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lavender-romancer · 10 months

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I'd Do Anything

Part Three

Tommy Shelby x Reader

You met when you were sixteen and from there, your lives ebbed and flowed closer and further away from one another but there was always something that brought you together.

”*°•.˜”*°•. ˜”*°•. ˜”*°••°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜

Previous chapter

1914

It was a beautiful June, dry and wonderfully bright even in some parts of the inner city where smog caked roofs. But June would turn into a tense July, where the papers would speculate whether there would be a war or not. You and Tommy would both read the papers but struggled to talk about any sort of eventuality of war. Neither of you were old enough to remember the Boer War, so the concept of Britain going to war was altogether terrifying.

You and Tommy now lived together permanently. This didn't change much from your previous dynamic. Aside from the sex. A lot of sex. Wherever, whenever you could. With both of you genuinely being surprised you never got pregnant. You'd only been walked in on a few times with one of the siblings being completely scarred for the hours after. But it was usually laughed off and used as ammo against the two of you in jokes. You and Tommy had always been close, you were just close in everyway you could be now. It was blissful.

As you both ignored the papers you could imagine your future together. Working together, in a nice house near your family, maybe even afford a car eventually. Regardless of what happened, you wanted to be together to do it. You slowly met other people in Tommy's life he'd been closer too when you were at uni, all local boys living in or close to Small Heath. Freddie was your favourite, he was the loudest and most outspoken if any of Tommy's friends. Having political conversations with him was a nice break from Thomas' mostly apolitical attitudes that led to him being neutral to a lot of things. Thomas had some sympathies for the communist movement but it was really the conversations you had with Freddie that led to you understanding it moreso. Whereas, Tommy liked to listen rather than debate.

Finn was a stubborn little six year old, swiftly moving into a rebellious phase (definitely just copying his brothers). People still mistook Finn for being yours and Tommy's child but, nether of you seemed to mind anymore especially when you'd sometimes pretend you were. You and Tommy were both his teachers, each of you thinking it was very important to set Finn up well so he could do anything he wanted too in life. By the end of July he had learnt his times tables off by heart and somehow with your zero teaching experience between you, Finn seemed to be doing okay. It was when August came around that things began to change.

"Good morning." Tommy said, sitting up in bed reading yesterday's paper again. You were slowly waking up and made some sort of sound that could be construed as a 'morning' greeting.

"What time is it?" You asked shuffling over to lean on his chest.

"Probably about six." He told you, eliciting a groan from you before sitting up.

"I need to make breakfast for Finn." You went into a sort of 'zombie mum' mode where you definitely needed to properly wake up but were determined to wake Finn up and feed him.

"Polly's already here, come back to bed." Tommy gestured for you to come back and lie on his chest. You gratefully flopped ontop of him and yawned, falling back asleep straight away.

Tommy looked down at you half suffocating him and still couldn't believe you were real. That all of this really happened and he belonged to you. He'd never felt so lucky to be alive than now, looking down at your absolutely hideous sleeping face as you snored away; he just thought you looked cute. Tommy was so in love with you he didn't know how to function when you weren't there. It was the same when you went off to university, he had no tether, no direction.

"Thomas!" A voice screamed up the stairs and Tommy internally swore, hoping you wouldn't wake up. He slowly got out of bed and you mumbled something but fell right back to sleep.

"What is it?" Tommy hissed down the stairs after closing the door and Polly appeared at the base of the stairs holding up the paper.

"It's happened." She said, quieter now, more serious.

Tommy ran down the stairs and ripped the paper out of her hand, unfolding it. His eyes widened at the headline 'Great Britain declares war on Germany'. The page made a crumpling noise in his hands and he had to take a moment to breathe, take in his surroundings and try to ground himself but it wasn't working, this was real.

"How do we sign up?" Tommy asked with a serious tone and Pol threw up her arms.

"Are you fucking joking!" She yelled, "You're going to get yourselves killed, and for what? A war that is hardly our business?"

"We're adults, Pol. We can make our own decisions." Tommy returned, running a hand through his hair, suddenly there was a furious rapping at the door. Upon opening the backdoor Freddie ran in.

"We're fighting the power hungry bastards!" He held up a paper with a huge grin and a laugh. Polly swore under her breath.

"The two of you are insane!" She exclaimed before walking out of the room.

"Where's Arthur?" Freddie asked, walking through the house calling his name.

"It's like a bloody shelter around here." Polly commented as she walked up the stairs.

"Arthur!" Freddie yelled bursting into his room only to be greeted with a scream and a woman running out half dressed past Polly.

"What in God's name?" Polly muttered putting a hand to her forehead and Tommy struggled to keep in his laughter.

"Arthur! Just, just look!" Freddie yelled at a clearly very angry Arthur whilst handing him the newspaper. Tommy stood in the doorway, still in his boxers and undershirt. After a few moments Arthur looked up at Freddie then Tommy.

"When are we joining up then?" Arthur asked, looking at his brother with a smile, Freddie practically jumped on top of him with a triumphant yell. Tommy just smiled and slapped Freddie on the back.

"Have you told your mother?" Tommy asked in a concerned tone and Freddie sniffed, running a hand through his hair.

"I came straight here. She'd only try and stop me." Freddie admitted with a tone of regret, he knew that she was about to be heartbroken.

"Freddie, we should find out where the recruiting is in town." Arthur said, getting out of bed and pulling on his clothes from yesterday.

"I'll see you when you get back, remember to tell John." Tommy turned and walked out of Arthur's room.

"Break it to her softly, Tom." Arthur called and Tommy closed his eyes, leaning his hand against the wall for support. He had no idea how to break this to you.

"Y/n," Tommy called softly, walking back into your room holding the paper. "I need to talk to you about something." He sat on the edge of the bed and you woke up very slowly at first.

"How long was I asleep?" You asked with a yawn, shuffling across the bed to wrap your arms around Tommy's waist.

"Not too long. Polly called me downstairs to talk to me about something." Tommy held the paper in one hand but didn't show it to you yet, unable to admit to you what he had already decided.

"Did Finn have another strop?" You asked with a smile and Tommy tried to put a smile on his face, but as he's as he tried it wouldn't happen.

"Yeah." He replied in a hollow sort of way.

Tommy was consumed by his own worries so much he forgot he was holding the paper and it made a noise as he moved his finger up and down it. You looked over the side of the bed and grabbed the paper but Tommy wouldn't let go.

"Tommy?" You asked, "Give me the paper." You raised an eyebrow with a grin, assuming he was fucking around.

"No, not this one I spilled something a-and it's all sticky." Tommy tried to reason with a vice grip on the paper.

"It looks absolutely fine." You let go but pushed his arm slightly, "Why won't you let me read it?"

"I'll get a better one." He said very quietly and you were starting to get worried.

"Thomas. What's going on?" You said in a more serious tone.

Tommy took a deep breath and placed the newspaper (headline side down) on the bed. Your boyfriend had his head in his hands when you turned over the paper. Suddenly you couldn't speak, because you knew why he didn't want you to see the headline. You were so overwhelmed you didn't make a sound, placing the paper down you just stared at Tommy's back. Not knowing when you'd be able to do it next.

Two March's later, Tommy had been in France for around two months as a claykicker and you had been training to become a military nurse. Your training had begun as soon as you possibly could, you used your social circles found whilst being at University to start training earlier than other working class women and you would be able to be mobilised before others. The letters between you and Tommy had begun very constant, but the more pressurised the situation became at the front, the less communication there was back to the UK. Or at least, that was how you rationalised not receiving a letter from Tommy for the last two months.

Working at the training hospital had challenged all your preconceptions about nurses, assuming they were only an extension of Doctors. This snobbery was put into check when you had your first full shift on a recovery ward. The day was back-breaking even though some soldiers were fit enough to care for themselves. There was not a time on that shift you didn't feel exhausted. But you needed this. You couldn't fight, you couldn't lead but you could make some sort of difference regardless I'd the risk. Sitting at home playing house and bringing up Finn was wonderful but when men were dying everyday how could you, in good conscience, do it. Short of shaving off your hair and binding your chest, you felt that you could make some kind of difference at home or near the front.

Every shift at the hospital you saw more and more soldiers scarred by the war. Limbs missing, their faces completely changed and mental stability ruined for years to come. Whenever you helped these men you could only hope that it would never be the Shelby boys in these beds. You knew that any life changing injuries to any of the boys would be catastrophic to them, they relied so much on their physical prowess in the betting business that you didn't know if they could recover from it.

By the end of May you were told that you would be taken to join the 3rd Casualty Cleaning Service (CCS) in Bailleul. All you could do was hope that if Tommy was injured he was there. Unless the CCS was attacked it was unlikely you'd move around much and you just wanted to know he was alive, in any condition.

Being stationed had its benefits, you knew exactly where the front would be moving, be given information of incoming attacks from the air you couldn't receive in a mobile unit and conditions could be maintained with regular routine in the same location. But they also meant if Tommy's unit wasn't stationed anywhere near this CCS, you wouldn't be able to get any information about if he was alive. It was still hard to get letters to and from home from France so you doubted it would be any better for nurses. Nurses weren't told much about what was happening on the frontline, or at least you weren't. But you heard whispers from soldiers that something big was being prepared for July, you couldn't stop the immense dread you felt as the day you had to leave got closer. What kind of bloodshed was being planned?

Traveling to Bailleul was the furthest you'd gone in your life, being in a whole new country was inexplicably exciting. But the reality of being there shocked you. You traveled from Southampton to Rouen, then on to Saint-Omer by train then on to Bailleul. The whole journey took weeks, after all the roadblocks, refueling and a full week of being stationary due to recent shell attacks. When you were moving, the landscape was littered with bodies or the blood that they left. It wasn't uncommon to see body parts lying around the countryside or groups of elderly French farmers begging at the side of the road- their emaciated donkeys close by. These small towns had such a specific smell, all the mud thrown up from the military vehicles had masked any scent of nature, all you could smell was the damp coldness. This scent continued into the field hospital you were assigned too, even when you smelled the scarf tucked under your gown you brought from home, but it was worse. Mixed with the sounds of a singular scream, from what you assumed was a temporary operating room, it was a hellish welcome.

Once you had your assigned cubicle which was above some stables, you looked around at some of the other sisters. Some were asleep after their shift, others only just moving in like you. You took one of the pins out from your hair and pulled out a photo of you and Tommy taken when you went to Blackpool, pushing the pin through the photo you attached it to your bed frame. Looking into Tommy's eyes, you could feel his presence. You knew he was alive because he had to be, there was no eventuality of your life without him. He was near. You knew it.

It was late June, a dull day filled with clouds and heavy rain. The thunderstorms of the previous nights left a welcome scent of petrichor into the hospital. Aside from rain there wasn't much that could help the scent that radiated from the beds. Whether it was a doctor attempting to treat what was known as an unknown moisture based affliction that most of the boys call trench foot, or just the metallic taste of blood in the air. Regardless, you didn't complain and carried on with your daily responsibilities. This was it for you, this was the closest you would get to fighting against the enemy. Consequently you would soon be one of the most dedicated nurses in your company.

The first morning of July was misty, but it usually was when you woke up for your morning duties. Beginning with washing dirty sheets that you attempted to scent with flowers but usually it was only the soap that did any good. You hadn't had any patients with serious injuries or wounds for a while now and you hoped the situation might be stabilising on the front.

Tommy's morning was wrought with anxiety. His tunneling division in the Lochnagar trench was about three meters from being directly underneath the German trench and dug-outs. The whole operation was so time sensitive he couldn't help but worry if they would set the charges and get out of the tunnel in time for the trigger happy generals. Tommy would have loved to see how they coped in the tunnels, a sweaty, dusty nightmare. Every breath tasted like dirt but he couldn't cough or splutter in case Fritz was on the other side of the wall, listening. He looked at Freddie's form in front of him, wondering how the two of them got to this point. Danny was tunneling slowly with his bayonet down the front sitting against a wooden frame as Tommy listened through the walls with a geophone for any movement with Freddie holding the lamp up for Danny.

The three Small Heath men often reminisced at the beginning of their deployment about home, sex, and alcohol. Now they couldn't face thinking about it. Whenever Tommy thought about you he wanted to cry so he didn't. He stopped writing, he had a job to do and he couldn't let anything distract him when it was so important. All he could do was pray that you weren't near the front.

Suddenly Tommy heard a slight noise. Shovels. He lightly tapped Freddie and asked him to listen, his eyes slowly going wide as they reached for their revolvers. Freddie tapped Danny's shoulder and signaled that there might be someone to the left of them.

Everything seemed to happen so fast, Danny turned around and suddenly he was grasped by the neck by a German. Tommy leapt forward and stabbed the first Fritz in the stomach, holding his hand over his mouth and then another came through the hole burst through the mud.

"Tommy!" Freddie exclaimed before pushing Tommy out the way and getting hit by a bullet. Danny broke the neck of the second German and the three of them sat there for a moment in disbelief. Tommy could tell that Danny was about to scream or cry.

"Take him to the surface." Tommy told Danny sternly, he would set these charges himself if he had too.

"Tommy, ah," Freddie hissed in pain. "You can't set them yourself."

"Well I'm fucking going too. Get up to the surface now." Tommy turned and carried on digging, now less worried about Germans slitting his throat.

Two meters farther Tommy set the charges and attached the wire, he looked down at his pocket watch, he still had an hour. But carefully wheeling this wire all the way up to the surface was incredibly intimidating-especially alone. Each shuffle felt horrendously loud in the silence of the tunnel, as he got closer to the surface, Tommy could feel every vibration from above. There was no auxiliary fire yet but even the movement of soldiers in the trenches was enough. He was up to his shins in freezing water now, there was a slight dip in the tunnel where water had been streaming through for days now. Tommy was surprised he didn't have trench foot by this point, but there was no time to think about that now. He got closer and closer to the ladder even though it kept feeling further, with muscles aching and his nerves at breaking point he climbed up the ladder holding onto the ends of the wire spiral.

"Where's the switch?" Tommy asked in a completely deadpan voice when he finally reached the surface.

"Here, Tom. Freddie's gone to the field hospital." Danny handed Tommy the switch with hands shaking vigorously.

"Pull yourself together, Dan. We have to get this right " Tommy sat with the wire coil in his lap, connecting the two.

"I-I can't do this Tom. It's too much." Danny ran his hand over his head and squatted down, his body shaking.

Tommy focussed on the task at hand because he had no time to deal with any of this, he only had 10 minutes to connect it all and get the fuck out of there.

You were on shift when a small army vehicle approached, beeping its horn. Running over you saw two porters getting the patient out of the back of the car.

"What happened? I didn't know anyone had already gone over?" You asked, walking alongside the men.

"I think he was shot in the tunnels. Gerry Claykicker got him." He replied and you could have gasped in that moment when a hand reached out and touched yours. You looked down and saw Freddie's terrified eyes, his face covered in mud and blood pouring from a wound in his stomach.

"Oh, fuck." You said under your breath. Your more senior nurse took over from you with one of the surgeons, they took Freddie into the tent and all he could do was stare into your eyes as he got further away.

As you ran into the tent to prep some more beds in case there were more trench casualties a cacophony of noise interrupted your thoughts. You hid underneath a bed, assuming it was a shell attack from above but it seemed to stop. Another large explosion sound came further away from the last. You slowly walked out of the tent and looked out towards the front, in the distance there was a humongous crater- then the gunfire started. The Battle of the Somme had begun.

next part

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wjforever · 1 year

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An interesting matter. I've thought about this for a long time, but at some moment I suddenly continued the logical chain and the puzzle pieces falling together in a new way.

I've wonder what role Siming played in Xiao Lanhua's fate. Although there is very little of her in the series, in the end we understand that she, as a goddess responsible for the fate of people (she is the literal Director of Destinies), plays a much more important, if not a key role. And, perhaps, that's why she appears only at the end and for a very short time.

And now my logical chain and some facts that, in my understanding, made Siming from a shipper of the Chang Heng and XLH pair (which seemed ridiculous to me), to the person who conducted this orchestra.

We know that Siming always told Xiao Lanhua that fate can't be changed. And yet, she helped Chidi change Ron Hao's fate. So she violated the rule. This is one call that says more about her personality.

She broke the rules and saved the dragon (and all this plot, you know this yourself), for which she was punished. This is another call. She's more like Dongfang Qingcang, who always goes against everything, than Chang Heng, who still always ends up following the rules (or destiny). And this with her position!

When DFCQ and Chang Heng go to Siming, they realize that they were both expected. Because both the firefly and the cakes are all part of the Orchid's destiny. And considering that Siming had access to her book, she could watch her just like we watch the series.

At this moment we can already understand that Siming is not as simple as it could seems.

What really confused me at first was that Siming was nice to Chang Heng, but rude to Dongfang. To die and become a goddess was the fate of Xiao Lanhua, wasn't it? Both Dan Yin and DFCQ saw these scenes in the mirror. And she could become this great goddess who visited the three worlds only because of Dongfang Qingcang. All of this was predetermined. So why is Siming so rude to DFCQ?

Yes, it feels a little like… relationship between the mother, the girl's friend and her fiance. When the mother behaves nicely with a friend, but expects something more from the bf. There is some bias. But still, it seemed that Siming preferred Chang Heng, but she was ready to cooperate with Dongfang Qingcang if it meant that XLH would remain alive.

And yet it seems that she's in the Chang Heng's team. See for yourself.

In the past, the master had behaved almost the same way our team behaved in the mortal world. She literally brought Xiao Lanhua to Chang Heng. Facts:

she knew that Orchid is not just a grass, which means that she probably didn't accidentally spoil her immortal root. The root was definitely damaged because Dongfang saw it. But the reason is unknown. Perhaps to prevent the true power of the goddess from developing and not to reveal her. And even if it was an accident, she wouldn't throw Orchid away.

• Siming told Xiao Lanhua that Chang Heng had saved her, otherwise XLH wouldn't have had such a strong attachment to Chang Heng. Because the whole first part of the series we hear that she has to thank him and later she says that she confused gratitude with love.

But all this is a lie. When Xiao Lanhua sees Chang Heng, he says he doesn't remember saving her. We think he's lying because he erased her memory and just wants her to keep her distance for her safety. But no. This is actually not the true.

When Dongfang Qingcang and Chang Heng came to Siming, they were surprised that she was a woman. At the beginning, they mistook the dragon for the god of the fates. This assumption was said by Dongfang, but Changheng didn't argue and looked like he was in shock, that Siming is a lady. It means he didn't know Siming. And there were no memories from the past, any signs that they knew each other.

In fact, this scene was unnecessary at all. It had no effect on the plot. For the viewer from the first episode it was no secret who is the master (we saw her early than our Devil). And Dongfang never got jealous of Orchid for the master. I was surprised why such an emphasis was placed on this (given that the translation killed all the intrigue, because Xiao Lanhua called the master "she"). So it only mattered for Chang heng's story.

Chang Heng became attached to Xiao Lanhua 500 years ago, after their meeting, and not because he saved her and kept watch over her fate. So he could really not have been interested in Siming Palace before and didn't know the master.

When Xiao Lanhua sees Chang Heng for the first time, she doesn't know him, but later she already knows her savior very well. Perhaps Siming told her about Chang Heng after they met. I haven't reached this point in the Chinese translation yet, but in English there is confusion with the dates when the master disappeared. However in the first episode Xiao Lanhua talks about 500 years. So Siming could told her about Chang Heng back then.

What is the conclusion? Siming actively pushed them towards each other. Initially, I thought about the words of the Turtle. It said that Orchid, unlike the others, has only one destiny. And I decided that was the point. Siming was just helping this destiny come true.

But I was haunted by one thought. It was a separate thought, unrelated to all this, but apparently in vain.

What was Chang Heng's original fate and what went wrong? This is the key question. Xiao Lanhua was supposed to marry Chang Heng, meaning he wasn't supposed to die. Well, maybe it was the fate, she saves him, all the events from the series happen and she marries him. Logically. But we remember that Chang Heng's fate changed for some reason. And it was because of this that XLH had to go to the pagoda, breaking all the laws, but for the sake of saving her beloved.

Again, Siming told her that love is not a destiny, but a choice. We don't yet know these words of the master at the beginning, only the instructions not to interfere. But then we will know them, which means Orchid knows it already.

DFCQ would have gotten out without XLH, because they failed in sealing his spirit, so Xiao Lanhua had to save Chang Heng.

But, the main question is what caused the changes in Chang Heng's fate. This happens in the first episode, and the most important thing that happened to him was a meeting with Xiao Lanhua, something out of the ordinary.

And here it is important to note the words of the song that plays when we are shown Chang Heng 's memories of Xiao Lanhua. There is a phrase there "I was afraid to meet you again, but you gave me the courage missing you once again".

So he hadn't seen her for many years and didn't know how she would react to him, given that he had erased her memory. But she, BECAUSE OF SIMING, feels grateful and shows with all her appearance how important he is to her. Chang Heng later recalled her promise to enter the palace many times. Songs often reflect the meaning of events so well. And in fact, for Chang Heng, her behavior was the impetus to act. Maybe in this moment he did something he shouldn't have. He took her flower and gave her the firefly stone. Xiao Lanhua decided that he liked her and they should be together and, of course, after that she couldn't help but break the rules and interfere in his fate. Because love is above fate.

This is the breach that started it all. I can't say exactly why it affected his fate so much, because they were already supposed to get married sooner or later. But we were told everything at the very beginning. It's just amazing in the series, really. The whole plot is clear from the first episodes, but you understand you have already been told everything after the end of the viewing, or even not a single repeat.

Xiao Lanhua quotes Siming's words that any small mistake leads to a big one and everything is very complicated and tangled in fate. Everything can change drastically because of a small thing. Maybe Chang Heng was distracted during the strengthening of the seal, for example, because he was thinking about the wrong thing.

In fact, there is a possibility that Chang Heng would have ended up finding the goddess because of Ron Hao. Sooner or later he would have found her. And there is a possibility that Ron Hao would have made a mistake somewhere, Chang Heng would have found out about the goddess, married her, she would have killed Tai Sui. And Dongfang Qingcang at some point would still have escaped from the tower after another 30 thousand years. Not a long time for them.

But if everything was like that, it turns out that Siming, the master of fate (who knows about this more than she?), did all this on purpose. By her actions, she violated the fate of Xiao Lanhua and freed out the only person who can't be defeated. One of the two immortal bodies in their time, suitable for Tai Sui. Perhaps that's why he's the only one who could change the fate of the one whose fate can't be changed. I even wonder if he has the book of fate at all, if Siming saw it and if it was in Xiao Lanhua's house all this time. It's curious that he or she never thought about it. Especially he.

At the same time, Siming could feel no worry of the consequences, because no matter how dangerous Dongfang Qingcang was, according to legend, only the goddess could stop him. Which, in fact, happened. But she did it not with force, but with love.

And with this I don't know what shows her rudeness towards Dongfang. When he begins to express regrets about hurting Orchid, Siming doesn't look at him and interrupts him just like Xiao Lanhua when she didn't want to hear about the reasons for his betrayal (allegedly, of course).

Does Siming feel the same as XLH? necessity of sacrifice for the sake of salvation. Maybe she's just ashamed, because in fact he's her victim and she feels sorry for him. Or she knows that she just needs to treat him so cruel, just the way his father did with him, and later he himself did with Xiao Lanhua. Or he's not subject to fate, unpredictable and she's angry because she can't read his fate. Maybe it's just a test. After all, Dongfang Qingcang couldn't give up his debt to the tribe, didn't try to make peace. Maybe Siming is not sure that he will overcome his ego and his jealousy, because he asks her about Orchid's wedding with Changheng and if he is not there, Xiao Lanhua may end up staying with Chang Heng. Is she trying to make sure that he will do everything right and her so complicated and long-term plan won't fail?

In any case, when looking for answers to Siming's actions, you need to think not about the latest episodes, but globally, from the very beginning. She is a figure who has been present throughout the series without actually being around. And it was she who played a main role in many of Xiao Lanhua's decisions and reactions, as the only mentor she ever had.

What the finale definitely lacked was this meeting of Siming and our couple. And maybe Chang Heng with the promised wine. That's what would be really interesting to see.

Buy me a coffee

#love between fairy and devil #lbfad #lbfd #cang lan jue #dongfang qingcang #xiao lanhua #苍兰诀 #cdrama #clj #dfcq #xlh #love this little details #Chang Heng #siming #si ming #fate #thought flow #have you noticed

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twstmemories · 2 years

Note

A little silly but could I request how Jamil, Riddle, and Leona would react if their crush suddenly "kabe-don'd" them?

-- ! (the part before the // was pre-written before my break) not silly at all! if anything i find these requests quite cute because i can just push my: "every twst boy is soft for you" agenda in the illusion of them being so confused by your actions ☆⌒(≧▽° ) // i'll be once again incredibly busy starting monday and can only have a true break when easter comes around. i'm still also taking a break from writing both because of my schedule and for own my wellbeing. but this was particular post was already done and in the drafts for weeks. and although not proofread or edited again, it was something i rememeber looking forward to posting! i don't know when a next update will come, but i do hope you all enjoy this!

✧ Jamil Viper, Riddle Rosehearts & Leona Kingscholar getting kabe-don'd by their crush [Headcanons & drabbles]

✧ gn!reader

He's incredibly confused, but will nonetheless keep his usual stoic and neutral face and hope that his cheeks aren't red. Will try to keep his heartbeat in check and hoping that you don't have some sort of enhanced hearing to hear it thundering whereas the expression you're met with is a confused raise of an eyebrow: "Is there something the matter, [Name]?"

And you will continue to stare at him for a few seconds, making Jamil think he did something to offend you. But before that thought can spiral you're suddenly raising your whole body to be right in front of his face, your lips just a few centimeters apart. But before you can utter a word, and much to his own surprise, Jamil quite literally slams his head on the wall behind him. The loud sound startling you both and you jump away from him in surprise. Σ(°ロ°)

Jamil doesn't know if he should be saddened for the sudden distance or not. At least his racing heart can get a break from suddenly seeing you in front of him. If he didn't slam the back of his head onto the wall, he's half sure he would've just given in to his instincts to see how you would react if he kissed you right then and there.

"J-Jamil?! Are you okay, does your head hurt?" and it does hurt, it hurts like hell but god at least that gave Jamil the wake-up call he needed to question why in the world you suddenly cornered him towards a wall in the middle of the corridor. (￢￢)

Jamil tried to calm you to no avail, after you had jumped away from him, he had promptly slid down the wall and buried his face into his thighs as a way to stop the embarassment from eating him alive, but you mistook it for him getting dizzy from the impact and thus dragged the boy towards the infirmary against his will. Not that he could deny you though-

"Hah? Leona-senpai and Kalim told you to do this?" Jamil is baffled, almost whipping his head around to face you but you only pressed the ice pack closer to the bump on his head, telling him to stop moving: "Not like how you think, geez! You're acting like I didn't approach you out of my own volition" you said with a sigh, muttering that you also did corner him against his will so why is he not mad at you?

