#while he sternly tells you to watch it and that you’re on real thin ice | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yoonpobs · 4 years ago

Text

bad boy good thing x.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 8, 711

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

so here is the mini monster chap !! i know I said this was going to be a drabble series but I clearly got carried away LOL

anyways, no spoilers for this chap but I can say it's one of my favs that I've written and I think we see oc getting the comfort that she deserves (and needs!)

and also !! this is my first time updating a series on tumblr and it feels *exciting* hehe, I hope you enjoy this chapter c:

let me know your thoughts in my asks!! i'd love to hear what you think so far :3

all the love and I hope you're having a great

day/night/evening/afternoon wherever you are ❤️

“Open up!”

The only person that would opt to yell to get your attention than ring on your doorbell like a normal person would be Yena. And it helped that you immediately recognised her voice from the first syllable she uttered. That and you were currently moping in your living room with lactose-free ice cream, courtesy of Jimin that dropped it off a day ago when he heard that you were ‘sick’. Even if you hadn’t seen him face-to-face, you remember him softly hoping you’d get better.

You don’t know why she’s at your door, but you’re already on your feet to get her when you hear her begin to mutter curses directed at you behind the thin wood of your entrance.

“I can hear you!” You call.

“Well bitch then open the damn door!” She snaps.

You roll your eyes, and so far with the number of times you’ve hung out with her, it’s safe to say that the two of you were comfortable. You never knew how fun having a girl best friend was until you met Yena, and sure it’s only been a little under two weeks since you’ve gotten to know her through various messages and FaceTimes, but you feel like she’s your friend soulmate.

And when you expressed that to her over a FaceTime call a few nights back, you remember her gagging all while you flush and attempt to take it back. You know her candidly calling you bitch rather than your name was her saying she felt the same.

You pull the door open as she stands there with her eyes narrowed into slits, eyeing you up and down before she scrunches her nose.

“There’s a thing called a shower that you should look into. You look like a rundown version of long-haired Noah Beck.” She grimaces when she eyes you up and down.

You scowl. “You did not just compare me to him.”

She clicks her tongue before she shoves you aside by shoving a plastic bag of the takeout food into your arms and steps into your apartment.

Yena ignores the glare you shoot at the back of her neck when she looks around your living room, scrunching her nose like she was here to inspect your room than pay you a visit.

“Did someone die in here or was that just your will to live?”

You scoff. “Wow. Drag me.”

She waves you off before plopping onto your couch while you sigh, immediately heading to the kitchen to prep the food she brought over.

“For a moment I thought you were dead.” She confesses casually.

When you return with bowls and plates, with the cutlery to match—you give her a dry look before you’re taking your seat on the floor; attempting to hide your half-eaten tub of ice cream, which Yena immediately spots.

“So your first instinct was to yell at my door in hopes that I wasn’t actually dead?” You ask dryly.

She picks up your ice cream and grimaces at it, silently judging you for the flavour before she gives you a shrug.

“Yeah. I was hoping that your spirit would confer.”

You snort. “And the food?”

“A peace offering.” She tells you like it’s obvious.

You sigh, you loved Yena—you really did. She was all over the place and random, but it was a refreshing difference that you needed in your life from the usual law and order you often opted for.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your concern,” You tell her, pulling out a container to see your favourite lemon chicken as you eye her suspiciously. “But what brings you here? I told you I was sick.”

Yena scoffs. “And sick you are, bitch. What kind of sick person devours ice cream? Sure, you look the part but your diet says otherwise. Don’t think I didn’t see the empty packet of snickers in the trash.”

You scowl.

“I recovered yesterday.” You lie, taking a bite out of the chicken.

Yena rolls her eyes and you know she doesn’t believe you. She leans into your couch while she watches you eat, “Namjoon texted me that you may need some company.” At that, you choke.

Her eyes widen as you hit at your chest to get the food to go down, eyes still wide at her revelation.

“Why would he do that?” You cry.

“Girl, I know you’re not trying to deflect—you’re literally about to choke and die.”

You glare at her. “I’m fine.” You cough for good measure, then you’re levelling another serious gaze at her.

“I’m fine.” You reiterate with an emphasis on your state even though you were anything but. “I don’t know why the hell he thinks I need company.” You mutter under your breath.

At this, Yena’s face softens as she leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees while you avoid her gaze; idly poking at your food.

“I don’t know either, and you don’t need to tell me anything.” She says softly. “That’s all I’m here for. To be your company, whether you need it or not.”

You don’t know how much Namjoon told her over a text message, but you don’t think it’s much. Purely because he didn’t seem like a snitch and he was too respectful to ever let other people into the business that wasn’t his own. Even at the thought, you want to groan because you essentially lured him into thinking it was okay for him to kiss you while you were … you don’t even know what the fuck was happening anymore.

“I—” You say weakly, and all Yena does is offer you a comforting smile.

For some reason, the fact that she’s here right in front of you after you spent the day crying and feeling like your heart has been repeatedly stomped over with the addition of your rumination—it feels nice to have someone with you, even if it’s just their presence.

But the way she doesn’t look at you and expects something out of your conversation makes you feel even more overwhelmed, and that’s probably why the dam breaks.

Yena’s eyes widen as she immediately darts out to wrap her arms around you when you end up in violent sobs. You don’t know why you’re crying but you are, and you’re tired of hiding things, your feelings and your intent just to pretend like things were okay.

“It’s okay.” She strokes your hair and it feels warm, like a mother comforting a crying baby and you realise that this is what friends should feel like.

“N-no it’s n-not!” You cry into her shirt and it’s messy, but she doesn’t seem like she minds. Especially when she supports your pliable frame.

“You wanna talk about it?” She asks softly, giving you a kind smile.

You sniffle, staring forward as you feel your eyes swell with the escalation of your tears.

“I don’t know.” You whisper.

She hums, “It’s okay not to know. You don’t need to know everything.”

“I’m just so tired, Yena.” You tell her in a hushed breath.

“Life is difficult.” She admits. “It’s natural to be tired.”

You’re thankful to hear that she doesn’t comfort you with blind optimism. She’s real and she acknowledges how shitty things may be, and frankly, you didn’t need another wannabe altruist telling you that things will get better. You knew that, everyone did. But when you’re at rock bottom and all you see is darkness, you’re not looking for better. You’re looking for a reason to continue.

“Can I say something?” She asks. The way she looks at you is soft and open, and non-judgemental. You feel safe.

You nod your head, teary eyes staring up at her.

“You’re not responsible for anyone’s feelings except your own.” She looks at you so seriously that you nearly feel your breath escape. “There are things that you can and cannot control—and the latter usually falls under the people around you.”

You suck in a breath, and you wonder how she’s so spot on without ever touching on the true context.

“Namjoon texted me but I didn’t come here because he asked me to. It’s because you deserve to have someone be around you when you’re clearly not okay.”

“I’m—”

“You’re not.” She blinks, and you almost pout at her firm tone. “And that’s okay. I don’t need to know what happened to justify how you feel. You could’ve stubbed your toe and feel like absolute shit and I have absolutely no right to judge you on how or when you feel emotions.”

You wonder where she’s been your entire life and why she was only in your life now.

“But the thing is,” She sighs. “You don’t always have to choose between something or the other. Sometimes you need to choose yourself.”

You stare up at her in awe because Yena was cool in general, her laidback and unbending personality was mainly what drew you to her because you’d argue you were the opposite. Even if Jungkook’s words stung, you could take it at face value and accept that it was true.

You were uptight and you were a bit of a prude, and for the longest time, you always resented that aspect of you. But you realised with Yena, she had traits that were resented in a woman as well. And you realise that you’d never be perceived the way you want unless you perceive yourself in a positive light first.

So when she speaks to you so sternly, yet with a tone of care as she picks apart her words so carefully—you realise what you have to do.

“I think I like Jungkook.”

Yena pauses for a brief second, but you don’t see any judgement in her face. Just confusion, a warranted emotion you don’t blame her for having.

“I figured as much.”

Your eyes widened, “How—?”

It’s almost like a repeat of the first night at the football game when you befriended each other, but she only shoots you a gentle smile.

“Call it a woman’s intuition.”

You blink, fiddling with your fingers before you stare up at her, continuing your drawls.

“And we kissed.”

At this, Yena cocks an eyebrow up, “Was this recent?”

You fiddle with your thumbs before you sigh and push yourself up.

“Thing is …” You mumble, “I’m not like that.”

You don’t answer her question because you can’t think of a proper enough response to tell her that yeah—you did kiss him, amongst other things that you foolishly allowed yourself to indulge in. You knew Yena wasn’t judgemental but you also knew that you couldn’t retrieve your words the moment they left your mouth. It was your own judgement that stopped you from saying the things you really wanted and it sucked, royally. Because you could tell that Yena wasn’t out here to crucify you for being … liberated. She just wanted to be there for you.

Yena scrunches her eyebrows in confusion as she allows your words to settle, pondering a response.

She settles for a huff, “Care to elaborate?”

“I don’t … do things like that.” You say softly. “I’m shy and quiet. I’m not active in the social sphere and I only have three friends that I can reach out to if I wanna hang out. But even then, I don’t … I don’t like partying, or drinking, or loud spaces. I’m awkward and horrible at social interaction let alone being able to navigate my romantic feelings. And … I felt so bad about it.”

Yena’s eyes soften, but you can’t look at her just yet. Not when this is the first time you’ve ever laid yourself vulnerable, emotionally that is, to someone that wasn’t just the confines of your thoughts.

“I always wondered what it’d like to be confident, to be liked on campus and not just be known as the smart girl.” You whisper. “My entire personality was built around my achievements and I didn’t know what else to do. What if … what if I peak here and fail after?” Your eyes are wide in despair, and you feel your lips quiver when you speak.

“You’ll never know.” Yena reminds you gently. “You won’t know who likes you or what people say about you—but you’re going to be hearing your own thoughts 24/7 and that’s what kicks you down or drives you further.”

You sigh, nodding your head.

“It’s just … Jungkook and I were close. We grew up together even if he’s younger than me. But we just got along well and he … he saw me. He used to comfort me whenever I’d tell him how pressuring it got and—I feel so stupid because he probably says that to everyone and I fell for it.” You chuckle with no emotion, staring at the stray thread poking outside of your couch pillow.

“Have you spoken to him about your feelings?” She asks softly.

Immediately, you scoff and the sour emotion peaks through again.

“He’s made it clear what he wants to hear from me.” You mutter.

Yena purses her lips before resting her hands gently on your shoulder.

“You’re not answering my question, ______.” She chides gently.

You nibble on your bottom lip and shake your head. That earns a sigh from her as she wraps her arms around you once again, resting her chin on your shoulder as you allow yourself to feel the comfort of her warmth.

“He kissed me first and we did things together.” Your lips quiver when you recall the memories, “A-And he’s with Jennie. I just …” You flutter your eyes shut, “I don’t want to say that I’m the other girl but I feel a lot like a second option and it sucks.”

Yena doesn’t ask, and she doesn’t need to. She doesn’t need to justify why you felt the way you did, so she holds you tighter.

“Babe.” She gently turns you to look at her with both hands resting on your shoulders. “Did you talk to him? Properly? Do you really know if he’s with her?”

“I think them kissing proves enough to me.” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re being so hostile, especially to Yena.

She purses her lips, “You kissed him and you aren’t together.”

You wince and she shoots you an apologetic look. She sighs before reaching out to squeeze your hand, all while you stare at the ground to level out your emotions.

“I’m not saying that you can’t feel the way you do. But I’m offering objectivity here. Men are … they’re blunt creatures and that’s the biggest difference between men and women.” You furrow your eyebrows as she takes a deep breath before she continues. “And the idea that we’re equal? No, we’re not. I’m not talking about our systemic positions in society but on an emotional level. Men take things surface value and work with it, they don’t stop to think about the layers of feelings that go into interpersonal relationships with friends, family or lovers. Women? We go big or we go home. All we see is the big picture and sometimes the little details get lost in translation. This isn’t me justifying Jungkook playing home with you or Jennie at the same time, but offering you a perspective that may be hard for you to see because you aren’t him.”

It was true, and you hated yourself for being aware but not putting action based on your own thoughts. Yena only reaffirmed the idea that you overthought every single interaction and maybe that was why you were the one that was hurting.

That, or you and Jungkook had horrible communication problems that neither of you was ready to face just yet. But how could you? When the two of you were on two different wavelengths and you were trying to be just enough for him while he was jumping off pedestals to see you.

It didn’t feel nice, and it sucked because he was the same person that comforted you and broke you all at once.

“I’m scared.” You whisper.

She smiles at you gently, patting your head gently as you peer up at her with tears between your lashes.

“And that’s okay.” She reassures you with a soft voice, “The only thing scarier than being scared is not feeling at all.”

Before you go to where your heart tells you to—your mind is the only thing that keeps you rooted in some form of rationale. That’s probably why you’re outside of Namjoon’s dorm. You don’t think you’ve ever paid his place a visit despite him telling you his address on multiple occasions, usually opting to hang out in public yet serene places where you were able to get a breather.

Your feet feel heavy and your fist is raised, but it barely moves. Especially when you’re just eyeing his door like a deer caught in headlights. You’ve rehearsed the apology on your tongue a million times, even if you don’t really know what you’re apologising for. But you feel like you must, particularly because you’ve senselessly let him see all of the feelings that you were trying to suppress in hopes of retaining the same ones he had for you.

You take a deep breath and deliver the first knock, the vibrations making your arm feel weak.

But you’re tired of always surrendering to bigger and more frightening things that you could understand. So you purse your lips and play the waiting game.

It seems like a long twenty minutes that you wait, but in reality, it’s only two when the door swings open. You brace yourself to see Namjoon, apology already sitting on your tongue.

You should’ve dropped a text, you knew that. But you decided against it because you haven’t spoken to Namjoon since what happened a few days ago. Neither of you speaking about the kiss or the way your eyes glistened when you saw Jungkook and Jennie together.

“____?” He asks confusedly.

You give him a meek smile, “Hi. Can I come in?”

He blinks at you, and you notice he still has his glasses that he usually forgoes during the times you’ve hung out—and you feel a little guilty for catching him at a bad time.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Sure.”

Namjoon steps aside and you’re welcomed into the space of his living room. The first thing you notice is the interior, and how … Namjoon it was. It’s both cluttered and neat, the palette of his furniture matching the overall vibe he emanated. His furniture is mostly wood, light sandalwood that makes it feel all the homier.

And you tell him such, “You have a very homey place.”

Namjoon turns his head to look at you right before he plops himself back onto his couch where you see the bits and pieces of paper scrambled across the floor and the couch. Even then, he was able to look so welcoming even though you reckon he has a right to be hostile—for a reason you came here to apologise for.

“Thank you.” He flushes, patting a spot in front of him for you to take your seat.

When you settle, the atmosphere turns strained when you mull over your words so that you wouldn’t stumble over them. You practised, you did—about a hundred times before you came here and you thought you were ready to apologise and put things behind you but it’s proven difficult when all he does is look at you in earnest.

“Not that I—uh—mind,” He mumbles, “But is there a reason why you’re here?”

You blink at him as you ignore the quiver in your heart.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt.

“_____ why are you—”

“You didn’t deserve what happened the other day.” You interject, voice soft but unwavering when you force yourself to look at him as his eyes widen.

“I wasn’t the one that saw something I shouldn’t have.” He reminds you with a frown.

You swallow, “I kissed you. And you …” It wasn’t helping that he was looking at you so gently as he awaits your continuation. “You didn’t need to save me back then, Namjoon.” You end in a whisper.

Namjoon reaches out to grab your shoulder, touch gentle as he searches for your eyes.

“I didn’t save you …” He tells you tenderly.

“It’s not just that!” You exasperate while you throw your hands up in the air. “I-it’s everything … from the way you treat me and the way you look at me. You didn’t need to do any of that and you even—” You trail off, fluttering your eyes shut. “—what did you say to Jungkook right before we left?”

Namjoon’s eyes enlarge as his grip becomes tense against your shoulder. You can almost see the way his mind kicks into gear as he thinks of a response.

“That—I—does it matter?” He huffs.

Your eyes soften, “Namjoon.” You force yourself to look at him even if now he was the one that tries to avoid your gaze. “What did you say?”

Namjoon tightens his lips before he sighs deeply, head dropping forward before he looks at you.

“I told him to be honest.” He says softly.

You furrow your eyebrows, “To be honest …?”

“I know you have feelings for him.”

Your face blanches when Namjoon basically exposes you. It’s one thing for you to be self-aware of your complicated feelings towards the other boy. But when someone else points it out, especially when it’s Namjoon—the boy who’s been nothing but kind and patient with you while you’re too busy being caught up in your emotions—it’s like a slap across your face.

“I-I don’t—”

“You don’t need to lie to save my face, ______.” He chuckles dryly, eyes darting away as he tries to neutralise his expression. You wince at the spite he establishes, but you know deep down that Namjoon isn’t angry at you. No, he was far too understanding to be. Disappointed? Frustrated? Sure, but never angry,

The silence answers for you when you look away this time, eyebrows scrunched as you attempt to navigate the conversation. You came here to apologise, and to be honest.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“Don’t.” He takes a deep breath as you flinch. “Don’t … apologise.” He sighs.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on, Namjoon.” You murmur apologetically.

He shoots you a half-hearted chuckle, “You didn’t do anything. Really.”

“But I did, Namjoon. I kissed you back.” You frown.

“That doesn’t imply anything. I kissed you, and you reciprocated. We all kiss someone and not mean anything by it.”

You flinch, and you’re familiar with that more than anyone else. The reminder only stings because it makes you realise that you were not much different from Jungkook, the same person you’ve claimed to have messed with you and fucked you over.

“I’m—”

“Please don’t apologise anymore.” He says. “I already feel like shit.”

You smile sadly at him, “How do you manage to be so nice even when other’s do you wrong?”

Namjoon sighs, then he grabs both your hands in his. “You didn’t wrong me, _____. It’s not your fault you don’t feel the same way I do.”

“How did you …” You trail off.

“How did I know you had feelings for Jungkook?” He chuckles. “The same way he knew I had feelings for you.”

You purse your lips, eyes dropping to your lap. “It’s not that simple, Namjoon …” You say softly.

Namjoon smiles at you gently, “Is it?” He gently nudges your knee with his so that you’d look at him. “Life is simple. It’s not easy. But it’s simple.”

You scoff even if a small smile teases your lips, “You really are a philosophy major, aren’t you?”

The two of you grin in tandem before he purses his lips, possible mulling over something before he faces you.

“The two of you are close so … why beat around the bush?”

Your eyes flutter shut, shaking your head. “Like I said, it’s really not that simple.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but it’s not to mock or taunt you. Namjoon simply sees a naive, yet an intelligent girl who doesn’t see what’s right in front of her.

“Remember what I said? I’m a simple guy.” He reminds you, lips in a grin. “Try me.”

You snort, but you’re still nervous. You still remember that he has feelings for you, so you’re hesitant. And he immediately recognises the guilt-ridden expression that you mar.

Namjoon shoots you a stern glare, “Don’t overthink it.”

You sigh.

“Jungkook and I …” You start, fiddling with your thumbs. “We grew up together.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes and shoots you another one of his bland stares. “I know the history. I just want to know why?”

You furrow your brows, “Why?”

“Why the two of you insist on being so emotionally constipated.”

You gape at his audacity, and you’re glad the atmosphere isn’t as tense because Namjoon simply snickers at your reaction.

“I am not—!”

He waves you off, “Really?” He adds dryly.

