a hole in the wall.”

“I usually tell em to use the wall,” You countered. “You’re boss better show in the next five minutes or--”

The back door of the warehouse opened and shut suddenly. You turned as a shadow fluttered in the small slats of light which peeked in through the high windows.

“Kid took a wrong turn,” The voice sounded as footsteps cut through the silence. “You get the money.”

“Drop’s right here,” Bucky said as he nodded to you.

Your mouth fell open as you saw the man who appeared before you. Short, slender; skinny, actually. Even his tailored suit added little to his figure and his chin seemed even sharper in contrast to the angles of his hat. His blue eyes met yours and he removed the hat.

“Miss,” He seemed as surprised as you felt.

You laughed. You didn’t mean to. You covered your mouth before you could guffaw and looked at Bucky.

“That the new boss man?” You asked.

“Steve Rogers,” The skinny man said tersely. “And yes, I’m the boss man so you talk to me, not him.”

“Course,” You said coolly. “Vic wants a single load through Brooklyn.” You carefully reached into your jacket and dislodged the bundle of money from the waist of your pants. “Tomorrow, clearance till noon.”

He watched you and then his eyes flicked to the money. Usually, they saw the green first.

“Your husband let you run around playing these games?” He asked.

“We know this isn’t a game,” You said. “And, if I did have a husband, he couldn’t keep me from my business.”

He chuckled.

“Sorry, I’m just, a little amused. I expected a man.” He said.

“Me, too,” You tossed the money at his feet. “But I guess they’re all busy doing the real work.”

His smile fell. He toed the money but didn’t take it.

“You gonna wear the pants, you gonna be treated like what you’re pretending to be,” He beckoned Bucky forward. “Cause I don’t see a lady.”

“No, you don’t,” You said defiantly as Bucky came closer.

Steve nodded and Bucky bent to grab the money. You held Steve’s gaze, the anger obvious in their glint as his narrow jaw ticked.

“Tell Vic he’s got til noon. Sharp.” He said. “Bucky, see her out.”

He put his hat back on and turned away. Bucky waved you away and you followed him back to the door. His hand rested on the metal handle and he paused.

“Put the torch to this place,” He said. “Next drop will be on our ground.”

“Sure,” You said and he pushed down.

“Oh,” Bucky stopped as he opened the door just a sliver. “I’m not much for advice but work on the lip. He won’t put up with that for long.”

“Not my boss,” You uttered. “He got his money.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He shook his head and opened the door.

You stepped out into the sunlight and strode away. You’d have a word with Vic. You’d think he’d have enough sense to mention a change in personnel but he hadn’t had much sense since he returned.

🌆

You sat along the bar as voices buzzed in the late morning din. The old pub which had glowed during Prohibition had grown darker over the years. With rationing, it had become lifeless, barely revived in the post-war jubilance. It didn’t matter much; it had never been meant for just booze, merely a cover for more illicit trades.

As usual, Vic was in his office. He wasn’t the same talkative man he had been, though his temper had worsened. When he wanted to be heard, he made sure of it. His propensity for violence had turned to an indifference to violence. There was no barrier left between him and blood. His hair trigger made him vulnerable; it made you all vulnerable.

The bar door shook and you looked over. Several bangs before the latch busted and Donny burst in with Richie hanging from his shoulder. He dragged the bleeding man inside and dropped him onto the floor as he fell to his knees. You rose and quickly shut the door. No one used that door during the day.

“Get rags,” Arnold called and rushed behind the bar.

Donny’s arm was bleeding as Richie gripped his side, his hands red and wet. Arnold tossed you a rag and you bent beside Richie. You took his hand and pressed the rag between it and his side. You applied pressure as Donny tied up his arm with his belt.

“What fuck happened?” You ask as you leaned on Richie and tried to stem the flow.

Arnold ran out calling for Pauly. He’d been a medic during the war but tended to drink away whatever use he had left to the organization. He was likely sleeping off last night in one of the stinky rooms above that were rented out by the hour.

“Where’s the cargo?” Vic asked as he appeared in the broad archway which parted the barroom from the kitchen and his office.

“Christ, he’s bleeding out, Vic,” You hissed as Donny handed you another cloth and grabbed another for his arm.

“We got hit.” Donny leaned heavily on a stool. “It’s gone.”

“What the fuck?” Vic swore. “Who--”

“Rogers,” Richie gasped and you scrambled to keep the crimson from leaking past your fingers. “He said…”

“Take was short.” Donny finished. “Five shy.”

“Five shy. No, I gave him the right drop,” You insisted.

Arnold brushed by Vic and Pauly ambled in beside him. The former dropped the small chest of bandages and the like beside Richie as the latter came around to you and yawned as he knelt. He casually waved you away and took the rags from you. He peeked under them and pressed down.