"Kalim just mentioned that you had the tendency to look like you always wanted to ask me something, and happened to see me eating with Leona-senpai at the cafeteria and told me about it. Upon hearing it, Leona-senpai just told me to suck up whatever curiosity I had and ask you personally," you mumbled: "I didn't think that me cornerning you would result in you hurting yourself though."

And while he should be grateful or perhaps even happy that the person he likes is caring for him like this, he rather wish it wasn't because of something idiotic as him slamming his head on the wall out of sheer surprise. Not wanting to risk ruining anything, he just lets out a sigh and tilts his head upwards to look at you: "I'm sorry for worrying you. I just wondered if you wanted to partner up for the next project we're having?" he asks, and you blink before laughing: "That's all you wanted to ask, silly?" and maybe he should thank Leona for letting him have this small moment with you.

Kalim however, could feel a shiver run down his spine the moment Jamil came back to the dormitory.

Unlike Jamil, cannot hide the immediate reddening of his cheeks upon being in such a close proximity to you. Hugging the wall himself to try create some sort of distance away from you, but his heartbeat and racing and cheeks getting darker when he can even smell whatever perfume or cologne you put on for the day. Stumbling over his words as he tries, and fails to ask you what you want: "I- Close. Do you need- What are you doing?!" he manages to squeak out in the end. ╮(￣ω￣;)╭

You continue to stare at him, face only inching closer while Riddle's own face progressively gets redder. It's not before the book he is holding suddenly comes in between the two of you that you blink in confusion, staring at the redhead before you who only looks to the side: "You're too close," he murmurs: "If you wanted to ask me something there should be other plausible situations and... positions to ask your question rather than what you're currently doing," he's surprised he even managed to say that without stuttering.

And that's when you let out a laugh, resting your head on his shoulder which, mind you is NOT helping Riddle's thundering heartbeat at all. He's pretty sure he's about to pass out, watching you from the side and seeing your eyes scrunched up and he lets out a sigh, knowing how you are the teasing kind, although on a much softer scale than Floyd: "[Name], did you have anything you wanted to discuss with me?" he murmurs again.

And that's when you release him from your hold, and Riddle feels like he can breathe now that his own senses aren't surrounded by you. A hand on his chest as he takes a deep breath, he glances over at you before cocking his head to the side in confusion. You only smile softly at him: "I didn't think you would get that flustered, I guess Floyd was right about that," and Riddle suddenly wants to beat a certain merman to the ground. ｡ﾟ(TヮT)ﾟ｡

"Riddle, I'm sorry! Don't be mad, I didn't mean to make it look like I was teasing you!" you whine, trying to catch up to the speedy boy ahead of you whose ears are almost as red as his hair at this point. Rather than beating up Floyd he wants the ground to swallow him whole. Did you know about his crush on you? You didn't seem to be aware with how you're currently pleading him to slow down.

At any point wouldn't this all be Floyd's fault? That bastard is too perceptive for his own good when he wants to be. Why couldn't he just stay uninterested at this particular detail of all things? He's already mocking me daily because of my height anyway, why this too now? Because he doesn't want to curse someone out in front of you, Riddle has settled on cursing out Floyd in his mind. Taking, once again a deep breath before turning to face you, an apologetic smile already painting his lips upon seeing the dejected look on you.

Oh god this crush of his was going out of control.

"I'm sorry, I'm not mad at you, but do you mind telling me your thoughts process as to why you thought cornering me to a wall was a good idea?" he asked, seeing you not make eye contact with him when he asked: "[Name]?"

"Floyd mentioned that you were stressed lately, and mentioned that maybe it would be a nice idea to corner you at least for a few minutes to let your mind be on something else other than what was stressing you out, so he suggested I do that on the promise that you wouldn't really chop my head off," you explained, Riddle blinking in confusion. How you were able to fall for such a simple trick he has no idea, but he is well aware of the laughing eel that can be heard from one of the vacant rooms nearby.

The one who would be the most amused of the situation. He likes you, yes but that doesn't mean he's suddenly going to stop functioning when you're in close proximity. No rather, he's thankful that you're brave enough to corner him like, maybe this way he can find out if you bear some feelings for him as well? (¬‿¬ )

He's staring down at you with a smirk and a quirked eyebrow, almost chuckling on how he can practically sense the fear. But you still cornered him and your arms are at the opposite sides of his head even though he's able to either duck underneath or carry you easily away: "Oh? What's this, the kitten suddenly got fangs now?" he will ask, a teasing tone to his voice and your pout only worsens.

But before you can utter a word, he's suddenly bending down, face dangerously close to your own that you let out a yelp, craning your neck a bit to create some distance, and yet your hands never left the wall: "... Or maybe not?" he questions again, this time chuckling lowly and you let out a groan in response.

"I swear to god how does Ruggie do this daily?" you murmur to yourself, but Leona can still hear you. But you take a deep breath before facing him again, the lion having made himself really comfortable against the wall: "The lab report-" and suddenly he's not listening anymore. Σ(￣。￣ﾉ)

"L-Leona! Put me down!" you shriek, alternating between grasping the vest of the lion with one hand and pounding his back with the other. The lion only yawns in response, hauling you further up his shoulder to scare you: "I humored you by letting you corner me for a good amount of time, it would only be fair that you repay me back, hmm?" he asks, and you only pound his back as a response, "For a good reason! Hauling someone over your shoulder before they could even finish their sentence is not the way to go if you wanted to ask me something!" you cry.

The lion ignores you, of course he ignores you. So you just grumble and cross your arms, debating whether or not to just risk an injury and wriggle yourself out. But before you can take action you're placed, quite softly you notice on a grassy ground, Leona plopping down besides you with a yawn.

Realizing that you've found yourself in the botanical garden, you let out a loud groan, upon to jump up to run off, but before you can two hands are caging you to the floor, mirroring a situation you had just previously done, but now the one locking you between their arms are Leona, and not you. He's staring down at you with a smirk, and you're staring up at him with a nervous smile: "Haha, fancy weather we have here, right Leona?" you mutter, avoiding eye contact.

The aforementioned lion only raises his eyebrow at you, once again leaning closer: "So, what was this about a lab report you say?" he asks, and you roll your eyes: "What is this about a lab report?" he asks. "You know, the lab report, that we! The two of us! Were supposed to give in! Today! And yet here we are, in the botanical garden and not in the alchemy lab, where Crewel is waiting!" you hiss at him, and the lion laughs at you: "You're certainly feisty today," he says, rolling over and stretching out, but before you can nag him again he's already pulling you down: "I already handed in the report before you had cornenered me, so relax for once, will ya? You've been running yourself ragged the past week."

You blink, trying to push yourself up to question him, but Leona just pushes you down again. Did Ruggie lie? He told you that Leona didn't hand it in which was why you ran all over the school trying to find him, and yet he had? You sigh, the exhausation catching up to you and before you can muster any strength to get up you find yourself dozing off. Feeling your body relaxing, Leona props himself up on his elbow and watches you as nap, the corner of his lips quirking up in a smile: "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

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arrow-guy · 2 years

Text

Another Time (1/2)

Original request from @storiesbystarlight: I would like to request a Peggy Carter x Reader, with Reader being Steve’s sister. Peggy and Reader got married after the war, and by the time Steve comes back Y/N is already gone (died from cancer, if that’s okay). Steve goes to ask Tony about Y/N and Peggy, and that’s how he finds out they got married and that Peggy’s still alive. Cut to Peggy telling Steve about how she and Y/N had it after the war.

A/N: Alrighty, it’s been A While, but I’ve been working on lots of stuff, including this fic. The second chapter will be posted either the week after this or two weeks after, we’ll see what happens. BUT, please enjoy this extra gay fic! I’m v proud of it and v excited for you guys to read it

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Pairing: Peggy CarterxReader

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: Reader is a lesbian, vaguely homophobic behavior, major character death across the story (Reader character, Steve, and Bucky), grief, workplace harassment, unrequited love, verbal argument(s)

-Please keep in mind that this is a queer love story that starts out in the mid/late 40′s and continues into modern times. Some of the dynamics might not be as progressive as they might be in a modern story, If this is an issue for you, use caution while reading or skip this piece entirely.-

-- Additionally, please note that this is a story told from two different POVs in which Peggy is telling Steve about his sister’s life after he was no longer in it. While we do get the full story from the Reader’s point of view, Peggy is not a reliable narrator for Steve. Please assume that anything deeply intimate is not shared with him, as Peggy is older at the time of relaying her memories.

“Ms. Carter?” A nurse pokes their head into Peggy’s room. She notes that it’s odd, given the time of day.

“Yes, dear?” she says.

“You have a visitor.” Peggy frowns. “Is it alright if he comes in?”

He? She shakes her head. “Of course, send them in.”

The nurse disappears and a familiar, toweringly large silhouette fills the doorway. Peggy squints, unsure of whether or not she’s hallucinating. She mistook her niece for her sister the other day, so she wouldn’t be surprised one way or the other. But, when she can fully see their broad shoulders and blond hair, she knows she's right. It just about takes the breath from her lungs.

“Steve?”

One hand shoved in his pocket, bouquet of roses in the other, and a crooked smile on his face, he says, "Hey, Peg."

"It's been a long time," she says.

"It has," Steve agrees.

"Won't you have a seat?"

He nods and drags a chair to her bedside and sets the bouquet on the nightstand before he sits. Peggy watches him fiddle with his hands in his lap and almost wishes she could reach over and stop him. Almost. Watching him fidget, though, it nearly feels as if her love is with her again. They had so many similar ticks and habits. She closes her eyes as a pang of loneliness lances through her heart.

"I'm sorry it took so long for me to visit," Steve finally says, cutting through the silence.

"It's fine, Steve," Peggy says, "I know how busy you've been."

"No one told me you were still alive." Steve shakes his head and stares at his clasped hands. "When Tony asked if I'd seen you, I think I was just about ready to tear off Fury's head."

"Whatever for?"

"Well, for one, he didn't mention you, but he told me my sister'd died almost as soon as I woke up."

Peggy nods. "I'm afraid we lost her not too long ago. The wounds are still…" she trails off, tears stinging at her eyes. "They're still quite fresh."

"When?"

"Two thousand and nine."

Steve closes his eyes, his lips wobbling, and holds his head in his hands. "Did she have a good life?"

"She did." She wipes away a rogue tear and presses one hand to her chest. Her heart beats erratically. She hates thinking about this. "I'd like to think she was very happy. Even in the end."

“Were you… were you close?”

“We were.”

"Will you tell me about her?" Peggy opens her mouth to protest, but Steve scoots his chair closer and takes her hand. "Please, Peggy. I didn't get to live my life and I missed every second of hers. Please."

She nods solemnly. "I'll tell you what I remember."

Tears well in Steve's eyes, but he smiles. "Thank you."

Peggy remembers the first time she laid eyes on (Y/N) Rogers. It was right before she was due to leave to relieve Hydra of Dr. Erskine, and this new woman had almost been lost in the shuffle.

Some SSR official swept up with (Y/N) under his arm and brusquely introduced them. The two women shook hands and she gave Peggy a weak smile before she was ushered away to meet yet another blurry face in a crowd of incomprehensible noise. Peggy almost felt bad for her, but she knew what it was like on her first day. (Y/N) would adjust sooner or later. She had to, if she wanted to stay in this line of work.

When she returned, she found that (Y/N) had not only adjusted to life with the SSR, but excelled. Nothing seemed to slip past her, and Peggy noticed more than one operative sneaking away from their CO to ask her about something important they'd forgotten. (Y/N) would rattle off the information they needed, they'd slip her a fiver, and be on their way. When Peggy brought it up with her, she just laughed and just said her brain held onto things.

"Like a photographic memory?"

"Almost," (Y/N) said, "but not quite. My brother has an eidetic memory, though, and I picked up a few tricks from him."

"Huh." Peggy took a seat beside her and leaned on the desk. "Do you think you could teach me?"

(Y/N) rested her chin in her hand. "It'll cost you."

"What's your price?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"But you'll do it?"

She grinned. "Of course I will."

"Thank you. I truly appreciate it.

"Don't mention it." (Y/N) looked Peggy over and her smile softened. “And don’t worry about the payment.”

“Why?”

(Y/N) shoved herself up from the desk and gathered her files. “It won’t be embarrassing or expensive.”

“Oh? Have you already decided?”

"As a matter of fact, I have."

With that, she tucked her files under her arm and walked off. Peggy scrambled up from her seat and followed her off down the hall.

"What exactly is it that you'd have me do, Agent Rogers?"

"I'm so glad you asked, Agent Carter." (Y/N) glanced at her sidelong and didn't slow her pace for even a millisecond. "I want you to buy me a drink."

Perplexed, Peggy said, "That's it?"

"That's it," (Y/N) affirmed.

"That hardly seems a fair price."

(Y/N) just shrugs. "Guess that's for me to decide though, isn't it?"

"I-well, yes, I suppose it is."

"Great! Then it's settled. I'll teach you my tricks and you'll buy me a drink at the end of the month." She sharply turned a corner and said, "Lovely talking with you, Peggy," and disappeared.

Peggy stopped in her tracks, hands on her hips, half perplexed, half looking forward to the end of the month.

"So you were friends with her before you even met me?"

"I was." Peggy smiles. "Your sister was an amazing woman, Steve. The two of you were so similar sometimes, it was like I already knew you when we'd met."

"Really?" Steve chuckles. "I guess we did spend a lot of time together after our ma passed away."

"Death tends to bring people closer. (Y/N) and I weren’t particularly close before yours, but everything shifted once we returned to the states. I had no friends, and your sister didn’t really have anyone left without you and Sergeant Barnes. I did what I could to keep her company, but we were placed in different divisions of the SSR."

“Oh.”

“Work kept her busy. But-”

“She had a habit of distancing herself when things got overwhelming. Happened after dad died, and it was worse after ma. When she bounced back, I didn’t know what it was, but looking back, she’d probably just started at the SSR.”

“You think so?”

Steve shrugs. “Maybe. It was probably a year later that Erskine found me. I didn’t know what she was doing for work between then.”

“Then you could very well be right. But for quite some time, work was all she had left.”

As soon as they lost the radio connection to the Valkyrie, (Y/N) shut down. Peggy cried enough for the both of them in that communications room and (Y/N) held her through most of it, unable to believe that Steve was gone. She couldn’t sleep that night and only dozed on and off for a solid month afterward.

Everyone mourns differently, of course, but (Y/N) was just… numb. First Bucky, and now with Steve gone, the only person she had left was Peggy, who couldn’t give her the kind of comfort that she wanted. She couldn’t even ask for it without risk of damaging their friendship or, worse, losing her forever. So, when she got back to the states, she threw herself into her work.

She’d been reassigned and now worked in the research division. Not that she cared, really, she much preferred being somewhere that her brothers adoring fans either couldn’t or didn’t want to get to her. It was bad enough that she’d lost him, but being known solely as Captain America’s sister wasn’t exactly something that made her want to come into the office every day. Even so, the number of men who asked “what was he like?” and “did he really die?” was still far too high. It grew to be enough of a distraction that her boss moved her to a secluded office at the back of the archives. She knew it was because he felt she was a distraction rather than them distracting her, but she enjoyed the privacy. Still, the looks of pity and gentle hands on her shoulder coupled with a quiet “I’m sorry for your loss” she received on the way into work every day were constant and showed no signs of stopping six months in. It seemed like every new recruit somehow found out who she was and sought her out just to tell her.

As the year after Steve's death wore on, (Y/N) grew more and more detached from work and the people around her. Each time she looked in the mirror her skin seemed more sallow and it was clear that she was, however unintentionally, losing weight. She was grieving, of course, but she'd never lost herself so fully in it. If she'd been honest with herself at the time, she'd have said she was scared of the person looking back at her, and she saw the heartbreak on Peggy's face each time they were together. She understood, to some extent, what (Y/N) was going through, having lost her brother herself, but Peggy had people to help her through. Hell, she still had people to help her through this loss, even with her family across the ocean. With both Steve and Bucky gone, (Y/N) was completely alone. Add the publicity surrounding her brother’s death to all of that and she was sure she was in for a full mental breakdown before the year was out. She knew Peggy wanted to help, but it felt wrong to accept anything from her. Seeing her, as infrequently as she did, helped enormously, not that Peggy knew that.

But Peggy did pick up on one thing; (Y/N) Rogers liked spending time with her. And the one thing (Y/N) had to look forward to was sporadic lunches with her. Sometimes they'd be weekly, sometimes they wouldn't see each other for more than a month. (Y/N) couldn't blame Peggy for the lack of planning. Much like Steve, she had a habit of getting herself into trouble. (Y/N) couldn't bring herself to get involved with her cases past offering very basic research assistance, so she never really knew what was going on. All she knew was that Howard Stark managed to crop up in the middle of things a hell of a lot more than he ought to.

Knowing what Peggy was up to when they weren't together made the time (Y/N) had with her that much more precious. She knew she was taking on important cases and forming strong relationships outside of theirs. She was closer with Howard than ever, and with Mr. Jarvis, and Angie in the picture, sometimes it felt like she was just wasting Peggy's time. Gossip of her relationship with Agent Sousa had managed to reach (Y/N), even in her dark little corner. She was jealous, of course, but she wanted Peggy to be happy. She'd spoken with Sousa on several occasions when he was forced down to her department during a case. She couldn't really fault Peggy on her choice. He was handsome and seemed like a nice enough guy. Mostly she just wondered if the archive rats really had nothing better to do than whisper about people they don't even know. But knowing that Peggy had someone so important to her made (Y/N) feel even worse about taking up her time.

That didn't mean she was any less happy to see her each and every time she breezed into her office and dragged her off to lunch.

This time when the door to her office opened, (Y/N) pulled herself away from her research to investigate who it was. She perked up when she saw Peggy in the doorway.

"Are we going to lunch today?" she asked.

Peggy nodded. "If you're free, that is."

"In this department, if there's ever a time that I'm not free I'm probably dead."

"Oh, don't say that. It's dreadfully dark."

(Y/N) hummed. "I'm afraid my sense of humor has taken a turn recently, I'm sorry."

"I suppose I can't really fault you for that." She stepped into the office and settled against a bookshelf piled precariously high with files and loose paper. "Has Agent Thomas stopped bothering you about your brother?"

"Not yet. But I think he's moved on to trying to ask me on a date." (Y/N) shuddered and clicked off the desk lamp. "I don't want one of Captain America's weasle-y little fanboys hanging around longer than they absolutely have to."

"Which would ideally be not at all."

"Exactly." She leaned back and sighed. "Sorry, that's not what you came here for."

"Well, I don't know if I'd say that. I came for you, and this is part of you."

(Y/N)'s face flushed with heat and she busied herself with collecting her purse and coat. "Still, it's inconsequential. You don't have to worry about it."

"Maybe not," she said. She turned and stepped out into the archives when it appeared (Y/N) was ready to go. "But I'm still going to worry plenty about you."

"Come on, Peg. How many times have I told you? I'm fine."

"You're not fine. But I'll allow you to continue lying to me until I believe you."

She shook her head and gestured for Peggy to lead the way out of the archives. (Y/N) trailed along behind her friend, head down, in an attempt to avoid her colleagues. It worked, for the most part, and they escaped to the diner without incident. They sat opposite each other in the booth and pretended to look at their menus as if they weren't going to order the same meals they always did.

They sat and talked about work until their food came. Peggy was working on something boring with Sousa, and (Y/N) on something dreadfully more so in the belly of the SSR. Peggy laughed when she told her about Agent Thomas’ last pitiful attempt to engage her in conversation. He’d walked up, wringing his hands like a fly on a windowsill, and trembled out something along the lines of “Lovely day, isn’t it?” and (Y/N) said something to the effect of “Wouldn’t know, the archive doesn’t have windows.”

“You’re a crackup, (Y/N). I hope you know that.”

“Mm, yeah, I had to be when I was a kid because being a, quote, “bright girl” didn’t really get me anywhere.” She sighed and poked at her meatloaf. "Not that it's gotten me much further in the SSR."

"I actually wanted to talk to you about that."

"Oh?"

Peggy leaned across the table and, sensing the conspiratorial change in conversation, (Y/N) followed suit. "I have a proposition for you."

"Is this a secret?"

"Of a sort, yes."

She tilted her head to the side. "What is it?"

"I've been chosen as the co-head of a new agency. I want you to go with me."

"You want me?" Peggy nodded and (Y/N) frowned. "But I work in the archives."

"That doesn't make you any less valuable or skilled." Peggy paused a moment. "Do you want to work in the archives?"

"Well I don't hate it. I just don't know why you'd want me to work for you."

"You'd be working with me, (Y/N). None of this 'for' business." Peggy covers (Y/N)'s left hand with hers. "We worked so well together during the war. I know we'd make a great team now."

Her knee-jerk reaction was to say no, simply because it was Peggy asking. As it was, she felt like she already embarrassed herself around her enough. She was sure working with her would just make it worse. More than that, she didn’t want this job simply because of Steve. His legacy had followed her through her career, never mind the fact that she was with the SSR before Captain America even came to be. There were more than a few whispers around the office that she’d only been kept on because of her ties to him. But she knew this was the case for Peggy too. Which led her to think about where she stood with the agency. Her boss already thought of her as a distraction to the rest of his men and sequestered her to the very back of the archives. She was mostly stuck with the jobs no one wanted and everyone's backlog at the end of the day, simply because they didn't want to do it and assumed she would. She'd been demoted and belittled and pushed around since the war ended. And she was tired. Tired of the job and tired of putting up with the way she was treated.

"I'll do it," she said.

"Wonderful-"

"On one condition."

"Name it."

"You hire Rose Roberts."

“Rose?”

“Yeah, the woman who’s been working front desk security for the last two years. She should have the same opportunity.”

“Of course.” Peggy shook her head. “Of course she does. I suppose I expected that you’d ask for a corner office, or something along those lines.”

(Y/N) almost laughed. “That’s not important to me. You’re building something from the ground up. That means you need people that you can trust, and that won’t be the idiots with the SSR.”

Peggy smiled and squeezed (Y/N)’s hand. “I almost hate that you always have someone else’s wellbeing in mind.”

Force of habit, (Y/N) thought. Too many years with a sick brother and no one to take care of him properly meant she was inclined to worry about others more than herself sometimes. Peggy was no exception.

Peggy moved into her line of sight and asked, “So, you’ll do it?”

“Of course I will.” (Y/N) smiled and Peggy squeezed her hand again. “Can’t say no to you, now can I?”

The SSR didn’t take losing three of their best agents lightly. Not that Rose, Peggy, or (Y/N) were well taken care of or appreciated when they were with the agency. The SSR just didn't want anyone else playing with their toys. At best, they were cold, at worst they outright accused Stark and Colonel Phillips of poaching their operatives and actively tried to stop anyone from defecting to S.H.I.E.L.D.. This, however, didn’t do a damn thing to slow down Peggy and her team. (Y/N) immediately dove into casework. She was finally working somewhere she wasn’t a spectacle for her colleagues to gawk at. Instead she was, for the most part, seen as an equal rather than a nuisance. She wasn’t secluded to the deepest darkest corner of headquarters, and she wasn’t stuck with the jobs no one wanted to do.

Rose worked closely with Peggy as her secretary, but (Y/N) was occasionally allowed to borrow her for field work. Most of the time, though, she’d leave on her own and come back bright eyed, but scraped up and bruised. Peggy would worry over her, but (Y/N) would just wave her off and shut herself in her office to finish her reports. Eventually Peggy would let herself in, bearing gifts of food, tea, and a first aid kit.

“You know you don’t have to patch me up, Peg.” (Y/N) tried to pull her hand away, but Peggy’s grip just tightened around her fingers. “You’re the director. You have better things to do than worry about me.”

“You don’t take care of yourself in the field. Someone has to make sure you get home in one piece.”

“And you do a wonderful job, but I can stick my own bandaids on.”

"If only you could be trusted to do so."

Peggy muttered something about (Y/N) and Steve being "far too similar" and (Y/N) just laughed. "We practically raised each other. Of course we're alike."

"I just worry about you." Peggy pressed an antiseptic soaked cotton pad to (Y/N)'s scraped knuckle and cringed at the resulting hiss of pain. "You've gone from archival work to almost full time in the field. More than that, you always come back bloodied in one manner or another."

"But I'm happy." (Y/N) tilted her head to the side in an attempt to catch Peggy's eye. "I'm doing a job that I'm proud of and I haven't been this happy since…" she trailed off at the feeling of tears welling in her eyes. She sighed and shook her head. "Isn't that the important part? That I can stand to come to work every day?"

“Of course that’s important.”

She didn't say anything further, but (Y/N) watched Peggy's jaw clench. And thought about how she wanted to push back harder. To continue barrelling down the path she'd chosen. But the last eight months of freedom meant nothing if she lost Peggy in the process. Instead of fighting, she plucked the cotton pad from between Peggy’s fingers, set it to the side, and enveloped the woman’s hands in both of hers.

“I’ll be more careful.”

Peggy didn’t look at her. “Thank you.”

(Y/N) almost laughed. “Don’t thank me. I’ve been reckless.”

Peggy did laugh. “Yes, you have been.”

“After I’m done with this assignment, I’ll do whatever you want. Someone else can take over the field work until you’re comfortable with me going back.”

“And if I never am?” (Y/N) opened her mouth to answer, but couldn’t find the words. Peggy looked her directly in the eyes. “What would you do?”

“I don’t know.”

"Would you leave S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"Where would I go?" Peggy began to answer, but (Y/N) cut her off. "No, I mean, what other agency would take me? There's nowhere else I could work." She dropped Peggy's hand and began pacing the office. "I guess I wouldn't leave. I can't. If you never let me go back to field work, I… I'd be disappointed, obviously, but I'd have to respect your decision. And I would respect your decision."

"Good-"

"But I'd wonder if you actually trust me."

"Of course I trust you. I just…"

"Yeah, you worry, but I worry about you too. Every single day at the SSR, I'd hear everyone else talking about the things you were getting into and the people who were after you after everything happened."

"(Y/N)-"

"I mean Christ, Peg, you were impaled and I didn't even hear about it from you!"

"I didn't know that had gotten back to you."