You purse your lips and relent, even if you didn’t want to agree with him—you knew that he was … right. To a certain extent.

“We kissed.” You blurt.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, “That’s not surprising.”

You shoot him a dry look before he raises his hands in defence.

“He was my first kiss.”

At this, Namjoon’s widen.

“When you were in high school?” He pries.

You flush, embarrassed that you had to tell him otherwise.

“Two months ago.” You mutter.

Namjoon splutters, and you can’t help but glare at him when he quite literally chokes on his spit. You know you caught him off guard, but him rubbing salt in the wound that’s relatively fresh makes you scowl.

“Oh.” He clears his throat. Then he repeats, “Oh.”

You scoff, “Yeah. Oh.”

“Then … what happened?” You know he’s treading carefully with you when he asks you his question softly.

You purse your lips, and you recall every single moment you’ve shared with him. From giggles to hushed kisses, to intimate touches and sweat-stained sheets that have you gasping for air. You remember it all, and they meant … they meant the world to you, but just a speck in his memory.

“Things escalated and we … did stuff together.” You wince.

Namjoon nods in understanding, he gestures his hands around, “Like—”

“I’m a virgin.”

Namjoon blinks.

“And for the longest time, I felt embarrassed about it.”

“Oh.”

“I struggled to find my footing between being sexually liberated and being a woman because for the longest time I thought those two were mutually exclusive. For me, at least.” You say softly.

Namjoon only stares at you.

“And I always wanted validation from someone else to tell me that what I was doing was the right thing to do. Or the supposed thing to do. Never what I really wanted to do.”

“Not that I’m uncomfortable but … why are you letting me in on this?” Namjoon asks with a raised brow.

“Because I want to do something for myself for once.” You whisper.

“Okay …?”

“Why do you like me? Even if I’m … boring and not as sexy as other women?”

You sound pathetic, and the first person you find yourself comparing yourself to is Jennie—a beautiful, confident woman who looked so assured in herself.

“You’re not—”

You groan.

“Namjoon.”

“Okay.” He sighs. “If you’re asking me if I care that you’re a virgin, then no. I really don’t. Because frankly, that concept to me is false and problematic. Whether or not you’ve had sex or not isn’t any of my business.”

You duck your head.

“And I like you because you’re interesting. You’re funny and you’re assured in your own way. You don’t need to be a certain standard of pretty or sexy or whatever for me to like you. I like you because of the time we’ve spent together and that I’ve gotten to know you. The real you and not the person I admired from afar but the girl who throws in jokes out of nowhere but fits so well with the situation. The girl who’s willing to spend three extra hours of her time to help with content that wasn’t prescribed to her. I like you because I’d like to think I’ve grown to understand who you are.”

Namjoon says all of those things while staring at you straight in the face and you feel compelled to cry. Because no one has ever been so honest with you and you hate that your heart can’t reciprocate what should be an easy feeling that comes naturally.

“Fuck.”

His eyes widen.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He coos, a hand petting your hair gently as you sniffle.

“It’s not, Namjoon. Everything sucks because everything is so complicated. Why can’t I just have feelings for you instead?”

It’s selfish, and Namjoon winces. But you’re so overwhelmed that you miss it, and Namjoon is too nice to point his own feelings out.

“You don’t pick and choose your battles, _____.” He murmurs softly.

“That’s not what my mom told me.” You whimper.

He chuckles, “Yeah. Most people like to believe that because it makes them think that they have a choice over the bad things that happen in their lives. But in reality? They don’t. No one decides what happens to them. You pick and choose how you react to things. How you deal with situations and what you make out of those situations is what you can choose to do. You don’t like me, and that’s fine. You don’t have to just because I’m nice to you, _____. Being nice is the absolute bare minimum and something that everyone should feel and do.”

Your face crumbles, “Why are you so wise?”

Namjoon smiles, “I’m not. It’s called offering a different perspective. Just because I see things one way doesn’t make me any better than you who sees things in another. That’s why we meet different types of people throughout our lives. The good, the bad, the in-between. There’s always something people offer to us in the midst of chaos.”

You sigh.

“I’m sorry, Namjoon.”

He pats your head, “I said don’t apologise.”

“No, but I want to. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and you picked up a shitty situation to be in when Jungkook and Jennie were at the library. Even right after I kissed you. That was … a horrible thing to do. I shouldn’t have done that just because—just because I was confused … you don’t deserve that.”

He doesn’t look angry, and that’s even worst because you want him to react, to call you a bitch and say that you were a horrible person.

“I don’t.” He shrugs while you wince. “But a lot of the times we don’t deserve a lot of things that we get. And that’s okay. You did what you thought was justified then, and there’s nothing you can do to change it. But you’re hurting too, and you’re confused—that’s what drove you to do the things that you did, and even here. That’s why you’re apologising to me, right? Because you’re not as confused anymore?”

You shake your head.

“I am, I’m still so confused.” You whisper.

“Then let me offer you another perspective.”

You look up to him with big eyes as he smiles at you gently.

“You have feelings for Jungkook.” You immediately flinch, even if he didn’t hit you. But Namjoon continues. “You’re trying to keep the picture as simple as you can even if it hurts you in the process. But

“You don’t understand, Namjoon … we … did things … that I’m not proud off …”

“You don’t have to—”

“He was my first kiss. My first … sexual experience. Even if it was just … third base,” You cringe, but Namjoon isn’t judging you at all. “A-and that’s all I was to him. An experience.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Do I, Namjoon?” You say softly. “He said things to me that were so hurtful. And a stupid part of me forgives him but it still hurts every time I think about it and when I see him with Jennie.”

You whisper the words Jungkook’s said to you, and for the first time, you see Namjoon’s jaw harden. The most emotion that wasn’t rationale you’ve seen in Namjoon ever since you first arrived.

“I know it hurts.” He murmurs, holding you close. “And I really don’t want it to seem like I’m justifying his words … but would you want to hear me out?”

You purse your lips and nod nevertheless.

“Jungkook isn’t a bad person.” You blink, you never thought he was. “I know you don’t think he is but you want to. Because of the things he’s said to you because why would a good person say those kinds of things, right? But the world isn’t black and white like that. There’s a grey area where 99% of the population falls into because we operate on emotion and sometimes we say things that we may feel but not necessarily believe in.”

“Jungkook … he’s still young. And I know we’re in college and stuff but he’s still three years younger than I am and two years younger than you. He’s spoken to me about how hard it was to adjust to a high school life where you, Jimin and Tae weren’t a part of. And I don’t know about you but if the only friends I’ve ever known suddenly left because they had to … I wouldn’t know what to do either. He was at a point in his life where his environment played a huge part in the values and internalised beliefs he had.”

You look away as you reflect on his words, nibbling on your bottom lip.

“He mixed around with different groups of people, and I hate this saying but it’s still a common belief to many—especially people his age, almost out of high school. But the ‘boys will be boys’ mentality is more than just misogyny and sexism, but a culture where it feeds off complacency and peer pressure. Jungkook suddenly had to shift from three, good friends who were progressive and influential in an objectively good way to people he was obliged to like because they were his peers.”

You gape at him, purely because you knew that Namjoon was smart and wise but his introspection leaves you breathless and enlightened.

“But that doesn’t change the core of Jungkook,” Namjoon says. “He’s still Jungkook. He doesn’t know how to ask for things that he wants without feeling like he’s betraying his masculinity. And again, I’m not justifying his actions because he’s a grown man too. But he’s lost, and the only thing he knows to uphold this sense of masculinity is by being sexually liberated. Even if he conflates his own emotions with his endeavours.”

“I … I don’t even know what to say Namjoon.” You murmur, eyes looking up through your lashes.

“You don’t need to say anything. I just want you to be honest to yourself, not anyone else. But yourself.” He tells you, carding a gentle hand over your head.

You fiddle with your thumbs.

“What do you want?”

Despite you confiding two different people, you find yourself at a convenience store at 12AM, scarfing down ramen from a cup noodle because your mind was a funny place when it was muddled with a hundred different thoughts. You knew sleep wasn’t an option for you either, and you were hungry. But somehow you didn’t have anything back in your apartment that screamed ‘I’m in a crisis’ enough for you to eat.

Which is why you’re here, while the cashier keeps his eyeball to himself when he sees yet another college student who’s probably having their third mental breakdown of the day.

It is, but not for the right reasons, you think dryly.

You think you’re alone until the chime of the bell momentarily distracts you and you turn your head to acknowledge the next lone customer who may be going through their own set of issues, or had a fucked up sleeping schedule.

But you’re not expecting to make eye contact with Jennie, out of everyone or any stranger you could’ve come across.

She spots you, shoots you a weird look that has you nearly choking on a string of noodles before she moves on to what she came here to do and stops at the snack section, skimming through her options before she settles on a pack of shrimp chips. Your heart churns because they were Jungkook’s favourite. You don’t want to wonder why she picked them.

You turn to your noodles, scarf them down some more because you want to eat your thoughts away even if you’re half-considering to call Jungkook, tell him you wanted to talk. But you knew that if you spoke to him now when you were still sorting out your thoughts, you’d end up in a situation you won’t be ready to deal with.

So when you poke at your food and sigh to yourself, you almost miss the way the stool beside you scrapes against the floor as you cringe.

You turn to shoot a petty glare at the person, and you see Jennie; casually tearing open her chips and popping one into her mouth

You blink at her, and you’re left even more speechless when she juts her hand out as if to offer you a shrimp cracker. Like it was a weird symbol of a truce. Even if you weren’t really … enemies.

“Want some?”

You stare at her, and before you can think twice your lips are moving.

“The crackers or your company?” You say dryly.

Her eyes widen, and so does yours. You didn’t expect to say your exact thoughts and you don’t think she expected a quiet, timid girl like you to have said that—out loud at least. Like Yena said, everyone has a mean bone in them. Some longer and larger than others, but they were still there.

“Wow.” She huffs, but she doesn’t seem offended. “Rude, much?”

You wince and feel compelled to apologise. “Sorry.”

She waves you off and you feel odd to be sitting next to her. You always expected her to be more malicious, a lot more of a bitch. And you frown to yourself because you suppose it’s your own preconceived notions of her due to the association she has with Jungkook that had you thinking of her that way.

“What’s someone like you doing here on a weekday?” She asks off-handedly.

The term ‘someone like you’ doesn’t sit well with you, and you scowl.

“I’m eating. What does it look like?” You retort, and Jennie only raises an eyebrow at your response. Much like an angry kitten.

“Damn, I was just asking.” She mutters under her breath, “I’m hungry. Needed a snack.” She shakes the crackers in front of you, “You sure you don’t want one?”

You can’t believe her as you gape at her easy-going state when she thrusts the bag of crackers into your face yet again.

“No.” You furrow your brows, gently pushing it away as she shrugs her shoulders.

“It’s good.” She reasons, and you don’t know why she’s so adamant about having you take one.

The irrational part of you thinks she wants to poison you, to eliminate you for good so she won’t have to deal with your pathetic pining over a person that wasn’t even yours.

“I know.” You mutter. “I tried it before.”

Jennie nods her head slowly, observing the content of the packet on the back before she turns to face you, “Jungkook introduced this to me. Didn’t see the appeal but it’s addictive.”

You freeze, and your ramen soup is getting cold with the way you haven’t prodded at it for a while and in the air-conditioning in the convenience store. You feel your stomach drop, especially now that your initial suspicions were confirmed.

“That’s nice.” You grit. It really isn’t.

“Did he introduce it to you?” She asks with a tilt of her head.

Why you’re still talking to her, or why she was bothering to talk to you when she’s ignored you all this while—you aren’t sure. But you still answer her despite the spite that forms in your chest.

“I introduced it to him.” You inform.

She hums, unbothered. It only irritates you more.

“Is there a reason?” You huff. “Why you’re here?”

She raises an eyebrow, “I’m hungry?”

You scoff. “No.” You slam the table ever so slightly because even if you were annoyed and confused, you weren’t that brave and you didn’t want to cause a scene at a convenience store at midnight. “Why are you here. Talking to me.”

Jennie blinks at you, then stares at you for seconds too long that you flush under her unwavering stare before she ends up in a fit of giggles. You almost think she’s here to mock you, to call you out on your pathetic and humiliating pining for someone who doesn’t care about you the same way you do to him. But she pats you on the shoulder, and you want to think it’s condescending but it doesn’t seem that way at all.

“You’re an acquaintance. You looked like you needed the company.”

You frown, “I don’t.”

She rolls her eyes, munching on another chip.

“You do. Your posture looks depressing.”

“Excuse me?” You scowl.

“It’s true.” She shrugs. “You don’t seem the type to be here wallowing unless it’s really bad. You seem like you have your shit together.”

And because your mind is already muddled and confused, and filled with irrational thoughts. Her words set you off, and you seem to be underrating or overreacting more than usual. So you snap, you shove your cup aside that the soup nearly sloshes out and send her a glare so blazing that Jennie’s caught off guard.

“And you think you know me well enough to gauge whether or not I’m ‘like this’ or the type to have a perfect mental breakdown regimen because I’m smart?” You seethe. Jennie’s eyes widen. “I have mental breakdowns like every other student and I binge eat when I’m stressed and I fuck up from time to time. I curse, yes! I see your face. Oh does she not curse? Well, look at me, bitch. I can curse like a motherfucking sailor at sea when the fishes come because I’m human. I’m just like you. So fuck off with your ‘you seem like you have your shit together’ because I don’t and I’m so fucking annoyed with your stupid face whenever I see it because it only reminds me of Jungkook!”

The silence is defining, even the cashier stops counting his bills for the night because you don’t hear the rubbing of money together. You feel his stare on your back, and more pressingly, you feel Jennie’s shocked expression linger on your face, and now that you’ve come down from your rage. Your face heats up in embarrassment.

You don’t even recall what you said, except for the fact you’ve mentioned her and Jungkook in the same sentence. And your face pales.

“I …” She chokes.

You flush, before you’re turning away, snatching your belongings to leave and forget this convenience store and never return because you don’t think you can show your face here ever again.

But before you’re able to make a run for it, a hand grabs your elbow that stops you from moving any further.

“This is already as embarrassing—” You exasperate, trying to snatch your arm away.

“For a girl so smart, you’re really dumb, aren’t you?” She deadpans.

You gape, finding enough strength to retrieve your arm as you stare at her with a dumbfounded expression.

“Excuse me—?”

“Firstly, let’s unpack what you just said because there are a lot of things that need to be dissected here.” She says blankly.

You scowl, “Look I don’t—”

“One.” She blinks as if she was doing a presentation for a course and not talking to an alleged acquaintance. “I don’t think you should act a certain way just because you’re smart. You’re entitled to your own mechanisms and I’m not judging you for them. I was simply pointing out my own observations, and I’m sorry for being insensitive.”

You’re stunned to silence, because did Jennie just … apologise to you?

“Two.” She says. You listen silently. “I think you have things you need to talk to Jungkook about, and frankly—I would’ve stayed away if I knew that the two of you were a thing.”

“We’re not a thing!” You cry, face flushed.

She shoots you an unimpressed look, “Really. So that oddly targeted blow-up was because of your mental breakdown and not because you don’t have feelings for Jungkook?”

She’s the third person to call you out the same day, or within the first one in the next. And it’s even more embarrassing because it’s the girl you’ve compared yourself to countless times because of your own insecurities.

“Yes.” You snap childishly.

Jennie sighs, gesturing for you to sit on the stool. You want to defy her out of spite, but you’ve already gotten this far into the conversation and you feel like you’d miss out on something if you left now.

“Why are you mad at me?” She asks.

“I-I’m not mad—” You weakly protest.

“You are. There’s anger in you and if it’s not directed to Jungkook then it’s directed to me. Is it because I’m a woman?”

Your eyes widen, “What—?”

“Let me reword that,” She sighs. “Is it because I’m the woman with Jungkook?”

You flinch at her declaration, especially since she indirectly confessed to being with him, while you weren’t.

“I don’t …” You trail off in a whisper.

“I don’t blame you for being angry.” She says. “But I need you to understand that I would never have done anything with him if I knew that the two of you were together.”

“We’re not.” You blink, and her unimpressed look is still there that makes you speak a little louder. “We’re not together.”

She opens her mouth to say something, then shuts it. You see her furrow her eyebrows before she settles for a response that comes a few moments after.

“Okay, then if you’re not together then why the resentment?” She puts it so simply and now that you’re listening to her, you feel a lot stupider.

“I just …” You croak, fiddling with your fingers, “I don’t …”

She sighs, “Listen. We’re both women here. I know how it feels to be left in the dark when it comes to things like this but there’s no point in being angry at me when in reality it’s Jungkook you need to talk to. If you aren’t together then I don’t understand why you’re angry with me—or with him.”

You sit there in silence, nearly pouting like a scolded child.

“You’re his type.” You say softly.

Jennie pauses before she raises an eyebrow.

“And you believe that?”

You furrow your eyebrows, “I mean, of course?” You mumble, “You’re pretty, confident and sexy. Any guy would like you.”

For a moment, you think you’ve said too much. Looked to vulnerable. But Jennie doesn’t do the typical mean girl thing where she laughs in your face and threatens to expose you. Instead, her eyes soften, and her hand reaches out to hold yours.

“____.” She calls your name gently, and you look away, embarrassed. “You’re pretty. You’re confident. You are sexy.”

You flush, “No. I’m not.”

She scoffs, “_____, there isn’t a set definition of what a pretty woman is like. Nor is there a one-dimensional understanding of a confident woman. There are confident women who strut in their walk and commands all the attention in the room. But there are also quiet, assured women who are intelligent and confident in their capabilities. Both of them are so different, but the one thing that they have in common?” She prompts as your eyebrows furrow. “They’re both women who are worthy of love.”

You blink up at her when her tone goes softer.

“I don’t think I’m Jungkook’s type.” She tells you.

But for some reason you need to deny it, again.

“I think you are.” You mumble, “You’re … you. And you’re probably … experienced.” You cringe at what you say, and you’re mortified if you need to explain yourself to her. But Jennie immediately picks up on it, and you don’t notice how she tenses for a split second but recovers immediately.

“We’ve done things together, yes.” You feel your heart shatter, “But you don’t have to do anything with him for him to like you.”

You sigh, “Maybe. But that's the only way he’s ever wanted me.” You say so softly that Jennie almost doesn’t catch it.

Jennie’s face softens much more, turning into a much gentler expression as she nudges your chin to look at her. And when you do, you feel wounded. You feel so much less assured than you were when you were raging at her. You hated it, how she treated you so kindly when she should’ve been cursing at you like you did to her.

“Do you want to know something?” She asks.

You nibble on your lips before you nod your head.

“If someone doesn’t want you. It’s not because you’re lacking. It’s because they’re lacking the sense to perceive you in a way that recognises your inherent worth to be loved.”

Your breath hitches and Jennie continues.

“I’ve had instances where men didn’t want to sleep with me because I was too confident, too sexually liberated for them. As if who I slept with mattered because it wasn’t them. It was never going to be them.”

“I didn’t sleep with Jungkook.” You tell her, voice soft as if you needed to clarify.

“And you don’t need to. You don’t need to sleep with anyone for them to want you. If Jungkook only wants you for your body then he doesn’t deserve you.” She points out.

You feel your heart clench, and the realisation coming from Jennie only hurts even more.

“But he’s important to me …” You whisper.

“What’s important is not always what’s good for you.” She informs you with a gentle smile. “Your sexuality is yours. And if you want to sleep or be sexual with someone, you do it because you want to. Not because someone coerced you into doing it.”

