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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 2 years

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I Came for You {J.W.}

Pairing: John Wick X Reader

Word count: 2.4 K

Summary: John broke up with you, and now, evil men are using you as bait to get him. They say he still loves you, that he will come... But you don't think so.

{John Wick Masterlist}

{Keanu Reeves Masterlist}

You tried to tell them. Over and over again you tried to tell them.

The man they're seeking doesn't love you anymore. He won't come. Not for you.

But they won't listen. It doesn't matter what you say.

One of the men, the tallest of the three, hits you again, with the back of his hand, and you fall to the cold floor from your kneeling position.

“Stop it.” A younger man in the back says. He's the scared one. Or the only one who let it show, his hands cupped together, moving, folding, and unfolding. “The more we hurt her, the more–”

“John and I aren't together anymore.” You cry again, cutting him off, a hand on your cheek. Many tears are soaking your face, dry and new. And more keep coming. “He broke up with me a year ago. He won't come!”

Around six hours ago, you were walking back home when a van came. You tried to run because you knew. You just knew it had something to do with John because there was no other way a bunch of men so well dressed, with a black van would want you. But you tried to run, moved by instinct.

But, an hour later, you were locked here, in this dark, humid room.

And every hour John doesn't come for you, they come to beat you up. Or cut you. The promise is that they will let you go once John is dead.

And that promise made you question your feelings again.

In a matter of seconds, your brain shot you through a long trip. Memories of the only man you truly loved. Madly. And as much as you tried to forget him in the past year since he broke up with you for whatever reasons, you still love him.

At that moment, every kiss, every hug, every day you spent with him came back, in full power. The day he told you about his past. The day he said he loved you. The day you said it back. The day he promised he'd never, ever let you go.

He may have lied.

But you didn't.

The love you once felt for him didn't vanish at all. And is this love, as crazy as it feels, that makes you pray that he doesn't come.

John may be the Baba Yaga, but it doesn't change the fear that takes over at the thought of him being in the slightest danger.

So this is where you are now. Hoping the man you love, who doesn't love you anymore, won't show up, won't put himself in danger for you.

Love is a funny thing, so hard to understand.

“Oh, but he will.” The man says, crouching down to look at you. There's hate in his eyes, and it makes you shiver. “Hour after hour, I'll come, pretty girl.” He takes your chin in his hand, squeezing your jaw painfully. “Hour after hour, I'll take hurt his pretty girl, and hour after hour, the word will get to him of how much I'm hurting you. And he will come, right into my trap.”

More tears come, and you taste blood in your mouth. “John doesn't love me. We're not together, he won't come.” You try again, hoping they'd let you go. Anything you can tell yourself to try to avoid the idea that you'll most likely die here. Alone. “We haven't spoken ever since he ended things.”

With a scoff, another punch comes, right on your cheek, and you're down again, on the floor. “C'mon, boys. Let's give it another hour.” The man stands up, and you see them moving out through the curtain on your hair.

“She's a tough girl. She will last many hours. Days, even.” Another one says.

“If she doesn't come to save her, he will come to avenge her. Either way, he will come.” The first one answers and the metal door is closed.

The clicking sounds on the lock make you sigh, still on the floor. And there's where you remain because there's nowhere to go. No bed, no mattress. Not even a sheet to protect your body from the cold. The room, with white tiles on the floor and light, dirty blue walls don't have one single piece of furniture.

It feels like a coffin.

Pushing yourself to the wall, groaning, you manage to sit up. You smell like sweat, tears, and blood. But mostly blood. Your body is covered in bruises, quick to form after the constant assault. The skin broke in some spots on your legs and arms as you tried your best to protect your torso. But since you couldn't do much for your back, it also has some bleeding spots. And there's a sharp pain in your ribs if you inhale more than just a little.

And your face... Your lip is bleeding again, your skull is taken by a terrible headache. Cheeks probably purple too, and swollen eyes from the crying.

The crying that comes back when you struggle to hug your legs to your chest, sobs shaking your body.

“Don't come.” You murmur into the darkness. “Don't come, John.” He deserves better. He deserves another life, another chance. After his past, after the loss of his wife. Even if not with you, John deserves to be happy. Safe. “Don't come.”

Repeating the words, you lie back down, slowly, moaning in pain. Maybe you'll die if you sleep. Or maybe not, because your body is trying too hard to stay alive.

One way or another, they'll come back soon enough.

And the torture will begin again.

•••

You're not sure for how long you were out. Ten minutes? Half an hour?

But when you hear footsteps, you know it was another hour. And so it'll happen again.

You start hyperventilating, your broken body pleading for a break. Covering your face with both hands, you start crying again, all your senses overcome with fear, terror, pain...

“No!” You yell the moment a hand touches your shoulder, the scream makes your throat burn, and the attempt on moving away from the aggressor makes pain swallow you completely. “No! No, no, no!”

“(Y/N)!” The voice, raised above your own, sends a wave through your body. Something warm, soft, familiar. But yet, you don't move, eyes on the floor in front of the man's shoes, hair covering your face, shallow breaths barely enough to satisfy your lungs. “It's me.” He says, and this time, you start crying for a different reason.

Your voice comes low this time, barely audible. “J-John...” You call, raising your eyes slowly.

“Yes, sweetheart.” He says, sadness, and desolation in his voice. “I came for you.”

When you see him, his face half-lit by the yellowish light coming from outside, you're overcome by such a sensation of safety, seeing the only man who could take you from this place and take you home safe and sound... That you're body just gives up, and you sink into darkness.

•••

Even in your dreams, dark and painful, you know you won't be hurt again.

When you wake up, your eyes slowly open, and you take in a familiar smell. The smell of the softener John uses on his sheets.

You're at his place.

“John!” You cry, out loud, but your voice is but a whisper, throat dry, burning under the effort of trying to speak.

An old woman comes out of nowhere, in a white lab coat. She quickly leaves, and you stay there, crying, in numbness that can only be explained by some kind of painkiller, administrated through an IV.

Fast footsteps and then him, coming through the door, rushing to you. The man that you have loved too much. The man that you still love. The man that saved you. “John.” It rolls out your lips, as the tears roll down your cheeks.

“Shh. I'm here, my love. Don't speak, please.” He says, and, in his eyes, as he sits very carefully on the bed, you can only find love. The same look, the same intensity, the same caring stare, watching over you. So you don't question it, you don't doubt it. John still loves you, because you've learned to read the mystery of John Wick. Jardani Jovonovich, lies like an open book before you. “You're hurt. Badly.”

“I wanna shower.” You mutter, knowing you're disgusting. Blood, sweat, and tears. And the memory it all brings. “Please.”

He sighs because he knows you so well. He can either help or you'll just find a way to do it yourself. “Slowly.” He takes the IV off, putting something to stop the bleeding. Then, he picks you up, so carefully, as if you're made of glass.

Stripping before John is something new. You both decided to wait until marriage, but in your state, you don't give it much thought. John means safety, security, and comfort. All the good things. John is home.

Once the clothes are cut open to give the doctor woman access to clean and cover your wounds, John opens the warm water to fill the tub, the precise temperature you love. He then starts washing you, letting the water with blood down the drain before filling the tub again, until both you and the water are clean. Then you both stay there, you in the tub, and John seated on the floor next to it, in silence. Until you decide to break it.

“John, why–”

“I'm so sorry.” He cuts you off, and you feel his eyes on you as you look down at the small ripples of water you create with a hand. “It's my fault. That... That was why I broke up with you. Because I was scared something like this would happen. But if I was with you, I could've protected you better. They wouldn't dare to take you. I... I heard from a weak link in their army that they only got you because you weren't under my... Protection anymore. They were only hoping my affection for you would be enough to make me go save you.”

You listen, silently, breathing slowly. The reason doesn't matter. The pain is still clear, but what happened is in the past. Everything you want to do now is healing. “And do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you still have any affection for me? More than to just save me?” You have to ask. You have to hear it from him, to be sure, to know where to put your heart.

John sighs, and after long, several seconds, you conclude he won't answer. And it's okay because you won't push him into it. Never. But then... He looks at you, straight into your eyes. “I don't...” He starts, but his voice fades, and you can see it in his expression as he tries to fix up his thoughts, but then in order. That's how much you know John. “I've never been in a relationship since Helen, and I... I thought I was out back then, but you know what happened after... And I'm scared it'll happen again...”

“Don't you think I know the risk?” You mutter, a tear rolling down. “I do. But the thing is, if we were together, they wouldn't have taken me. Because they were scared of you. And the truth is that you were protecting me before, and not putting me in danger. I'm not saying this so we can get back together, just saying the facts.”

“And do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Have any affection for me?”

Chuckling, you roll your eyes, making pain shoot through your skull. “Yes, dumbass. I was back there, praying you wouldn't come to save me because I was so scared they could hurt you... And don't even get me started on you being the ‘Baba Yaga’. You get a scratch and I'm already freaking out.” For some reason, John giggles. “What's so funny?”

“You must be feeling better. You're already running your mouth.”

“Oh, shut it.” Crossing your arms, you look away from him. “You'll have to look after me until I'm healed. And I don't care if we're together or not, I'm your responsibility until the doctor says I'm not.”

At that, John nods, stands up, and leaves.

It makes your heart sink. Why the hell did you say that? “John, I... I didn't mean it, ok?” You did, of course, you did. Nobody would take care of you better than John. But you don't want to force him into it. “I can go to the hospital. Or have a nurse with me at home.” No answer. “John?”

It takes two minutes for him to come back to the bathroom. “Did you call me?”

“Yes, I did. What do you have there?”

John sits back down. Not really sit, just gets on one knee near the tub. “I bought this four months after we started dating because I was so sure... And... I didn't want to do this while you're naked, covered in wounds in my tub and I certainly didn't ever plan on breaking up with you and that was the biggest mistake of my life so...” John shows you a black, square box, already open. Inside, there's a ring, a diamond with little pink stones, three of them, on each side. Pink sapphires, you know. Because he knows they're your favorites.

“John...”

“(Y/N)... I'm a simple man. All I ever wanted was a normal, simple life. And for some reason, God above decided to bless me with a second chance when I found you. So, I'd be the happiest man alive if you give me the honor of being my wife.”

You're frozen, sobbing, eyes locked on him. You're nodding, because it takes a while for you to find your voice again, and then, all pain is forgotten. “Yes, Jardani.” Finally, you mutter, a hand covering your mouth. “A trillion times, yes.” Throwing your arms around his neck, you bite back a groan when the pain insists on reminding you of your broken body.

“I love you, sweetheart.” He says in your ear, and you melt against him, knowing you'll be safe now. Happy, with the man you love.

When you pull away, John slides the ring on your finger, placing a kiss on your hand. “I'll never let you go. I'll never let you get hurt again. I'll do everything I can to make you the happiest woman on Earth. I promise, my love.”

“Well, I promise you the same things... Even though I have zero fighting skills but how to break someone's nose.” You both giggle, and you look at the ring and then back at him. And that's when you find John sliding a second ring, just like yours but without the stones, on his finger.

“Now...” Carefully, he picks you up, carrying back to the bedroom and pacing you gently on the bed. He wraps the towel around your body, always a respectful gentleman. “I'll nurse you back to health and while I do so, we can start planning the wedding.”

Biting your lip to hold back a smile that escapes, you nod. “I like the idea, love.”

#john wick imagine #imagine john wick #john wick x y/n #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick fanfiction

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for-valour · 11 months

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sorry for the following solemn question, was there any story the day bertie died? the only one i that i know is that lilibet didn't know until hours later when philip broke the news to her because they were in kenya. what about queen mary, queen mum, and margaret? this come to my mind after watching https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qHXla__FEiY the way the queen mum actress runs while crying his name just broke my heart.

Thanks for your question - and really sorry it took me ages to get back to you 😣. I've written a little bit about how Margot, May and Elizabeth were all affected by Bertie's death, and I hope I'm answering this correctly!

Princess Margaret Princess Margaret was at Sandringham when her father died. She recalled hearing him laugh 'heartily at a joke he had just heard' and then go happily to bed at 10:30pm. When she learned of his passing in the morning, she was absolutely distraught. It is said that she was even prescribed sedatives to help her sleep at night, and Christopher Warwick wrote (in his 2017 biography, Princess Margaret: A Life of Contrasts) that she would frequently weep and cry out, 'Why did he have to die so young?'

A couple of months after Bertie’s death, Margaret wrote to a family friend, 'He was such a wonderful person, the very heart and centre of our happy family. Everything seemed to come from him and no-one could have had a more devoted and thoughtful father. He was always so very much alive so that at this lovely Easter time he doesn’t feel so very far away and one is comforted by all thoughts of happiness for him and his love for us all.' Even the fact that Margaret’s own funeral was held on the 50th anniversary of Bertie's death also shows just how close she held her father in her heart - right until the very end.

The Queen Mother When The Queen Mother was praised for her courage in getting through her husband’s funeral without crying, she replied: 'Not in private.' In fact, she was so heartbroken after his death that she travelled all the way to Caithness in Scotland to be allowed to mourn alone (I've actually been there and it is *very* remote). This was also the time when she discovered Castle Mey, which she bought to escape to ‘occasionally when life becomes hideous’ - which I imagine was linked to those dark days when she felt the loss of Bertie all over again.

She said in a letter to Queen Mary: 'I flew to his room and thought he was in a deep sleep, he looked so peaceful — and then I realised what had happened.' She also further confided in her mother-in-law, 'I know that you loved Bertie dearly, and he was my whole life, and one can only be deeply thankful for the utterly happy years we had together. He was so wonderfully thoughtful and loving, and I don’t believe he ever thought of himself at all… I cannot bear to think of Lilibet, so young to bear such a burden — I do feel for you so darling Mama — to lose two dear sons, and Bertie still so young and so precious — it is almost more than one can bear…'

Queen Mary Having already lost two sons (Prince John at the age of 13, and Prince George in an RAF plane crash just before his 40th birthday), the death of a third child, her beloved Bertie whom she was so close to and so proud of, deeply traumatised her. Queen Mary said to Princess Marie Louise: 'I have lost three sons through death, but I have never been privileged to be there to say a last farewell to them.' Mary herself also remarked that she spent a lot of time talking to her daughter-in-law (the grieving Queen Mother) 'of much that was in our poor tattered hearts.'

Queen Mary’s health was already struggling in the early 1950s, and it wouldn't be surprising that she suffered further after King George VI's death. The sombre photograph of her, Queen Elizabeth and The Queen Mother in mourning dress was taken whilst they were stood at King’s Cross Station in London, awaiting the arrival of Bertie’s coffin from Sandringham for the ‘Lying-in-State' at Westminster Hall. Contrary to popular belief it was not taken on the day of the funeral itself, which she was too unwell (and perhaps too distressed?) to attend.

Sources: Princess Margaret: A Life of Contrasts, by Christopher Warwick. The Queen Mother: The Official Biography, by William Shawcross. Photos: Getty, National Portrait Gallery.

#king george vi #george vi #god save the king #the british royal family #the monarchy #the british monarchy #the royal family #albert duke of york #the queen mother #queen elizabeth the queen mother #princess margaret #queen mary #queen mary of teck #the king's speech #the house of windsor #long live the king #the british empire #queen elizabeth ii

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hungriestheidi · 4 months

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24 & 29 for the ask game 😁

24. Share a moodboard for (one of) your current WIP(s).

I lost the old moodboard I made for the galex fic on the other laptop but! I made a new one this morning! <3 Out of context spoilers of the first chapter:

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic.

Oh you did this on purpose! *shakes fist* Alright, I'll deliver something that is new for you too <3

Operation Westminster Bridge was the codename for the funeral of George’s father, the Prince Consort. He laid in state for what were the longest 24 hours of George’s life, in St. George’s Chapel, waiting for his brother to make it back from his Oceania tour. ‘I vow to thee, my country’ had been seared in his mind as a painful reminder of all the paraphernalia and the grief that met together in the coffin draped with a royal standard carrying two quarters dedicated to the Scottish flag, as per his desires.

He was buried in a private memorial chapel where his parents and grandmother had already been laid to rest and where one day his wife would join him. It was all without much fuss, he had demanded it so. The money spent on the dead is money given to worms, he used to say.

His father had supervised the rehearsals of the funeral from the windows of Windsor Castle as the latter stages of his disease consumed his health. The harrowing process had lasted for years, brought forth a thousand crises in the family and left them with a sour taste at the back of their throats, like savouring the beginning of all the ends to come.