"Well it did. And I didn't say anything because I didn't want to get in the way of doing your job." She dragged her fingers through her hair and stopped to stare out the window. "And I'm not saying this because you shouldn't bring it up with me, because you're my boss and you have to. But I need you to understand that I know exactly how you feel. I know what it's like to see the aftermath and not know what happened till you read the mission report. And I know better than anyone what it's like when someone important to you doesn't make it back."

She muttered something like "Good going, Rogers," under her breath and grabbed her coat and purse from the rack near the door. Peggy stood abruptly and (Y/N) stopped to hear what she had to say.

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry." (Y/N) shook her head. "I need to go home for the day."

"(Y/N)..."

"I'll be in early tomorrow. You'll have the report on your desk when you come in."

"She left? Just like that?"

"She wanted to leave before she said something she regretted." Peggy can't help laughing at Steve's expression. The deep furrow between his brows just gets deeper as he listens. "It was the first of the few fights she and I ever had. Our emotions were very close to the surface. Of course she left."

"Did you two fight a lot?"

"Heavens, no. We got along very well, actually. Far better than anyone would've wanted us to at the time." Peggy chuckles at her little joke but Steve simply looks confused. "We fell in love, Steve."

"What?"

"Well, rather, I fell in love with her. She'd carried a flame for me for years. I was just too blind to see it." Steve frowns and Peggy tilts her head to the side. "Did you not know (Y/N) was interested in women?"

"Wh-no, of course I knew! We didn't keep secrets from each other. And it's not like she was the only queer person around, I mean Bucky preferred men to women three times out of four and I…" Steve trails off and he ducks his head in a poor attempt to hide the blush steadily creeping up his neck to his face.

Peggy can't help poking a little fun at home and says, "And you?"

Defensive, Steve says, “This isn’t about me!”

“Oh, I think we can take some time out to discuss this little development.”

“Look, I've had my, erm… moments with men, I guess.”

"Oh really? Anyone I might know?"

In spite of his embarrassment, he says, "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Yes I would, actually. You'd be surprised at how sparse the gossip around here can be."

Steve chuckles. "Fine. But first, you have to tell me about (Y/N)."

On very rare occasions, a small group of whoever was either free or working late on a Friday night would go out for drinks. This was generally initiated by Howard, who dragged Peggy out with him, who, in turn, coaxed (Y/N), who could never bring herself to turn Peggy down, into coming along. (Y/N) generally only stuck around for a couple of rounds, unless the Howlies were joining them that night, or Howard was paying. Even then, she never drank much, especially around Peggy. She’d been known to say some pretty incriminating things when she was drunk. It wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.

Unfortunately, after three years avoiding it, Peggy insisted they celebrate (Y/N)’s birthday. And not only that, but that they do it with a group. Organizing S.H.I.E.L.D. had taken up enough time that there wasn’t any left to put towards someone’s birthday. And that had been totally fine by (Y/N). She could count on one hand the number of birthdays she’d celebrated without Steve and Bucky combined. WIth them gone, it felt… wrong to celebrate much of anything.

Howard was the first to bring it up. About a month before (Y/N)’s birthday, he mentioned that he’d seen something about it on the calendar. (Y/N) said it wasn’t on the calendar because she hadn’t put it there and no one else had the date. He did his best to convince her that he’d definitely seen it somewhere. Knowing full well that he was lying, she simply stared at him and waited for him to give up.

“Fine!” Howard threw up his hands in exasperation. “I looked at your file.”

“That’s a massive invasion of privacy. Not to even mention it’s probably illegal.”

“Oh come on. Peggy doesn’t even know when your birthday is, and she's your best friend. How are we supposed to celebrate?”

“There is no ‘we’ here, Howard. And no one needs to celebrate my birthday.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want it.”

“Aw, who doesn’t want a birthday party?”

“Me. Now go away. I’m trying to work.”

He scowled and leaned out into the hall. “Peggy, get in here.”

When she appeared in the doorway, (Y/N) immediately knew she was going to lose the argument. Howard stood there wearing a smirk that said he already knew this. (Y/N) decided she wanted to punch him.

“What’s all this noise about?” Peggy asked.

(Y/N) sighed, folded her arms, and sat back in her chair, only to duck her head when Peggy raised her eyebrows.

“You’ll never believe what our dear friend (Y/N) has been hiding from us,” Howard said.

“What is it?”

“Her birthday is next month.”

“Oh?”

“But she doesn’t want to celebrate.”

“Really?” (Y/N) could feel Peggy’s eyes on her. She wanted to hide. “Why not?”

She shrugged. “I just don’t want to. Isn’t that reason enough?”

“No one should be alone on their birthday.”

“I won’t be alone, it’s a work day.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Of course. That doesn’t mean you’ll change my mind about celebrating.”

And they seemed to take that as a challenge rather than a fact because they spent the next three weeks wearing (Y/N) down. Or, rather, Peggy did all the work because Howard knew he’d leave with a new bruise every time he so much as poked his head into her office. He also knew that it was nigh unto impossible for (Y/N) to say no to Peggy. He hadn’t figured out why, yet, but he didn't really care so long as he got his way. And he did. Three days before her birthday, (Y/N) finally broke down and said they could celebrate. She refused a large party, as she still didn’t want to actually do anything. So, Peggy planned a small gathering at the bar they frequented. She made sure to keep the guest list short and only invited Dum Dum Dugan, Rose, Mr. Jarvis and his wife (who were unable to make it), and Colonel Phillips, who only showed because Howard said he’d take care of the tab.

When that Friday arrived, (Y/N) walked down to the bar with the group from the office and had a couple drinks with everyone. She then ordered a double scotch and escaped to a back corner booth to be alone. She watched her friends laugh and drink and chat from the quiet of her little table. LIke that, the night wore on. The bar got louder and her drink slowly disappeared. When the tumbler was empty, she found it suddenly cleared away and replaced with another.

“I didn’t order this.”

“No, but if you can’t have one too many drinks on your birthday, when can you?”

Confused, she looked up to find one of the men she’d seen behind the bar earlier smiling at her.

“Uh… thanks, I guess.”

“Ah,” he waved her off. “No need to thank me, your friend’s the one paying.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, happy birthday!”

(Y/N) gave him a tight-lipped smile and silently willed him to walk away. He stood there for a few seconds too long before he seemed to get the idea. When he was gone, she went right back to people watching. Then, when her drink, which she decided would be her last for the night, was gone and she felt pleasantly warm, she folded her arms on the tabletop and rested her chin on the back of one hand.

Rose sat on a stool at the bar and giggled at something Peggy said. A happy flush colored her cheeks. She seemed content. Dum Dum and Howard laughed uproariously at nothing in particular. Dugan gestured for another round and Howard clapped him on the back. (Y/N) looked away from the group and saw Philips shuffling towards the door. Before he stepped out onto the sidewalk he turned back and nodded once, directly at her. (Y/N) saluted him and he, unexpectedly, smiled, shook his head, and headed out into the night.

“You do know this is your party, right?”

In the time (Y/N) had been watching Colonel Phillips, Peggy had taken the seat across from her.

“Yeah, but you know I didn’t want it in the first place,” she mumbled. “It’s more of a party for you guys than anyone else.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. You guys should have fun.”

Peggy sighed and nodded. “Why don’t you want to celebrate your birthday?”

(Y/N) didn’t want to answer, but she knew Peggy was asking out of genuine curiosity. The liquor she’d had that night wasn’t doing much to keep her quiet either.

“I haven’t celebrated much of anything since I lost Steve n’ Bucky.” She picked at a spot on the table. “Not my birthday, not Christmas, and certainly not the fourth of July.”

“Oh, (Y/N)...”

“I just really miss my brother.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “And I figure if I just avoid the things we used to do together, then I don’t have to think about the fact that he’s gone. I can pretend that he’s still out there somewhere and that I’m not alone.”

“You’re not alone, darling.”

Coming from Peggy, that pet name shot directly through her stomach and only served to make her cry harder. She didn’t know how to express exactly what she felt. Because it was so much more than loneliness. It was loss and grief and pain and sadness rolled into one and made her sick to her stomach. What’s worse is that at that moment, (Y/N) realized that she hadn’t taken the time to grieve or process anything after she lost what was left of her family. Now it was spilling over with the one person she didn’t want to cry in front of. The only one she’d been strong for since Steve died. She was embarrassed.

“He was all I had left.”

“You have me.” Peggy tried to soothe her with a hand on (Y/N)’s arm, but she hardly noticed.

“But that won’t always be the case, I mean-” she sniffed- “You’re bound to get married someday and I’ll just…”

“You’ll get married too, (Y/N).”

(Y/N) just laughed. She couldn’t think of anything else to do at that moment, so she laughed. And Peggy couldn’t quiet decide how she should react, so she simply sat there, discomfort painted across every part of her, and waited till (Y/N) was finished.

When she’d quieted to a hiccupping giggle, Peggy asked, “What’s so funny?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “I’m just realizing how little you actually know about me.”

“What’s gotten into you tonight?”

“Mn, who knows.” She gathered her things from the booth and brushed the wrinkles from her trousers when she stood. “I think I’m gonna head home for the night.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I think I should.”

“Then let me call you a cab-”

“I’ll just walk. I think the cold’ll do me some good.”

“Then at least let me walk you home. It’s not safe to be out this late alone.”

“It’s no safer for you, and you’d be alone after you leave my apartment.”

“I’ll phone a cab when we get there.”

“You’re not gonna drop this, are you?”

“No.”

(Y/N) allowed herself a rare moment of visible exasperation, but conceded. “Fine.”

She walked off and left Peggy in the bar to gather her things. She was sure Peggy would need time to say goodbye to everyone, so (Y/N) leaned heavily against the brick wall outside. The rough stone dug into her shoulder and her breath turned to fog in the cold and briefly billowed around her as it dissipated into the night. She’d almost forgotten she’d been crying until the tear streaks on her cheeks grew cold and sticky as thy started to dry. She rubbed any lingering wetness away, all while muttering to herself about ‘never drinking again.’

“One well worded question and you spill your fucking guts,” (Y/N) mumbled. She scrubbed her hands over her face. “Secrets are secret for a reason.” She stopped abruptly and stared at her hands. “Why the hell am I talking to myself?”

“Why are you talking to yourself?”

Peggy stood just outside the bar, adjusting her scarf and waiting patiently for (Y/N)’s answer. (Y/N) found that her face suddenly felt as if it were on fire. She hoped it was dark enough to hide how flustered she was.

“How much did you hear?”

“Just the bit about you talking to yourself.” She flipped her coat collar up against the wind. “Why? Private conversation?”

“Something like that.”

“Is it urgent?” (Y/N) rolls her eyes and Peggy laughs. “I can wait, if you need to finish up.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m sorry.” She giggled and coughed once when she saw (Y/N)’s expression. “You’ve been so serious tonight, I wanted to try and lighten the mood.”

“Not the best way to do that.”

“Understood.”

(Y/N) offered Peggy her arm. “We should get going.”

“Of course.”

Peggy tucked one gloved hand into the crook of (Y/N)’s elbow and allowed herself to be led down the sidewalk.

They walked in silence, for the most part. Peggy occasionally tried to spark up conversation by commenting on the weather or something she’d overheard in the office, but (Y/N), not wanting to say too much, mostly responded with two or three word answers or vague noises of acknowledgement. Peggy didn’t seem to mind. Then (Y/N)’s pace began to slow. They were only a couple blocks away from her apartment at the time. If Peggy didn’t ask her questions while (Y/N) was nearly asleep on her feet, she may never get any answers. Ordinarily, if (Y/N) didn't want you to know something, she was a vault with a long forgotten combination. But, when she was even just a little buzzed, she was far chattier. Even someone half the agent Peggy was would know to take advantage of the situation, even if it was a little unethical. But that would be something to worry about if (Y/N) remembered anything come morning.

"So," Peggy started. "What's this about me not knowing you as well as I think you do?"

"Which part?"

"Well, you laughed when I suggested you could get married." (Y/N) laughed again. "Why do you do that?!"

(Y/N) just laughed harder. "You really don't see it, do you?"

"What?"

"Me." (Y/N) tipped her head back to look at the sky. "You don't see me, but I see you."

"You've lost me."

She pressed her lips together. At this point, (Y/N) did want Peggy to know. She wanted the person most important to her to understand a huge part of who she was. The problem lay in finding the right words.

"Look," she started. "Have you ever seen me with a boyfriend? Or a man I didn't work with or wasn't related to?"

"Well… no."

"Have you ever heard me talk about a date?"

"Well, no." Peggy followed (Y/N) up the stairs to her apartment. "I just assumed you weren't interested in dating or that you didn't have the time!"

"Oh, I wish I had no interest in dating."

"Then what is it?" (Y/N) fumbled with the key and sighed when she dropped it. She picked it up and tried again, only to rub at her temples when she couldn't get it. Peggy lost what little patience she had left and said, very clipped, "(Y/N). What. Is it?"

She finally got the door open and turned to face Peggy. "My favorite poet is Sappho."

"I didn't know you enjoyed poetry."

With her face in her hands, (Y/N) tipped her head back and groaned. "It's not about the poetry!"

"Well for God's sake, tell me what it is about then!"

(Y/N) looked up and down the hallway and, when she was sure that the coast was clear, dragged Peggy into the apartment by the front of her coat. Peggy batted her hands away and by the time she'd straightened out her lapel (Y/N) had closed the door and was once again facing her.

"Really, (Y/N), don't you think this is a tad drama-"

"I don't like men," (Y/N) hissed.

Dumbfounded, all Peggy could manage was a feeble "What?"

"I'm not attracted to them. I don't date them, and I sure as shit won't marry one."

"So you-you-"

"Love women?" Peggy nodded. "Yes. Exclusively."

"I see." Peggy's face was blank, save for the crease between her brows.

"Is that all you have to say?"

“Well I’m not exactly in the right state of mind to say much more, now am I?” She shook her head. “I mean, really, what do you expect from me?”

“I don’t know! Disgust? Intolerance? Literally any negative reaction other than shock or quiet confusion.”

“How else am I supposed to react? This is a lot of information to process after drinking for a significant portion of the night.”

“Right.” (Y/N) took a deep, shaking breath and moved past Peggy into the apartment. “Right.”

She shed her coat and tossed it over the back of the couch. She stopped just short of her reading chair and stared at the embroidered pillow propped up against the back. Her head was full of static and she couldn’t make sense of anything. Not Peggy’s reaction, not her own reaction, and certainly not how and why she’d blurted everything out. Her chest felt tight and she was on the verge of tears, but all she could manage was a few shaky breaths. If she wasn’t embarrassed earlier, she sure as hell was now.

“How did you want me to react?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“Honestly? I never thought I’d get this far.”

“Really?”

“If you didn’t figure it out on your own, I’d never have told you.” She shoved her hair out of her eyes and sank into her reading chair. “God. I’m just so tired of being so scared all the time.”

“What are you scared of?” Peggy crouched in front of (Y/N) and gently folded one of her hands between hers. “Getting caught? Rejection?” (Y/N) nodded. “Do you think I’d really reject you over something like this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Honestly, darling-”

“Don’t.” (Y/N) shook her head. “Don’t call me that.”

“(Y/N)-”

“With you knowing about everything, it’s too much. I can’t handle it.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my best friend.” She tried to smile, but it was weak. “And I can’t ask any more of you than that.”

“I don’t understand.”

(Y/N) sighed. “You don’t have to.”

“All right.”

“You should stay the night,.” (Y/N) quickly changed the subject and got up from the chair. “I don’t feel comfortable letting you go home on your own this late.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not, I’m offering. Insisting, really.” She skirted around Peggy and headed for the bedroom. “I’ll lend you some pajamas.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Well, you can’t sleep in all of that-” she gestured vaguely at Peggy- “And you sure as hell aren’t sleeping naked.”

Peggy did a passable impression of shock, but couldn’t suppress her laughter. “All right, fine.”

(Y/N) pointed at Peggy from the door of her bedroom. “I’m taking the couch.”

“You are not!”

“Nope, you’ve got the bed. I’m on the couch.”

“You really are impossible.”

“I come by it honestly.”

(Y/N) spent another good fifteen minutes going back and forth with Peggy about sleeping arrangements. (Y/N) won out in the end, but she was sure it was due to Peggy's alcohol consumption. She eventually found herself snuggled up on a surprisingly well me up couch. Peggy was gone in the morning and she didn't see her again till Monday.

Peggy didn't bring up a single moment of their conversation that previous Friday, so she assumed she'd forgotten about it. Almost a month later, Peggy approached her when they were the last two people left in the office. Peggy wanted to know how (Y/N) knew she was interested in women. (Y/N), sorting through old files, searching for evidence from a previous case to cross reference, didn't know if she should answer.

"Well?"

(Y/N) sighed and said, “Well, I wasn’t interested in boys all through school and couldn’t figure out why I looked at women more than men. Bucky’d gone through something similar and said I should listen to what the other girls were noticing about boys and see if that was what I was noticing about women.”

“And?”

“Ah, well,” She chuckled and scratched the back of her neck. “He was right. I was noticing bodies, not clothes. Eyes and lips without regard to makeup. Hands, not nail polish colors. And I found myself wanting to be the things girls wanted from the boys they were interested in. I wanted to be strong and dreamy and capable.” She shrugged. “That’s pretty much it.”

“How were you certain?”

“Dunno, I just was.”

“Have you ever dated anyone?”

“Uh… yeah.” (Y/N) flipped through the file cabinet. “There’ve been a few women over the years.” When she turned back to Peggy with the file, she saw something flash across her face that she might’ve taken as jealousy if she hadn’t known better. She brushed it off and continued, “But nothing lasted. Never really felt a connection. Why?”

“No reason.”

There had to be a reason, but (Y/N) didn’t push it.

“Are you on some kind of journey of self discovery or something?”

“Maybe.” Then Peggy muttered, “Not that I’ve discovered much.”

(Y/N) laughed. “Okay, well you're still attracted to men, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m not gonna be a very good resource for you.”

“Why?”

“I’ve never liked men. Never forced myself to either. I’m not much help in that department.”

“Ah.”

“Talk to Angie.”

“Martinelli?”

“Mhm. She should be able to help fill in any gaps.”

“She’s…?”

(Y/N) frowned. “You didn’t know?”

“Of course I didn’t know, I’ve only ever seen her with men!”

“She likes both. But it’s safer to date men, so she does. Doesn’t mean she hasn’t gotten it in with women in the past.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Or in between.”

Peggy blushed tomato red. (Y/N) laughed. She’d never seen Peggy so flustered. Normally, she was so calm and composed. Seeing her flustered over a little innuendo was magical.

“We are in the office!” Peggy hissed.

“I am well aware.”

“Aren’t you the least bit embarrassed saying something like that so publicly?”

“We’re the only ones here. But-” (Y/N) shrugged- “I won’t make those jokes if they make you uncomfortable.”

“Thank you.”

(Y/N) nodded and went back to searching the files.

“Am I allowed to ask who she is?”

“Who?”

“The woman who’s got you this worked up.” She pulled a file, examined the contents, and put it back upon not finding what she wanted. “She must really be something, if she’s making you question who you are.”

“Yes.” Peggy’s voice sounded unfocused and far off. “She is.”

It hurt to hear that, of course. But (Y/N) knew where she stood with Peggy. And she was fine with that for the most part. She knew that, even with this shocking, albeit welcome, development, she shouldn’t get her hopes up. But there was a small part of her that had always fantasized about something like this. She did what she could to tamp that down. Which wasn’t hard, as she didn’t hear from Peggy much for several months.

Peggy avoided her for the better part of a month after that initial conversation. (Y/N) asked her if she’d talked with Angie, but only got a dismissive answer about “meeting with her soon.” She didn’t think much about it, as she was preparing for a long term assignment that was set to start within the month.

Due to incompetence on the part of several FBI agents she’d been assigned to, (Y/N) was stuck in the field for three months. The paperwork after the fact took nearly a full week to sort through and fill out. On top of that, she was forced to hound the men she’d worked with to complete the reports necessary for S.H.I.E.L.D. records. By the time everything was finalized, (Y/N) was pissed, tired, and ready to go home.

Peggy was at the airport when she returned and joy swelled in her chest when she saw her. When she was close enough, Peggy hugged her with everything she had, and (Y/N) very nearly dropped her luggage upon impact. She managed to stay on her feet and wrapped her arms around Peggy and pressed her nose to her shoulder. (Y/N) didn’t know when she’d be able to hold her again. She decided that she wouldn’t let go until Peggy did.

Howard let himself into her office her first day back at S.H.I.E.L.D. exclaiming, “She lives!”

“Pardon?”

He plopped down in her visitor chair. “Do you know how worried our fearless director was? She thought you’d died.”

“What?”

“Oh yeah. You were held up for two months. Peggy was starting to think the FBI was trying to cover up your death.”

“If you’re fucking with me-”

“I’m not, I swear. Anyone we could contact said the FBI wouldn’t allow communication in or out on your mission. We didn’t even know you’d been delayed until last month.”

“That’s ridiculous,” (Y/N) muttered. “They were the ones who screwed up in the first place."

Howard hummed. "But you made it back in one piece."

"Yeah…"

"I'm surprised the FBI guys did, though." He smirked when he caught her fighting back a smile. "You should be canonized."

"Ugh, don't say that. I just didn't want to get in trouble."

"With who, Peggy?"

"No, the government. You know how they love their bullies with badges." Howard nodded and (Y/N) added, "I'm pretty sure Peggy would've understood my reasons."

"Yeah, probably." Howard glanced at his watch. “Ah, I should get back to the lab.”

“What, are your alien specimens gonna take over if you don’t get back in time?” He froze and (Y/N)’s eyes widened. “I don’t like that reaction.”

“I’m just surprised. Our current project does have biological components, and-”

(Y/N) waved her hands and cut him off. “Nope. The less I know, the better. I refuse to get dragged in as a witness if your experiments get you in trouble.”

He laughed. “You say that like I’m some kind of mad scientist.”

“Well, you’re no Frankenstein, but you’ve done some crazy shit over the years.”

“And I’m sure I’ll do crazier before I leave this rock.” Howard hauled himself out of the chair and headed out to the hall. “Don’t disappear while I’m gone!”

“No promises.”

(Y/N) spent the rest of the day in a fog, unable to keep herself from thinking about what Howard had said. She hated even the idea of worrying Peggy, but this? This was ten times worse. There was nothing she could’ve done to stop it and she still felt guilty. Peggy had enough on her plate, she didn’t need to add anything more on top of it.

By the time she tossed her final report to the side, the sun had nearly set and she was sure she would be the last to go home.

She’d just closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair when someone knocked on her office door.

“Yeah?” The door opened and she cracked one eye open. Peggy stood there, looking unsure and (Y/N) immediately sat up. “Hey.”

“Do you have time to talk?”

“Of course.” Peggy closed the door and took a seat across from her. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve been thinking about your birthday.”

(Y/N) forced her expression to remain neutral. “Oh?”

“Would you really have kept it from me, had you not been tipsy?”

She said, without hesitation, “Yes.”

Peggy looked hurt. “Do you not trust me?”

“I trust you more than anyone. And I’m not ashamed of who I am, but it’s something I never wanted you to worry over.”

"It is my job to worry about you."

"No, Peggy, it's not. And I honestly don't want it to be." (Y/N) shook her head. "What is this actually about? Because I find it hard to believe that all these questions about liking women are suddenly so pressing."

"Don't talk to me like that."

"You're right." She sighed and apologized. "Just… please get to the point. There's no reason to beat around the bush." Peggy's expression turned apprehensive and (Y/N) said, "Peggy?"

"Am I the reason I'm not allowed to call you darling?" (Y/N) raised her eyebrows, surprised that Peggy had caught on so quickly. "Is it because you li-hmm... because you love me?"

Her chest tightened. How was she supposed to answer? If she told the truth, their relationship would change forever. And part of (Y/N) thought that wouldn't be a bad thing. Peggy had been curious about being attracted to women before the mission. That had to mean that she had some interest, right? But another part of her worried that, if she were to tell the truth, she'd be falling into a trap. She should deny it. Try to move on. Find someone else.

Peggy knew when she was lying though. Surely Peggy wouldn't want her to lie about this?

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded. "Yes."

Peggy took a shuddering breath. "How long?"

"A long time."

“How. Long.”

"Peggy-"

"I have a right to know."

"And am I not allowed to protect myself here? I mean… I'm the one who's confessing. I'm the one who's getting hurt. Not you."

"(Y/N), I-"

She cut her off. "I've had feelings for you since that first drink."

"I didn't know."

"Yeah. You weren't supposed to. Because I value our friendship and my own safety over the fleeting high of telling someone I love them."

"But Steve-"

"Steve had shit luck with love, and you were the first woman to spare him a sideways glance. As long as you were both happy, that's all that mattered."

"I'm sorry."

"You should be. Because I was fine before you pried all this out of me. But now you give a shit about who I am and am not fucking and my head feels like it's on wrong and somehow I'm still the one who feels guilty." (Y/N) shoved herself back from her desk and headed for the door, grabbing her things as she went.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m sorry, but I need some time to cool down.” She paused in the doorway. "With your permission, I'd like to work nights for the next few weeks."

Peggy nodded. (Y/N) disappeared into the hallway.

----------

Part 2

So I’m pretty sure this is the gayest story I’ve ever written. I’m sure the pining in my head isn’t obvious in the text, but just know the intention is there. I mean, who wouldn’t have been taken with Peggy from day one?

That being said, I’d love to know what you though of this chapter! Do you like the Reader character? Does she feel like Steve’s sister? What about her relationship with Peggy? Do you think she

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#peggy carterxreader #readerxpeggy carter #peggy carter x reader #reader x peggy carter #peggy carter #agent carter #agent peggy carter #reader insert marvel fic

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chihomichannel · 3 years

Text

the different flavors of lollipops

| pairing: choso x gender neutral! reader | genre: fluff | warnings: slight manga spoilers (ㅅ´ ˘ `) | word count: 2676 words

| a/n: hi! this is clem! this is my first jjk fic that i posted. this is a 3 part series and i hope you guys like it! (๑•ᴗ•๑)

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The first time you met Choso, you had been trying to kill each other. With the other siding with opposing sides, the two of you started off in the wrong foot. You saw him as a cursed spirit raving havoc with his little group of misfits, and he saw you as the friend of the people who killed his brothers. What started as an equal fight of power ended up with you writhing out in pain as the poison of his blood manipulation coursed through your veins. He left you to die as you bled out on the underground station of Shibuya.

