#and this may seem discreet from the respect point. but they also made the respect point in the same convo. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

morizoras-cave · 4 years

Text

Sleepover (Collab with @lozzypoz321)

Sebastian Stan x f!teen!co-star!reader, MCU Cast x f!teen!co-star!reader

Genre: fluff, crack honestly

Description: You and the MCU cast have a secret sleepover on set.

Warnings: language!!

A/N by morizoras-cave: this was even more fun than the last fic, loz is so so funny and so so talented and i just feel so comfortable writing with her :) also so many… bad things… happened while we wrote this. I mean it was chaotic.. I hope you enjoy its LONG

A/N by @lozzypoz321: this was so much fun to write and I loved it!! Honestly you do not want to know what happened behind th scenes because that was a m e s s. Vic is suck and amazing writer and deserves so much love! Hope you enjoy!!

“Kid, open the door!” your head snapped to the door of your hotel room. You recognised Sebastian’s voice coming from outside. “Open up!”

“I’m coming” you yelled, padding over to the door and opening up. Sebastian and Anthony stood out there. They looked oddly child-like as they stood there with their sleeping bags and dressed in pjs. You snorted. “Well, hello to you too!”

“Don’t laugh, N/n, this is serious.” Anthony said as you walked out, you also dressed in your marvel pjs and with a sleeping bag in hand. Although, you thought, it was hard to take him seriously when he was dressed in Winnie The Pooh slippers.

“Whatever you say, man.”

The entirety of the marvel cast had planned a sleepover on set. It was very secret, apparently. You didn’t know the full story, but they had seemingly asked the directors if they could have an onset sleepover and they’d refused, so someone had to steal a key. It was a whole process, but nonetheless you found yourself on the way to set at around 10:30.

“Is anyone bringing snacks?” you asked. You, Seb and Anthony were walking down the street. You could see the set already. “Damn, I hope so” Anthony mumbled and you all continued walking.

When you got there Elizabeth was standing outside, holding the door open with what you assumed was the stolen key. She ushered you inside. “You’re late and for some reason I’m not surprised.”

Inside all the others were already waiting, the entirety of the cast. Notably, you could see that Robert, Scarlett and Mark had created a pillow fort, and were hiding out in the coziness with a bag of popcorn.

“Welcome, late-comers!” Robert greeted you dramatically, standing up in his Iron Man onesie. “You’ve missed the pizzas. You know, because you’re late!”

“It’s fine, we already ate. Which is why we’re late,” Sebastian pointed nodded to Anthony. You nodded along.

Everyone sat down on a large stretch of couches, blankets and pillows, where Elizabeth had placed a projector pointed to an empty wall of the set. You sat down with Tom (Hiddleston), Sebastian and Mark. It was a rather weird thing to see so many grown men and women (that you had previously had respect for) in their most colourful pjs, but you supposed it was on you to expect any differently from this cast of people.

Chris (Evans) had picked a movie and, unsurprisingly, he picked Iron Man 1. Robert protested for about two seconds, before he let everyone shower him in compliments because that movie was so damn good. “Okay okay, I guess we can watch it if we really have to”

Scarlett lightly laughed and pressed a button on the projector to start the movie after placing the disk inside that Chris (Evans) had brought from his collection at his house. “Where’s the snacks?” You heard Chris (Hemsworth) loudly whisper to Scarlett who sat next to him.

“Ooh do we have popcorn?” You quietly asked Sebastian who nodded and reached across Anthony who was laid next to him to retrieve the salted popcorn that Mark had gotten just for you as he was in charge of the snack committee. Chris (Evans) silently got up, after making sure nobody noticed him (except from you), and crawled across the room in his rapunzel pjs on his hands and knees to reach Robert who was now on the verge of unconsciousness with dribble falling from the side of his mouth. Trying to be discreet, he raised his hands scarily behind him, gaining everybody’s attention in the room except Robert, and suddenly pounced on him in a playful manner.

The man leapt up without warning with wide eyes the size of dinner plates and held his hands up as if he was doing karate in a mode of self defence. Everybody in the room burst out laughing at his reaction, Chris (Evans) reaching for his left pec as he leant back on his knees in a full on belly laugh. “You looked like you were a 6 year old girl” Scarlett laughed out and shook her head towards the man, who was now grumbling as he sat back down on his spot with an abundance of blankets by his side.

“All the snacks are gone” Anthony exclaimed to the cast, making Tom (Hiddleston) look up from the screen and ponder “well we could do something that doesn’t require food” he suggested, making everyone look at him to continue.

“I mean, we could play hide and seek?”

“Oh!” You exclaimed excitedly, one of your first inputs of the night “I’d love to play hide and seek! My dad used to do it with me all the time!”

Your happy demeanour made them all smile as you began explaining how he would hide next to you while your brother tried to find both of you. “Well it’s settled then, we’re playing hide and seek!” Chris (Hemsworth) announced in his Australian accent, before you could be told twice, you jumped up and grabbed Sebastian's hand before racing out of the room, not even giving anybody a second glance.

“Woah, where are we going?” Sebastian chuckled, following your rapid footsteps. “Don’t worry about this, Seb, I’ve the perfect hiding spot!” It was a little bit embarrassing to admit, but every time you entered a new place, you thought about the best hiding spots (in case of an unwarranted game of hide and seek).

You pulled Sebastian into the costume room and shuffled awkwardly into the back. There, you found your masterful hiding place. It was a vent, but not a small one. It was big. Sebastian looked at you in surprise. “Not bad, Y/n.”

You popped the cover right off, catching Sebastian off guard. “I unscrewed it back in February,” you explained and jumped inside. Sebastian seemed to want to question you further, but instead just shrugged to himself and followed you inside, closing the vent cover behind him.

“This really is the perfect place,” he mumbled, voice echoing slightly in the vents. It was pretty cold, but stable. “And hey, didn’t you say that your dad used to hide with you?” He asked while looking around the airy place. “Oh, um, yeah” you said sheepishly, just now remembering the moment in the other room.

“Um- I-I mean, not that you’re my- Like, my dad-” you stammered, blushing at the awkward moment, “Like- My dad is my dad- You’re just- I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to make this awkward, I just-”

“Shut up!” Sebastian hissed suddenly. You looked at him, taken aback. He was staring out the vent covers, and then looked back at you with a grin. He pointed to it silently. Your brows furrowed, and you looked out. You saw Chris in the room, hand holding a flashlight while aiming it around the room, trying to find a sign of anybody. You held your breath.

“I know you’re in here! I can smell your fear!” he yelled trying to act scary. Meanwhile, he just looked kind of goofy in his Disney princess pjs. You saw Sebastian beside you, trying not to laugh. His face was contorted into a forced frown, but a smile still crept up the corners of his mouth. Seeing his face, you started feeling the urge to laugh too.

You both laughed silently, trying so hard to not give away your position to Chris. You were failing miserably.

“I will find you!” Chris said again, and this time Sebastian let out a laugh, immediately clamping a hand over his mouth. His eyes widened and so did yours. Chris stopped moving, snapping his head around furiously. “Who was that? Where are you?”

You saw the moment Sebastian decided to give up on hiding, as he just suddenly started laughing like a maniac. You did too, both of you clutching your stomachs. Chris scoffed and tore the vent cover off, revealing the two of you laughing uncontrollably.

“Come on, guys, it wasn’t that funny!” Chris sighed, but he was wrong, it was definitely that funny. You guys went back to the movie room. Robert, Tom, Scarlett and Anthony had all already been found.

“Welcome to the losers!” Tom grumbled. You both sat down with him and chatted while waiting for the others to turn up. The next was Mark, who had been hiding under a table, and then Elizabeth who wasn’t even trying, but was somehow second last anyway.

Then came the waiting game. Hemsworth, the biggest of you all, the goofiest, and seemingly the easiest to spot, was still at large. Chris was hopelessly searching, but came back every ten minutes with a more and more depressed look on his attractive face.

“I can’t find him!” he admitted finally. There was a collective sigh, and then everyone started searching together, simultaneously calling out “Chris! The aussie one!” Eventually you did find him, crammed behind a couch uncomfortably.

When you finally did, Anthony (as well as several others) seemed to have only grown hungrier, and the need for snacks was larger than ever. “I swear to god if we don’t find food right now I may just quit the job” Anthony swore and huffed as he crossed both his arms over his chest. “That seems a bit dramatic but okay” Scarlett laughed as the ten of you rounded a corner in the building to only come face to face with an abundance of vending machines that everyone used at break and you all had seemingly forgotten about. “Woah” Tom said, impressed at the arrangement.

“Food galore,” Elizabeth expressed and was the first one to walk towards, closer to the arrangement, leaving the rest of you by the wall with your jaws dropped. “If I’m sick, don’t blame it on me” you quietly expressed, making Mark laugh from his spot next to you.

Trying not to seem too excited, Anthony ran forward, eyes following each and every item of edible food and drink. “I think you better hurry up” Tom commented from his spot the furthest from you, noticing the way Anthony and Chris were now eyeing your favourite type of chips.

“Umm yeah, that sounds like a good idea”

You, Robert and Sebastian immediately went over to the vending machine that was holding doritos, lays, and other classic chips. “Um, about earlier,” you mumbled to the Romanian man as Robert began to shake the machine with force, hoping something would fall down “I didn’t mean it like that” your cheeks flooded with embarrassment as the memory came flashing back to you.

But before you could start apologising even more, he stopped you and sent a reassuring smile your way “don’t worry about it Y/N, I know what you meant.” He gave your shoulder a small squeeze, before going back to watching Robert yelling at the Doritos to “fall out, you big pussy!”

Before Chris (Evans) and Tom could come over to your side of the room to be responsible adults and make a rational decision, Chris (Hemsworth) had already come bounding over to you and kicked the glass where the chips were held behind. He put full force behind the kick, so it shattered and fell loudly with a crash to the ground.

“Erm. Good idea?”

For no reason at all the situation was just funny to you, so while everyone in the room was stood still shocked (apart from Hemsworth who rocked back and forth on his feet sheepishly) you began to laugh. “What’s funny? You could literally cut your feet if you move!” Tom exclaimed with wide eyes, “you can’t get hurt we need to return you to your mom the same as we got you!”

Without warning Chris (Evans) ran over to you, making sure to carefully avoid the glass panes. “I’m not getting sued for this shit” he muttered as he picked you up and brought you over to a corner, which was a safe distance away from the wreckage.

“Alright, this has gotten out of hand,” Mark ran a hand through his hair, as he surveyed the broken glass on the floor in distress. Elizabeth nodded. You made eye contact with Scarlett and Anthony, who very clearly didn’t share the same concern that Mark and Elizabeth did. You all giggled quietly.

“But uh, let’s take advantage of the situation, eh?” Chris (Hemsworth) pulled a couple bags of doritos out of the broken vending machine, “Free doritos?” He shook the bags playfully. There was a moment where people seemed to question whether they prioritized their dignity of the free doritos, and it’s fair to say that a large number of them chose the doritos.

You all went back to the movie room, collapsing on your mattresses and blankets, with your snacks. But before any of you could begin to focus on the movie once again, a sudden gasp broke out from across the room. “He has the last bag of Doritos!”

“No I don’t” Hemsworth was quick to deny Elizabeth’s claim but everyone could see the full bag that he had attempted to stuff under his blanket. All of a sudden, Scarlett leapt out of her sleeping bag, trying to reach the chips before he did, but unfortunately all the gym workouts he had been going to (or yoga lessons you weren’t really sure) were paying off, as he held the woman at bay so he could grab the snack and hold it far out of her reach.

“Give it” she grunted and tried to reach past his grip and take the chips for herself, but before she had a chance, Chris (Evans) jumped up from his spot over by Tom and snatched the bag from him, holding a victorious grin on his face. Chris (Hemsworth) pouted angrily at his costar, not bothering to fight back as he knew it would be a losing battle (he was captain America for Christ’s sake). But you had a trick up your sleeve, you wanted those chips and you were going to get them whether it was the last thing you did.

Picking up the pillow beside you, you held it up as a shield as ran forward as fast as you could, taking in the confused expression Chris held in his face before you smashed into his stomach, knocking the air out of your lungs but unfortunately, not his.

He chuckled deeply as you smashed back into the wooden floors groaning as the pain surged through you. “I don’t think that worked as well as you thought it would” Mark commented from his comfortable spot on his mattress.

“No, it really didn’t”

The movie ended, and slowly but surely people started going to bed. There were yawns and stretches around you all bundled together on the floor. You too found yourself growing tired, stuffing yourself into your sleeping bag and getting comfortable.

“Goodnight!” you murmured and those who were awake mumbled it back drowsily. You distinctly heard Sebastian mutter back to you from his sleeping bag “shut up, I’m tired”. You chuckled for the last time that night, as soon sleep overcame you.

Then, at the the buttcrack of dawn, a scream came from the nearest entrance: “WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK-”

And that was the inspiring story of how body searches became a daily routine on set, so the Russos could make sure no one had gotten their grubby hands on an extra key.

___________________________

Tag List:

@hera-the-writer @marvel-madness @40srogcrs @whatthefuckimbisexual @snarky–starky @garbage-potato @lozzypoz321 @allthecreativeonesaretaken @missamericana713 @rororo06 @shady80smusicsingercolor @ireadfanficforfun @deephideoutmilkshake @rae-is-typing @sophs-library @herecomesthewriterwitch @alicedanganh @eviemarvel @idk123906 @tamayakii

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x teen!reader #sebastian stan x daughter!reader #chris evans x reader #anthony mackie x reader #mark ruffalo x reader #chris hemsworth x reader #scarlett johansson x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #Tom Hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x teen!reader #robert downey jr. x reader #marvel cast x reader #mcu cast x reader #avengers cast x reader #avengers cast x teen!reader

1K notes · View notes

fallout-drabbles-n-stuff · 3 years

Text

“Learning Curve” Danse x F! SoSu (nsft)

(Horny bitches. This may just end up being a series based off some old Headcanons I posted) @falsenostalgia-sundries

If there was one thing you knew about Danse, it was that he was a damn good soldier. He is nothing short of valiant, obedient, adaptable, and quick. Oh yes, he was damn good for many reasons- but there was one that also made him so good at being "your's". He was a quick learner. At least..that much was obvious right about now.

It was perhaps only an hour after your patrols on deck had came to an end, promptly meeting up with your Paladin in a way that was surely not as discreet as it probably should've been. Oh well, you were in love, people do dumb things when they are. Regardless, the two of you shared a small meal from the mess hall and a few drinks, indulged each other in light conversation..that became not quite as "light" momentarily.

There came a point in this conversation of your's that words seemed to no longer demonstrate what you wanted to express- a mutual desire brewed from absence felt between the two of you so intensely materializing that the air itself became infused. It was around the time of this realization that you decided to lock Danse's door, trotting back to the Paladin with a happy grin and attacking him before he could even process what was happening.

Not that he would complain at all though. He was just pleased that you made the first move. Either way, regarding your love's devotion to being so perfectly obedient...

A couple kisses and a pile of clothes at the foot of the bed later, you found yourself resting against your elbows atop Danse's mattress. Your dearest Paladin kneeled down before you between your legs with furrowed eyebrows and a type of determination in his eyes that at any other given time would've surely made you giggle.

With his two large hands, Danse tentatively scooted you closer to the edge of the bed- placing your sex mere inches away from his face in the process. "I..I must admit I've never done anything like this.." He sighed, deep amber eyes ever so slightly averting from your line of sight so he wouldn't have to face what shame he felt at the prospect of not being able to satisfy you. The poor man was even blushing, the flesh of his face and chest flushed in a subtle pinkish hue that only added to how genuinely astonishing it was to see him like this. It wasn't very often one could get passed that hard exterior of his, but then again..you've always had a knack for breaking past it.

Figuring words would have to be too carefully constructed as not to discourage him, you gently carded your fingers through his thick hair, settling one hand at the back of his head to rest- not yet pushing him just in case. Nonetheless, Danse understood the meaning behind these actions- responding with a small nod of his head seconds before he allowed mere instinct to take over.

Obviously given with much thought, Danse commenced by turning his head to the side, placing small kisses from your inner thigh up. Having his mouth so very close yet too far in all the same respect sent a shiver down your spine, the flame like arousal you felt already by just having him between your legs metaphorically having gasoline thrown on it with each passing breath you felt him exhale. Had he meant to tease you so? You wouldn't know.

After giving your other thigh the same treatment, those fierce dark eyes glinted back up to you whilst he pressed more of his kisses into your flesh- only this time he hadn't stopped. This time he finished the round off by placing one single peck right above where you silently prayed he would hurry up and ravage. Only seconds later, Danse allowed his hands to travel to your thighs- gently pressing his fingertips into them barely deep enough to dimple the skin before he finally gave into what you wanted most and flattens his tongue along the slit of your weeping cunt.

Just like that, it was as though fireworks had went off- a shockwave of relief trembling down from the pit of your stomach down to your toes. One lick shouldn't have felt so good, but the anti soutien surely made it so.

Gingerly clutching his dark hair, you let out a sharp gasp. "Yes.." Was all you could think to say, once more afraid that the wrong word or sound could send him off. Thankfully, that small praise worked for him- now brave enough to continue on but this time actually parting your folds and dipping inside. Whatever apprehensions Danse obviously had..you were beginning to think they for naught- he was by no means a god at this..but he listened.

Each little moan or gasp you let out, he made sure to revisit that spot in the same way. If you tugged on his hair, he made certain to follow exactly where you leading. Just like right about now, although the small kitten licks were nice- you craved more. Your very core tightening around nothing but emptiness and painfully aching as a result. Seeing it as a good solution, you pushed his head forward, shoving his face closer into your cunt- receiving a muffled grunt in response from the man below you, his eyes rolling back into his head before slipping closed completely.

He couldn't seriously be getting off to this so much, could he?

"Shit, keep that up..damn..I'm going to cum in no time.." you breathed heavily, trying so hard to keep steady so you wouldn't start screaming your head off. The last thing you wanted to do was alert Kells or Maxson. Seeing as their quarters were less than thirty feet away, that fear was a great threat.

It soon wouldn't matter anyways- for after you guided your devout lover's head just the slightest bit further up, he got the wonderful idea to wrap his lips around your clit and give it careful lick. A sudden warmness enveloped you consequently making you cry out, your free hand quick to clasp over your own mouth so the sound wouldn't repeat itself.

As scared as he may be of being caught his own commanding officer's in this position, Danse received great pleasure from pulling such a response- unbeknownst to you, smiling as he felt you jerk your hips the slightest bit. Now he was the one making you fall apart and he loved every second of it.

Just as the stimulation to your clit became too much, he would somehow knowingly switch back to tonguing you open- his tongue undoubtedly sore by the time you felt your thighs begin to tremble. From then on out, everything was amplified.

The ringing in your ears, the excruciating pleasure, his groans, and most notably- the loud smacking sounds produced by him working you over..it was too much. Much to your dismay, you hadn't even been able to give Danse a proper warning before your orgasm swept over you- fingers now pulling his hair as his tongue gently lapped against your folds to soothe the intense sensitivity.

Perhaps the best part was seeing the way he looked once he departed from between your thighs. His pupils blown wide and his face shiny from your slick...it's a wonder you didn't automatically insist he take your spot so you could repay the favor.

#fallout 4 #fallout #paladin danse #paladin danse x reader #Danse #fallout Danse #fo4 companions #fallout companions #danse #nsft

117 notes · View notes

gossip-girl-of-middleearth · 4 years

Text

Not a Hero (Fellowship x Soldier! Reader)

Synopsis: You, a soldier of Gondor, place duty above all else. When Boromir starts showing signs of plotting against Frodo and the Ring, you take matters into your own human hands, which get a little dirty, and bloody, in the process.