His mother had often referred to her husband as the source of her comfort, her joy. George knows this to be true, she was more lively, more joyful when she wasn’t alone. His father had been of what he lovingly called the Scottish diaspora, moving south after his family had spent centuries living in the periphery of Edinburgh. He was of noble name, but often acted with disregard for it. He was cheerful, had impeccable comedic timing and loved to go hunting with his children. Oftentimes, people said his only real child was Alice, Edward and George all too like their mother in their behaviour. George found it a lovely compliment first, then a backhanded one later on.

When George was old enough to join his father on his duck hunting charades, the beginning of the sickness had just shown its nasty little head for the first time. The Prince Consort had taken him on half a dozen hunting trips through Scotland by the time he first had to be hospitalised. Then he got better, went out for George to get his first buck so they could proudly display it on the breakfast room of Balmoral. He fell sick once again after that outing, when George was seventeen and his father kept insisting he should always keep on the move, moving is good for the soul, if not always for the body. He died days before George’s eighteenth birthday. He was at his bedside when it happened.

He came back to Eton a week after the funeral. Several classmates had been kind enough to drop sympathy letters, commiserations and anecdotes of how they dealt with their sorrow after losing a loved one. George had told the house master that he was fit enough to return to life as usual and his eyes remained dry until he reached the bedroom he shared with Alex.

The hiccupping sobs felt like shame at first, like he was being weak when he should be the strongest, but Alex had hugged him and he felt free to cry for the first time since it all came down. He hugged him so tightly it made him feel safe for a brief moment in time, enraptured by the comfort of a friend not saying platitudes, just silently hugging him, loving him tenderly as he needed at that time of immense grief.

#thank u for asking ilysm #lourdes tag #fic asks #royal au #i guess!

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hintofelation99 · 3 years

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Sick day headcannons!!!!!!!

Hell yeah, I do have a post on this already (linked here) but sick day headcanons are some of my favs so let’s do some more! (Just btw there will be some repeats but that just means I rlly like that headcanon)

Dick

Dick: Oh no, god no!

Wally: What’s wrong?!

Dick: I’m dying!

Wally, suspicious: Okay…

Dick: Please Wally this is serious, I need help!

Wally, deciding to take Dick seriously: Okay, what’s wrong? What do you need?

Dick: Just a coffin. Made of maple- no oak! And roses, preferably white, oh or blue! With baby’s breath. And-

Wally: Dick, what’s wrong?!

Dick: I burnt the roof of my mouth.

Wally leaves.

A good rule of thumb for Dick is the more dramatic he is the less serious the situation. The less dramatic he is the more serious the situation.

He will go into work with a cold and complain the entire day.

If he has something serious that’s contagious he’ll call in sick but just say it’s a slight stomach bug.

If it’s not contagious he will act like everything is completely fine.

One time he did this after getting an injury on patrol and ended up passing out and spending that night and the next day in the ICU.

He has become a bit more responsible over the years, mainly bc he thinks it’s adorable how sweet and cuddly Damian gets.

His favorite sick day activity is eating junk food and watching rom coms under a fuzzy blanket .

Babs

Dick: Please go to bed!

Babs: I am, I am, just one more line of code.

Dick: You’ve said that for the last three hours!

Babs tries to relax when sick but she has trouble actually taking a step back to rest.

Most of the time she’ll take a nightquil then get distracted by something and ends up falling asleep in front of her screen.

Usually Cass or Steph will come over and take care of her.

Steph always makes the best comfort food. And usually Cass will tuck Babs into bed.

Babs loves dozing on the couch to the sound of Cass and Steph laughing in the kitchen as they make her soup.

If Cass and Steph can’t come over she loves talking to them over discord while eating take out. Usually she and Cass just listen to Steph babble or she watches on of them stream something.

She also usually ends up falling asleep.

Jason

Bruce: Are you sick?

Jason: I’m legally dead.

Bruce: That doesn’t-

Jason: So,legally, no. I am not sick.

Jason will forever and always argue that he can’t get sick since he already died.

When he was little he was rarely able to get extra rest when he was sick. Because when he was really little he wanted to go to school to avoid Willis. After Catherine died he was too busy just trying to survive to focus on being healthy.

But when Catherine was alive and Willis was away Jason would stay home from school, and if Catherine was sober she would read to him and sing lullabies. This only happened like twice but Jason cherishes those memories of Catherine.

As a kid if he was ever sent home for being sick he’d get in huge trouble with Willis.

After being adopted the first time he was sent home with a fever he begged Alfred not to tell Bruce and hid in his closet until he stopped crying being sad. Alfred sat by the closet door with soup, a grilled cheese, and tea, reading The Princess Bride aloud until Jason came out. It took two hours.

Jason’s favorite sick day activity is drinking tea and rereading The Princess Bride (with the movie playing quietly in the background) while wearing his Wonder Woman hoodie.

Cass

Steph: Cass why are you patrolling while sick?!

Cass shrugs.

Steph, with a sigh: You’re allowed to take a sick day, okay?

Cass looks unsure but nods.

Steph: C’mon, let’s get you a bath and fuzzy blankets.

Cass forgets that she’s not just a weapon/tool. She forgets that she’s allowed to rest when sick.

Because of this she will keep going no matter what and tends to view ‘taking a sick day’ as a failure.

Steph, Tim, and Babs have been working on this with her. She’s improved a lot now that Tim lost his spleen and gets sick easily.

Now usually Steph cooks for her while Babs lays with her.

Cass isn’t against taking medicine but she never feels like the situation is severe enough to require medication. So someone in the fam has to convince her to take her meds.

She becomes extremely cuddly when sick and will cling to anyone near her.

Her favorite sick day activity is watching old horror movies with Steph or Babs.

Steph

Steph: I’m fine.

Steph: I’m- I have a fever of 104, I should rest.

Stephs mom is a doctor, so she’s used to being told “it’s just a cold, you’re fine”.

Usually she keeps going until she can’t then sleeps for like three days.

But it’s less out of stubbornness and more out of habit. So if someone tells her to rest she’s immediately like “okay!” and takes the sick day.

Babs always calls or comes over to check on her every day that she’s sick.

Cass has been learning how to cook and loves making Steph food when she’s sick.

Tim used to come over but now he always calls.

Stephs favorite sick day activity is sleeping with an ice pack or heating pad, depending on the sickness, with a giant cup of ginger ale and Cass curled up beside her.

Tim

Jason: Tim, are you sick?

Tim, tiredly staring at case files: No I-

Tim is interrupted by a violent coughing fit.

Tim: Oh, I guess I am?

Growing up Tim loved getting sick because it meant the house keeper would come over and take care of him and he might even get a hug.

But she stopped coming over when Tim was ten, his parents thought he was old enough to handle being sick on his own.

Sick days in the manor were a shock to him because he was rarely alone, there was always one family member by his side.

Now that he’s immunocompromised he’s always surrounded by people, he pretends to get annoyed with it but really he loves how much they care.

Dick always sings Romani lullabies and runs his fingers through Tim’s hair. Jason, Duke, and Steph will cook for him. Damian stay by his side and bring him tea. Babs will play video games with him. And Cass does a bit of everything, at least everything other than sing to him.

The family also takes Tim getting sick very seriously so if they here one cough he’s immediately being interrogated and getting his temperature checked.

Tim’s favorite sick day activity is laying under a weighted blanket with a cup of tea and playing video games with Babs, Steph, Duke, and Cass.

Duke

Dick, knocking on Duke’s door: Hey bud, why are you still in bed? I thought we were training together?

Duke: Sorry, I forgot to cancel. I’m sick and don’t think I can handle training today.

Dick: You’re sick?!

Duke: Yeah, but don’t worry I’ve been disinfecting and cleaning so no one else should get sick.

Dick: I’m not worried about getting sick, I’m worried about you!

Duke: …oh, okay.

Growing up sick days were spent at home either resting alone or with one of his parents.

He had to do some fending for himself (like cleaning and making food when his parents weren’t home with him) but nothing extreme or unexpected. So, overall he had pretty normal sick days.

After he parents went missing he was so focused on getting them back and saving them that he never stopped to rest when sick.

Now as a member of the Wayne family his sick days are always spent with someone by his side, at least they are if he tells the family he’s sick.

He’s gotten in trouble several times for not telling Alfred/the family that’s he’s sick. Not because he puts Tim at risk, he like all the family is very cautious about that, but because everyone worries about him and wants to help take care of him.

After several lectures from Alfred he’s finally getting better about telling the family when he’s sick.

His favorite sick day activity is reading Jason’s copy of The Princess Bride while having a bowl of Alfred’s chicken noodle soup.

Damian

Jason: Are you sick?

Damian: N-

Damian sneezes like a kitten.

Damian: No.

Cass, smiling: Sick baby brother, cute sneeze.

Damian tries to be offended but ends up having a sneezing fit.

Steph: That’s so adorable!!

Damian has the most adorable sneezes. He literally sounds like a kitten and the entire family and hero community finds it adorable. Damian hates it.

He used to try and pretend he wasn’t sick and just work through it.

Then he sneezes in front of Harley and Ivy and they cooed over him for an hour.

Now he grumpily secluded himself in his room when sick.

Usually the family will check on him and find that Jon flew over and they’re cuddling on his bed watching cartoons.

When Damian’s sick he really craves spicy food. Like everything he eats he’ll add hot sauce or pepper to. His food is so spicy that only Cass can handle it, like it makes ghost peppers look like child’s play.

His favorite sick day activity is drinking masala chai under one of Tim’s fuzzy blankets while wearing Dick’s old hoodies and surrounding himself with various soft things he stole from his siblings. This is preferably done while eating spicy tomato or lentil soup and watching cartoons with Jon.

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

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sleeping beauty

— You struggle to find a time to have sex with your beloved Aizawa. Unfortunately or fortunately, the only time you can fuck him is when he’s deep asleep.

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pairing: aizawa shouta x yandere fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, pwp, yandere!reader, non-con somnophilia, hairy aizawa rights, recording

word count: 4,201

a/n: mark ur calendar, im getting my nipples pierced nov 8. you bet ur ass imma write a bunch of nipple pierced readers from there on out. pray that my family never finds out about my nipples tho LMAO if they do,,, it;ll be ripped out of my boobies without a seconds hesitation

kinktober day 19 main kink: somnophilia | kinktober masterlist

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Aizawa was always busy.

Over the past ten years of knowing him, the two of you had been close. You were a good friend to him, someone he wouldn’t absolutely avoid at all costs when you walked through the hallways of UA, someone he wouldn’t mind rambling to him about their long day. Of course, you knew that you weren’t his closest friend, and to a certain degree, that upset you.

You had met Aizawa when you had first been a high school student; at the time, you were merely fifteen years old. He was twenty, only five years older than you, but he took your breath away from the first team-up. He had been tall, dark, and brooding, and your little coming out of an emo phase heart stood no chance. But, due to the age discrepancy, he was never anything more than a team member. Still, you held on.

You graduated from high school, made your impact as a sidekick, graduated to a Pro Hero, and offered a job at UA by the time you were twenty! So, for the past five years, you and Aizawa had been actual co-workers, and better yet, friends.

Aizawa indeed was one of a kind.

He still held the key to your emo school girl fantasy daydream, but you also discovered new sides and angles of him. You learned he was incredibly kind, thoughtful, and looked out for everyone, even if his gruff and sometimes rude mannerisms spoke otherwise. Although he tried to avoid any type of nonsensical drama like the plague, he was always caught up in it, which often amused you.

There was so much about Aizawa that you loved, so much that you adored and looked up to that it was no surprise that you figured your feelings of respect and admiration became love.

True, deep love.

As a third-year teacher at UA, you found that your interactions with Aizawa were quite limited. Not only because he was always being placed with a first-year class and said class moving on without him — something that only happened because he kept expelling the damn students — but because he was incredibly close with the first-year teachers.

You loved Present Mic and Midnight and All Might, don’t get it wrong! Your admiration, love, and respect for them were unprecedented, but you hated how much of Aizawa’s time they took.

“Sorry, Mic needs help with lesson plans for my class,” Aizawa apologized for postponing your lunch date, not a date.

“Sorry, Midnight needs help separating the problem children. Apparently, they’re growing an immunity to her quirk,” Aizawa grumbled, shoving his phone into his pocket before leaving your office where you both had been talking and drinking tea.

“Sorry, All Might—”

“It the class, your problem children, I get it,” you force a smile onto your face, trying not to show just how irritated and disappointed you were on how these days were going. Aizawa pauses for a second, his tired, dried out eyes trying to read and uncover the depths of emotions swimming in your eyes before he sighs and runs off.

But it went without saying that the people you hated most were Class 1-A.

The damn stupid, fucking, ungrateful class had already caused your beloved Aizawa to be hospitalized. The scar under his eye, a numbing reminder that you had nearly lost him, almost had to cry at his coffin with your feelings never once being uttered. They, without a doubt, took up his time the most.

He saw potential in all of them, none of them being failed or expelled by him thus far.

He spent countless hours up in the dead of night tracking each and every one of his student’s potential. Slaving away at his tablets to make sure that they all were feeling safe, heroic, and above all, they were headed to their individual greatness. So, although it would be two more years before you would have the opportunity to teach this class, you already had a vendetta against Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki. Those little shits always taking up your precious Aizawa’s time! He had never been this tired prior to them showing up!

But you never tried to think about it when you were with him.

You tried to openly accept your Aizawa’s new, incredibly busy schedule, and the moment the dorms appeared within UA, you found yourself more at ease.

To be frank, since you acknowledged your love for Aizawa at the mere age of twenty, and now at twenty-five, you had never taken on a lover or a one night stand. For years you had not allowed a person to grace you in bed or in their arms. It felt like you were betraying your love, and you would rather die than let that happen.

But the thing is, you are human, entirely susceptible to waves of uncontrolled horniness and lust.

In the beginning, sex toys worked.

You would press a vibrator to your clit, your toes digging into the mattress as your other hand shoved a silicone dildo into your aching, needy cunt. At first, it worked! You would cum with the thoughts of Aizawa being the dildo buried deep within you.

But eventually, you would find yourself at the peak of that orgasm, you knew the orgasm was right beyond the bend, just a step more, but you couldn’t get there. For weeks you realized that the vibrator, the dildo, and your fantasy thoughts weren’t enough. So, in your frustration, you began to search up audio plays of his narration at UA Sports Festival. Listening to his voice, ignoring Mics’ voice, to help coax you over that bend.

For a while, you were back to normal. Your highs and juices splattering all over your bed, a symbol of your lust and love for Aizawa as you gasped his name, wishing that the audio was real. But eventually, even the audios weren’t enough.

You craved Aizawa’s warmth, the feeling of his rough stubble against your sensitive skin, the throbbing of his cock buried deep within your womb, undoubtedly kissing your cervix. You wanted him; you needed your beloved.

As if by the grace of God, the moment you could no longer bring yourself to cum through that alone, the dorm system was put into place. And you, a teacher, were required to live on campus too. You tried not to think of Aizawa being a dorm away, tried not to feel the warmth fluttering under your skin when the two of you bid goodnight for the day.

You definitely tried to stay out of his room in the middle of the night.

God, you wish you could say that you stayed out of his room, but that would be a lie.

A big fat fucking lie.

It had started out innocently enough, you will claim.

You would see the exhausted man wave goodnight, grumbling that he needed to sleep now or else he would not wake up on time for homeroom tomorrow morning. You waved goodnight to him, trying to stay engrossed in a conversation you were having with Hound Dog. But an hour after Aizawa had gone to bed, you found yourself rushing away from the common room, explaining you had something to grade as you bid everyone goodnight.

Without a doubt, you ended up in Aizawa’s room that night.

In the darkness of the night, you watched the moonlight barely breach the thickness of his curtains to fall onto his face. You felt so warm as you stared at his slumbered face, your cheeks flushed as you watched his parted, chapped lips. You felt so light watching his chest rise and fall in a hypnotizing rhythm, reminding you that he is real, so very, very real. A part of you aching, knowing that he was entirely real and yet not yours. But still, you admired the way he looked so young, so intense, so ethereal as he dreamed.

You loved him.

Eventually, when you decided to leave, you pressed a kiss to his lips, smiling at the way his lips were exactly as you had imagined:

Supple, warm, and tasting of his mint toothpaste.

But the nightly visits didn’t stop there.