The next time you met him, he was no longer an enemy but rather an ally. But of course, you didn’t trust him. He did side with those who killed your friends and even if he was “manipulated” and turned out to be Itadori’s brother, you still did not find the nerve to trust him. He hasn’t earned it yet and he did try to kill you once. To say that you held a grudge against the guy was an understandment.

When he saw you alive, he was surprised to see you survived. He did poison you after all. Every now and then, his eyes would fall upon the gash on the left side of your face just beside your ear. He would be reminded that it was his fault it was there. It is a scar you earned from fighting him. And he would feel bad whenever his eyes landed on it.

You found yourself spending more time with him than you wanted. Being a level 1 sorcerer, you were assigned to keep an eye on him. Whenever you explain something to him and be met with his impassive face, you would feel your blood boil. You didn’t trust the man and being a sorcerer yourself, it took every nerve in your body not to exorcise him. You have been exorcising cursed spirits your entire life and having to suddenly baby sit one was appalling.

He was nice though, you thought. And you did admire his love and devotion to his brothers. In times when he would talk about them, you would find yourself thinking about your family. It had been years since you last saw them. They were a sacrifice you were willing to take in order to separate them from your life where death followed you everywhere. You wondered if he would turn against all of you if Itadori ended up not being his brother after all. But he was so sure you almost believed it too.

One time, it was night and everyone was fast asleep and you found yourself outside of the hideout. It was only you, Choso, Itadori, Yuta and Megumi left and Yuki and Maki left to go to Tokyo Jujutsu High. They were coming back in the morning and everyone found themselves some place for the night. Unable to sleep, you climbed on a tree and sat in peace with the moon your only source of light. You sighed, staring at the forest that laid in front of you. Soft breeze hit your bare skin, making you shiver. You fished out a lollipop from your pocket and propped it in your mouth. Savoring the fresh air, your peace was soon interrupted when you felt a presence behind your back.

“Choso?!” You shrieked at the man who stared at you with his ever deadpan face. His overall dark demeanor made him look more creepy. “You ought to stop sneaking up on people like that!” He moved to sit beside you, his eyes still on you “Sorry, I thought it was suspicious of you to go out on the middle of the night when everyone’s asleep”

“You’re the suspicious one here, dude” You scoffed at him and propped the lollipop back in your lips. His gaze felt heavy and you looked back at him, uncomfortable “Why are you still staring at me?”

“What’s that?” He asked, pointing at your lollipop. Letting out a “hmm”, you took one last lick of your orange flavored lollipop and replied “A lollipop, it’s a sweet. Want one?” You offered, reaching for your pockets and pulling one out “Try it” You handed him a lemon lime flavored one and he stared at it confusedly before putting it in his mouth.

“No! You need to take off the wrapper first, Choso” You chuckled, pulling his hand down to remove the lollipop from his mouth. He stared at you confusedly “Here, do what I do, okay?” You unwrapped one more lollipop and watched as he tried to do the same. You laughed at his attempts and Choso blushed lightly but not enough for you to see. He put the lollipop in his mouth as he pouted. This caused you to laugh harder. At times like these, the walls you’ve built between you and him began to crumble down. But you never noticed as you felt yourself unconsciously begin to trust the cursed spirit. You learned he could be soft the longer you were with him.

“I’m sorry” Choso began “Huh?” You looked at him perplexedly. Choso nibbled on his lollipop as he kept his eyes straight to the forest “Your scar-” Your hand traced the scar on your left cheek “-I’m sorry for giving you that scar”

“Oh…” was all you could say. You didn’t expect him to be conscious about it. A few seconds of silence passed by as you racked your brain of what to say. You glanced at him in the corner of your eye and nibbled on your orange lollipop “Heh, it’s fine. It was a different situation back then”

You pursed your lips when Choso didn’t say anything after that. It was quiet, only the faint chirps of the crickets echoed through the night. Having had enough of the cold, you stood up and told Choso you’d be going back and sleep when he slipped a hand on your arm, stopping you in your tracks “Do you still have some lollipop?” You handed him a cherry flavored one.

You watched as he discarded the stick of his former lollipop and propped the cherry one to his mouth. His shoulders slumped and Choso let out a sigh. His gaze turned to you and he smiled softly, his cheeks flushed pink “It’s sweet” That was the first time you saw him in a different light.

After that night, Choso took a liking to lollipops often asking you for more. This lead you to buying a whole packet when you found yourself near a convenience store. His obsession on the sweet deeply amused you. You had never once thought a cursed spirit could taste food until Choso came into your life. This made you wonder if they also needed to eat to survive. When you saw the way his eyes lit up at the sight of the packet of lollipops, you couldn’t help but smile. The longer you spent time with him, the more you found yourself warming up to him.

You built a camaraderie with the man, learning to trust and coordinate with him when you found yourselves fighting for your life. The two of you found common ground on protecting Itadori. Once, you were so beaten up after an attack that you would’ve been in much worse condition if Choso hadn’t come in time to swoop you away from the scene. It frustrated you to no end how weak you’ve become. Or maybe you have always been weak, just a tad bit better than your peers. Choso would notice when these kinds of thoughts cloud your mind and would pull out a lollipop from his pockets and give it to you.

You stared at him, he reminded you of a parent handing his upset child a candy to lighten their mood. You almost felt offended but he looked so genuinely concerned it warmed your heart instead. You muttered a low “Thanks” and put the sweet into your mouth. He watched you as you did so, scanning your demeanor and feeling relieved to see your mood lightened. He patted your head causing you to stiffen. You ogled at him as he continued to caress your hair “You did great” He said and you felt your heart lighten from your worries.

Cranberry, it was the taste of the lollipop Choso handed you. Cranberries symbolize abundance and gratitude and gratitude is what Choso felt for you. Choso found himself protective of you as he is of his brothers. But not quite in the same way, he just couldn’t put his finger around it. On the other hand, you found yourself hot and bothered with Choso’s new attitude around you. You found yourself flustered whenever he’s around and it bothered you to no end. You often reprimand yourself for being flustered in the first place ‘He’s a cursed spirit!’ You remind yourself ‘A cursed spirit!’

But Choso made it much harder for you. At times when you thought your passing feelings for the man had subsided, Choso would make it his goal to remind you of those feelings. Not like he’s aware he does so. Choso did not understand the concept of attraction. Being locked away for more than a century, the only love he knew is the one he held for his brothers. And so when he found himself feeling a certain way for you, Choso mistook it as the same he felt for his brothers. Care, that was what he felt for you.

But when he saw you chatting animatedly with Megumi, he hated how you laughed and how close you sat next to the boy. Choso’s eyes shot daggers at the poor boy who remained unaware of the looming darkness behind him. But Choso remained in his seat, and looked begrudgingly at you and Megumi. That was the first time Choso felt jealousy, not that he knew what that feeling was exactly. He realized, ever since he met you, he’s had a whirlwind of emotions he never knew existed. And it irked Choso just how much power you held over him.

The next time you were alone with him, he sat opposite from you, maintaining a distance as he gazed suspiciously at you. You noticed his behaviour and gave him a questioning look but was only met with a huff for a response. You frowned, confused. Tapping your foot on the ground, you met Choso’s gaze and held it like you two have a staring contest. The other wouldn’t budge and it bugged you that Choso wouldn’t speak. Just as you were about to give up, Choso stood up and dashed to your side.

You bounced on the impact of him plopping down next to you. Facing you, Choso’s eyebrows scrunched together as he stared at you intensely “Is this like your technique or something?” He asked, confusing you even more “Huh?”

“This!” He motioned between you two “-you hate me don’t you? This is why you’re doing your cursed technique and making me feel this way”

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-t” You did not understand a word he said ‘What the hell is he talking about?!’ You thought ‘Technique? Hate him?!’

“Why would you think I hate you?” You asked, your voice cracking slightly by the end. It’s true you didn’t trust him in the beginning and sure, you did hate him before he became an ally. But now that you know him, you couldn’t comprehend as to why he would think like that. Had you been mean to him? Had you been unconsciously mean to him?! You panicked at the thought. You consider him a friend at this point, you thought he felt the same way. Or at least knew you were fine with him. Like, geez, he had been making you blush. What is up with him?

“You make me feel weird” Now he lost you “Huh?”

“You make me feel nervous! I don’t get nervous easily! At least not when I’m in a fight” “Okay-” “And you also make me happy! Just being around you makes me happy” “Wait, what-” “And earlier! I had this nasty feeling. Like something is gnawing at my stomach, my ears, my heart, my entire being!”

“HUH?” You held your cheeks with your hands, face now flushed red “I really hated it when you sat so close to that black haired kid and I wish it was me you were laughing with-” You collapsed at this point “-In short, you make me feel really weird!”

Your eyes refused to look at him, trying to hide your reddened face away from him “Hey, say something” Choso cooed, planting his hand on your wrist making you jerk “Umh-Ah-a-H-Ch-A” You stammered, unable to make out words. You had never felt so flustered in your entire life. Concern replaced Choso’s fury and he held your shoulders, calling out your name.

“Huh, am I interrupting something?” You and Choso turned your head towards the sound and found Itadori standing by the doorway “ITADORI!” You cried out “What’s wrong with her?” Choso asked at the same time. Maki appeared behind Itadori and the two looked at each other knowingly before giving you guys an amused look “Get your hands off her or she’ll probably die” Maki said making Choso let go of you instantly “Why?!”

Maki laughed as she went to the both of you and grabbed a hold of your body to take you away. Itadori could only chuckle “Choso, you’re impossible”

That night, Choso sneaked out of Itadori’s watchful eyes to pay you a visit. He had confided in Itadori about his concerns but was left frustrated when Yuuji only laughed at his face saying that Choso is “in love” with you. But “in love” like how?

“As in ‘in love’ romantically” Itadori explained “But what the hell do you mean by romantically?” Choso walked out when Itadori howled in laughter, no longer saying anything comprehensible.

Knocking, Choso gained your attention. You had been laying on the couch thinking back to Choso’s words to you. When you calmed down, the absurdity of the situation dawned on you. You realized that Choso didn’t understand his feelings and having him feel that way towards you made your heart flutter. It made you feel special that someone like him, who did not even understand what it’s like to be in love with someone, somehow fell for you. And seeing him now looking at you worriedly made you come to terms that you needed to talk to him.

“Hey” You called him softly. You sat up and patted the space next to you, and Choso made himself comfortable beside you. Silence engulfed the both of you and you felt yourself flush under the heavy atmosphere. You racked your brain for words to say but your thoughts were interrupted when Choso began “I can’t really say that I’m sure about what I feel and from what I have gathered, I think understand what it is now” Your blush deepened, your eyes unmoving from his figure “-all my life, this is the only time I have ever truly lived. And even now, I’m still in hiding. I don’t know much about life and I don’t really know anything other than Jujutsu but-” he turned to look at you

“-being by your side these past few months, I have learned a lot of things” Choso put a hand on his head, scratching his hair. He glanced at you, a faint smile on his lips “-and I want to keep on living the rest of my life with you by my side”

You almost choked but managed to compose yourself. Your face hurt from the amount of heat his words made you feel. Unable to say anything else, you shoved a lollipop on his hand. The butterflies in your stomach burst into flames when you felt his hand enveloped yours “Okay” You squeaked out, the warmth of his hand still present in yours even when he pulled away. He smiled, the taste of bubblegum melting in his mouth “Okay”

#choso #choso+x+reader #choso imagine #choso headcanons #choso x reader #choso x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk headcanons #jjk manga spoilers

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leo-interactive-fiction · 3 years

Note

Something else I haven't seen before. What would the MC's parent from each background think of the ROs? Who would they approve of and who wouldn't they? I guess in the case of orphan MC, what would E's parents think? Since they kinda maybe vaguely adopted orphan MC?

Hmm, interesting! Since I did the opposite, I should have seen this one coming haha

-----------------------

Storm's comments:

E: "Rose has had that expectation for some time. This is preferable to the alternative. I know you will be in good hands. Rose raised them well."

R: Your father doesn't mince his words, a clear disdain evident, "Valleford. See that you don't take after your father, or there will be less than pleasantries next time we meet."

L: "Scio. I assume your father...?" Storm's lips pull in a small frown as L gives a small nod of confirmation, "I understand if you cannot forgive me. Your father is a significant asset to the Hospian war effort. If I find him, I will kill him."

V: "You've seen enough at your age," Storm says quietly, looking into the hollow glint in V's eyes, "I'm sorry. Those were battles that should have ended with my generation, not yours."

P: Storm's brow furrows as he makes a cordial greeting, "I assume your father is well? He does not speak of his second child often, but you seem more spirited than the other. That will make the greater difference when it matters."

M: Storm's brow furrows as he makes a cordial greeting, though there's little sentimentality in his voice, "I assume your father is well? He expresses confidence in your upbringing, but I can't say I share the sentiment. You lack something fundamental. Something to drive you to achieve more than what's expected of you."

Ra: Storm's eyes lock onto Raven with a harsh intensity, "Your eyes are filled with blood and you conceal weapons. Tell me your intentions or I will kill you right now."

S: "I admit I am unfamiliar with Orden. The conflict never reached that country, but I understand there are many hardships there already," Storm says, looking the brightly grinning student up and down before his lips pull back in small contentment, "You come out better than most. You have impressive strength."

F: Storm holds a frown as he takes in the vivid green hair, "Many allowed Frenza to claim their distance due to their significant contribution to Triaina's independence, but it doesn't absolve you of everything," he says in warning, "Don't step over the boundaries you've been afforded, or the military will have no choice but to respond."

------------------------------

Scurra's dialogue:

E: Scurra makes a grimace as he recognizes E, "Damnit, you've gone and done it now," he grumbles as he pulls out his wallet and hands a fold of bills to E, "Give that to your mom, will you? She's worse than a debt collector with bets..."

R: "Valleford! There's a name I haven't heard in a while. I knew they had a black sheep in the family, but I guess they couldn't take away the infamous good looks," Scurra chuckles, his eyes lightening reminiscently, "They've put me in a good bit of trouble on more than one occasion. I guess I should consider it a family curse now that MC is involved with you."

L: "Oh, I know those eyes," Scurra says wistfully, "Coming to find the world is a bigger place than you imagined, aren't you? It's even more expansive than that, too. I had that same look when I traveled overseas. I hope MC is being a good guide for you," he looks to you, and gives a knowing wink.

V: Scurra gives a meandering hum as he looks at V, "I've been all around, but I've only seen natural hair color like that a handful of times. They all had your same stare, too." He closes his eyes thoughtfully, "None as young as you though. I hope you're the last I have to see with those eyes. They're a bad omen."

P: "A fiery one, aren't you! Has no one ever told you not to say bad words in public?" Scurra laughs, "You should stop while you can. You're so transparent with your feelings that I almost mistook you for a window, so there's no point to pulling a tough act."

M: A small, genuine smile rises on Scurra's lips as he inspects M, "How interesting. You're so similar to your twin, but you're definitely the better actor. As I think about it, you remind me of MC's mother in many ways..."

Ra: "What are you doing here?" Scurra frowns, staring harshly at Raven. A silence passes and eventually he looks away, messaging his jaw, "Oops, guess I was mistaken. You looked a little like someone I know."

S: "You've got Orden written all over you, don't you?" Scurra says cheerily, "It's been a while since I've visited, but I have to say it gave me the most enjoyment. You all certainly know how to keep it lively."

F: "Your family has always been so hauty!" Scurra covers his mouth to suppress a chuckle, "But I think it would be a mistake to talk down to everyone you meet. I happen to be on great terms with your mother. If I took the opportunity, you two would have been siblings!"

------------------------

Xero's insight:

E: He smiles warmly to E, "It's good to see you again. I'm afraid there was little I could do for you: your mother has already found out about your relationship. I expect she'll make it as embarrassing for you as possible, if I know her well. I hope you're mentally prepared."

R: Xero studies R with a faint curiosity, "I'm afraid your father and I are on less than speaking terms due to some...past difficulties, but I understand you are more than simply your father's child. You may be villianized for your differing viewpoint, but aren't we all? I don't find it is so bad," Xero gives R a knowing small."

L: Xero's eyes widen upon seeing L, then falls into a soft smile, "To think history would repeat so aptly. To see you two now reminds me of my own school days," Xero closes his eyes and releases a light sigh, the smile still present, "I pray you'll also find the same happiness I did, and that it lasts longer."

V: Xero's grip tightens on an file in his hands as he sees V, his voice meticulous, "You are...Wolfe, correct? I'll admit the what I've heard and read of you is...less than appealing, but," he casts his gaze between you and the ex-Jagd member, a faint smile growing on his lips as V steps cautiously between you. "You seem to have a strong sense of duty. I hope you will be a good pillar for MC."

P: He looks disaprovingly, "In my field, words are paired with intention. To speak is to lay bare your thoughts. Why would you neglect your intent by forcing a negative connotation where it doesn't belong?"

M: He seems slightly more on edge than with P, "I don't believe I should offer my approval to someone unwilling to determine a focus. It's a testament to your negligence."

Ra: Xero crosses their arms, his face skeptical,"Marriage? Your lack of detailed forethought and hyperfixation gives me the impression of an unhealthy mind. As it stands now, I will refuse to give you my blessing."

S: "I'm afraid I'm ignorant to everything Orden related," Xero says sheepishly, "I am happy to learn all that I can, though. Perhaps you would like to bring your family at some point? I would be happy to host them here." Xero smiles warmly, clearly unknowing of the chaotic rabblerousing he's invited into his home.

F: "Ah, the royal line," Xero says in recognition of F, "Your own mother was a classmate of mine as well. To think one of her children would grow so closely with mine. Please give her my regards, would you? She has always kept herself closer than others, so I was happy when she took an interest in my friend. He's a lucky man."

---------------------

Mr. Razor's thoughts (if he was alive)

E: He bows his head gratefully, "Thank you for taking care of MC all this time. Your selflessness has saved me a lot of worry, and I doubt I'll have any more leaving them in your hands."

R: Razor's eyes bore a hole through R, "To defy your father was a considerable risk. And not knowing what the academy had planned for you, you still allowed yourself to be incarcerated for an indeterminate amount of time," Razor taps his fingers to his chin, a smile spreading over his lips, "I enjoy those that stick to their principles, but what say we work on your jailbreaking?"

L: "Your father's quite an important man. He's lucky I was never contracted to kill him," Razor says matter-of-factly. A chilling air of silence deafens the room until Razor holds up his palms, "Just kidding. I've never killed anyone. They all died mysteriously."

V: "How's Jagd doing?" Razor narrows his eyes keenly on V, "I'm surprised they were able to bounce back after what I did to them. I guess they filled the empty spaces with whoever was able...or moldable."

P: Razor smiles sadly, "It must be difficult to be given another person's expectations and do well with them. You're like a fish trying to climb a tree. But I enjoy how far up you've climbed despite that. Would you like a reward? I know, how about...your father's weakness?"

M: Razor seems disinterested, "You're not worth the words, Crater. You're nothing more than what your father made you to be: a simple shadow to live vicariously through."

Ra: Razor's eyes have an approving glint, "The one that slipped through the cracks. How very odd. MC's mother was quite odd too. It's an endearing quality, isn't it? Yes, I think you'll make a perfect companion for MC. You've already been looking over them all this time, haven't you?"

S: "Earnestness is one of the first qualities people tend to throw away when faced with hardship. It is impressive to see how you've progressed through your poverty and discrimination so aptly. Perhaps you have a hope that things will get better?" Razor's mouth spreads in a wicked smile, "I do enjoy seeing how people struggle for such a small glimmer of light. I think I'll offer my aid."

F: "Ah, it's always cute to see people play at royalty," Razor smiles at F's exasperated face, "Why do you seem so angry? Do you actually believe your position has meaning? I'll assure you it doesn't," Razor casts a darkening stare towards the royal, "To me, you're no harder to kill than a beggar on the street. The power you attempt to flaunt means nothing, because in the end it does nothing to elevate you beyond a simple street urchin."

----------------------

End

Thank ya for the ask!

#romance options #triaina academy #parents #mc background

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butterflies-dragons · 3 years

Note

Do you have any doubts that Sansa is the girl in grey? Is there strong grey imagery around Sansa?

I believe Sansa is the grey girl yes, but only GRRM has that answer.

About grey imagery around Sansa, I wrote about it here and there.

Grey is the main Stark color. Their sigil is a grey direwolf in a white field. Stark men wear grey cloaks, Winterfell is made of grey granite, Grey eyes is a Stark feature, etc.

There are some instances where Sansa actually wears or it is said that she will wear a grey cloak:

1.- Her first encounter with Dontos (false Florian) in the Red Keep's Godswood: "Sansa threw a plain grey cloak over her shoulders and picked up the knife she used to cut her meat. If it is some trap, better that I die than let them hurt me more, she told herself. She hid the blade under her cloak."

It is very curious that Dontos was also wearing grey during that first secret encounter: "He wore a dark grey robe with the cowl pulled forward, but when a thin sliver of moonlight touched his cheek, she knew him at once by the blotchy skin and web of broken veins beneath. "Ser Dontos," she breathed, heartbroken. "Was it you?"

2.- Cersei gave her a white and silver maiden cloak for her wedding to Tyrion. Stark colors are grey and white tho... I think in this case the silver is there instead of the grey of House Stark. I'm not sure if this is a mistake or not. "Cersei Lannister ignored the question. "The cloak," she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls. A fierce direwolf was embroidered upon it in silver thread. Sansa looked at it with sudden dread. "Your father's colors," said Cersei, as they fastened it about her neck with a slender silver chain."

Curiously enough, Tyrion wore Targaryen colors to marry Sansa lol

3.- Littlefinger planned for Alayne to reveal her true identity as Sansa Stark wearing a maiden cloak with the Stark colors grey and white: "Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright.

From my answer about certain ship foreshadowing:

What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister?

In the shadow of the Wall, the direwolf brushed up against his fingers. For half a heartbeat the night came alive with a thousand smells, and Jon Snow heard the crackle of the crust breaking on a patch of old snow. Someone was behind him, he realized suddenly. Someone who smelled warm as a summer day. When he turned he saw Ygritte. She stood beneath the scorched stones of the Lord Commander’s Tower, cloaked in darkness and in memory. The light of the moon was in her hair, her red hair kissed by fire. When he saw that, Jon’s heart leapt into his mouth. “Ygritte,” he said. “Lord Snow.” The voice was Melisandre’s. Surprise made him recoil from her. “Lady Melisandre.” He took a step backwards. “I mistook you for someone else.” At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red. He did not understand how he could have taken her for Ygritte. She was taller, thinner, older, though the moonlight washed years from her face. Mist rose from her nostrils, and from pale hands naked to the night. “You will freeze your fingers off,” Jon warned. “If that is the will of R’hllor. Night’s powers cannot touch one whose heart is bathed in god’s holy fire.” “You heart does not concern me. Just your hands.” “The heart is all that matters. Do not despair, Lord Snow. Despair is a weapon of the enemy, whose name may not be spoken. Your sister is not lost to you.” “I have no sister.” The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Melisandre seemed amused. “What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?” “Arya.” His voice was hoarse. “My half-sister, truly …” “… for you are bastard born. I had not forgotten. I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. Coming here, to you. A girl in grey on a dying horse, I have seen it plain as day. It has not happened yet, but it will.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

Earlier in this chapter, Jon was thinking about Arya and her situation (trapped with the Boltons), and he was frustrated for not being able to help her. Then he remembered Ygritte, he confused Melisandre for Ygritte.

So, reading all the context:

What do you know of my heart, priestess? = This is about Ygritte. He is still hurt and mourning for her.

What do you know of my sister? = This is about Arya and her situation.

This is an excellent example of how GRRM plays with our minds with his tricky words:

“At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red”. He is introducing us to the Grey Girl and her true identity.

Jon thinks he is seeing Ygritte but he was actually seeing Melissandre.

Melisandre and Jon also believe this grey girl of the visions is Arya Stark, but the person trapped with the Boltons is Jeyne Poole. And later, Alys Karstark was not even wearing a “grey” cloak.

For me the grey girl is neither of them. The answer is hidden in this line: “At night all robes are grey. Yet suddenly hers were red”.

***

"At night all robes are grey" means all the confusion about the grey girl's true identity: Arya or Jeyne or Alys Karstark.

"Yet suddenly hers were red" means that the girl with the grey cloak will be a redhead, like Ygritte and Melisandre the two women Jon was confusing.

So, Sansa as the grey girl makes a lot of sense, she is a redhead and she is a Stark, and grey is the main Stark color.

And this is not the first time that Jon confused Ygritte with another female. Jon dreamed of a ghastly grey direwolf wandering around the Crypts of Winterfell, that seems to be Lady’s Shade:

The crypts were growing darker. A light has gone out somewhere. “Ygritte?” he whispered. “Forgive me. Please.” But it was only a direwolf, grey and ghastly, spotted with blood, his her golden eyes shining sadly through the dark . .

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

Despite Jon assuming the direwolf was a "he," I strongly suspect it was Lady's Shade. Lady is buried at Winterfell, not Grey Wind. Lady was beheaded with Ice, so her fur would be spotted with blood. And Lady was said to have sad eyes.

So, Jon is always confusing Ygritte with another redheads...

From my Dunk & Jon meta:

Maybe I’m seeing too much here, but the reference to Alysanne Osgrey [Os-Grey] makes me think of Sansa Stark, because:

Sansa shared a lot of parallels with Good Queen Alysanne.

The surname Osgrey has the word grey in it.

Alysanne Osgrey became a Silent Sister.

Silent Sisters always wear grey.

Silent Sisters are known as the Stranger’s wives.

According to Melissandre, the Grey Girl of her visions is Jon Snow’s Sister.

The Grey Girl will probably be Sansa Stark.

Grey is also the color of House Stark, so Sansa is, in a way, a Grey Girl.

Jon is a man that will defeat death and come back to life, like the Stranger that walks between the two worlds.

The Stranger’s face is half animal, like Jon who is a warg, half man and half beast.

From my Jon/Sansa/Winterfell meta:

The stone is strong = The walls of Winterfell = Alayne Stone = Sansa Stark.

Sansa Stark has a lot of stone imagery around her.

Winterfell’s walls are made of grey granite. Grey is also a color of House Stark and I believe that Sansa will be the girl in grey on a dying horse from Melisandre’s vision.

As the Heir to Winterfell, Sansa was practically transformed into a stone castle, Winterfell, and the north itself, since the one that controlled her would obtain all her lands and power. Or, to use the euphemism from the Books, Sansa Stark was the “key to the north.”

Sansa reflects about this objectification in the Books and gives us one of the saddest lines in ASOIAF, especially coming from a girl who yearns to be loved and always dreamed of getting married: “No one will ever marry me for love,” (because everyone only wants her for her claim to Winterfell and the north).