Your eyes widened, “N-No. Jungkook didn’t force me. I consented. To all of it.” You murmur, “I wanted to do it. B-But I just felt so … lacking? In comparison and … since then all he’s came to me for was just … that.”

Jennie nibbles on her bottom lip, “Jungkook’s not a bad person.” She says softly. And she’s the second person that tells you that. So you know it’s a true reflection of his character.

“I know.”

She smiles, “We both do.” She nods, “But he’s misguided. He’s never had the ability to be with someone he really cares for and I think when that happened—he dealt with it the only way he knows how to.”

You furrow your brows, “But he’s with you.”

She shakes her head with a small chuckle, “No. Not emotionally, at least.” She informs. “And he doesn’t care about me. I know. He’s always kept me at arms-length away, and I’m fine with that because I don’t like him like that either.”

You blink, and your ears turn red. “H-How do you—?”

“How do I separate lust from affection?” She laughs. “It’s because I can. Not everyone can do that, and Jungkook is one of them.”

“But you just said that he didn’t care about you.”

“I’m not talking about me,” She smiles sadly.

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion until you realise what she was implying. And you don’t want to assume anything, never. Because hope was the one feeling that was worse than fear and you didn’t want to subject yourself to that just yet.

“Oh.” You mumble.

She nods, squeezing your hand.

“I think he misses you.”

You purse your lips.

You missed him, too.

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discocactusblogs · 4 years ago

Text

Heather- Jason Todd x Chubby Reader Pt.1

{Author's Note: _____ is a blank to put your name}

"Girl, just tell him!" Barbara whispered and nudged me towards my best friend, Jason Todd aka Robin, the boy wonder.

I had found out about him being Batman's sidekick when we were 13, shortly after he became Robin.

"Easy for you to say! Look at you! You're gorgeous! You're fit and thin and redheaded! Just look at me… I'm...not so fit... I'm chubby. I'm a plain bagel. I'm not ugly but I'm not exactly pretty either." I sighed and gestured to my chubby body.

" ______, I know what I'm telling you. Just tell him." She sighed. "Besides, you're gorgeous too! And very intelligent and mature for a fifteen-year-old!" Barbara smiled, holding up a banana like a wand.

"As if. What guy my age sees a girl and goes, 'What a lovely personality?' Get real Babs, no one wants a plain bagel." I shrugged.

"Welp, I gotta get going or I'll be late for work. But trust me, he won't turn you away." She turned away, obviously knowing something I didn't.

"Hey _____!" Jason spoke as he walked up to me from the curb of the grocery store, I had gone to buy some fruit my mom had told me to get.

"Hey Jay." I sighed with a slight blush on my cheeks.

"Are you okay? It's kinda cold today… Where's your jacket?" He asked, tilting his head to the side slightly.

"My jacket!" I gasped. "I forgot it at school!"

"School's closed now. They just locked the gate." He replied with a shrug.

"My mom's going to kill me. That's the only jacket I have!" My eyes watered, knowing my mother was going to be furious with me when I got home.

"Take mine then. I have others at home." He unzipped his hoodie.

"N-no. It's fine. I can get it Monday from school." I spoke softly while staring at the ground.

He draped his jacket over my shoulders. "I said, take it. Besides, it looks better on you than me. It goes well with your hair color. Here, let me hold your stuff so you can get it on." He smirked, knowing I wouldn't refuse if he spoke sternly with me. He took the bag from my hands and I looked at him. "Zip. It. Up." He frowned.

"Yes sir." I put my arms in the jacket and zipped it up. He was bigger and bulkier than I was, so the jacket fit me rather loosely and was down to my mid thighs but it was comfortable and warm. Much warmer than the jackets and sweaters I had before.

"Hm… keep it. I know your dad hasn't been working a lot lately. It gets pretty cold so you can keep that one. Bruce got me some others at home. Just don't tell anyone, got it? I only share with you because I've known you since we were kids. You took care of me so I'm taking care of you." He looked at me, handing back the bag of fruit. "Now, don't think I'm getting soft or being a gentleman. You're still carrying your stuff." He smirked.

I smiled and chuckled. "Thanks." I took the bag and walked down the street with him.

"Hi Jason!" An annoying voice called out from the ice cream shop.

"Hm? Oh, hey Heather." Jason turned around and seemed slightly irritated.

"Are you going to the pep rally tonight?" Heather asked with fluttering eyelashes. She was Jason's girlfriend.

Dark hair, slim figure, bright eyes, how could I compete with that?

"Uh, no." He replied flatly.

"Why not, I'm going to be performing!" She countered.

"I'm just not feeling it. I don't like pep rallies." He shrugged. "Not my thing."

"Okay then. Wanna get some ice cream?" She asked.

"Go ahead and go home ______, I'll catch up later." He looked apologetically at me and walked across the street.

I nodded and kept walking.

I watched as Heather smiled and hugged him.

It hurt.

He was dating her and she was so sweet. Everyone loved her so, I can see why he did too. She always had a smile on her face.

I kept walking, tears stinging my eyes. There's no way I could ever be like her. He liked her more and would run to her at the drop of a hat.

Arriving at home, I stepped inside. "Hey mom! I'm back!" I set the bag on the counter.

"Oh good! Make sure you do your homework!"

"Yes ma'am!" I sigh and go up to my room, closing the door.

Out of instinct, I called my friend, Valerie.

"A simple solution to your problem is to play spin the bottle or something." She teased.

"Why would he ever kiss me? I'm nowhere near as pretty as Heather!" I clutch the sleeves of the hoodie before taking it off and throwing it onto my bed.

"He gave her his sweater." My eyes watered as I told her what had happened at school that day.

"The black one or the fake polyester one?" Valerie asked.

"The black one."

"Oh dear. I'll be right over." She hung up.

"Is it wrong to wish she were dead?" I chuckled softly when Valerie came through my bedroom door.

"Yes. It's your jealousy and I'm gonna chop off your legs if you continue on this path, Anakin." Valerie smirked.

"Dude, I was kidding." I turn in my swivel chair.

"Yeah, it was a failed attempt at a joke. I'm sorry about Jason. If it makes you feel better, Bradley dumped me." She looked at the ground.

"Here's the plan, I drive the car and Jason shoves him into the road and we make it look like an accident." I spoke whilst drawing out the plan.

"Don't worry about it."

"Worry about what?" Jason walked in.

"Oh, you came!" Valerie smiled.

I looked at her, what a traitor.

"So, I heard you gave Heather your sweater!"

"This one?" He held up said object. "Eh, we broke up. She liked someone else and so did I." He sat on a beanbag chair.

"Wait what? But you really liked her and she's so nice!" I exclaim in shock.

"Relax ______, it was mutual." He chuckled. "There's actually something I came to talk to you about." He seemed nervous, his cheeks tinting red and so were the tips of his ears.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I'll go get water." Valerie got up, stretched and went downstairs.

"I don't know how to say this. This is difficult for me but… I'm sorry. I don't want to be your friend anymore." He sighed.

My eyes widened. "W-what?"

"Yeah. I'm...tired of it." He stood up.

"But Jason, you're my best friend!"

"I know. Hey, do you know what material this shirt is?" He checked his shirt.

"Jason, now's not the time-"

"Answer!"

"I don't know! Cotton, maybe?!" I was growing panicked and my eyes were stinging with tears.

"Wrong, it's boyfriend material. And so is that hoodie." He smirked.

I stood in silence.

"What?" He asked.

"Jason Peter Todd, are you...asking me to be your girlfriend????" I stood, mouth agape in shock.

He smirked and nodded. "Sure thing buttercup! I... love you." His face turned beet red.

"Why? I'm not pretty. I'm not slim or fit or anything-"

"Because you're smart, and cute, you're kind and brave. You're so cool too and geek out with me. We both nerd out over science stuff and books. What's not to love???" The look on his face was one of pure confusion, as if the answer was as clear as day.

"Jason, I love you too." I spoke in a hushed whispers as a few years fell from my eyes.

"Don't cry! Why are you crying???"

"I'm just happy! I've liked you for so long!"

"So have I but I'm not crying!"

"I didn't think you'd like me because I'm chubby!"

"What?! You think I'm that shallow? I'm offended!"

"Jay and ______ sitting in a tree~" Valerie teased from the doorway.

"Val!" We exclaimed in unison, Jay pulling me into a side hug.

"Fine! I'mma head out!" She grabbed her backpack and left.

A few days later, Jason was going to leave for a mission that I didn't want him to go on. I knew how dangerous it was for him to go alone.

"I'm leaving...for Bosnia. Bats needs my help." He looked at me sadly.

"Jay, please. Don't go. What if something happens?" I pleaded, clutching onto him tightly.

It was only a few days ago that he confessed to me and we were trying to figure out where to go with our relationship, which led to this argument.

"I'll come back. I promise." He kissed the top of my head. "Love ya." He smirked. His forest green eyes shone in the sunlight like an emerald.

He seemed so confident that he would be okay.

"Jason, no! I have a bad feeling you're not coming back!" I pleaded harshly, grabbing his wrist and asking him to stay.

"I'm just going to meet my birth mom, I'll be fine!" He assured me. "Here, hold onto my jacket for me." He took off his leather jacket and handed it to me.

I nodded with tears escaping the corners of my eyes. "I love you Jason…" I said as I watched him hop into the car and leave. Little did I know that would be the last time I ever saw him.

I kept that jacket with me at all times after that.

A few weeks went by without a word from Jason and the pit on my stomach only grew, the only thing keeping me sane was the scent of his cologne on his jacket that lingered still.

Finally, I mustered up the courage to go to Wayne Manor and ask if anyone's heard from Jason. It was then my heart shattered into pieces.

"Miss ______, I am so terribly sorry. I thought someone had already told you… Master Jason died last week." Alfred sat me down at the kitchen counter for tea.

My eyes widened and the porcelain teacup fell from my hand, shattering onto the tile floor. Tears flowed from my eyes like a cerulean waterfall. "No one told me!" I shouted, falling to my knees to clean up the mess with blurry eyes.

"Miss ______, I can get it." Alfred stopped me, only to realize I was bleeding from a deep cut from a glass shard on the top of my hand, a cut that would leave a scar for years to come.

"He can't be dead… he promised he would come back." I whispered, not even flinching from the cut.

"Here, allow me to tend to that." Alfred took out the first aid kit and cleaned the wound, giving it a few stitches.

"How…?" I asked, flinching from pain.

"... The Joker. Master Bruce didn't make it in time." He replied, the sorrow evident in his tone.

I nodded and thanked him for the help and the tea.

"Send a car to take her home." I heard Bruce from the doorway.

"Right away, Master Bruce." Alfred excused himself.

"His funeral is this Saturday if you'd like to come." Bruce turned away from me.

"I'll be there. Time?"

"Noon."

"See you then."

When the funeral finally took place, the reality of Jason's death set in. He wasn't coming back like he promised. I left a rose on his casket and bawled as I watched them lower the casket with my best friend and love of my life, into the dark, cold ground and with it, my heart.

"You promised." I whispered to myself, looking away from the scene. It was then I decided I wanted to be a nurse to help heal people.

Five years later, my dream of being a nurse was nearly achieved. I was two years away from graduating and I went to visit Jason every day on the way home from work. I still lived with my parents since I was a student at the local university, thanks to Bruce.

When I approached the door, that's when I saw it. A single rose on the bench outside the door along with a cryptic letter. 'Hang in there.' it said with a happy face at the end.

I was stumped but the notes and roses kept happening at least once a week and they soon came every day. At least, until the night that would change my life forever.

(Part Two)

(Masterlist)

#jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x reader #batfam #red hood #red hood x y/n #red hood x reader #batfam fanfic

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olivinesea · 4 years ago

Text

Baby Teeth

a/n: All I do is think about college Hotchniss and lie. There is no plot and no point to this, I just like them. Referenced abuse (when is there not?) and around 1k. Thank you @whump-town for indulging me.

Hotch says more than he means to.

The afternoon sun had tempted them outside. Warmer than it had been in awhile, they found themselves back at their favorite spot. It was a grass covered hill off the main path, behind one of the science buildings only frequented by graduate students who never looked past their own thoughts. A lazy Saturday during a rare mid-semester stretch with no looming midterms or papers to worry about. He was neatly dressed, as always, in jeans and a button down. He had undone the top few buttons in his only concession to the warmth of a fast approaching spring. She looked like she had only just made it out of bed (which was not untrue), an oversized t-shirt thrown over cutoff shorts, one shoe still unlaced. At first glance they were mismatched, but anyone who really looked could see how their body language mirrored one another. Their movements mimicked the balanced orbits of a binary star, each with their own gravity pulling but never overpowering the other.

It was the time of day that felt perfect in its untethered nature. If no one moved too much, they might evade time and exist there forever. He laid on his back, squinting up at the blue sky. She was propped up on her elbows, knocking her knees together occasionally. Even while relaxing, she couldn’t quite stay still. She was in the middle of recounting yet another story of childhood transgression. She reveled in this activity, always trying to shock her serious friend. He hummed noncommittally when she reached the punchline, only half listening. She lightly hit his shoulder, annoyed that he was not giving her the reaction she was looking for.

“I bet you’ve never broken a rule in your life,” she teased.

“I stole something once,” he replied quietly.

“You’re kidding me.” It was impossible to imagine. He wouldn’t even cross a street if they didn’t have the walk sign.

He squints his eyes more and shakes his head slowly. “A pack of gum. The red kind. I took it from the gas station on the corner.”

She laughed. “Every kid does that.”

His eyes were completely closed now. “Hotchner’s don’t steal,” he said sternly.

She snorted. “I bet that’s exactly what your dad sounded like when he was telling you off.”

He frowned. “Something like that.”

“So, you’re a little criminal. What happened? You get grounded? Have to apologize? That was always the worst. I hated when my mother made me go back and apologize. So embarrassing. Like, give me a break, I was barely even aware I took anything.”

“I went to the emergency room.”

She stopped picking at the grass and stared at him. He hadn’t moved, his face completely passive. She sat up to get a better look at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Fourteen stitches and a broken arm.”

He didn’t elaborate further. She tried to read some clue from his face but there was nothing. He looked almost peaceful.

“Did—uh—did that happen a lot?”

“Oh no, I never stole anything again,” he said, his mouth twisted into a one-sided smile.

“Aaron.”

“What?” His voice was sharp and irritated. The smile gone.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said softly.

Suddenly his eyes were open and he was glaring directly into her eyes. She was unnerved that he could track her movements so closely without looking.

“Would you like a number?”

His words were like ice on the back of her neck. She looked away and stumbled over her words. “No, of course not. I—I just—I’m sorry.” She twisted her fingers together, watching the skin around her knuckles lose color.

He sighed, all the anger leaving as quickly as it appeared. “It’s nothing for you to be sorry about, Em.” He rubbed his face with a hand, covering his eyes momentarily in an effort to regain some composure. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

After a few moments of silence passed between them, she risked another question. She felt as if she was walking through a minefield of which she had only just become aware.

“Does that still happen?”

He made a noise that could be a laugh but could just as easily be choking. She rolled onto her knees in case she needed to move quickly.

“I’m a little too big for that now I think,” he said, wiggling his feet, legs stretched out long on the grass. Privately, he thought it had more to do with his father’s declining health than any changes on his part. He had never learned how to fight back.

Suddenly a weight slammed into his chest and for a moment he froze in fear. He quickly realized Emily had launched herself at him and was clinging tightly, face tucked into his neck. Touch had never been so simple for him and he hesitated before wrapping his arms around her. She smelled clean and a little spicy he thought as he inhaled through his nose, trying to slow down his racing heart. He could hear her breath catching as she put her best effort towards not crying.

This new information was overwhelming and she didn’t know where to begin untangling her feelings. Her big, goofy, infuriatingly responsible friend was not someone who could be pushed around. It didn’t seem possible he could hold a history like that. Instinctively she took action, trying to translate all her affection and worry into touch. He gently rubbed her back as both of them calmed down. Eventually she sat up, eyes red-rimmed but dry.

“I’ll kill him,” she said tightly, her fists balled up at her sides. Looking at her, he didn’t doubt she’d try.

“He’s doing a pretty good job of that himself. I wouldn’t worry about it.” He rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand. She looked like she wasn’t finished, her eyes questioning.

“Can we talk about something else, Em?” Her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Please,” he added quietly. After a moment she relented, the remaining tension draining away. She couldn’t think of anything to say so she went back to picking the grass.

“You hungry?” he asked after several strained minutes went by. She shrugged. “I hear they fixed the soft serve machine at Powell.” At that she looked up at him, eyes bright. He smiled, a real smile, relieved. She could always be counted on to want ice cream. He stood up and offered a hand to pull her off the ground. When they were both standing, she reached up to hold his face with both hands. He bit his tongue to stop himself from flinching. She looked closely into his eyes, willing him to believe her.

“I love you, Aaron.”

He blushed and ducked his head, covering her hands with his own. “I love you too, Emily.” They stayed still for a moment.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” her voice serious.

He smiled and squeezed her hands. “I know. Now come on before everyone else figures out the thing’s fixed and floods the place.”

They walked down the path towards the dining hall, close but not quite touching, the presence of each keeping the other steady.

#Criminal Minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #college hotchniss

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erensnubs · 4 years ago

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𝑳𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑱𝒐

Hanamaki Takihiro x GN! Reader

Based off of the Laurie and Jo Scene in Little Women

Summary: Sometimes first loves never work out

Content: Angst, pure angst

From pirate ships, to being monarchs and warriors of old, you and Hanamaki Takahiro, were best friends.

He was the little boy who moved in next door, snot running down his nose, hands stained with dirt as he offered you a piece offering of roly polies and leaves.

You were the little kid who rolled around in the mud and terrorized the other kids by throwing sticks at them.

Needless to say you immediately became best friends. And menaces to your parents, the neighborhood kids and society in general.

You were together from the young ages of kindergarten, you were there to witness Hanamaki's awkward stage of puberty. You were there to witness him making other friends than you and lovers.

He was there when he saw you make other friends than him, dating a lot of people. He was there when you were scared of going to middle school, was there when you had anxiety over grades.

You were there for each other all the time, ups and downs, triumphs and trials.

So it was natural, that Hanamaki fell, completely and hopelessly;

In love with you.

You're running in the grass, rolling around with Hanamaki laughing your asses off. You guys have just graduated highschool and the two of you, being the dumb bitches you are decide to skip the family party to celebrate your accomplishments.

“We’re adults now!” You yell, half skipping down the hill and eventually trip.

You pick yourself up and start screaming.

“I’M FREE FROM THIS GOD FORSAKEN TOWN! WE’RE FREE!”

Hanamaki laughs, “Yeah says the one who barely passed history.”

He grabs you by the arm and drags you through the flowers of the field and sets you down, all the while you giggle deliriously.

Usually Hanamaki would be laughing along, making stupid jokes about your laugh.

But he doesn’t.

And it scares you.

Before you even open your mouth to say anything, Hanamaki plops down beside you and thoughtfully asks,

“What are we going to do, [Name]? After here?”

The question sounded serious not like those ones where he asked you if he looked sexy for prom or if his crocs match the vibe of the weather that day.

You paused to take in the question.

“Well... I can’t really answer that Hiro Out of our whole friend group we’ve always been the floaters. The ones that never really know what we’re doing...”

Hanamaki turns his head around, baby hairs sticking onto his skin from the sweat of running. His eyes are looking at you, no they’re looking through you.

He breathes out a yes, like he’s been holding something from you. A secret he didn’t want to tell.

You turn away abruptly hoping he doesn’t see your slight change of attitude.