“Got a lighter?” He asked. “Get me some tweezers.”

You held up your bloody hands and Arnold got down to search through the box ox of odds and ends.

“New boss, new prices,” Donny uttered. “S’what they said before they…” He looked at Richie and blanched.

“God fucking dammit, I new that little rat was up to no good,” Vic punched his palm. “Had the gall to come in here and put an offer down on this shit hole like he can buy what I built for a couple bills.”

“What?” You reeled as you tried to wipe clean your hands. “He made you an offer?”

“He’s a goddamn upstart,” He snarled. “I seen his kind back before the war, when the Depression had us scraping trash cans for dinner. He’d sell his own mother. Probably has.”

“How can he-- Heli didn’t have that much going on.” You argued.

“The twerp spent a couple years up in Chicago before he decided to come home and make his stake,” Vic said. “Too skinny to serve so he ran wild over there. Now he’s got a gun and some money and he thinks he can just take the whole city.”

“Hold him down!” Pauly yelled and you looked over as he was digging the tweezers into Richie’s side. The wail which rose was sickening.

“Vic, you didn’t even tell me he’d taken over,” You snarled. “Now I double counted that take but you’re the one who arranged it. He said fifteen not twenty, right?”

“I told him I wouldn’t give him any more than I did Heli.” He sneered.

“And?” You urged.

“He said we’d see. And I never heard nothing else.” He growled.

“You didn’t hear anything or you just made an assumption?”

“I handled worse over in Italy,” He grumbled. “Little twit doesn’t scare me.”

“It’s not just him,” You huffed.

It was so much easier when he was gone. You and Arnold had been a great team. He was too old to serve and he was wise; pragmatic. Don’t play big, play smart.

“Another word,” Vic warned. “I’m tired of the fucking mouth on you. Men go away for a couple years and all you bitches learned to bark.”

“If we hadn’t, you’d have nothing to come back to,” You retorted. “And I learned more than how to bark.”

“You think you know it all. You run around in your suits and play gangster, little girl.” He snarled. “I saw men holding their insides; I ran into a haze of bullets and you did what? Gave away your stockings and baked cakes without sugar.”

“You got a man holding his insides right here,” You snapped. “I should’ve let Crane have this place. I drove that snake out on my own. Me. So don’t you call me little girl.”

A knock interrupted him as his face turned red. The front door had fallen open as a figure leaned in the doorway. So slim it could only be one person. You reached for your gun along with Vic and Donny. The other men continued their struggle on the floor.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Rogers?” Vic pulled the hammer back on his gun.

“Wow,” Steve stopped a few feet inside and several men, including Bucky, entered behind him, guns in hand. “I’m not here for a fight, if I can help it. I’m here for the rest of my take.”

“You already shot my men. I don’t owe you shit.” Vic hissed.

Steve chuckled and put his hands on his hips. He looked to the floor, the blood, the whimpers, then to you. He took his hat off and nodded in your direction.

“But I see they’re still alive.” Steve said. “And I got your cargo. More than willing to hand it over so long as I get my dues.”

“Maybe it wasn’t that skinny fucking ass that kept out of the war; maybe it was that peanut brain,” Vic said.

“I’m all for negotiating,” Steve said coolly. “But I’m gonna need you to calm down, Victor.”

“Calm down. I want my goods.” He insisted. “And my money back.”

“I don’t often give warnings,” Steve’s voice was even and quiet. Scarily calm. “But I will allow you one. I will finish what my men started and then I will burn this place with your bodies inside of it. Then I will hunt down every man who ever tied himself to your limping horse and put them next to you in the ashes.”

“Bull,” Vic scoffed.

“Jeffrey, by the bridge,” Steve said. “Friendly guy. Knows a lot about the city. Gave me an interesting little map. Looks like safe houses… in your neighbourhood. I don’t need to barter with you, Victor, but I am, because I can be nice. I prefer it over having to get mean.”

“Jeffrey,” Vic shook his head. “That shit.”

“Oh yes, if it wasn’t for his ties out west, I’d already have done him in myself but… he has his uses.”

Silence but for Richie groans and the squelch of flesh and blood. You glanced between the two men. Vic looked tired. You realised he was halfway drunk.

“How long? For the five I owe you?” He slowly lowered his gun.

“How long?” Steve smirked. “I’m not leaving without it.”

“Don’t keep my safe here. That’d be too obvious.” Vic said.

“No? Or maybe… you don’t got it?” Steve challenged. “Besides, I can’t trust you to send anyone for it because I can’t have them returning with more than the bills, can I?”

Victor was quiet and you glanced back at him. He looked lost. It was a look which had become common for him. As if he was far away.