Tyrion associates Sansa’s rejection of his advances as icy courtesy and compared that rejection with a castle wall that he never got to break:

“You hide behind courtesy as if it were a castle wall.” “Courtesy is a lady’s armor,” Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

Sansa’s misery was deepening every day. Tyrion would gladly have broken through her courtesy to give her what solace he might, but it was no good.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion IV

He wanted to reach her, to break through the armor of her courtesy.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

The castle wall that armored Sansa and Tyrion never got to break is a clear reference to Winterfell:

He remembered Winterfell as he had last seen it. Not as grotesquely huge as Harrenhal, nor as solid and impregnable to look at as Storm’s End, yet there had been a great strength in those stones, a sense that within those walls a man might feel safe.

—A Clash of Kings - Tyrion XI

And certainly, Sansa feels stronger and protected within the walls of Winterfell:

Sansa stuck her fingers through the top, grabbed a handful of snow, and flung it full in his face. Petyr yelped, as the snow slid down under his collar. “That was unchivalrously done, my lady.” “As was bringing me here, when you swore to take me home.” She wondered where this courage had come from, to speak to him so frankly. From Winterfell, she thought. I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Sansa feeling stronger within the walls of Winterfell, sounds pretty similar to “the stone is strong” line from Bran quote cited above.

Later, while descending from the Eyrie to the Gates of the Moon, Mya Stone tells Sansa that “a stone is a mountain’s daughter.”

Men come and go. They lie, or die, or leave you. A mountain is not a man, though, and a stone is a mountain’s daughter. I trust my father, and I trust my mules. I won’t fall.” She put her hand on a jagged spur of rock, and got to her feet. “Best finish. We have a long way yet to go, and I can smell a storm.”

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

One of Winterfell’s possible meanings is “wintry mountain(s).” And Sansa Stark is “The northern girl. Winterfell’s daughter”.

As the daughter of Petyr Baelish, Alayne Stone also becomes the Heir to Harrenhal, another great castle made of strong stone. Only dragon fire was able to melt Harrenhal’s stone walls:

Stone does not burn, Harren had boasted, but his castle was not made of stone alone. […] And even stone will crack and melt if a fire is hot enough. The riverlords outside the castle walls said later that the towers of Harrenhal glowed red against the night, like five great candles… and like candles, they began to twist and melt, as runnels of molten stone ran down their sides.

—The World of Ice and Fire - The Reign of the Dragons: The Conquest

Moreover we have the parallels that Sansa shares with Jenny of Oldstones. And Oldstones serves us as an example of the strength of the stone.

Just like Winterfell was the stronghold of the ancient Kings of Winter, Oldstones was the stronghold of the ancient River Kings (House Mudd of Oldstones), both dynasties descendants of the First Men. And if we read about Oldstones, thinking about Winterfell is an inevitability:

They reached Oldstones after eight more days of steady rain, and made their camp upon the hill overlooking the Blue Fork, within a ruined stronghold of the ancient river kings. Its foundations remained amongst the weeds to show where the walls and keeps had stood, but the local smallfolk had long ago made off with most of the stones to raise their barns and septs and holdfasts. Yet in the center of what once would have been the castle’s yard, a great carved sepulcher still rested, half hidden in waist-high brown grass amongst a stand of ash. The lid of the sepulcher had been carved into a likeness of the man whose bones lay beneath, but the rain and the wind had done their work. The king had worn a beard, they could see, but otherwise his face was smooth and featureless, with only vague suggestions of a mouth, a nose, eyes, and the crown about the temples. His hands folded over the shaft of a stone warhammer that lay upon his chest. Once the warhammer would have been carved with runes that told its name and history, but all that the centuries had worn away. The stone itself was cracked and crumbling at the corners, discolored here and there by spreading white splotches of lichen, while wild roses crept up over the king’s feet almost to his chest.

—A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

Despite the pass of time the foundations of Oldstones remained and the stones were even used by the smallfolk to rise new buildings. The stone is really strong.

What also remained despite the centuries was the tomb of King Tristifer IV Mudd, also known as the Hammer of Justice, which immediately reminds me of the crypts of Winterfell and its stone kings sitting on their thrones with their swords across their laps.

And just like songs are still sung about a girl named Jenny from Oldstones who found true love with a Targaryen prince, I’m pretty sure that many songs will be sung about Sansa Stark from Winterfell and her own Targaryen prince.

Finally, is worth mentioning that Stark means “strong” in German. And there’s a theory about House Strong (extinguished) being linked to House Stark.

Stone = Strong = Stark

So by saying the stone is strong, we are also saying the stone is Stark.

Alayne Stone is Sansa Stark.

***

There you have it.

Thanks for your message ♡

#sansa stark #jonsa #anon asks

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djarinsbeskar · 3 years

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Busting into your ask box to share some...

I forgot what I was saying. Something about “broad.”

Well, my love, I take no responsibilities for my actions here on out—my brain and all sense were destroyed earlier in the day because of this ask.

What did we say Din embodies? Large and in charge? Oh, he most certainly does.

He’s a solitary man, Din—used to being answerable to only himself. It’s not an easy habit to break, living by your own set of rules and not having to consider anyone else. But he tries for you, of course he does. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t slip back into his old ways sometimes…

There was that one time you thought you could bait a quarry...

Din had flatly refused to consider the idea, there was no way—no fucking way he was letting you do it. Not only was Din massively territorial – the mere idea of some lecherous criminal putting his hands anywhere near you setting his blood to boil – but you had been in danger once before because of him, and it still left a bad taste in his mouth whenever he thought about it.

But fuck, this asshole was as slippery as they came. Eyes and ears everywhere—this was the fourth planet Din had chased them to. The piece of bantha shit always had an escape route, always escaped the minute Din entered one of the shady cantinas he favoured. He’d rather break his streak of capturing every bounty though, than put you in his line of sight.

He told you as much, felt a swell of pride at the colour it brought to your cheeks and the speechlessness it inspired.

But he mistook your shocked silence as agreement.

He was wrong.

You were sick of Din being in such a rotten mood because of the wild goose chase this quarry had led him on. You were wasting time parsec-hopping and the sheer price of fuel to fund such a chase was beginning to make this contract onerous. But more than anything, Din Djarin hated losing.

He was crankier, surly in his impatience while you travelled through hyperspace to follow the tracking fob. You were quiet frankly, over it. You knew from the minimal information he had dropped whenever he returned, empty-handed and frustrated—that the quarry had a fondness for women, could be tempted to linger longer than he would usually deem safe if he had the attention of a pretty one.

It was reasonable then that you offered, and Din hadn’t even considered it.

More the fool him, you thought.

So, when he saw you… gorgeous and alone at the bar of the cantina, the very bounty he had spent two months hunting slithering from the shadows to sidle up to you plain as day, his jaw had dropped from his own shadowy cover when he saw the quarry had only come closer because of the delicate crook of your finger.

Din swallowed.

He knew you intimately enough to know what real desire looked like clouding those intelligent eyes, but even still, the sultry droop of your lids—the parting of those lips he dreamt about all over his body, it made red fill his gaze and blood roar in his ears.

You were his.

And when the bastard dared to run an unwelcome hand far too low on your back, he was behind you. He didn’t miss the lack of surprise in your expression, nor the true darkening of your gaze as he towered over you both, his bulk blocking any other view but him.

His helmet was tipped towards you.

He didn’t even look as he pulled his blaster out to shoot the bounty as he retreated, collapsing in a heap in the middle of the cantina. Dead or alive had never been a sweeter deal, even for less pay.

“Man—”

“Anyone touches that body, I’ll know,” he snarled at the barkeep, who startled and was quick to nod despite looking as menacing as any of the clientele the place was known for.

“Mando—”

He didn’t let you finish, again. Instead, he grabbed you by the arm tight and dragged you outside--- the monsoon like rain instantly drenching you and bouncing off Din’s armour, the slight tinkling sound drowned out by the sheer heaviness of the rain itself.

No one sane was out in this weather, holing up inside until it passed as it was wont to do—pouring quick and intense. Only you two.

So when he pulled you off the path into the alley beside the cantina, you were already soaked, the tepid rain cooling you and making you shiver before a thigh slammed between you thighs and unforgiving beskar pressed firm against your core.

“What did I tell you on the ship?” he growled, a hand closing around jaw hard, tipping your head up far enough to look at him, “You’re a smart girl, don’t tell me you forgot?”

Your hands – still mercifully left free – tangled in the cowl of his cape as you fought his dominance, even when you both knew you loved it, “I got results, what does it matter?”

A thrill of arousal soaked your underwear further at the feral noise that bubbled deep in his chest, the sudden sting of his hand coming down on your ass making you gasp before the pleasurable ache that followed had you rocking on his thigh subconsciously,

“You forget who the fucking bounty hunter is here along with your manners, kitten?” he pulled his hand back from where it kneaded your ass to spank you again-- pushing you further up his thigh with the force of it, the sound lost in the roar of rain that still spilled from above. This time, you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped you.

“On your knees then,” he muttered darkly, releasing your jaw to drag his hand down your throat—pausing, pressing just slightly to feel the swallow you took, “put your mouth to use if you’re not going to answer.”

You couldn’t have refused him if you tried, the primal urge to roll over—to submit to him overwhelming you along with the strength of his thigh beneath you and the power that radiated from his chest under your hands. Your knees hit the ground easily, eyes hazy with lust as you looked up at him—hands greedy as they made to undo his fly.

But Din wasn’t playing fair today, no--- you had undermined him, gone behind his back, put yourself in danger. And by Malachor, he was going to make sure you never did it again.

He swatted your hands away with a rumbled, “hands behind your back, kitten,” and once they were secure, he undid his fly himself, releasing his painfully hard cock and stroked it in front of your face for a few moments until he heard you whine his name,

“Open.”

You kept your eyes on his visor the entire time, stubbornly trying to maintain the smallest bit of control over the situation even as your lips parted, and your mouth opened for the leaking head to settle heavy on your tongue.

You sucked his cock the way he directed you to, silently thrilled at the commanding tone and immovable control he exerted,

“I said no hands, kitten--- don’t even think about touching yourself…”

“That’s it… that’s it, you can take more---”

“There’s my good girl, it’s not to hard to listen to orders, is it?”

You mewled around the throbbing length of him, nails digging into your palms to control your gag reflex as he pushed against the back of your throat but the unhinged moan he released because of it made every tear that blurred your vision worth it. You swallowed around him and he tightened his hand in your hair,

“Fuck… fuck, so good…” his head fell back on his shoulders, the expanse of his neck seal—fitted tight around the thick tendons and tanned skin you knew was hidden beneath made you whimper and rub your thighs together, desperate for him in a deliciously edged way you hadn’t experienced before.

He was being selfish, to prove a point—but beyond the point he wanted to prove, it was turning you on.

He didn’t warn you when he was about to cum, instead taking you off guard as he filled your mouth with a rasp of your name—your surprised noise smothered by his cock before you greedily swallowed down everything he had, your tongue working over his sensitive head when he withdrew enough to give you air.

You actually whined when he pulled back completely—wanting him back again already.

Din chuckled, husky and low and beautiful in its timbre as he braced his forearm against the wall above you, his free hand cupping the back of your head significantly more gently to coax you up where he pressed his helmet to your forehead, a gloved finger brushing the side of your mouth where some of his release had escaped.

You looked wrecked, and he hadn’t even touched you—that alone satisfied the beast inside him that growled to take you, mark you, conquer you. For now.

“Do not go against my decision again,” he cupped your cheek, infinitely comforting and expressing far more than his words ever could, “not about bounties, understand?”

You didn’t like being told what to do—at least, not always. But you knew he spoke from a place of care, so you nodded, giving in at least about this, everything else? Well, he had known you long enough to know that wasn’t going to happen.

He seemed satisfied nonetheless, “Good. Now, help me drag this piece of bantha shit back to the ship. We have a long night ahead of us, kitten.”

You blinked owlishly at him, and you could hear the smirk in his voice as his hand tightened possessively at the back of your neck,

“I still think you need a few lessons about just who is in charge here.”

#ren the fiend #i blacked out for twenty minutes and this happened #the man has that effect on my #pocket wives assemble #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #the-ginger-hedge-witch

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gas-stxtion · 11 months

Text

//also i wanna be the smallest amount of !!! about some ideas real quick so i wanna share one other thing i've been taking notes on with the new profiles i wrote for the carrd

anyway yeah all my muses here have parents with actual names. feels like a small thing. and did i have to do that? no. no i didn't. i really didn't. but i've wanted for a while to develop these characters' parents, and that starts with giving them names.

does any of this matter? probably not. but i think this is a fun thing to consider for their characters and establishing more of where they each come from, even if a majority of these characters' parents are dead or otherwise not in their lives.

also goes without saying but a lot of my thoughts here are speculation or based on limited evidence in canon, since many of these characters' family backgrounds are just not explained, especially not in any significant detail.

anyway thoughts under the cut

spencer's parents: john and hannah middleton

i've actually had the idea in mind for like a year now that spencer's mom's name was hannah. if you know why.... keep your mouth shut. (kidding)

spencer's parents are dead. he killed them both in retaliation after years of abuse and neglect stemming from their genuine fear of their son's mental illness. basically everyone in town knows he did it, but there's very little chance of him being prosecuted for it. not because anyone thinks it was justified, though--more because, though everyone *knows* he did it, there isn't enough *concrete* evidence.

tony's parents: alejandro caballero and inés torres

so i've talked a little about tony's parents publicly, but not in a lot of detail. the main thing i wanna point out here is that neither of his parents' surnames are vargas. because i'm going all in on "antonio vargas is a fake name." vargas is the surname i gave him but yeah it's all fake babeyyy!!!!

forget if i've said anywhere publicly yet, but tony's legal name is oscar caballero torres! or as he'd mostly be referred to in the U.S., oscar torres. (not sure on exactly *what* specific national heritage his family has, but in at least most spanish cultures, people traditionally have two surnames, one associated with each parent, though in the U.S. for example they tend to go by their matronym. so yeah legally he'd be oscar torres.)

(the only reason i'm giving each of his parents one surname each here is simplicity, but their names would also follow this tradition.)

anyway, tony's father alejandro died when he was a young teenager, but his momma is very important to him and a major figure in his life.

jack's parents: charlotte townsend and william evans

so i mentioned earlier this year that i think it's very possible that jack's surname, townsend, isn't his *original* surname. and i've decided to just commit to that.

my original idea was that jack adopted the name townsend from one of his foster parents, possibly his first, as a way of symbolizing him leaving behind his old name and past and basically just. restarting his identity (which is also how him being trans flew mostly under the radar with his neighbors). i ended up dropping that, though, and instead i think townsend is his mom's maiden name.

jack's mom, charlotte, walked out on him and his dad when he was *very* young, and before that she wasn't super present in his life. i don't think she was actively abusive towards him like his dad was, but i also think she wasn't exactly mother of the year. (idk, i go back and forth on how sympathetic to her i am.)

ANYWAY i have a lot more thoughts on jack's parents that are best saved for another post, but basically. jack's mother left her shitty abusive husband and young child behind and started a new life, and jack took her maiden name as he grew when he started a new one as well. i doubt it was intentional on his part, and honestly i think it came down to an issue in the paperwork when he was entered into foster care.

jerry's parents: daphne and matthias pascal

so this is where i am nervously ignoring canon and just kinda doing what i want with the references to jerry's family while picking and choosing what i want from those references.

jerry's parents are a pair of old money types who settled in delaware, and who are definitely *not* happy with the fact that one of their children ran off to join a cult and hasn't spoken to them in well over a decade. his parents cared less about who he was as a person and more about what he could do to further their legacies and reputations. the cult honestly probably started in part as rebellion against them.

in present day, jerry's parents don't know where he is, and he's happy with that. occasionally, the private investigators they hire to try and find him get close to figuring him out, but he's gotten good at evading them.

rosa's parents: elisa vasquez and lorenzo rivera

again, tying in with what i mentioned about spanish surnames under tony's section, rosa's full legal name would be rosa rivera vasquez. ditto for her parents having more surnames, though i'm sticking just to the ones they would've passed down to rosa.

anyway, rosa has two loving parents who genuinely care about her and are active parts of her life, though she has been making a rather significant effort to be more independent and not rely on them as much as she did when she was younger. (ignoring the fact that she *is* still very young.)

i won't pretend they've never had conflict, but for the most part their relationship is healthy and strong. her parents love her and she loves them.

amelia's parents: celeste o'brien and james ambrose

amelia was raised by a single mother, which is where a lot of her drive to be a strong woman and handle everything herself comes from. i originally considered the idea that her father was mostly absent from her life, but i've decided to scrap that idea. she knows her father and has spoken with him, and he has made an effort to be part of her life. he didn't walk out intentionally, and he's been trying to make it up to her.

buuuut she's not particularly impressed with him. she doesn't want to give him a chance, so for the most part she's just. not going to. she has a relationship with him and it's mostly cordial, but she doesn't really get along with him. her relationship with her mother is similarly tense, but they're definitely closer than she is with her dad.

she is, however, *very* close with her aunt natasha. natasha was there for amelia when no one else really was when she was a kid, and she never forgot that. hell, half the reason she moved to this shitty little town in georgia was to be there for her aunt.

sabine's parents: amanda and joseph lemoyne

yeah, i finally named the gas station owners. about time! i could only deal with calling them pops and mamaw for so long.

sabine's parents were a pair of right-wing doomsday preppers who neglected their daughter severely in favor of preparing for an apocalypse and other conspiracy theorist bullshit. they did their part to prepare sabine as well, but for the most part, they tended to just... have her take care of the home while they dealt with everything else, very rarely giving her the support she needed. generally, the lemoyne's had a reputation in town for being very strange but well-meaning, though, and very few people raised a fuss about anything they said or did.

(and yeah, the fact that the lemoyne's were right in some respects about some of what they were paranoid conspiracy buffs about doesn't take away from their rancid-ass beliefs or their treatment of sabine.)

#you know this whole thing is one big experiment‚ right? and you're the little mouse? {ooc}#as far as jobs go‚ it's not the best‚ but it's not the worst either {headcanons}#❝ i'm the only full time employee‚ which means i'm on the clock more often than not ❞ {jack townsend}#❝ if he was going to kill me‚ i wanted him to think i wasn't afraid ❞ {spencer middleton}#❝ seeing tony actually upset was the scariest thing i'd ever seen ❞ {antonio vargas}#❝ her name is rosa‚ and despite her eager optimism‚ i guess she's pretty cool ❞ {rosa vasquez}#❝ she's a tough as a brick brooklyn transplant with an itchy trigger finger ❞ {amelia o'brien}#❝ i wonder what she who must not be named is doing right now ❞ {sabine lemoyne}#❝ i told him i was surprised he was still alive ; he mistook it for a compliment ❞ {jerry pascal}#//jesus so many tags. anyway.#//this is long but here we go #abuse cw #cults cw #ask to tag

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aela-targaryen · 2 years

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“I should’ve pardoned him when I was still alive… I tore him away from all he had, even the little one…” - Chapter 32, The Man Called Father [x] 

Fanfiction promo #9: Fathers 

When war arrived, the last thing Gaara expected was to be reunited with his estranged father, Rasa the Fourth Kazekage. Before their battle, Rasa lamented over the mistakes he made while alive - the sealing of Shukaku in his son which resulted in the passing of his wife Karura, his trusting of Kenzō that ultimately led to his betrayal by Orochimaru, and the sentence he thrust upon his former comrade - Kyō of the Wind Blade, the one Gaara knew recently as ‘the Deserter’. What struck Gaara’s curiosity further was Rasa’s mention of the ‘little one’, and the reaction he had after Gaara said a Yamamori survivor of the destruction of Yamagakure was his assistant, near prompting Rasa to say “You’ve done a mercy”. 

Elsewhere on the battlefield, Nomasaki was confronted with a ghost of her past. 

Striking blades with a Suna-nin she never saw before, she soon realized his hazel eyes and chakra were strangely familiar. What shocked her the most was when the man mistook her for her late mother Mikomi - and it was at that moment Nomasaki realized who the man was. He was not only the deserter - he was something else. He was her father. Kyō was fully prepared for his daughter to strike him down out of rage for his abandonment, but surprisingly Nomasaki gave up her quest for vengeance and decided to listen to him. Kyō revealed that he did not leave Yamagakure out of disgust or shame like Hanone had told her, but instead he left because he went against his own village. During the Third Shinobi War, Kyō met and fell in love with Nomasaki’s mother and went AWOL, refusing to return to Suna when the conflict ended. Fearing for the safety of his wife and newborn daughter, Kyō left Yama and promised Mikomi that he would come back. However, the charge he was facing was treason - and Kenzō wanted him executed to set an example. Against the council for their past friendship, Rasa sentenced Kyō to 20 years of exile in the far western desert. And his promise to Mikomi could not be kept. 

Surprising him greatly, Nomasaki hugged him - glad that her father was back. 

Read more to find out!

Links: AO3 | FFN | Wattpad

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raendown · 3 years

Link

A story for @insaneflowergirl as part of the @madatobigiftexchange! Only took me six days to realize it’s June. A grand improvement over the last couple months. xD

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4049 Rated: T+ Fandom: Naruto Summary: Trapped together by an avalanche in the middle of a mission, Madara and Tobirama make a passing attempt at dealing with the discovery that they are soulmates. And also the discovery that there is only one bed to share for the night.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Warmth in Winter Hearts

“I don’t suppose if I happened to suggest laying down to rest you might actually listen?”

“You’re not my mother!”

Tobirama pressed the bridge of his nose tightly between two fingers and breathed slowly. “Gods but I hope not. I have neither the parts nor the patience for that.”

Across the cavern Madara scowled, looking very much like he was only moments away from sticking out his tongue. If he were perfectly honest Tobirama would not have been surprised in the least to see that sort of childish behavior after the emotionally taxing week they’d been going through. Getting put on a mission together was bad enough; they fought like cats and dogs in the tower with separate offices to retreat to, how Hashirama expected them to survive an entire month out here in the wilderness together was a mystery. Yet the worst part had to be getting snowed in separate from the man they were meant to be escorting with no way to make sure the idiot was still alive.

“When we get out of here,” Madara growled, “I’m going to tear out that asshole’s hair strand by strand.”

“I’m not sure how much of a threat that is.”

“Excuse you, that is a terrifying threat.”

“Not everyone is as attached to their hair as you are,” Tobirama pointed out.

He was already turning away to build up the meager fire he’d hastily thrown together upon realizing they were trapped in here. Still, he could practically feel the weight of dark eyes glaring at him from across the cave, probably staring at the back of head and judging the hair that he kept short purely for utilitarian purposes. If he hadn’t looked so ridiculous the one time he’d shaved it all off he would just do away with the stuff all together. What good did hair really do him? Not much. If his head got cold he could always throw on a hat. Beyond that he’d never found much of a use for it.

“Maybe if you took better care of yours then you’d understand.”

“I very much doubt that,” Tobirama murmured under his breath.

The glaring intensified but he refused to take the bait. Feeding the fire and making sure they stayed warm throughout the night was much more important than tending to the quicksilver emotions of a man who, until today, had been nothing but a thorn in his side at every turn. If not for this blasted mission he never would have been anything else. Tobirama closed his eyes and counted his breaths in and out, in and out, slowly, evenly, searching for the calm balance that so many people mistook for unfeeling cold. It hadn’t been so difficult to center himself in years.

As much as he tried, however, calm remained far beyond his reach. He could keep a placid expression for the idiot across the room but on the inside his emotions were tumbling over each other like a business of ferrets all fighting over the same morsel of food. They were soulmates. Even in his own head that felt strange to admit. So many years spent glaring across the battlefield, several more glaring across council tables and mokuton sturdy desks, only now to discover their connection mere hours before they got themselves trapped inside a system of caves by nothing more than a raging blizzard. Honestly if he weren’t so angry at the timing of it all Tobirama might have been impressed by the sheer volume of snow Mother Nature had seen fit to dump over their heads without warning. More so than the weather he was angry at their client. When he’d told that fool to stay close it had been for his own safety, not to ruffle his overinflated ego without reason. Now he’d trapped himself somewhere else in these caves by dashing off just before an avalanche of snow collapsed over the entrance. Madara had offered to melt through it all but there was little point. There would always be more to come down on top.

Either their client would be dead of cold in the morning or he wouldn’t. Being here with them wouldn’t do much to change that outcome when he’d already declared that he would rather freeze to death than seek body heat from, in his words, lowly shinobi types. Tobirama would rather lose the income from this mission than let such an asshole touch him after words like that.

“Ugh.” Behind him Madara sniffed a couple of times. “These smell terrible.”

“Probably because you’re still bleeding inside them.” Tobirama didn’t even need to turn around to know what the other was talking about. He’d wrapped those bandages himself only hours before.

“I should probably change them. But it’s so cold…”

Standing up to brush the snow from his knees, Tobirama nodded shortly. “Cold indeed. An excellent excuse not to care for your wounds. I’ll be sure to share that one with Izuna when he asks how I could allow you to come home with blood poisoning.”

A smile flickered across his face when the snuffling turned in to barely muted grumbling, probably a bad mockery of him since that was usually Madara’s last defense against being told to do something he already knew he should have been doing. It only took another minute or two of waiting before heavy footsteps were thumping across the snow-dusted rock to pause just at his back. The hand that shoved itself in to his view looked like some child’s imaginative drawing of a zombie, covered as it was in off-white linen turned black in some places with drying blood.

“If you’re so worried for me then do something about it yourself!”

“Use your manners if you want help.”

“Fuck you!” Madara snatched his hand back. When Tobirama looked he was cradling it to his chest with a pout that looked all the more ridiculous than usual when set above a full suit of battle-worn armor. “I’ll just do it myself then!”

“Will you now?”

A raised eyebrow sent his companion storming off to where they had scraped the snow off a few square feet of ground. Dark mutterings made a lovely background tune as Madara dug through both of their packs trying to find the rest of their medical supplies. When he found them he gave a vicious little noise of triumph and then flopped down on to a nearby rock to pick at the knot on the back of his injured hand. It was hardly the only injury either of them had suffered during the past week of escorting their jittery client through one of the most dangerous sections of the border with Yugakure, just the most serious since it hampered the grip Madara needed on his infamous gunbai. He’d trained himself to use the other hand like most shinobi did but his effectiveness in battle was markedly different when doing so, forcing Tobirama to take point constantly rather than switching out by turns.

“Don’t forget the ointment,” Tobirama called over helpfully, not bothering to hide a snicker when Madara lifted his head to glare in response.