“Iwaizumi’s going to America, Mattsun is getting ready for college, and you know Oikawa is going over to Brazil to pursue volleyball.”

“I honestly don’t know Hiro. I get that we can’t be kids who run around more and throw dirt at each other,” you say laughing softly.

Hanamaki scoffs, “But you wish it was like that huh?”

You sit up and pick the grass from the ground and throw it randomly into the air.

“Of course! I still want to get a pirate ship and go and travel the world with you.”

Hanamaki raises his eyebrows, “And steal gold from random people?”

You smile cheekily, “Of course. Then we’ll build our chocolate empire, something that could rival Willy Wonka’s.”

Hanamaki stands up and puts his hand out to you.

You grab it, but why do you feel like the gesture is something much more than a friendly hand?

The two of you start walking, swinging your arms around as you joke about your chocolate factory, your pirate ships, the adventures you’re going to have.

The sun was setting, the long, green blades of grass turning yellow as you and Hanamaki run through them, creating scars and bumps on your skin.

You were going to miss highschool. You were going to miss groaning about exams and certain substitute teachers. Miss skipping classes with Mattsun and Makki to go get wasted with cheap alcohol.

You were going to miss Oikawa and his stupid smile and Iwaizumi and his stupid nicknames. You were going to miss crying with the 3rd years over lost volleyball games.

Hell, you were probably going to cry when Oikawa and Iwaizumi left to continue their lives. You might even cry when Mattsun goes to college even if he isn’t going overseas.

But at least you had Hanamaki. Your dearest friend. Though your relationship has gotten deeper and you were able to confide with each other, you were still the 2 children that fought other kids on the playground.

You could always, always rely on him. Because you never changed with each other.

“[Name]?”

You turn around and see Hanamaki. His eyes glowed with something.

And it was not of the setting sun.

“Yes?” You say, the sky turning darker as moments pass.

“I know we talk about us being adventurous and going with the flow... but I feel like we could do something more, you know?” he says it quietly, his thumb subconsciously rubbing yours.

You look up at him, “What do you mean? You just want to suddenly work a 9-5 job in a corporate company? We talked about this Hiro...”

He looks taken aback, “No no, that’s not what I meant [Name].”

Hanamaki gets quieter, “We could always be little kids, playing with swords and sticks. Together.”

You pause as Hanamaki looks up at your eyes. Together? You’ve always been together? Always.

Wait.

He couldn’t possibly mean.

You pull back from his grasp,

“No Hiro I can’t do that. Please no.”

You start walking away from him and he advances as he argues, trying to salvage something.

“[Name], no I love you and I have always loved you since we were little! I can’t imagine myself being with anyone else besides you!”

You walk faster and wrap your arms around yourself, “No, no, no. Hiro you’re being ridiculous.”

“Yes, YES!”

“No! We can’t!”

“[NAME]! COME BACK HERE LET ME SEE YOU!” Hanamaki says running towards you.

You spin around and stare at him, “We can’t work Hiro! I could never love you that way, and I would be lying, God I would be lying if I said that I did. Our whole life together we’re going to be pretending.”

He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration, “Why?! We were just talking about doing adventures together! Why is that any different than what I proposed!?”

You stomp your foot onto the ground, “Did you not just listen to me you dipshit? I could never love you romantically! Ever! I care for you, I worry for you but Hanamaki you are my friend. My closest friend. You are the one thing in my life that hasn’t changed so quickly and then you pull this shit?”

Hanamaki starts yelling now, “BUT I MAKE YOU HAPPY! AND YOU MAKE ME HAPPY! WE HAVE BEEN TOGETHER SIDE BY SIDE, FOR YEARS [NAME]! YEARS! I HAVE DONE EVERYTHING I COULD HAVE TO TELL YOU I LOVE YOU!”

You start shaking your head, “No, don’t say that.”

Hanamaki starts rambling, “You always tell me that words and actions are your love languages-

“Stop.”

“And I’ve been doing it, [Name]. I have. I have been there for you, anywhere and-and-”

“Takihiro stop.”

“And I can’t feel like this anymore. I can’t let you slip through my fingers and watch you run away from me like everyone else has-”

“TAKIHIRO STOP IT!”

The only things that you could hear were the sounds of your breathing and the crickets in the grass.

“Takihiro, you’re being a child. You’re being stupid and ridiculous. Do not let the fantasies of a boy ruin your future,” you say sternly, begging for your tears to not fall onto the ground.

“You say that, [Name], and then run from everything that requires commitment,” he says sharply.

“You’re a coward, [Name]. You’re hurting me.”

Hanamaki is stepped away from you know and he starts walking away.

“My life has no meaning anymore-”

You scoff, “Takihiro your love for me isn’t worth your life!”

Hanamaki walks away and his voice is racked with sobs. Oh god he seriously does love you.

Why?

“Takihiro come back here!”

You’re running towards him now, grabbing his arm but he pushes away.

“Takihiro think with your brain! Just because we can’t be together the way you want doesn’t mean we have to sever all ties!” You say breathlessly.

“I mean think about it, we could have never worked. You hate the fact I don’t eat your favorite ice cream, you constantly like to go out and I like staying home.”

“I don’t care-”

“I hate meeting your other family members because they look down on me, my family members have always been skeptical of you-”

“I don’t care about that-”

“And we would be miserable, Takihiro. Absolutely miserable with one another-”

“No we wouldn’t,” he says stopping and grabbing your arm. Your noses were touching as his thin lips tried to connect with yours.

You pull away.

“Admit it Makki. We are better off as friends, not lovers,” you say finally.

“I’m ugly and I don’t care about my appearance like your other lovers do. I’m brutally honest with you and sometimes you cry about my opinion and-”

“I love you [Name].”

“I’m lazy and have no real goal in life, I have no foundation no, no rock or something. I don’t have a drive, Hiro! You’re going to be stuck with someone who doesn’t care.”

“I love you.”

“And you’re going to find someone else, a nice person, who likes eating your ice cream and dresses up. Who has a clear goal in life and someone your family will love-”

“No one could ever replace you, [Name]-”

You throw your hands up in frustration, “You’re mixing platonic and romantic feelings together and turning it into some big thing!”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

Silence surpasses you again and Hanamaki starts walking away.

You spoke up, “But-”

He turns around again and looks at you with hope. Hope for something more.

“That I don’t think I’ll ever be with someone romantically, Makki. I’ve gone years without.”

Hanamaki scoffs and starts to laugh cruelly,

“I don’t believe that, [Name]. You’re going to find someone, and you’re going to fall hard.”

You sneer, “How do you know?”

“I just do, you’re impossible to not fall in love with. You’re the sunshine in my life.”

“Takihiro don’t say that, please.”

He looks back at you, “But you are! You are my world, my-”

“LEAVE ME! OH MY GOD LEAVE ME!” You yell at him and turn away.

This was the 1st time Hanamaki hears you with that voice.

"[Name]-"

"JUST GO PLEASE-"

"YOU WILL FALL IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE [NAME]!”

You spit out your words, “OH REALLY YOU THINK I WILL? ME? THE PERSON WHO TURNED YOU DOWN?!”

“YES! YES [NAME],” Hanamaki says.

“You’re going to fall in love with someone and you’re perfect, care free life will turn upside down and they’re going to love you. And you’re going to be perfect with each other-”

“HANAMAKI-”

“And I will watch. I will watch you grow and love this person. I will watch it happen because I still love you and I don’t think I’ll love anyone else.”

“And I will watch you, I will watch you [Name], and- and,”

You couldn’t bear to see his tears fall from his eyes, so you turn away.

“I will imagine that it could have been me and you-”

“Hanamaki please-”

“I don’t know what to do with myself but I will still take care of you and I truly love you, forever and-”

“Hanamaki-”

“I won’t ever stop, [Name]. Ever,” he says softly as he tries to reach out for your hand.

You pull away, your voice breaking.

“Hanamaki, go. I don’t want to see you right now,” you say softly.

You don’t have to turn around to see him crumble. You can feel it.

Because your heart was crumbling too.

“I’ll go... get back safe, [Name],” he adds.

You don’t say anything back, and hear the slow movements in the grass as your best friend walked away from you.

Forever.

The sky is dark, the stars seemed ashamed at your argument, and they don’t shine like they used to from years before.

You stayed in the grass, silent tears on your face as you shielded yourself from the cold with your arms.

You wanted to go home, but home wasn’t a place

It was a person. And his name was Hanamaki Takihiro.

But home loved you, and you didn’t love it back the way they wanted.

More tears flowed from your eyes at the sudden thought emerged from your eyes.

You had no home anymore.

AN: Another random little oneshot I did for my boy Hanamaki! Please comment your thoughts or reblog and like! I need constructive critiscm loves so I know what I can write and appeal to!

Taglist: @saladskittles

#hanamaki x reader #hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki oneshot #hanamaki angst #haikyu angst #gn reader #haikyu oneshots #hanamaki scenarios #hurt/comfort #angst #hanamaki x gn reader #hanamaki x y/n #hanamaki x you #little women #laurie and jo #tina's fics⌨︎#tina's cafe menu☕︎

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fic-for-fic-sake · 5 years ago

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Pillow Talk: Steve

A/N: Hey! This is the second part of my “Pillow Talk” mini series, Each are oneshots so they’re separate of each other. If you would like to read the first one with Loki you can find that here. Also, this story takes place shortly after the battle of New York in 2012.

Warnings: mentions of violence, PTSD

Pairing: Steve x reader

You slept fine enough, as fine as could be expected after the battle of New York anyway. Sleep was rare and when you did sleep there was no solace to be found, the screams of the innocent haunted your dreams. Tonight, though, began differently. You went to sleep and tried listening to calming piano music to lull you to sleep and it worked for a while. However, the screaming that woke you this time wasn’t that of your own mind but someone else’s.

You shot up in bed as continued screams reverberated through the hallway. You opened your door and followed the sound to the room that currently belonged to Steve Rogers. You hadn’t known him before you met him on the hanger the day Nick Fury brought him along to look for the tesseract but becoming an Avenger was something that solidified your quick bond to the man.

You asked JARVIS for access to his room which the AI granted instantly and then you were at Steve’s side in an instant, begging him to wake up from the nightmares that haunted him.

“Steve! Steve! Wake up it isn’t real, it's just a dream.” You yelled, straddling his form and hoping to shake him awake. His face was contorted in agony as he screamed and thrashed in his sleep. One of his muscular arms connected with your torso and sent you to the other side of the room where you hit a wall. Your body let out a thudding sound as it connected and that in turn woke up Captain Rogers.

You stood up and rubbed your back as he looked at you, a confused expression etched across his face.

“Y/N? What’s going on? What are you doing here?” He questioned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. You walked back to his bedside, hovering over him before you answered.

“You were screaming in your sleep, a nightmare I think. I tried to wake you.”

“I’m sorry I woke you up.” He apologized, “You can go back to your room now, I’m okay.”

“I get them too you know.” You replied softly, sitting on the edge of his bed as he sat up and rested his back against the headboard. Tired blue eyes met yours and widened in shock at your admission.

“You do?”

You nodded your head solemnly in response, thinking about what to say. “Most of the time I can’t stop hearing the screams of civilians as they try to run away from the havoc that Loki caused. I see babies crying and children caked in blood and ash. They try to run to safety and I help them but I know it’s all in vain, I can never save them.” You whispered, tears coming to your eyes at the vivid memories of your dreams. “But you don’t just dream about that battle do you?” You questioned, giving Steve a knowing look.

“How did you know?” He choked out, surprised that you knew without him having said a word.

“It doesn’t take a genius to know that you’re still processing the war Steve, I just happen to be observant.” You looked around his room, plain except for his bed and a desk and chair, no mementos or anything. Suddenly, you were struck with an idea. You grabbed two pillows from his bed and threw them on the floor and pulled a sheet with you before you put your hand out for Steve to take. “Follow me.”

“Where are we going?” He questioned, taking your hand and looking at the two pillows you had thrown on the floor. You sat down in the middle of the floor and he followed suit.

“We’re gonna lay down here, on the floor.”

“Why?”

“Your bed is too soft, isn’t it?” You asked, laying down on the cool tile floor, Steve following your lead and resting his head on the pillow next to yours.

“Is this another observation?” He teased, to which you just smiled in response.

“No. My mom did time in Iraq and when she came back she slept on the floor for six months before she felt comfortable enough to sleep in a bed again.” You explained, pulling the blanket up to cover both you and Steve. “Do you wanna talk about it?” You pondered, looking into his eyes and watching his movements. Here in the dim light of the night he looked older, more weary, his eyes crinkled around the edges and his lips were pressed into a thin line as he recalled the memories of all those years ago.

“I lost everyone.” He began quietly, “Bucky fell off the train, my best friend, the only one who ever really looked out for me, was gone in a flash, and there was no time to mourn.” A few tears rolled down his face and you swiped them away with the pad of your thumb. “I made a snap decision to save the world and it should’ve cost me my life. I should be dead, instead, I’m here and I feel so alone.” He confessed.

Wordlessly you wrapped your arms around him and brought him against your body as he cried. You let him rest his head into the crook of your neck as you breathed calming words into his hair. “It’s not your fault you’re alive Steve.” He kept on repeating the phrase ‘I should be dead’ over and over as he finally allowed himself to cry, sobs racking his body as he held you tight against him on the cold tile floor of his room.

With tears pricking your own eyes at his admission you gently placed your thumb and forefinger on his chin and willed him to look up at you through glassy blue eyes. “Steve, look at me.” You said, sternly. “Yes, you should’ve died, but you didn’t. For some reason, you survived in the ice all those years and now you’re here. Life moved on around you but you haven’t lost anything. All of that old love still exists in the world around you now, it’s just taken a new form. You’re not alone, you have me, you have us.” You stated as you shifted your body down so you were at eye level with him, needing him to understand what you were telling him.

It seemed to work and he began to calm down, once erratic breathing returning to normal. You held each other for what seemed like hours until you were sure that he was asleep again. You made a move to leave but he held onto you tighter, “Stay with me, please.” He beseeched softly.

“Always.” You whispered back as you pressed a gentle kiss to each of his tear stained eyes and slept with your body curled against his on the hard floor.

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve x you #captain america x reader #steve rogers fanfic #mcu fanfic #pillow talk series

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eatsockss · 5 years ago

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here’s the next one,,, whoop

as u can probably tell, i’m not rly going for bingo, just kinda writing whatever prompt inspires me

(also,,,, um,,, lets just pretend Peter doesn’t have a heater in his suit, yea?)

Shivering

—

It was Peter’s first official mission with the Avengers, and he was literally vibrating with excitement. He was sitting in the Quinjet next to Mr. Stark, watching in awe as the other’s stood casually, discussing strategy.

Mr. Stark had told him the basic plan: there was a HYDRA cell in Siberia that had been the center of a lot of recent attention. They were going in quick: a simple, straight-forward fight, and hoping to recover intel on the locations of other cells.

Captain America (Captain Freaking America!) turned to Peter with a smile. “Remember kid, web ‘em up. Keep ‘em on their toes.”

Peter nodded vigorously. “Yes, Mr. Captain America sir!”

“You can just call me Steve, Peter,” he said, amused. Mr. Stark interrupted before Peter could respond.

“Good luck with that one Cap. I’ve been trying to get him to call me Tony for years.” Peter gave Mr. Rogers a guilty smile. He couldn’t believe that he was finally a part of the team.

The conversation continued around him but he was too excited to tune back in. His knee was bouncing like crazy but he didn’t bother trying to stop it. Peter figured that all he had to do was prove himself on this mission.

—

The mission didn’t go to plan. Of course, when did it ever for Peter.

The base had been evacuated. And a bomb. They had been able to figure it out just in time to get clear of the building and into the Quinjet, but not in time to get out of the blast zone.

So they were stuck, in a freezing wasteland in Siberia, with an out of commission Quinjet.

Tony had already started work on repairing the damaged parts and had assured the rest of them that it wouldn’t take long. The best they could do was sit tight, and try to ignore the encroaching cold.

Easier said than done.

There were only 3 blankets on board, 2 of which were shock blankets. Natasha and Clint got the shock blankets and Bruce got the thin mattress cover because, for all their skill, they weren’t enhanced.

Initially, Steve had tried to hand the blanket to Peter, but Peter convinced him that as the only two enhanced individuals on board (Thor was off-world), they needed it least. Steve had reluctantly agreed.

Now, Peter just needed to figure out how to stop shivering so violently so Steve wouldn’t get suspicious.

—

Peter sat in the same place he had been on the way here, his arms wrapped around themselves and rubbing viciously. It didn’t take long for Bruce to notice how disproportionate Peter’s response was to the level of cold they were experiencing. Sure it was cold, but the metal walls of the Quinjet were currently still providing a substantial barrier to the worst of it.

“Hey Peter. How’re you holding up,” Bruce said casually. He sat himself where Tony had been before Peter had even registered he was there.

Peter’s teeth were chattering so much that his words kept getting interrupted by little clicks.

“I-I’m g-go-ood.” Bruce frowned.

“Mind if I check your temperature here real quick? You seem colder than you should be.” Bruce made to stand, but Peter pulled him back down.

“N-no.” Bruce could tell Peter was trying to dispel the shaking of his jaw. To his surprise, it seemed to work.

“‘m fine Bruce.” Peter smiles at him, his face relaxing, shoulders slumping just a bit in what seemed to be relief. Bruce must have been staring because Peter followed up.

“F’real ‘m actually feelin’ a lot better now. ‘m almost warm.” Peter laughed.

It took Bruce a second before he put two and two together. When he did, he swore quietly.

“You have hypothermia Peter. Here.” Bruce shrugged off his blanket and wrapped it tightly around Peter’s shoulders. Then he lept into action.

“Clint, Nat. Give Peter your blankets. Try to warm him up as best you can.” Peter tried protesting but Bruce cut over him. “Steve, get Tony. Tell him he needs to finish fixing that engine right now. And the heat while he’s at it.

“Bruce, what’s going on?” Steve asked.

“Peter is dangerously cold that’s what. We need to get his body temperature up quick.”

—

Peter tried to give Clint and Nat their blankets back.

“You guys, I don’t need this,” he said sluggishly, “‘m feelin’ fine.” Nat wrapped him tightly in the blankets, and Peter found that he could not escape. That didn’t stop him from wriggling in his cocoon.

“mm, I nee’ a see Tony.”

“Peter you need to stay still. Clint and I are going to warm you up.”

A keening whine escaped Peter’s throat. He needed to see Tony! They didn’t understand! Mr. Stark had something waiting for him in the lab and—wait where was he? Last time he remembered the inside of the lab wasn’t gray and reflective.

Peter struggled harder, his arms making uncoordinated shoves at the blankets. He was getting hot and needed all these layers off him.

“I need to get these off.” Peter said, or rather, tried saying. When the words finally made their way past his numb limps they sounded more like “‘m ge’off.”

Natasha seemed to get the message somehow anyways. “Peter, you need to keep these blankets on.” she said sternly.

Where was Mr. Stark? He would be able to help Peter escape.

As if summoned by Peter’s thoughts, Tony emerged on the communal area of the jet from the engine room. He took one look at Peter, and was by his side seconds later.

Peter blinked and wondered where Nat and Clint had gone. Then he smiled dopily at Mr. Stark. He couldn’t formulate his thoughts into words but that was okay. Mr. Stark would fix everything.

—

Tony wasn’t prepared for just how bad “Bruce said Peter’s doing badly” meant. One look at Peter and it was obvious.