“But…” Steve said. “There is value beyond paper.”

“Take a cut,” You intoned as Vic remained speechless. “That would more than even the debt.”

“And have to sell it myself? No.” He said. “But I do see something that I want.”

Steve’s heels tapped on the old floorboards and he stopped before you. You stared at him then looked around. You lifted a brow as you looked back to him. He touched your gun and you lowered it. You wanted to raise it again but Richie’s cries tugged at your ears. He took the pistol.

“I’ll take her,” He touched the lapel of your jacket.

“What? No, that’s not--”

“Fine,” Vic agreed a little too quickly. “All yours. But I’ll let you know, she’s a mouthy one.”

“Oh, I know,” Steve winked at you. “But you won’t get anywhere if you’re not bold.”

“You can’t--”

“I can,” Steve leaned in as he lowered his voice. “Because if you leave this bar without me, you won’t get far. I put the word out and you’re dead before nightfall…” He straightened your jacket. “But I prefer you living.”

He drew back and walked back to his men.

“Truck’s out front. All is accounted for. Ledger’s are balanced.” He said. “For now.”

You were jolted forward as Bucky grabbed your arm. You hadn’t seen him approach and he easily dragged you along as Steve left with his men in tow. You were numb but angry. You struggled until Bucky had your arm twisted behind your back.

“I told you,” He said. “He doesn’t like the back talk.”

🌆

You were silent as you peered through the windshield then glanced at the man in the driver’s seat. Bucky had wrestled you into the car himself but it had taken the flash of a muzzle to get you to stay.

Steve sat beside you in the back of the long car. He still had your pistol in hand and you watched as he emptied the bullets and dropped them in his pocket. He turned the gun over in his hand and ran his fingertip along the wood inlay carved with intricate grooves.

“This is a nice piece,” He said.

He checked the chamber one last time and handed it back to you. You holstered the pistol and leaned into the door as you looked out onto the streets. The buildings were strangely familiar.

“Where are we going?” You asked.

“You talking to me?” Steve countered. You turned to him and arched a brow. “Because when you are talking to me, you need to look at me, doll.”

“My name isn’t doll,” You crossed your arms. “This isn’t Brooklyn.”

“We’ll get to that,” He said. “You should be more than familiar with these slums.”

You squinted and shook your head.

“How did you--”

“I got eyes across the city and a woman like you sticks out,” He said. “Now, I’d like to forget our first meeting and start off on a better note.”

“Yeah? Do you usually buy people like race horses.” You scoffed.

“You’re a fine mare,” He grinned. “But that mouth does you a disservice.”

“So, what exactly do you want? You want me to say you’re a big man? Tell you you’re the boss?” You taunted. “I wonder how that ego fits in that body.”

“One thing at a time, doll,” He said.

“It’s not ‘doll’,” You growled.

He chuckled and propped his elbow up on the door.

“My eyes have ears. They’ve told me a lot about you.” He said. “Must be hard with all the men back in town. I dare say, you might have been rooting for the other side.”

“Oh?” Your nostrils flared at the implication. “You running with those double-dealing bastards down in Chicago and you’re accusing me of sedition.”

“Chicago was a stepping stone,” He waved you off. “And a valuable ally. This world’s a whole lot bigger than five boroughs.”

The car stopped and you looked past Steve. Your building stood just outside his window and you sighed.

“No doubt bigger than you,” You rolled your eyes. “I’m not dumb enough to think you’re just giving me a ride home…”

“We got ten minutes,” He checked his watch as he opened his door. “Grab what you need. I got a schedule to keep.”

He got out and you pushed open your own door. You rounded the front of the car and peered down the sidewalk. You could run. The thought was tempting, but if Steve could figure out where you lived in less than a day, he could likely suss you out just as easily.

You followed him up the cracked walk of the building and he opened the grated door for you. You shot him a look before you stepped through. You fished around for your keys and unlocked the second metal door. He trailed you up the narrow staircase and you came to your door among the row of cramped apartments.

You entered with him behind you. His footsteps were light and barely disturbed the creaky floorboards. He closed the door swiftly as you glanced around your tiny home. There wasn’t much to it but it was yours.

He brushed past you and went to the small kitchen which was barely more than a sink and stove. He pulled open the drawers one at a time and shuffled through them.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

He held up a box of bullets and shook them.

“Grab some clothes,” He said as he continued his search. “And anything else you need.”

You let out a breath and rounded the threadbare sofa. You went to the small closet on the other side of the apartment and slid open the accordion door. Inside hung jackets in varying tones of monochrome and pants to match. Dress shirts and vests filled out the rest of the assortment. You sensed movement behind you as you reached for a hanger.