Most nights, you found yourself in his room, laying by his side, merely watching as he slept. No orgasm in the world felt quite as fulfilling as the quiet that came with just watching the over-exhausted Aizawa sleep.

But this is not a story of simple love, no, not at all.

Eventually, you began to grow bold. Your fingers sinking into your wet cunt, playing with your sensitive clit as you watched him sleep. You bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning as a rasped breath expelled from his mouth. You nuzzled into the warmth of his body heat through at you and only prayed he would one day acknowledge and return your affections.

To be quite honest, you’re not sure when you began to suck him off too.

Maybe it was the first time his cock grew long and hard in the middle of the night, his mind undoubtedly having a wet dream. So, as his beloved, you only thought it was appropriate to give his body what he wanted. With the skills and intentions that could only arise from being a gifted Pro Hero, you pulled the blankets from his body and pushed his cock through the slit in his boxers, and took him all in your mouth.

His cock was absolutely mouthwatering too.

So big, so thick, so incredibly veiny that you nearly lost all control the first time you saw it in all its glory. He was better than any dildo you owned, his scent alone driving you crazy. And so, as you should, you began to fuck him, completely addicted to his aroma, taste, and touch.

After the first night, you continued to blow him. Continued to suck him off as Aizawa let out sleepy moans, grunts that were strained, his body shifting unknowingly as you continued to go up and down his length, continuing to relieve him of his stress.

But you were human.

A human with needs and desires, and eventually, his cum coating your throat and filling your stomach wasn’t enough anymore. Which is where we find ourselves now, unashamedly fucking Aizawa each and every night, your cunt swallowing him whole, without a single shred of doubt of what was wrong with this.

There wasn’t anything wrong with this, and you knew that even if he was asleep the entire time you fucked him, it was for the better.

“Wow, Eraser!” Mic yelled from your side as you sat on the couch next to your beloved best friend. “You look like you’re glowing!”

Looking up from your phone, attempting to portray yourself as curious and unknowing, you found your gaze falling onto Aizawa, who had returned from an early evening training session with his class. As a matter of fact, Aizawa’s face was glowing; he looked incredibly much more relaxed, much more than he has been since the beginning of this semester.

“What do you mean?” Aizawa asked, evidently unimpressed as a lone eyebrow raised.

You watched on quietly, lips pressing to your cup as you took a drink of your tea as he sank onto a seat in front of you.

“Wait, don’t tell me, listeners!” Mic gasped dramatically, his hands pressing to his cheeks as he stood up. His expression of shock and disbelief curling and becoming one of knowing and understanding. “Does our grouchy, one and only, Aizawa Shouta, a.k.a. Eraserhead, have a special someone?!”

“Mic—” Aizawa snapped, his eyebrows furrowing.

“There definitely has been an after-sex glow that Eraser has had for the past few weeks. He did say that he’s been feeling more… ahem, relaxed,” Midnight gasped, seemingly appearing from nowhere, incredibly interested in the rumor of Aizawa having sex.

“Just because I’ve been feeling less tense doesn’t mean that I’m having sex.”

You giggled into your cup as the three of them began arguing, Mic and Midnights naturally loud noise quickly drowning out Aizawa’s fruitless attempts to shut down any sexscapades they were coming up with.

“Y/h/n, what do you think?!” Mic yelled, his hand pointed at you as if holding a microphone as Aizawa had him pressed and tangled within his capturing weapon. “Is Shouta-chan having sex?!”

Yes, your mind begs to say, but your mouth curls into a teasing smile, eyes locking onto Aizawa’s annoyed golden ones.

“I don’t think there’s anyone on this earth that Aizawa currently wants to fuck six feet into the mattress when he’s so busy,” you chide, your smile never entirely disappearing. At the same time, you take a long slow drink from your cup while everyone else (Mic only, really) continued to scream.

But you stayed there for the rest of the evening, working in silence with the rest of the group as next week’s lessons were laid out. Through a persistent, entirely stubborn will, Mic managed to get Aizawa to admit that he hasn’t had sex since the time he lost his virginity, to which Mic admitted to having had sex via orgies only. Midnight proudly announcing that she had a side piece at her disposal.

So as you checked through your lesson plans for the ethics book your students would be reading next week, you shouldn’t have been surprised to see their expectant gazes on you.

“I had sex last night,” you admit, unable to lie under their amused gazes.

“WITH WHO?! ARE YOU SNEAKING SOMEONE ON CAMPUS?!”

For the rest of the night, you smiled brightly, laughing with the rest of them all as talks and stories revolving around sex filled the air. It lasted until past midnight, and with a heavy sigh, Aizawa excused himself first. You waved goodnight, and soon Midnight left, followed by Mic.

You stayed on the couch, your own attention focused heavily on the time and not what you were supposed to be doing. It didn’t take much before the time faded from 00:00 to 01:45, and with a brush of your skirt, you headed precisely where you wanted and needed to be.

The walk to his second-floor room filled you with lust. Your body, like some Pavlovian dog, trained and knowing that you were about to fuck the love of your life while he slept. He was so beautiful while he slept, a true sleeping beauty. You especially thought he was stunning when he bit his lower lip, stifling a moan despite his heavy slumber.

Without so much as a second thought, you apparated into his room, your feet cushioned by the soft carpet of his room. And with a smile that was dripping with your love, you stared at Aizawa’s sleeping form. He was already deep in sleep, his body positioned on his back as if he knew what you were doing, accepting the inevitable actions you would take tonight as you did every night. He just looked so calm, so beautiful, so youthful when asleep. The scar under his eye almost invisible

But unlike most nights where he slept in a soft cotton long-sleeved shirt and sweats, you froze at the sight of the tight black t-shirt on his sleeping form, the shorts that were riding just the slightest bit too low on his sturdy, muscled hips. Your bit your fist, a bubbling heat of lust, and a whine tickling the back of your throat as you take in his sleeping form.

He was doing this on purpose.

Teasing you with this outfit on his sleeping body.

You huffed, inexplicably turned on as the small puffs of air past his lips seemed to thunder around the room.

You were wet already, so very wet.

“You’re so mean, Shouta-kun,” you whimper softly, your voice silent and unheard by his sleeping form. You walk closer to the bed, lips pulled into a pout as you sit on the soft mattress. “Dressing up like that, I know you did that to tease me!”

Aizawa doesn’t respond because, of course, he’s asleep. But you smile regardless, imagining a million and three things he would say in response, each leading to what you wanted to do so desperately.

“I hope you know you were lying when you said you haven’t had sex since you were twenty,” you sigh, your fingers expertly removing his shorts and boxers from around his waist, using your quirk to make them reappear to the side of him. “We have sex practically every night; you’re so horny, my angel.”

You watch with a curling smile as his cock immediately begins to stiffen against your warm breaths, his face scrunching in his slight discomfort as his cock grows and grows. His cock is undeniably one of your favorite parts of his body. It’s pale in color, paler than the rest of his body, but as it extended to the swollen thickness of his head, it grew darker, the flushed brown pinkness of his head making you salivate at the memory of the first time you ever saw it. His cock, unlike the rest of his scarred body, was unharmed, unmarred by the horrors of the job the two of you held. The thick, beautiful smoothness of his skin, making your eyes flutter in unadulterated lust, his cock a symbol of your pure, unmarked love for him. You hum, hand grasping his length and lazily stroking him as your head tilts, reading his sleeping features for any sign of him enjoying this as much as you do.

“Aww, Shouta-kun, I wish you knew I fuck you. I bet you would turn bright red, knowing that I ride you every night. Maybe you’d use that weapon of yours to teach me a lesson or two,” you mumble, your hand gripping his cock harder as you stroke him.

A small glistening drop appears at the slit of his dick, and you shiver in excitement; he was already leaking pre-cum.

“Look at you, already ready to have my cunt wrapped around that big cock of yours,” you mewl, absolutely ready to mount him, prepared to have his sleeping form cum deep within you. You stand up, removing your shorts and panties, and climbing onto the bed.

With the balance of a pro, you get yourself hovering over him, your already wet cunt shivering with the expectance of having him deep within you. Your hand on his cock never once stopping as you tease yourself against his swollen head, your voice a pathetic whimper as your slick mixes with his clear pre-cum.

“S-See how embarrassing you are!” you huff, rutting his length between his folds, lubing him up for the initial entrance because, by god, it still hurt. “Making my pussy so wet! I’m practically dripping all over you!”

There’s only a soft breath from his lips, but you grin as if he was speaking to you.

“You want me too, huh?” you giggle, and without further adieu, you sink against him.

His cock entering your tight cunt was still as mind-numbing as the first time. His cock easily buries into the small, thin wall of your cervix, and you tremble as his length stretches and pulls at your throbbing core. You can feel every curve in his cock, every vein, every gentle throb.

“Glad t-to know you find me… nnghh… find me i-irresistible,” you pant, face flushed with your desire to adjust quickly around him.

The conversation from tonight had made you entirely weak in the knees and hot at your core, knowing that you were the only one to really have claimed Aizawa, the only one who would ever know how his sleeping body craved you as much as you desired him.

You give a tentative swirl of your hips, your eyes trained on Aizawa’s relaxed ones, testing to see how tired and sleepy he was. There was no reaction, no movement outside of the typical grunt at the back of his throat. It was a noise he always made when you first moved with him, a noise that quickly seared in the back of your memory forever.

Shifting your weight to be more comfortable on your knees, your hot hands fall onto his tight chest, and with a sigh of pure relief, you begin to fuck him.

Your straddling aided the deep penetration, allowing for the gentle kiss of the tip of his leaking cock to your thin cervix wall. You clenched tightly around him, unable to keep yourself from doing so as you rode him, the feeling of his throbbing member within you absolutely breathing taking as you placed your claim on him again, again, and again.

Aizawa was fully sheathed within you, and your fingers twisted and pulled at the tight fabric of his shirt, raising it up so that you could admire his taut, tense abdomen, mewling at the way he’s happy trail was thick and bushy. You wondered how he would react to your fingers threading through his body hair, if he would love it; if he would hate it.

“I want you to know how much I love you, how much I would give everything to you!” you whimper, your head fighting the instinct to throw itself back as you begin to drop onto his still cock faster and faster. “I wish you knew that you fuck me so good, Shouta-kun; I need you to know that! But you won’t even look at me! You won’t spare me a single second of your busy day, so that’s why I have to fuck you at night!”

Tears of both pleasure and hurt well into your eyes; you sniffle as you fuck him faster, dropping onto his awaiting cock with more significant, more aggressive slaps. The sounds echo throughout the room, the musky, sweet smell of your sexes is the only thing keeping you sane — that and the grunting noises that Aizawa keeps emitting, it makes your toes curl and belly flutter in a funny way.

“I bet you’ll fuck me so good once I get you to love me! You’ll never stop fucking me, you’ll never want to leave me because only I know how to fuck you correctly!” you snap, anger and lust licking through your tone, making your eyebrows furrow and your walls to clench even tighter around him. The building tension in your stomach is like a fire, and you can feel your high coming. “But you fuck me so good, baby, so good and you’re not even awake!”

And for the first time, you watch in electrifying pleasure as a low, husky, raspy moan leaves his throat as you fucked him. The sound alone was something downright pornographic to you, and the whine that spills from your mouth is nearly inaudible with the pitch it vibrates at. So without so much as a second thought, a bubbling smile spreads on your face, and you continue on, energy and excitement doubled in your joy.

Your hips roll, rise, and fall against his with growing force and speed. The small creaks of the mattress completely ignored by you as the throbbing and twitching of his cock buried deep within you keeps you pushing for more. The heat and pressure in your belly grow exponentially, festering and burning until you can feel yourself at the tipping point until you can’t do anything but focus on Aizawa and only Aizawa, or else you would scream his name in your euphoria.

The veins on his cock and the overall girth of his length send your mind spinning, not at all helping your predicament, and in a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from crying so loudly you would wake up even the dead, you lean forward. Your sweaty body leaning down to his parted chapped lips as you kiss him to keep yourself silent as your orgasm crashes through you in a blissful wave. Your body spasms almost uncontrollably, the nerves and firing axons through your body uncontrollable as you lay there, allowing for Aizawa to cum before you leave. You shudder at the feeling of his cum emptying out within you, his cock immediately softening as you lay there on top of him. His heart racing with his orgasm, and you sigh contentedly.

“God, I love you so much, Aizawa Shouta; I’ll make you mine one day,” you swear, your nose nuzzling his stubbled cheek.

You lay there for some time, enjoying the way he feels in you, content with the pooling cum from your still spasming cunt. But eventually, you pull away. You pull on your panties and shorts quickly, not wanting a single drop more of his cum to seep out of you. Unable to help yourself, you lick the leftover cum on his cock clean with your tongue before wiping him down with a towel to prevent the smell from clinging.

Your eyes study Aizawa’s face just before you leave, and your smile.

He really does look less tired after orgasming.

But the entire time you were there — the whole night you fucked him and spoke to him — you missed the red blinking light of the camera recording in the corner of the room.

#aizawa x reader #aizawa smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #tw: somnophilia #bbs kinktober 2020

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giorno-plays-piano · 3 years

Text

Superstitions and Curses

Pairing: mummy!Bucky Barnes x archaeologist!Reader

Warnings: slight dubcon, obsessive and soft!dark!Bucky, mentions of torture and being buried alive.

Words: 2163.

Summary: It wasn't your first expedition, but pretty much the first time when you had helped to bring an ancient being back from the dead.

P.S. Huge thanks to dear @navegandoaciegas who helped me get inspired again <3

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"Please, let me in."

You clenched the amulet in your hands, nervously staring at the door of a hotel room and hoping he wouldn't enter. Despite the fact that you were an archeologist, a woman who believed in nothing but science, you were ready to pray to all the gods if it would help to keep this creature away.

"I mean no harm to you." His husky, dangerously low voice made you lick your lips as you thought of all the things he whispered in your ear the other night. "Didn't you like the way I treat you, love?"

"It was a spell you put on me!" You furrowed your brows, making a step away from the door and bumping into a nightstand with a loud thud - the bottle of water in top of it fell down to the floor.

"A spell?" The man behind the door chuckled, and you could hear him breathing out loudly as he peered through the crack in the door, his hands pressed against the dark wood. "You know I haven't done anything of this kind. What you felt was the chemistry between us, don't deny it."

It was true. That night when all you wanted was to forget the events of the last couple of days, forget all about the whole reason why you came to this ancient country, you rushed to a bar to get drunk like a fish, hoping the next morning once you'd wake up, it would all be a bad dream and nothing more. That's where you met him, the man who you had seen laying in his grave just a couple of hours before. Of course, you didn't know it was him - he looked like any other man, enough flesh on his bones not to cause any suspicion.

Oh, but it was him. He had followed you in that bar, pretending to be a stranger eager to know you; fooling you, he soon slipped into your room where he made love to you, completely drunk and fallen under his charms. How stupid you were, trusting a complete stranger after what had happened that day.

It was several hours after when you woke up in the night, and the moonlight coming from the window lit the room a little: as you stared at the man sleeping soundly next to you, you saw the ancient symbols on his chest.

The next minute you were out of your room, hoping he wouldn't wake up in the next hour. It would give you enough time to reach the railway station.

Why was he following you? You could understand his reasons since you had pretty much broken his tomb and opened his grave, but why on Earth did he sleep with you? Why didn't he kill you? Was it some kind of a ritual? Despite the fact that you were specializing on local customs and traditions, you have never heard of anything of that kind.

"You can't get rid of me." He murmured behind the door, and you sensed something wicked, resentful in his voice.

"Why can't I? What do you want from me?" You asked on the verge of tears, your arms trembling - you very much doubted the amulet you were holding was of any use to you.

"Shhhh." He cooed softly, feeling you fear and somewhat content with it. "I promise I won't hurt you. Let me in, love. Let me in."

For a couple of seconds you froze, listening to the man breathing softly behind the door. Strangely, you could almost hear his heart beating in his chest as if he really were human, not a rotten corpse you saw in the coffin a couple of days ago. The night you spent together you felt like he was the most tender and affectionate man you had ever met. Why did he do it? What was his purpose? Why were you opening the door for him when he ordered you to do it with that hypnotic voice of his?

You realized he had entered your room once he touched your cheek with his hand, rough fingers brushing against your wet skin. Oh, apparently, you were crying.