Tony’s thoughts were going a million miles an hour. Around him he could hear Bruce barking orders, the loud clanging of supersoldier feet running on metal, all things that should have garnered his attention. But he couldn’t focus on anything but Peter.

God, the kid looked awful. His face was flushed pink and he was ice cold to the touch. When Tony checked Peter’s pulse it seemed to skip a beat before settling down.

And all the while the kid was just grinning at him. Tony grimaced.

“Hey, kid, I need you to stay focused on me okay? No sleeping, yeah?” Tony prompted. He knew enough about hypothermia to know that this was dangerous territory. He needed to keep Peter awake and as coherent as possible.

Peter offered a slow nod in response to Tony’s questioning. It would have to do.

“Okay. You know morse code kid?” Again, the slow nod, and the sleepy smile. “Good. I want you to tap out some messages for me Pete. You got that?” One final nod of affirmation from the freezing boy in front of him, so Tony unfurled the blanket from around the kid’s right arm so he could reach it out to make contact with Tony’s wrist.

Tony consoled himself with the fact that if Peter was coherent enough to use morse code, he probably wasn’t in immediate danger of dying.

That confidence only lasted a couple minutes though. Right before takeoff, when Natasha and Clint we’re still trying to start up all “non-essential” systems like temperature control, Peter’s taps started fading.

First they stopped making sense, and Tony had to keep asking the kid if he meant the letter E or I. Then, they were just weak movements, hardly recognizable as morse at all.

“Kid?” Tony gently shook Peter’s shoulders. “Kid I need you to look at me yeah? I need you to just listen to what I’m saying and stay awake.” Tony wasted no time in launching into a long-winded story about his and Rhodey’s MIT days, careful to keep an eye on the kid.

Then, Peter started closing his eyes. Tony’s stomach leapt into his throat.

“Nat! Get the heat on! Now!” He tucked Peter’s arm back inside the blanket and wrapped it tightly around him. Then, he pulled Peter into a tight hug, rubbing his back and playing with his hair.

“You’re gonna be okay Peter. We’re gonna get you home, and Aunt May’s gonna have my throat, but you’re gonna be fine, I promise.” Tony kept up a string of muttered assurances until Nat got the heat on. He gave a shaky huff.

“That was rather dramatic, Peter.” Tony continued to talk softly to the unconscious boy, “How about next time you don’t hold out on some weird spider side effect and I don’t have a heart attack.”

Tony didn’t expect a response, but Peter never failed to surprise him. He lazily opened his eyes and rolled his head so he was looking directly at Tony.

“ur’ thin’ mi’ter ‘tark.”

#maybe the real bingo was the characters we whumped along the way #peter parker #spiderman #spider son #spiderman whump #spider son whump #iron dad #iron dad angst #tony stark #tony angst #with a happy ending of course #whump bingo #lizzardwrites

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bymyside-fic · 4 years ago

Text

After (~1600 words) read on AO3 // AFF

- December 26, 2009 -

Well, Kibum thought to himself as he opened his eyes. I don't feel any different. Aside from a vague sense of lingering happiness, he really didn't. Did it actually happen? He rubbed his eyes, staring up at the pictures adorning his bunk's ceiling. Which one was it? he couldn't help but wonder. If he had to guess, it was the one nearer to the top, where he and Minho were posing with leaves in the pile he and Gil had made last year.

He could be wrong, though…

Sitting up, he surveyed the room, taking in the dress robes and shoes and ties and shirts strewn about the room. The Yule Ball did in fact happen, then...unless this was just a dream as well.

He pinched his arm. Hard.

"Ow."

The room didn't vanish. He didn't jolt awake. Nothing.

"Huh…"

He braced himself as he sat up, his hand pressing into his open notebook. He picked it up as soon as he was situated, his smile growing as he quickly scanned the messages between him and Minho. Yeah, it wasn't a dream...it was real.

Minho was actually his boyfriend.

His heart sang as he flipped back to the start, rereading I can't stop thinking about you...

This was gonna be a fantastic day, he could already tell.

Even though breakfast was nowhere near ready, he hopped out of bed, finding and pulling on his socks. Excitement thrummed through him, and he couldn’t stay still any longer. He left the room, being careful not to wake the others up, and made his way out into the common room, only to stop in his tracks.

Minho was awake. Awake and sitting on the couch across from Analecia. “What are you doing up this early?” he asked, unable to keep the surprise from coloring his voice.

“Why do you think?” he said in Korean as Kibum moved further into the room.

"I mean, I have a guess -- "

"Oh good," Analecia said, rolling her eyes and trying not to smile. "The flirting in Korean thing is still happening."

"Who said we were flirting?" Minho asked as Kibum chuckled and made his way over to the everlasting tea set.

"I'm not an idiot, Minho." Kibum poured himself some coffee, spooned a little sugar in it, and went over to sit beside Minho.

"You didn't put any cream in it," Minho said after he leaned over to inspect it.

"I don't like cream in it."

"But I do."

"Go make your own, then?"

Minho shook his head, huffing a sigh as he looked across the table at Analecia. "See what I have to put up with?"

"I don't know how you do it," she said with faux sympathy.

Kibum scoffed. "I thought you were supposed to be on my side."

"I'm on nobody's side except my own. And occasionally my mother's."

"I'd drink to that if Kibum's coffee had cream in it."

Kibum smacked Minho's thigh as he got up to get his own coffee, which in turn made him laugh. "Why are you being such a brat right now?" he asked, once again slipping into Korean. He wasn't mad, more amused than anything, and he knew Minho could tell by his tone that he wasn't upset with him.

Minho, who was still smiling, shrugged as he tapped the side of the teapot twice before he poured himself a cup. "Because your reactions are cute."

Kibum sucked his teeth at him, his face inflaming before he returned his attention to Ana across the table. She was watching him, highly amused, and her gaze flicked up to follow Minho's progress back to his side. He glanced at his cup, doing a double-take when he saw that it was cocoa instead of coffee. Minho's eyes lit up when Kibum's met his, and he took a sip, seemingly waiting for Kibum to make some sort of remark.

Kibum unsuccessfully tried to keep himself from smiling as he looked back at Analecia. "Is breakfast upstairs today? I forget."

"McGonagall mentioned it last night when you came upstairs, didn't she?" Kibum blinked at her. He had no memory of that, but then he had been just slightly distracted after he left Minho last night. Minho coughed quietly into his cocoa, disguising a laugh, and Analecia's smile slowly grew.

"Both of you need to stop teasing me, I swear to -- "

But Minho had leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to Kibum's cheek and bringing his train of thought to a screeching halt. "Sorry, I'll stop."

Kibum slowly turned, meeting Minho's adorably mischievous gaze. "You know what's sorta funny?" he asked in Korean, sniffing a laugh when Analecia let out an exasperated sigh.

"What?"

"I got after Aaron and Arabella for making out last night. They were sitting right here."

Minho let out a clipped laugh. "Really?" Kibum nodded, giving Minho a wry smile. "So, what? Am I in trouble?"

"You're on very thin ice,” Kibum said as sternly as he could manage, but Minho still cracked up, which made Kibum do so as well. He looked back over at Analecia, who was shaking her head as she glanced over to watch Chloe sleepily trudge into the common room.

The others were waking up then, one by one coming out to join them for their morning coffee or tea or cocoa before they all decided to head upstairs for breakfast. Kibum lingered toward the back of the procession and Minho, of course, joined him. By the time everyone else had stepped into the main corridor, Kibum reached the top step. He grabbed Minho’s hand, leading him to the shadows beneath the stairs.

“What’s this about?” Minho asked when his back hit the wall, an easy grin brightening his features as Kibum pressed his hand against the wall by his shoulder, leaning over him.

Kibum shrugged nonchalantly, glancing down at his lips before meeting his gaze again. “Just wanted to say a proper good morning, that’s all.”

And, before Minho could respond, Kibum was kissing him. Minho’s arm slipped around his waist, pulling him close as he cradled Minho’s face in his hand. When Kibum started to pull away, just enough to look into his still-closed eyes, he murmured Good morning against Minho's parted lips.

It took a second for Minho to open his eyes again. “You know,” he said, a little breathlessly. “If you keep this up, you might just make a morning person out of me.”

“Oh really?” Minho nodded, still smiling.

Before Kibum could kiss him again, footsteps sounded up the stairs. They stayed close, both unmoving until the footsteps passed. Kibum melted into Minho's embrace when he initiated another kiss, but it was cut short by even more footsteps. Reluctantly, they parted, and Kibum held his hand for as long as he dared as he pulled him out into the main corridor.

Analecia eyed them as they took their place on the bench beside her, but she said nothing, instead turning to Gil when he said through his mouthful of eggs, “Anyone wanna come down to Hogsmeade later?”

“Do you want to?” Minho asked him quietly after Aaron and Callum started discussing it with Gil.

Kibum shrugged. “Probably. I mean, what else is there to do?” Minho met his eye, then, his amusement shining in his eyes. Kibum started smiling, but caught himself and instead looked back down at his breakfast. “Besides that.”

“Oh, I don’t know, then.”

Kibum snorted, nudging Minho with his elbow before he tuned back into the others’ conversation.

It was decided by Gil, Analecia, and Aaron when they would go -- Aaron had to finish writing a letter to his mom, but after stopping by the owlery, they could head down. They separated at the corner, Minho and Gil heading off to their common room while Kibum and the other’s made their way to theirs. Aaron finished up his letter as quickly as he could while everyone else put on their coats and boots and scarves and knit caps that Callum’s mom made them this Christmas.

With Aaron’s finished letter in hand, they were off, rejoining Minho and Gil on the stairs. They were already near the top by the time they reached the landing, but both of them stopped to wait for him and Analecia to join them.

Even though he knew he should keep his feelings a secret, he couldn’t help but grin whenever he was around Minho now. Maybe that feeling would fade and he would become less obvious as time wore on, but right now...right now he knew he was positively beaming, just because Minho was there. It wasn’t like anything was out of the ordinary. He was just...just with him, and he knew that he liked him back, and it was like a heavy burden he never realized he had been carrying all this time had been lifted, and they could just be...well, themselves.

He would have thought that by now he would have already realized the weighted effects that secrets had on him…

But, at least it was gone now. Well, that part of it.

He glanced up at Minho, who immediately looked his way, returning his smile. Sure, their relationship was still a secret from most everyone, but at least they were now sharing the burden of it.

And that was more than he could have ever hoped for.

#Minkey #shinee fic #SHINee au #SHINee drabble #SHINee #bonus material #year: seventh #bms inktober 2020

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autunno101 · 6 years ago

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Takoda

Writing-prompt-s: A villain kidnaps the hero’s sidekick, only to realize the hero has been badly mistreating them, and decides to take the sidekick under their wing.

He looked a little pale, but that could be just the light. However, his thinness and obvious fragility under the baggy clothes - looked more like hand-me-downs - could not be so easily explained away. He had only just arrived...

"Where'd he get the black eye?" Of course, his men were not expected to be gentle with the sidekick, but the condition was alarming.

"We grabbed him from the back of the station, nursing it with an ice pack." At the villain's nod, he continued, "didn't really struggle too much. I don't think we even bruised him..." The man cleared his throat. "Those other bruises weren't from us."

Other?!

The villain opened the door, no longer interested in only peeking through the tiny window. His sudden and intimidating appearance had the young man cowering in his corner.

Yellow bruises lined his arms, several looking suspiciously like handprints and none of them fresh enough to be the cause of his men. Face-to-face, he could see sickly bones protruding from sunken flesh.

The sidekick shook under the villain's presence.

In an attempt to calm him, he waved his security out of the room and they waited just outside the still open door. Near, but out of view.

Krisztian Simon, known under the name Hydra - Agent Hydra when employed under Sidero. Recently, the media had taken a liking to the name 'Guta'. A Hungarian demon. His number of victims had increased greatly in the past six months, though that may be due to the sudden and huge losses he sustained, and most landed underground. The name became suitable.

If Takoda recalled correctly, Sidero had been his first official victim after breaking off as a solo villain. Killing her after a supposedly large fight over the direction they should take.

Both had been powerful water manipulators. Sidero preferring to kill her victims by drowning and Hydra - or Guta - physically sucking the water from their bodies. Either gruesome to watch.

Now a highly wanted, international criminal responsible for stealing and selling military weapons and plans to either terrorists, villain organizations, or warring countries.

"Forgive me for not knowing your name, at least, how to pronounce it, Takoda." He squatted down to be eye level. "You're a healer... sidekick to Lady Vienna."

Her real name was Bernita Mora.

Bernita had been a real-life superman, towering over the average man with the strength to easily lift a semi-truck and fly at a max of Mach 3. The world loved her and from her heroic acts, ranging from her home in Costa Rica to Japan she loved the world.

"It's Pejihuta Witshasha." Krisztian could barely hear him.

"An easier name would have been better. The press simply call you 'The Healer'. Though, I haven't seen you since your... what? Third live appearance? You were a lot heavier then too..." He intended to poke his stomach in jest, but Takoda flinched away from him. "What does it mean? You're little sidekick name."

"Healer." Again, Krisztian strained to hear.

"Alright..." Seemed stupid to him. "Do you know who I am?"

"Hydra..."

"The press like 'Guta' nowadays." He stood and carefully helped the young healer to his feet. "You can heal yourself, can't you?" Only a trembling nod in response. "Why haven't you?"

The change came suddenly. And a bit violently.

Takoda squirmed out of his hold, scratching even to break free of Krisztian's light hold. He dashed back into his corner, his trembling increased and he hid his gaunt face in the crook of his elbows.

The subordinates outside the door shrugged at their boss's questioning brow.

"Takoda." Sternly, he pulled the kid to his feet and lead him out the door with a bit more force than before. "Let's talk."

After a shower, some ointment for the bruises he refused to heal - there was something to that and Krisztian planned to figure it out - and dinner, Lady Vienna wasn't so kind after all. At least, not to the criticism magnet her sidekick turned out to be.

Takoda, Krisztian admitted, wasn't fat. Not like how the media relentlessly teased. A little chunky with no real strength or stamina, but otherwise a healthy kid. Someone who sought to help those in need. Lady Vienna, of course, found his abilities useful. Bullets could still hurt her after all.

The press were quick to point out the adorableness of their obvious different builds. Their view changed rapidly to poking fun and degrading.

A fan of his native heritage, Takoda sought to make his family proud with his choice of name. Unfortunately, while Lady Vienna had no issues with one being proud of one's heritage, the media disagreed, finding more ammo to use in their taunts. Criticism was one thing the superhero would not stand for, especially when she felt heat because of her certain young man by her side.

If the press didn't appreciate his lack of build or the "excessive" pride in being Sioux, then neither did Lady Vienna.

"You know, Guta is a demon in Hungarian myth." They had been silent for a bit after dinner and Krisztian sought to end the silence. Takoda had been much too afraid to engage in small talk. "Your translate more accurately to a Sioux healer, correct? Medicine man?"

His men had been diligent in their search during dinner including finding Lady Vienna's excuses for her sidekick's public absences after fights.

Too weak at the moment.

Because you were starving him.

Badly injured.

Because you beat him every time the media sneered at you.

Shy.

More like afraid.

Unavailable...

Takoda had only been 17 when first meeting Lady Vienna. Standing proudly at 5'5" and used to be over 175 lbs.

Now, at 19 years old, he stood around 100 lbs.

"Yeah..." His hesitancy to answer made Krisztian cringe.

"I prefer Guta because it sort of reflects my own heritage. And my reputation." The confession sparked curiosity in Takoda.

"Really?" The villain nodded, laughing at the excitement.

"Yes, really. Much better than Hydra." Venom laced his tone at the former name. "Stupid Sidero. Always so arrogant," he grumbled but didn't elaborate.

Takoda had nothing to say to that.

"Tell me, Sioux Healer," once more, the 19-year-old perked up, "do you think she will come for you?"

Half a world away, the sunset lit the sky a somber orange, chased by indigo. Twinkling lights off a city in the valley shone so brightly, it blocked the stars, despite the stronghold's superior altitude in the mountain's side.

"Yes."

"But, not because she has to."

"No."

For such a scared child, Krisztian noted that Takoda had not once stuttered. Mumbled. Whispered. Never stuttered.

"You could always stay here. Though, I'm sure you haven't seen you're family in a long time... Would you work for me?" He expected a flat out no.

"I don't want to hurt anyone." He was happy with the answer he received, even if not a definite yes.

"You don't have to." Guta stood, beckoning the younger man to follow. "I hope you understand I will you use you as evidence to display her cruelty. To ruin her."

"I guessed..."

He continued, unfazed, "good. There are always other heroes and non-heroes alike that oppose me and my operations." Hopefully, a small reassurance. "After a few photographs, I'll send you home, okay?"

Takoda nodded glumly.

Once home, Takoda took his time recovering, staying removed from the public as Lady Vienna came under fire. Many still supported her, but with Takoda "missing" and his family not speaking out per his wishes, the debate remained one of the biggest unsolved superhero issues.

About a month later, Takoda found a package, addressed to him, sitting on his porch. He hadn't heard a knock or the doorbell ring.

A neat note sat on top of a pile of clothes and other items.

Takoda,

I hope you've gained some much-needed weight since we last met. From what I understand, Lady Vienna and others believe you are still under my care. My accusations have only angered her, but I'm dealing with the blowback pretty well.

I know you had a goal of helping people. Take this card and use it as you wish. I'm sure you'll go where you feel as you needed. Your culture is important to you, but perhaps a different name would suit you and be better for the public's sake. Perhaps a role model's name?

-K. Simon

P.S.: If you know Captain Thunder, he sends his regards, as well as his young sidekick, Boo. I did tell them I sent you home and they haven't publically announced it - I don't think they were the only ones suspicious.

Takoda inspected the black card, surprised it was real. He had never had one before. Perhaps before meeting Lady Vienna, he had thought about it, with the prospects of a new job.

It had his full name in silver on the front.

"Woah..."

The clothes were nice too. Cotton t-shirts, jeans, formal button-ups, and slacks. A few silk ties. A brand new Rolex watch with dusted gold and diamonds. Several pairs of sneakers and loafers.

Krisztian had no reservation about spending money apparently. But, when you're a villain with supposedly a billion corporation you had money to spend.

The young healer hadn't met Captain Thunder, a loud, but pretty cool Canadian hero that manipulated sound waves. Boo was a ten year old from Chad with the ability to turn invisible. Her powers extended beyond just herself and she could turn objects she touched invisible as well. Often, she liked to spook the reporters, much to the Captain's amusement.

Perhaps he would meet them one day.

Re-reading the note, Takoda suddenly had an idea and raced to his bookshelf where he had kept a lot of books relating to the Lakota, his mother's people. In particular, he had several relating to the Black Elk, a medicine man, and participant in the Wounded Knee Massacre.

While his mother had disagreed with several of the books, written mainly by non-natives, he found some quotes comforting.

It wasn't easy growing up with his abilities, especially when he was younger. He never lived on a reservation, though he knew relatives that did, and his father, a non-native, graduate engineer from Chicago, didn't agree with his maternal family's interpretation of his abilities or the sudden pressure laid on his shoulders.

When he was seven, his parents moved away to Iowa, which was equally easier and difficult. His biracial status didn't mix well with his black relatives, but they at least were kept from knowing about his powers.

One quote in particular was "...I cured with the power that came through me."

Takoda had questioned whether Black Elk had actually said it as his mother's doubts and criticisms of the book echoed through him time and time again. But, he had decided a while ago that it didn't matter. In context, out of context, real or fake; it brought him comfort.