“That’s all you got?” He asked as he came up beside you and tutted.

You looked over at him as he slid the hangers from side to side and examined your clothes.

“No, no, this won’t do,” He said.

“What are you--”

“This,” He tugged on your sleeve. “Is doing you no favours. Not to worry, I’ll send for some nice skirts, a couple dresses--”

“No,” You said pointedly. “No, I won’t--”

“You’re not getting this, are you?” He sneered. “I don’t need some pussycat in a suit, I got more men than I can count.” You stared at him as foreboding roiled in your stomach. “What I need is a gal on my arm,” He reached out and touched your cheeks. “With a pretty smile,” His fingers crept down your neck and rested on your shoulders, “In a pretty little number.”

You grabbed his wrists and tried to shove him away. Despite his slim figure, he was stronger than you expected. He twisted his arms around and grabbed your wrists. He drew you close.

“If you were a man, you wouldn’t have left that warehouse,” He growled. “So consider yourself lucky…” His eyes drifted down. “The walk gives you away. Your hips…” He tilted his head from side to side. “The ass…”

“Get off of me,” You hissed and pulled away. He released you and you nearly stumbled.

“Don’t bother with the clothes,” He sighed. “But grab whatever else you need; hairbrush, soap… I guess you wouldn’t have lipstick, would you?”

“You really that hard-up for a girl?” You laughed dryly.

He smiled and licked his lips. “Women aren’t as complicated as they pretend to be. Not if you got your pockets full. So no, not hard-up for a girl… just you, doll.”

“Not doll,” You huffed and spun away from him. His low laughter made your lip curl.

“Five minutes,” He warned.

#Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve x reader #mafia!steve rogers #mafia au #mafia steve rogers #au #fic #miniseries #series #hot blood #mcu #marvel #captain america #dark fic #dark!fic

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jamespotterthefirst · 4 years

Text

Drinks For Two

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1,800 Warning: None Author’s Note: That premium scene from Book 1, Chapter 2 at the bar from Ethan’s POV

Catch up here.

_______

The raucous cacophony surrounding Ethan that evening at Donahue's is not enough distraction from his traitorous thoughts, much to his annoyance. Ordinarily, the small bar serves as his sanctuary, a blessed transitional space between the harsh demands of the job and the tranquility of home. On most nights, he prefers the place silent enough to enjoy his drink in numbing peace. Upon entering the place and seeing the crowd of intoxicated, uproarious interns, however, Ethan kisses that fantasy goodbye.

He decides to stay anyway because lord knows he needs a drink after the hell hole of a day he had. Ethan, ever the optimist, even finds a silver lining in hoping that the mindless, drunken chatter will keep him from reliving it. When that fails, the riotous noise is nothing but that: noise.

Ethan takes a swig of his drink, savoring the pleasant burn in his throat.

“I don't want your opportunities or your charity. I want my patient to get better.”

Memories of fiery, bright eyes flood him, unbidden.

“And if that's not everyone's priority at this hospital, I'd rather you fire me now.”

Righteous, impassioned anger had colored her face as she spat the words at him with a vehemence that had given him pause. And all after he had placed a precious learning opportunity on a silver platter for her taking? Who the hell did this intern think she was? The nerve, the gall, the idiotic insolence of that brash, silver-tongued, headstrong girl...

Ethan loses steam.

That passionate, fearless, intelligent and rather pretty girl.

A slew of less professional adjectives inundate his awareness before he can stop them. Inwardly groaning, he throws back another drink.

An eruption of cheers and wolf whistles mercifully pulls him from his thoughts. Ethan doesn't need to look to know it's coming from the surgical interns, the rowdiest of the bunch by default. Add to that scores of cheap alcohol and the galvanizing promise of competition a game of dart brings, and they are downright unbearable.

When he does spare them a glance, he is greeted by the sight of a burly, good-looking surgical intern dipping a brunette backwards before planting a scandalous kiss on her lips.

“Get it, Lahela!”

“Traitor!”

God, how Ethan hated PDA.

A whirl of green fabric and glossy brown hair is all Ethan sees as the recipient of the kiss straightens herself, slightly woozy and gripping Lahela’s muscular arms for dear life. It is only when she shifts on her feet that Ethan catches a glimpse of that distinctive smile— the very same he had seen all day, both in person and in his recollection. Lilac Allende, pretty face bright and eyes sparkling, grins at the surgical intern as he whispers something in her ear.

And then, like a stroke of lighting, her eyes meet Ethan’s for the briefest of moments.

Ethan glances away too quickly, his slight annoyance tapering into sheer irritation. His mood deteriorates when he finds his glass empty though he doesn't get the opportunity to order another because mere seconds later, he can see a hazy shape in forest green approaching.