“I know that!”

“Ah so you were leaving it behind in the pack, what, to keep it warm?”

Madara tore off a strip of bandage and hauled it ineffectually through the air, shouting, “Leave me alone!”

He should. In truth he really should leave the man alone. Both of them needed a little time to process the discovery of their unexpected connection. Unfortunately Tobirama didn’t have nearly half the interpersonal skills his brother did, he’d never really learned when to leave well enough alone, so instead of giving them both a little space he watched the fluttering bandage until it hit the ground and then lifted his face with a smirk.

“Very effective. I’m all but shaking in my boots.”

“You will be if you ever let me catch you on the training fields alone!”

“Go on then, we’re alone right now.”

“Fuck off!” Madara grunted.

Tobirama peeked over his shoulder to make sure the fire wasn’t going to collapse on itself and then turned back to his mission partner. “I don’t think I will. You are literally my only entertainment right now.”

“I am not your entertainment!”

“No, you’re right. You’re more like a natural disaster that I just can’t help watching. It’s human nature, you know? Like a morbid curiosity.”

Even as he spoke the words he knew he was being an ass but, as he’d said, it wasn’t like there was much else for him to do in this godforsaken cave. He might as well get a few licks in while he still had the energy. Watching Madara’s ears turn red with anger was just as fascinating as it had ever been, though having to force his mind away from examining why he was so fascinated was new.

“If anyone here is morbid it’s you!”

“Well I’m not denying that.”

“Be more insulted!” Madara screeched. “I hate when you do that!”

Tobirama folded his arms and lifted one hand to tap at his chin. “Do what, pray tell?”

“You’re always so fucking unflappable! Just- just- it isn’t fair! Be...flapped! Or something!”

“Flapped?” He’d never heard anything so ridiculous in his life. It was perfectly reasonable that he should throw his head back and start laughing, thoroughly amused by his companion’s loss for words. Madara didn’t seem to appreciate his reaction but really that wasn’t far out of the ordinary. For the most part Madara had never seemed to appreciate much about him at all and until recently that hadn’t exactly bothered him.

Right now the only thing flapping was Madara’s jaw as the man tried several times to come up with a response, any response at all. In the end he simply tossed the end of the bandage roll in Tobirama’s direction with lethal force and snatched the closest bedroll, storming off to spread it out across the space kicked free of snow.

It was a shame to have his entertainment taken away so quickly, even more of a shame to know that if he also tried to bed down right now the only spot to do so would be within range of Madara’s vengeful hands, so Tobirama was left very suddenly with the echoes of his own laughter and little else. The grin on his face turned rapidly in to a scowl. Patient he might be when the situation called for it but he’d never been a fan of keeping the company of his own thoughts. Books were much more pleasant. Much less likely to spiral out of control in to dangerous places or earn him another lecture from his older brother. Not having his library at hand was certainly the worst part of any mission he’d ever taken, filled as they usually were with down time in which he had little to do but plan his next move or stare aimlessly at the surroundings.

As much as it would probably be more interesting to wander off and explore how far back these caves actually went he didn’t think it was in his best interests to take the chance at getting lost. If nothing else Madara would definitely tell on him when they got back to the village.

For a minute or so their little cavern was filled with the rustling of Madara settling himself down to sleep, wrenching the blankets off again when he realized he hadn’t put away all the medical supplies, then fussing at them to cover himself a second time. Once he finally settled down for good there was nothing but the sound of the fire crackling merrily away. Sealed off as they were from the rest of the world, the fire was their only source of light. If not for the fact that the caves obviously went pretty deep in to the mountain it would have been a very poor idea indeed to let it keep burning away all their oxygen. Tobirama was grateful he didn’t need to put it out. Aside from giving him something to listen to besides the inside of his own head it also gave him something to look at. Or rather it gave him a bit of light by which to stare off in his partner’s direction, studying the length of Madara's body and the shapes he made under the regulation wool blanket.

Not a good idea. Definitely not a good idea. Tobirama jerked his eyes away as soon as he realized what he was doing. Better if there had been no fire. He’d rather be blind for lack of light and leave himself at the mercy of the Sharingan for seeing any possible threats than to sit here and stare across the snowy rock like some lovelorn maiden. No matter what discoveries had been made that day they were not some pair of star crossed lovers. There was no need for whatever dramatics his face had just been doing.

Digging both hands in to his eyes with a sigh, Tobirama decided it was probably best if he just went to sleep too. It was still too early for him to be very tired but falling asleep would at least stop him from following wherever the hell his thoughts had just been trying to go. Somewhere much too thespian for his tastes. He wasn't his brother, after all, there was no need for him to sit here and analyze his feelings or some other such nonsense. If the fire burnt down while they slept and he woke to darkness, well, he did still have Madara with him; just because he was rightfully leery of the Sharingan’s powers didn’t mean he was above taking advantage of them when he needed to. Perhaps a little mean when the man was injured by, hey, he wasn’t the one who could see in the dark and that was hardly his own fault.

Another sigh caught at the edges of his teeth and slipped out sounding more like a hiss when he pushed himself up on to his feet, striding over towards their packs with careful footsteps. There was no telling what sort of uneven ground could be hiding under all this snow. So far away from the dancing flames his already poor vision was even worse so at first Tobirama assumed that Madara had simply kicked everything out of place while looking for the bandages. It wasn’t until he gathered all of the packs together and dug through every one of them that he realized one very important item was missing.

His eyes snapped over to the prone figure only feet away. Madara lay stretched out and perfectly still on top of his bed roll. Or, more accurately, the only bedroll. In all the kerfuffle of their client running off and the avalanche trapping them in it appeared they had lost not only some of the food they’d been carrying but also their second sleeping mat.

If not for the snow on the ground it wouldn’t have been such a big deal. He still had a blanket and it wasn’t like he’d never bedded down for the night without something comfortable to lie on, catching a few hours up a tree whenever he had to and doing so without complaint. The problem was that lying down on frozen rock had only one outcome and with both of them already injured in various ways he certainly couldn’t take the risk of waking up with pneumonia when there was a perfectly viable - if crushingly embarrassing - solution snoozing peacefully right there. He really hoped Madara wasn’t too comfy just yet.

“What?” his partner snarled when he was nudged lightly with one foot.

“Shove over,” Tobirama demanded.

“The fuck? There is literally a whole cave of space, go make your bed somewhere else.”

“Can’t. I have to share your bed so shove over, Uchiha.”

Madara snapped upright so fast they both heard something in his back pop, though neither paid it much attention. “You fucking what now?”

“There appears to be a distinct lack of a second bedroll anywhere so unless you want me sneezing all over your bandages when I inevitably have to change them you will shove the hell over.” Tobirama crossed both arms over his chest like they could hold in all the confusing emotions trying very hard to bubble their way to the surface.

He wasn’t sure what to think of the way Madara’s jaw hung open wordlessly, couldn’t properly make out the nuances of that expression without more light to see by. Maybe if he weren’t standing at such an angle as to throw the other man in shadow- but to step aside now so he could see better would be to admit how bad his eyes really were and that was a weakness he’d never bothered to share even with his own brother. He settled instead for standing his ground until that rounded jaw snapped shut again for Madara to harrumph loudly.

“Fucking- are you serious? This is ridiculous! Where did the other bedroll go?”

“Probably lost in the snow somewhere but I would honestly much rather be sleeping right now than trying to guess at things I may never have an answer to. So. Shove. Over. I will not say it again.”

Ignoring Madara’s voice shouting in his ear was as easy as tuning him out, a feat barely comparable to the task of tuning out Hashirama in the middle of high drama. Tobirama untied his armor and set it all aside carefully. By the time he turned back he noticed that, although the screaming hadn’t so much as paused, Madara had gone ahead and moved over a few inches anyway. He did give vent to a few choked noises when Tobirama slid in under the covers with him but it wasn’t difficult to parse out why. Tobirama was still up on one elbow when he paused to examine their situation.

Which way was he supposed to face? They would both be warmer if he faced inwards and curled himself around Madara’s back but such a position felt much too intimate. Facing away from each other would be blessedly less intimate but there wasn’t exactly a whole lot of space on the mat beneath them and it would take only a single shift for one of them to roll away from the other, taking all the blankets with them. Sleeping on his back was generally the way he preferred but, again, space was the main issue. He would have to lay half on the snow to do that.

“Just...just pick something and go to sleep,” Madara grumbled.

“Eager to cuddle?” Tobirama snapped at him, a response born more of habit than any particular ire.

“Fuck off!”

Just for that Tobirama slumped down on to his right side and made sure to curl in as close as possible, grinning viciously to himself as the other man stiffened noticeably. He himself was far from immune to the awkwardness but petty spite had always driven him faster than any care for his own comfort. If Madara hated this then he would lie here awake all night before he rolled over to make them both comfortable.

It would have been nice, he admitted silently after several minutes, having enough mercy in his soul to relent and just roll over. Tomorrow promised to be an absolute bastard of a day, not least because the task of digging them out of this place would undoubtedly fall mostly on his own shoulders. He definitely could use some rest before tackling that. Instead he lay there with eyes wide open staring at the back of Madara’s head and wondering what reactions he might get if he pulled on some of that bristling hair. Almost as though the man could hear his thoughts Madara curled in to himself a little tighter. The movement was an innocent one. The way it pushed Madara’s rump in to the cradle of Tobirama’s hips was most decidedly not an innocent result even if it was obviously unintentional.

“Nnngg!?”

“Very intelligent,” Tobirama breathed, not wanting to speak louder for fear the sudden rush of want running through him might be heard in his voice.

“That wasn’t- I didn’t- fuck off, Senju!”

“I will have you know that it is taking all of my energy not to instinctually respond with an implication you would rather I fuck you instead.”

Madara’s screech could probably be heard through the several feet of snow blocking their cave entrance. “It doesn’t count if you still say it you idiot!”

Yet for all the screaming protests he went on to ring both of their ears with, Madara’s reaction notably lacked one thing. He never once tried to move away. Oh he waved the arm he wasn’t lying on and jawed until Tobirama began to wonder if he wasn’t wearing down the bones of his own skull from overuse but not once did he so much as tilt his hips in to a different position.

Such telling body language gave Tobirama all the clues he needed to figure out exactly what he’d missed in their earlier conversation. It was possible these types of clues were something he’d been missing in all of their past interactions, body language he never noticed simply because he tried to look at the other man as little as possible. To his shame such a habit had been built entirely on the premise that Madara hated it when people didn’t pay attention to him. From now on he promised himself he would pay closer attention - even if he might not let Madara see such efforts. Just because he was begrudgingly interested didn’t mean he was willing to set that spite down just yet. Some habits took longer to break than others.

And some would never fade but maybe that was more of a personal failing than anything else.

“White flag.” The words were out and hanging in the air before Tobirama even realized his mouth had decided to speak before his brain had a proper sentence ready. In front of him Madara stiffened impossibly further.

“The hell are you on about?”

“I...am waving a white flag. We both need rest. This is, ah, comfortable enough. Let’s just put any further arguments or conversations on hold until tomorrow and go to sleep.”

Madara seemed to chew that over for a moment until he asked very quietly, “Like this?”

“I am comfortable if you are.”

He half expected to have the man roll over and deck him in the face for such presumptions. When the silence began to stretch he wondered if he was meant to take it as agreement until he heard very quiet words drift back to caress his ears, a softer sound than he had ever heard from this man in his life.

“Your arms’ll go numb sleeping like that. Might as well...might as well stretch them out.”

“Ah. I didn’t presume-”

Tobirama cleared his throat before very carefully shifting back to make room for where both of his arms were folded tightly against Madara’s back. When he stretched one out neither of them said anything about Madara lifting his head to make room for it beneath the pillow they shared. And when he stretched the other out with very delicate movements they both remained utterly silent as he laid it gently across Madara’s waist.

It was the subtle relaxing of all the muscles pressed up against his front that finally made everything click. Oh but he was a blind man. A very blind man with terrible vision to boot. If anyone asked he was going to blame every misunderstanding on the man in his arms with zero shame.

Tomorrow they would wake to fight their way past the snow and put in at least a token effort to find their wayward client. Somewhere along the way they would search for the supplies that got lost in the shuffle. But as he closed his eyes Tobirama smiled to realize neither one of them was likely to put a whole lot of work in to finding that second bedroll they had lost, not when it seemed their newly discovered bond was something Madara wanted much more than he’d let on before.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #soulmate au #fanfiction #madatobi gift exchange 2021

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ofdragonsdeep · 2 years

Text

Awkward

A second first impression.

(m!WoLxElidibus, although not, yet, m!WoLxThemis, but... you know.)

(EW spoilers, Pandae spoilers)

It was with worry settling in his stomach that Ar’telan stood in the Ocular.

The Sharlayans had gifted - loaned, really - a crystal to him, with clouded memories withing it. He was familiar with them, and so he had told the researchers, but where it was leading him left him uncertain. The crystal had spoken of ‘Pandæmonium’, which - for all its grand translations - did not worry him particularly. No, what worried him was not where, but when.

The portal to Elpis yet remained in the Ocular, though so far he had not dared to use it. The temptation it presented was far too great, the loss it represented too deep, too soon. Though he had tried to pull Elidibus from the Tower before he could give the last of himself to the portal, all he had to show for it was a faintly glowing vessel, and uncertainty.

It was his gift to them. His aid, rendered to the victor. A rift in time and space opened only because he remembered, and yet - he had not been there. It had been Hades who greeted him, and those who travelled with him. The idea of finding Elidibus there presented too many hopes, too many dreams. He would not remember, though, even if Ar’telan did somehow manage to wrest one singular victory from the maw of time, his first visit had proved that well enough. But the possibility…

But if the crystal was right, there were people who needed help. Or there had been, or there would be - thinking too hard about it made his head hurt and accomplished very little, he’d found. He would need to take his chances and hope that fate was kind to him.

There was a first time for everything, after all.

—

Though he had journeyed many times now through the Rift between the Source and the First, the twisting wrongness of going backwards, instead of across, still assaulted his senses. There was a dizziness, like he was being wound in reverse, a yawning void when the First simply ceased, and then-

His first visit had deposited him unceremoniously at the nearest aetheryte, too insubstantial of form to have any great effect. This time, the magics that Emet-Selch had woven about his form seemed persistent, and he left the flow of space and aether close to wherever the crystal had pinpointed.

Which was not an aetheryte.

And was also not the floor.

Gravity tugged him the rest of the way, and he heard the surprised huff of breath as the unfortunate person below him broke his fall. They both went sprawling on the stone, Ar’telan falling hard on one side and grimacing in nauseous, dizzy pain.

“Ugh…” his impromptu cushion managed, pain lacing the sound. Ar’telan pushed himself into a sitting position, shaking his hands free of the dirt and scraped skin.

“My apologies…” he began, and then stopped.

“Could it be?” the man murmured, curious eyes looking through him, peering at his aether rather than his body. The voice, deep and sure and so strange on such a youthful face-

“Elidibus?” Ar’telan managed, uncertainty in every movement. His reward was a grimace.

“Ah,” said the man. “Well. Not quite how I had imagined my cover might be broken.” He rubbed one hand against the back of his head with a wince. “You must forgive me. Though I mistook you for a friend at a glance, I see now I was mistaken.” There was curiosity in his gaze, eyes going from ears, to tail, to the pieces in between, in a way that made Ar’telan feel decisively uncomfortable. His eyes were so blue - vibrant, light-filled, so much more alive than the pale ghost he had been before. Would become. Would… “You have the advantage of me, however. What might I call you?”

“I- Ar’telan,” he managed, and the look took in the movements of his hands with a quick nod. “You-”

“I would prefer if you call me Themis,” he said, Ar’telan biting his lip lest he say something he regretted. “I am here on business, of a sort, and it will be far smoother if I do not need to throw titles around, you see.” The look turned from searching to curious. “He said to expect a falling star, but I did not expect it to be so… literal. Still, I suspect we are here for the same thing, no?”

“I. I am… Azem’s familiar,” he managed in return, which got a short laugh of amusement.

“No, you are not,” he replied. “Though it is a convenient lie, much as my own presence here is, so we shall keep it for the moment. I appreciate that one must keep secrets, but I shall need at least a few of yours, curious star that you are.” Ar’telan swallowed.

“I… found this crystal,” he settled for, pulling it from his pocket after saying the words. “It bade all who could hear come to ‘Pandæmonium’. Spoke of grave danger, and the fate of the star,” Elidibus - Themis - took the crystal, examining it with the same piercing look he had worn for Ar’telan himself.

“Fascinating. It does not speak to me, though ‘tis plain there is much within it, for one who can look,” he decided. “There is much I would ask of you, if we had the time. Your countenance bespeaks a familiarity, yet I am quite certain we have never met - I would remember such a unique visage as yours.” Ar’telan busied his hands with retrieving the crystal, lest he say something he would regret. “Your words, translated by the soul, despite your thin aether - your strange arrival, quite distant from an aetheryte. Your strange manner of dress. Those strange creatures at your side. Your…” He cut himself off, a shake of his head focussing him. “Forgive me. For now, I suspect that our aims align. I, too, am here on the matter of Pandæmonium, and I would welcome your help, if you would not object.”

“Gladly,” Ar’telan managed. “Though I know nothing of it.” Themis nodded, a bright smile upon his face. It seemed so natural there, though Ar’telan could not ever remember Elidibus smiling so. Before the world had ended, before this Themis had given himself, body and soul, to the desperate prayer of salvation…

How vibrant he was. How alive.

“I shall tell you all I know. Walk with me,” he said, and Ar’telan fell into step with him without a second thought.

—

Themis was two things, Ar’telan discovered. The first was a veritable font of information - if there was something he had deemed it necessary to know, he had taken it upon himself to learn it. The second was a man delighted to explain. He spoke at length on Pandæmonium - where it was located, its purpose, under whose purview it sat. He noted, with those keen blue eyes, the wince Ar’telan was unable to hide at Lahabrea’s name - his title. But he did not yet say anything.

Ar’telan suspected he would soon get the ‘yet’.

“You know Azem, then.” Themis said, as they walked away from the Words of Lahabrea who managed the neus to Pandæmonium. Ar’telan started at the question.

“Sort of. But we have never met,” he said. Themis arched a delicate eyebrow.

“I suppose if you had, you would know how they despise the concept of the familiar,” he allowed.

“The cover was not my idea,” Ar’telan said, as if to protect his dignity. Themis chuckled, an easy shrug on his shoulders at the thought.

“No. It is quite strange to imagine someone willing to reduce themselves to the status of a familiar, though I suspect it saved you many prying eyes. But if they had thought to look-”

“I would appreciate you not peering at my soul,” Ar’telan said, which caught Themis by surprise.

“Well, no, I would never dream of doing so without permission,” he said, aghast at the very thought. “But without needing to invade your privacy, ‘tis still clear that you are… similar, but different. And in possession of wit, and soul, but… the light is dimmed. The form is faint.”

“The form?” Ar’telan asked. Hythlodaeus had made a few off-hand comments during his first visit to Elpis on the shape of the soul, but they had been too busy for him to pry further, especially once Meteion had received her ill-fated reports. Themis, however, seemed - busy, yes, but keen to fill the travel time with talk which would enlighten him on the gaps in his knowledge.

“Yes. The shape… I suppose you cannot see it, can you?” he said, realisation dawning then. “My soul-sight is not on the level of Emet-Selch’s, of course, but I have some skill in it, at least. The shape within your soul, the… history of your life, I suppose you could call it. Each person possesses such a form.” Ar’telan blinked, no words offered by his mind in response. “Azem’s, it is… a map. Each place he has been a star within it, each place they wish to go a glowing invitation.” This time it was Ar’telan’s turn to raise a dubious eyebrow at the description. “Your soul is precisely the same colour, you see, that… that is why I was looking,” Themis explained, a short pause not hiding the softest hint of red that gathered on his pale cheeks. “I had wondered if perhaps he had- they were too busy to accompany me, you see, but when he is this cryptic, it…”

“You dream of adventure,” Ar’telan said, to which Themis laughed and shook his head.

“I… not precisely. My duty keeps me within Amaurot for the most part, and I am glad to undertake it,” he replied. “Though certainly I am excited by the opportunity.”

“An adventure with him, then,” Ar’telan corrected. Themis paused, turning to regard him with a curious expression.

“And you are not… no, you are not,” he decided. “I see the faintest glimpse of your soul in my periphery, and I forget myself. My apologies.”

“Why did he not come?” Ar’telan asked. “I had thought if you were the one asking-”

“I am afforded no special treatment simply for being Elidibus,” Themis responded, an evasive answer. Ar’telan frowned.

“As Elidibus, no. As Themis, surely,” he clarified. Themis heaved a weary sigh.

“And yet you say you have never met. No, nor as Themis, though I dearly wish they would stay when I but asked,” he clarified. “There are not many who know of us. Not that we are secretive, particularly, but it was decided that it would reflect poorly upon the Convocation to have our heads tied up in petty matters, and so-”

“Lahabrea said that,” Ar’telan said, unimpressed, and Themis grimaced.

“He and others, yes. Still, he will not make exceptions for Themis when his role as Azem calls him elsewhere.”

“And if you were here as Elidibus?”

Themis frowned in thought, tapping the finger of one hand against the side of his face.

“If you would pry secrets from me, then I shall regrettably have to ask for yours in return,” he said. “And we shall have time to find them, once Pandæmonium is secure. Can I count on your patience, my curious star?” Ar’telan managed a mute nod. He was so different - so much more outgoing and sure, though Elidibus had ever worn that keen intellect. Where had he kept these memories, that he could recall them only in the facsimile of death that the Tower had given him? If he could have told him, if he could have saved him…

If he could have damned himself, and the First with him…

It was an unfair question. An equation with no fair balance. It had ever been the truth of them, even before Elidibus had first drawn steel against him, but even more keenly in the aftermath. This man, this time, their friendship here, what passed for love in Themis’s future and Ar’telan’s past - it was doomed before he had even laid eyes upon it.

But he wanted to hope, regardless.

#wondroustailsofffxiv #warrior of light (solo story)#ew spoilers #ahhh the complicated interweaving of present Elidibus and Art against past Elidibus and Azem #When I write up the raid series properly I intend to dig into this deeply #for now you just get what I can bash out in 90 minutes of desperate attempts to meet selfimposed deadlines

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joontier · 4 years

Text

Ramen Rivals

synopsis: Rivals in the kitchen, rivals even with ramen - two rivaling restaurateurs fight over the only cup of instant noodles left in the convenience store

pairings: kim seokjin x reader (oneshot)

rating: R | genre: classic e2l trope; gourmet chef! seokjin and reader ; smut; humor; fluff ; crack | warnings: swearing, explicit sex, kitchen sex, implied bathroom sex, multiple orgasms

word count: 12k RIP MY BRAIN

a/n: Ahhhh, his is actually a re-written version of one i posted way way back 2018 LOOOL idk what to feel anymore after this akfaowiejfoawe the last parts are actually heavily unedited ACK

navi.

Kim Seokjin.

That’s it. That’s the name. That’s the tweet.

You never knew three syllables could affect you this much, could bring you this great distress. The mere mention of it makes you reel, roll your eyes, ball up your fists, makes the tiny hairs on your nape stand on end.

Long story short, Kim Seokjin makes your blood boil.

It doesn’t help either that he was Adonis himself – complete with cat eyes, plump lips, and a dashing smile, or that he has rock-hard abs hiding underneath that white double-breasted jacket, or that he busts out corny ass dad jokes as much as he winks at people (which is a LOT of times, by the way), or that he’s an undeniably an exceptional chef (such as yourself, duh) and has now erected a gourmet restaurant next door to rival yours, OR the completely obvious fact that you two have history.

The short period of time in the past that you shared with him wasn’t exactly one you would be embarrassed of, or something you want to forget. Instead, it’s the exact opposite. You’re ashamed of the fact that you hadn’t gotten over it until now, three years later. He was your OGF – Mr. One Great Fuck. Kim Seokjin still holds the belt for the title of making you cum six consecutive times in a single night. How he managed to do that and how nobody else has measured up to that, you’ll never know.

You’d initially met him at Les Coulisses Du Chef in Paris, where you had enrolled yourself in a patisserie class to expand your knowledge on French pastry and hopefully get a certificate for it. You’d been meaning to take the class since forever, yet you’d been waitlisted year after year until last year when one of the applicants had backed out, they’d called you in, merely half a month before the program started.

Three weeks into the semester, Seokjin had introduced himself to you, or rather, had told you a dad joke as an introductory preview of his personality. You’re glad he did though, else you would have been surprised if you discovered the kid was part Greek god, part chef, part dad jokes, and .01% brain cell.

“What do you call a fake noodle?” asks .01% brain-cell-man seated beside you, rolling up his sleeves to reveal the prominent veins on his forearms. You’re momentarily distracted by the action, completely missing out the question he’d just asked you. “Sorry, what?”

“What do you call a fake noodle?” Gosh, you shouldn’t have asked him again. If only he knew the number of times you’d hear- “Impasta!” He snorts, holding a fettuccine noodle in one hand and the other clutching onto his tummy as he doubles in his laughter.

You’re just standing beside him, slack-jawed, unsure if this was just a sick dare. Who was this guy? Was he even in the same class as you? Was he high? Perhaps he mistook flour for coke? His laughter dies down when he sees your face, sans-reaction.

“Wait, you understand English right? Um… comprendre English? Oui?”

“Yes, I can understand English.”

“Then why didn’t you laugh?” You raise a brow. This stranger just comes up to you, tells you a lame joke, and now he expects you to laugh?

“This is gonna sound real mean, but it was really an old joke...and a lame one at that,” you retort, your face crumpled into one of faux pity.

“Hey! No need to make it personal!” he counters, placing a hand over his heart, face contorting into a grimace. “You, Rafa!” He half-shouts, pointing an accusatory finger to someone behind you. “You said it would be a great ice-breaker!” Your eyes follow the Rafa he’s pointing at, the latter quickly shakes his head, telling you he doesn’t know the man in French.

“Is this man bothering you?” Rafa nods sadly.

“What?! How dare you turn the tables on me?? I’m your only friend!” You turn to glare at pasta guy, who continues to wail behind you. Rafa snorts from across at the sight of pasta guy making a fool of himself behind you and eventually takes pity on him.

“I’m sorry, Jin’s just been meaning to talk to your since the start of semester, so he’s asked me for advice on how to approach you...I told him to tell you a good ‘ole joke in the kitchen since we’re all chefs here...I didn’t actually think he’d take it...seriously.”