AN: Really wanted to try writing something a little more dark and gritty, and voila! This is the result. I love Boromir so, so much, so this was difficult to write (styled as gender neutral, for all readers)

Warnings: depictions of violence

Pairings: none

You were a soldier of Gondor, which meant both duty and the protection of Middle-earth came first, above all else.

Like most other soldiers, you stood strong, in both mind and heart. However, also just like most other soldiers, you had an intense inclination to get your hands dirty, in the name of service.

Being the most promising in his ranks, Boromir had taken you along to Rivendell. This was where it all started to go downhill.

None could miss the malicious glint in Boromir’s eye, when he watched the Ring. More startling so, none could deny the growing glimmer of murder, when he laid his gaze upon Frodo.

It was nothing personal, and yet entirely so at the same time. Boromir was taken with the Ring, and coveted it deeply. You, for the most part, felt no attraction to the Ring. You perhaps would have, under different circumstances, but as mentioned before, your mind was set, and clouded, by one thing, and one thing only – protecting Middle-earth.

This meant that Frodo, and the Ring, were both under your sword and service. Like a typical soldier, you would strike without warning. You wouldn’t blink once, or think twice, if it fell under the obligation of your sworn duty.

The Fellowship, for the most part, respected this. You held yourself in a high esteem, and diligently shined the insignia emblem on your cloak every night.

Though their races differed from yours, and though yours was arguably weaker in mind, spirit and body, they understood your sense of responsibility. However, what they did not anticipate, was just how deeply that sense ran. In all honesty, it ran deeper than an icy river at night, and was alike, in many ways, to the chilling waters.

Deep, cold and dark – without so much as a shred of mercy towards those who fell in the rapids.

It most definitely first began with the glances Boromir gave Frodo, and then the time he picked the Ring up from in the snow. There were other instances, at camp, where he would sharpen his sword, and glare Frodo down.

The young Hobbit was understandably unnerved. In fact, the entire Fellowship began to walk on eggshells. Whispers began to resonate in the night, about how merciless the race of men truly was. None of them, even Aragorn, were true-blooded human beings. Their souls didn’t work the same way.

This, of course, only became more and more apparent, the more only Boromir fell into the web of Sauron’s luring promises.

With a hard-set jaw, furrowed brows and analytical eyes, you walked behind your captain. You kept your sights trained on him, as he discreetly stole glances at Frodo up ahead.

You all walked through the woods, and did so in silence. This, naturally, made the dark words playing on Boromir’s tongue all the more evident.

He spoke of curses towards Frodo, and darker threats you wished to not repeat. Your hand stayed on the hilt of your sword, at all times.

Boromir may have been your captain, but he did not stand in the way of Middle-earth’s fate. You simply wouldn’t allow it.

Tensions were at an all-time high that night, at camp. Boromir sat seething against a tree, whilst Frodo uncomfortably tugged on the Ring.

Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli had all shared worried glances, before they ultimately fell asleep that night. Two nights of walking without rest was enough to fatigue even the most tireless of the Fellowship’s elite.

You were given the night watch, and happily so too. You could observe Boromir throughout every hour of the dark, as he himself watched over Frodo.

It was a triangle of stares. Frodo nervously studied the ground, before he too drifted off. Boromir maliciously revered him, whilst you burned holes into the captain’s head.

It was only when Frodo began rustling in his sleep, when you leant back against your own trunk, and feigned sleep.

Frodo apparently heard the call of nature, and quietly rose from his sleeping bag, as to enter the woods alone.

Boromir, also having been resting, peeked one eye open. He coldly watched the Hobbit retreat into the trees, before he too rose.

You opened an eye of your own, and idly observed Boromir. He stood, silent as a creeping fox, and retrieved a pickaxe from a sleeping Sam’s rucksack. His weapon of choice that night, so it appeared. More discreet than a sword, that’s for sure.

Once assured that Boromir had walked away far enough, as to the point where your footsteps would not be heard, you swiftly rose.

On silent toes, you walked through the dark. You were younger, faster and agiler than your older captain, and were confident you could keep Frodo safe from harm.

Soon, you found Boromir in the woods. He stood holding the pickaxe, and hid behind a tree. Narrowing your eyes, you emerged into the area.

With a start, Boromir gasped. He then feigned humour, and placed a hand over his chest, as to still his beating heart.

“Y/n, you startled me,” he quietly said.

You didn’t respond for a moment. Instead, you merely only studied both him, and the pickaxe.

“A bit late for an evening stroll, is it not?” you flatly asked.

Kicking himself off from the tree, and lowering his pickaxe, Boromir glanced over his shoulder briefly. Once assured the Hobbit was not yet returning, Boromir turned his head back around, and focused on you.

“Indeed,” he chuckled. “I was merely only ensuring our young Ring-bearer made it back safely.”

Gesturing towards the pickaxe, with a nod of your chin, you snapped your cold eyes upwards to his, and questioned him.

“You need a pickaxe for that?” you knowingly asked.

At once, the friendly demeanour of Boromir dropped. You would have been scared, of his grinding teeth, clenched jar and murderous eyes, had you not been a soldier. This is what you were trained to handle, and handle you would.

“Must I really wear a façade around you, soldier?” Boromir asked through gritted teeth. He stepped forwards, and met you chest to chest.

Barely stumbling back once, you squared your shoulders, and coolly met his glowering eyes.

“What façade do you wear, captain?” you bit back, ever using an even tone.

This caused something to snap inside of Boromir, like the breaking of a red thread previously hanging on. He spoke in low, hasty whispers, and growled down at you.

“We are the only humans in this Fellowship, Y/n,” he seethed. “More to the point, we are the only two from Gondor! You ought to understand why I must do this – I do this for our people, and our prosperity! We need the Ring, Y/n. Help me.”

Your face remained cool, as you stared up at him, with detached eyes.

“No, Boromir,” you flatly denied. “The Ring must stay with Frodo, and us with the Fellowship. Our duty is to our continent, not just our kingdom. We are sworn to our cause, and we mustn’t forsake that.”

“Look at you,” Boromir seethed again in disgust. He ran his eyes up and down your form, and scrunched his nose in disdain. “You are nothing but a loyal dog, blindly following orders – orders that do not even come from your own captain, but Elven filth instead! I will do this without you-“

As he had gone to turn away, and track down Frodo, you kicked the backside of his knees.

Fumbling for just a moment, Boromir lost his balance. At the same time, you swiped the pickaxe from his hands, and held it threateningly.

Turning around, with an even more enraged glint than before, Boromir panted heavily. He revered you in betrayal, and voiced so aloud.

“You are pathetic!” he growled. “You will damn us all! You will damn Gondor!”

“I’m doing this for Gondor,” you replied, for once allowing a snarl of your own to crawl through.

It wasn’t long after, that a brawl of sorts took place. The fight consisted of thrown fists, deep kicks to the abdomen and swinging arms. It then wasn’t long after, that the pickaxe became heavily involved.

Time passed both quickly and slowly, as you stood, hunched over, above Boromir. One swing after another, and blood spurted everywhere. It got onto your face, into your hair and up your nose. Worst of all, it entered your mouth. You could taste the rust of your sin, but simultaneously, the success of keeping Middle-earth safe, for one more day.

However, slipping your attention, Frodo, having returned from his short journey, watched from the shadows.

He winced and trembled, with every blow you delivered to the man’s pulped face. His eyes were wide in horror, as he heard the sickening crunches of metal meeting bone.

Soon, your duty was done. You stood above Boromir, and panted heavily. Even though it was only seconds later, you barely recalled the event. In fact, it simply seemed like a cold white blur, rather than a reality of the past.

You soaked in the sounds of the forest for a few moments – grounding yourself again. Wind blowed through the trees, owls hooted and bugs zipped past.

You stared down at Boromir. He was barely recognisable. A glimmer of guilt flashed through your chest, but was chased away by your soldier’s conscious.

That night, you had taken to a little creek nearby, as to rinse yourself of the blood. You left the pickaxe on Boromir’s body as you did so – perhaps a little frazzled from the event, which was still fresh in your numb mind.

So, on your way back to camp, you quickly bent down, and retrieved it. Frodo observed you, at the late hour it was, as you discreetly slipped the pickaxe into your bag, before leaning against your tree-trunk again.

The next morning, all had felt the sombre presence of death in the air. It hung around like a bad omen, and tainted the wind with malevolent intent.

Frodo barely said a word to you, for he didn’t know how to. He knew he had to say something, but by the heart of him, he still couldn’t believe it to be true. Part of him figured it to be a bad dream. However, the shrill shouting of Gimli soon told him otherwise.

All gathered around Boromir’s fallen body, and grimaced in terror. Who could have done this, they wondered?

“Orcs,” Legolas whispered, keeping his haunted eyes on Boromir’s fallen body. “We must be getting hunted by them at night…”

“From now on, we double the night-watch,” Aragorn ordered. He revered Boromir in guilt. If only he himself had stayed awake, then perhaps this travesty wouldn’t have occurred.

Whilst Merry, Sam and Pippin all teared up in distress, you watched on with cold eyes – completely detached. Aragorn noticed this, but said nothing.

That day, a funeral pyre was lit. Soft words of apology were said, before Boromir’s body was burned.

Frodo hated how the fire of the funeral reflected in your eyes. Every irk of duty was illuminated within your gaze, as you forced yourself to watch on. It was your responsibility, you told yourself, your duty of service.

Travelling that day was done so in silence, and done so faster than ever before. All except you, now thought Orcs to be hot on their tails. Well, all except you, and Frodo.

As sundown approached, and gave way to darkness once more, clouds overtook the sky. A heavy rain began to fall, and drench the woodland camp.

Everyone put their hoods up, and shielded themselves from the wetness of night. You had decided to announce the need of more firewood, and wandered off into the woods – alone.

Frodo watched you with terrified eyes, as he most certainly remembered what had happened the previous night, when you did the same thing.

Aragorn sat on a log nearby, trying feebly to stoke the dying fire. He saw the Hobbit’s distress, and uneven panting. Whether or not Frodo shivered from fear or cold, was unknown.

“Frodo,” Aragorn gently extracted, earning not only the Hobbit’s attention, but the entire camp’s. “Are you…alright, Frodo?”

Swallowing his nerves, and looking between both the ranger and forest, Frodo battled with his inner conflicts. However, the need to tell someone of last night’s horrors overwhelmed him, and with a swift rise of his feet, he fumbled towards your sack.

What he revealed to everyone at the camp, stunned them entirely. The mood dropped, into one of horror, and their uneven breathing was drowned out by the rain.

Not long after, and you returned, with an armful of logs. As you entered the camp, you spoke. However, you soon stopped, following the Fellowship’s hostile reaction.

“I apologise for the wait, it proved difficult to find dry wood,” you explained, glancing at the group.

Everyone stood around Aragorn, and snapped their attentions back at you, the second you reappeared, and spoke.

Unsettled by their presence, you knitted your brows. Making a move to place the firewood down, you questioned both them, and their silence.

“What’s going on?” you curiously asked, walking over to the fire, as to dump the logs.

Dusting your hands off, you squinted in the rain, as you looked back at Aragorn.

After sharing a dubious glance with both Legolas and Gimli, Aragorn brought the pickaxe forwards. You stared at it in quick shock, but placed your own tough façade on.

“Where did you get that?” you slowly asked.

The pickaxe was covered in blood – Boromir’s blood, to be exact. It’d take a fool to not trust Frodo’s frightened words, and the clear evidence.

As they stood in a huddled group at one end of the camp, and you alone in another, a tense exchange of words took place. The rain pelted on, and drenched everybody, like miserably drowned rats.

“Did you borrow this?” Aragorn tensely asked, shaking the pickaxe in gesture. However, when you didn’t respond, he questioned you again, although, his tone shone in more desperation – coveting answers. “Why did you not tell us?”

You analysed the weapon briefly, and the blood that coated it. Looking away, and studying the ground momentarily, you replied. Your jaw was set again, and your brows hardened.

“I was going to,” you sincerely replied.

Finding that you said no more, and planned not to, Aragorn shook his head – completely at a loss.

“Why would you not tell us what happened?” he pressed again.

Legolas, Gimli and the Hobbits all nervously looked between one another, as the tension in the air rose – akin to frogs in boiling water.

“I couldn’t,” was all you could offer, with another aversion of your briefly lifted eyes.

“You killed him…you killed Boromir,” Gimli stated, in a manner of shock. Sure, he didn’t appreciate Boromir, not in the slightest, but this…this was something else. This was murder.

Everyone knew it too. This was something their divergent souls couldn’t comprehend, nor fathom. The Elvish heart of Legolas sunk with dread, whilst Gimli’s Dwarven one brimmed with horror. The Hobbits’ filled with desolation, and the Dúnedain blood of Aragorn ran cold.

You had murdered Boromir in a way only a human could – bloody, brutal and cold. It was simply unnatural to the rest, and their lack of comprehension quickly frustrated you.

“He was going to kill Frodo,” you defended yourself, narrowing your gaze down at Gimli. “Was I supposed to just let him?”

“I don’t think you were supposed to do this,” Merry retorted, shaking his head in shock, whilst his eyes remained wide in disbelief. “None of us are…”

You started incredulously for a moment. Shifting your weight, you further narrowed your gaze, and bit back with an increasing tone.

“Do you think I had a choice?” you defensively asked.

“There’s always a choice,” Legolas rebutted, creasing his own brows.

That was the final straw for you. These beings, so high and mighty above your own human blood, were belittling you, for something only you could muster the strength to do.

“Well, I can’t do what you can, archer!” you snapped, raising your voice. “Nor can I do what Gimli does, or Aragorn, or even the Hobbits! I know you wouldn’t have done it – you probably would have just figured something out, correct?”

Though the question was aimed at all of them, Aragorn answered. Most by now had flinched in retreat, for the human before them ticked like a timebomb.

“I’d try to figure something out…” Aragorn mulled, with a voice ever-so tentative.

“Right! Because you’re Aragorn, the Dúnedain!” you barked again, now most definitely able to be heard over the rain, with a series of defensive hand gestures pointed at the soaked ground. “But not all of us can be Dúnedain, or Elves, or Hobbits, or Dwarves! Some of us have to make mistakes! Some of us have to get our hands a little bloody sometimes! Some of us are HUMAN!”

Your words intertwined with the harsh rain, as cold beads ran down your face, and past your enraged eyes. You stood as defensive as a cornered snake, which, in that moment, the six non-humans all considered your race to be.

“So, that means you had to kill him?” Gimli asked again in response, hardening his own tone. However, horror still ran deep along his inflection.

Flaring your nostrils in anger, your eyes burned brighter. They weren’t appreciative, and simply didn’t understand what it meant to be a human soldier. You weren’t raised in a cosy Hobbit-hole, nor an Elven palace or Dwarven mountain. You were raised in the army, and consequently, a killer.

“Yes, I had to kill him,” you tightly said at last.

With one last clench of your jaw, you leaned forwards, and lowly uttered a final response out.

“You’re welcome.”

With that, you moved back to the campfire, and began placing log after log onto the flames. And, just like only a human birthed from primeval men could do, you, and you alone, restored the fire.

Left standing in shock, the six beings all stared between one another. This was one cultural difference that didn’t quite sit well with them. However, the killing had been among the race of men – human to human. Who were they to inflict their differentiating ideologies onto you?

Pure humans were something entirely different, indeed, and none knew if they liked it that much.

197 notes · View notes

kevindayscrown · 4 years

Text

The one where Kevin Day falls in love with an ice hockey player.

Part 14 Free

Anything included in this head canon takes place the semester after the Foxes won the championship against the Ravens.

Disclaimer: I know next to nothing about varsity teams in the United States so excuse any false information. Head over to the directory to find the previous parts and the fanfic version here.

The semester started off on a good note. Kevin and Eric returned to campus together as planned with classes starting the day after that. At that point, everyone had heard about their ‘break up’ before the winter holidays so they were equally surprised to see the two of them come back to campus together.

No one had much to say except their respective teams; the Exy players looked almost smug, as if the couple’s make up was their doing. On the other hand, the Ice Hockey players were a bit more hesitant to accept this new reality.

Kevin knew that there were no happy endings. Even if the two had gotten together, the world around them was still the same. Kevin himself still had many battles to fight on his own.

“Are you for real, dude?” One of Eric’s teammates asked the captain. They didn’t even bother to be discreet; they’d been waiting for Eric in the parking lot, all five players of their starting lineup.

“Caleb, this isn’t the time,” Eric said sternly. Kevin’s own expression was almost dismissive, but he still strained an ear as he finally got out of the car.

Kevin cared little for Eric’s teammates but that part of him that knew Eric cared for them still sought for their approval. Then again, when was Kevin not chasing for someone’s approval?

“Yes, this is the time. You aren’t going to waste your last years in college fake dating this asshole,” Caleb Richards, center player said, glaring at Kevin with eyes narrowed.

Kevin couldn’t really blame them, but he did believe the way they went about this was incredibly idiotic and not worth his time. Which was why he decided to hook an arm around Eric’s waist and pull him closer, all while staring at the ice hockey players with an unimpressed and unfazed expression.

“Not that it’s really any of your business-,” Kevin started, with a tone that was almost polite, as if he were talking to a host of a talk show, “- but Eric and I are dating. Now, if you excuse us, it was a long drive from Atlanta, and I believe we both need rest.”

They were all left staring as Kevin helped Eric pull his suitcase out of the trunk of the car. They both thought they were done talking about this for now but Nate Wilson, right defenseman spoke up,

“Finally.”

This had both Kevin and Eric staring at him. The blond that was staring back at them only grinned slightly and then walked over and punched Eric in the shoulder, hard enough that it made the taller goalie wince.

“We were really tired of seeing you moping around all the fucking time.”

Eric looked as if he was about to protest but one raised eyebrow from Bryce had him shutting up. Kevin was amused, the tension leaving his body. This was perhaps the most civilized conversation he’d ever had with the players of the Ice Hockey team. Not that they’d ever have reason to try and speak to each other. Kevin supposed that his relationship with Eric was perhaps the first and only bridge between the two teams.

“We really went all mother hen on you, huh?” Nick Matheson, left winger, asked with a toothy grin.

“Yes, a little bit,” Eric said, still rubbing his arm on the spot where Nate had punched him. However, there was a rather fond smile on his face and Kevin could almost tell he was fighting hard to keep a balance between his figure as a Captain and his role as a friend and part of this group.

“Well, pizza is on the way. Might as well stick around,” Bryce suggested and glanced at Kevin, giving him a small nod that said the invitation was open to him as well.

Kevin thought about it for a moment as he turned and glanced at Eric. The goalie gave him an encouraging smile which Kevin did not return, but the slight light to his eyes was enough.

“One condition,” he said as he turned his gaze to the Fox Tower behind them for a moment.

Kevin knew there was a high probability that he would regret this later. For one, it was hard to fit both teams in one dorm room, even if not every ice hockey player in the line up joined them. Somehow, they made it work.

Andrew looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else but here, but the fact he’d agree to come at all was a wonder only Neil could have achieved. The two of them settled down on the couch in Eric’s dorm room, keeping to themselves.

However, the rest appeared to have an easier time adjusting. Dan and Matt were already dedicated in a conversation with Nate and Nicky had no problems talking Caleb’s ears off, who seemed to be less than amused by the whole situation.

Eric walked over to Kevin with that stupid puppy smile. Kevin would never dare admit that he was, in fact, very attracted to that smile.

“Seems to me like all this time spent fighting each other was for nothing,” he said with a hum as he slipped an arm around Kevin’s waist. Kevin stood still and watched the interactions between the two teams.