Stubborn as ever, Ethan determinedly avoids gazing her way. He foolishly thinks this will be successful until she is right at his side and practically impossible to ignore. This, of course, does not escape her notice, officially deeming her the most frustrating person he's ever met.

“Something wrong, Dr. Ramsey?” she asks and he can practically hear the cheeky grin in her melodic voice.

As his eyes take in the full force of the outfit she is wearing, he mentally determines the only thing that is wrong are the thoughts the revealing number invites. He makes a conscious effort to keep his eyes on her face and not on the tortuous path her daring neckline sets. Ethan loses the battle for a millisecond because his eyes fall on the black, lacy contraption peeking from her blouse (if he can call it that), the sight a sweet kind of torture. Feeling like an absolute ass, he fixes his gaze on hers, convinced he can still salvage both of their dignities by saying something vague.

“Just noticing how… different you look out in the real world.”

Dr. Allende looks as though she doesn't believe him and she opens her mouth, perhaps to brashly tell him so. Luckily, Reggie slides over to their side of the bar.

“What'll it be?”

She becomes distracted by the question and Ethan privately thanks Reggie's impeccable timing. Dr. Allende pensively chews her lip as she contemplates his empty glass. Ethan pauses, promptly telling himself this is to humor her while also satisfying his own curiosity and not because of the vision that is her bottom lip, made swollen by the pressure of the bite.

“Scotches, neat,” she finally tells Reggie, with a confidence that almost earns her an impressed nod.

In their silence, Dr. Allende cuts him a look that is almost bashful, despite all the bravado she displays. Her posture is ramrod straight and Ethan can practically feel the nervous energy radiating from her. With a bolt, he realizes she is silently extending an olive branch. A truce from their previous encounter at Edenbrook.

“Why neat instead of on the rocks?” he asks, his own quiet way of accepting.

“The ice changes the flavor,” she returns at once, shoulders relaxing visibly.

“Right answer.”

A ghost of a smile escapes him and she takes this with evident satisfaction, returning it with a smug smirk of her own. The crowded, ebullient bar suddenly becomes stifling to Ethan as he holds her gaze. To make it worse, someone decides that is the best moment to play an Al Green song on the jukebox.

Reggie returns with their drinks, saving him again.

“You know I can't be bribed into favoring you, right?” Ethan keeps his face masterfully impassive, his voice expertly controlled as he says this, the first thing he could think of to deter from it all.

“I think you already favor me.”

God, she is good. That clever little quip is enough to inspire a quiet laugh from him, the sound almost foreign to his ears.

“You keep believing that,” he returns almost at once.

This, in turn, makes her match his laughter. Before he can squash it, Ethan feels a proud jolt of satisfaction at being the one to cause the sound.

Reggie returns, noticing their empty glasses. The loaded grin he flashes Ethan leaves no doubt the older man caught the exchange.

“Two specials,” Ethan says, ignoring this. “Thanks, Reggie.”

“Only for you, Ethan,” his old friend returns with a chuckle, his eyes moving over to Dr. Allende before he moves away to prepare his order.

She sends him a curious look. “You're on first-name terms with the bartender?”

“He's an old friend. I come here most nights.”

Ethan can see her considering the statement quietly. “You don't have anyone waiting at home?”

Ethan hesitates, marveling at her tone, easy and casual as though she was asking for the time. Shifting in his seat slightly, he consciously refuses to look for any meaning behind the question.

“I'll come here even when I do,” he responds after a long pause. “I need some buffer between the hospital and the world. An airlock.” Briefly, he thinks of Harper and the many arguments that became too constant in the last months of their relationship.

“Don't take the job home with you, Lilac.” He's not sure why he utters the advice, but it is gone from his lips before he can stop it. Vaguely, he realizes that is the first time he calls her by her first name.

Dr. Allende doesn't seem to notice. She considers him, biting the inside of her cheek. “I'll keep that in mind…” she says, “but you didn't answer my question.”

Ethan decides then that sharp perceptiveness will be his demise.

“No. Nobody waiting at home tonight.”

There is no reaction because his order arrives.

Grateful, Ethan offers her the dark liquid. “Here, try this.”

Dr. Allende accepts the drink wordlessly. She swirls it around in the glass before taking a careful sniff. Ethan almost rolls his eyes though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't amused. Seemingly satisfied, she downs more than half of it with spectacular skill.

“Well, how's it compare?” he prompts, unable to keep that insistent need to know what she is thinking at bay. The way she assesses the empty glass between his fingers, her jaw working as she collects her thoughts only adds to the allure.

She meets his eye with a grin. “That's amazing!”