"I know it is beyond your comprehension, but please trust me, My Immortal Beloved." He made a step forward as you shriveled and slinked back, staring at his perfectly blue eyes adorned with black kohl. "Do not be scared. Even though it seems horrifyingly wrong to you, things are exactly as they were meant to be."

Despite the fact you had a thousand questions inside your head, the words were stuck in your throat. You couldn't even scream, asking for help. Besides, it would be pretty worthless, wouldn't it? No one could protect you from someone who rose from the dead.

"You were meant to open my tomb and set me free. You were meant to resurrect my body and let my soul return to it."

When you reached the wall, your back pressed to it as if you wanted to slip through the stone, the man had inched closer to you and lowered his hand on your chest, the other one right in front of your face as he moved his hand, drawing a circle in the air with his palm. I see you. You are important to me, a sign of both trust and affection - you had seen it so many times on ancient drawings it was imprinted on your brain.

What? Why was he doing it? Why it was you who set him free? You were just one of a whole team of archaeologists and wage earners. You did nothing special, nothing that differentiated you from others - you weren't the one who physically opened it nor did you read any ancient spells locals were so superstitious about. You were as much in shock as all others when the mummy had suddenly disappeared from the tomb.

At first, even though most of you were people of science, all of you thought of ancient curses and all those archaeologists who had supposedly died from it. Then, when you came to your senses, you thought of the thieves who might had taken the mummy. But then again, although it were the remains of someone very, very important, no treasures were buried with him - apparently, this person had done something terrible when he was alive, especially remembering the curses written on the walls. So why steal just the corpse, then? Without decent care, the bones would crack within minutes of carrying them. Why would thieves want the mummy?

"I want to come back home." You whispered, shivering and averting your eyes.

"I will bring you whenever you want once you swear loyalty to me, love."

You blinked as you stared at his tanned face, symbols painted with gold shining on his temples. It was getting more and more insane with every passing minute.

"Why would I swear loyalty to you?"

"Because I am your Sun, Moon and the Stars in between."

The silence felt heavy, suffocating as you kept looking at the man, not knowing what to say. He was right - you didn't understand a thing. You didn't even know who he was and why you swearing loyalty to him seemed so important so this stranger. The only thing you knew for sure was that he was dangerous, far more dangerous than any other human being - you felt it in your bones.

"Before I d-do that, may I know your name?" You wanted to add something like "Your Majesty", but you had no idea what kind of title the man once had - that is, if he had any at all.

He chuckled, "It would be hard for you to pronounce. But you can call me James, it is the closest you can get."

A part of you was offended - for heaven's sake, you were specializing on this exact area and surely knew how to pronounce ancient names - but the other part of you now wondered how come this being knew a real English name and could actually speak modern language. Surely, he was at least a thousand years old. How come?..

"Why were you buried so disrespectfully?" You started questioning him out loud, furrowing your brows. "This is not my first expedition, but I have never seen a tomb like yours before. No treasures, no name, nothing that could identify you at all."

"The Witch-king, that's how they called me." His handsome face darkened, and the man took a step away, turning his back to you. "The one who had surpassed his high priest and could read the Book of the Dead. Once my chancellors learnt about me practicing the magic of the ancient, they made my priests spread the word to my people, and I have been overthrown. They have tortured me, blinded me, cut off my limbs, and then sealed me away in the tomb when I was still alive. Because of their fear of me and my powers, they condemned me to the worst of fates, and broke the line of kings."

As he kept speaking, his dark long robe fell down to the floor, opening his half-naked tan body to you: you saw two deep scars on his shoulders that still looked raw, horrifying you - the man was telling you the truth. He had been dismembered.

"They have cursed me to stay neither truly dead nor alive till one day somebody would open my tomb and set me free. They have kept the location of my grave a secret, thinking no one would ever discover it in the sand, but they all were wrong. I will suffer no more in that place where not a single ray of light had shone over two thousands of years."

Your head was spinning from all this, and you quietly slid to the floor, your hands in your hair as you tugged on the roots in frustration and fear. For the love of God, was it all true? Did you help resurrect the ancient being that could use some scary black magic and probably kill lots of innocent people? Did he want to drag you along with him once you swear loyalty to him? If you didn't, would he actually murder you?

"But this is of no importance now." The man turned back to you and, suddenly seeing you on the floor, hurried to gently pick you up and place you on a spacious bed, watching you with worry. "I am sorry for I have frightened you, love. I swear this was not my intention."

You had troubles understanding what his intention was, but you kept silent, too scaried to say something to him. You had a dozen thoughts what a creature like him would want to do to people for all his suffering.

You should have left that damn tomb alone when your team found twice more death traps than in any other grave. You read the curses left on the walls, but they only fueled your interest. Of course, you had never been superstitious in your entire life, so you simply disregarded all the signs that now seemed so clear you were ready to slap yourself.

"Why am I important?" You asked in a shaky voice, your eyes trailing down his chest with ancient symbols tattooed on it. "Why spending a night with me? I am just a woman. I have opened the tomb, but I was one of many."

"No, you are special. You won't understand now, not yet, but think of it as your destiny. Your fate is bound to mine."

As he inched closer to you, you finally realized you were almost in bed with a half-naked handsome man resurrected from the dead. Immediately crawling back, your stared at him wide-eyed. No, no, no, whoever he was and whatever he thought your fate was, you didn't want him in your bed the second time! Well, almost. Maybe you wanted a little bit. Just a little.

"S-so, are you going to destroy the country and claim your kingdom again?"

Your words made him laugh as he bared his perfectly white teeth while touching the side of your face.

"Two thousand years were enough to change my priorities. Ruling the world of humans who know nothing of magic isn't interesting to me anymore."

"I see. That's a relief." You murmured, still very uncomfortable with him being so close to you. "Please, can I just leave? There are millions of women, I'm sure you'll find someone more attractive to be your... your concubine."

_____________

"Concubine? I did not have a concubine, and neither did my ancestors." The man tilted his head to the side, looking at you surprised as you were ready to bite yourself for your own stupidity: of course, the rulers of these lands only started having concubines in the fourth dynasty and onwards, James was definitely either from the first or second one. "I can't let you leave, love. You will have to come with me."

Part 2

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @iheartsebastianstan @ninefuckingoneone

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier #mcu #mcu fanfiction #yandere

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peggyrose19 · 3 years

Text

Amnesia

Hehe. You knew it was coming :) I have no regrets. More Harvard FinnLo angst. This is not an amnesia fic, as the title may suggest, but rather a song fic based off Amnesia by 5SOS. Companion fic to Bablyon, which you can read here if you’d like. Characters as always by @lumosinlove <3

Also, I tried so hard to proofread this and it just did not work. So... oops?

I drove by all the places we used to hang out getting wasted

I thought about our last kiss, how it felt the way you tasted

When he felt particularly self-deprecating, Logan would drive. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes the night became too dark and the house became too bright and he needed to get away from it all. Sometimes remembering Finn hurt too much.

He would drive in circles, no real direction, just burning time and miles. His mind would take him unwittingly to all the places he associated with Logan, as if reminding him of all he used to have. The coffee shop they frequented each morning. The pizza place two doors down they always went to Fridays after practice. The library they always ended up at whenever Finn had a test. The bar they frequented with the team after a win. The rink they spent most of their days.

Logan would drive by every place that broke his heart and wonder where they had gone wrong. Wonder if they had just talked, if they had stopped for one moment, if Finn would still be his. Wonder if he ever truly had him.

When he really felt bad for himself, Logan would head to the frat house where they had kissed for the first time. It had unlocked something in him, feeling Finn’s lips against his. All night he had watched girls touching Finn and kissing him, wanting him for nothing more than his body. And Logan suddenly couldn’t stand it anymore.

Those nights he would go home with tears in his eyes to find their dorm room exactly the way Finn left it. His stuff was gone, and so was he, but his presence remained. On those nights Logan would get in his bed and cry, remembering their last kiss the night before Finn left him, curled in this tiny twin bed together, Finn begging for his forgiveness.

Sometimes I start to wonder, was it just a lie?

If what we had was real, how could you be fine?

'Cause I'm not fine at all

“Hey, Fish,” Logan’s voice came through the phone. He sounded normal. It hit Finn like a truck.

“Hey.” Finn swallowed hard, throat tight. He and Logan had only talked a few times in the month since he’d left for Gryffindor. With so many practices, he had little time to himself these days.

“How’s the team?” Logan always asked that, these days. Finn was getting kind of sick of the question. He didn’t say that though.

“Good. They’re good. It’s all… it’s all good.” It wasn’t but Logan didn’t need to know that.

Finn could hear his smile as Logan said, “I’m happy for you.” He wanted to scream. He wanted to shake Logan, get him to stop sounding so happy and chipper all the time, get rid of that stupid endearing accent, thicker since he’d gotten home for the summer.

It felt sometimes like nothing had ever happened between them. Sometimes Finn wondered if he’d just dreamed it, Logan’s lips against his, their bodies pressed together, the emotions swelling in his heart. He wondered if they’d ever meant anything at all. Hearing Logan sound so normal was just the final nail in the coffin.

“Hey, Lo, I gotta go,” Finn said, interrupting the story Logan was telling him about an old teammate. He wasn’t sure he could sit here anymore and pretend everything was fine. “My uh, my mom’s calling. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “Yeah, okay. Say hi for me.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line clicked and went dead. Finn put his phone down and cried.

I remember the day you told me you were leaving

I remember the make-up running down your face

And the dreams you left behind you didn't need them

Like every single wish we ever made

Logan could see it clearly when he closed his eyes. He could hear the silence closing in around him, the shakiness in Finn’s voice, the ringing of a cell phone. He saw it all in reverse, standing in the middle of their old dorm room.

“What-” Finn’s voice was shaking as he hung up the phone. Logan watched him, curiosity and dread fighting in his mind.

“Who was that?” Logan asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.

Finn swallowed hard. “I’ve been drafted to the Gryffindor Lions.”

“Holy shit. Holy shit. Finn, that’s incredible!” Logan launched himself at his best friend, pulling him into a hug.

“Yeah, I can’t… I can’t really believe it.” He let out a laugh. “I mean… me? Playing pro? Can you imagine?”

“Of course I can. Fish. You’re gonna do amazing, I know it.”

“It means I’m leaving.”

The elation drained from the room.

“Well… not for a little while, right?” Logan asked hesitantly.

Finn shrugged. “Pretty soon.”

“Finn, I-” Logan opened his mouth, searching for the right words. But he found nothing. There was nothing left to say.

Something painful twisted in Logan’s chest as he watched Finn pull away. It was too soon, far too soon.

“Lo.” The familiar voice shook him from his thoughts. He looked up at Finn, who was staring at him with sad eyes.

He sighed, “Finn, don’t look at me like that.”

“I don’t-” he shook his head. “Please be happy for me?”

“Fuck, Harz, of course I’m happy for you. You’re in the NHL now. It’s what we’ve always dreamed about, remember? Going pro? It just also means you’re leaving.”

“Logan…” He looked up at Finn again and there were tears in his brown eyes.

“Finn, don’t-” Logan stopped, squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again. Finn was still looking at him. “C’mere,” he muttered, and hugged Finn again. Despite the height difference, Finn buried his face in Logan’s shoulder, holding him tight.

Logan remembered all the times Finn had held him, after a win on the ice, late nights out when he got drunk and couldn’t walk straight, early mornings getting coffee before either was fully awake. He remembered all the dreams Finn had whispered into his ear when they’d climb up to the roof after everyone was asleep, about going pro, meeting their idols. About one day writing a book, maybe on hockey, a true literature nerd to his core. And once, when Finn was drunk and exhausted, a future of them, together.

It seemed Finn’s dream was coming true.

One of them at least.

They never talked about those nights after. It left Logan to his skewed memories of Finn’s words, his delirious confessions to the stars. All those dreams he shared that he never seemed to remember. It was like Finn didn’t need them anymore, didn’t need him. He was a thing of the past, a part of a bigger story. They still talked, sure. But it was different. Finn wasn’t there anymore. And there was no breaching that gap.

So Logan kept the memories and the promises to himself. He went to class, he did his homework, he talked to friends. He worked hard at practice and he called Finn and he buried deep the yearning in his heart. And he pretended it didn’t cut him to the bone.

The pictures that you sent me they're still living in my phone

I'll admit I like to see them, I'll admit I feel alone

Finn’s home screen was a picture Logan had taken, that Finn didn’t have the heart to change, no matter how much it hurt anytime he looked at it. It was of the two of them, one morning after practice, cheeks flushed and smiles wide. Finn couldn’t remember now why they’d taken the picture, just the hours he’d spent staring at it, Logan’s smile and bright eyes and mussed up hair.

He kept hoping he’d feel better the longer he looked at it, as if it would bring Logan back to his side. It never worked, in fact it did the opposite. All it did was widen the yawning cavern in his chest. He just felt alone, staring at their smiles. And he was alone. He was all alone in a different city and a foreign hotel room and a new team.

So Finn looked at pictures of the two of them, of when his world still had stability, and ignored the pain they brought. He pushed it down, the loneliness and regret. Pretended he wasn’t missing Logan like crazy, like it wasn’t a bullet to his heart each time.

He wanted Logan back.

It's like we never happened, was it just a lie?

If what we had was real, how could you be fine?

'Cause I'm not fine at all

Finn seemed fine. He sounded tired, perhaps a little lonely, but overall fine. So why did Logan feel like such a mess? Why did he struggle to get up in the morning, the bags under his eyes growing darker as he fought back tears anytime he was reminded of Finn. Why did it feel like nothing had ever happened at all?

As the call connected, Logan took a breath. He knew Finn didn’t have a lot of time, knew he would have to go soon. He pretended to himself his call wasn’t timed on purpose.

“Hey Fish,” he said as brightly as he could manage. Finn replied, voice steady. Logan didn’t know what to say after that, wasn’t sure what you asked the boy you were crushing on when he was hundreds of miles away.

It hurt, knowing seemed so okay after everything. He wasn’t sure what was true and what was a lie anymore. He could still remember Finn’s choked-off breaths that first conversation after he’d left. Logan had pretended he couldn’t hear Finn’s cries, pretended everything was fine. He hadn’t known what else to say.

Maybe neither of them was fine.

“Hey, Lo, I gotta go,” Finn said, breaking through Logan’s thoughts. He had been talking, although now he wasn’t sure what he’d been saying.

Logan said goodbye quietly, Finn’s voice still ringing in his ears as he hung up the phone. Oh how he wished the pain would fade.

If today I woke up with you right beside me

Like all of this was just some twisted dream

I'd hold you closer than I ever did before

And you'd never slip away

Logan hadn’t realized all he’d had until suddenly Finn was gone from his side. He didn’t realize how much he loved him until he was no longer by his side, making him laugh and leveling him out. He missed him. He loved him.

And he wished he hadn’t wasted it all out of fear. He wished he’d had the courage to realize what he wanted, to reach out and grab it. He wished Finn would come back. He wished he could just wake up and Finn would be by his side once more.

Except he wasn’t sure what he’d do when he saw Finn again. Pretend nothing between them had happened, nothing had changed? Or would he hold him close and whisper in his ear all the words he’d never said before. He wanted him close, he knew that. Wanted it so bad he didn’t know what to do with himself. But he knew, he knew no matter what happened, he would never let Finn slip away.

I wish that I could wake up with amnesia

And forget about the stupid little things

Like the way it felt to fall asleep next to you

And the memories I never can escape

Finn slumped onto the couch of his hotel room, feeling the loneliness creeping in again now that he was alone. It was just him these days, the homesickness finding him each night, the newness wearing off now three months in. Some days he wished he would wake up and he’d be back at Harvard, the familiar sounds of the city and the frat house surrounding him, Logan lying in the bed beside him.

Finn grabbed for his phone, finding in between the cushions, and unlocked it. A moment later he hadn’t moved, staring unseeingly at the bright screen. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been looking for in the first place.

His home screen was a picture Logan had taken, that Finn didn’t have the heart to change, no matter how much it hurt anytime he looked at it. It was of the two of them, one morning after practice, cheeks flushed and smiles wide. Finn couldn’t remember now why they’d taken the picture, just the hours he’d spent staring at it, Logan’s smile and bright eyes and mussed up hair.

Logan.

At the heart of everything lay Logan. A constant presence in Finn’s mind, always there, always hovering at the edge of his thoughts. He never left, not really. Every little thing Finn did Logan somehow crept in. Every memory, every store, every play on the ice was tainted with Logan, unavoidable no matter how hard Finn tried. Even lying in bed at night, he could remember his last morning in Boston, pressed against Logan as he fought tears in the early-morning heat.