“Wow! Betraying and exposing me all at once!! Why won’t you just fry me alive in olive oil, huh? That would be less painful.” Jin-pasta complains, arms gesticulating wildly in the air. You watch them unabashedly bicker in front of you concurrently amused at the whole spectacle.

The three of you become close friends soon thereafter, Jin claiming your trio as the ‘Kitchen Musketeers’. Yes, he managed to convince the entire class to call your tiny group of friends that name. And yes, that wasn’t the worst idea Seokjin had in mind when he was considering a name for your trio. You didn't even want to start to reminisce about the rest of Seokjin’s bizarre suggestions: Charlie’s Cooks (to his defense, you did have a substitute mentor named Charlie), Gourmetbusters, Pecanpuff Girls, The Three Sausagees (more like two sausages and one bun). You’ve always cringed at the last one.

Despite your trio’s antics, Rafa considers himself the third wheel more than anything. Rafael was not oblivious to the crush on Seokjin that you’ve been harboring for months.

It was the day of your graduation from the short course you’d taken - the three of you decided to have a celebratory wine party at Seokjin’s rented apartment. That same night was when you found yourself drunk on pinot noir and Seokjin’s lips. The rest was history.

Finding the bed and the rest of his apartment empty the next morning, you took your leave and fared your walk of shame along the streets of Paris with teary eyes and a bruised heart.

Your Mr. OGF also turned out to be Mr. One God-Tier Fucker. Or perhaps the title also belonged to you, Ms. One Gigantic Fool, who thought that maybe she could have been more than a one-night-stand between two colleagues whose relationship could never be more than a professional one.

Colleagues. The apparent ‘label’ lets out a boisterous laugh at your face. Gosh, you’re a pathetic fucking fool.

Thankfully, your flight back to Korea was scheduled that day as well,, so you wouldn’t have to see Seokjin’s pretty face any longer or rather - what you wouldn’t admit even to yourself - you wouldn’t be able to confront the face of the truth you wanted to hide deep beneath the recesses of your heart.

At least, that’s what you thought.

One and a half years after you got your certificate in Paris, you had finally saved enough money to start your business - a gourmet restaurant situated in the heart of Gangnam. You already had patrons from the restaurant where you previously worked, and the opening of Canapé had garnered more customers than you initially expected.

Business had been thriving for a year, that is, until someone decided to erect a new gourmet restaurant just beside yours. Having a rivalling establishment wasn’t new news to you, neither did it truly bother you as to no longer having the monopoly in gourmet restaurants located in this part of Gangnam.

A week after the opening of your neighbor’s Ambrosia - you decided to bring over a friendly bottle of wine you had shipped straight from France with the hopes that you can become acquainted with your fellow restaurateur.

As you move along the crosswalk and reach Ambrosia’s podium outside intended for the maitre d’, you shift your weight between your legs, an unconscious habit that only Seokjin took notice of. Ridding your thoughts of the man who shall no longer be named, you let your mind wander off to your own worker’s description of the alleged owner.

Out of all your staff’s depiction of Ambrosia’s owner, it’s your sommelier’s and manager’s descriptions that have struck you the most.

Yoongi, your timid sommelier, tells you that the owner was a stout man in his mid-forties with Caucasian features, while your manager, Jinhee said he was a man around your age with a face and built that could easily pass for a K-Pop idol.

You were leaning towards Yoongi’s description because Jinhee would have most likely mistaken a real idol for the owner since there were plenty of celebrities who hung out in Gangnam and would meet up in restaurants like yours. Either way, celebrity look-a-like or not, you were determined to meet your neighbor.

“There’s someone outside, Hobi,” a busser informs the maitre d as he wipes the last table for the day. Three pairs of eyes look at you through the glass.

You continuously peer from the outside as you can’t see much from due to the darkness inside, where only a few dim lights are on. “Go on then, Hobi,” the owner states, nudging the maitre d towards the door.

Hoseok takes a glimpse of you through the glass panel and faces the owner. “Hyung, she seems pretty. Why don’t you do it? You ought to have a proper girlfriend right now. It’s about time you move on from your love interest in Paris! Plus you’re the owner of the restaurant!”

“Hobi, I still have to do kitchen check, remember? And for the record, I have moved on from her. Chop chop.” Hobi gives him an incredulous look, highly doubting his boss had already forgotten about her. “Right away, Mr. Seokdon Ramsay.”

You’re drawn from your thoughts when you hear the melodic sound of the bell as the door opens and a man with a bright smile comes out. “Hello! My name’s Hobi, can I help you with anything?”

“Um..hi! I’m from Canapé just across the street… are you, perhaps, the owner of Ambrosia?”

“Oh! I’m not the owner…I wish I was though if I had someone pretty like you looking for me…” You laugh awkwardly in response, unsure of what you should reply to such a line. The two of you remain standing there, staring at each other. “Um...is the owner there then? It would be nice if I can speak to him or her or them…” you let out a small cough, looking away.

“Right! Of course, sorry about that! I’ll tell him to come out.” Hobi scurries back inside and soon you hear incoherent yelling and laughter from inside the restaurant.

“Hyungnim! Hyung!!” Hobi calls out once more, eyes searching wildly for Seokjin. “What now?” Seokjin emerges from the kitchen with the busser in tow. “Hyung! She’s fucking hot! And I feel like I’ve known her from somewhere…plus she says she’s from our neighboring restaurant! I told you, you were the one who should’ve gone out there. By the way, I think she’s calling wine o’clock too – and the bottle she’s holding looks like expensive French Cabernet Sauvignon!”

Seokjin narrows his eyes at his maitre d, “You seem to have been spending a lot of time with that sommelier from across the street.” The owner of Ambrosia shakes his head at his friend, who pushes him towards the door. “Hurry! You wouldn’t want to keep a pretty girl waiting!”

You’ve been waiting patiently outside, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you watch people come and go. The streets of Gangnam was always lively, and it still surprises you at this point that you had decided to put up a restaurant in the midst of the hustle and bustle of a city like such because you’ve always wanted to erect one by the countryside with the whole organic theme going on. Nonetheless, you were happy with your decision of establishing one in Gangnam.

The bell dings again, and as you turn on your heel to check the much-anticipated owner of Canapé, you nearly drop the pricey bottle of red wine in your hands. It’s Mr. man-who-shall-no-longer-be-named. You’re stood there shell-shocked, mouth agape at the man in front of you.

He hasn’t changed one bit, well, except for the more handsome features. He’s changed his hairstyle too, now opting for an exposed forehead instead of those bangs he’d impulsively cut by his own in the middle of the night. His shoulders remain the same, miraculously; just an inch wider and he could’ve been a great replacement for a meter stick at Encore, the clothing store that offered bespoke clothing just down the road.

“_________?”

Seokjin starts to speak, yet you can’t seem to bring yourself to do the same. There’s too much you wanted to say, ask , and rant about that your mouth remains hanging open awkwardly – almost as if you’re squawking. You bow in embarrassment, apologizing for your behavior and run back to your restaurant.

The Gourmet Chefs Association of East Asia was holding its annual even today at The Andaz Seoul and you just had this gut feeling Seokjin was going to be there. With yesterday’s discovery that your neighboring, rivaling, restaurant was owned by none other than Kim Seokjin himself, you already had an inkling he was invited to GCAEA’s event tonight.

Your suspicions had been confirmed as one of the event’s producers sent you an email earlier this morning, that which contains the list of nominees for the title of GCAEA’s Chef of the Year – the same title that was bestowed upon you just last year. Seokjin was the first nominee for this year’s awarding ceremony.

Kudos to him. Despite knowing that your hatred for him was fueled by more personal reasons, you knew deep down inside the recesses of your brain that he was a really, really talented chef. Probably just as good as you – of course, you can easily admit that you’re still lacking in plenty but you don’t think your pride will allow you to accept defeat from Seokjin just like that after all he’d done.

You only had the chance to look at Seokjin for a good seven seconds yesterday, but it had taken you at least seven hours, a tub of ice cream, and a Captain America movie marathon to reassure yourself that having seen him so close yesterday wasn’t just an actual nightmare.

As much as you hated to admit it, he remained just as handsome as he was three years ago. What you couldn’t get over with though, was how he actually smiled at you yesterday. That little fucker had to audacity to show his perfect little pearly whites at you! All over again, you’re reminded of how he left you in his room the morning after, or how much of a fucking fool you were for having believed that the two of you could’ve been something more than friends.

Rearranging your dress for the nth time today, you take another look at the mirror, twisting and turning to see if there might be some thread hanging off the hems of the dress. You’re starting to question your decided outfit for the night. You had a dress done just for this event – or more specifically, what sort of dress Jinhee had ordered to be sewn just for this event.

It hugged your curves perfectly – the dress a perfect merger between modest and seductive. It had a nude-illusion base with silver sequins sewn onto the thin fabric and a low-cut neckline that gives everyone a lovely view of your cleavage.

This one could easily pass as an evening gown for a Miss Universe candidate. You felt confident, beautiful, and sexy but at the same time you felt like you wanted to just huddle yourself up in your duvet in the corner of your room and eat ice cream. You weren’t uncomfortable with showing skin from time to time, but having been clad in a double-breasted jacket on a daily means it felt strange having your neckline displayed in public.

Your phone dings, indicating a text message. Yoongi had offered to be your chauffeur for this evening, of course, after being coerced and bribed by Jinhee into doing it.

[yoongles 🍷 ] 6:43pm

hurry up, or i’ll leave you behind

[you] 6:43pm

yoongs

It’s MY car WE’RE using

you don’t even have my keys yet

[yoongles 🍷 ] 6:45pm

u get the idea, woman

dont keep me waiting

“Well maybe if you won’t stop texting, I’ll be quicker,” you grumble to your phone, placing it inside your purse so Yoongi won’t bother you any longer. Doing one last twirl in the mirror, you grab your necessities you’ve gathered on your bedside table and sweep them into your purse.

“You clean up nicely, boss.”

Squinting your eyes at Yoongi with his words, you send him a grateful smile nonetheless. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment.” This was the closes thing to an actual compliment that you were ever going to receive from Yoongi in your entire lifetime, so you were sure to keep his words close to your heart.

Taking your car keys from your purse, you toss them to Yoongi who catches them deftly with one hand. “Ooh, you looked cool when you did that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You gave me a compliment, so I’m going to give you one in return. As a token of gratitude.”

“Remind me never to say anything to you ever again.”

“Hey! You talk back like that to the woman who’s giving you money for your daily needs?! And you won’t even open the door for me?” you ask your past neighbor-turned-sommelier-turned-close-friend. “It’s called a salary, Ms. _______. And I receive that as compensation because I give you my services in exchange for it. Plus, I’m already seated here,” Yoongi shrugs, adjusting the rear view mirror.

Rolling your eyes, you begrudgingly open the door to your backseat, exerting much effort in swinging one leg after the other with your incredibly tight evening gown. And, of course making sure the short train won’t get caught between the car doors.

Yoongi checks if you’re all good through the rear-view mirror and once he sees you buckle up, he lets the engine roar to life. You take out your phone from your purse to see if you’ve received any other emails, only for the phone to get flung from your hands – including you.

The car surges forward all of a sudden and Yoongi steps on the breaks just in time. You hear Yoongi curse under his breath, looking over his shoulder to check if you’re okay. “Shit! I forgot you drove a Maserati!”

“I think the more appropriate thing to do is to ask me if I’m still okay…Also, it doesn’t matter what kind of car I drive, because I think you forgot how to actually drive at all.” You complain, adjusting the seatbelt across your chest, the sudden jolt leaving a diagonal red mark just by your collarbone.

“Well, you aren’t dead, so technically speaking, you’re okay.” Unbelievable. You let out a loud scoff, unable to think of anything wittier to say. “Just please get me there in one piece, Yoongs.”

You manage to get to the hotel in one piece. Thank heavens.

The small talk you made with Yoongi on your way to the hotel had temporarily taken your mind off the jitters but now that he’s left you standing by the entrance of the hotel, the nerves had definitely returned, tenfold. You’re also unfortunately dropped off at a spot where a standee of yours holding the Gourmet Chef of the Year award is staring back at you. God, you hated that photo. They did not give your eyebrows justice, at all.

You exhale all your nervousness away as you take the steps to the lobby. “_______!” Someone calls out, the voice too familiar to miss out on. “Sunbae!” You turn around to see one of the most revered chefs in Korea, and definitely one of your favorite mentors, Choi Jiyoung. The woman nearing her fifties extends her arms out in greeting and you give her a tight hug. You had worked under her supervision in the past, and she had taught you almost everything you knew about Korean cuisine.

“Ah, it’s been too long darling! Look at you! You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman!” Misun praises as her grip on you tightens and pulls you by the elbow, “Surely, there’s a lucky man that has swept my sweet _______ by now!” Your senior adds, punctuating her sentence with a wink at the end.

“I’ve been pretty busy these days… and dating hasn’t really crossed my mind recently.”

‘That’s because the last man I’ve wanted to date was three years ago and he’d just considered me a one-night stand and now after I’ve struggled to burn his existence from my memory and to be very frank with you, I really haven’t gotten over him and now he just so happens to be the owner of the restaurant beside mine. Also, he’s stealing my customers.’ Comes your real answer inside your head, but you’ll never tell anyone that.

Jiyoung pouts at your answer, but taps your forearm, “We’ll talk more about that inside. Come on darling, the event is starting.”

Seokjin sees you finally enter the lobby, eyes scanning the few people scattered around the area as you look for a familiar face you could approach. All eyes are on you, yet you don’t notice, like always. You don’t realize how beautiful you are, blushing furiously under the simplest compliments. You’ve got this certain charm that certainly draws people towards you, all the more when they get to know you better, just like what you did to him.

Seokjin remembers the first time he’d actually seen you – on the television. He’d been scrolling aimlessly through the channels, trying to look for something to watch as he waits for the water to boil for his ramen. He’d accidentally stopped by Channel K99’s ‘Choi Jiyoung Kitchen Specials’ reruns during midnight when he checked his phone after it dinged, alerting him of a notification on his email: just another alert to renew his ‘KOREA’ magazine subscription, where he’d secretly get new recipes, try them out, add a little twist, and serve them to his customers at his parent’s restaurant.

As he was about to press the off button on the remote, you enter the frame as the camera pans out when Choi Jiyoung introduces you as her new assistant and protégé. For some reason, this show just got all the more interesting for Seokjin, who’s clearly drawn to you and not the scrumptious seafood platter that Chef Choi was preparing.

He’d followed you on all his social media accounts after that night, even going as far as turning on his notifications for each post you made. He was unsure what had drawn him to you in the first place – whether it be the fact that you were probably the first female chef he’d seen in Korea that was just about his age (that or he really just didn’t pay any attention to women in the same field during the early years of his career), or that you were unbelievably skilled at such a young age with apparently, a lot of culinary awards and certificates under your belt.

Funny enough, Seokjin wasn’t really one to delve into the world of pastry but judging from your most recent Instagram posts during those days, you had taken interest in patisserie, which only caused Seokjin to attempt baking his own first croissant. He finally understood your enthusiastic devotion for it ever since. Then came Les Coulisses Du Chef, where Rafa, an exchange-student-turned-friend of his from his culinary school days had secured him a slot for a semester at the prestigious school of gastronomy in Paris to get a certificate on French pastry.

He wasn’t expecting you though, out of all people, to join the official list of the class as well, last minute.

It took him three weeks before he finally spoke to you, much to Rafa’s exasperation. Seokjin would keep nagging the French man, telling him how much he wanted to talk to you, yet he can’t seem to grow some balls to do so. In annoyance, he’d told Seokjin that the best way to break the ice was to tell a joke – this time, much to Seokjin’s chagrin. He’d never thought secondhand embarrassment was a thing until Seokjin actually heeded his advice and told you about the ‘impasta’. Surprisingly enough, it worked, so voila!

If only you knew how nervous Seokjin was during that time, clammy hands and all. In fact – if only you knew how jittery Seokjin was whenever he was near you. He’s pretty sure he’d ruined his credibility and career after busting out that lame ass joke Rafa had told him, but it turned out to be the only way he actually got closer to you so he was partly grateful for Rafa’s advice – reputation be damned.

Just like tonight, the moment his eyes fall on you, he feels like he’s being drawn back to his room, eyes trained on you as you diligently followed each of Chef’s Choi’s directions, or that time he’d first spoke to you back in your French patisserie class. He diverts his gaze elsewhere from the fear that you might catch him staring.

“Hey, man. Isn’t that ________? The girl you’ve been crushing on since forever?” Minjae asks, elbowing Seokjin at the waist. The latter grimaces slightly in pain, before reluctantly letting his gaze settle on you once more.

Jungkook returns from the bathroom, joining the duo by the reception. “Wow, who’s that?” the younger man asks, nodding towards your direction. With Jungkook being a fairly new member of the association, curiosity is getting the best of him with all the faces he’s seeing.

Similar to a little kid at a toy shop, he’s constantly asking his hyungs if the people he was seeing were the actual people he’d seen on the internet or on the television. Minjae, who indulges every question of the maknae of their small circle of friends with great enthusiasm, answers Jungkook. “That’s _______, Kook.”

“No way! That’s her?! As in the _________?” The only female chef in Korea who received her first Michelin star in her twenties?! As in ________ Choi Jiyoung’s protégé?!”

“Yes, Kook, that’s her alright. And also the same ________ who will hear you soon enough and will find you weird if you don’t keep your voice down.”

“She’s also the same recipient of the award your Seokjin hyung is nominated for this year,” Jiwon adds, wriggling his eyebrows at Seokjin.

“That’s so cool!” Jungkook exclaims as their whole group watches you approach the infamous Choi Jiyoung. “Hyung, do you think she’s single?” Jungkook asks to nobody in particular, considering they were all his hyungs. Minjae and Jiwon glance at Seokjin who returns their glances with a light glare.

“Why don’t you go find out after the party then?” Seokjin suggests, ignoring that certain pang of jealousy that blossoms in his chest at his own proposal.

“Tell me you’re kidding, hyung.”

“Huh?”

“Come on! That’s your girl! You’re going to let go of her just like that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kook.”

“Hyung. I may be the maknae, but I am neither blind nor dumb. Anyone with two eyes and a functioning brain will know you have the hots for her.” Minjae and Jiwon snicker at the younger one’s comment. Seokjin, albeit being second to the youngest, gives them a glare the makes them cower behind Jungkook.

“Am I really that obvious?”

“Well no. But every time we go out, the only notifications that pop up in your screen are her posts on Instagram. Don’t you think that’s a tad bit…pathetic, hyung?”

Ooh and aahs come from the two other men, who are reveling at the harsh bluntness of Jungkook’s words. It’s the maknae who receives Seokjin’s side-eye next. “Need I remind you who’s the older one here?”

“The point exactly! We’re not getting any younger, hyung. Better ask her out now…before I beat you to it.” Seokjin’s mouth falls open in astonishment, while Jungkook just smiles at him in return. “Come on hyung, they’re calling us inside.”

“Well, well, would you look at that stunner over there?” She comments, nodding her head towards someone over your shoulder. There he was, the infamous Kim Seokjin, clad in an all-black ensemble, a single silver chain necklace hanging on his neck. His hair is swept to the side, revealing a bit of his forehead.

“Oh boy.” Jung Chungae fans herself as your greatest rival turns sideways, showing off his side-profile while animatedly telling a story to a fellow colleague seated with them. “Oh how I wish we could just go back to our golden years for just one night!” The rest of the table laughs at Chungae’s comment.

“I personally think you and that man would make a great couple.” Jiyoung says, leaning towards you.

“The other man sat on his right doesn’t seem to think that way though,” Chungae says, picking on her dessert, whispering ‘cute guy from same table’ discreetly. As if on cue, the rest of the ladies, you included, turn your heads towards Seokjin’s table. True to sunbae Chungae’s implications, there was another man beside Seokjin who was staring back at you. You believe Jungkook was his name… nevertheless, you get shy under his stare, averting your eyes back to the presently attractive flower arrangement at the center of your table.

The servers pile inside in pairs, approaching each table to take your dessert plates. You see the host rise from his chair and take the stairs to the stage. He taps the microphone, checking if the audio was working, “To announce this year’s Gourmet Chefs Association of East Asia – Chef of the Year award, may I call on Ms. _________.”

Minjae nudges Seokjin as you stand up from your seat. “Hyung, quit it before other people see you.”

“Come on now, get your ass up and walk her to the stage!”

“She can perfectly walk on her own though?”

“Come on, it’s plus points both for her and the crowd! Give these oldies a show, idiot.”

“N-“

“Hyung, if you won’t do it, I will.” Jungkook says from across the table, eyeing you as you excuse yourself from the other ladies in your table.

Seokjin stares at Jungkook and purses his lips. He discards of the napkin on his lap at once, lightly throwing the piece of cloth on the table. As he stands up, few murmurs of curiosity follow him as he approaches you.

“Ms. ________, may I?” You’re surprised when somebody suddenly appears on your side, offering his arm out for you to hold onto. You hear sunbae Jiyoung quietly cheer you on, nodding her head once to accept Seokjin’s display of manners. The rest of the audience likewise cheers the young man on with a few men whooping and a number of ladies cooing at the sight. Frankly, it wasn’t even that long of a walk until the stage but a part of you was grateful, knowing for yourself that you truly weren’t used to wearing long dresses like these.

As you both reach the stage, with your hand hooked around Seokjin’s elbow, he places another hand atop yours for extra support. The action seems to have the opposite effect. Suddenly all too aware of the proximity between you two, a shiver runs through your spine, secretly hoping the gulp that you make at the sensation goes unnoticed. At the end of the stairs, you give him a curt bow and say your thanks, unable to look him in the eye.

The emcee hands you the microphone and an envelope, containing the name of the awardee. You tap the mic once, then twice. “This is on, right?” The audience laughs in response. “Woops, sorry,” you apologize meekly before starting your half-impromptu, half-practiced speech.

“I’d like to take this opportunity to thank, first and foremost, the board of judges who have bestowed upon me this same award this time last year, and now I have had the greatest honor to announce the awardee later on. I would also like to send my gratitude to all those who have been my mentors here in Korea and overseas – for I have taken your pieces of advice to my heart and they have guided me wonderfully throughout these years, especially sunbae Choi Jiyoung, who has molded me into the woman and chef that I am today. Also, here’s a special mention to Chef Lee for having prepared this wonderful course for us this lovely evening – I absolutely admire how he manages to make Korean staples like Kimchi Jjigae and Pajeon so…flavorful like it’s been made with his entire heart and soul poured into each detail. Wow. Could we have a round of applause for Chef Lee tonight?”

The audience complies quickly with your request while Chef Lee gives you a bow of gratitude by the doors of the event hall.

“Lastly, I would also like to acknowledge the presence of a beloved mentor of mine, back when I took patisserie classes back in Paris – Mr. Frank Boucher, who had, by the way, also prepared his signature Apple Tarte Tatin for our dessert tonight. So without further ado, the Gourmet Chefs Association of East Asia – Chef of the Year award goes to, drumroll please!” Your tongue feels like it got stuck in your throat, but you pull yourself back to reality quick enough so no one else notices.

“Kim Seokjin! Congratulations!”

Seokjin had just barely gotten back to his seat when he hears his name being called. He stands up, beautiful facial features twisted into one of confusion. “You won Chef of the Year bro! Congrats!” Minjae pats Seokjin’s butt briefly before pushing him back towards the stage.

As you hand him the trophy, you give each other a small smile, likewise posing for the cameras. The photographer gestures for you to scoot closer to each other with his hands. It’s getting harder to fake your smile. You wanted nothing more but to go home. Or maybe you could pass by Canapé and take a bottle of wine home for yourself

Thankfully, the awarding the Chef of the Year signals the nearing conclusion of the event, and as soon as you get back to your seat, you send a text to Yoongi, telling him that the event will be over in a couple more minutes.

The event ends quicker than expected, and you find yourself bidding goodbye to everyone else as soon as the emcee officially ends the ceremony. You badly wanted to go home and rest, with only a few hours left for sleep before another work day starts.

You see Yoongi pull up by the entrance after a few more minutes. “How was the party?” You tell him what happened during the event, completely leaving out Seokjin’s appearance and antics. “Let’s just drop you off by your apartment first then I’ll go drive back to the restaurant to grab something.”

“I can go with?”

“It’s fine Yoongs. Besides, we have work in a few hours. You already sleep during work, what more if I keep you awake for an extra couple of minutes tonight?”

Yoongi just shakes his head at you, saying nothing else in reply. He finds you uncharacteristically quiet after a big event like this and wants to ask you about it, but you seem too lost in your thoughts that he doesn’t want to bother you any further. You arrive at his place shortly and as you get down from the car to switch places, you give him a hug and thank him for being your chauffeur. “Oh, and _______? Your French Cabernet Sauvignon is at the third row from the top. And drink at home, please. See you tomorrow.”

Passing through the main entrance of your restaurant, you turn on a few lights by the wine rack to aid your search for the alcoholic beverage. You make a beeline for the wooden structure attached to the wall. Third row from the top… reaching out, you grab on a bottle, reading out its name, ‘Chateau Pichon Longueville 2015 Pauillac’. This will most likely do the trick.

All of a sudden, a knock comes from your door, startling you out of your wits. Quickly, you scurry to the kitchen, looking for something that can protect you in case this person means harm. Your extensive collection of knives is what comes into your mind first, but you wouldn’t want them to be considered murder weapons, in case the worst scenario comes into play.

So you settle for the rolling pin, clutching the cylindrical utensil tightly in your hands. “Who’s there?” you call out, hoping the fear wont seep through your words. “Um, it’s Frank. Frank Boucher. Is that you inside, _______?”

Letting your hands fall to the side, you cautiously near the door, still clutching the rolling pin in your hands. You can’t be too sure nowadays. You sneak a glace through the glass panels to confirm his identity. Breathing a sigh of relief when you see it really was your mentor back in Paris, you set aside the rolling pin and unlock the door.

“_________!”

“Ah, and to what do I owe this pleasure, Chef Boucher?”

“I wanted to talk to you back at the event, but I’m guessing you left early…”

“Um, yes…still a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

“Can I get you anything, perhaps? I- I grabbed a bottle of wine just now… would you like some? Or water maybe?”

“Wine is always a great choice, _______. Also I’m here to tell you something important, but I’ll let you grab two glasses first, for our usage.”

“Of course! Please feel free to sit anywhere you like.”

“Quaint restaurant you have here, ______. This is the same Canapé you told me in your email right?”

“Yep! Would you mind a few crackers and goat’s cheese to go with the wine?”