“Perhaps. It doesn’t matter.” It didn’t. The rivalry between Exy and Ice Hockey players was something that went beyond the Palmetto teams. It was common, expected and sometimes encouraged for the spectacle of it. But the Foxes were known for being… unconventional. If anyone were to break these ‘universal rules’, it was them.

“I’m proud of you,” Eric suddenly said. Kevin froze for a moment and then glanced at the goalie, wanting to tell him that he didn’t need patronizing. The expression on the other’s face, however, was genuine.

Kevin’s expression must have been a questioning one because Eric was quick to start explaining after that.

“I think you don’t really recognize how much you’ve achieved. I’m not talking about Exy, I’m talking about-,” he made a general gesture with his hand, as if having a hard time finding the right words. “- this. I may not know the whole story, but I know it was hard for you to come back from your lowest point. The fact that you are clearly working on it is more than enough.”

Kevin remained silent for a moment, not sure if he’d ever heard such words before in his life. The only one who’d gotten close to them was Wymack, but the coach was not exactly known for being good at handling emotional situation, even if he had his own way with words.

He hadn’t known how much he’d needed to hear them until they finally came from someone. Kevin wasn’t okay. He was far from it. But that was fine because Kevin was trying. Once, he’d accepted that he would always be property.

Now, Kevin was free and had to deal with the aftermath. Which was fine. He could do it. He’d achieved and faced worse things in his life. He just needed time and space. Having people like Eric around him could only help him.

“Thank you,” Kevin finally said. He’d always known to put up a front but at that moment, it felt almost ridiculous to try and hide from Eric. Or from anyone, for that matter. If anything, his vulnerability only made him stronger.

Eric smiled at that and leaned in, kissing him softly on the lips.

Happy endings may not exist but at least Kevin had this new reality that he knew how he was going to officially introduce.

“Get up,” he told everyone as he closed the pizza boxes and grabbed the slice Nicky was nibbling on from his mouth.

Nicky groaned and tried to reach it again. “What the hell for?” He demanded. Kevin grinned slightly as he dumped the slice into one of the boxes.

“I think it’s time we return the favor to the Ice Hockey team and bring them over to our court.”

The Exy players did not need any more encouragement, except perhaps the twins. Eric managed to get his teammates to also go along with this and then turned to Kevin.

“Who are you and what have you done to Kevin?” He teased. Kevin only shrugged as he followed the others, watching them piling inside their cars.

“I guess I’m full of surprises.” Kevin said and smiled at Eric for only a passing moment before following the Monsters to the Maserati.

104 notes · View notes

inuyashaha · 3 years

Text

Here are my thoughts that no one asked for regarding Inu no Taisho and his wives. This is long.

Because Inuyasha is our protagonist in "Inuyasha," we have heard a lot more about his mother and, through the movie, her relationship with his father. It's painted as romantic and with Inuyasha being beloved son of that union. Makes sense. A lot of Inuyasha's issues were over the fact that he was hanyo, a union between yokai and human.

As a result, however, I think there is a tendency to look at Inu no Taisho's relationship with Sesshomaru's mother in a bad light. Clearly, he left her. They were incompatible. He found true love with Inuyasha's mother and he favored the son of his true love over his first born son...which....I'm not totally convinced.

I tend to think, in true noble fashion of that era, Inu no Taisho had his first and main wife, Sesshomaru's mom, but he certainly could take another wife without it being a slight to her necessarily. If we are looking at tradition, the first marriage may well have been a union to join two clans or powerful families. Sesshomaru would have been the symbol of this advantageous match. I kind of like the idea of Sesshomaru's mother being a little older and a little wiser than her husband, a proper first wife to teach and guide him as he grew into his power. I like to imagine him a little awestruck by her and grateful for her wisdom.

As could be expected of a noble man or yokai, he would have been well within his rights to have affairs. So would his wife, for that matter, but she would probably need to be more discreet. That would not mean their bond was any less, necessarily. He would not need to divorce her to get with Inuyasha's mom. Other than the fact that Izayoi was human, Sesshomaru's mother probably would not have been super surprised that he took another wife. As long as she maintained her status as first wife, no big deal...maybe. I'm still wondering if Zero thought she was going to be second wife, and Sesshomaru's mom was all, "I think NOT!"

And my understanding is that getting married in the old fashioned way was less a grand romantic gesture and more of "hey we've been sleeping together a while, you have no husband, and you're having my kid...so...you're my wife now." This would be true especially for secondary wives.

Notice both Sesshomaru's mom (I wish we knew her name!!) and Izayoi had their own households. It wasn't like Inu no Taisho moved in with Izayoi and sent child-support payments for Sesshomaru and never looked back. I can imagine that he was a lot like Sesshomaru, wandering around his kingdom, establishing dominance and occasionally visiting one wife or the other. Maybe when he was old enough, Sesshomaru joined his father on these wanderings.

We know that Inu no Taisho gave Sesshomaru's wife the meido stone and instructions with how to teach their stubborn and arrogant son some compassion. When we first met her, she did not show anger or sadness when discussing Sesshomaru's father, and even though she commented on Sesshomaru's strange taste for humans like his father, she did not seem angry or upset about it. She even lamented that Sesshomaru did not have any of his father's charm. She then goes on to revive the human Rin for her son's happiness. She even warned Kohaku that he could not be revived either. She did not come across as a woman scorned. She had no particular beef with humans though she did not really get the appeal of having babies with them either. Zero is the one who seems to have a personal vendetta against humans who bear hanyos.

That doesn't mean Sesshomaru's mom wasn't upset. I think Yashahime is starting to explore that side of her, but even Zero's comment to Sesshomaru's mother was less, "ha-ha, you got replaced," and more that in protecting the other woman, her beloved husband was killed. Zero insinuates that it was Izayoi's fault that he died (although he was already dying at that point from his battle with Ryukotsusei).

I hope they don't make Sesshomaru's mom the pining woman done wrong. I think that's more Zero's story than hers. I just hope that we can see a story where her husband did love and respect her, but he was a man of his time, and he just happened to have another wife as well.

I hope, much like Sesshomaru thought his father had denied him his birthright and made Inuyasha the favored son before we learn that it was a (admittedly convoluted and kind of mean) "rite of courage and cowardice,' we also learn that Inu no Taisho did love his first wife. We discover Inu no Taisho did love Sesshomaru and gave him what he needed most. I hope there is something similar there for Sesshomaru's mother.

Also, a lot of Inuyasha and Sesshomaru's story is about overcoming their father, rising above him. Clearly, his personal life was something of a mess with two wives, and a scorned, humiliated...woman, courtesan? former lover? And with his two sons at each other's throats over decisions he made to "help" them. Maybe his sons' stable relationships with their wives and hopefully, children point to another way they have surpassed their father.

#yashahime #inuyasha #sesshomaru's mom #inu no taisho #just thinking some thoughts

21 notes · View notes

regrettablewritings · 3 years

Note

DJ X READER HEADCANON you pick 😉😉

I blink at the request that stares back at me from my inbox, brow furrowing with every flutter of my lashes. "Sis . . ." I murmur, "you good?" As though my ass had not also been search for content relating to this forgotten POS just the other day. But if you insist . . .

4. What they do on date night:

To be brutally honest, DJ will look you dead in the eye and tell you that going for a night out on the town pick-pocketing is a date. Or, at least, he will try to. It's surprisingly hard to maintain eye contact with someone whose glare could probably cut beskar.

In his defense (if he even deserves any), DJ does try to make it a little more fun than he already finds it -- granted, it's done in a very DJ way. You get your little evening promenade through the streets, he tricks you to a quick bite to eat, you hold hands and run through the lantern-speckled streets before turning down a narrow alleyway that's just perfect for sharing an intense liplock . . .

Of course, this all translates into your evening together including: Walking through a marketplace, your asshole boyfriend slipping peoples' credits out of their pockets and purses under the guise of bumping into them; him using those sticky fingers of his to nick some street food off of a cart before its proprietor called the authorities on his theft; said sticky fingers lacing with yours as he guides you down the crowded streets (grinning like the little shit he was for enjoying the chase); all before making a sudden jerk down an alleyway.

You're breathless, irritated, and . . . maybe -- only just maybe -- a little excited by the thrill of it all. But you can't let him know that, otherwise, he'd never let you live it down and he'd be the cock of the goddamn walk for who knows how long. Worse: He'd consider this a win for his insistence that this sort of thing counted as a date! And there was no way in hell you were about to let that happen!

You only got as far as opening your mouth to hiss own some choice words at him when you instead got cut off by your thieving significant other pressing you against the grubby alley wall. Even if you hadn't been distracted by the action to remember to cuss him out, the words were instantly killed. They were inhaled by his own lips, his kiss encompassing your words, your thoughts, your . . . everything. They were speared by his tongue, as though it were his weapon against the beast that brewed within you.

And they were quelled by the feel of his callused fingers brushing against your cheeks before moving onward to the beck of your head, pressing you only further into his hold. DJ's fingers were deft, but that didn't necessarily mean that their carefulness was always directed at you. It's . . . something to savor . . .

Of course, it was meant to fool the chumps following the both of you but you don't mind. Not in that moment anyway. When you get back to wherever you're staying for the night, it's another story, but one DJ is more than happy to bring to a happy ending.

It's a bit nicer when he gets his hands one someone's credits, though: It means he can take you out to an actual establishment. However, be warned: It's only a bit nicer because you also need to be on the lookout for the authorities (or the poor bastard you stole from), or be prepared to make a run for it.

11. What their first impression was of each other:

Dirty. Old. Bastard. A dirty old bastard. And to your credit, you weren't wrong, but of course, the first impression is always the shallowest. And considering the shithead had just tried to put the moves on you when you were already having a rough day . . . Yeah, he honestly deserved presumptions with the depth of one's own navel -- an outie, preferably.

He stood out against the Canto Bight elite with his grubbiness, looking like a leathery garbage pouch at best and like a guy who'd try to sell you a faulty droid at moderate. A dirty, bastardly part of you couldn't help but muse that perhaps the worst he could do was be a nasty lay -- and not nasty in the way one might want, either.

Granted, it wasn't hard to imagine that: The fact he was hitting on you while you were trying your best to just survive your shift at the casino that evening did little to convince you he was any good.

And as for DJ, it was a one-two-punch type of introduction. Literally: First he eyed you, then he got a little too suggestive, and then you punched him. What a sleazeball, right? It was his own damn fault for assuming the least of you, though. You were cute like all the other servers, no doubt, with that shy smile of yours that made it abundantly clear to him that this sort of place wasn't your scene if you didn't have to work there. Unlike the other servers, however, he was feeling pretty brazen about you.

DJ has no interest in the concept of “fate” or “destined meetings”, but even months out from that point he wouldn’t be able to place precisely what compelled him to break his usual protocol of being discreet. Nor why he was so insistent. All he knows was that he called you over to him and, rather than requesting a drink, he “chatted you up”. And might’ve suggested that you two blow off this place and maybe “blow off somewhere else”.

He also knows that the moment you struck his cheek, cheeks burning and eyes widened with the realization of what you’d done, he was wrong and right about you.

You were frankly lucky he turned out to be a blight on the Canto Bight scene, otherwise your boss would’ve fired you the moment he had learned of what you had done. What you were unlucky for, however, was that from then on, the thief started showing up more often. Not enough to get caught (at least, not for long), but enough for him to determine that maybe the both of you really should blow this joint -- in the nonsexual way.

And in the end, you became unlucky once more: For someone so grubby and bastardly, he was also quite the charmer. Y’know, once you’ve smacked him around a bit.

14. What nicknames they call each other:

You honestly struggle to nickname DJ, predominately because, well, DJ is already a nickname. You think. After all, you sincerely doubt anyone would actually name their kid Don’t Join even as a political statement. Really, the fact you don’t know his actual name sort of calls for consideration of how healthy your obviously unhealthy relationship is. But any pleas to learn this asshole’s real name just winds up being like having a namana cream pie shoved in your face, because DJ just turns it all into a joke.

There have been many occasions where DJ would tell you different names he would swear were his own -- often times in the same week! Other times, his claim would be that he’s told you it while you were asleep, or that he once told you but you got conked on the head and forgot it.

Interestingly enough, it’s through these juvenile exploits that he’s earned a bit of a nickname from you: “Bastard”. Just rolls off the tongue, don’t it? To be fair, though, you’re with him for a reason: Even if he may not seem like it, he does have a soft sport for you. Even if it comes out about as smoothly as his features.

In a way, he reminds you of a mutt. A stray mutt. Especially when he shoves his head into your lap after a long day of fucking about and being a menace to whatever society you two decided to hop a ship to.

“You’re like a puppy sometimes, you know that?” you murmur. You scritch into his mess of hair, earning a low growl of contentment from your datemate. He never had to admit it out loud, but your touch clearly did wonders to him. This was evidence by how his already large body began to further sprawl along the couch the ship he’d stolen came with. Yup; just like a puppy. A big, raggedy puppy. Who needs a trip to the refresher as soon as this scritching session was over.

For DJ, on the other hand, nicknames come easily. Honestly, it’s mainly due to how he barely takes anyone or anything seriously: When you don’t concern yourself with all the muddled nonsense of society or wide circles of people, it becomes a whole lot easier to see everyone’s buttons. And considering he was a master slicer, button-pressing was definitely his thing.

Despite the fact that you were a one-in-a-million instance of being someone whom the thief actually trusted and treated with even a modicum of respect, even you weren’t immune to his acts of mockery.

“Mornin’, P-p-pipsqueak,” he’d smirk over a cup of caff, knowing damn well that his advantage of height bothered you sometimes.

“Ea-asy there, k-kitten,” he’d purr whenever your frustration would come boiling to the brim. Things like that.

“Lookie here, dollface,” when he wants to butter you up without losing his stance.

But that doesn’t mean he’s unable to be more affectionate. It’s in there, it’s just . . . in there. The best examples, however, tend to be when the both of you are having downtime and are actually safe somewhere. Or whatever safe could mean when you’re with DJ.

Generally, a jail cell wouldn’t be considered safe. Maybe not unsafe if the only occupants were your boyfriend of ill repute and yourself, but it certainly wasn’t enjoyable. And yet, the way DJ just seemed to laze about in them made you feel unnaturally calm. Well, calmer. It would’ve been nicer if your more-than-capable boyfriend would put those slicing skills of his to use and just busted the both of you out of there, but to DJ, a night in the clink meant at least a few hours of shut eye on a bed.

“B-bes-s-sides: We can alw-w-ways just grab on-e of those f-f-f-floating citadels they g-g-g-got docked out there,” he would reason, making himself comfy on the thin mattress. He had a point, you supposed. And it wasn’t as though you hadn’t been expecting this as a part of your life once you got together with him. Still, you weren’t entirely comfortable joining him on said mattress . . . Maker knows when it had last been washed!

You would be far from the first to consider DJ to be the most observant person, dating or not, but your concern must’ve been rich enough for him to practically sense it: Without hesitating, he sat up just enough to offer you his hand.

“C-come on,” he said. “I need to c-c-c-catch some shut e-e-eye, and it ain’t hap-p-p-penin’ if you’re standing d-d-down there the entire t-time.”

A feeling of mild dread seeped into you, followed by a wet blanket of acceptance. You were going to just spend an hour in the refresher of whatever ship you swept off with. Sighing, you accepted the hand, only for the hold to pull you up not onto the mattress, but directly on top of him!

There was plenty to react to -- the sudden movement, the feeling of being on top of DJ -- but the man himself didn’t seem at all fazed. Instead, he focused primarily on tucking in whatever lagging limbs you had and making sure he was cozy enough to continue serving as your mattress for however many hours he needed to recuperate. Which he apparently was: Not once did he protest to your weight pressing down on him, nor did he grunt with displeasure whenever you turned the direction of your head against his chest.

At the most, he only ever offered your back a brief circle of rubbing with his free hand, the other serving as his pillow, before uttering a drowsy, “You good there, kid?”

And, to your surprise . . . yeah. In spite of everything, yeah, you were pretty good . . .

And yet, interestingly enough, no matter what he calls you, none of that ever measures up to when he calls you by your name. Not pipsqueak, not kitten, not dollface or kid or whatever, but your actual name. Because DJ hardly ever refers to anyone by their actual title, let alone cares to remember it. By not only remembering it, but applying it, it shows you that he does care. It’s deep down -- like, real in there -- but it’s there. And you’re the only non-slicing being in the entire galaxy to have ever cracked that sort of safe.

Wear that badge with pride, Hotshot.

Thanks for your patience on this one! Clearly I had a lot of fun writing it! 💖 💖 . . . May gotta actually start writing for DJ. Maybe.

#dj x reader #star wars dj x reader #dj star wars x reader #star wars x reader #dj imagine #dj imagines #character ship meme #character x reader #character ask meme #regrettablewritings #Star Wars imagine #Star Wars imagines #Me: I saw @seraphinativan at the DJevil's Sacrement #@Seraphinativan: Girl what were YOU doing at the DJevil's Sacrement?#Me: lol u got me

28 notes · View notes

elsannabackwardsposts · 3 years

Text

Bonus Feature (apology for the chapter delay)

I think this was a requested Bonus prompt from a long while back. Posting as a little apology for the delay in getting out Chapter 40 Part 1. :)

Flynn POV; Mid-Chapter 12 time frame

“Hey, Elsa,” waved the boy from across the lobby of the campus’ business building. The blonde woman turned her attention from her notebook, curiously looking up from where she sat on the cushioned bench. With a smile, the brunet plopped down beside her, backpack falling at his side. “Got a minute?”

Raising a brow, Elsa nodded, making one more pencil mark in her notebook, filled to the brim with print outs of what looked like a class’ power-point slides. Once the book was closed, resting on her lap, pencil fit through its coiled binding for safe keeping, she turned her head to face her underclassmen.

Taking the acknowledgment as her means for him to continue, he sighed. “I need some ‘dating’ advice..” He had caught the widening of blue eyes, and although already knowing the real reason behind why the older rower held such a surprised reaction, he played it off innocently. Running a hand through his loose bangs, he sighed, shrugging his arm. “I know. Me, of all people. Crazy.”

When he glanced toward the Senior again, he noticed that she’d schooled her look back to that of a more controlled expression; one which matched her soft voice. “I don’t know how much of a help I’ll be on this..”

He waved his hand. “Don’t sweat it. I just don’t really know how to approach this one girl. None of my usual ideas are working..” He let his gaze fall, hand absently raising to scratch the nape of his neck. “She’s on the team, which may be why it’s harder. I’ve never, ya know, dated on the team before.” Flynn knew it wasn’t the greatest way to pose this question, but really, he didn’t know what else to do.

“You know how I feel about dating teammates, Flynn..” Elsa said quietly, having turned her eyes away solemnly, a bit of warning in how she spoke his name.

“Yeah, I know..” he said apologetically with a sigh, lulling his head for an instant before locking his honey-hued gaze on her. “But you’re also filled with wisdom that I don’t have,” he said, trying to give a cheeky face, although feeling the sincerity slip a little too much into his words. It did seem to give the blonde a pause before looking back at him with a bit of amusement. “Seriously though, if you were to ever go about dating again, team or not, and, hey, look. I get it, you totally won’t, but just hear me out.” The smolder was locked and loaded in his wide, pleading eyes.

The older of the two made a face, finally rolling her eyes in an exasperated manner, motioning her hand with a twirl, letting the man continue. He smiled.

“Alright, so. If you were to ask them out.. what would you suggest? Or even say?”

There was a long silence and the blonde averted her eyes. The way her expression morphed into a pensive gaze gave away the fact that she was just taking her time to really think about the question. So Flynn casually pulled his leg up to his lap, relaxing back into the seat, prepared to wait patiently for his quiet friend’s response.