Some days Finn wished he could go back there. Go back to the late nights and early mornings, hard practices and too-sweet coffee, his best friend by his side. He wanted to go back and tell Logan, tell him how he felt. Tell him that he wanted him, damn the consequences, damn the pain. He was already in pain. He was tired of it. He wanted him.

Some days Finn wished he didn’t remember him at all

I'm not fine at all

No, I'm really not fine at all

Tell me this is just a dream

'Cause I'm really not fine at all

#finnlo #harvard finnlo #angst #this is manda's fault blame her #amnesia #song fic #lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast

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kiara-carrera · 3 years

Note

34. Having them as a background/lockscreen with Leah & JJ?

NO BECAUSE I WAS PRAYING SOMEONE WOULD ASK FOR THIS ONE SO THANK YOU FOR FULFILLING MY DREAMS

having them as your lock screen/background: leah + jj

By the time Leah’s eyes fluttered open, the sun was already beginning to set. The blinds on the windows weren’t shuttered fully, letting the last bit of evening light stream into the room, painting orange-y gold stripes across everything in its wake. Her body felt heavy, thick with just broken sleep, her eyelids like little lead weights struggling to function.

A few blinks and a half-stifled yawn were all it took for her to blearily peer around the room. She’d spent the day at the Chateau with JJ and now that she was able to pick out her surroundings as the pull out couch in the living room, she figured that she must have fallen asleep at some point.

They’d had plans to go surfing, their days off from work matching up for the first time in two weeks, but they’d gotten rained out before they could even leave. A bolt of lightning and a crack of thunder to follow had been the final nail in the coffin.

It hadn’t been all bad — John B was out working for most of the day, having picked up some oddball jobs around the island taking care of some Kook’s property. That had left the Chateau to just Leah and JJ and whatever they chose to get up to.

In no particular order, it had been complaining about the rain, raiding the fridge for snacks, a very intense wrestling match for the last cookie in the cabinet that had ended up with JJ making a crude joke about being pinned down, smoking the last of the weed JJ had gotten off his cousin Ricky, and a whole lot of making out. Leah couldn’t exactly what the last thing had been that led them to be passed out on the couch, but she was pretty sure it involved cuddling if the heavy arm draped across her waist had anything to say about it.

JJ’s face was nuzzled into the crook of her neck, half-buried in her hair as his short little breaths tickled the skin of her shoulder. She couldn’t see his face and didn’t want to risk turning back and waking him up just to look at him, but she could already picture the content little expression he’d be wearing. The thought made her smile a little.

He was always peaceful when he slept — well, at least, he was peaceful when he slept with her. There were numerous times over the years where she caught him fidgeting and turning over every five minutes when he slept alone, but he’d never been like that with her, sleeping soundly like a rock. Whether he was holding her or, the more likely option, she was holding him, he’d always sleep well, face free of the little wrinkle he sometimes got between his brows.

Sighing happily, she let her hand drift down to where JJ’s was slumped against her, slipping her fingers between his as she readjusted her position on the pillow. Leah was all for falling back to sleep, dealing with dinner and going home later if it meant getting more time relaxing with her boyfriend.

Just as her eyes started to slip close, a bright flash of light in front of her startled her back awake. Squinting a bit, she could see where they’d tossed their phones earlier on the couch beside them, JJ’s lighting up with a few notifications.

Yawning, Leah gently slipped her hand off of JJ’s, her hand patting across the bed for his phone almost blindly through her bleary, sleep-ridden vision. John B’s name was the first thing she noticed, a few new messages about how he was getting off early and was planning on bringing some pizza back home for the two of them, which was nothing out of the ordinary.

What did catch her eye though, just as she was about to shoot him a message to get enough for three and that she’d spot him some cash if he got some garlic knots as well, was the semi blurred image of JJ’s lock screen behind the notifications.

Leah wasn’t sure when JJ had changed the standard preset factory wallpaper, but she knew for a fact that whatever she was managing to make out behind John B’s texts was not it. The majority of the image was blocked, only the bottom half of a person in a bikini left somewhat visible.

What in the world ... she thought to herself, eyes narrowing in confusion.

She swiped her thumb across the screen, getting rid of the notifications with the intent to get to them later. When the last one was deleted, the full picture JJ had set as his lock screen was no longer obstructed or blurred. Leah wasn’t exactly sure what she had been picturing she’d find, but it most definitely wasn’t what she was met with.

A picture of herself that she’d never seen before was smiling back at her. Leah could recognize the marsh in the background and the back end of the Pogue where she was seated, dressed in her favorite yellow daisy printed bikini that had cost a little too much, a wide smile on her face as a can of Natural Light was held precariously in her hand. She wasn’t looking directly at the camera, the photo somewhat candid as she appeared to be laughing at something behind the person taking the picture.

The screen went black but she was quick to click it back on, once again staring at herself. Her cheeks felt warm as the reality of the situation set in, a pleasant flush that complimented the sudden fast pace of her heartbeat.

He’d made her his lock screen and she felt a smile threaten to break across her face at the pure surprise of it all.

There were things that JJ was and things that he wasn’t. A mild kleptomaniac, a fierce friend, a scrappy fighter, her best friend, and a damn good boyfriend if her biased opinion meant anything — those were things he was. But the kind of boyfriend that made his significant other his phone’s background? Yeah, that seemed like it bordered more along the lines of cheesy romcom shit that he’d make fun of.

Hell, they barely even took pictures together. There were the occasional Snapchats they’d take lying in bed goofing around late at night and there were some pictures in her bedside table from when they were younger, crinkled at the corners. And she had some pictures that Kie had managed to snap at the last second before either noticed, a few candids of them being “disgustingly adorable” as their friend had put it.

Any other photos she had of JJ were just of him. Some were of him doing stupid shit that she compiled over the years, sometimes with John B or Pope making cameos. Some were the Snaps he’d send her that she deemed either dumb enough or hot enough to be screenshotted (which was always followed up by a teasing text message from him that would get a prompt middle finger emoji in reply).

She wouldn’t be surprised if he had pictures of her on his phone, more than likely of her dumb Snapchats she didn’t want screenshots taken of (she knew for a fact he had the picture of her ugly crying to a Disney movie she watched a month ago because he’d started using it as a meme when texting her). But she wasn’t really sure how many pictures he’d realistically keep of her.

JJ wasn’t romantic in any traditional sense. Making someone their wallpaper just seemed very out of place in their relationship. So yeah, she was definitely thrown for a loop seeing herself on his phone, partially obscured by the clock displaying the late hour.

Her heart fluttered in her chest, though. Leah wasn’t anywhere near complaining. She was mildly confused, but it was a happy little surprise for her as warmth flooded her chest, another bout of pure adoration for the boy behind her at the sweet little gesture he’d done in secret.

Biting down on her lip to contain the wide grin on her face, she tapped in JJ’s ridiculous passcode (yes, it was 42069 for anyone wondering), replying to John B about extra pizza and garlic bread. A thumbs up was sent in response, leading Leah to lock the phone and toss it back beside her own where she’d found it.

Shuffling in JJ’s arms, Leah managed to gently nudge his head from her neck so she could turn herself around until she was facing him. He was still asleep, gentle little breaths escaping him. It was hard not to look at him and have her heart swell. Absentmindedly, her hand drifted up, fingers running through his hair as she silently admired him. She’d just found such a simple little thing that he’d done, but nothing was stopping her insides from melting and becoming all gooey over the boy in front of her.

That was just something so uniquely JJ, the ability to have her just become a puddle from the tiniest sweet gesture. Most of them were always unexpected — she’d been his best friend longer than she’d been his girlfriend and not once had she ever really imagined him being as soft as he was when it was just them alone, but she appreciated every second of it.

She’d looked happy and carefree in that picture on his phone and there was just a rush of emotions knowing he thought the picture was good enough to want to see it every time he went for his phone. It might have been dumb, but it made her feel pretty in a way she normally didn’t and adored in a way she’d only ever seen in fairytales or movies.

“Keep staring like that and it’s gonna cost you,” JJ mumbled suddenly, his tired voice startling her just a bit. One of his eyes was opened just a smidge, a sleepy smug grin spreading across his lips as he caught her eyeing him. “I’ll give you a discount for being hot, though.”

A laugh escaped her, eyes rolling as JJ began tugging her closer into him, head falling to her neck again as he pressed a kiss to the skin of her jaw.

“John B’s on his way home,” she whispered to him, gentle as she brushed back some of his hair from his forehead. “He’s bringing pizza.”

He paused in his ministrations, turning his head to peer up at her. “Did you tell him to get garlic knots?”

“The knots have been secured.”

An appreciative groan left him, another kiss pressed to her throat. “You’re the fucking best.”

She giggled again, happily squirming against him as he returned to kissing every spare inch of skin he could find on her neck and jawline. He was already a bit of an attention whore when they were alone, but sleepy JJ was a whole other level of cuddly and affectionate, a side of him that was reserved only for Leah.

They fell into silence, JJ still leaving little open mouth kisses on her skin, his hand drifting down to rub the exposed strip of skin between her shirt and shorts. The movement was comforting, her heart fluttering even more as she fiddled with his hair.

“J?”

“I know,” he mumbled against her neck, not stopping his movements. “No hickeys where your dad can see.”

“What? No — wait, actually yes, but that’s not what I was gonna ask ... when did you take that picture of me?”

He paused once again, although this time it seemed more like he froze against her. Leah pursed her lips together, trying her best not to laugh as he awkwardly asked, “What picture?”

Pulling herself back a bit, Leah gave him a knowing look. “The one of me on your lock screen.”

JJ groaned, eyes squeezing shut. The thing about JJ was it took a whole lot to embarrass him. He took most things in stride, letting everything roll off his back. More often than not, he was the one saying things to embarrass other people — usually Leah. Whether they were jokes or dumb innuendos, JJ was the one dishing it out and if something actually did manage to embarrass him, there was a fifty-fifty shot you wouldn’t even know.

But right now, Leah could see a rush of discomfort wash over him as he was caught red-handed being a softie. She thought it was cute.

“Kie took it a few weeks ago,” JJ replied after a moment of thought, slightly sheepish as he began fiddling with a lock of her hair. “Asked her to send it to me.”

“Really?”

He shrugged. “Saw her take it. I don’t know, you looked nice. Liked looking at it.”

His words were brief, but the simple thought behind it made her heart speed up again. JJ wasn’t good with words and emotions, something she knew from their years as just friends, something even he’d told her himself. He wasn’t good with words, but he was great with actions. There were hundreds of little things she could think of that were just purely JJ’s way of showing that he cared. This was one of them and while his reasoning wasn’t the most articulate, Leah’s heart felt like it was going to fucking burst.

“If it’s weird, I can change it.”

JJ’s words caught her off guard, her head shaking rapidly. “What? No, no. I don’t care. It’s sweet,” she told him. And then, almost as an afterthought, she softly added, “Makes me feel pretty.”

Even in his sleep-induced haze, eyes still not quite focused in the dim late evening sun streaming through the blinds, JJ still squinted at her in confusion. “You are pretty.”

Yup, there goes her fucking heart.

She smiled softly at him, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. Leah could feel him smile against her, his hand still twisting her hair around his finger.

They laid like that for another moment, before a smug little grin crossed Leah’s lips. “So I guess this means you’ve officially earned your simp card.”

JJ groaned at the ruined moment, rolling away from her to flop onto his back. Eyes narrowed, he firmly told her, “I am not a simp.”

“You totally fucking are,” Leah chided. Laughing, she shifted around the couch until she was sitting up. Swinging a leg over him, she promptly deposited herself in his lap, sitting on top of him while he continued to pout at her like a child. Teasingly, she added, “Looks to me like someone has a big fat crush on me.”

“I’m tossing your ass on the floor.”

“I’m sure you will,” she told him dryly, grinning as she swept her hair over one shoulder before leaning down to kiss him.

#asks #fluff prompts #mayson #seize the droid

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axelbluesworld · 3 years

Text

Alone in the lake

Riley sat on the floor of her room staring at nothing, this whole week had been very stressful, and the worst thing was that Jack had died.

Many times she said that she hated most of the things that Jack did. She hadn't realized then that those little things were the most missed of him.

His irritating laugh, his constant jokes, his jokes and references to old movies, his obsession with rock and his great love for Brus Willis

Her phone rang on the ground for the third time in the last hour, but she didn't bother to pick it up because she knew exactly who the call was from.

Mac had been calling her all day, and all she did was ignore him, she didn't want to talk to him or anyone else unless it was Jack, but he was gone.

She tries to suppress her feelings and let go of the worst pain, which is extremely difficult.

Without realizing it, tears were already falling freely down her cheeks after almost 3 years, and the only time she was able to see him again was from inside a coffin.

Once again, her phone vibrated on the ground, and finally, giving up, she decided to answer.

"What do you want, Mac?" she asked

"I just wants to talk to you Riles, I need to know how you are," Mac said.

"I'm completely fine, you don't have to worry," Riley said calmly.

"Riles ..." before Mac could say anything else, she hung up.

She hit her head against the wall and groaned in annoyance. She wasn't sure who she was upset with, she just knew she was upset.

At that moment she hated the whole world for every second she was away from Jack, she was sad, angry and hurt.

She didn't know how long it had been since she was sitting on the ground and she didn't care at the time.

Suddenly, she heard a sound coming from the hall, immediately became alert and walked to see who it was.

She picked up a baseball bat from her room and walked down the hall. She put the bat down when she saw the person in front of her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked a little annoyed.

"I needed to see you" answered Mac

"How did you get inside?" she demanded

Mac simply smiled and showed her a small hair clip that was now bent over.

"Why don't you imagine it?" She rolled her eyes and went back to her room.

"Where do you think you are going?" Mac said, taking her hand.

"To my room, and if you don't mind, I'd like to be alone," Riley said.

"Riley, I just want to help you" said Mac

"Mac, I really appreciate that you want to help me, but I'm completely fine," Riley said.

"I know you are not, I know you Riles" said Mac

Riley just lowered her head and sighed as she looked at the ground, Mac walked over to her and wrapped her in his arms.

"Talk to me, Riley." said Mac

"It's so hard to get over all of this, he promised me that we would spend all our time together when he comes back and I didn't know at the time that that was the last I would hear from him, I miss him so much," Riley said.

"Riley, I know that losing Jack is one of the hardest things that can happen to us, but I promise you that from now on everything is fine, fine, I will be with you at all times, and we will overcome this pain together" said Mac

"Mac, this is more complicated, Jack was one of the most important people to me, but you've already lost a lot of people, I don't want to bother you with my pain too" said Riley

"Riles, you and I are a bundle, remember? We support each other no matter what, I'll be there for you as you will be here for me, I don't want you to be sad Riley," Mac said.

Riley shed several tears, Mac looked into her eyes and gently wiped away the tears that had stained her cheek. They stayed like this for a couple of minutes, just hugging.

"Let me take you somewhere," Mac said out of nowhere.

"where?" Riley asked

"Don't ask, it's a special place," Mac said.

"It's too late," Riley said when she saw that it was 9 PM.

"Do you have time to sleep," Mac joked.

"Okay, but tell me where will you take me" he asked again.

"I won't tell you," Mac said.

Mac led Riley to his car, and they were both silent for a couple of minutes, Riley watched as Mac turned on the radio and then Wilie Nelson's music began to play.

"Wilie nelson?" Riley asked a little amused.

"Jack liked it, this music makes me remember him," Mac said.

"I remember" she smiled a little but became serious again.

Mac drove in silence for a couple of minutes while Riley just stared out. Riley moved from her place and looked at Mac with a serious expression.

"Why are we leaving town?" asked Riley

"you will see?" He playfully winked at her

"Are you planning to kill me?" Riley asked sarcastically.

"Yeah, where i'm taking you, no one will be able to find your body," Mac joked

Riley shook her head and leaned her arm against the window to look out, they drove about 25 minutes until they finally reached their destination.

The place was a forest quite far from the city and the people themselves, everything around it was very dark, and the only thing that lit up were the lights of Mac's car.

"where we are?" Riley asked when he got out of the car.

"you'll see" said the words from before

Mac took a flashlight from the car and guided her down a path that was there in the woods, Mac held her hand as they walked through that dark place.