“That sounds perfect, though you really don’t have to bother yourself with all of that…” You shrug off his comment, reassuring him that it was the least you could do after having taught you so much when you were back in Paris.

You finally get everything ready, one hand holding a plate full of crackers and cheese, while the other holds two wine glasses. As soon as you get seated, Frank takes upon him the honor of opening the bottle, pouring a sufficient amount of the beverage onto your glasses. “I meant to give this to you personally earlier, but I could no longer find you after the party ended.” He hands you a white envelope with your name and Canapé’s address printed at the back.

“You’ve been invited to the Asian Gourmet Conference in the Philippines next week.” You choke on the wine you’re drinking, embarrassingly turning into a coughing mess in front of your mentor. He looks at you expectantly as you open the envelope.

“Wait. This is real?! No way!” Frank laughs at your reaction, excitement evident in your voice as you skim over the words indicated on the paper. “Oh my goodness! This is such a great event! And the opportunities! Please bring the wine home, Chef Boucher! It’s on the house.” The French man laughs harder at your offer, but he doesn’t decline.

“I’m glad you’re this excited, because you’re going with Seokjin.”

Immensely thanking the heavens that you were looking down the whole time while reading the document, else your mentor would’ve seen the instantaneous scowl that graced your face at the mere mention of the-man-who-shall-not-be-named.

You force a smile onto your features before looking back up at Frank. “Kim Seokjin? As in Kim Seokjin who just won GCAEA’s Chef of the Year Award earlier?”

With slumped shoulders, you lean farther backward in your seat. The Asian Gourmet Conference was one of the most anticipated conferences in the whole of Asia. It was an event highly awaited by many in the culinary field, especially one of its main events where they invite gourmet chefs from all parts of the world to compete for the best dish ever and a $200,000 prize.

The contest was another thing though, because two representatives will be vying for each country, so the winning pair will get to come home with $100,000 each. You really wouldn’t have put any thought into who your partner would have been if you were.

Your head fills with dread at the thought of having Seokjin as your partner. It was bad enough that he owns the gourmet restaurant next to yours, and that he’d attended GCAEA which caused more unwanted interactions with him.

“Yes him. From what I’ve heard, people say he’s a rising star, and that his newly established restaurant was getting a lot of good reviews.”

“It’s the restaurant next to mine, chef.”

“Ha! Seems like you’ve finally met your match, darling. Pretty sure that can apply romance-wise as well…”

“Why does everybody keep shipping us?” You wonder, subconsciously vocalizing your thoughts.

“You two look like you have his-…I think… you two would just look great together!”

“Ship? You know what ship means?” You look at him incredulously.

“It’s when you like the idea of two people together right? My daughter says it all time because of these Korean boys with bright hair – actually, when she knew I was going here to attend GCAEA as a guest she kept on nagging me to buy her albums and these sticks…”

“Sticks?”

“Yeah, the lightning ones?”

“Lightning?” You stifle a laugh. “You mean lightsticks, right?”

“Whatever they’re called, _______.” Frank Boucher gives you his infamous glare.

Nearly snorting at the sight of your mentor looking physically and mentally exhausted with trying to keep up with his fangirling daughter, you offer him another bottle because he seems like he needs it more than you do.

Your conversation falls into talking about your current lives and the stresses of running a restaurant, with Frank eventually leading the conversation about the person you’d least likely enjoy talking about. He tells you about your neighboring rival, how he’s done just as well with his own place like what you did with yours. He’s proud that both of his students had established their names in Korea’s gourmet society even at such a young age.

The clocks finally hits ten thirty and Frank takes this as his cue to get going.“Great! Your plane ticket and hotel booking has probably already been sent by my secretary to your email. The convention is only for three days, but the two extra days are on me. Take it as a gift for Canapé’s opening. Go enjoy yourself, _______”

Forcing another bright smile onto your face, you bid your goodbye to your mentor, locking the front door of your restaurant as he leaves. Five days with Seokjin. May the gods have mercy on you.

The four-hour flight to the Philippines had been excruciatingly awkward. To say the least.

You hadn’t talked to each other for the most part. In fact, the only time you had interacted with each other was when you’d waken him up because you had already landed at the airport. The both of you had barely spoken to each other even on your way to the hotel. Occasionally he’d ask you questions that only warranted monosyllabic responses from you.

You’re glad that weariness passed as the only excuse for the lack of interaction. The moment you’d met up at the airport, fatigue had already been evident in both your faces, so your pair had ended up with alternating sleeping schedules during the length of your flight and up to the taxi ride to your hotel.

Only a few words were shared between you when you’ve finally arrived in front of your rooms – something along the lines of ‘good night’ and ‘see you tomorrow’. As you let sleep take over you that night, you pray that everything will go smoothly for the entirety of your stay.

“Lovely afternoon to all of you present here today at this year’s Asian Gourmet Conference!” Excited applause falls amongst the crowd, cheering on different countries, even though they screamed the most for Team Philippines. The host greets the audience and the participants one more time, before proceeding to the guidelines of the event.

“For the first challenge of our main event, we’d like the chefs to cook two staple dishes from their respective home countries – but with a twist! Our chefs will have to use Filipino ingredients only! This is where we put their creativity and talent to the test. To our chefs, please be reminded that we will be giving you an hour to prepare your fusion dishes. While you guys are cooking, I’ll be going around to interview almost fifty chefs who have come from all parts of the world just to join us today.”

You start brainstorming with Seokjin the moment the host leaves the stage. “You’ve been to the Philippines a few times right? You’ve tried some of their food?” your partner asks, turning to you. You’re surprised he even remembered…if you had recalled properly, you had only mentioned it once back in Paris that you did visit the Philippines on occasion.

“Um, yes…I’ve been here a couple of times,” you reply, racking your brain for any Korean dishes that might hold any similarity with Korean staples. “I only remember Sinigang, and Adobe…”

“I’m pretty sure they call it Adobo here Seokjin,” you make no attempt to suppress the giggle the escapes your lips as he mistakes computer software for food.

“But the challenge is only to make our home country’s staples with Philippine ingredients… so this shouldn’t be that big of a fusion problem since rice is also considered a vital part of their meals here…”

“You think good ‘ole Bibimbap will do? Pretty much all the ingredients are available here…What else could we have?” Seokjin asks, taking a notepad and a pen from his jacket. “We can have tteokbokki for the appetizer and bingsu for dessert.”

You get to cooking right after you and Seokjin agree on the ingredients you were going to use. Maybe working with Seokjin wasn’t so bad after all. Not even fifteen minutes into the competition, you see a few girls cheer Seokjin on, ceaselessly calling your partner “Seokjin oppa!” They screams only seem to spur Seokjin on, who’s now showing off his knife skills. You roll your eyes as you shake your head, crushing the garlic a little too hard against the board.

“Jealous much?” your partner asks. You can feel Seokjin smirking beside you.

“You wish, Kim Seokjin.”

“Whatever floats your boat, ________,” he sighs, “If only my partner could also send me words of encouragement rather than staying silent the whole time,” he mumbles to himself, thinking it wasn’t loud enough for you to hear.

“You and I both know this mouth is better at something else.” You turn to him, giving Seokjin a playful wink before setting the ingredients to the bibimbap on one side. He nearly drops the knife he’s holding at your comment, obviously scandalized by your innuendo.

Even with the time racing against you, everything was still going as planned, you just needed to hurry with the final parts of the dishes and you’d be able to beat the buzzer which was bound to ring in less than twenty minutes. That is until the salt container placed on top of this tall arrangement of pots topples over the shaved ice you’ve prepared for the bingsu. You see the ice melt before your eyes, and you quickly move to the container, removing some of the ice that was turning into water.

“Shit! Sorry ________!” He drops the pans he held in his arms onto the sink, scampering to your side afterwards. “Can I help –“

“No! I…It’s fine, Seokjin, just…just go back to whatever you were doing earlier. And please be careful next time.” Seokjin nods curtly, before going back to clean the pans. “______, why does it smell like something’s burning?”

“Fuck!” Cursing under your breath, you hurry towards the pot where the rice was cooking. As you remove the cover, the smell of burnt rice and a failed dish wafts through your nose, causing you to take a deep breath as you attempt to calm yourself down.

Reluctantly, you scoop out the rice that wasn’t burnt and place it onto the stone pot and start plating your bibimbap. Seokjin likewise helps you finish plating the tteokbokki and bingsu in silence.

Needless to say, your burnt rice didn’t make it through the first round. It didn’t mean that you were disqualified from the competition though, but in order to win the cash prize, you will have to make it through all three challenges of the event. That same evening as you take the cab back to the hotel, the despondence in the air is thicker than ever.

“See you tomorrow, ______.” Seokjin says, giving you a small smile as he stops in front of his door.

“Right. See you tomorrow, Seokjin. Sleep well.”

It’s ironic how it was you who actually needed that phrase and not Seokjin. You’ve watched the clock tick away, turned on the television for something to watch on the local news channels which were thankfully spoken in English, you had also resorted to Netflix on your phone, but all to no avail.

Admittedly, you had finished an Iced Americano in fifteen minutes earlier this morning but you figure it’s the entire ‘burnt rice’ accident that’s keeping you awake at this hour. Heaving a deep sigh, you lift the covers off your body, put on a hoodie and headed outside.

You pause by Seokjin’s door momentarily, with the strong urge to knock on his door and apologize for your lack of professionalism earlier this afternoon. Seokjin didn’t really mean to pour the salt over the ice at the event, and the way you reacted was unnecessarily rude.

Seokjin was probably asleep though, and you didn’t want to further embarrass yourself by waking him in the middle of the night. Retracting your hand that was merely inches away from his door, you turn on your heel and decide to apologize to him first thing in the morning tomorrow. Maybe even get him an extra something to show the depth of your regret and guilt.

After having asked the receptionist for directions towards the nearest convenience store, you’re suddenly regretting having worn shorts on your way out – the exposed skin of your legs prickling as the chilly evening air bites at it. Spotting 7-Eleven just across the street, you walk quickly towards the convenience store, desperate to feel warmth in this cold night.

The mellifluous sound of the bell echoes throughout the small store as you enter, that particular smell of convenience stores wafting through your senses. You decide to explore the shop a little, trying to look for something to eat.

Quite ironically, you’ve cooked nearly a thousand dishes in your lifetime, and having to cook another shouldn’t be that much of a burden but when your mind is swirling with thoughts just like tonight, you can’t seem to bring yourself to cook even the simplest dish – like it’s too great of a task to burden yourself with.

So during times like this, you turn to instant noodles, the ultimate lifesaver since your culinary school days. Hopefully no one from GCAEA or the AGC finds you like this, a dignified gourmet chef who’s starting to establish her name in the culinary field, crawling convenience stores in the middle of the night and slurping instant noodles away like it’s her last day on Earth.

You finally get to the noodles section, where you see a man in a hoodie, likewise skimming through the same aisle as you. The receptionist had told you to be wary of sketchy-looking people especially during the wee hours of the morning so you hurry with your own search as you look for a certain brand of cup noodles. Shin Ramyeon.

It should be here somewhere… As far as you’re concerned as a consumer, it’s being exported to over a hundred countries now so it must be here. Going over the entire aisle one last time, you finally see the red cup, reaching over the lone cup of Shin Ramyeon left on the shelf. The problem was, you weren’t the only one who was reaching for it.

Why do those fingers look insanely familiar?

Your eyes widen gradually as you slowly trail them up to see the owner of those hands. Of course, who else could it have been? You call out each other’s name at the same time.

“Seokjin.” “________.”

“You can have it.” You spoke in unison again.

“It’s fine really, you can have it. I’ll just look for another brand,” you tell him, handing over the cup with perfectly controlled reluctance.

“Would you mind if we shared, perhaps?” You stare at him, completely taken aback by his offer. “Or not…I mean- forget I even said that… Here take it.” He hands the cup to you and starts to leave.

“Jin! I- I don’t mind sharing.” Biting on his lip, he attempts to hide the smile that slowly etches into his face as he hears the nickname only you have for him. He turns to face you again. “Okay.” Seokjin gives you a smile, grabs the cup noodles from your grasp and orders you to look for seats while he pays for your shared midnight snack.

Slowly, you trudge towards the limited number of seats they offer at the convenience store and find a spot by the windows. Seokjin arrives at your table a couple of minutes afterwards.

It was now or never. You owed Seokjin an apology after having rudely declined his offer of help during the event, even when the whole fiasco was just an accident. You figure if you don’t apologize for your unjust behavior, guilt is most likely going to eat at you for a very, very long time. Seokjin’s dejected yet still beautiful face will haunt you in your dreams.

As Seokjin busies himself with adding the ingredients onto the paper cup, you take this opportunity to speak up. “Jin,” you start, the nickname sending Seokjin’s heart into another frenzy. “About the bibimbap earlier, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, ________. It was my fault anyway. I should be the one apologizing right now, but…hold that thought for a moment…” He looks away, letting out a sneeze. “….it’s the powder seasoning, sorry… As I was saying, I’d also like to apologize about what happened earlier, I mean if I didn’t try to carry so much, the salt wouldn’t have toppled over.”

“Hey! I should be the one apologizing right now! Stop stealing my thunder!” You pout, begrudgingly taking the small carton of milk Seokjin bought to go with the ramen. You can’t say you aren’t pleasantly surprised at how he remembers this habit of yours too. For some reason, he remembers how you always have milk ready whenever you eat something spicy.

“Anyways… I also wanted to apologize for my rude behavior towards you back at the event. It was an accident, yet I reacted badly and declined your assistance. It was only after the event that I realized that we’re supposed to be helping each other, and not treating each other poorly.”

“Don’t worry yourself too much about it, ______. Besides, we still have two days to redeem ourselves right?” Seokjin sends a warm smile your way, one you cannot help but return.

“What else are you waiting for? The ramen is getting cold and lonely.”

“You sure you aren’t talking about yourself?”

“You know, I’m thinking maybe you should get your own instant noodles,” Seokjin comments, fingers curling around the paper cup.

“Okay, okay, geez.” Throwing your hands up in defense, you thank him for paying for the noodles and the milk before pulling your chopsticks apart and digging in. As you take your first bite, Seokjin suddenly speaks up.

“Is it just me, or I am really very anxious right now…what if someone might see us?”

“Last time I checked, there’s nothing wrong with eating inside a convenience store.”

“No, no. But we’re like… owners…of restaurants…that serve gourmet food…yet here we are, at half past twelve in the morning, sharing cup noodles like it’s the last meal in the world due to a zombie apocalypse.”

“I get how you feel, but I don’t think we’d agree on the zombie apocalypse part…”

The conversation flows naturally between the both of you, like two friends casually catching up with each other’s lives. Seokjin was in the middle of talking when you hear the pitter-patter of rain outside. Tiny droplets of water slide down the glass panels, slowly turning into heavier ones.

You look at each other. “Should we?”

“We can wait this out if you’d like…” Seokjin proposes, though he isn’t so sure he wants to go with his offer either. The sudden downpour doesn’t seem like it was going to stop anytime soon. “Forget what I said, we should leave before this gets worse. Wait here.” Seokjin stands up, goes through each aisle of the convenience store, and returns to where you’re seated. “Damn, they just ran out of umbrellas.”

“We could just run back the hotel…it’s just one crosswalk away.”

“You sure about that? What if you get sick?”

“Let’s just hope we won’t then.” Seokjin gives you a nod in approval. “Before we go out though,” he pulls his hoodie off his torso, giving you a slight show of his abdominals as he raises his hands. You abruptly look away, before nasty thoughts overcome you.

Placing his hoodie over both your heads, Seokjin peers down at you. “Ready when you are.” The quick sprint back to the hotel has you both screaming and laughing at the same time. You weren’t surprised that Seokjin’s hoodie barely served its purpose. You were both drenched from the neck down, attracting unwanted attention from people with your appearance.

With less than a few more steps before you reach your hotel rooms, you feel trepidation bubbling in the pit of your stomach. What’s going to happen now? Were you supposed to forget what happened between the two of you three years ago just like that? Was your midnight ramen run officially a clean slate?

Seokjin has his back facing you, the thin, white material of his shirt clinging sinfully to his skin. Every second spent with Seokjin was the best form of punishment in both ways “Are you going to sleep?” You don’t think that was going to happen anytime soon, now that you’re once again blessed with his visuals and perfectly sculpted body.

Seokjin turns to face you, waiting for your response. You shake your head no, eyes unabashedly staring at the outline of his six-pack. The man lets out a cough, drawing you out of your reverie. “Wanna keep warm for a bit and talk over hot chocolate?”

Why do you get the feeling it’s not just hot chocolate that’s going to keep you warm tonight?

“Sure.” Your voice comes out small, swallowing loudly as he unlocks the door to his room.

The tension in the air is so thick that you’re actually having difficulty trying to breathe normally. Seokjin sets his wet hoodie on the floor before meeting your eyes, pupils already dilated. He momentarily holds his stare, eyes raking all over your equally drenched body. He points a finger sideways, “Hot chocolate.” Subconsciously chewing on your bottom lip, you nod, unable to form any coherent words in your head.

As he heads towards the kitchenette, you rub your face with your hands, before placing a hand over your chest. “Calm down, girl. It’s not like you’ve never seen abs before.” This is like Paris all over again, and you weigh the possible outcome of this situation. If you’re reading the signs right, Seokjin is clearly just affected as you are. Are you really willing to wear your heart out on your sleeve like this one more time? You rack your brain for answers, yet all it does is betray you with images of the rippling muscles underneath Seokjin’s shirt.

Ah, fuck it.

“Jin?” you call out as you reach the wall separating the kitchenette. Just as you peek through the divider, Seokjin rakes a hand through his temple, his hair now pushed back and forehead visible. You practically hear your resolve shattering into pieces.

Taking initiative, you close the distance between the both of you, connecting your lips with his in a feverish kiss. He tastes spicy – just like the ramen you’ve shared just minutes ago, but god, your favorite ramen and Seokjin’s lips; if that ain’t the hottest combination in the world – both literally, and figuratively.

You kiss Seokjin fervently like you’re going to crumble if his lips aren’t connected with yours. One hand of his raises to get rid of the scrunchie holding your hair up in a ponytail, and he lets his fingers card through your wet hair gently. The intensity of his kiss practically devours you, his hands grabbing hastily at your clothes. He’s itching to take them off your body, yet you feel the hesitation in his actions, waiting for that sign from you before he can do so as he pleases.

Pulling away to take a breather, you tug your hoodie up and off you, with Seokjin helping you with the task. "You don’t know how much I’ve longed for this, fuck." He seizes your mouth with his once more like a man starved.

Seokjin groans as he finally gets a view of the amount of lace you’re wearing underneath your hoodie. “I’d love to have you in your lingerie another time, but for now, let’s get you naked for me, hmm?” You’re barely allowed a second to fully comprehend his statement about lingerie and another time before Seokjin discards of the red lacy bra you have on and attaching his lips to one of your nipples.

Gasping at the sensation, you arch your back so that you’re practically pressing your chest against his face, greedily asking for more. Hooking a finger inside the waistband of your gym shorts, Seokjin easily tugs your shorts down along with your underwear.

He grabs you by the waist and lifts you up to the counter for his convenience. You shiver slightly when your ass comes in contact with the coldness of the marble. As if on instinct, your legs spread wider, seemingly inviting him to come closer to you.

“You’re so fucking hot, you know that?”

“Mhmmm,” your words are muffled as you ardently kiss him. Seokjin brings his lips back to your breasts, biting and pulling at one while the other gets kneaded under his palm. Equally just as impatient as you are, Seokjin lets a hand trail in between your bodies, tentatively brushing against your core to gauge your reaction.

Your body quakes in anticipation, and Seokjin teases you even further by slowly rubbing the pad of his finger on your clit. “Jin, please,” you beseech. “Gotta prepare you first, baby girl.” Letting your head fall back at the sensation (and the pet name!), Seokjin decides to give you what you want, seeing as though you were wet enough that taking his cock right now won’t be a problem. He finally slides a finger inside, your body trembling at the intrusion. God, it’s been too long.

Okay, honestly speaking, you really didn’t take interest in another man when Seokjin entered your life three years ago, and now that you’re back here in this compromising situation with his finger sliding in and out of you languidly, you feel like you could just cum at the thought of it alone.

Seokjin adds another finger, continuing the pace. You moan wantonly as Seokjin curls his fingers, your velvety walls clenching around his digits. He can tell you’re getting close, but he knew it wasn’t enough.

Without having to slide his fingers out of you, Seokjin grabs at one of the chairs and pulls it towards himself so he can sit.

He hooks his arms under your thighs and pulls you closer, merely centimeters away from your cunt. Your cheeks are set ablaze at his brazen action, opening your mouth to say something, falling speechless yet again as Seokjin’s lips come in contact with your nether lips. The man licks a bold stripe along the length of your folds, your hands instantly finding purchase on his hair as you’ve got nothing else to hold on to. He repeats the action all over again, this time adding his fingers to slide in and out of you and toy with your clit. A few more licks and a particular curl of his digits, Seokjin makes you cum for the first time again in three years, so hard that you’re body’s trembling even after he sets your legs down

You’re breathing heavily, resting your forehead on Seokjin’s temple. “Mind taking a shower with me? It’s important to bathe after running the rain” Seokjin looks up at you, eyes pleading.

“I would, if I’m still able to walk.”

“Who said you were going to walk?” Seokjin maneuvers you on top of the counter, placing his hands under your knees and on your back, carrying you bridal style towards the bath. As soon as he settles you down onto the tub, he turns the faucet on and leaves you there for a moment, telling you that he was just going to grab something from his luggage.

You rest your head against the edge of the tub as you wait for Seokjin. You slowly feel exhaustion taking over you, but when you hear Seokjin’s muted footsteps against the carpeted floor, your eyes pry open only to see Seokjin in his boxers, holding a bath bomb in his palm. You gulp. This was going to be one hell of a night.

Just like before, Seokjin has you cumming thrice in the bath, once when he took you from underneath, making sure that the water fell perfectly on your clit for added stimulation as he slid his length in and out of you. He’d made you cum when you rode him as well, water sloshing everywhere at your naughty shenanigans in the bath. Even after two orgasms, Seokjin just won’t quit, having bent you over as you faced the wall, pounding you from behind.

Seokjin, with his libido seemingly running 24/7 tells you he wasn’t done with you just yet, saying he’s still got three years worth more of fucking to give you. He wanted to give you the most unforgettable sex of your life, and boy, was he adamant about it.

Seemingly not having had enough of you yet after helping you scrub almost the whole expanse of your skin, he finds himself getting hard again at the sight of you in just his shirt and nothing else. You meant to sleep by that time, but as soon as Seokjin spooned you, you’d felt his clothed erection already grinding against your ass. You no longer kept count of how many times he made you cum.

The sunlight peeks through a tiny slit through the curtains, the heat perfectly hitting your face, causing you to wake up. Your body is sore all over, and as you roll to the other side while stretching out your limbs, you spot next to you empty.

Of course. You’re a fucking dumbass.

Hastily grabbing your clothes strewn across the floor, you head out of his room, tears already brimming in your eyes. Your vision is getting blurry by the second, and you angrily swipe at your cheeks as you feel a singular tear roll down. As you curse Seokjin under your breath, you bump into none other than the devil himself. “Oh! You’re awake?”

You don’t answer, stepping aside so you could go back to your room and rethink your life decisions.

“Where are you going, _______?”

“Out of your room, and hopefully out of your life as well.”

“Wait - ______! What are you talking about?” Seokjin extends his hand to grab your arm.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Seokjin.” The venom laced with your words makes him reel, retracting the arm he had held out to reach you. “I really never meant anything to you, hm? Fuck, I have probably reached desperation to return back into your arms that easily.”

“Desperation? That’s all it was last night? And the one three years ago?”

“I should be the one asking you that question!”

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? Are you really that fucking dense, Seokjin? You were the one who left me alone in the room that morning, and now you’ve done it again. Congratulations on having a new notch on your belt. And I’m a fucking fool for even thinking you felt otherwise!”

“You think I left you that morning?”

“I’m not done yet—what did you say?”

“You were the one who left that morning!”

“I did not! When I woke up, you weren’t there, nor were you anywhere inside your entire apartment! Do you know how embarrassing that was!” You pause, lips trembling, “F-For someone who actually meant something to you only seeing you as just some one-night stand?! Someone who you could use to get your dick wet?!”

“You like m-“

“You’re missing the entire point here, Kim Seokjin!”

“What’s happening here?” A raspy voice asks, the familiar mop of curly hair coming into view. Rafa?

“Oh my god! You like me, fuck! I could just kiss you right now!” Seokjin doesn’t even hesistate, already leaning towards your face and connecting your lips. You almost melt into his arms at the sensation, but you pull away just as instantly, tears freely rolling down. “Am I really just a joke to you, Jin? Have you ever even taken into consideration my feelings, even once?”

“______, darling. This is all a misunderstanding. Well, I did leave that morning, but I just went out to Rafa next door to shower. I—you looked so peaceful as you slept that I really didn’t want to bother waking you up to tell you that I can’t shower with cold water and it’s like déjà vu all of a sudden and…wait!” Seokjin drags poor Rafael who’s still looks like he’s half-asleep. “Rafa can verify the truth!”

Rafael sighs, once again caught in the middle of something he no longer wants to be a part of. “It’s true, ______. This guy’s pretty much in love with you. It’s just an unfortunate fact that this same guy has plenty of annoying habits that gets him in trouble most times. Just like not being able handle water that is below 26 degrees Celsius.”

You’re looking back and forth Seokjin and Rafa, trying to study their features if they’re being questionable or not. Finding no trace of mirth in their eyes, you turn to Seokjin. “You really didn’t leave me that morning and… today?”

“No. I could never. I’m a fucking dumbass for not thinking about what you could’ve felt that time and today…or telling you that I was just heading out to Rafa’s to shower because for some reason my heater isn’t always functioning…”

“Glad to know you’ve finally acknowledged that you’re a bloody idiot.” Rafa speaks up, narrowing his eyes at Seokjin, taking a sip from his mug. Since when was that in his hands? Rafa sees you stare at his mug, and answers your silent question, “Was planning to drink this while it was hot earlier but I don’t see anything wrong with drinking cold coffee while watching a live action soap opera.”

“Funny how a night of fucking like wild rabbits can do so much to people,” Rafa adds, scoffing as he retreats back to his room. You lean your head towards Seokjin’s chest, embarrassed out of your wits. Seokjin puts an arm around your shoulder pulling you closer to him. “Don’t mind Rafa. He’s just jealous.”

“I can perfectly hear you, Kim Seokjin!”

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