“I’d make sure to remind her of the importance of putting crew and studies before a relationship.” The young captain groaned, lifting his eyes dryly to the ceiling with a long blink. Elsa frowned at his reaction. “What? It is very important to get that out of the way in the beginning,” she stated firmly.

Hanging his head, Flynn nodded, voice defeated, but tinged with a delicate sadness more than anything. “Yeah, I know..” Seriously. What else did he really expect from the lone woman? After all she had been through, of course she would opt to make sure every one else was warry, not wanting to see anyone else get all caught up in feelings only for it to all end painfully. But he could appreciate it fully all the same, because no doubt Elsa would not offer this advice, one learned so deeply due to cuts in her own heart, up to many others, if any others, but him.

Tucking a strand of flaxen hair behind her ear, Elsa softened her look. A few thoughtful seconds later, she gently added, “Just.. keep showing her that you care; that you respect her. Be yourself. Honesty is what means the most to everyone.”

Turning, seeing the gentle look cross his childhood friend’s face, the boy felt himself inhale, just in the slightest, just because of seeing the glimpse of ease emanating behind sapphire eyes for the first time in a long time. Unable to handle the elated emotion of seeing the Senior finally melt, even if in the slightest, in a highly delicate moment which could be easily ruined if he harped on her heart’s submission, or made mention of it at all, he instead played it off in the best Flynn way possible. He made an ugly face.

“Ugh, that’s it?” He closed his eyes, tilting his nose up. “No offense, but that really is girly advice.”

“Full offense,” Elsa genuinely laughed, hand shoving the boy’s shoulder lightly as he grinned back. “If you didn’t want a woman’s input, why did you not ask your guy friends?”

Flynn rubbed the light scruff of his beard. “I don’t talk about this ‘touchy-feely’ stuff with most people. And Hans is never around anymore since he’s so busy with Anna. I really didn’t have anyone else.” His honey colored eyes fell to the side, noticing how Elsa had looked down to her hands again. He blanched, realizing his words. Shit. “Ah..! I know you two don’t get along, sorry for bringing him up.”

But the girl shook her head. “No, it’s fine.” Her blonde brows furrowed in a strange way, as if there was a hint of confusion and some sort of disdain intermingling in her emotion. “Honestly, sometimes I forget that they’re together, so thanks for reminding me.”

Something about the way she said that made Flynn pause. He honestly couldn’t really comment much, as the young couple always seemed to hang out outside of crew practice; only a handful of sparse remote moments could be recalled of the two giving off romantic vibes at the boathouse or after a race. Maybe Anna wasn’t the type to talk about her relationships very much with her teammates, airing away from typical PDA-type antics. Or maybe the Freshman was discreet enough and careful of Elsa’s feelings to not bring up the boy in conversation (as Flynn had just absentmindedly done here), effectively keep Hans out of Elsa’s mind.

He hoped it was the latter. From what he had begun to observe, the rowing pair had seemed to have a good mesh, even noticing a bit of brightness returning to his best female friend as the fall season began to roll into early winter. If Anna was that considerate of Elsa’s feelings, she was definitely a good person who’d treat her friendship with Elsa well, prioritizing the gentle soul over the novelty of a boyfriend.

His eyes scanned the Senior once more, noticing something else in her eyes; a distance usually reserved for her pensive thoughts. A place she’d fallen in and out of periodically as her years at university rolled on, usually when reflecting on her race performances and, if ever another person, it would be her Ex.. But this expression was never offered regarding the auburn haired Junior boy. So, given the conversation, did that mean it was the talk of Anna who had triggered the look this time?

Blinking, Flynn held his breath instantly as the connection was made, looking at the stoic woman with a new eye. Her expression paired with her previous reaction at the couple’s mention. His brain was suddenly pulling up images from before; her reaction Halloween night, the way every time he recently messaged her she happened to be studying or exercising with Anna. Nowadays, everything that he knew of Elsa revolved around Anna. When had that happened?

Could it be that she..?

Does Elsa actually have feelings for..?

Blue eyes were suddenly on him, narrowed. “What are you looking at?” asked the woman tersely, a frown on her lips, making Flynn startle.

“Ah, sorry, thinking of, um, you know, how I can go about wooing my lady.” He grinned sheepishly.

Sitting forward, he watched as Elsa slipped her notebook into her backpack and sat up straight, sliding her satchel strap over her shoulder. For a moment, the Junior Captain thought the woman was about to stand and take her leave, but instead, she stayed still, a pale hand lingering on the strap.

“Hey, um..” Flynn was looking directly at the porcelain face which was turned downward, gaze locked on the brilliant tile floor. “What about studying together and hanging out afterwards at your place?”

The boy blinked and tilted his head. “Huh?”

Elsa made a small grimace barely visible in her side profile. “A suggestion for you and her.. to get closer.”

The Starboard rower brought his palm beneath his chin as he leaned forward, eyes still watching the Senior. “Huh. Well, we don’t have any classes together, but maybe that’d work.” He looked to the high vaulted ceilings and the gorgeous chandelier overhead and smiled. “Yeah. Study date and a movie. Sounds like a plan!”

This time, the blonde looked at him. “Why a movie in particular?”

He laughed good-naturedly. “It’s the perfect ‘hang out’ excuse to blur the lines of a friendly date. Even if nothing happens, or if conversation lulls, you can at least extend your time with the other person and quietly enjoy it that way.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be a Netflix and chill deal.”

The Senior slowly nodded in understanding at his response, if not also scrunching her nose in confusion at the final weird phrasing he had chosen, before finally standing and bidding a farewell. Flynn reciprocated in kind and watched his blonde friend head off toward the glass-walled entrance of the building.

He leaned back, arms crossing against his chest with a smirk.

Despite his excellent acting skills revealing the total opposite, Flynn himself did not miss the subtle implications hanging in the blonde’s suggestion, nor how there was an honest curiosity in hearing his interpretation of why a movie could be a nice transitional date option. He really hoped he had worded the idea optimally enough. And although he certainly was down to implement it in his own endeavors, with what he had assumingly discovered regarding the elusive woman’s heart, he hoped he would not be the only one picking out a movie this week..

#Bonus Feature #elsanna backwards

17 notes · View notes

jessicajonesrp · 4 years

Text

He’s backkkk

It took some careful planning, but eventually, Rikarah had what she needed to be able to bring Kilgrave back to life.

She already had a safe and secure location where she would be uninterrupted during times of needed concentration- her open rented home, just outside of Manhattan. She had never bothered to inform Phillip that she had a rental house; it seemed a better bet to keep the information of her multiple living quarters, unused for most of the year, to herself, just in case. Phillip had been far from discreet, and there was a reason Rikarah had chosen a secondary lodging outside of the business of cities such as NYC, Hell’s Kitchen, Harlem, or Manhattan itself. She was a loner at heart, but her interest and her focus tended to be on others, and it was necessary to spend most of her time among them in order to know them and their lives. This distant secondary home was to be used only when necessary, to recharge, or for specific situations such as this.

It hadn’t been difficult to obtain a picture of Kilgrave. After the incident on the dock, he and Jessica and Patricia Walker had been all over the covers of newspapers everywhere, so it was a simple matter of a few clicks on a smart phone to find and save a picture of the man in question. It had taken more time to obtain something with Kilgrave’s DNA. Rikarah had attempted to trace the location of his body- somehow she suspected he had been neither traditionally buried nor cremated, and it was her guess that he was likely being used for scientific experimentation or study, legally or otherwise, within the government or whoever else had been the highest bidder of access.

With some creative thought, she had been able to trace back several of Kilgrave’s last known addresses, including the childhood home of Jessica Jones, which was unfortunately no longer standing after its bombing. Nevertheless, Rikarah had discovered that the “Kilgrave survivors” group Jessica had formed over a year ago, with the intention of drawing out Kilgrave and gaining information on him, was still active and meeting regularly.

It hadn’t been difficult to insinuate herself into the group for a few weeks as a new member, pretending to be one of the traumatized survivors of the incident of Kilgrave-directed violence on the dock the evening he himself had died. Rikarah had enough research information to be able to nod along and briefly and tearfully provide her own version of events. Meanwhile she took note of the people who had spent prolonged time with Kilgrave- being his driver for a week, forced to let him live in their home for longer, or forced to wait on him as a cook, bartender, or masseuse.

Those were the ones that may possess something that would carry Kilgrave’s DNA, even now. Those were the ones that she made the effort to befriend, to offer a shoulder and a listening ear. And a few episodes of feigned attraction and friendship had been enough for one clearly still traumatized older man to allow her into his home and his bed, and with minimal encouragement from Rikarah, to lead her in a tour of the house Kilgrave had made his lodging for a time- the house the man still lived in.

“It was terrible,” the man told her, actually tearful as he shook his head, eyes cloudy as though reliving what he spoke of. “I couldn’t leave the house, I couldn’t speak or even move without him giving me the okay to. He used my house as though it were his, and then one day he just left and didn’t come back. I was terrified that he might return, any moment, and I couldn’t predict when or do anything to stop him. He didn’t even take all of his things with him, and I was afraid to do anything to get rid of them, or even move them, in case it made him angry if he did come back. I know he’s dead now, but even now I’m afraid to touch his things. That’s pathetic, I know, but it’s the truth.”

It was pathetic, in Rikarah’s view, but it was also fortunate for her. Because among Kilgrave’s “left behind things” were a comb, toothbrush, and some clothing including socks and underwear. All certain to contain Kilgrave’s DNA.

She had charmed the man with sympathetic words and touches, assuring him of his bravery, lying without a flicker of remorse about her own supposed fear. It hadn’t taken more than twenty minutes for him to be convinced that he was now strong and brave enough to let some of those items go, “just a few to start with, the ones most associated with him personally”- and that she, Rikarah, in spite of her own fear, cared enough about his healing to be the one to take them away to make sure they were disposed of.

She still couldn’t believe the man was gullible enough to fall for such nonsense. But he had actually leaked tears and hugged her, thanking her for her empathy and giving him the chance to start a new life.

Ironic, and amusing, really, that in all actuality, she was bringing back what he feared the very most, all in the name of helping him put it behind him.

So armed in her remote rented home with the personal objects of Kilgrave’s and a clear picture of his face, Rikarah sat cross legged on her bed and emptied her mind of all thoughts but those of her intention. She stared at Kilgrave’s picture, her hands stroking over each object containing his DNA, and pictured him awake, alive, and whole before her. She imagined the beating of his heart, the rhythm of his breathing, every synapse and nerve once more sharp with activity and use. She envisioned the blood running through his veins, and as her own small body grew taut and gave off fevered heat with the effort of her actions, she reached out for the knife beside her knee. Grasping it in her left hand, she slashed a shallow x over each of her palms, and then at the surface of each of her feet. Hands shaking slightly, she smeared the blood over the comb, the toothbrush, and the clothing, combining their DNA.

With a final shudder of effortful focus, Rikarah spoke aloud Kilgrave’s name. She could feel the air grow thick and strained, as though holding something moving and living and shifting in shape, and she slumped back, exhausted, against the bed, watching with satisfaction as a human form began to slowly knit itself into view in front of her.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. The revived bodies started first with skeletons, then filled up with internal organs and muscles and sinew, before finally being knit over with skin and hair and the other details normally seen on the outside. It was no different with Kilgrave, and eventually, there he stood, naked, panting, and wide-eyed at her bedside.

Rikarah smiled, more in self-satisfaction at the accomplished task than at the sight of the man’s naked body. She didn’t consider him overly impressive in his physique, but he would do. It was the man and his mind, not his body, that mattered. She more than anyone knew it was a mistake to overlook people for their physicality.

“Where the bloody hell am I?” Kilgrave sputtered, disoriented, seeming to struggle to draw in breaths. His lungs, being new again, were likely still adjusting to breathing. “What’s the matter with me? And who the fuck are you?”

When Rikarah didn’t immediately answer, too tired to bother, Kilgrave straightened, pointing a finger at her, and took a menacing step forward, raising his voice. “I asked you a question, are you deaf? Answer me!”

“I’m sorry, Kevin, but I don’t take orders from anyone if it doesn’t suit me, and certainly not from you,” Rikarah said coolly, lifting an eyebrow from her supine position on the bed. “As you quite literally owe your life to me, I would expect a little more respect and gratitude, but I’m a patient woman. I’ll assume you’re rather in shock at the moment, given you’ve just gone from bones and brain mush to a living body again, and let the rudeness slide.”

Kilgrave’s eyes bulged, and he recoiled, alarmed as much by the nonchalant response he had just received as the strange situation he had found himself in. To speak an order and have it not obeyed immediately was beyond his comprehension.

“But I told you to do it!” he almost whined, staring down at the small and clearly unintimidated woman resting on her side in the bed. “I told you to, and you just- the only person who could ignore me was Jessica, and-“

He stiffened, his face paling, as he pointed an accusing finger at Rikarah again.

“Jessica did this, Jessica used that sedative thing on me, didn’t she?! You’re with her, you’re one of her people!”

“Certainly not,” Rikarah corrected him, exhaling with a weary and somewhat impatient sigh. “Jessica knows nothing of this- yet. As far as she believes, you are long dead, and she is glad of it. After all, she was the cause.”

She sat up, watching wryly as the realization and the memory of his own last few moments of life, just before Jessica snapped his neck, came back into the forefront of his thoughts. Rikarah gave him a few more moments to process this against the obvious reality of his current status of being alive before addressing him again.

“Yes, Kevin, you were dead, and for over a year now, too. You would have stayed that way, if not for myself and my own unique abilities. Some gratitude and a certain level of loyalty is not unwarranted.”

“I was dead,” Kilgrave repeated, the words stunned, almost disbelieving. “And you’re saying- what, that you resurrected me? You?” He snorted, looking Rikarah up and down dismissively. “No offense, love, but you hardly look the type to have that sort of power.”

“And Jessica does?” Rikarah countered. “I’ll grant you that she has the advantage in height, but she’s of a smaller frame even than myself, and what she may have over me in physical strength, I can outdo in the sheer enormity of my ability. She may be able to kill someone with a punch, but I’m the one who can bring them back from the dead. If you ask me, I have the greater power, and therefore, the greater true strength.”

Kilgrave looked her over again, more carefully this time, assessing rather than dismissing her. He took a step closer, still seeming not to care for his nakedness as he narrowed his eyes at Rikarah, anger losing out to eagerness in his eyes.

“You know Jessica,” he asserted. “Where is she?”

Rikarah wagged a finger at him playfully, a small smile curving her lips.

“Am I really so uninteresting, that I bring you out of death, and you would forgo all details to chase after another woman? Perhaps I was wrong in my interest in you. Perhaps someone else is more deserving, and you can simply go back to where you were before.”

“Wait, no, that isn’t it, love,” Kilgrave backpedaled, his smile at Rikarah forced at first as he raked a hand through his hair, then more genuine. “Of course I want to know how you managed this, and of course I’m glad for it. And I certainly want to know how it is you don’t listen to a thing I tell you to do,” he muttered, more to himself than to Rikarah, before addressing her again. “But if you know Jessica, then you must know something of our history, and why I would want to know where she is. She’s the one who killed me, you know. She’s the one-“

“That,” Rikarah interrupted, to Kilgrave’s barely contained outrage, “is in the past. The present is right here, with me, in this moment. Choose wisely, Kevin Kilgrave, and choose now, while you still have the choice before you. You can realize that I am no ordinary woman you’re dealing with here, that you owe me your life and your loyalty, and I owe you nothing and cannot be ordered into anything you may want from me. Believe me, I hold no liking for Jessica Jones, and as long as I am the woman who comes first and foremost in your world, I care little for how you choose to play with her. And I am certainly not opposed to letting you know every detail of what you have missed knowing of her life over the past year that you’ve been dust and bones.”

She paused, tilting her head, and gave him a moment to consider, before concluding, “Or you can choose to be foolish, ungrateful, and quite frankly, a bumbling, pathetic corpse, stumbling off on your own in a world that has moved on without you. You would have none of my help or my connections, none of my knowledge, and you would displease me greatly. When and if Jessica Jones kills you again- and she would, you know, if you just pop up on her in her new life without my assistance- then you can be certain I would not lift a finger to bring you back. So, then. What shall it be? I would think the decision obvious, but perhaps you’re not as intelligent as I believed.”

For a moment Kilgrave stood there, motionless, perhaps still in shock, or perhaps genuinely weighing out his obsession with Jessica and his desire for revenge against the logical reasoning of Rikarah’s words. But then he nodded slowly, reaching forward to take hold of Rikarah’s hand in his.

“Well, it would indeed be a fool’s errand to let a woman like you slip out of my grasp. Why don’t we start over with introductions, and perhaps something in the way of an explanation.”

And as Rikarah began to speak, giving Kilgrave some if not all of the answers he craved, she noticed his body relax further, his expression growing more and more fascinated as he came to understand more of the extent of her actions and her power. It wasn’t quite the way, she was sure, that he had looked at Jessica, but for now, it was enough.

It was enough, in fact, that after he had dressed in some of his old clothing and taken time to familiarize himself with Rikarah and her home, that Rikarah was willing to give him the phone number, if not the address, of Jessica’s new workplace, Heroes for Hire. And she sat back, interested and indulgent, as he placed a call, from a cheap prepaid phone she had bought in anticipation of his need for one.

It was Trish who answered, her voice bright and cheerful as the company’s head. “Heroes for Hire, we provide help, heroism, and honorable services for those in need in a time where true heroism is more needed than ever. How can we help you today?”

“Ah, Patsy,” Kilgrave purred, snickering to himself when he heard Trish suck in a sharp breath, immediately recognizing his British accent and self-satisfied tone. “So good to hear a familiar voice, but unfortunately, yours has never been the one I wanted to hear, and you prattle on enough as it is on that bloody talk show of yours. Give the phone to Jessica. Tell her she has a message from an old friend, would you?”

“This isn’t funny,” Trish said tightly, her voice controlled but barely keeping back anger. “Whoever you are, pretending to be that man is not a joke, it’s cruel, and-“

“Ah, but this is no joke, Patsy, can’t you recognize your own would be lover?” Kilgrave asked rhetorically. “Have you had so many men now you can’t remember the voice of all the ones whose throat you stuck your tongue inside of? Let me help you out, then. I’m the one who told you to put a bullet in your head. Fortunately enough for you, that doesn’t appear to have worked out, I never did find out why. Care to explain it to me, Patsy?”

He and Rikarah both heard Trish suck in her breath on the other side of the line. He doubted that this incident in the bunker was something anyone but she, Kilgrave, Simpson, and Jessica were aware of- and out of the four of them, both men were dead. Or supposed to be.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice softer than before. “What do you want?”

“Unfortunately, Patsy, for me to really make you do what I’d like to make you do, you’d have to be a good bit closer to me than a phone call, something about pheromones,” Kilgrave said casually. “But I do have other ways of making you do as I’d like you to. Put Jessica on the phone, or I will have six people show up at her doorstep and cut your name into their own foreheads. If she tries to stop them, they will cut her as well. Is that something you want to have on your conscience, Patsy? For a simple conversation?”

The line went silent for a few moments. When Jessica came onto the line, her voice was hard and cold as steel.

“Who the fuck are you, and just what the fuck do you think you’re doing, playing this kind of sick joke?”

“And hello to you too, Jessie,” Kilgrave exclaimed, putting an exaggerated bounce to his voice. “No joke, you never did have much of a sense of humor to waste any on. I won’t say it’s good to hear from you, since I had to get murdered, raised from the dead, and then still call your sister first and threaten her for you to speak to me, and I must say that hurts a man’s feelings.”