Krisztian was right. "The Healer" was what he did, but not who he particularly was. "Pejihuta Witshasha" was too difficult for the press - as much as that insulted him.

Guta described Krisztian based on reputation, but not necessarily ability...

Lady Vienna chose her name as more of a nickname.

Captain Thunder... well, Takoda had no idea where he got the name from and Boo got hers because that's what she always said scaring reporters.

Takoda wanted to reach those in need, but such a task would take him all over the globe. Many cultures had their own view on healing and with it, he wanted to adapt to it.

Why be one if he could be many?

Early in this process, he decided to stick to the shadows. Avoiding heroes and villains alike for his own safety. As such, black or navy would need to become a part of his attire.

Guta was surprised, pleasantly so, at how quickly the "Black Bear" and "Black Stag" appeared throughout North America over the span of two months only to disappear.

The media speculated if the appearances were individuals or the same person while others claimed it to be the work of some type of cryptid. However, the collective terms "Black Healer" and "Black Healer Society" were often used.

Shortly afterward, the "Black Hummingbird" began to spread its wings over South America. It took a while and after heavy debate that remained mainly unresolved, the public believed the figure to be some kind of bird. The hummingbird becoming more likely due to the images of a unique long beak that extended from the face and colorful reflectors of a sort that made use of the moonlight and city lights to produce a beautiful metallic look.

Guta quickly checked the card he had given the healer, noting only a few charges here and there. Mainly flights and bus rides back and forth across the countries. Still, Takoda must have been using a lot of his personal money.

It took a bit, especially since Takoda moved quickly and almost at random. Useful for hiding from those seeking him out. Nonetheless, Krisztian found him.

A small Haitian village. Dressed in dark, casual clothes with a cloak. No animal symbolism.

"No animal this time?" The healer jumped at the familiar voice.

"Gu-... uh, I mean Mr. Krisztian..." As awkward as ever, Takoda glanced around them. Of course, the famous Guta wouldn't travel without some degree of protection hence the number of armed men surrounding them.

"I see you haven't finalized your outfit yet or was that what you were going for?" Krisztian nudged Takoda along to the jeep not far from the small alley.

"I... uh... wanted to use animal symbolism, but the internet hadn't been very cooperative with me." The older man hummed thoughtfully.

"One symbol should be enough."

Takoda shook his head but didn't elaborate until they reached a resort. Apparently, the villain preferred to stay in luxury.

"I wanted it to be significant to them..." He continued to follow the villain, uncomfortable with his shabby appearance contrasting against the upper-class finesse.

"The bear represents healing, the stag... I don't quite-"

"It varies but I was aiming for longevity and gentleness."

"Alright, and the hummingbird was optimism, yes?" Krisztian gestured to a secluded booth from the other guests.

"Basically... why am I here?" While the security gave them space, the atmosphere remained heavy and intimidating.

"To catch up, of course." Krisztian tapped the menu before sliding it his way. "Wine and food all on me."

"I don't drink..."

"Soda, water, whatever you'd like." He waved his hand in the air, unconcerned. "I expected a bit more weight on you."

Takoda had removed his cloak, revealing the still oversized clothes he wore underneath.

"Oh... uh..."

Krisztian shook his head in disapproval.

"The card was for you to use to your heart's content. Including feeding yourself and putting a roof over your head during your travels." With that, Krisztian waved over a waiter and they placed their orders.

After spending the night, Takoda was booked a flight home. He needed more time to think.

The mysterious healer or healers disappeared as quickly as they appeared. Months rolled by without an appearance.

Then, as winter rolled through, photos surfaced from Ethiopia. A hunched black shadow wandered almost empty streets with horns upon its head.

Press, blog sites, and cryptid believers were quick to tear the photos apart. The assumed horns were really antlers. Bear claws covered the hands. An assumed stag head covered the face. It took a while, but another managed to find more photos of it traveling along the African east coast. Most notable were the ones under the full moon where the light reflected a familiar, colorful pattern across the arms to the back.

A mash of the three healers before.

Because of the animal symbolism and the communities most believed theories, the public took the liberty of calling the healer "Shaman". Many referred to the healer as a cryptid rather than a man and most notable suspected it to be capable of shapeshifting between four forms.

In a public announcement by several heroes including Captain Thunder, Guta had reassured them he would not lay a hand against the Sioux Healer - as was a concern considering the healer's sudden travels into the villain's prominent domain. A domain that traveled from Somalia, up the coast, across the Arabian Peninsula and into Jammu and Kashmir.

His statement seemed to confirm the theory of the healer's native origin and spun new debates.

However, as if to keep people on their toes, the healer would vanish only to reappear as a bear, stag, or hummingbird or as the entangled embodiment. Its work remained seemingly random to the public and continued to be uncaught by the press or heroes.

Lady Vienna expressed great public interest in meeting the Shaman. Despite her attempts, Takoda managed to stay out of her grasp and eventually feeling unsafe, he abandoned everything. Abandoned his outfit. His personal items. The credit card from Krisztian. His mission down the east coast of Africa.

She came much to close and in a moment of panic, he disappeared into the Kenyan savannahs. Thankfully, commotions began to appear globally, including South Africa, and she was forced to stop her pursuit.

Hiding away, he accepted the kindness of strangers when offered and stayed off every beaten path. He continued south.

Takoda crossed the path of many heroes, local and foreign as they aimed to take down several terrorizing organizations. He kept his distance.

Starving, he entered a city despite the war zone it had become. Perhaps there would be food and clothes abandoned for him to have. His had been torn from the travel, the ambushes, and predators.

Here, his powers were limited to an almost unfair level. His exhaustion and hunger only hindered him further. Still, he tried to comfort those dying by easing their pain, unable to extend their lives.

A little girl laid under some rubble and all he could do was close her eyes.

"You shouldn't be here, Sioux Healer." He froze at the unfamiliar voice.

A large man stood behind him, bloodied from the fighting. From his black combat boots to the jockey straps and cut to fit shirt, he bled a fighter. Not local however by his white skin and dirty blonde-ish hair.

Takoda's eyes widened at the trademark hat that hid his cropped hair. One that had a logo of a maple leaf overlapped by a military jet surrounded by a blue circle.

The Canadian hero, Captain Thunder.

"Takoda, Lady Vienna is here. You need to go." With a hand signal, Boo appeared by his side in a fine, colorful, and decorative dress with a matching head-ware that hid most of her hair. Takoda assumed traditional clothing for her people. "Boo will help you out of the city."

The Captain took off without much of a word, heading to the thickest fights in the city.

"He doesn't want me to join anyway." Boo sounded a bit dejected, but took Takoda's hand and led him away.

"He cares for you."

"Like Lady Vienna should have for you?" Her bluntness hit him hard. "Sorry." Apparently, she noticed.

Wishing to change the subject, he asked, "how many languages do you speak?" It was well known her first appearance with the hero had been to help translate for him.

"Including dialects... seven fluently." It had been debated before, but the numbers were impressive. And she only counted what she was fluent in.

"That's impressive."

"Thank you. My parents are big advocates for education in Chad. I spend more time with them and doing school work than with Captain Thunder." That also bummed her out. Before Takoda could ask, she answered, "I only get to hang around for reporters and small crimes. Me being here was an accident."

"Things like this can be dangerous."

"I know..." With that, Boo quickly hushed him and they ducked out of view as people passed by.

She kept them invisible as they moved past fights, survivors, and emergency personnel.

At the very edge of the city limits, Krisztian waited. Angry at Takoda's starved appearance.

"I believe I told you to gain weight, not lose it." Krisztian grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him to the guarded helicopter.

Takoda limply let him shove him inside and deflated as he offered a kind hand to Boo.

Takoda folded him into himself, keeping silent as they headed to a small, private airport. On the plane, Boo sat beside him as Krisztian talked with others outside.

Alone, she patted his hand, "if it helps, Captain gets depressed too. I think its because the ratio of people he saves is small compared to how many he couldn't."

The thought was depressing. Captain Thunder had such a loud, joyous, and respectful persona that made it hard to believe. But it made sense.

"Thanks, Boo." Takoda smiled her way, grateful, but that wasn't the problem.

"Krisztian, for a villain, is exceptionally caring. Captain was surprised too." Boo didn't elaborate as said villain returned.

Boo left first, her parents already awaiting her return. Krisztian remained on the plane, hidden away lest they know who dropped her off. Afterward, they headed for the stronghold in the east.

Takoda did his best to avoid the villain, staying closed off and curt in his answers. When they landed and Krisztian went to guide the kid by the shoulder down the ramp, he noticed him flinch. Takoda nearly tripped over his own feet to get away.

"Takoda..." His words were soft and his touch gentle as he helped the healer regain his balance. "I'm not going to hit you. Come on. You need a full meal, not just snacks." Even though Takoda had received fresh clothes, Krisztian removed his jacket and wrapped it around his shoulders.

Inside, Takoda feasted on everything they gave him. His father would have been upset at his behavior, to say the least. He had always been big on manners.

Krisztian watched, disgusted, but never uttered a sound of protest. Let the kid eat.

Takoda, finally feeling full in months, became over consciously aware of his surroundings and took a napkin to wipe his hands and mouth.

"Sorry..."

"Don't be. More?" He began to wave over a servant, but Takoda stopped him.

"No, I'm... I'm good." Taking a gulp of water, he cleared his throat. "Can I ask you something?"

Krisztian quirked a brow at that, "sure."

"When did you and Captain Thunder become friends?"

Krisztian laughed, "oh no. We're not. The only thing we have in common is you."

That came as a surprise.

"Me?"

"I think I told you before that he had suspected something going on. I did end up telling him and he, thankfully, kept that to himself."

A servant interrupted them, bringing Takoda a decent slice of chocolate cake.

Krisztian encouraged him to eat, pouring a glass of wine for himself. He came to sit next to Takoda, sipping his 1990 Grand Cru.

They intermittently had small chit chat. Both put thoughts of heroes and villains aside. Here, they were merely friends. Passing the time until they grew tired and while Takoda would remain under 24/7 watch, Krisztian had work the next morning.

Takoda remained at the stronghold, trying hard not to think about what Krisztian's job entailed. A villain's job.. is well, he supposed a villain's job.

Krisztian returned a couple of weeks later, bandages covering his torso and hands. While he had Takoda informed of his return, he did not summon him to his side. He had always healed naturally. No need to put the kid to work.

However, Takoda ventured to the upper floors on his own. He ignored the caution servants threw his way.

The Guta does not wish to be disturbed.

This is not wise. Return to your chambers.

Please, sir, return downstairs.

He moved around them, not even registering their words. Nudging open the doors, he stepped inside the bedroom.

Krisztian had his bedside lamp on and the windows open with a view of a dark sky over a dry desert. He held a small, leather worn book in his hands.

"Takoda?" He set the book aside.

The healer came, pulling up a chair, and sat beside him.

"You should have called me. I can heal you." Setting to work, he first unwrapped the man's hands. It had always been easier to heal if he could see the wound.

"I'm a villain. An international criminal. A terrorist to some." Krisztian watched on. Amused at the scene before him. Impressed as the light green glow faded and rather than bloody and torn fingers, they were sore and barely scarred.

"You helped me. You fund me..." His words felt like a half-ass excuse.

"I make people into raisins."

"I've managed to heal over two thousand people and that number is going to continue to grow. This past year is really the only time I've been practicing my powers. Dealing with different people, different wounds. I'm growing stronger." As if proving his point, Takoda healed Krisztian's torso - easily in worse condition than his hands - with ease.

Takoda continued, "I couldn't have done that as quickly before. I'd have barely started and already would be sweating. Broken bones took at least 15 minutes without any breaks and I usually would need a long break afterward." He looked Guta in the eyes, seeing a friend rather than a demon. "I've grown a lot. I'm healing faster. Leaving fewer scars each time. Actually able to help with healing diseases and illnesses rather than just the symptoms."

Krisztian nodded, chuckling at the enthusiasm.

"Alright. I helped you out a little."

Takoda wasn't quite finished.

"Besides, I've never known you to be that cruel, not even to Sidero and the media seemed to make it out like you guys loathed each other." He raised a questioning brow at that, so Takoda continued, "Gamez, from a couple of years back, sold out one of your operations and you suffered some pretty severe causalities. However, Hana's betrayal happened a few months later. She sold out your smuggling operation in Taiwan, but you never turned her into... a... uh, a raisin."

Krisztian remained silent. Partially in awe of the kid's observance which reminded him a bit of Boo. Mainly to hide his laughter at Takoda's hesitancy to use the word 'raisin'.

Krisztian settled for scoffing.

"You're a bit too observant, aren't you?" Takoda stiffened as if he had been slapped. "It's impressive. Don't get me wrong." Thankfully, he relaxed at the villain's praise. "But that doesn't make me good."

"No, but..." Krisztian watched, heart heavy and light, as Takoda balled his hands into fists. Frustrated. He wasn't prepared to back down as he finally shot back, "it's better than no reason at all or just for fun. You have reasons and motives that may be... exaggerated or unethical-"

"I suppose." Krisztian surrendered the fight. The last thing he wanted was to work Takoda up.

He patted the empty space next to him on the bed, moving pillows out of the way. Takoda put the chair back before taking the invitation. Krisztian picked his book back up, secretly flexing his fingers in delight. The pain was gone.

"Heard of the book called 'Embers'?" At the shake of his friend's head, Krisztian nodded, already figuring that was the case. "You might like it..."

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I tried really hard with this and it was only meant to be like a couple of pages long, not ten. Anyway, I’m sorry if I messed up.

#heros #villains #sidekicks #i'm sorry #i tried #prompt based #abuse #healing #writing prompt #fiction #writing #takoda #Krisztian

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hollywritesinstardust · 7 years ago

Text

Sister Sinner, Chapter Five

Request: Do you do cross-overs? I was thinking Neal Caffery’s younger sister works with the BAU, her brother, Mozzie, and Peter on a case, and ends up crushing on Derek Morgan.

Fandom: Criminal Minds/White Collar

Characters/Pairings: Derek Morgan/Reader; Hotch, Neal, Peter, OMC (Gio), OMC (Frank)

Words: 2,452

Y/N - Your Name

Although Mozzie seemed to think that you’d let yourself be handed over to the wolves, your case continued steadily. Over the next five days, you had been contacted by Gio and had another meeting with him, this time in an almost-empty library while you wore a wire underneath your bra strap. You talked shop. You knew how to shoot a gun, but you didn’t know how to smuggle them or what grade of weaponry he and his bosses would be after, so you repeated the information given to you in your earpiece by Agents Prentiss and Rossi during the meeting. You also lifted a cigarette butt that Gio had been smoking and got it to the CSI lab, where they sent Garcia their file on the DNA match and you positively confirmed who Gio was.

While you were waiting for the next part of the operation, you kept talking with the BAU agents and irritating Ruiz with your mere presence. Morgan was the one you spoke with most, and the most candidly. There was something about him that made you feel like you could speak in confidence. Reid was also kind of a sweetheart, and he reminded you of Moz in some ways which made you more comfortable. JJ was also one of your favorites. She had a calm, caring demeanor like El but carried herself with the authority and confidence of an agent you could feel safe trusting your health to.

“Boyfriend?” Morgan – well, Derek, as you called him now – asked, playing 20 Questions and bouncing a stress ball back and forth across the desk with you.

You smirked. “Why, are you interested?” You caught the particularly hard throw and tossed it back. “No, for the record. Last one turned out to be a buzzkill.”

“You mean a cop,” he accused lightly, his eyes a little mischievous and daring.

Shaking your head, you repeated, “No, I mean just in general a buzzkill.” You grabbed the ball again and gave it a squeeze, battering it between your hands. “No wine, no dancing, ‘don’t run in the snow, there might be ice.’ And that counted as two questions.” While Derek protested that the second wasn’t a real question, just a follow-up, you threw the ball back at him and asked, “Dogs or cats?”

“Dogs,” he replied with no hesitation. “Don’t tell Prentiss.”

“And, let’s see, DC or Marvel?”

“DC,” he replied easily, giving you a scolding look. “Superpowers versus a powered suit? Sorry, Iron Man, there’s no competition.”

“Superpowers versus hyper intelligence,” you countered, because that was Iron Man’s real strength. “… But I see your point, a little bit.”

Hotch clearing his throat made you both stop. You took your feet off of another of the chairs and let yours tip back down onto the floor evenly, sitting up straight. Derek tossed the stress ball over his shoulder towards the side of the room without blinking, pretending he hadn’t been playing with it. The boss looked at the two of you both a little sternly, like he knew you hadn’t been working.

“We’ve been so productive,” you promised, reading the expression. “Already did a cognitive interview.” Derek walked you through one of your meeting with Frank Gambino, and Garcia did a comparison against the DMV and the sketch from the artist you sat down with and confirmed you had met with the Don.

“You’re about to get even more productive,” Hotch decreed, pulling out a seat and sitting at the table with his crossed arms on top. “Sofia’s burner phone just got a text with GPS coordinates, a time, and a date.”

You perked up, intrigued and a little excited to see it through. “Think this is the drop?” You asked, eager to finish playing your part and see the rats get put in cages. Neal was your loved one and he went out of his way to make sure no one was hurt; those that took financial hits were always people who could afford to lose. The Gambinos were just monsters, plain and simple.

Hotch was nodding while Derek took a photograph of your burner phone’s screen, then gave it to you with the text pulled up. You noted that the time was in military time and Gio was planning on you being there that night. “Wow. He moves quick,” you remarked.

“There’s a cargo ship sailing into a northern shipping dock this evening,” Hotch explained. “Garcia got ahold of someone with SECNAV and found it’s sailing in from a region known for its loose handle on guns and similar dangerous equipment. With the information you floated undercover, they’re likely betting that her armament is on that ship. They want to trade hands at the docks.”

“Get done with me before moving the goods, so I don’t get to see where they take it.” You realized, and yeah, that was pretty smart. You had to applaud them for doing their research.

“That’s our thought, too,” Hotch agreed with you. “If all goes well, we can nab them as soon as Frank Gambino shows up. With the probable cause, not to mention the incriminating audio you’ve recorded, we can get a warrant and search his premises. Anything we find there can be added to the prosecutors’ case.”

“So I just need to show up, get them comfortable, and wait for Derek and his raid party,” you summarized, giving the younger agent a sidelong, confident look. We’ve got this, you told him with your eyes, and he hid a smile by looking down to the table, shaking his head slightly at your assurance and enthusiasm. “It’s practically in the bag already.”

Gio met you – well, Sofia – outside of the shipyard. You were pretty sure that you were supposed to need an ID card to get in, but there was no one on duty at the gate and Gio had a code that seemed to open it up. You sent a glance towards the guard’s booth and made a mental note to send someone there ASAP to make sure it really was empty, and the guard wasn’t lying incapacitated.

“So polite of you to come at last notice,” Gio told you, seeming like he was trying to be conversational. He was definitely wearing an earpiece and made no attempts at hiding it, and you wondered if you’d hear Frank’s voice if it were just a little louder.

“Business is business,” you replied coolly, not giving anything away. “I like closing deals, just like any businessperson.”

Gio socialized poorly, like he was usually taciturn, but he had never been quiet for very long before. You didn’t think much of it when he didn’t continue making small talk with you. If Frank just wanted to get this over with, fine. You at least had that much in common. The muscleman led you through the shipyard. You checked your watch after walking four minutes, glanced around for the sunset, and realized you were going east. When Gio stopped finally in the midst of a collection of unloaded trans-Atlantic shipping containers – huge metal boxes, coated in solid copper, silver, and red coats – you felt a little overwhelmed. The containers were too big to see around and created the impression that you were in a maze.