When he finds no indication of dishonesty on her face, Ethan allows another wave of self-congratulatory smugness. “Either you're sucking up to me, or you've got surprisingly refined taste for an intern. ”

The lopsided quirk of her lips leaves him entirely too charmed for his liking. “I'm surprising in a lot of ways.”

“You'll have to prove that.”

The words are redundant for she had been doing just that from the very instant he met her.

Eyes locked on hers, he raises his glass. “To your intern year. In the hopes you don't completely blow everything you've worked your whole life for.”

Dr. Allende scrunches that freckle dusted nose of hers. “Morbid,” she comments, though not without a signature smile. “I like it.”

Their glasses meet, the clink of the crystal lost in the revelry around them.

An upbeat pop song he is too old and too prideful to know the name of booms through the speakers. It is met with approving cheers from the drunk crowd. Over the hubbub, the sound of her name reaches them.

“Lilac!”

It is from a group of interns at the other end of the bar. Ethan briefly recognizes the short, bubbly one as the intern who pulled him away from his furious rant earlier that day.

“Are we dancing or not?” she yells over the music.

Lilac turns to Ethan who only waves his hand dismissively, encouraging her to go. As she turns to join her friends, she halts, turning to consider him quietly.

For a wild moment, Ethan thinks she might ask him to dance. Drink in hand he selfishly considers what it would be to dance with her, bodies close and lost to the beat of the music. Where might her hands be on his body as they moved? Where would his be? He vanishes the thought with more determination than necessary, though the heat that flares from his neck to his face is impossible to ignore.

Perhaps realizing she is not quite so brave, Lilac shoots him one last smile and simply says, “Good night, Dr. Ramsey.”

“Good night, Dr. Allende.”

________

Author’s Note: Who could have put the Al Green song? Hmm.

Thank you for reading!

At the risk of committing to an ambitious endeavor, I really want to do as many of these as possible. I think my next one will be from the Dolores chapter.

_______

@dulceghernandez | @lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite |

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices #my writing

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fierypen37 · 3 years

Text

The Oasis: Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Woken the dragon. Vis had always said that growing up, whenever she annoyed him—which was often. Now, staring down the barrel of his silver revolver, Daenerys felt another dragon wake inside her. A wild thing of rage and betrayal, ready to burn all who stood in her way. For herself. For Jon.

Viserys’s features were a narrower, masculine echo of her own. The expression he wore was one she recognized, composed but triumphant. Daenerys didn’t dare break eye contact, but she felt Ramsay looming behind her. On the edges of her periphery, she saw the car lurch and one, two, three bodyguards emerge. Ramsay jabbed the back of her head with the gun.

“Kneel,” he said. Daenerys did so. The bumpy asphalt dug into her knees. Five armed men twice her size and all she had was a two-bit nail.

“Why?” she said, the word trembling in the air. Viserys’ face creased into a moue of displeasure.

“I didn’t want all this, Dany. But you refused to cooperate.”

“Cooperate? What in the seven hells are you talking about?”

“I thought you understood. The goal was to get it back, get everything back, no matter the cost!” Daenerys’ lips felt numb. She licked them, striving for patience, for calm. The tone she found was an old one, from when he would rage and throw things, railing at the unfairness of the world. A soothing medley.

“To get our home back. I know, Vis. There’s been government red tape around Dragonstone. You’ve been to the meetings. We’re working on it.”

Dragonstone was their home, that was the thing that unified the two of them—the last Targaryens against the world.

“But the Dragon is mine! My birthright! A throne not meant for a sniveling girl who couldn’t keep her legs closed.” Gods, he was beyond his usual self-absorbed bullshit. This was some god-level projection coupled with delusions of grandeur. Daenerys went cold. Just like Dad. Still, the fire in her belly pushed words out before she could stopper them.

“Dragon is mine, Vis. I built it. With my sweat and blood, I built it from the ground up. Breaking Chains as well.”

“Everything that is yours is also mine. I made you,” he hissed and prodded her forehead with the barrel of the gun, “If only you’d cooperated. Daario would--”

“What does Daario have to do with--” she began. Viserys slapped her so hard her cheek tingled and her ear rang.

With sudden blinding clarity, she understood. Viserys had taken loans from Stormcrow and had—she clenched her eyes shut at the fresh wave of betrayal. Two hot tears eked out. Daario had taken her as payment. Why else would Daario look so confused when she broke it off? Why else would Viserys demand she return to him, no matter the circumstances?

“You sold me.” Vis was unmoved.

“It worked out fine for you, didn’t it? You were even going to marry him. It was Daario who gave me the idea. He kept whining about the increased expense of your security detail after the death threats from the Harpies. They’re nothing but Ghiscari scum, they had no real power to make good on those threats.” Viserys’s lilac eyes took on a glazed, feverish shine.