“You’re not him. You can’t be, you’re just some sick asshole who needs to fucking go put his dick in a-“

“Oh, Jessie, I can see your language is as filthy as ever, every bit as appalling as your fashion sense. Let’s cut off all the protests of my supposed death and just check your office email, shall we?”

Five minutes before the phone call, Rikarah had shot a quick video of him smiling and waving into the camera, with the date and time of the video clearly time stamped at its bottom. With a few clicks, he sent the video to the public Heroes for Hire email address, cutting off the call.

“But don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll hear from me again soon. If you miss me before we meet again, you have the video for comfort’s sake.”

As Kilgrave hung up, glowing with renewed feelings of power over the fear, rage, and helplessness he had stirred anew in the two women he had just spoken to, he sent a genuine smile in Rikarah’s direction, who returned it in kind.

“You know what, I like you, Rikarah Pallaton. I think we’ll get along just fine after all.”

#jessica jones roleplay #Jessica Jones #luke cage roleplay #Luke Cage #trish walker #trish walker roleplay #kilgrave #kilgrave roleplay

113 notes · View notes

courtlyharlequin · 4 years

Note

Hi! Hope you’re doing ok! May I request dorm leaders or vice dorm leaders with a s/o who crossdresses? Like their s/o is a female but is pretending to be a male? Thank you!

Cesario

A/N: I’ve been better, but I was a lot worse a few weeks ago so I guess I’m doing good! School is stressful ahaha. Thank you for asking~ This was such a fun request to write especially since I headcanon MC as female crossdressing as male. Also, I chose the vice prefects because I think they’re underrated. I apologize if these are too repetitive and if there are mistakes. I wrote these over the course of a week so my thoughts might incoherent rippu

Trey Clover:

Out of all the vice dorm leaders, he would fret over your little hobby/secret in the most discreet way possibly.

A girl in an all boys school seems dangerous so he understands your reason.

If Trey found out when you started dating, then of course he would be shocked, but he won’t avoid you or end the relationship then and there. Just give him time to process... wow you’re a girl... you fooled him there!

Oh wait!! YOU’RE A GIRL–But, don't worry! He can keep a secret.

He just has a hard time adjusting at first, messing up pronouns because you eventually wind down and get comfortable wearing more feminine clothes and dresses around him when no one’s looking.

Ahhhh crap. You look cute. Trey can’t control himself. He’s attracted to you whether you look like a guy or a girl. However, he’s still got standards.

Trey has a more difficult time asking you about boundaries. Is it okay if he’s a little rough with you? Can he touch you? He doesn’t want to frighten you or cause discomfort.

He’s ultra-protective of you now. It’s an all boys school! He has competition since you’re the only girl in the school and there are some really nasty punks here.

The poor vice dorm leader worries about you on the daily, but you’re worth it. He knows that.

If you ask him what “gender” he prefers, Trey would say “whatever you’re most comfortable with, darling”.

In truth, he fell for your personality. Whether you pose as a guy or not, he loves you the same.

Jade Leech:

What’s this? You’re actually a girl?

Color him surprised. He would’ve never guessed!

He actually doesn’t believe you and asks for proof much to your embarrassment. If you take too long to give in, he might just initiate himself.

“Oya? My~ You are a girl. That chest is of ample size.”

He’s willing to take a slap for that.

Jade grins menacingly, an expression you know all too well. He’s up to something.

You would have to beg him not to spill the beans or to blackmail you on the daily. Oh he’s so cruel! You’re already burning red at this point. Crawling into a hole and rotting in it sounds wonderful right now.

When you finally asked him seriously and directly, he chuckles and says: “Don’t you, worry, (y/n). I’ll keep you safe” which made your heart flutter.

“...on the condition that you dress as a girl at night and sleep with me~”

The fool told Azul

Why were you so surprised? You knew he wouldn’t let you off the hook that easy but his reason ( “I want to exploit your little secret all for myself” ) made you give in with an unbearable heat rising to your ears.

Jade would honestly have a field day with you though. Playing dress up is surprising fun. He sometimes sends you some clothes for the fun of it and so you two can discreetly match with your socks.

And you’re so grateful. At least you think you are... You see, Jade says that he just likes playing dress up, but he’s actually picking out tight-fitting clothes with frills (sort of like Epel’s dress shirt) to enhance your femininity with matching as an excuse. But you don’t need to know that.

He seems to be enjoying it more than he should be. Not that you mind, it’s a small price to pay.

Jamil Viper:

Ah, a girl. No biggie.

That actually makes sense now that he thinks about it. You were thin as a twig and you sounded rather girly. Then again, Epel Felmier from Pomefiore also had those traits and Jamil knows for sure the Epel is a guy...

Again, no biggie. Gender doesn’t matter anyway.

He’s the most “chill” out of all the vice dorm leaders. Jamil has kept bigger secrets. He actually thinks this “hobby” is amusing.

However, you sure fooled him. Does anyone else know? No? Not even Crowley.

Darn, now he feels special!

After regaining his composure, Jamil tells you to relax and honestly doesn’t treat you any differently afterwards.

Scarabia’s vice prefect, if anything, is more cautious of you and your surroundings. Not to be presumptuous, but Night Raven College’s student body isn’t the most respectable bunch. What if someone harasses you?

While you assure Jamil that, for the time that you were here, nobody has known about your true gender, let alone assault you, he still worries.

He watches out for you in his own ways, like walking you to class whenever he can or give you his hoodie if it’s raining and there may be a chance the standard uniform dress shirt will become transparent.

Rook Hunt:

Oh... Oh my... A girl.... A female.... Doe.... A female deer...

Why that’s just... TRÈS MAGNIFIQUE!

Oh how you remind him Viola from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, truly a masterpiece.

You are beautiful. Gorgeous.

To pull off both genders in the same day with no makeup whatsoever is astonishing to him. With just a simple attire change, you have tricked the entire student body.

You’re such a trickster, (y/n)~

Rook may seem happy, and he is as you are ten times more stunning than you were before, but his response is well-crafted.

“I knew all along,” he says ,” I’ve been watching you, you know?”

Typical Rook. He’s been stalking you.

If you dare to slap him, he defends himself by stating that he didn’t do anything perverted and that what he meant by that is he was just making a very educated guess.

But now that you’ve confirmed it, it’s official. He’s going to be your knight in shining armor, your prince on a dashing white stallion.

You’re going to be the power couple of this school. Those other boys shall be envious of your divine beauty as you are the only female on campus.

Wait until the whole world know about this! Oh what’s that? He can’t tell?

Fufu~ no matter. More for him to hunt

Lilia Vanrouge:

You like cute things too?

Ohohohoho~

Like Jade, Lilia wants to match [clothes] with you, but not in a clandestine way and most certainly not for his own personal gain. Unless you count wanting to look cute together as a personal gain.

He doesn’t react much to the crossdressing itself as he’s seen more surprising things in life. No offense, but crossdressing has been around since the Elizabethan era and it’s nothing new.

If you’re doing this to hide your gender rather than for the fun of it, then perhaps it’s a little interesting, but Lilia would keep an eye out for you since you’ve expressed any worries about being harmed.

He knows a little bit about martial arts and defense magic, no biggie.

Diasomnia’s vice dorm leader never questioned your gender before as he, too sometimes gets mistaken for a child girl so this was a pleasant surprise.

Moreover, Lilia appreciates the androgynous look. He loves for people to keep guessing. It’s his way to mess with them without ever interacting with them personally. Well, he could mess with them personally, but why would he? That wouldn’t be as fun~

And now he has a partner in crime!! Hooray!!

You’re just so cute. You’re like him– too cute for everyone’s hearts!

He relishes in that fact and calls you over to go shopping with him.

Do you like lolita clothing by any chance?

It’s okay if you’re not into dresses. Ahhh what about top hats? Eye patches?

What’s your aesthetic? Cottagecore? Dark Academia? Nursecore?

“Lilia, it’s okay, really, I don’t need new clothes...”

“But you would look cute in this,” he pouts.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst headcanons #trey clover x reader #jade leech x reader #jamil viper x reader #rook hunt x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #Lilia is so hard to write for hnggg #i'm sorry anon

222 notes · View notes

lozzypoz321 · 4 years

Text

Word count: 2.6k

A/N by @morizoras-cave: this was even more fun than the last fic, loz is so so funny and so so talented and i just feel so comfortable writing with her :) also so many… bad things… happened while we wrote this. I mean it was chaotic.. I hope you enjoy its LONG

A/N by lozzypoz321: this was so much fun to write and I loved it!! Honestly you do not want to know what happened behind the scenes because that was a m e s s. Vic is such and amazing writer and deserves so much love! Hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: bad language!

Sleepover (Collab)

“Kid, open the door!” your head snapped to the door of your hotel room. You recognised Sebastian’s voice coming from outside. “Open up!”

“Whatever you say, man.”

“Is anyone bringing snacks?” you asked. You, Seb and Anthony were walking down the street. You could see the set already. “Damn, I hope so” Anthony mumbled and you all continued walking.

When you got there Elizabeth was standing outside, holding the door open with what you assumed was the stolen key. She ushered you inside. “You’re late and for some reason I’m not surprised.”

“Welcome, late-comers!” Robert greeted you dramatically, standing up in his Iron Man onesie. “You’ve missed the pizzas. You know, because you’re late!”

“It’s fine, we already ate. Which is why we’re late,” Sebastian pointed nodded to Anthony. You nodded along.

“I mean, we could play hide and seek?”

“Oh!” You exclaimed excitedly, one of your first inputs of the night “I’d love to play hide and seek! My dad used to do it with me all the time!”

You both laughed silently, trying so hard to not give away your position to Chris. You were failing miserably.

“Food galore” Elizabeth expressed and was the first one to walk towards, closer to the arrangement, leaving the rest of you by the wall with your jaws dropped. “If I’m sick, don’t blame it on me” you quietly expressed, making Mark laugh from his spot next to you.

“Umm yeah, that sounds like a good idea”

“Erm. Good idea?”

For no reason at all the situation was just funny to you, so while everyone in the room was stood still shocked (apart from Hemsworth who rocked back and forth on his feet sheepishly) you began to laugh(bitch). “What’s funny? You could literally cut your feet if you move!” Tom exclaimed with wide eyes, “you can’t get hurt we need to return you to your mom the same as we got you!”

“No, it really didn’t”

Then, at the the crack of dawn, a scream came from the nearest entrance: “WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK-”

And that was the inspiring story of how body searches became a daily routine on set, so the Russos could make sure no one had gotten their grubby hands on an extra key.

@rooskaya-yelena @deephideoutmilkshake @kidney9-9 @marvel-ous-hobbit @snarky--starky @rae-is-typing @stargazingfangirl18 @canadianhufflepuffavenger @herecomesthewriterwitch @every-marveler-ever

#sebastian stan x child!reader #chris evans x child!reader #RDJ x child!reader #chris hemsworth x child!reader #elizibeth olsen x child!reader #tom hiddleston x child!reader #mark ruffalo x child!reader #scarlett johanson x child!reader #anthony mackie x child!reader #marvel cast x child!reader #mcu cast x child!reader #marvel cast #mcu cast

181 notes · View notes

mydriases · 4 years

Text

Boyfriend headcanons for Riddle and Azul

Anon asked: Hi!!! if it's not too much trouble can I ask for Riddle and Azul boyfriend headcannons? just full of fluff and kisses! Thank you so much and I'm so excited to read your writing ♡

Of course Anon, you are my first request so I may have been a little too excited and wrote a lot. It's more focused on the start of the relationship but I hope you will enjoy it!

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle was a surprise for you. His appearance is not particularly intimidating but when you heard him speak for the first time you knew he was someone who inspired respect for a reason.

Slightly intimidated, you didn’t talk to him that much because you were afraid you might inadvertently break one of the rules

Still, at every Unbirthday Party you couldn’t help but look at him sip his tea with a pleased look on his face. It was different from the usual annoyed Riddle who couldn’t bear anyone who disobeyed one of the 810 rules

Then, you were chosen to play croquet with him.

You had already seen students play using the flamingo, but doing it yourself was something else.

You tried to talk with it, whispering words like « please, I really don’t want to make Riddle angry, can you stiffen up ? ». Looks like you’re really pretty because it doesn’t want to stop looking at you.

"He seems to like you. It’s important to have good communication with the flamingos." you heard Riddle say

He helped you with your flamingo and showed you how to hit the hedgehog into the hoop.

You tried to follow his advice and felt so proud when you got the hedgehog into the first hoop !

You caught Riddle’s eye and when you saw the smile he had on his face you knew you were doomed. That’s it, you had a crush on Heartslabyul’s dorm leader.

After loads of "hey Riddle ! Can you help me with this homework ? I don’t really understand what I am supposed to do...", you finally caught his heart.

One evening, while you were trying to come up with a plan to declare your love for Riddle, Trey asked you to follow him. You knew he was close with Riddle and someone you could place your trust in, so you accepted.

He led you in the garden filled with roses. And there, illuminated by candlelight, Riddle was sitting at a table. The chair in front of him empty.

Your heart skipped a beat. You thought you could die there, in front of a very red Riddle.

Best wingman Trey was the waiter, he played his role perfectly and knew how to be discreet.

"So… I think you know why we are here." It was hard to see in that dim place, but you were sure you'd never seen that boy so red. "… I’ve seen you worth as a student but also as a friend. It’s still a bit hard for me to be upfront with my feelings and I may not always be quite a person with who it’s easy to open up. Though, thanks to you, I’m slowing becoming a better version of myself. And it feels good to have someone who support you so wholeheartedly...Of course Trey and others are really important for me, but with you it’s not the same. You are different."

You two sat down against a tree, holding hand and whereas your lips were reaching out to meet each other, you murmured: "I love you Riddle, I’ll always be there when you need me". The promise was sealed with a kiss.

From this point, stolen kisses in the corners of the halls just became a habit. You don’t want to give other students a bad example, don’t you ?

You didn’t need to say anything to the others for them toknow, the way the distance between the two of you had became so small when you are studying together speaks for itself.

No more watching him from afar, now you are with him as most as you can. It is not like you lost you independence but more like you’re honoring the promise you made. Riddle was having a rough time, it is a difficult thing to understand that your parents are not always as good for you as you thought they were.

Bedtime was past, but confessions don't wait. And when Riddle sent you a message saying that he needed you to come to his room you couldn’t care less about those stupid rules

You comforted him as best as you could, whispering sweets nothings in his ear.

He eventually fell asleep as you were stroking his head.

At that moment, you knew you would always protect him from every bad things that would keep you from seeing his smile.

Azul Ashengrotto

Everybody always told you to stay away from the Octavinelle students. After all, they are just a bunch of sneaky people that you should never trust.

At first you believed them, you saw how some of them would isolate students to get them to sign contracts and you knew better than be one those poor souls.

You were wary of Azul especially. He wasn’t the dorm leader for nothing and judging by the rumors : his reputation wasn't built on lie. -Perplexed, that’s how you felt when he came to you. To be honest, you expected him to send Jade or Floyd.

You waited for him to propose you a deal for whatever reason since it was obviously the reason he asked you to come to the café in the first place. You were curious and in need of nothing, that’s why you said yes.

However, you were dumbfounded when he asked you to work for the café as a waitress.

"I thought a lot about this : you are easy to trust, neither too shy nor too lound and you are known to be someone people can trust. All of this combined leads to the comfort of the customers hence their trust and loyalty to the café"

You learned not to trust the students from Octavinelle : "I’m flattered but i won’t take part in your little schemes"

"There's a misunderstanding. I don't want you to help me get more contracts signed. I'm talking about attracting more customers, believe me on this: this place means a lot to me. Of course, every job deserves a salary..."

You thought about your family and the money ; you said yes. You are level-headed, it's not like they're gonna have you that easily.

You job at the café was great you realised after some weeks, you could meet new people when you felt like doing the conversation and it was definitively becoming the HQ of your friends.

Azul payed you well and you appreciated his company. Sure, his deals and business were above everything else for him, but the talks you had wih him could last hours without you feeling bored or wanting to just cut it out.

When he told you that he played the piano you immediatly asked for a private recital.

You had to asked multiple times but eventually he accepted ! (you can thanks Jade and Floyd)

In the music club room, when no one else was there, he let you sat next to him and started to play.

The melody was soft and Azul’s gesture precise.

While you were listening to the music that was playing Azul, the intimacy of the situation striked you. Your shoulders were almost touching and the atmosphere created by the tune only reinforced this feeling.

Lost in thoughts, you didn’t realize that Azul had stopped to play and was looking at you.

You lifted your head towards him and neither of you said anything, like if words could shatter this moment.

" I...I need to go back to the dorm… someo- a friend needs my help for some homeworks" you said confused

"No problem, see you at the café as usual" something is in tone made your heart beats faster.

After the recital, everything changed. Azul was way more talktative with you and you could feel someone watching over you as you were taking orders from customers.

Azul hugged you so as to thanks you for all your hard work and as you embraced him, just before letting go. Your eyes met and youmovedforwards. Your lips met an atonished Azul who kissed you back.

" I didn’t know you had that in you." blush blush blush

Let’s just say that you started to spend way more time working as a waitress. Damn you if you didn’t try to help Azul to have more deals.

And damn Azul if he didn’t make stupid deals with you such as "I will help you to have better grades if you give me a kiss"

Apparently the rumor that Octavinelle's dorm leader has a pretty good partner is not just gossip

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #heartslabyul #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #octavinelle #twts #twisted wonderland headcanon

465 notes · View notes

minervacasterly · 4 years

Photo

“Henry VIII was at Whitehall Palace when the Tower guns signaled that he was once more a free man. He then appeared dressed in white mourning as a token of respect for his late queen, called for his barge, and had himself rowed at full speed to the Strand, where Jane Seymour had also heard the guns. News of Anne Boleyn’s death had been formally conveyed to her by Sir Francis Bryan; it does not seem to have unduly concerned her, for she spent the greater part of the day preparing her wedding clothes, and perhaps reflecting upon the ease with which she had attained her ambition: Anne Boleyn had had to wait seven years for her crown; Jane had waited barely seven months.

It was common knowledge that Henry would marry Jane as soon as possible; the Privy Council had already petitioned him to venture once more into the perilous seas of holy wedlock, and it was a plea of the utmost urgency due to the uncertainty surrounding the succession. Both the King’s daughters had been declared bastards, and his natural son Richmond was obviously dying. A speedy marriage was therefore not only desirable but necessary, and on the day Anne Boleyn died the King’s imminent betrothal to Jane Seymour was announced to a relieved Privy Council. This was news as gratifying to the imperialist party, who had vigorously promoted the match, as it would soon be to the people of England at large, who would welcome the prospect of the imperial alliance with its inevitable benefits to trade.

Although the future Queen had rarely been seen in public, stories of her virtuous behavior during the King’s courtship had been circulated and applauded. Chapuys, more cynical, perceived that such virtue had had an ulterior motive, and privately thought it unlikely that Jane had reached the age of twenty-five without having lost her virginity, ‘being an Englishwoman and having been so long’ at court where immorality was rife. However, he assumed that Jane’s likely lack of a maidenhead would not trouble the King very much, ‘since he may marry her on condition she is a maid, and when he wants a divorce there will be plenty of witnesses ready to testify that she was not’. This apart, Chapuys and most other people considered Jane to be well endowed with all the qualities then thought becoming in a wife: meekness, docility and quiet dignity. Jane had been well groomed for her role by her family and supporters, and was in any case determined not to follow the example of her predecessor. She intended to use her influence to further the causes she held dear, as Anne Boleyn had, but, being of a less mercurial temperament, she would never use the same tactics.