Is it intentional? You wondered as Gio looked down at his phone, continuing to hold his silence. You had him in a shipyard he wasn’t supposed to be in, waiting for a nonexistent armament of smuggled firearms. As soon as Frank showed up, your job was done, and you could leave, and you knew that the tracking aspect of your watch meant there were FBI agents tailing you.

You didn’t wait long, just standing there like a sitting duck and looking around yourself. The rendezvous point reminded you of a scene from NCIS. (You were pretty sure the scene you were remembering didn’t end well for Tony or Ziva.) Then there were more footsteps, faint at first but growing in volume, and metal-toed boots carried in an Italian-looking man you’d never seen before on your left. Just then you realized that you were in a narrow cross-section of the containers and looked to your right. A second man, this one looking less Italian and more Latin American, came from that direction; from around a container at your front approached a man you remembered seeing at the library in your last clandestine meeting, but you hadn’t flagged him as another henchman. Now you knew better.

Surrounded on all sides… which means…

You turned around slowly while putting your hands up to show you were harmless. Frank Gambino slunk up behind you, wearing leather loafers and a grey tweed suit. He was immaculately groomed, looked richly dressed, and though he was short, he had an air of power and intimidation around him that you could see the others felt, too. It was the kind of atmosphere Keller wanted to carry but just never could manage.

“Sofia,” Frank said genially to you, with a handsome smile above his dark beard. He had a wide face, thin eyebrows, and pink, sun-damaged cheeks. And a handgun clenched in his dominant fist. “Cara ragazza. Thank you for coming, really, it makes my job so much easier.”

He raised the handgun. You lifted your hands higher above your head and locked your eyes on his. You knew it made you seem more controlled, but its main purpose was to keep you from staring at the weapon pointed right at your face.

“What’s this about, Frank?” You asked, forcing your tone light. You were a few notches higher than usual. “I thought we were friends. Ish.”

“I did, too. Then, me and my boys, we thought, save the pretty girl the trouble, unload the shipment for her.” Frank gestured around you at the containers and you saw with a start that they’d been opened, left just slightly ajar. They went through everything. “And wire your money through those lovely islands. Except… there’s one problem. There’s no shipment.

“Your references checked out at first,” the Don continued, giving you credit and waving the gun slightly as if in praise. “Convincing cover. Dig a little deeper, though, and Rydell’s burnt. He was one of us because he went away. Know how to look, work the system, he never went away.”

You cursed under your breath. In most cases, convictions were public record. Neal’s alias of Gary Rydell had been arrested to preserve his cover, but Frank or one of the people who work for him must have searched for more info to prove that Rydell was legit and found that the man never really existed… at least, not the way you’d led them to believe.

“It will be a shame to ruin such a beautiful face,” Frank mourned, considering your scowling expression. “But then, no cop can be as beautiful as liberty.” One side of his mouth lifted up and he cocked the gun, preparing to fire. “I do love your American values.”

It would have been such a cliché to say that your life flashed. You’d come close to dying on many occasions, and you’d never actually had your life flash before your eyes. You had regrets and you had thoughts, and you missed people, and you wanted your mom before she became so distant or you wanted Ellen because you thought of her as a mother, too. This was the first time you’d really had memories come to mind while looking down the barrel of a gun, and it was probably because your family been right, this was too dangerous, and you hoped they wouldn’t feel too guilty because everything that had happened had been your choice.

Neal raised a glass towards you with a serene smile, both of you around his dining table in the penthouse. “To first drinks,” he offered as a toast.

You snorted. “Neal, you gave me my first drink when I was sixteen.”

“Yeah,” he recalled, nodding with a smirk, “But this is the first time we’ve drank together while it’s legal.”

You rubbed your eyes again and let him celebrate. You’d let him celebrate any stupid thing he wanted as long as he wasn’t wearing an orange jumpsuit.

A knock on the door came before it was opened, but only just. Before Neal could say so much as an invitation, it was being pushed on. It was left unlocked, so a tall man in a suit came right on inside, looking around curiously.

“Nice place,” he commented. You held your tongue from everything you wanted to say. You’d never forget what Peter Burke looked like for as long as you lived. He was the man who’d taken Neal away for years.

As if he knew what you were thinking – and hell, he probably did – Neal reached for your hand and squeezed softly under the table, where Peter couldn’t see, trying to remind you that he would still be in jail if the FBI agent hadn’t chosen to take a chance on him. It didn’t matter. Peter was still your least favorite person.

“Oh, you had company,” Peter said in surprise, just noticing you. You smiled thinly. He smiled back, uncomfortably, not recognizing you. “Well, um – you didn’t mention you had a date.” He said to Neal.

You both looked at each other in horror. “Oh, God, no,” you both objected simultaneously, devolving into hurried assurances that you were not, in fact, dating. You departed soon after, bitter and angry at Peter for interrupting your first evening with your brother in more than four years.

Give me a different memory, you thought at your brain angrily. Give me a happier one. Where I’m not so pissed off at Peter anymore, because now he’s like family. That gun was still there, waving in front of your face, and you didn’t want to die period but especially not with resentment towards someone who you wanted to think about with respect and love. It was hard to think, though – whatever came to mind just happened to be what you remembered, and the panic and fear and adrenaline clouded everything else.

Everything except for your current senses, which were still ready to fight or to take flight. You darted your eyes around fearfully like a bird looking for a safe escape, and encroaching on all sides from around shipping crates and the large metal containers you saw FBI agents in Kevlar vests. It could’ve been Peter or Hotch or even Ruiz, and you still would have felt like the sky had opened up and shone a ray of angelic, saving light on you. Derek’s voice magnified in a bullhorn made your knees weak.

“Put the gun down! You are surrounded!”

A/N: There will only be one more chapter after this! I expect the total of Sister Sinner to be about 14-14.5K, counting all six chapters. Thank you all for reading!

On the tags list are: @bestillmystuckyheart, @skeletoresinthebasement, @werewitchling, @1enchantedfantasy1, and @ragweed98!

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bitter-sweet-farmgirl · 3 years ago

Text

but I found it a rather unwelcome idea to venture out when the wind bit into my skin with needle-like fangs. SAME! I detest winter. The only thing that makes going out in it tolerable is my coveralls, lol.

Unfortunately, the darling dwarf who had managed to thaw my heart took no offense whatsoever to the freezing temperatures and – as was customary – he came up with different ways of entertaining his intended which, in this deplorable case, was me. AWWWWW. Ori is an angel, I love him.

“Who? Thorin? Oh, he’s purposeful by nature.” Ori laughed, watching the king slide this way and that, a sombre expression on his face despite his obvious enjoyment of the activity. I'm cackling, I can just see Thorin, arms folded behind his back as he skates, a dead-pan expression of blankness on his face.

“First time?” He grinned and proceeded to list all the people I was to stay well clear of…which turned out to be a long, extensive list – with everyone present on it except the queen. Wait, so we are the queen you say... Interesting. Of course, Bofur wouldn't dare say such about the QUEEN....

“No, I don’t want to. I’ll make a fool of myself.” Ah, yes... My fear of looking like an idiot is raising its ugly head.

while the princes drew nearer out of sheer curiosity. Oh no... Cheeky comment warning.

“Well, love of loves, there’s only so much a dwarrow can do to get his beloved in his arms – in public – and rather than begging Thorin to have another feast to dance with you, I thought this might do.” He smiled wickedly. ORI! I'm convinced he's a sweetheart. You may well have possibly made a new convert....

“Oh, you’re having me floundering and flailing on literally thin ice so you can get your paws on me, yes?” I hissed, narrowing my eyes suspiciously. "PAWS" I LOVE IT

“I am thinking of being married to you.” He replied with such straight-forward, simple sweetness that it knocked what little breath was left in me right out of my lungs. “I’m very much looking forward to it.” A smile blossomed on his face and, finally, the cold and the exertion seemed to have some kind of effect on him as well, as his cheeks filled with a soft, pinkish hue.

“So am I, darling.” I replied, wondering if anyone would actually notice if he kissed me for real.

Just... I need the tissue box now... The honesty....

“Stop ogling your own fiancée, you soppy fool! Come on, Mistress, we’ll show you.” .....And there's the interference I was expecting, XD

“Boys!” The queen’s voice drifted over warningly. “Kíli, Fíli, if you injure Ori’s betrothed, you’re on nurse-duty!” The king confirmed after a moment – he had no doubt caught his wife’s gaze and swallowed a chuckle or even a hoot – as sternly as he could. *snickers* Hen-pecked, that's what he is... Not that he is complaining, I see...

but the king was already pulling both of his nephews up and banging their heads together lightly. I can't anymore, I'm done. The subtle hilarity in here is beautiful!

but I retreated, sliding backward on my behind to avoid further shenanigans. Wise choice... Wise choice...

“I will tell your mother about this.” I heard the king whisper ominously, followed by a mellowing “Thorin” from the queen and squeaky protests from his nephews as I was carried like a babe. *snickering intensifies* This is The Hobbit equivalent of "my father will hear about this."

It would have given rise to a whole slew of fancies had I not felt drowsy and slightly pained still, and had he not looked so morosely tense while tending to me. Well well well... 'Fancies' you say? Are you sure it isn't 'reality' we speak of?

OH MY GOSH THIS IS SO LONG I APOLOGIZE

Ice-skating

After a random discussion with my friends, I had this fluffy idea in my mind.

So, here goes: Random ice-skating scene

Words : 2k

Fandom: Hobbit

Warning: Crack and dumb shit

Inspiration for the queen: @lathalea @middleearthpixie @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @linasofia @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @thewarriorandtheking

Taglist for all things Ori : @shrimpsthings

Taglist for random nephews nonsense: @laurfilijames

Erebor was a cold, hostile, desolate place in winter. Not as if that damped the cheer of the local dwarrows in any way, but I found it a rather unwelcome idea to venture out when the wind bit into my skin with needle-like fangs.

Today, his brilliant idea was to take me ice-skating on the lake. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I did not know how to do that and that I was not exactly looking forward to breaking through the ice and meeting my untimely death in a bitter-cold, wet tomb.

“Come on! It will be fun!” He cheered, wrapping me in wool until I was almost stiff with the soft packaging wound around my tiny body. This alone should have told me that I was in grave danger.

Letting him drag me to the frozen lake, I discovered that I was to have the honour of spending the afternoon not only with my sweet love, but with a good many of the people I shared my day-to-day life with.

One of them was – of course – our king who ploughed over the thick ice as if he was late for an appointment. “Where is he going in such a haste?” I asked Ori, my voice muffled by the third layer of scarves and shawls covering my shoulders, neck, and the lower part of my face.

“Who? Thorin? Oh, he’s purposeful by nature.” Ori laughed, watching the king slide this way and that, a sombre expression on his face despite his obvious enjoyment of the activity.

All the while, he was kneeling in the snow-covered grass, tying blades to my sturdy winter boots, and allowing me to grab his shoulder violently as I tottered on the thin piece of metal. He barely even winced when my fingers dug into his flesh and a single, breathless gasp escaped me.

“You’ll get the hang of it in no time.” He promised, tapping my second foot. Was he insane? Did he expect me to stand on an edge narrower than my own finger and give him my other foot like a well-trained dog? I’d fall onto the lake face-first, slide all the way to the middle of the creek, and would most probably end up sliced into neat little cubes by the erratic trails our eminent king was making.

“Hold on to me, love, it will be okay.” Ori assured me, his voice soft and comforting as he gently lifted my other foot and attached his blasted blade to that boot as well.

“Bofur? A hand?” He called over and, within a minute or so, the other dwarrow arrived in a spray of crystals dancing in the still, cold air. “Can you hold her up while I…” Ori nodded at his own blades and Bofur seemed only too happy to comply.

“First time?” He grinned and proceeded to list all the people I was to stay well clear of…which turned out to be a long, extensive list – with everyone present on it except the queen.

Hot envy flared up in me. Our queen was the very epitome of royalty – at least to me, it seemed like she was – for she was kind, gracious, and very smart beyond being stunningly beautiful and graceful.

“Ah, what a pleasure to see you join us today.” She smiled as she slid past, seemingly floating on the ice. Oftentimes, it seemed to me as if the birds chirped a sweeter song and the wind carried a fresher scent when our queen was around.

There was not a soul alive not to love her and – even though I was a stranger to those lands – I would have laid down my life in her defence. Swirling around her husband as if the insecure footing only heightened her elegance and gracile movements, she drew a low chuckle from the king who grabbed her by the hips and threw her into the air where she seemed to stay suspended – the pristine crystal snowflake of Erebor – before coming down gracefully and drifting away backwards, a merry giggle pealing from her gorgeous, white throat.

Our queen was clad in velvet and fur, she looked nothing like the woollen woodland-creature I must have resembled, and I wished I could be half as poised and effortlessly charming as her.

“Trust me!” That voice that commanded all my dreams and my deepest desires purred into my ear and his lips brushed along my cold, red cheek for the ghost of an instant before his hand was in mine. My mind snapped to his presence, his warmth, his beauty until they erased the cold and the discomfort, the envy and the fear, from my conscious thoughts.

“No, I don’t want to. I’ll make a fool of myself.” I groaned, watching the royal princes chasing each other wildly across the ice.

“You won’t. I’m here.” Oh, these words and the conviction of his tone. He was there; he wouldn’t leave, he wouldn’t let go of my hand; I would live and die with his ink-stained fingers intertwined with my own.

I felt like a new-born fawn, my eyes glued – in utter horror – on the opaque ice on which my bladed feet tried to scramble for purchase. “I have you.” Ori promised, his hands sliding under my arms, grazing ever so slightly over my chest in the process.

“Put your weight on your right foot and let go.” He commanded and I did as he said, crying out when the blade cut through the top layer of the ice and made me move forward. “Put your left foot down and transfer your weight onto it.” He coaxed on, calmly, while the princes drew nearer out of sheer curiosity.

After a few of those strokes, I managed to look up, losing myself instantly in the cheery twinkle of Ori’s eyes. Almost immediately, my feet got tangled and I crashed into him rather brusquely.

“Slowly, amrâlimê, breathe.” His chuckle brushed in a gust of warm air across my face, and I sucked in the cold wind and his sweet smell eagerly. “You have planned this.” I accused him, jabbing my index into his well-padded chest.

“Oh, you’re having me floundering and flailing on literally thin ice so you can get your paws on me, yes?” I hissed, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

“Nonsense, I am merely helping you.” He grinned innocently, patting my behind and tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear; the way he looked at me felt like a physical kiss. Sometimes, people look at you – from across the room, from across the table, or just a breath away – and you know you’re being kissed with their eyes, their mind, their heart.

“What are you thinking of, Ori the scribe?” I asked teasingly, trying to regain my balance by leaning against him. Maybe, I was just seeking to get another one of those mental kisses as well, I wasn’t sure.

“So am I, darling.” I replied, wondering if anyone would actually notice if he kissed me for real.

“Stop ogling your own fiancée, you soppy fool! Come on, Mistress, we’ll show you.”

Before I could protest, my arms were gripped on either side by the princes, and I was whisked across the lake while I tried to keep my feet from crossing and toppling all of us over.

“For the whole ward! You can come cut Bifur’s ingrown toenails!” Glóin, sitting on a log and watching his son skate slowly across the lake, called out, speaking confidently in his brother’s name.

My feet chose that exact moment – distracted as I was by fear and amusement – to refuse service and we went down in a flurry of limbs, wool, and deadly blades.

My name was called out and I poked my slightly dishevelled head out under Fíli’s thigh. “I’m fine. Did I…injure someone?” I tried to turn around, but the king was already pulling both of his nephews up and banging their heads together lightly.

He looked much dismayed with them indeed. “We’re sorry, Mistress, we are so sorry. It was entirely our fault. Are you injured? Should we…?” Kíli stretched out a hand, but I retreated, sliding backward on my behind to avoid further shenanigans.

“I’ve got her.” Ori declared, swooped me up easily and brought me back to the edge of the frozen lake.

“I will tell your mother about this.” I heard the king whisper ominously, followed by a mellowing “Thorin” from the queen and squeaky protests from his nephews as I was carried like a babe.

“Maybe that was not such a good idea after all, I’m sorry amrâlimê.” Ori muttered while he freed my boots from the lethal weapons strapped to them. I had knocked my head some and probably twisted my right ankle a tad, but otherwise, I felt fine enough; I was made of sturdier stuff and a single fall did hardly knock the stuffing out of me.

“I’m fine, stop fretting.” I laughed, but when I got up, a sharp pain lanced through my right leg.

“You’re not.” Ori sighed, throwing the blades to the ground, and lifting me into his arms once again.

“How is she, Ori?” The queen’s soft voice was heard, and Ori turned around. For a moment, I was afraid he’d bow and drop me, but he merely inclined his head while saying: “She might have twisted her ankle.”

With a serious mien, the queen turned effortlessly on her skates, lifting two fingers to her lips and let out a sharp whistle.

“You two fools, ice for the Mistress’s ankle, chop chop! I also think you might want to bring tea to her rooms, I’m sure Bombur will put the cakes you were to have later on a nice platter that you’ll take up for her, won’t you?”

Kíli and Fíli looked so miserable about the accident and my obvious discomfort; the lack of decorum and the fact that they had recklessly endangered one of their subjects for fun, aside, that – notwithstanding their own fondness of sweets – they agreed immediately to the queen’s terms.

“It’s nothing. If I wasn’t so incompetent…” I tried to intervene, but she merely waved away my words. “It’s important for them to learn that their own enjoyment can never be paid by the pain of others. It’s not seemly, it’s not kingly, it’s far from what their mother and uncle have tried to instil in them, and they have to redeem themselves.” The queen was clearly sympathetic, but as the king’s wife, she knew well that the duty that was bound to the title was a heavy burden one could never really take off.

“It’s nothing.” I repeated, but Ori had turned around again and was carrying me back to my rooms where he set me down gingerly and started unwrapping me slowly, piece by piece. It would have given rise to a whole slew of fancies had I not felt drowsy and slightly pained still, and had he not looked so morosely tense while tending to me.

“You too, stop it. It was a dumb accident. I’ll get better at it, I promise and then, we’ll be skating merrily across the lake at a more leisurely pace than the king and the princes, but faster than today, what say you?” I spoke from my throne of pillows.

“You want to do it again?” Ori seemed surprised, propping up my injured ankle on his thigh and stroking my shin gently.

“You seemed so happy to show me, so yes, I want to try again.” I replied softly, throwing a quick glance at the door. “Come here. They won’t arrive for another few minutes!” I whispered, beckoning my betrothed to my flushed face.

“You really are the sweetest thing, love.” I grinned, as he understood, blushing furiously but complying immediately as well; making his way to my head cautiously, he cupped my face in his hand and pressed his lips adoringly on mine.

“See? I’m all healed up again.” I grinned against his warm, soft skin that smelled of cold, crisp air and winter meadows.

“Don’t tell them! Thorin relies on us to make them suffer a little.” Ori chuckled, caressing my cheek, and peppering small kisses all over my face. “I’m sure Bifur’s feet will do the job.” I laughed as I sank against his shoulder, as happy as anyone could be on a blistering winter day.

#fic rec #ori x reader #thorin #fili #kili #ori #the QUEEN #the hobbit #ice skating #a good fic makes you both laugh hysterically and cry a little #this one did both so I call it a good fic #i may also be joining the ori club #i'm not sure

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blisserial · 7 years ago

Text

Three

I spent most of my childhood tromping about Her Ladyship's orchards. In the summer season the oranges were sweet and plentifull, and the latticed, leafy roof provided relief from the otherwise nearly intolerable heat.