After a few minutes they came to a clearing in the middle of that forest, but the clearing was not the only thing there, right there was a small pond that was illuminated by the light of the moon.

"Where are we Mac?" Riley asked him again.

"It's a place that Jack and I found a few years ago, he and I used to come here to get rid of the stress of work," Mac explained.

"So this is where you two disappeared when no one found you," Riley said.

"Jack said he wanted to keep this place a secret from everyone else. He and I were very close, sometimes we just need a place where he and I can be alone," said Mac

"Why did you bring me here?" Riley asked

"Because you need what I needed years ago, a quiet place and someone to help you overcome the pain, I know you are a very strong woman, Riley but I want you to know that sometimes it is okay to cry when you feel sad, Jack was the only person I went to when I felt bad and we both came here and since he left the only person that has been for me has been you and you should know that now I will be the one who is there for you "said Mac

Before Mac could say, anything else, Riley threw herself into his arms to hug him, Mac immediately returned the hug, wrapping his arms around her.

"Thanks Mac, thanks for bringing me here" she said against his neck

"Anytime, Riles" Mac gently kissed her head

They stayed like this for another minute until Mac picked her up off the ground, and she panicked because she knew what she was about to do.

"Mac, put me down, don't you dare do it" Riley yelled, hitting him on the shoulder.

Mac just ignored what she said and took her to the lake and then threw her into the water.

"You are a fool" she yelled annoyed

"But that's how you love me" scoffed Mac

Riley was not happy, and without him being able to do something, she took his legs and made him fall into the water as well.

They spent most of the night in that little pond enjoying a quiet and fun time.

When it was 2 in the morning, they were both in their underwear by the fire that Mac had made to dry their clothes.

Neither of them was bothered by the fact that they were both literally in their underwear, they had seen each other half naked before and there was no one around, so they were fine for the moment.

Riley lay down on the ground to get a perfect view of the stars. She looked at Mac who was looking at her.

"That's a children's story, but right now I want to believe that Jack is up there next to the stars, watching us from above," Riley said without taking her eyes off the stars

“When I was a kid, I believed it, and maybe I still do. So when I was little, I really liked astronomy, I thought my mother was there somewhere, "Mac said.

"Maybe she is, she and Jack must be up there" she said pointing to the stars.

Mac got up from his place and took his clothes since he was close now and started dressing. Riley did the same as well and followed Mac to the water's edge where Mac had sat.

They both stayed a few minutes just looking at the water, the stars and the moon were reflected in it, and it was a spectacular sight.

"I love you," Mac said out of nowhere.

"what?" asked Riley surprised

"I love you, I love you as more than a friend Riles, I know you don't see me the same way, but right now I don't want to keep this to myself" said Mac beside him.

"Seriously?" Riley asked

"Yeah, I've been in love with you for a while, and I never had the guts to tell you," Mac said.

He turned to look into her eyes and Mac put his hands on her cheek and slowly approached her, Riley didn't know how she reacted to everything she had just said, it was what she had wanted for so long and now she could have done it . that, and that made him nervous.

"Can I kiss you even once?" Mac begged inches from his face.

Without thinking twice, she nodded and slowly her lips met his.

It was such a soft, sweet, tender, affectionate, intimate kiss, there were so many emotions in that simple kiss. Riley gently ran her hands through Mac's hair as one of Mac's hands rested on his waist while the other rested on his neck.

They parted when shortness of breath was present, but kept their foreheads together, Riley looked Mac in the eye and leaned in closer to wrap her arms around him for a hug.

"I like you too, I love you too" he said

"in cerium?" asked Mac

"very cerium" said Riley

Mac moved to leave the hug and stand up, reached out to help her up.

"There's something else I want you to see," Mac said.

"What?" she asked

"Come with me" Mac took her hand and led her to a nearby tree.

On the tree were engraved the letters "M + J" and just below were other letters "BFF" she knew what each of the letters that were there meant

He looked at Mac and saw small tears trickle down his cheek. He smiled a little and then saw her.

"Jack wrote this the first time we came to this place, he put the M for Mac and the J for Jack, which are the initials of our name, and then he put the BFF which stands for best friends forever," Mac said.

"Typical Jack," Riley said with a smile.

Mac smiled back, pulled out his knife before crouching in front of the tree. Riley watched him do worse, wasn't sure until he got up.

Mac had engraved the letters "R + M" with a heart next to his initials.

When he stood next to her, she jumped up in his arms and kissed him on the lips. When they walked away, Riley smiled at him and he took her hand to lead her to the water's edge.

"I wish Jack was here" said Riley

"Me too, but now I'm happy because I have you" said Mac

They both enjoyed that moment alone at the lake, they missed Jack, but now they knew that everything was going to be fine because they had each other.

#macgyver #mac x riley #macriley #riley davis #angus macgyver #jack dalton

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tirednerd2012 · 3 years

Note

Can we see what happened at their parent's funeral? Like, did Ian start crying when he realized his parents were never coming back and barley had to comfort him?

Alright, guys, y'all have me excited with these requests. Each one in my inbox are awesome and I can't wait to write them! Get ready for some fluff pieces and serious angst within the next few hours.

So, I believe that Ian would have been too young to truly comprehend everything at the funeral. He's actually the one who comforts Barley. He knew his parents were gone, but he didn't understand the gravity of the situation. But Barley was the one feeling everything, from grieving to his parents to knowing he had to raise Ian alone now.

Sorry felt like such an empty word. People came passing him and Ian, saying how sorry they were for them. That they would be in their prayers. Barley used the rest of his energy to keep it together enough to speak.

Two wooden coffins laid in the front. His parents. Taken too soon, out of nowhere, a week after he graduated high school. And here he was, a just turned 19-year-old kid who just graduated, standing in between them. Ian held his hand up until the moment he had to speak.

"I'll be right back, bud, stay here, okay?" Barley said, as he sat Ian in the front row of the church. Ian looked at him with wide, innocent eyes as Barley tried to hold back tears. He held on to his plush dragon that their parents had gave him a few weeks prior.

"Okay, Barley," he said. Barley smiled sadly and ran a hand through Ian's hair and then got up and to the front of everyone. He felt his heart start to race and used all his self control not cry right there.

"Thank you all for coming to honor Laurel and Wilden Lightfoot. My parents spent their lives trying to make the best of it. My mom was selfless and amazing. She was strong, determined and loved her kids with everything she had. My dad had a certain magic to him. He lit up a room with his confidence," Barley began. The tears made his vision blurry and he heard his voice crack, but he looked over at Ian, who tilted his head and pulled himself together.

"They made me who I am today. They're survived by everyone in this room. People they loved and talked to all the time, to the friends they missed everyday. I don't know what happens after our time on this earth, but they truly made the most of it."

The rest of the service was a blur. People spoke about the adventures they had with his parents. They still came and talked to Barley. No one really talked to Ian, mostly because Barley guarded over him. He didn't want Ian to be exposed to everything and he didn't want anyone asking Ian too many personal questions and overwhelming the kid.

After, he signed the papers. His parents were lowered to the ground. It was raining, as if the entire world was crying and grieving for the loss of two amazing elves. Barley and Ian went home that night to a silent, quiet home. Ian went off and Barley sat on the couch and finally broke down.

He cried. He let everything out and sobbed into his hands. He could hardly breathe. He was scared as hell, didn't know what to do and just wanted a moment to grieve without someone trying to question if Ian would be okay with him or not. He had to be okay otherwise he could lose the person he loved most in the world. He couldn't handle that on a normal day, let alone now.

"Barley?" Ian's soft voice broke him out of his state. He looked over and saw his little brother there. His hands were placed on Barley's knee and he tilted his head. "It's okay."

Ian was trying to comfort him.

"Yeah, buddy, I know. I just miss them," he said, running his hand through Ian's hair.

"I know, but you still got me! I'm not going anywhere!" Ian said, with a smile. He climbed up on the couch and Barley pulled him into a hug. "You're my favorite person in the whole wide world."

"And you're my favorite person, Ian," Barley responded.

He looked around the house and then glanced down. Ian was so small. He was able to engulf his brother with both of his arms. Nothing in the world could harm Ian right now, not without going through Barley. And he seemed so content. Maybe he didn't quite understand what was happening, but he still took this moment, glad to be with Barley. He hugged him tightly and then looked up at his brother and wiped one of the tears away from his cheeks, like Barley had done so many times with him.

"I love you so much, buddy. We're going to be okay. We'll stay together no matter what," Barley promised. Ian smiled and hugged him again. Barley kissed the top of his head and silently cried while holding the child, but they both fell asleep on the couch that night, never moving from that position.

#ian lightfoot #barley lightfoot #eigtbo #ian onward #barley onward #onward #onward pixar

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soukokuwu · 4 years

Text

OSAMU DAZAI

IMAGINE

》 angst, definitely (dazai x reader)

》 trigger warnings! death, delusions, accidents

》 word count: 1.3k

》 feeling horrible translates into inspiration so i indulged myself- a shorter one this time round, please... enjoy?

“always pining for what we can’t have”

“I don’t want to, but thanks.”

You shut the door, glad to finally be back after an entire night out. You looked at the digital clock on your nightstand.

6.34am

You sighed. It’s been a long night out. You switched on the lights and found Dazai groggily rubbing his eyes, sitting up on the bed. Your face lightened up upon seeing his, a feature that never escaped his notice.

“What was that about?” he asked, referring to your earlier exchange.

“My mother called, asked if I wanted to go home for Christmas,” you explained, flinging your car keys onto your study desk and climbing into bed next to him. You wrapped the blanket around the both of you, hands tightening their hold around him.

“Weird, you haven’t gone home for years and she’s never asked. Why now?” Dazai questioned.

Ignoring his question, all you managed was a “it’s not weird.”

Dazai knew you well enough not to press on the matter any longer. He returned your hug, letting you bury your head in his chest. “Did my baby have a long night?”

“As usual. Today was a bust, I didn’t find any inspiration. Maybe you should come with me some time.”

“I wish I could, belladonna.”

You were a writer, and it’s been a few months since you’ve lost all motivation to write. You simply couldn’t find interest in anything. You had been wallowing in self-pity for a while before deciding you should probably actively seek out an inspiration instead of moping in your room all day.

Late night drives were your go-to. It was nicer in the night- everything was dark, and quieter than the day. It was also windy and the night sky would be full of stars. It never failed to remind you of the night you first met Dazai.

“You thinking of the night we met again?”

You scoffed and looked up at the man beside you. “You always know what I’m thinking about, don’t you?”

“Of course, you are my belladonna after all,” Dazai pointed out, booping your nose. “I remember too. I was just walking back home after drinking at the bar. And you were sitting next to the river being all sad.” He laughed affectionately while recounting the memory, his hand stroking your hair at the same time.

“Don’t remind me,” you groaned, further burying your head into his chest. You had been upset over your previous breakup that night and were just crying alone when Dazai spotted you. No matter how long it’s been since then it still made you cringe. What a pathetic way to meet your next lover, crying over your old one.

As you caught the unfamiliar, almost musty smell in your nose, you pushed Dazai away, wincing. He looked at you in surprise, pulling away. “What’s wrong, belladonna?”

After a long pause, you let out a long sigh, eyes still closed. “Dazai?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for always protecting me.”

“I always will, my belladonna.”

Another pause.

“Dazai?”

“What is it?”

The tears were finding their way out. Your mother’s scream echoed in your head, “Stop deluding yourself!”

“You’re just a figment of my imagination...”

.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.

A few months earlier.

A screech.

Hands grabbed onto your head, enveloping your body with their’s. Warmth enveloped you. You were safely protected.

Ans then the world went black.

The next thing you saw was the bright light on the ceiling, the only sounds you heard being the beeping of monitors. You tried to move, but it hurt. It hurt everywhere.

You took a deep breath, but it felt weird. You glanced downwards and saw a ventilator.

What?

Panic set in you and the beeping got faster. Someone you didn’t recognise ran into the room, trying to hold you down as you tried to resist her.

It took a while before you would calm down enough to listen. The nurse who had been holding you down earlier was now jotting down your vitals. A doctor was beside her, inspecting the paper on his clipboard.

You glanced at the wall clock.

6.34am

The doctor tried telling you about your own condition, but you cut him off. Then you asked him the only thing you had been thinking of since you woke up, “Where’s Dazai?”

ıllıllııllıllı

One week later, you were taking a last look at him before they closed it. You barely blinked as you watched them slide the coffin into the cremation chamber, your face devoid of emotion. You had cried enough earlier, there no more tears left for now.

The fire burned strong and bright. It was probably the longest one and a half hours of your life.

He was gone. He was really gone.

.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.

Now here you were, on the bed. Without him. You were lying to yourself, as you always have.

This was why your mother asked if you wanted to go back this year. Because she heard what happened. But you didn’t want to spend time with people who didn’t make you feel at home.

This was why you lost all your inspiration for your work. He had taken over the role of your muse ever since you knew him, and you could find nothing else better. Your passion for writing somehow died with him.

The tears wouldn’t stop. The way he always called you ‘my belladonna’ kept playing in your head. You were wrong. The aftermath of the car crash wasn’t ‘hurt’.

This hurt. Remembering hurt. Living hurt.

‘Anything you wouldn’t want to lose would be lost’, huh?

You opened your eyes. And this time, you truly opened them. He wasn’t there. Your eyes fell on the urn beside the bed.

Osamu. There he was. In ashes.

Then your eyes shifted their focus. Where you saw Dazai earlier, the silhouette faded, back into the giant fox doll you always hugged to sleep. It wasn’t real. None of it was real. And how you hated it.

This had been your life ever since he passed. You always came back home with the delusion he was alive, talking to the air as though he was there. But it never was, no matter how clearly you could hear his voice in your head. And sometimes you knew that. Other times you donned a mask of ignorance.

You thought back about earlier, how pathetic you must’ve looked. If people could see you, they’d probably be laughing at you. Talking to thin air, hugging a musty old doll tightly thinking it was him, burying your head in the softness as though it could even replace him. It didn’t even smell like him. How you missed his touch, his smell, the sound of his laugh, the affection in his voice when he talked to you.

“What’s wrong with me?” you screamed, kicking the doll away out of frustration. It landed on the other side of the room, lying next to a box of Dazai’s stuff.

You could hardly contain your emotions as you remembered keeping his belongings after the cremation. People told you discarding his items would make you feel better, a metaphor for being able to ‘let things go’.

But no. No fucking way. How could you? It was the last of him you’d ever have, aside from his ashes. How do they expect you to be able to do that?

You never felt at home with anyone else but him. You had a sad excuse for a family, and ‘friends’ who weren’t ever genuine by a mile. You thought the same of him at first, but you got to know the man behind the mask and you loved every part of him. Every suicidal, cynical, brutally honest part of him. He had been your one and only. He was your best friend, your lover, your future, and your home. And god knows how long you spent in your life searching for a home.

You finally found a place you belonged- with Dazai. But now he was gone. Trying to protect you. You cursed the drunk driver who had crashed into your cab. And then you cursed your late lover for trying to protect you when he should’ve saved himself. You remembered how long and hard you cried on the day of his cremation, his remains in an urn pressed against your chest as you wallowed in the misery. It was a lonely feeling, not coming back home to the usually perky Dazai smothering you with affection. Now all that waited for you was emptiness.

I’d rather be dead with you, Osamu. Why did you leave me behind?

Tonight, for the first time after he passed, you left the doll on the floor, crying yourself to sleep alone, in the cold bed, feeling lonelier than ever.

You were truly alone now. Just like you used to be.

“hush little baby, don’t say a word”

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angst-fairygodmother · 3 years

Text

Tinsel: All Aglow (A Light Fingers Christmas Special 2/2)

Read Chapter 1 here: First Christmas A/N: We go from happy Christmas fluff to angsty sort of plot relevant stuff. But still kind of soft? Word Count: 2314 Content Warnings: discussion of childhood poverty, social workers, implied/referenced child abuse and neglect (past), references to drugs Cross-posted to AO3: here

“Hey, Y/N,” Klaus asked after the others had left, having stuck around to help with clean up the party and have the chance to get to know you better. “You look really familiar. Have we met before?”

“What?” you asked, frowning in confusion, at the same time Diego did with a seemingly affronted tone, one you knew was a cover for his insecurity at being reminded of your colorful acquaintances.