Jane’s well-publicized sympathy for the late Queen Katherine and the Lady Mary showed her to be compassionate, and made her a popular figure with the common people and most of the courtiers. Overseas, she would be looked upon with favour because she was known to be an orthodox Catholic with no heretical tendencies whatsoever, one who favoured the old ways and who might use her influence to dissuade the King from continuing with his radical religious reforms.

Jane was of medium height, with a pale, nearly white, complexion. ‘Nobody thinks she has much beauty,’ commented Chapuys, and the French ambassador thought her too plain. Holbein’s portrait of Jane, painted in 1536 and now in the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna, bears out these statements, and shows her to have been fair with a large, resolute face, small slanting eyes and a pinched mouth. She wears a sumptuously bejeweled and embroidered gown and head-dress, the latter in the whelk-shell fashion so favoured by her; Holbein himself designed the pendant on her breast, and the lace at her wrists. This portrait was probably by his first royal commission after being appointed the King’s Master Painter in September 1536; a preliminary sketch for it is in the Royal Collection at Windsor, and a studio copy is in the Mauritshuis in The Hague. Holbein executed one other portrait of Jane during her lifetime. Throughout the winter of 1536-7, he was at work on a huge mural in the Presence Chamber in Whitehall mural no longer exists, having been destroyed when the palace burned down in the late seventeenth century. Fortuitously, Charles II had before then commissioned a Dutch artists, Remigius van Leemput, to make two small copies, now in the Royal Collection and at Petworth House. His style shows little of Holbein’s draughtsmanship, but his pictures at least give us a clear impression of what the original must have looked like. The figure of Jane is interesting in that we can see her long court train with her pet poodle resting on it. Her gown is of cloth of gold damask, lined with ermine, with six ropes of pearls slung across the bodice, and more pearls hanging in a girdle to the floor. Later portraits of Jane, such as those in long-gallery sets and the miniature by Nicholas Hilliard, all derive from this portrait of Holbein’s original likeness now in Vienna, yet they are mostly mechanical in quality and anatomically awkward.

However, it was not Jane’s face that had attracted the King so much as the fact that she was Anne Boleyn’s opposite in every way. Where Anne had been bold and fond of having her own way, Jane showed herself entirely subservient to Henry’s will; where Anne had, in the King’s view been a wanton, Jane had shown herself to be inviolably chaste. And where Anne had been ruthless, he believed Jane to be naturally compassionate. He would be in years to come remember her as the fairest, the most discreet, and the most meritorious of all his wives.

Her contemporaries thought she had a pleasing sprightliness about her. She was pious, but not ostentatiously so. Reginald Pole, soon to be made a cardinal, described her as ‘full of goodness’, although Martin Luther, hearing of her reactionary religious views, feared her as ‘an enemy of the Gospel’. According to Chapuys, she was not clever or witty, but ‘of good understanding’. As queen, she made a point of distancing herself from her inferiors, and could be remote and arrogant, being a stickler for the observance of etiquette at her court. Chapuys feared that, once Jane had had a taste of queenship, she would forget her good intentions towards the Lady Mary, but his fears proved unfounded. Jane remained loyal to her supporters, and to Mary’s cause, and in the months to come would endeavor to heal the rift between the King and his daughter.

- Alison Weir, The Six Wives of Henry VIII

“A story of a later date had Queen Anne finding Mistress Seymour actually sitting on her husband’s lap; ‘betwitting’ the King, Queen Anne blamed her miscarriage upon this unpleasant discovery. There was said to have been ‘much scratching and bye-blows between the queen and her maid’. Unlike the King’s invocations of the divine will, however, there is no contemporary evidence for such robust incidents; the character of Jane Seymour that emerges in 1536 is on the contrary chaste, verging on the prudish. As we shall see, there is good reason to believe that the King found in this very chastity a source of attraction; as he had once turned to the enchantress Anne Boleyn from the virtuous Catherine. Yet before turning to Jane Seymour’s personal qualities for better or for worse, it is necessary to consider the family from which she came … The Seymours were a family of respectable and even ancient antecedents in an age when, as has already been stressed, such things were important. Their Norman ancestry – the name was originally St Maur – was somewhat shadowy although a Seigneur Wido de Saint Maur was said to have come over to England with the Conquest. More immediately, from Monmouthshire and Penbow Castle, the Seymours transferred to the west of England in the mid-fourteenth century with the marriage of Sir Roger Seymour to Cecily eventual sole heiress of Lord Beauchamp of Hache. Other key marriages brought the family prosperity. Wolf Hall in Wiltshire, for example (scene of Henry’s autum idyll with Jane if legend is to be believed) came with the marriage of a Seymour to Matilda Esturmy, daughter of the Speaker of Commons, in 1405. Another profitable union, bringing with it mercantile links similar to those of the Boleyns, was that of Isabel, daughter and heiress of Mark William Mayor of Bristol, to a Seymour in 1424. Sir John Seymour, father of Jane, was born in about 1474 and had been knighted in the field by Henry VII at the battle of Blackheath which ended a rebellion of 1497. From this promising start, he went on to enjoy the royal favour throughout the next reign. Like Sir Thomas Boleyn, he accompanied Henry VIII on his French campaign of 1513, was present at the Field of Cloth of Gold, attended at Canterbury to meet Charles V; by 1532 he had become a Gentleman of the Bedchamber. Locally, again echoing the career of Thomas Boleyn, he had acted as Sheriff of both Wiltshire and Dorset. It was a career that lacked startling distinction – here was no Charles Brandon ending up a duke – but one which brought him close to the monarch throughout his adult life. Sir John’s reputation was that of a ‘gentle, courteous man’. That again was pleasant but not startling. But there was something outstanding about him, or at least about his immediate family. Sir John himself came of a family of eight children; then his own wife gave birth to ten children – six sons and four daughters. All this was auspicious for his daughter, including the number of males conceived at a time when women’s ‘aptness to procreate children’ in Wolsey’s phrase about Anne Boleyn, was often judged by their family record. It was however from her mother, Margery Wentworth – once again echoing the pattern of Anne Boleyn – that Jane Seymour derived that qualifying dash of royal blood so important to a woman viewed as possible breeding stock. Margery Wentworth was descended from Edward III, via her great-great-grandmother Elizabeth Mortimer, Lady Hotspur. Indeed, in one sense – that of English royal blood – Jane Seymour was better born than Anne Boleyn, since she descended from Edward III, whereas Anne Boleyn’s more remote descent was from Edward I. This Mortimer connection meant that Jane and Henry VIII were fifth cousins. But of course neither the Wentworths nor the Seymours were as grand as Anne Boleyn’s maternal family, the ducal Howards. The Seymours may not have been particularly grand, but close connections to the court had made them, by the generation of Jane herself, astute and worldly wise. Sir John Seymour was over sixty at the inception of the King’s romance with his daughter (and would in fact die before the end of the year 1536); even before that the dominant male figure in Jane’s life seems to have been her eldest surviving brother Edward, described by one observer about this time as both ‘young and wise’. Being young, he was ambitious, and being wise, able to keep his own counsel in pursuit of his plans. Contemporaries found him slightly aloof – he lacked the easy charm of his younger brother Thomas p but they did not doubt his intelligence. Edward Seymour was cultivated as well as clever; he was a humanist and also, as it turned out, genuinely interested in the tenets of the reformed religion (unlike his sister Jane) … The vast family of Sir John Seymour began with four boys: John (who died), Edward, Henry and Thomas, born in about 1508. A few years later the King would speak ‘merrily’ of handsome Tom’s proverbial virility. He was confident that a man armed with ‘such lust and youth’ would be able to please a bride ‘well at all points’. Then came Jane, probably born in 1509, the fifth child but the eldest girl. After that followed Elizabeth, Dorothy and Margery; two sons who died in the sweating sickness epidemic of 1528 made up the ten. Apart from her presumed fertility, what else did Jane Seymour, now in her mid-twenties (the age incidentally at which Anne Boleyn had attracted the King’s attention), have to offer? Polydore Vergil gave the official flattering view when he described her as ‘a woman of the utmost charm both in appearance and character’, and the King’s best friend Sir John Russell called her ‘the fairest of all his wives’ – but this again was likely to loyalty to Jane Seymour’s dynastic significance. From other sources, it seems likely that the charm of her character considerably outweighed the charm of her appearance: Chapuys for example described her as ‘of middle stature and no great beauty’. Her most distinctive aspect was her famously ‘pure white’ complexion. Holbein gives her a long nose, and firm mouth, with the lips slightly compressed, although her face has a pleasing oval shape with the high forehead then admired (enhanced sometimes by discreet plucking of the hairline) and set off by the headdress of the time. Altogether, if Anne Boleyn conveys the fascination of the new, there is a dignified but slightly stolid look to Jane Seymour, appropriately reminiscent of English medieval consorts. But the predominant impression given by her portrait – at the hands of a master of artistic realism – is of a woman of calm and good sense. And contemporaries all commented on Jane Seymour’s intelligence: in this she was clearly more like her cautious brother Edward than her dashing brother Tom. She was also naturally sweet-natured (no angry words or tantrums here) and virtuous – her virtue was another topic on which there was general agreement.

... Her survival as a lady-in-waiting to two Queens at the Tudor court still with a spotless reputation may indeed be seen as a testament to both Jane Seymour’s salient characteristics – virtue and common good sense . A Bessie Blount or Madge Shelton might fool around, Anne Boleyn might listen or even accede to the seductive wooings of Lord Percy: but Jane Seymour was unquestionably virginal. In short, Jane Seymour was exactly the kind of female praised by the contemporary handbooks to correct conduct; just as Anne Boleyn had been the sort they warned against. There was certainly no threatening sexuality about her. Nor is it necessary to believe that her ‘virtue’ was in some way hypocritically assumed, in order to intrigue the King (romantic advocates of Anne Boleyn have sometimes taken this line). On the contrary, Jane Seymour was simply fulfilling the expectations for a female of her time and class: it was Anne Boleyn who was – or rather who had been – the fascinating outsider.

- Antonia Fraser, The Wives of Henry VIII

“Whilst Jane was always denied a political role, her political interests are clear. She favoured Mary, attempted to save the monasteries and sympathized with the rebels during the Pilgrimages of Grace. Jane’s politics were largely conservative. Her strong character is visible both by her ruthlessness in watching the fall of Anne Boleyn and in the way in which she ruled her household. Jane could have been a queen as strong and influential as Catherine of Aragon or Anne Boleyn had been in the early years of their marriages. Unfortunately for Jane, when the opportunity finally arose with the birth of her son, she did not survive. Had Jane lived, as the mother of the king’s heir, she could have asserted her authority safe in the knowledge that her position was finally secure. After Henry’s death, when Jane’s son was only nine years old, she would have had a very strong claim to the regency as the mother of the king. Jane Seymour could have been so much more and, whilst it is possible to glimpse her potential, much of what she could have achieved will forever be speculation. Jane did not live to take on the political role that would have been open to her as the mother of the heir to the throne and her real legacy is her son, Edward VI, and the prominence of her brothers, Edward and Thomas Seymour. Although Henry would go on to have another three wives after Jane’s death, Edward was his only son and, on Henry’s death in January 1547, he became king aged nine as Edward VI Edward was hailed by many in England as a future great king and Jane would have been proud of her son. Edward’s tutor, Sir John Cheke, for example, wrote of the king that ‘I prophesy indeed, that, with the lord’s blessing, he will prove such a king, as neither to yield to Josiah in the maintenance of the true religion, nor to Solomon in the management of the state, nor to David in the encouragement of godliness’. Roger Ascham, the tutor of Edward’s sister, Elizabeth, also sang the youth king’s praises, writing that ‘he is wonderfully advanced of his years’. Edward was raised to be a king and received a formidable education, writing very advanced letters even in early childhood (even if is clear that he must have received some assistance in the earlier letters). In one letter to his father, Edward wrote: In the same manner as, most bounteous king, at the dawn of day, we acknowledge the return of the sun to our world, although by the intervention of obscure clouds, we cannot behold manifestly with our eyes that resplendent orb; in like manner your majesty’s extraordinary and almost incredible goodness so shines and beams forth, that although present I cannot behold it, though before me, with my outward eyes, yet never can it escape from my heart. Edward was raised to be king in the manner of his father but in his appearance, with his pale skin and fair hair, he always resembled Jane. Jane’s greatest regret, when she came to realize that she was dying, was that she would not live to see her son grow up …

Jane’s legacy is also her own reputation and her relationship with Henry VIII. Jane never inspired the deep obsession in the king that he felt for Anne Boleyn or the admiring love that he, at first, felt for Catherine of Aragon. Instead, he married her almost on a whim. She was the woman best placed at the perfect time. There is even some evidence that Henry came to regret his haste in marrying Jane after seeing some other beautiful ladies at his court. Jane never raised the passion in Henry that some of his other wives did. Throughout their marriage, it is clear that Henry did not entirely view his marriage to Jane as permanent. It was essential that Jane fulfilled her side of the bargain and that was to bear a son. Until that time, as Jane was very well aware, she was entirely dispensable. In spite of this, with her death in giving him the son he craved, Henry’s feelings towards Jane entirely changed and he came to look back on their marriage through rose-tinted spectacles. A commemoration to Jane was written some time after her death and perhaps best sums up how Henry came to view her: Among the rest whose worthie lyves Hath runne in vertue’s race, O noble Fame! Persue thy trayne, And give Queene Jane a place. A nymphe of chaste Dianae’s trayne, A virtuous virgin eke; In tender youth a matron’s harte, With modest mynde most meeke.

Jane spent her entire marriage trying to prove to Henry that she was his ideal woman and, posthumously, she succeeded.

- Elizabeth Norton, Jane Seymour: Henry VIII’s True Love

“How a woman like Jane Seymour became Queen of England is a mystery. In Tudor terms she came from nowhere and was nothing. Chapuys confronted the riddle in his dispatch of 18 May 1536, which was addressed to Antoine Perrenot, the Emperor’s minister, rather than to the Emperor Charles V himself. Freed from the decorum of writing to his sovereign, the ambassador expressed himself bluntly. ‘She is the sister’, he began, ‘of a certain Edward Seymour, who has been in the service of his Majesty [Charles V]’; while ‘she [herself] was formerly in the service of the good Queen [Catherine]’. As for her appearance , it was literally colourless. ‘She is of middle height, and nobody thinks she has much beauty. Her complexion is so whitish that she may be called rather pale.’ This is a neat pen-portrait of the woman whose mousy, peaked features and mean, pointed chin, are denred by Holbein with his characteristic, unsparing honesty. So much Chapuys could see. But when he turned to her supposed moral character he gave his prejudices full rein. ‘You may imagine’, he wrote Perrenot, man-to-man, ‘whether, being an Englishwoman, and having been so long at Court, she would not hold it a sin to be virgo intacta.’ ‘She is not a woman of great wit,’ he continued. ‘But she may have’ -and here he became frankly coarse- ‘a fine enigme.’ ‘Enigme’ means ‘riddle’ or ‘secret’, as in ‘secret place’ or the female genitalia. ‘It is said’, he concluded, ‘that she is rather proud and haughty.’ ‘She seems to bear great goodwill and respect to [Mary]. I am not sure whether later on the honours heaped on her will to make her change her mind.’ Whatever was there here -a woman of no family, no beauty, no talent and perhaps not much reputation (though there is no need to accept all of Chapuys’s slanders)- to attract a man who had already been married to two such extraordinary women as Catherine and Anne? But maybe Jane’s very ordubarubess was tge oiubt, Anne had been exciting as a mistress. But she was too demanding, too mercurial and tempestuous, to make a good wife. Like the Gospel which she patronised, she seemed to have come ‘not to send peace but the sword’ and to make ‘a man’s foes ... them of his own household’ (Matthew 10.34-6). Henry was weary of scenes and squabbles, weary too of ruptures with his nearest and dearest and his oldest and closest friends. He wanted his family and friends back. He wanted domestic peace and the quiet life. He also, more disturbingly, wanted submission. For increasing age and the Supremacy’s relentless elevation of the monarchy had made him ever more impatient of contradiction and disagreement. Only obedience, prompt, absolute and unconditional, would do. And he could have none of this with Anne. Jane, on the other hand, was everything that Anne was not. She was calm, quiet, soft-spoken (when she spoke at all) and profoundly submissive, at least to Henry ...”

- David Starkey, Six Wives: The Queens of Henry VIII

Images: Jane Seymour painted by Hans Holbein the Younger. Variousa actresses from costume dramas that have played Henry VIII’s third consort. Elly Condron from the documentary drama Secrets of the Six Wives documentary presented by Lucy Worsley. Anne Stallybras from the BBC miniseries The Six Wives of Henry VIII (1970). Jane Asher from the BBC film Henry VIII & his Six Wives (1972). Lastly, Kate Phillips from Wolf Hall (2014).

#Jane Seymour #Tudor History #dailytudors #historians assesment of Jane Seymour #David Starkey #Alison Weir #Antonia Fraser #Elizabeth Norton

67 notes · View notes

fairylightsandchai · 5 years

Text

The Internship - Part 1

A/N: Hello! I know I usually don’t post fanfiction to this blog, but I really wanted to participate in @darkficsyouneveraskedfor‘s Pre-Code Challenge! Just ignore this if you follow me and you’re not interested.

Pairing: Dark!Professor!Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: >10K

Summary: You are a student in the former-Captain America’s American History class, and you soon notice that Professor Rogers has been paying more than a professional amount of attention to you. But when he approaches you with an internship opportunity that’s too good to be true, how can you say no?

(A/N: This fic contains non-con elements, stalking, and manipulation, and in later parts it will inclue rape, breeding kink, and kidnapping. It is also inspired by The Wild Party, a film from 1929. I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think.)

You had always wanted to be a writer. When you were a little girl, you’d spent most of your time with your nose in a book and your head in the clouds, dreaming of the day when you would tell stories of your own, stories that connected with people all over the globe.

And then the Battle of New York had happened.

You had been in high school during the attack, a shy freshman who had only wanted to blend in and disappear amongst the rest of your classmates. You’d still had your dreams of being a bestselling author someday.

But, like so many other things in your small, sheltered world, all of that changed the day the Chitauri invaded. You hadn’t been in the city at the time; you’d grown up in upstate New York, about an hour away from the busy metropolis, but it had still shaken your small town to its foundations. It was too close to home, too huge for you and your neighbors to comprehend.

After it had happened, you spent less time dwelling on fiction and more time focused on the truth; the nonfiction isles of your school’s library became your second home, and you were always the first one in your family to read the Sunday paper. You followed current events almost obsessively, imagining one day having your name printed on the New York Post under a ground-breaking story that would define the rest of your career – the rest of your life.

You had not, however, counted on having one of the Avengers as your professors in college, and yet here you were, stood outside the history building of Columbia University with binder in hand, a syllabus and class schedule tucked inside of it.

You hadn’t realized that you would need to take classes on subjects other than writing – you’d known about the needed electives for your course, obviously, but most of them were somehow linked to writing, be it creatively or informatively. Your required history credit had surprised you, though, and your surprise only doubled as you’d scrolled through the available history courses on your student Blackboard account and found a name that stood out amongst the rest. American History (157) – Professor Steven Grant Rogers.

At first you’d chuckled at the coincidence and signed up for it without thinking, but after you’d been accepted into the course, after you’d read and studied its syllabus, you’d started researching your various professors only to find that Professor Steven Grant Rogers…was actually THE Steven Grant Rogers. As in, Captain America himself. As in, one of the people who had fought against the Chitauri and inspired you to seek out journalism.

And now you were about to walk into his class.

Letting out a deep sigh, you pushed a strand of your hair out of your eyes and adjusted your cardigan before pushing open the door of the classroom and stepping inside. Looking around, you only noticed a handful of other students, but then again you had arrived fifteen minutes early for class. Your eyes scanned each of their faces before finally meandering to the front of the classroom, immediately picking out the shape of your professor sitting at his desk.