“But then—ah ha!—think of the news coverage. The philanthropist CEO, Daenerys Targaryen, dedicated to bettering the downtrodden, slain by very villains she fought. So tragic. So cinematic. Dragon’s stock would go through the roof! Televise the funeral, rake in donations, weep a little for the cameras, and then . . . Dragon is mine and only mine. As it should be.” The tinny taste of blood leaked from the opened cut in her lip.

“You’re insane,” she whispered. Viserys’s eye twitched and he gestured. Ramsay hauled her up by her bound hands. Pain shrieked through her shoulders and she bit back a cry. Ramsay drew a long, wicked knife and set it at the base of her throat.

“Oh yes, sweetling. We’ll get to play,” he whispered in her ear. Viserys stalked closer, patting Daenerys’ cheek with deceptive gentleness.

“You made it very difficult for me. You and this Jon Snow. It was a stroke of luck Ramsay extracted the name out of that Lorathi woman before she died. Such a little slut, aren’t you? How long had you been fucking the masseuse? He trotted after his bitch like you were in heat. I staged it to echo Dad’s death. Dirty and pathetic in an alley. My origin story, right? After my sister, my only family, dies tragically, I take up the reins of the company. Then you thwarted me. I admit, the machine guns on Loom Street were a bit much, but I was just so angry. Selmy was a good man, I trusted him. I do regret that.”

“You shot him in the street like a godsdamned dog! He--” Ramsay grazed her throat suggestively with the knife and Daenerys swallowed her choler.

Viserys plunged on as if he hadn’t heard her. Perhaps he didn’t.

“And then poof--” he snapped his fingers, “you dropped off the face of the earth! It wasn’t until I found the footage. You and Snow were still together. You sunk your hooks in deep, you wicked girl. Still, it’s a big world, and Snow had connections to Stark wealth, nearly as prodigious and ancient as the Targaryen’s. Lucky for me, Ramsay is a northman too. Loathes the Starks.”

“Self-righteous cunts,” Ramsay agreed.

“He thought to look for something smaller, more remote. And there it is, plain as day on public record microfiche, a deed for a house billed to Eddard Stark—Jon Snow’s father.” Jon. Dead. Burned to ash. A fresh wave of grief buffeted her.

“Viserys, please,” she croaked, “I’ll step down. I’ll cede Dragon to you, I swear it. Just don’t do this.” He had the gall to look sad about it. He bent and kissed her forehead.

“I’m sorry, sweet sister. It has to be this way.”

Daenerys glared him down. She tucked the nail between her fingers. There was only one chance to use it. She dragged in a deep breath, her heartbeat thudding loud in her ears. Wait. Wait for the right moment. Viserys snapped his fingers, gesturing for one of the burly guards. Too much of a coward to pull the trigger himself. The shadow of a snake.

“You are no dragon,” she said, mutinous.

Bam!

Bam bam!

Daenerys blinked dumbly as one of the bodyguards crumpled, bleeding from behind the ear. Viserys was cursing and shouting, ducking behind the remaining two, who shot blindly into the thick woods surrounding the tarmac. The noise and smoke filled her senses. Shots went wild, cutting holes in the sedan like cheese. Shattered glass tinkled on the ground. Ramsay cursed. He dropped his knife to draw his gun, yanking her tight against him.

“You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you?” he hissed in her ear. I wish. Even if there was a park ranger or police officer who happened by, they would have announced themselves. Her security team was hundreds of kilometers away. And Jon was—Daenerys bit her lip.

The gunfire ceased. Her ears rang from the noise. Daenerys craned her head to look for Viserys. She saw his expensive leather shoes beneath the shattered door of the car, cowering. Where were the guards?

“Got him, Boss!” a rough voice said. Him? Her mystery defender? Her knees gave out when the burly men emerged from the brush.

“Jon?”

Fuck. He was a fucking idiot. The calvary was on its way, all he had to do was stall. He could have picked off another one of the thick-necked fuckers, scared that chickenshit Viserys into spooking. On the other hand, seeing a gun pointed at his heart-and-fucking-soul made him a little twitchy. Jon had pushed the Old Bear’s beat-up truck to its limits to reach the airstrip, praying his hunch would pay off. And now all it did was get him a front-row seat to watching Dany die.

The hunting rifle jammed, but he’d broken one of the goon’s jaw for his trouble. The utility knife was rolled in his sock, not that it did him much good at the moment. Goons One and Two had his arms in a lock behind his back, dragging him down the shallow hill to the tarmac. Dany’s sobs tore already pulverized heart into tinier shreds.