“Yeah. Yeah, I definitely do. I’d recognize that adorable face anywhere. It’s the eyes I think…I just can’t figure out where from…”

You grimaced. You could think of a lot of places a junkie might know you from: pawn shops, back alleys, sketchy clubs, your fence’s house, to name just a few. Luckily Eudora was long gone, so reference to your illegal activities wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if it came up, but honestly you didn’t want to be reminded of them tonight of all nights, not after the evening had gone so well up until now.

“The mausoleum!” he suddenly shouted with a snap of his fingers.

“What?” Diego asked with real confusion now.

Klaus turned excitedly to Diego. “Remember, I swore you and Ben to secrecy because Dad would have been so pissed? The girl, the one that glowed and kept me company when Dad locked me up, and helped hold the ghosts at bay?”

“I always thought you were making that up. Or that it was a friendly ghost that made the others back off somehow. I never…You’re telling me it was Y/N?”

He turned back to you for confirmation. You studied Klaus, the pinch of your eyebrows as you concentrated creating that cute little furrow that was of Diego’s favorite quirks of yours.

“Oh!” you cried suddenly, remembering.

You had snuck into one of the creepy old buildings in the graveyard near your family’s home to hide from the woman discussing “removal.” You were just making yourself comfortable in one of the cubbies, meant for coffins and just tall enough to sit in, when the doors were thrown wide and a boy about your age had stumbled in.

“Three hours,” a voice which later haunted your nightmares had barked. “Maybe by then you will have learned that death is to be controlled, not feared.”

The boy was crying. You felt terrible. So you made yourself glow, though it was hard without much to draw from, and poked your head out of your hiding spot. He screamed and started crying more. It took quite a bit to calm him down and explain that you weren’t a ghost or a monster, and then he’d explained that he could see ghosts but they terrified him and his father was unhappy with him because of it.

“Your dad is a bully, and when he comes back, I’ll kick him,” you offered your new friend.

While he hadn’t accepted that offer, he had the one to come back again in case he was ever thrown in there again, and to shed a little light while he was there (even though it made you feel sleepy and sick to keep it up for so long. It wasn’t like your new friend needed to know that, and he needed your power more than enough to make it worthwhile).

It was no surprise, really, that you hadn’t recognized Klaus. He looked extremely different from his childhood self. It wasn’t a bad look by any means, but it certainly wasn’t the round-cheeked, freckle-faced and crying boy you had known. And it had been so long ago, a friendship that had ended when you were about seven, after one incident where you'd nearly been caught and he had been more scared of what his father might do to you than he was of the dark and the ghosts. He had insisted that he never wanted to see you again, and not knowing yet how to fight for the things that mattered, you had let him push you away.

“Huh,” you finally said, acknowledging the accusation. “Small world.”

“You knew Klaus? Why didn’t you say anything?” Diego asked, unable to keep the hurt from his voice.

“To be honest, I didn’t realize...I sort of forgot,” you said, hoping to brush the whole thing aside. “I try not to think about...roughly ages four to nine. It wasn’t a good time to be me.”

Diego raised an eyebrow and you knew he wouldn’t let it go, so you sighed.

“Look. It was after Dad died. Mom wasn’t doing well emotionally, and money was tight. Apparently when your kids constantly show up to school with no breakfast in them and no lunch, and their jeans are held together with strips of duct tape because a roll of that is cheaper than trying to get new clothes, it raises questions about parental fitness. There were a lot of social workers in and out of my life, and I spent a lot of time running away. Can we not talk about this on Christmas?” you asked quickly, your voice tight, before turning to Diego’s brother. “Where are you staying tonight Klaus? Our couch is available if you don’t already have a place.”

“I’d love to crash at yours, if my brother doesn’t mind,” Klaus said, offering you a hesitant smile.

“He doesn’t,” you replied determinedly, and both brothers glanced at each other over your head, a silent conversation about your sudden terseness and the ways they might be able to help.

Later that night, the three of you sat around the apartment, earlier tension forgotten. Your back rested against Diego's shins from your seat on the floor, head falling on his knees as you threw it back in laughter from some story Klaus was telling about when they were children and he and Diego had started some sort of prank war with Ben (secretly supported by Five or Vanya or maybe both, Diego had said he suspected). It made you happy to hear about the good times, that they had still found ways to be children despite their harsh upbringing.

“The way he stuck to the honey in his mattress was so worth having mine taken away for a month,” Klaus concluded, laughing and oblivious to the horror widening your eyes.

Diego’s fingers combed unconsciously through your hair, massaging your scalp. You started to feel calmer with each pass, matching your breathing to his movements. The physical contact grounded you, reminding you that, despite everything, you had both made it through and made it here.

“It couldn’t have all been like that though...right?” you asked hesitantly. “There must have been just average days where you got to be normal kids?”

“We were allowed to have fun on Saturdays,” Diego was quick to assure you.

“For a whole half hour!” Klaus chimed in, still laughing, false cheerfulness radiating a sharp sting of bitterness. “And on special occasions, Mom made chocolate chip pancakes.” He paused, seeming to listen to something. “Yeah. I think Ben’s funeral was the last time we had any.”

“Oh.”

You sighed, leaning as far into Diego as possible, as if he could give you strength, or you could give him back the peace he had been robbed of pretty much from birth.

“I used to envy you, growing up,” you admitted. “I thought if I had been adopted things would have been better. But really I just wouldn’t have known how bad they were. There really wasn’t a not shitty end of the deal, was there?”

Silence fell over the three of you, uncomfortable and awkward.

“It’s okay though,” Klaus said eventually, shifting nervously and picking at his nails. “We survived it, figured out to be functioning - semi-functioning - adults. And never have to go back.”

“Right,” Diego said and you felt his body shift as he nodded at his brother. “It’s just a thing in our pasts. Everyone’s got...stuff.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “I guess.”

“Hey is there any of that roast left? I’m starving,” Klaus said, standing to climb over the back of the couch and wander toward the kitchen.

You stared after him, unsure if he was serious or just trying to lighten the mood. When you shifted your gaze to Diego questioningly, he just shrugged.

“It should be in the container with the blue lid,” he told Klaus, waving vaguely at the fridge.

The three of you talked (one might even have dared to call it bonded) long into the night. It was past midnight when Diego finally bowed out, practically asleep on the couch already before he stumbled off to bed. You took his spot, sitting cross-legged and facing Klaus at the other end of the couch, and the pair of you continued to talk for at least another hour.

“Y/N, you should sleep,” Klaus eventually suggested. “You look exhausted, and it’s no surprise, with everything you did today, and putting up with my brother all the time to boot.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” you sighed. “I’ll go grab you some stuff to sleep and be right back.”

Quietly you slipped past the screen into the darkened bedroom area and frowned, scolding yourself internally for not doing this before Diego was in bed. He was a light sleeper and got so little of it on a regular basis, and though you could adjust the light to not wake him, it was an imperfect solution. Trying not to disturb your sleeping husband (the word still felt weird and wonderful to wrap your head around and you couldn’t help but smile), you lit your hand with a faint glow and dug through the bins beneath your bed to find your spare bedding.

“You really don't have to worry about it, Y/N,” Klaus whispered, having followed you to the doorway, trying to wave off your efforts. “The couch alone is better than I've had lately. I can just use my coat as a blanket.”

“Absolutely not,” you hissed back determinedly. “You are a guest in my home. I want you to be comfortable, not just 'good enough.'”

He opened his mouth to protest and you held up a finger warningly.

“Klaus, be smarter than Diego, and know that you can’t argue with me and win. Especially not over something as simple as me finding the spare bedding.”

His mouth shut with a dramatic popping sound that made you tense as Diego stirred in the bed.

“Go wait in the living room before you wake him up,” you asked, “please? He’s tired enough as it is most days.”

You felt more than saw Klaus’s eyes as he studied you for a moment before nodding and, shockingly, doing as he was told. A few minutes later, you emerged once more, handing Klaus a pile of bedding.

“Blanket, light sheet, pillow,” you said, patting the pile. “I can grab another blanket if you need, if this won’t be warm enough. I have like a hundred of them.”

“No, this will be fine,” he said sincerely. “I sleep warm anyway. I think it’s the nightmares. Or the drugs.”

“Riiight. Are you sure you’re good? You don’t need anything else? Glass of water? More food? Cup of tea?”

He laughed, reaching out to rest his hands on your shoulders. “Relax, Y/N. I appreciate it, but I’m fine. If I need a drink, I’ll raid the kitchen later. I have everything I need. More than I deserve.”

“That’s not--” he put a finger to your lips dramatically, stopping you short as you squinted in confusion at him, going cross-eyed to try and look at the offending digit.

“Don’t try to argue it. It’s a lifetime of a feeling. But I appreciate you trying. And everything you’ve done, then and now.”

You cocked your head softly. “You know, that offer to kick your father remains on the table.”

He grinned.

“But maybe we should table that discussion for tomorrow, it’s getting late. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Actually, I’ll be gone then,” Klaus said in a tone clearly meant to be reassuring. “Before you wake up, if my brother’s smart enough to take a day off or learn that there’s no reason in general to get up with the crack of dawn. Especially with a beautiful woman in his bed.” He shot you an exaggerated wink.

You rolled your eyes fondly. “You don’t have to, Klaus. You can stay for a while. Days, weeks, whatever.”

“You’re sweet. But you don’t really want me around.”

“Of course I do,” you insisted, frowning at how casually he said such a thing. “We do. You’re family.”

“I don’t think anyone with the last name of Hargreeves really knows what that means.”

“Actually, I took your brother’s name when we got married so…” you shrugged.

Klaus laughed and you smiled.

“I’m serious though,” you pushed. “Diego will never admit it because he’s stubborn and dumb, but he cares about you, and worries. And I think he misses you.”

Suddenly, Klaus’s long arms were wrapped around you, hugging you fiercely. There were tears in his voice when he next spoke.

“Thank you, Y/N. That means...a lot. And hey, take care of him, will you? He’s gonna get himself killed otherwise.”

“Of course I will, Klaus,” you said, hugging him back. “I do kinda love him.”

The pair of you pulled away to share a smile, and somewhere deep inside, you felt the stirrings of your ancient friendship awakening from hibernation. After a moment, you shook yourself.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get some sleep. And if you happen to stick around, I’ll make pancakes in the morning. See if I can’t scrounge up some chocolate chips?”

“You drive a hard bargain, Y/N. I’ll think about it.”

You chuckled, before flicking off most (leaving the one above the sink to help ease his fear of the dark) of the lights. “Goodnight, Klaus.”

#Light Fingers #canonical Christmas special #sibling and sibling in law bonding #twas the night after Christmas and all through the apartment...these idiots were having just as bad sleep habits as me #Diego Hargreeves x Reader #The Umbrella Academy fic #I have been trying to figure out how to incorporate the idea that the reader and Klaus were old friends for ages #and since I decided to make the special canon #I took the presented opportunity to shoehorn it in

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darkhorse-javert · 3 years

Text

Something Sunday:

I wanted to practice writing inside Wing Commander Turner, and this idea presented itself.

Preface; This is completely AU to canon and my current stories. So don’t worry on that score!

Some of it, circumstances, lines may be borrowed for a future story, in another AU timeline.

That being said, guys, I’m so sorry for writing this... You’ll probably need tissues. Tw: Character Death (of a sort)

Messenger

The police sargent knocks on the door, then opens it enough to pop his head round “Wing Commander Turner and another gentleman to see you Sir.”

There is a murmer of assent from the other side. The Sargent steps back and nods slightly to them, pushing the door open properly. He steps across the threshold, J behind his shoulder. It's easy to assess the room, out of habit DCS Foyle is rising from his desk to greet them. The young auburn-haired woman in khaki, Sam, turning towards him, intending to leave them alone, her hand rising automatically towards her brow in salute.

The very second her eyes come to his face he can see she knows why he's there. Of course she will, her father is a vicar, she'll have seen the sombre eyes which come with bad news many times before.

Her face drains of colour, her hand freezing in place halfway to her forehead, her lips moving to start forming an involuntary, soundless, 'No'.

He hates it. So different from the laughing, life filled face she'd had the last time he saw her, walking on her new husband's arm. Andrew's face, the almost disbelief and joy

As if from far away there's the click of the door as the Sargent has pulled it shut behind them, and the sound of DCS Foyle's automatic salutation

“Wing Commander.”

Shifting his attention he sees the recognition dawning on the other man's face, formality being replaced by emerging fear that he tries to conceal...and realisation.

“Mr Foyle, Mrs Foyle. I regret to inform you that Andrew went missing-in-action yesterday. He's believed killed.”

How many times has he used these ritual words? They are foul, bitter and ice-cold, burningly so on his tongue. He'd give anything to not have to say them, the last ones..., especially now, especially to these two people.

The absolute stricken agony in eyes and faces, the almost visible collapse of their world written there. Yet both are so carefully contained and restrained. Mrs Foyle still stands to attention, though her hand has dropped to her side.

“What happened?” Mr Foyle asks the obvious question in an almost inaudible voice that can't hide the pain

He steps back slightly, letting Johnson explain, the pilot's voice cracking it into fragments, not quite able to look at either Foyle or Mrs Foyle “We were raiding on the coast, Andrew's plane was hit, smoking badly, The last we saw the plane was going down into low cloud... No-one saw a 'chute.”

Johnson gulps, “we did get the Blighter that had him.” He braces himself to continue but He's interrupted

“Isn't there a chance he's made it home, come down at an airfield somewhere, a field? Andrew is a good pilot. Greville made it back” The desperate, elemental, hope in Samantha Foyle's voice, pressed forward by her brown eyes, frantically alight.

He shakes his head slowly, meets her eyes“I'm afraid not, I've spent the last Twenty-Four hours since he didn't come in ringing every airfield from Broadstairs to Plymouth. No-one has him, and there are no plane crash reports to match it either.”

A part of him wants to die as the desperate light extinguishes like a candle under a deluge of cold water at his words. she manages a tiny nod of acknowledgement then her gaze drops, her eyes closing tight, breath heaved into her chest. But she holds her stance. It tears his heart. You poor, brave, brave girl. He can't look at her any-more. Mr Foyle just looks stricken, utterly broken inside, his eyes showing pain beyond tears. This the man who had calmly stood up to him, when Rex Talbot's girl had been found dead, leaving him feeling ashamed as he stated the facts, until he was permitted to go on with the investigation, prepared to treat his son as analytically as he did any investigation. This was the man who had softly challenged him when he'd come looking for an AWOL Andrew, the man he knows in his soul would have fought tooth-and-nail for his son, if he, Turner, had not denied a court-martial and understood what Andrew was going through.

Andrew was all he had, Turner isn't sure how he knows this, gossip, next-of-kin files.

Why? He demands of everything in the back of his mind Why did it have to be Andrew Foyle? He hates himself, wishes he could unsay every word that has come out of his mouth, wishes he wasn't here at all. And yet, he couldn't let them know through just a formal telegram and a condolence letter. Not when Andrew flew from Hastings Airfield, so close to his home. It was the right thing to do.

Johnson starts to speak again, managing, though his voice is both hollow and tense, but he's managing to look at the Foyle's now “We all liked Andrew in the Squadron, he was a good man, very fun. Kind too. He'd come and just sit by you if things went bad, a nod, a hand on the shoulder. Rarely ever teased anyone too far, happier being a pilot than an officer in some ways, but he looked after us there too.” A swallow and a croak “We'll miss him.” Then Johnson was offering the wrapped parcel forward, eyes raw.

Turner speaks for the boy “His things... If there's anything missing send a message - we'll find it.” If everyone has to remove every strut of cladding in his hut and the mess, they'll do it willingly.

After a moment, Johnson sets it carefully on the chair in front of the desk

He swallows a lump rammed in his throat, takes the envelopes from his pocket and holds them out “His letters for you both.” Somehow this feels worse still, like the slamming of a coffin lid. As long as these letters are in his possession, death is only a possibility, to hand them over is a certainty. Andrew Foyle, that cheeky sod, who felt everything so deeply to heart behind his bravado, is gone.

Samantha Foyle's eyes move and she starts to shake ever so slightly, even as her jaw clenches. Mr Foyle woodenly walks around his desk to stand next to Samantha and takes the envelopes. His eyes are bleak as he raises them to Turner's own and his throat moves before he speaks

“Thank you, Wing Commander.” It's a dry rasp.

“I'm so very sorry.” His own voice is still steady, just.

Mr Foyle nods once, reaching out a hand to Samatha's arm. She shudders, then collects herself again.