Even with him sitting behind his desk, you could tell that he was huge. His shoulders were broad, and the fabric of his light blue shirt strained against them as he hunched over, jotting something into a leather notebook. His hair was neat and trimmed, and he had grown out a beard since his retirement from the Avengers. It looked good on him, you mused, but in the middle of your thoughts he turned and looked at you, his piercing blue eyes looking directly into yours, and you froze where you stood.

You saw his eyes widen for a split second while he took you in, but before you could register the shift in his expression he had put on an easy smile, giving you a small nod.

“Welcome,” Professor Rogers spoke, his voice warm and genuine.

You, for your part, answered with an incredibly smooth and well-thought-out response.

“U-um…” you stammered, shifting on your feet. “Hello.”

Feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, you ducked your head and darted to the first row of desks and sank into one, willing your heart to stop its infernal pounding. As you silently cursed yourself for being so nervous, you opened your binder and pulled out the only two sheets of paper in it along with your spiral bound notebook before reaching into your backpack and rooting around for a pen.

He’s just a person, you lectured yourself internally. A person who has saved the world on more than one occasion, but a person, nonetheless. He probably gets tired of people acting differently around him just because he’s- “Do you need a copy of the syllabus?”

The voice came from in front of you, and your head popped up to see Professor Rogers standing in front of your desk holding a stack of papers. He held one out to you, but you quickly smiled and picked your syllabus off of your desk.

“Oh, no, thanks! I printed one off last night,” you explained. “But thank you.”

His smile grew, and he walked back to his desk, setting the papers back down.

“You’re prepared; I’m glad to hear it.”

The minutes ticked by after that, a slow but steady line of students filing into the class as its start time grew nearer. You gauged your peers’ reactions curiously, observing as some hardly seemed to recognize your professor while a few others stopped to ask for a selfie with him. The first time that happened, your eyes had widened their bold question, but the former Avenger bared it gracefully, simply shaking his head and giving them a smile.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to hold off on that till the end of class,” he’d say. “If you still want one after we’re all done then just stay behind for a few minutes.”

Finally the clock read 10:30 and Professor Rogers made his way to the front of the desk, right in front of the empty, clean whiteboard. He took a few moments to look out over the full classroom, taking in all of the students before him. When his eyes landed on you, you swore that you saw him linger for a moment, a curious gleam resting in his eyes before he looked away and opened his mouth to speak.

“Well, everyone, it’s time to get started,” he began. “As you probably know by now, my name is Steve Rogers, and this class is dedicated to American History from 1914 to 1939. I’d like to just say right off the bat that I’m happy to have all of you in my class, and I hope that this course is informative and helpful to each of your personal fields of study.

“Now to address the elephant in the room,” he said, starting to pace slowly, “yes, I was alive during most of that period of time, and I did use to be known as Captain America. But I hung up that hat a few years ago, and I’d appreciate it if you showed me the same courtesy and respect that you show your other professors. That being said, I don’t want you to hesitate to ask me any personal questions you may have as long as they relate to what we’re discussing in class. Any off topic questions should be kept to yourselves or saved for after we are finished for the day.

“Any questions?”

There was a moment of silence as he searched for any raised hands.

“Is the shield as heavy as it looks?” someone called from the back row, and a few snickers could be heard from around the room.

Professor Rogers let out a chuckle of his own and pointed to the student who’d asked.

“That is a great example of a question that should be saved for after class.”

____________

Steve waved goodbye to the last of his students, only minorly annoyed at how many had stayed late to take a picture with him. As he packed up his things and prepared to head to his office for the rest of the day, he mused that he should have been used to it by now. With social media so prominent in society these days, he’d been hounded for selfies ever since 2012, but they were still (and probably would always be) aggravating to him.

He didn’t linger on that today, though; he had so many other important things to think about, after all. And most of them revolved around you.

A smile twisted his features as he remembered how you’d looked when you’d first walked into his class – so shy and hesitant but just as gorgeous as always. He’d been so pleased to see you wearing your long green cardigan today; it was one of his favorites. Mostly because of that time he’d seen you walking around your little apartment wearing nothing but your bra and panties under it, but he had to admit that you’d looked almost just as sexy wearing it with those brown leggings you’d had on today.

As he made his way across campus to the building his office was in, he didn’t even try to hide the smirk on his face; he finally had accomplished the first part of his plan. He’d hoped to have you in his class sooner, but it had been hard finding someone to hack into the school records to add that history credit to your list of prerequisites. Well, rather, it had been hard finding someone discreet enough to get the job done. Plenty of his friends would have been able to do it without any problem; hell, Tony probably had done that exact same thing in the past. But they would have asked questions, and he couldn’t afford to have people poking around in something that didn’t concern them.

A part of Steve knew that this wasn’t the right way of going about having you; the Steve from before Thanos would have been disgusted with his actions, absolutely repulsed at what he was planning to do. But after the snap, after he’d watched so many people he’d cared about turn to dust, something in him had changed. He’d tried so hard, so goddamn hard, to do the right thing, but in the end it hadn’t been good enough to stop everything from happening. And even now, after Thanos was dead and the fallen had been brought back, he was still different than before. He’d done the right thing his entire life, and all he’d gotten from it was heartache.

But now he would finally claim what he deserved. He would claim you.

The first time he’d seen you, it had been in the campus coffee shop. He had only been teaching for a year at the time, and he hadn’t foreseen how overwhelming it could be. While the students were cramming and stressing over finals, he was clamoring to compile the perfect exam for his class, the perfectionist in him never fully satisfied and constantly worrying if he had enough questions, if they were balanced enough, if they were too easy or too hard or irrelevant to the course.

Basically, he had been frazzled, and all he’d wanted was a small black coffee and a corner booth at the café to work on his laptop in. But then he’d seen you.

You were sitting at a table with a girl around your age, and the two of you were laughing about something; it must have been hilarious, because your head was thrown back and your eyes were closed as your laugh bubbled out of your smiling lips. It was in that moment that he knew that love at first sight existed. Every love song he’d ever heard had suddenly sounded in his ears, and he stood there as if frozen as he watched you, his eyes already straining to remember every little detail about your face.

After that day, he’d started seeing you on campus more and more often, though that might have been because he was following you. In his mind, though, it wasn’t following. It was…researching. He had to know if he’d been mistaken, if that electric feeling he’d felt upon seeing you had somehow been something other than love at first sight.

But as days turned to weeks turned to months of him following you, of him watching you while you were none the wiser, he knew that he hadn’t been mistaken. It seemed fell for you more and more with everything he learned about you and your life. Your body, your mind, your very soul seemed to be meant for him.

There was a problem, though. On the third day of him watching you, you and your friend from the café (he’d learned that her name was Tina) had gone to the library to study together, and he’d overheard you telling her something that made his heart sink. “So… You’ve been in college for a year now,” Tina had started, and you’d groaned, knowing where she was going even before she said anything else.

“No, Tina,” you sighed.

“What! I’m just wondering when you’re planning on finding yourself a man,” your friend insisted as you rolled your eyes.

“Is never a viable answer?”

“No – you and I both know it’s not. C’mon, you’ve talked about wanting to meet your dream man since high school!”

“Well, yeah, I’ve talked about it,” you’d said. “Talking about something and actually doing it are two different things, babe.”

“I knowww,” Tina had sighed. “But c’mon, now is the time to be looking for people to share a future with.”

You’d snorted a bark of laughter at that.

“It most certainly is not,” you’d countered. “I need to focus on my career right now, Tina. Even IF I met Mr. Right, I’m not gonna start a serious relationship until after college. I gotta put myself first right now.”

“I guess I see where you’re coming from,” she’d huffed. “I get it. But you could just, you know…fool around, right? College is the time for experimentation! Don’t you wanna get that cherry popped before you graduate?”

“TINA!”

“What!” your friend had laughed. “I know you’re dying to turn in that v-card of yours.”

Steve had had to stop listening at that point. With a muffled curse, he’d turned on his heel and all but fled from the library, feeling his heart soar and shatter all at once. On one hand, that same sick part of him that was driving his actions was all but singing; if your friend had been telling the truth, then you were a virgin. His (Y/N) really was a good girl – something that was rare to find these days, especially in young college girls. A sweet, innocent girl just like he’d always dreamed about starting a family with.

But, on the other hand, you were determined to hold off on relationships until the end of college. And even if you’d be willing to let Steve be the exception to that rule, that still didn’t change the fact that you were a student and he was a member of the faculty; he would not only lose his job if the two of you were found out, but he was sure that reporters and journalists would jump at the opportunity to write an exposé about Captain America taking advantage of a student at the university he taught at.

No, he would have to be smart about this. He knew he didn’t want to wait for you to finish your four-year degree, but he also couldn’t risk either of your reputations with some kind of forbidden relationship, if you’d even have him. He would have to think this through. He would have to come up with a plan.

___________

You were surprised at how quickly you got used to having Captain America as a teacher. You would still get nervous when he spoke directly to you, of course, but the insight he had to offer was priceless. It was one thing to learn about a period of history from a textbook, but it was another thing entirely to learn about it from someone who was actually there.

Professor Rogers was knowledgeable and kind to all of his students, and your favorite parts of his lectures were when your classmates would raise their hands and ask him about what it was like to live during whatever part of history you were learning about. You’d learned about Captain America and his backstory in high school history classes, of course, but the way he would answer those personal questions showed a whole different side of him. But you were starting to wonder if that new side of him was as golden as his status as a hero made him out to be.

Recently, something seemed a little bit off about him, as much as you hated to admit it. It only would happen in brief little flashes, so brief that immediately after you would find yourself questioning whether or not it had actually happened, but you could swear that he’d been…staring a lot recently. Specifically, he would be staring at you.

More and more often in class, you would start to feel like you were being watched; it was if you could sense eyes on you just out of the corner of your vision, and it would make your hairs stand on end. Usually, you would turn and see nothing out of the ordinary, and you would be able to chalk it up to an overactive imagination. But every now and then, you would turn and see Professor Rogers staring at you, his jaw clenched and his eyes dark.

As soon as it would happen, his expression would clear into a neutrally polite smile, and you always tried to return it to the best of your ability. But as the weeks went by, it was happening more and more frequently. And then there were the touches.

Mr. Rogers never touched you in an inappropriate way; you were almost certain that he never would. But whenever he would collect your papers, or whenever he would pass out assignments, his hand would always seem to linger. Sometimes, he would let his fingertips drag against yours as he took whatever you were handing to him; sometimes, he would set his hand on your shoulder for the briefest of moments when you dropped an assignment off with him before leaving class.

He’d also started commenting about your appearance at the beginning of class. From the moment you walked in the door to the moment you sat down in your seat, he’d manage to make some comment on your outfit. The first time he’d said something was on one of the many occasions where you were wearing your favorite cardigan.

“You look very nice today, (Y/N),” he’d mentioned in passing, almost making you stumble on your way to your seat. You’d barely managed to stutter out a ‘thank you’. After that, it happened every time you saw him, and some part of your mind whispered that he never complimented your classmates the way he would compliment you.

“I like how you did your hair this morning,” he’d said the next time.

“Like the new jeans, (Y/N),” the week after. (How had he even known those jeans were new?)

“That’s a nice color on you.”

“Looking lovely as always.”

You did love having Professor Rogers as your teacher, but each class with him made you feel increasingly uncomfortable despite your best efforts. In your mind, you knew that you were reading too much into it, but that was never able to stop you from feeling a cold shiver run up your back when you’d see him glaring at you from behind his desk.

Despite your growing anxiety about your history professor, though, you were settling in quite nicely to your day to day routine. Your favorite days were Fridays, though; you spent your afternoons right before the weekend with your best friend, Tina. She had been your friend since junior year of high school, and while the two of you were opposites when it came to most things, the bond you shared was strong and deep.

This Friday, however, she’d had to cancel your weekly study session; Tina was in Columbia’s dental department, and every now and then her and the other aspiring dentists would do volunteer events to help people in the surrounding area get free dental care. You were always proud of her when she took part in events like those, but you always felt a little lonelier on Friday afternoons.

After spending the morning sleeping in and meal prepping for the week, you set out on your way to the library without your best friend in tow; you would just have to study on your own that week, especially with the first test of the semester looming over you in Mr. Roger’s class. He was kind to his students, yes, but he was also demanding. He’d made it abundantly clear that he expected quality work out of his students.

“This is an advanced class,” he would say. “I expect you to be advanced learners.”

Pulling your heavy wool jacket tighter around your body, you trudged into the library and sat at yours and Tina’s regular table towards the back, opening your history textbook and busting out your favorite blue highlighter; this would be a study session of the ages, not interrupted by anything or anybody-

“(Y/N), is that you?”

…Maybe you’d spoken too soon.

Looking up, you saw none other than the man whose class you were about to be studying for. Professor Rogers was walking over to you with one hand in his pocket; in his other rested a copy of The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, and you smiled as you read its title.

“Hi, Professor,” you greeted him. You made to stand up out of your chair, but before you could he took his hand out of his pocket and set it on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“Oh, no, don’t get up on my account. What brings you here today? Got a big test coming up or something?”

You forced a weak smile to your lips, acutely aware that his hand was still on your shoulder.

“Oh, yeah,” you managed to joke. “One of my pesky teachers is giving us a test next Thursday.”

“Who does he think he is?” your teacher chuckled. Finally, he let his hand slide off of your shoulder, and you once again looked at the book he was holding.

“The Book Thief?” you asked, nodding to it. “Are you checking it out?”

“Oh! Yeah. For the second time, actually. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Really? It’s one of my favorites too!”

Steve grinned, even though he’d already known that. He’d read most of the books you had on your shelf at home; at first, he’d done it to try and draw closer to you, to see what kind of stories you liked. But after a while he just did it because you had good taste; the only book of yours that had disappointed him was a cheesy teenager romance you’d had since high school, but even then he thought it was adorable that you found enjoyment in such things.

“It sure is a small world, huh?” he drawled, pulling out the chair across the table from yours. “Do you mind if I join you for a little while?”

You hesitated, looking between the chair he was already half sitting in and the charming smile he had on his face. Something about the whole thing seemed off to you, but you shook away that feeling and nodded your head.

“Be my guest,” you finally said, and your professor didn’t hesitate to sink into his seat.

“Thanks, doll.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at that and quickly gave him what you hoped was more of a convincing smile.

“N-no problem, Mr. Rogers,” you hurriedly assured him. A smirk stretched across his lips as he reached across the table, letting his hand rest on the back of yours.

“I’ll never get used to people calling me that,” he chuckled. “How about you just call me Steve when we’re not in class?”

Your eyes widened and you gulped, eyes flickering between his face and his hand, so warm against yours.

“Wouldn’t that be, uh… unprofessional?” Your voice was higher pitched than usual as you said it, and it only made his smile grow.

“Not if we kept it our little secret. You wouldn’t tell anyone, would you?”

He arched his eyebrows questioningly at you, and for some reason you immediately shook your head.

“No, I… I wouldn’t tell anyone, Prof- Steve.”

Steve tried his best to keep his face neutral, but on the inside, he felt like fire works were going off in his head upon hearing you say his name. He knew it would sound sweet in your soft voice, and if it sounded good now, he couldn’t imagine how nice it would be to hear you moan it. One day, he promised himself. One day.

You squirmed in your seat as Professor Ro- Steve, you told yourself, Steve – watched you. After a few seconds of silence you hesitantly leaned forward.

“Steve?”

He seemed to snap back to reality, and once more his ever-present smile was carefully arranged on his face.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I, uh… Zoned out there for a second.”

“It’s ok,” you assured him. “I do that in your class all the time.”

“Hey,” he laughed, “C’mon, that’s not nice.”

You chuckled at your own joke and shrugged.

“I’m just joking,” you assured him.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he grinned. “Maybe that’s why you and Tina are always studying together.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but something stopped you from saying anything. Something about what he’d just said didn’t quite make sense, you told yourself.

Steve furrowed his brows at the look on your face.

“You ok over there, doll?”

“Y-yeah,” you nodded rapidly, turning to collect your things as alarm bells kept going off in your head. “I’m fine. I actually just remembered something; I have to go.”

“Go? So soon? I didn’t chase you off, did I?” His lips were lifted into a half-smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes as he watched you pack up your books.

“Oh, no!” you were quick to exclaim. “No, not at all! I just… I just left one of my textbooks at home. I’m so stupid.”

You finally slung your bag over your shoulder and made to leave, but all of a sudden there was an iron-like grip encircling your upper arm. You whipped your head around so quickly that for a moment your hair obscured your vision. When you shook it away, you saw Steve watching you with slightly narrowed eyes, his smirk still on his lips.

For a moment, you just stared at him, feeling your heartbeat quicken as his thumb idly rubbed circles against your bicep.

“Don’t call yourself stupid,” he finally muttered, letting his hand fall. “You’re a smart girl, (Y/N). I’m sure you’re just feeling a little…overwhelmed. From your classes, that is.”

You nodded numbly, taking a small step backwards, taking yourself out of arm’s reach.

“Y-yeah… That must be it. Sorry, Steve.”

You turned and walked away, just barely catching his next few words.

“No problem, hon.”

You felt his eyes on you all the way out of the library, and the feeling didn’t go away until you fell asleep that night, the sound of his voice echoing in your ears and the line of his smile still etched behind your eyelids. Just before you drifted off, it suddenly came to you, the reason why you’d felt such a sudden need to leave him.

How had he known that you were friends with Tina?

_____

Steve sighed as he sank into his armchair, watching you fall asleep through his telescope; one day he would really have to talk to you about leaving your blinds open.

Once he was sure you were asleep for the night, he looked around his small apartment, thinking about your little study session in the library. When you’d left in such a hurry, he’d felt angry at first, just barely able to keep himself from snapping at you to sit back down. It was rude to just run off like that, after all.

But then he’d heard your heartbeat, pounding away in your soft, sweet chest, and he’d understood: you were nervous around him. The fact had made him so giddy that he’d excused your impolite behavior this time, letting you go and waiting a few minutes before following you back to your apartment. You were nervous around him, and he was willing to bet it was because of your feelings. He’d been watching you even closer than usual for the past month, watching how you’d squirm in your seat in class when your eyes met his, feeling your quickening pulse anytime his hand lingered on yours.

You were starting to fall for him, he just knew it.

He stood up from his armchair, wandering over to his tiny kitchen and grabbing a beer for himself. It would all be worth it someday – the tiny apartment he’d bought just to be closer to you, the time he’d dedicated to watching you each day, the expensive hidden bugs he’d planted in your house so he could listen in on your life. One day, when you were well and truly his, he would move out of this apartment and buy a home for the two of you, one big enough for the family you would have.

He could see it even now as he settled back into his favorite chair, peeking through the telescope to glance at your sleeping form. One day, you would be able to quit your silly dream of journalism and be his wife, focusing on him and the children you would have. Oftentimes, Steve would imagine five or six little kids running around the house, even though he knew it was unreasonable to think of such things.

You guys would stop at four, he’d decided.

His cock twitched in his sweatpants at the idea of you round and swollen with his child. You would be such a good mother, such a good wife. You would be everything he’d ever wanted.

With a sigh, he took his cock out, stroking it leisurely as he kept your eyes on your face, peaceful and oblivious as you slept on. He hoped you were dreaming about him, fantasizing about him the way he was fantasizing about you right now.

He let out a soft moan at the idea of what your first time together would be like. You would lead him into your bedroom, hand in his as your hips swayed with your stride. He would sit on the edge of the bed as you stripped, watching as each delicious inch of your skin was slowly revealed to him. You would be wearing white, lacy lingerie, as pure and unsullied as your body.