“Jon, Jon, I thought you were dead!” she said, her voice thick with tears. Jon flicked his gaze over her from her braid to her ziptied wrists to her bare feet. A bit battered, but whole, still—thank the gods. He turned his baleful gaze on the source of their misery. Viserys—the skinny little fuck—sneered at Jon. What kind of sick fuck wanted to assassinate his own sister?

“The unkillable Jon Snow.” Starks are hard to kill, Dad always said.

“The chickenshit Viserys Targaryen,” Jon shot back. Viserys made a curt shooing gesture.

“Gods. Let’s get this over with before anything else goes wrong. It’s going to cost me a fortune to clean all this up.”

“Boss, can’t I just shave off a--” The bug-eyed fuck who held Dany brandished the knife, nicking the curve of her jaw. Dany gasped, and Jon saw red watching the blood seep from the cut.

“Come try and shave off a bit of me, you little shit!” Jon shouted, lunging. He made a show of thrashing around until Goon Two backhanded him hard. He tasted blood, his ear rang. Jon sagged in their grip, snagging the knife with his fingertips.

“Shut the fuck up!” Viserys bellowed, shocking them all into silence. He jabbed a finger at the bug-eyed fucker.

“Ramsay, we’ve been over this. If you’d pulled off the job like you were supposed to, my sweet sister would be yours to play with as long as you like. As it is, I need her dead. Now. We have a schedule to keep.”

“What about the boyfriend?” Goon One said. Viserys scowled.

“He’s a complication. If he’s here in one piece and armed, he’s called the authorities.” Jon allowed a grim smile. If they made it out of here, Viserys would spend the rest of his pathetic life staring at the walls of Iron Island Penitentiary.

“We better move fast,” Ramsay said gleefully. Viserys kicked aside the body of one of his guards, fishing a pistol from a pool of blood with a moue of distaste.

“Yes, exactly. Any last words, Daenerys?” he said. Daenerys looked at Jon and in her violet eyes, he saw everything he ever wanted. Home. Gods, she was so beautiful.

“I should have told you before. I love you,” she said.

And the world exploded.

“I love you.”

Daenerys slammed the nail up and back with all of her strength. It stuck and Ramsay’s shriek rang in her ear.

“You fucking bitch!”

Daenerys ducked down, scrambling away from a staggering Ramsay. Gods. She’d been lucky. Through the sieve of his clutching fingers, she saw the head of the nail stuck in Ramsay’s left eye. Blood and snot poured down his cheeks from his blinded eyes. A flurry of movement. Jon, struggling with the remaining bodyguards. Viserys advanced on her.

“Gods, you’re such a troublesome little cunt! I’ll be glad to be rid of you!” Spittle clung to his lips, his face an inhuman rictus of rage. Daenerys crawled back on her hands and bare feet, feeling the hot bite of the shattered glass.

“Vis, please!” Daenerys screwed her eyes shut.

The loud rapport of the gun.

Bam! Bam! Two shots. A heavy weight landing hard on her. Daenerys snapped her eyes open.

Jon.

Jon: between her and Viserys.

Jon: sticking a knife in Viserys. A struggle. Jon was stronger, skilled. He wrenched the gun away from Viserys. Snaked an arm around his neck, squeezing. Vis fell facefirst. She heard a crunch.

“Dany,” Jon wheezed.

Jon: bleeding.

“Gods, Jon. Jon, you’re shot,” she whispered, pressing at the sticky red spot growing on his chest, awkward with her hands still bound. His breath was wet, rasping.

“Dany.”

Daenerys cast a wild glance around. It looked like a battlefield with destroyed car, dead bodyguards, Ramsay writhing and cursing, Viserys in an awkward heap. And Jon, her hero, her love, bleeding in her arms. Blood made his shirt sticky, another wound in his thigh. No, no, no. She had nothing, nothing but her empty hands to help him.

“It’s ok, Jon. You’re going to be ok. You’re going to be fine,” she said, frantic. She’d seen the world without him. A bleak, lonely stretch of empty road. She couldn’t go back to that. Panic kept inching up her throat, strangling her. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks.

Daenerys looped her arms around his shoulders and heaved him up to rest on her knees. Jon grunted in pain, though his breathing was better. His beautiful eyes were dark with pain.

“Dany. Dany . . .” His brows puckered in a familiar intent scowl. She bent and rained kisses on his face, wishing there was more to do to help.

“Shh, don’t talk. Just focus on—”

“Dany, I love you. I was a . . . a coward before. I love you. Marry me.” There was barely enough breath to push the words out. A weak sob escaped her. Faintly, she heard the peal of a siren.

“Hold on, Jon. Help is coming! I love you, Jon. I love you. Hold on!”

He closed his eyes and Dany clutched him close.

#jonerys fanfiction #fp37fic #The Oasis #CEO!Dany #masseur!jon #tw violence

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