A old aqueduct ran through the orchards. Granda quickly shaped the waterway to his satisfaction, digging and damming until it irrigated every thirsty root. By the time I was four, most of the essential troughs were beginning to age and crumble. I toiled away afternoons in the spring, clear water bubbling past my knees, as Granda demonstrated the perfect mix of straw and clay one used to pat the trough sides back into place. In my young mind I was heroic, saving water-starved trees and fruit and perhaps even Her Ladyship's life in one muddy swoop.

My mother never minded when I trundled home soaking wet and plastered with straw. Nor did she seem to notice my innocent joy when, after many months of labor, the troughs began to run clean again.

The winter season brought drifts of snow, great piles that climbed the trunks of the trees, making the orchard seem newly short and dense. The bees disappeared and the aqueduct froze almost solid. I learned how to climb bare trunks despite their slick skin of ice, how to carve castles in the snow, and even more importantly, how to trap the small rabbits and marmots that floundered through the drifts in search of surviving greenery.

Her Ladyship ran an organic garden and so, while most groundskeepers spent winter fortnights mixing and perfecting bug blight, root grow or other essential chemical doses, Granda used the time to care for his tools and architect the next year's plantings. His dreams did not always match Her Ladyship's pocket book but I still remember the beauty of the elaboratet blueprints he drew with pen and ink as he sat crosslegged on the floor of the largest greenhouse.

And I remember he was sketching when, in my seventh year, the king’s soldiers came for us. I recall the hushed crack of many hooves on ice and the doleful singing of sleigh bells. I remember Granda's sudden start and the spill of his ink as he rose too hastily and hurried to the greenhouse door. I pushed past him, wanting to see what had so thoroughly caught his attention, but he thrust me back before quickly, quietly locking the expensive glass portal.

We huddled low, beneath the fronds of a Southern palm. He kept one soiled, loamy hand clapped over my mouth.

By forcing me to share his cowardice as the world disintegrated around our green shelter, I have always believed, he took from me the luxury of fear.

*****

Lord Tamner's mistress was a big woman with a wide mouth and Southern manners. She had no real personal interest in the evening's entertainment, other than to see that the hired players were properly dressed and knew exactly which bits of ribald humor were acceptable and which snippets of royal innuendo were not.

Bliss stood unruffled in the middle of a worn carpet while slaves and servants hurried back and forth, putting Her Ladyship to order. When asked to recite a canticle Bliss did so, in cold clear tones appropriate to the lay. When asked to spring a step or two in demonstration of the latest trotting fad, Bliss complied, stone faced and light of foot about the bustle of stays and fabric.

When asked to incorporate the mistress's small lap cat into the self same dance, Bliss balked.

"Children, gimps, swords and flame," Bliss said, steady under the flare of Southern temper. "But no animals."

"Tamner said you would surely do as I wished." Her Ladyship sat on a velvet settee, straight as an arrow. Three maids fussed over her thin curls and another two hemmed her skirt.

If fur and velvet had been in two seasons ago, Maurice thought, eyeing swathes of opaque netting, then surely this season the fashion was strategically bared flesh.

"And she is magnificent," Tamner's mistress continued, eyes rolling over one motionless shoulder in dignified annoyance. "Straight from the Begnian swamps. A cat striped like a deep forest parrot and smaller than a terrier."

"No," said Bliss.

"She will dance on her hind quarters if you but dangle a fish from your fingers -"

"No. No animals. No parrots, no terriers, and especially no dancing cats."

The woman's mouth set. Maurice saw coin slipping away. He took one step forward, intending to argue, but Bliss hissed in annoyance and clear warning.

"Lord Tamner knows very well what my troop will and will not do. And as milord is the one who both sought me out and promised payment, I suggest you take up the argument with him." Bliss shrugged. "It is perhaps not too late to find another group of players yet willing to work with…cats."

"Although it is dark outside," Shaara spoke for the first time, pulling guileless eyes from a fluttering maid. "And icing over. And I have heard no word of another troop in town. Maurice?"

"No." It was an old game; Maurice played his part without effort. "Although I've heard tell there is a cyclist but one village over."

"A cyclist." Shaara scoffed. "Nothing but fidget artists on wheels." The maids tittered appreciatively.

Milady looked less than pleased. Silence fell and then grew long. Bliss, still standing in the center of the room, waited. She would caper and sing to win her meal, but she would not bend principles, even when confronted with the sudden growl of Shaara's empty stomach.

"Very well." Tamner's mistress relented. A quick clap of her hands summoned a footman. "Take them to the hall. Show them where they must stand. Do not feed them yet. And then tell milord I am waiting upon his convenience."

Bliss bowed low and turned on her heel. Maurice and Shaara followed, soldiers caught in their commander's wake and whim.

The footman, sternly silent, bowed Bliss into a dark corridor, then marched ahead. Bliss slowed to molasses's pace, pretending to admire the rows and rows of gilded oval mirrors that hung, regimented, on every wall.

Maurice supposed she was deviling the servant for his mistress's sake, until he looked more carefully at the beveled glass.

"Southern work." He was not exactly surprised, but he was beginning to wonder how Lord Tamner managed to remain in the king's good will. Loyal men had been shot or hung for smaller displays of Southern sympathy.

"His wife's collection, I suppose." Bliss watched the impatient servant beneath lowered lashes. "She's too arrogant or stupid to know better."

"We did work with animals, once." Considering a particularly large mirror, Maurice clasped hands behind his back and rocked gently on his heels.

"A boy in a donkey suit does not an animal make," Bliss scoffed.

"I had in mind the Reidwhich goat." He enjoyed deviling Bliss as much as Bliss enjoyed deviling the footman.

"That was a sacrifice." Bliss replied, calm. "And you're lucky it was the goat's throat and not your own I slit." She turned from the decorated walls and allowed the footman to finish his duty.

"Come, Shaara." Maurice said, hiding his smile. "Let's get you fed."

The boy lengthened his stride. "Bad luck."

"Ah?"

"The mirrors," Shaara explained, glancing back once. "Hung across from each other. Bad luck. Any Southern infant knows that."

"Arrogant or stupid," Maurice agreed, repeating Bliss's judgment to ease the sudden twitch in his gut. "Or perhaps wily as her swamp cat."

Milady's swamp cat was in fact far from wily. Tamner's woman, whose name Maurice quickly learned was Alyce, got her way in the end, if judiciously. The stripy beast made an appearance early on in the celebration, just as Tamner's trumpeter began to announce titled guests.

Two slaves with pierced brows hoisted the animal's golden cage onto a banquet table across the cavernous room from Bliss's troop. Lady Alyce, glittering and fierce, set herself up at the head of the cage, apparently awaiting courtiers full of eager questions. The cat, a tiny thing with slitted eyes, curled itself into a nest of felt and immediately went to sleep.

If Alyce hoped her exotic pet would become the evening's entertainment, she must have been sorely disappointed. As far as Maurice could tell, Tamner's guests preferred the drink first, the victuals second and Bliss's quick tongue a close third. The Begnian swamp cat was mostly ignored. So much so that Lady Alyce was eventually forced to give up her station and join her own party.

Maurice, in between gulps of blue flame and the running patter that came automatically to his tongue, found himself watching the cat. He told himself that it was the gold that had caught his interest. He had seen plenty of caged animals. Birds in miniature bamboo palaces, wolf cubs behind steel and wire, even an elegant fish in a glass bowl, but he had never before seen such riches wasted so obviously. Gold, while no longer scarce, was still hoarded by most of the landed nobility. It was said the king himself had taken, years past, to wearing only silver in his own particular expression of caution.

The Northern king kept his treasures locked away out of sight, but here in Cliffhouse livery was picked out in bullion and the household pet slept behind the gleam of gold.

"Doesn’t it burn?"

Maurice let the flame lick about his fingers before he quenched the torch between his teeth. "No."

"Is it witchery?"

That gave Maurice pause. He sent the baton spinning as he considered the small boy at the edge of his circle. "No such thing as witchery, lad. Only quick fingers and a leathery tongue."

"Is your tongue truly made of leather, then?" Doubtful, the child edged closer.

"Bliss says so." Maurice smiled. He relighted his torch with a puff of hidden fire. "A tongue of leather and a head of stone, she says."

"Bliss is the Storyteller?" The boy reached into a pocket and pulled forth a fistful of paper money. "She makes her hands into dragons and can stand on her head."

"Yes." Bliss was hidden in the growing crowd but Maurice had yet to meet a lad she could not charm.

"If there isn't witchery, is there dragons?" The boy squatted to drop his offering into the small brass bowl Maurice kept on the edge of his invisible theatre.

"I've never seen one." Maurice nodded his thanks before pulling a large twig of wintered fir from thin air. His circle of admirers clapped gently. "But I hear there's a major in Corkeslea keeps the head of one nailed to his library wall."

"Corkeslea is over the border." The lad grew thoughtful. "My da says only soldiers and turncoats go over the border."

"And circus folk." Maurice passed the twig, now magically festooned with tiny paper birds, into the child's greedy hands. "Put it under your pillow tonight, lad, and you'll dream of dragons."

Face bright, the boy bowed once, clicking immaculate boot heels together, and then darted away, trophy held high.

In the near distance trumpets sounded again and Maurice's audience began to quickly thin. Supper, he supposed, as he squatted to collect his brass bowl. Coins scraped amongst the muffle of paper money. For the first time in a very long while, good fortune seemed to be smiling. Maurice swirled the brass container thrice, a player's superstition, and then paused in mild surprise.

The weight of good linen paper settled amongst the lighter bills. Maurice snagged the bit free of coin, only to find it was in fact a neat wad, folded precisely in thirds.

A biting snake might have been more welcome. Maurice frowned briefly into the pot, and then, quickly collecting his pack, went in search of Bliss.

"Perhaps it's a lover's note." Shaara licked grease from his fingers and reached for bread. His juggler's pouch hung at his belt, distended with orbs and coin. "Open it."

"No." Maurice paused to gather up bread and meat, then pulled Shaara from the supper benches. "Where's Bliss?"

"Near the drink, most like." Shaara said cheerfully. "Or on the couches with another restless lordling. She don't even bother wait for an invitation -"

"Not on a job." Maurice fought back a small lick of uncalled for and unexpected rage. It was not the boy's fault time obscured memory. "Not on a real job. Step to, lad. Tamner'll want us back on the floor as soon as our bellies are filled."

Shaara whistled a dancing tune under his breath. "Have you met him, yet? His Lordship, I mean."

"No." Maurice searched the crowd. Waves upon waves of white gauze and bare flesh but no sign of Bliss.

"Why not open it yourself?"

Maurice took a deep breath and paused to listen. Surely, if she were performing, there would be a ripple here or there. "Tain't for me, lad." And if she were not performing…

"How do you know?" Shaara patted absently at his spheres. He smiled at a young lass with bleached bird bones strung about her neck on a silver chain.

"I don't get love notes. Nor notes of any other kind." Maurice said, disapproving. And then, "There. Over there."

Shaara made a smug noise. Maurice bristled but kept his temper in check.

Bliss had indeed found a couch and drink, red wine floating gently in a goblet of pocked glass. She glanced up as they approached, met Maurice's gimlet eye, and set her looming companion free with a tilted smile and a nod.

The gentleman melted gracefully away but not before Maurice had glimpsed the signet on the fellow's thumb. He was not sure if the resulting gripe in his gut was relief or unease.

"Was that Tamner?" Disdaining the couch, Maurice crouched on his heels at Bliss's feet, back set carefully to the thronging hall.

"We were discussing overtime." Bliss sipped at her wine, then passed the goblet to Maurice. "He'd like a private performance after dawn."

Shaara made another small noise. Bliss ignored her lad and instead examined the folded bit of linen Maurice had traded for the wine. "What's this?"

"The boy thinks maids have been passing old Maurice love poems. I told him I've far too many wrinkles to catch a jaundiced eye. Open it."

Bliss did so in quick, efficient movements, all the while appearing only to sway in time with the faint strains of harp and troubadour. The heavy paper unfolded on her palm to reveal rough black ink on expensive stationary.

"Why," Bliss purred. "Imagine that. She's missing us already."

Maurice shifted forward and squinted at the scrawl between Bliss's thin fingers. "Lady Alyce."

"Yes." Bliss took her wine back from Maurice's hand. Obedient, he made the crushed missive disappear. "She'd like to break her fast. With us. At sunrise."

Maurice kept his face still. Bliss glanced sideways, finished her wine, and rose. "Fine work, lads. Apparently we've become popular as sweets before even the moon sets. We'll be back on the circuit in no time."

"And not enough of us to go around at dawn."

"No." Bliss smoothed the ruff at her neck. Maurice watched, patient, and knew the instant she made her decision.

"Tamner will have to wait. Tomorrow morning, we see the lady of the hour."

By the time the sun rose, spreading a sickly light through the great hall's narrow windows, Maurice was sweaty, rumpled, and feeling age to the very marrow of his bones. He was also, thank the small gods, far richer than he had been in many seasons and nearly full to choking with sweet meats.

He stood blowing colored smoke rings for a drunken and elderly matron when Bliss came to collect.

"Hungry?"

"Far from it." Maurice felt the sweets in his gut turn over. "I'd forgotten the tendency of the landed to treat the entertainment as children." The matron's eyes had rolled shut and she was beginning to snore, yet Maurice was careful to bow a proper farewell.

"Sing or starve," Bliss replied, quoting Ross. "As for me, I prefer to sing."

"No doubt. You've gone hoarse." Maurice left his small cigarette burning. He puffed more rings as they picked their way across the hall, stepping gingerly over the guests who lay slumped across flagstone. Hounds, snuffling beneath the benches, stopped in their foraging to watch Maurice's creations burst against the low ceiling.

"Where's Shaara?"

"Running an errand."

Maurice closed his eyes for a brief moment and let peppermint fumes roll about his tongue before he blew through his nose. "Another errand? Let me guess, an ensemble of gauze and bird bone to go with the velvet and feathers."

"He's my apprentice." Even past a bruised throat, Bliss's irritation was clear. "Keep your nose out of it."

"He's you’re apprentice, yes. But what exactly are you teaching him, Captain?"

"I said, keep your beak out of it."

Maurice sucked on his cigarette and wondered when he had gone from silent partner to whipping boy. Sometime in the last three years Bliss had forgotten to be gracious and he had not paid much attention until now. He'd let her grieve because he thought it best. Perhaps he'd let her grieve too long.

"Wrong hallway."

Bliss shot a burning look over her shoulder. "What?"

"No mirrors. Wrong hallway."

"Milady," Bliss said, cold and precise, "wishes to dine in the kitchens."

"Nobility lurking in the kitchens." Maurice finished his cigarette and ground the papery remnants to nothing between his back teeth. "And you're warning me to keep my nose clean."

Bliss only walked more quickly.

The kitchens must have been a very early addition to Cliffhouse, if not entirely original to the sprawling structure. The corridors narrowed and the ceilings dropped and Maurice suspected he could feel damp through the walls. Lintels sagged until he had to duck his head and then he could smell wood fire and grease.

The kitchen itself was built of brick and clay and skinned log and was a great deal smaller than the grand hall they had just vacated. A lone slave stood at the hearth, tending a small family of cook pots. He did not look up as they entered.

Lady Alyce sat waiting at a high, battered table. Her curls had fallen down and her gown was no longer pristine. There were poached eggs in a trencher between her elbows and she set a dented tankard beside them as Bliss approached.

"You did well, I assume?" The lady's brows drew together. Maurice saw no sign of the little swamp cat or its gilded cage.

"Well enough." Bliss sat herself at the table without waiting to be asked. Maurice, more circumspect, remained standing. "We owe milord our thanks."

"You owe me your thanks." Lady Alyce picked up a clump of egg and consumed it neatly. "Roger had little to do with it. Although, admittedly, he needed some convincing. He recognized your name, you see."

Alyce reached into the folds of her skirts and produced a leather satchel.

"Your three hundred in gold," she said, setting the bag on the table boards. "Count it if you like."

"You're very predictable," Bliss said. She did not deign to touch the money. "Are the mirrors your own?"

Milady blinked and then allowed herself a slow smile. "They are, now. The collection once belonged to a viscount with too much pride. The king had him executed for sedition. I arranged to purchase the mirrors. I find their glass faces lovely."

"And was that wise? Milady fears not a noose about her own neck?"

Alyce scooped up more egg and lifted her trencher. "The king allows Tamner some leeway. And Tamner's lady much more."

"Tamner's lady," Bliss said slowly and even from two steps behind Maurice could see the twitch of her lips.

"Well. The title is honorary, yes?" With an elegant shrug, Tamner's mistress slid the trencher of eggs in Bliss's direction. "One can hardly go about in polite company as Roger's whore."

Bliss picked through the eggs and ate. Yolk dripped over her chin. She wiped it away with the back of her wrist. Alyce sat calmly, waiting. Maurice allowed his eyes to drift across to slave at the hearth.

"Alan is mute," Alyce said, smiling small. "And, unfortunately for Cook, also deaf. But he has a fine hand on the ladle and a light touch with the spices."

"You're a spy," Bliss said, mouth full of eggs. "Or something worse."

"My father is a trusted advisor under the Seat's shadow. My mother presses perfume for the Low Temple. My family is highly valued for its service."

"Does Roger know you fuck him for the south?"

Maurice flinched. Lady Alyce appeared only amused.

"You mistake me," she said. "I adore Roger. And I am a loyalist. I work only for the north.

Maurice felt Bliss's surprise, although he doubted Tamner's mistress noticed.

"You misliked the heat?" Bliss said dryly.

"I misliked the gods," Lady Alyce replied in kind.

Bliss pushed the empty trencher back across the table. "The bit with the swamp cat was well done."

Alyce arched one fine brow. "You mistake me again."

"I think not." Lazily, Bliss shifted on the bench, pulling knees under chin and rolling her shoulders, a child's restlessness. "What do you want?"

Alyce rose and took the trencher and tankard to a keg of water kept warm near the hearth. She dropped the dishes into the water, tapped the slave lightly on his shoulder, and sent him away with a gesture.

"He is not blind, after all," she said by way of explanation, when the room was empty but for the three. "And I'd hate to lose such a valuable slave."

Bliss drummed her fingers on her knee, quietly mocking. Milady shrugged and reached again under her skirts, this time producing a thick bundle of fringe. Spread across the table with a flick of the hand, the fringe unrolled to become a shawl of crudely felted wool, trimmed with coil upon coil of curling fringe.

Maurice could not help himself. He left his position at Bliss's back and sat down on the bench by her side, elbows on the table. At Alyce's nod, he reached for the fringe and let it slide over his thumb.

"You recognize it, then." Tamner's lady nodded.

"A Temple shawl," Maurice said because Bliss, suddenly stiff, refused to speak.

"The red and purple fringe," Alyce said. "Means Low Temple. My mother sent this out, several fortnights ago, along with a small bundle of silk and muslin and the latest report on the Seat's movements. This," she tapped the wool, "I did not see fit to pass onto the king."

"Why?"

"Turn it over."

Maurice took the white wool in careful hands and flipped it. Leaves patterned the far side, muted yellow and green embroidery in a precise, practiced hand, repeating in gentle rows until art met tassel.

Maurice dropped the shawl and shoved smarting fingertips into his armpits.

Bliss launched herself over shawl and plank and seized Lady Alyce about the throat.

#reading #writing #fantasy #lgtbq

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