His hand moved faster on his cock as he imagined what you’d taste like, what it would be like to have his face buried between your legs, his tongue delving into your tight, wet heat as you bucked and squirmed against him. You’d pull his hair and moan his name, your voice getting higher and breathier the closer you got to your release.

But he wouldn’t give it to you, oh no. Not with his tongue at least. He would pull away at the last second and hold you in his arms, his eyes not leaving yours for a second as he pushed his cock into you. He would go slow, at first. He knew it would be your first time, and the last thing he ever, ever wanted was to hurt you. A small part of him still wondered, though, what noise you would make as he pressed into you for the first time, how his cock would look coated in your cum and blood, how your face would contort in that strange mix of pleasure and pain as he took your innocence.

All too soon, though, he was brought back to reality when he felt his cum coat the back of his hand, and as he came down from his release, he felt a familiar surge of disappointment that it wasn’t your pussy that was making him cum, that his were the only moans to be heard in his lonely apartment.

He shoved his cock back into his pants and took one last look at you before standing up to go clean himself off. You were still sleeping, innocent and unaware of all the plans he had in store for you.

_______

You debated skipping your next class with Steve. As each day went by, you got more and more paranoid. Whether you were at work, walking from class to class, or even at the grocery store, you kept thinking you saw Steve. You would catch a glimpse of blonde hair or broad shoulders and do a double-take, but every time you saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Part of you still thought you were overreacting. He was your teacher, for god’s sake. And he was a former Avenger; if anything, you should’ve felt safer in his presence.

When Thursday came around, you pushed down your desire to skip class and soldiered on, stopping for a coffee on the way and taking your seats just a few minutes before class began. The teacher you’d been so paranoid about was seated behind his desk, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he stared at his laptop.

As you passed him on the way to your seat, his bright blue eyes darted upwards, and he gave you a soft smile like he always did when you walked into his classroom.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” he greeted you. “That’s a nice sweater you got on today.”

“Good morning, professor,” you’d murmured back, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Thank you.”

You scurried over to your seat and plopped down into it. With all of your nerves, you’d almost forgotten to study for the test today. You’d only managed to cram in about half an hour last night; all of your other attempts at studying had found you without the ability to focus on the textbooks in front of you, mind wandering distractedly.

“Alright, guys,” your professor finally sighed, standing up from his desk and grabbing a stack of papers off of it. “Before we get started with this test, do any of you have any questions?”

When no one raised their hand, he nodded and started passing them out. As he set your test on your desk, you looked to see him wink at you, his lips curving upwards.

“Good luck,” he whispered, and your cheeks heated as you slid the paper closer to yourself.

After that, you made a decided effort not to make any more eye contact with your teacher as you started writing out your answers. Mr. Rogers had only ever given you guys essay questions, encouraging his students to write out their thought processes behind each of their answers. You kind of resented him for it; essay questions were always, without fail, tedious.

The minutes ticked by slowly, the only sounds in the room behind the scratches of pens and pencils against papers and the occasional rustle when someone would flip their page over. You were amongst the first ones to finish, and when you dropped your test off with Steve at his desk, his hand once again found a way to linger against your own.

Biting your lip, you drew your hand back quicker than usual, scurrying back to your desk and pulling a book out of your bag to read. Not that you actually read it; your eyes stayed steadily on one sentence for the next several minutes. When they finally did lift off of the page, they immediately found your teacher’s eyes, boring into you with that same dark intensity. You shivered as you snapped your gaze back to the page in front of you.

When everyone had finished with their tests, Professor Rogers stood from his desk chair and cleared his throat, drawing all attention to himself.

“Alright, good job guys. Feeling good about how you did?” There were a few grumbles and murmurings heard throughout the room; apparently you weren’t alone in your dislike of essay questions. “I’ll take that as a yes.

“So I thought that I would cut today’s class short this week,” he went on, and all of you perked up at the idea of leaving early. “Before you all head out, though, I wanted to tell you about a new internship opportunity I’m spearheading.

“For the time being, the details of the internship are being kept under wraps, but I can say that it involves travelling to New York City for a week and keeping a field journal while you’re there. What you’ll be doing in New York, unfortunately, can’t be disclosed right now.”

You sat up straighter in your seat, interest piqued. A field journal? It sounded like whatever the internship was involved journalism skills. (Or scientific skills – you were pretty sure scientists kept field journals, at least. You shrugged that idea off pretty quickly, though; why would a history professor be in charge of a scientific internship?)

“If you’re interested in applying for it, you’ll need to write an essay and turn it in to me at the beginning of next week’s class. The essay needs to be about a historic event that has somehow impacted your personal life, and it can be from any era of history, not just the one we’re learning about in class… Oh, and make it over 1,500 words in length. Any questions?”

A few students raised their hands, but you tuned them out as you thought over what you would write about. That is, if you decided to apply for it. You still had no idea what the internship was for, after all. But, you reasoned, if it didn’t turn out to be something you were interested in, you could always say no, right?

“…Alright, guys, you’re free to go. Email me if you have any questions about your test grades once they’re posted,” Steve finally said, and you distractedly started putting your things away, still thinking about what you would write about.

When you finally stood up from your desk, you went to sling your backpack over your shoulder only to feel it hit against something. Or, if the small “oof” that had sounded upon impact was anything to go by, someone.

Your hand flew up to your mouth when you turned and saw none other than your teacher standing there, having just been hit in the stomach by your bag – your very heavy bag, which contained no less than three textbooks inside of it.

“Professor Rogers! Oh my god, I am so sorry-“ you started, but he waved it off with a good-natured grin.

“Don’t worry about it, (Y/N),” he insisted, waving off your concern. “I’ve survived much worse, believe me.”

You smiled a little at that and finished putting your bookbag over your shoulders.

“Still, I’m sorry. I promise I’ve never assaulted any of my professors before.”

“A likely story, Miss (Y/L/N),” he joked. “A likely story.”

The two of you were silent for a beat before he cleared his throat and gestured to you.

“I was just wanting to ask if you were planning on applying for that internship I mentioned.”

“Oh, uh… Yeah, I was, actually. Why do you ask?”

“Well… I know that I said I couldn’t go into what exactly the internship entails, but I did want to mention to you that it involves some journalism. That’s what you’re majoring in, right?”

You nodded, feeling excited about your suspicions being correct.

“It is, yeah! I thought it might have something to do with it when you mentioned field journaling,” you said. “Could I ask what the journaling would be about, or would that give too much away?”

“It would give way too much away,” your teacher confirmed. “But trust me, I think it’ll be up your alley.”

Your mind turned it over, taking in Steve’s raised eyebrows and expectant smile. He seemed even more eager than you were about the internship.

“Well, I’ll make sure to write my essay for it,” you assured him. “Just gotta think of what I’ll be writing about.” Your brain had already pondered writing about the Battle of New York; sure, it hadn’t even been ten years since it happened, but it was a historical event. And it was the main reason you’d wanted to pursue journalism, of course. But you almost died with embarrassment at the idea of writing an essay about something Captain America was involved in and then letting it be read by Captain America himself.

As if reading your thoughts, Steve asked, “Any idea about what your subject will be on?”

“Oh, uh…” you muttered, “I-I had one idea, but I don’t think I’m gonna go with it.”

“Why not?”

“Well…” You sighed, not able to meet his eyes as you confessed, “My immediate thought was the Battle of New York. I know you probably don’t like being reminded of it, but it just… It changed my world, the entire way I view things – it’s what made me want to be a journalist. After the invasion, the world – the universe, really – seemed so much bigger, and it made me want to tell stories about the reality we live in now rather than telling stories that are fiction.”

You trailed off, looking back up at him sheepishly when you realized you were rambling. He was watching you with an intent look on his face, and for a second you were worried that the memory had upset him.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Rogers. I didn’t mean-“

“No, no,” he interrupted, shaking his head, “don’t be. I understand; it kinda turned my world upside down, too. I’d thought that waking up from the 40’s had been disorienting enough, but… When I saw aliens on the streets of the city I grew up in, it really made me feel like I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.”

Your lips twitched into a half-smile.

“Was that a Wizard of Oz reference?”

“…It sure was,” Steve grinned. “Old fashioned, I know, but it was one of my favorites growing up.”

“Me too,” you nodded. The man in front of you chuckled at that and you arched an eyebrow questioningly.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Nothing, it’s just…not too often that I have something from my childhood in common with someone else these days,” he answered.

Your heart squeezed with compassion for the soldier in front of you, and without realizing what you were doing, you’d rested your hand on his shoulder. You didn’t know what to say, but you knew what you wanted to; you wanted to tell him that you were sorry for what he went through, that you would never be able to understand what it had been like for him but that you knew it had to have been hard. For a second, you regretted ever feeling uncomfortable around him; hadn’t he proven his entire life that he just wanted to do what was right?

You said none of that, though, and after a second you let your hand slide down to your side.

“I’ll have that essay ready for you next week,” you promised him, and with that you turned and left the room, not even feeling the weight of his stare on your back as you retreated.

For several moments, Steve just stood there, glaring at the spot you’d been standing in and feeling himself fall for you even more. Because even though you hadn’t said any of what you’d been thinking, he was able to read it all in your eyes.

______

You’d missed your study session with Tina that week again; for the next several days, when you weren’t working on homework for your other classes, you were working on your essay. You didn’t know why you felt such a sudden need to do well on it; something in you just couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing Steve. Plus, you’d never before written about your feelings on the Battle of New York and what it had meant to you.

Even though Steve had said the word limit was 1,500, your final essay clocked in over 3,000 words, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to shorten it. You’d dedicated an entire week to making it perfect, and you finally got to the point where you didn’t want to change a single word.

When that fateful Thursday came around, you gave Steve a bright smile as you set your stapled essay onto his desk. Judging from the pile of papers resting on it, you hadn’t been the only one to apply for the internship, but you didn’t feel nervous about your odds; either you got in or you didn’t. You were content knowing you’d done your best.

“You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Steve noticed, and you winked, actually fucking winked, at him, wondering a second later why you’d even done such a thing.

“I’m just happy to be done with that essay,” you confessed, continuing on to your seat. “I spent all week perfecting it.”

Steve grinned, knowing for a fact that you were telling the truth. He’d kept an ever-so-diligent eye on you since your last conversation, watching as you typed away on your laptop ceaselessly, feeling satisfied to know that all your work was for him. His heart soared this morning to see you so happy, and he’d felt butterflies, actual goddamn butterflies, in his chest when you’d winked at him.

Class went by as usual, closing off with a list of chapters to be read and homework to be completed before the next class. In fact, the rest of your day went by uneventfully, and the only thing out of the ordinary came in the form of an email on Friday morning.

You were standing in your kitchen, just wearing your most comfy pair of sweatpants and a tank top, sipping some coffee when you heard your phone ding with a notification. Opening up the email, you felt yourself gulp so fast that your coffee burned your throat as you read it.

Dear (Y/N),

Good morning! I know that this is last minute, but would you be willing to come see me in my office today at 11 am? I would like to discuss your essay with you. I’m in the C Building, third floor, Room 212.

Sincerely,

Steve Rogers

You looked up to the clock on your microwave and cursed when you saw what time it was – 10:34. You set your coffee down so quickly that some of it spilled on your pants as you rushed to your room, throwing on some jeans and a cream cable knit sweater before rushing to gather your phone, keys, and wallet. It usually only took you ten minutes to get to campus from your apartment, but the C Building was basically on the other side of the continent from student parking.

You sped in your tiny, beat up car all the way to your college, power walking to the administrative building while huffing and puffing; this was the most exercise you’d gotten in a while, what with your busy schedule.

After an agonizingly slow elevator ride, you reached the third floor and glanced at your phone as you passed by several offices – it was 10:58. You felt your lips spread into a grin.

When you finally reached room 212, you hesitantly rose your fist to knock on its door, but before you could make contact it was opened from the inside. Steve looked down at you with a smile as you jumped.

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to surprise you,” he said sheepishly. “I heard you walking up the hall.”

“…Super hearing?” you guessed, and he nodded bashfully.

He gestured for you to follow him into the room, your nose immediately flooded with the scent of something delicious. Your eyes fell on two bags from your favorite café on campus, and you could distinctly make out the smell of their turkey bacon wafting up from within.

“I hope you don’t mind that I got some food for us,” he said, settling into the cushy office chair placed on the side of the desk opposite to you. “I know you haven’t eaten yet, and all I’ve had was coffee-“

“How?” you interrupted him, feeling that old coil of unease wrap itself around you. “How did you know I haven’t eaten yet, that is?”

Steve’s lips parted and his eyes widened for a split second after you’d asked, but he quickly schooled his features back into something more neutral.

“Oh, sorry,” he chuckled. “I shouldn’t have said that I knew you hadn’t eaten; it was just a guess. I’m assuming I was right?”

You warily nodded, slowly walking over to the chair he had situated in front of his desk. The door behind you was still cracked open, something that helped comfort you enough to reach into the nearest bag and pull out a to-go box.

“I got you some turkey bacon and a cheese biscuit,” he said as you opened the package up. “And there’s some blueberry muffins in the other bag if you’d like any.”

Your hands trembled as you took a bite of your bacon; it was the exact same order you usually got for breakfast.

You were so focused on swallowing your bite of food that you jolted when you heard the man in front of you clear his throat. Your head popped up to see him watching you with an expectant face, tapping his fingertips on the desk beneath him.

“U-um…” you stuttered, not sure of what he was expecting you to do or say.

“It probably shouldn’t bother me, but… Back in my day, we thanked people when they got us something,” Steve shrugged, trying to pass off his words as nonchalant. You could see the way his fists were clenched, though, and it made your heartbeat quicken.

“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry,” you exclaimed. “I, um… Thank you, Steve. For breakfast.”

Your cheeks were on fire, and you felt your palms getting sweaty as you set down your piece of bacon; maybe you weren’t so hungry after all.

Steve, though, just smiled gently and dug into the matching box of food he had placed before himself.

“It’s ok, doll,” he hummed. “Bad manners are just a pet peeve of mine. Go ahead and eat.”

The food felt like cardboard against your teeth as you hesitantly obeyed, still uncomfortable from how Steve had just spoken to you. You began to squirm in your chair as the minutes ticked on, the only sounds in his office coming from your quiet eating. Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you cleared your throat and spoke so quietly that Steve probably wouldn’t have been able to hear you if not for his advanced hearing.

“So, um… In your email you mentioned my essay?” you asked, sitting up straighter. “Did you want to talk with me about it today?”

He smiled and set down the muffin he’d been working on, leaning his elbows against his desk and looking at you with a gleam in his eyes.

“That’s right, (Y/N),” he answered, his face so bright and excited that it was almost easy to forget how harsh his tone had been just a minute ago. “I wanted you to be the first to know that you got the internship.”

You blinked a few times, feeling surprised despite how hard you’d worked on your essay.

“Really?” you asked, slowly starting to smile again. “I did?”

“Of course,” Steve insisted. “Your essay was the best out of the bunch; it’s obvious that you want to be a writer.”

“Thank you so much, sir,” you said, hurrying to say so after what had happened the last time you hadn’t been grateful for his kindness. “That…means a lot.”

“Well, it’s true,” he assured you. “And now you get to know what the internship actually is; I know you were curious about it yesterday.”

You nodded eagerly, watching as he leaned back in his chair.

“A few months ago, I decided that I wanted to write an autobiography,” he began, thumbs twiddling in his lap. “I’ve never been much of a writer, but I figured that it would be nice to try and put my story down on paper. And I thought that it would be a great idea to go back to Brooklyn, where I grew up, and write down what’s changed about it and what’s the same as a sort of opening for the first chapter of my book.

“That’s where you come in,” he added, pointing to you before setting his hands on his desk. “I wanted to go back to Brooklyn with someone who grew up in this century, someone who could help me take notes on that part of the city and who I could bounce ideas off of. After all, most of my readers would be people who have no clue about what the 40’s were like. I’d need someone to hear my ideas and tell me if they’re relevant and if they’d appeal to folks these days.”

Your head was already turning with ideas on how he could link his past to his present in the beginning of his novel; the writer in you was salivating that the idea of this project, and you opened your mouth to tell Steve that you’d take the position.

But then you hesitated, slowly closing your mouth again as you looked at the man seated across from you. You remembered every time he’d made you uncomfortable, every doubt you’d had about him, every time he’d made you squirm under his penetrative gaze. Would you be able to work with him one on one without feeling so nervous around him?

“I’m…flattered that you think I’m a good fit for the job,” you started out, “And this is such an amazing opportunity, but… Um, would we the alone in Brooklyn or would there be other people with us?”

Steve’s brows furrowed; clearly, he hadn’t expected that question.

“Why would it matter?” he asked, voice hard as steel.

“Well, I just… I wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong i-idea, you know?” you stammered. “I wouldn’t want them to think-“

“No one would know,” he interrupted. “For obvious reasons, this project is being kept strictly confidential. You would have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before we left.”

Your doubt must have read on your face, because Steve’s face softened, and he slowly stood up, walking around to stand in front of your chair.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he said softly. “You know you don’t have to worry about me, right? I understand that you can be…shy, but think of this as a week off! I’ve already talked to the school board, and your absences with your other classes won’t be counted against you. We’ll go to the city, take our notes, maybe even have a little fun.

“Whatya say?”

You sighed and let your head droop, looking down to your clenched hands as they rested in your lap. You liked his words; they were kind and considerate, but they didn’t reach his eyes. No, they were dark, a stormy gray-ish blue as he watched you intently.

“I… I’m still not sure,” you murmured weakly. “Could I have some time to-“

“It’s a paid internship,” Steve interrupted you, his voice just barely edging to desperate. “And I would let you write the Forward to my novel. Think about it, (Y/N) – your name on the cover of ‘Captain America’s’,” he rolled his eyes at the name, “autobiography. You’ll be able to have any job you want when you graduate. A guaranteed successful start to your career.”

You paused at that, eyes widening at the thought; he had a point. You’d be a famous writer even before the beginning of your writing career. And your bank account was laughable at the moment; you only had a part-time job at the college library, and it definitely didn’t pay much.

Your head tilted up and your eyes met Steve’s, and he was wearing a smile that spoke volumes; he knew what you were going to say even before you said it.

“I’ll do it.”

_______

Steve let out a soft grunt as he came, his hand finally stilling on his cock before he tucked it back into his pants. You’d left his office hours ago, but his mind hadn’t stopped thinking of you since you’d said those three little words. He was coming close to the end of his plan; his reward was so close now. He could practically taste it – taste you.

He wasn’t happy that he’d had to bribe you, of course. He hated the idea that you were just saying yes because of the money and success he could offer you. But if that’s what it took to make you his, then he would do it. It was worth it for your future children, for your future life.

Letting out a soft sigh, he stood up, putting in his airpods and selecting his favorite app on his phone. With a press of a button, he could hear the sound of your soft humming as you turned the pages of your textbook. The camera in your living room showed you curled up on your couch, studying like the good little student you were. Soon you wouldn’t have to work so hard; Steve would give you everything you could ever want or need – a family, a house, a ring on your finger… He smiled at the thought.

He shoved his phone into his back pocket, keeping his airpods in so he could listen to the sound of your humming as background noise. He grabbed his keys and headed out, tucking his laptop under his arm as he started walking out of the building. The two of you would leave for New York in a week, and he had so many preparations to make. His back-up plan still needed to be put in order, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to use it with you.

You were different from all the others – sweet, obedient, smart… Whatever ended up happening, Steve knew that you would see things his way eventually. The two of you were meant to be, after all.

#precodechallenge #steve rogers #captain america imagine #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #professor!steve #professor!steve rogers #non-con #stalking #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine

1K notes · View notes