Catching Johnson's gaze he jerks his head towards the door. The pilot opens the door slips quickly through and Turner closes it behind them firmly. Johnson's face is drawn, shocked, his own tears starting.

He carefully doesn't notice the last fact “You did well.”

Johnson sucks in a breath, nods and swallows. Muffled by the door, there is a soft squeaking, possibly a bottled up wail. Together they walk back down the corridor, through the doors into the main waiting room. Johnson heads for the door,

“Sir?” It's a soft voice. Turner stops and looks towards the desk. The uniform Sargent is there, but it's the other main, in a plain-clothes grey suit who has spoken, his eyes searching Turner's face, but with a knowledge of what he'll find there. This man has been to war too, perhaps he's had to deliver news too. something in his face shows it. His voice is low, and expectant already “Is it Andrew?”

He nods his head sharply “Yes.” And it's all he can manage.

But he sees the pain in both faces, the uniform Sargent's eyes filling before he turns away. The plain clothes one nods, a swallow. Andrew was known and liked here.

Dilly. It has no relevant bearing on the current situation, but he's suddenly desperate for her voice, her hand on his cheek, where are you when I need you. Why aren't you here?

Johnson is waiting in the car, passenger side. The young man still looks awful, hollowed out. Turner makes a mental note to see he's bought a drink next time he has a leave-pass. Then he takes a breath “At least she didn't break down and cry...” It sounds like the pilot is bolstering himself.

Oh, Johnson...I'd rather she had. He'd take screaming, wailing, pleas to be wrong, stinging blows to his person over Samantha's quiet acceptance a thousand times.

The image of her laughing with Andrew Foyle hangs in front of his eyes, His hand stings suddenly and he realises he's slammed it against the steering wheel hard enough to bruise. He wants to scream... to fly the next sortie and take down every plane in the Luftwaffe.

There isn't the air in his lungs. He wishes he was on his own, or with Dilly, then he could give in to the tears in his chest.

Why, why the hell did it have to be Andrew? Of all of them, why Andrew Foyle?

#sam/andrew #Foyle's War #Foyle's War Fanfiction #Wing Commander Turner #Sam Stewart #SORRY :(

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aliasimagines · 4 years

Text

Ice Cold (pt 2 to Melted Hearts)

Jason Todd x reader with ice powers

requested by @im-hqlover

A/N: I had a great time writing this (and by great time i mean i cried. a lot. tOO MUCH ANGSt). But I hope you’ll enjoy reading!

Warning: charachter’s death, grieving, anxiety, panic attack, you kmow all the great stuff

Word count: 3722

At any other time you would be complaining by now. At how your side was stinging and how your breath stuck in. But not now. You ignored your hurting leg and ran as fast as you could. Still, with you running at full speed, Batman was a few steps ahead of you.

The Joker has left, leaving Jason and his newly found mother. Batman couldn’t contact him and you just hoped that the psycho didn’t do anything irreversible.

You couldn’t help but play back the last conversation the two of you had in your head. You had a fight. A big one. It was totally pointless by the way but he was too upset at the time. Bruce has just scolded Jason for being too reckless and told him that he should stop being Robin for a bit. Of course you went to comfort him when you heard about it but he wasn’t in the mood to be comforted. There was a lot of shouting, both of you lashed out on each other and it wasn’t pretty. Sure, you regreted it immediately. You called Jason, you texted him but he didn’t reply. Later you found out from Bruce that he went away to search for his biological mother. He left no notes for you, no text, nothing. Yet in this very moment you couldn’t be angry at him, you just hoped he would be alright when you found him.

You finally saw the warehouse in the distance. They should be there. Some kind of relief took over you. He was there. You could almost feel the handle of the metal door, grabbing it and slamming it open.

It all happened quickly. One moment you were still running the other you were thrown back by the wave of the explosion. Your ears rang and it took a moment to realize what happened.

No, no, no, no

You didn’t know when you got back up or when did you start running again but you were on your way to the ruins.

No no no no

You could still hear the noise, ringing over and over again.

-Jason threw a bomb while furiously hitting the switches of the controller.

„Kgshhsssh” he made the most ridiculous explosion mimicking sound with his mouth you ever heard. Just like he expected you break out in laughter causing him to easily win the game.

„That’s cheating!” you manged out in between two giggles.

„Nah, that’s playing smart, baby.” you disapproveingly shook your head and hit the replay button.-

You saw Bruce stopping next to Sheila but you didn’t see him.

No, no, no, no

He has to be somewhere near. You kept tilting your head in all directions as fast as you could until you spotted a bright red piece of clothing. It was from his uniform. You were there in a second trying to lift the debris off of it. It was to heavy, you can’t possibly do it alone. That’s when you saw a pair of strong arms helping you push it off. Your heart pounded so fast you were afraid it’s going to break out any minute.

You saw him. Under the heavy ruins, covered in blood, bruises and dust. Your breathing stopped.

No, no, no, no

Batman was already by his side checking his pulse but it was useless. You both knew it deep down but a little hopeful voice kept saying ’what if not? what if not?’ in the back of your minds.

The bat looked up at you with is usually unreadable face now broken and shook his head.

Legs slipping from beneath you, you fell on your knees, hard. Your whole body shook as you screamed and cried.

„No, no, no, no...this can’t be. No!” the ground beneath you began to froze.

You don’t know how you got home. Your memory is foggy. You remember little bits like Batman talking to you, a window to the cloudy sky which was probably on a plane and maybe the manor?

But now you found yourself on your bed. Instead of your costume you had on a pair of leggings and a hoodie. The hoodie was Jason’s. You sat up, all of a sudden remembering everything. You felt sick amd dizzy. The room was spinning. You stumbled out of bed.

It has to be a dream. It can’t be true. It was all just a messed up dream.

You almost fell like three times til you got out to the kitchen. Diana sat there, she looked so stressed. And you knew it wasn’t just a nightmare. She caught your shaking body and pulled you into a tight hug. You layed your face on her shoulder, quickly soaking her shirt with your tears. She played with your hair in silence. You had to get it out. Minutes passed, maybe an hour when you whispered between two sniffs.

„It’s my fault.” it was bearly audible but Diana heard you. Gently pushing you back so she could look in your eyes she said „Don’t say that Y/N. You did everything you could. You-„

„Noh.. I did not. If we haven’t had a fight, he would have brought me along with him and I would have been with him and-„ you cried out again. „Can I go back to my room?”

„Y/N...”

„Please.”

„Allright. Go. But I’m gonna check on you every now and then. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Without a word you stumbled back into the dark room. You sat next to the window, leaning on the cold glass which gave some kind of comfort.

You spent most of your time there in the next few day. Every song on your phone reminded you of him. Every book on the shelf, every tought you had. So you sat there. Staring blankly outside, your eyes at the busy street, your mind occupied with playing the explosion over and over again. You could have been faster. If only you got there one minute earlier. Only a minute... You probably slowed Batman down too. If he was alone he would have made it on time. He probably blames you for the loss of his son. But that’s alright. You blame yourself too.

Guilt was with you everywhere. You couldn’t shake the thought what if?

You couldn’t really eat either. It just didn’t feel right to feast while his body was somewhere cold waiting for his coffin to be done.

You couldn’t wet out of bed one day and you felt guilty for doing that. You had your whole life ahead of you wasted day after day while Jason had no more days left to waste.

You tried to smile at Diana one time after thanking her something when you noticed a little voice in your head. It wnet on and on about how went on and on about how selfish you were for smiling. How can you smile? You’re not even hurt a little by losing Jason? God, you really are worse than the Joker.

THE JOKER!

That’s it. You have to snap out of it! Step out from this miserable act and do something. He has to pay for what he did. You closed your fist forcefully. You imagined beating him until he couldn’t move anymore. You wanted nothing more that to swipe that irritating smile of his stupid pale face. You wanted to freeze his veins, break him into million pieces of frozen meat. Than put him in a block of ice and throw him in to the Gotham river, let his remains sink down to the bottom.

Next thing you knew you were in your supersuit racing down to the front door. Just as you reached for the handle you heared Diana.

„Where are you going, Y/N?”

„Out.”you turned.”The clown needs to pay for what he did.”

„And what is that you want to do exactly?”

„Just what he deserves.”

„Do you hear yourself Y/N? You can’t do this.”

„He killed thousands of people! He took Jason too! I can’t-„

„You’re hurting. I know. But revenge will not bring you satisfaction. Jason will not appear miraculously if you go after the Joker. And you don’t kill Y/N!”

„I haven’t before.” you said more and more quietly

„Y/N you are grieving. You want him back, more than anything, I know. But you are in no shape to go after the Joker. Dear, you couldn’t even take out a thug like this, you-„

„Don’t you think I know that?” you cried out. „I know. I know I can’t do this for him! I’m a pathetic mess.”

„He wouldn’t want you to get hurt. I am certain of that. He would want you to continue on. Please Y/N don’t go. If not for me than Jason.”

His sweater still had his smell in it. It was comforting as you laid on your bed. Soft music played in the background. You reached for your phone and took it from next the plate. It was empty, except from the crumbs from your toast.

You open your texts and read back the last conversation you had with Jason before the fight.

Your heart clenched at his text. ’See you soon, doll❤️❤️’

(time skip to the funeral)

There was only a few people there. You almost laughed. He really was loner like Diana said the two of you were.

There were no big speeches. Not because he didn’t deserve one but because noone was in condition to do one. All of you were broken. Like a glass vase that was hit off the table all of a sudden with such brute force that it shattered to unrecognizable pieces. With a lot of work and time you could rebuild the vase but you could never cover up the marks on it. It will never be as strong as it was before.

You looked at a tree the whole time. It was such a nice tree, it looked a lot like the one you sat under the night you first met. It was covered in beautiful green leaves and it was blossoming. You looked at the tree because you couldn’t look at them. You couldn’t look at the tomb. You distracted yourself with the tree, with leaves, with anything you could because if you wouldn’t you would have broke down crying, you were sure of that. Sometimes his voice popped up in your mind, him saying your name. You choked up then, tears were threatening to fall but you swallowed back all of them.

A good amount of time must have passed because you sensed everyone starting to leave. Dick with shaking shoulders, Bruce marching slowly like a robot, Barbara and Commissioner Gordon behind them. The only ones left were Diana, you and Alfred. The man has been through a lot, seen a lot and you never saw that on him but as you turned to face him you saw a tired, shaken, torn man. He looked so vulnerable and so..old.

„Miss Y/N... Thank you for giving him his happiest memories. I know he loved you dearly.” he said quietly. You fought with your tears again and held back yoir breath. Afraid nothing would come out of your mouth but a sob you noded. Diana put her hand on your shoulder but you gently took it off. Collecting all your strength you spoke, your voice barely louder than a whisper. „Can I-could I have a moment alone?”

„Of course. If you need me, we will be inside.”

You watch them walk away too, you kept your eyes at your ’aunt’ and Jason’s grandfather until they became small silhouettes in the distance. You than walked with unsteady legs and shaking body as you couldn’t hold yourself anymore. The bouquet which you strangled in your hands until now looked too vibrant against the cold stone and the dark dirt which beneath was an even darker coffin.

You promised you wouldn’t leave my side.

You lifted your fingers to your lips before placing them on the tombstone.

„I love you”

You felt awful. And tired. You couldn’t really sleep. Everytime you passed out from exhaustion you woke up hours later covered in cold sweat, sometimes crying other times screaming because of the nightmares that haunted you. Diana figured your mental health was getting worse and worse so she made you a therapy appointment. You were unsure at first. Afraid to open up, to get help. But you went anyway.

You needed some sort of closure. Well that’s what they told you at therapy. Because you couldn’t say goodbye to Jason in person, you needed to find a way to do it now. Your therapist listed a bunch of methods but only one caught your interest. Write a letter to him. You liked the idea because he loved stuff like that. Hand written letters are so Shakespeare-y, Y/N! So you grabbed a pen and started writing. The words came naturally and you wrote the letter at one sitting. It wasn’t long. But it served it’s purpose. It was a closure.

Once you were done with the writing you put it into an envelope. You took the candle you lit before you started writing and poored the hot red wax on the back. Quickly before it hardened you carved a „J” into the wax. Satisfied you put it in the drawer of your table before locking it with a key. In the locked drawer, under the letter there was your superhero uniform. Diana was understanding about your decision. She let you stay with her and even though you wanted nothing more than to travel back to your family you took her offer. You wanted to focus on your studies and Gotham had one of the best university of the country. If not the best. But you talked with your family almost every day, video chatted with your brother whenever you could. And your days went like this. You worked, you found a lovely part time job at the local art museum, you studied, went to therapy and got through every day.

But no amount of medication or therapy could uplift you as a hug from Jason.

However you learned one really important thing. You can’t do anything about it. As much as it hurts, he is dead. But what you can do is try and live a life worth living. That is what he would have wanted (it took a lot of therapy sessions and speeches from Diana for you to believe that but now you finally do).

You worked hard, you studied hard so you could get in to university. And after a good while you stared dating again. It didn’t mean it actually hurt less, or that you didn’t miss him anymore, no. No, but you had to try to move on. Although seeing his lifeless body was a trauma you would carry with yourself in to the grave. You never forgot him, you still think about him, sometimes you wonder what would he do in certain situations that happened to you. You still cry some time. You still have anxiety attacks and not having his arms around you makes it harder. But you are trying. And that’s the best you can do.

(years later after Jason’s death, Gotham City, in the small apartment you live in)

You shared the apartment you were living in with one of your friends. You met at the first day of school and since you had the same classes you hang out a lot. She found this place not far from the university and asked if you wanted to move in. You did, not wanting use Diana’s hospitality (even though she said it was fine) plus you wanted to be more independent.

It was Friday night and she left for a party, she asked you countless times to come with her but parties weren’t your scene. Too many people.

So you were home, alone but it was kind of nice. You decided that a few hours of chilling wouldn’t be so bad. With all the studying and working you did all the time, you just wanted to do nothing tonight.

You changed into a comfortable pair of pants and your GSU hoodie. With some of your favorite music playing in the background you prepared some food and brought it back to your room. You sat the plate down to your table, next to your laptop and turned back to close the door.

„Hey”

Hearing a robotic voice from behind you, you spin around in a flash, grabbing a pocket knife quickly. Turning around you met with a huge figure leaning next your open window with hands raised in a defensive way. His dark clothes blended in perfectly to the dark lighted room but his big red helmet stood out just fine.

You knew him. Sure you left crime fighting behind but that doesn’t mean you just ignored what was happening in the city. He is a new face around Gotham. A raising crime lord, seemed to be interested in taking over the biggest crime lord, the Black Mask. His name was rumored to be the Red Hood.

„Oh, come on! We both know you don’t need that. But hey! I’m impressed! Your reflexes are pretty amazing considering you hang up the cape years ago. I bet you still work out.” you couldn’t see but he looked you up and down.

„Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to imply here but I don’t want anything to do with you.”

„Ah, why so harsh, doll?”

„If you leave now I won’t call the cops.”

„Sweetheart” he sighed annoyed „ You and I know that I will be long gone before old Commiss Gordo gets here.” The Hood slowly let his hand down reaching into what you assumed was a pocket inside his jacket. You pointed your knife at him.

„Easy there. I mean no harm.”

„Oh yeah, tell that to the trail of dead bodies you left on the streets”

Your comment was rewarded with small chuckle from the armored man.

„I mean no harm to you, is what I meant. Those fucks who you are talking about? They had it coming. I’m not gonna apologize for killing psycho bastards who sell drugs to kids.” he said getting a bit to heated at the end. You saw him take out a a folded piece of paper. From where you stood you couldn’t see what was on it but to your great suprise his next move was to held the paper out for you.

You nearly laughed out at him.

„ I expected a better distraction from you.”

„If I wanted you to be distracted, you would be distracted dear. Just take it.”

Still not sure, you took it and unfolded it. You slapped your hand in front of your mouth, quickly forgetting about the knife, letting it fall down with a loud crash. The paper was actually an old picture of you and your late boyfriend. A picture that was supposed to be six feet under ground in said late boyfriend’s coffin.

Your whole life body shook with anger.

„What the fuck have you-„

He quickly interrupted with a calm voice.

„I found it in my jacket. I seriously have no idea how you snuggled it into it because Bruce was never the sentimental type and wouldn’t let you put it there.”

You just stared at him with plain confusion and anger.

„Who-„ are you? Because it can’t be... This person in front of you can’t be who you think it is. No. It’s not him. But the way he stands, he speaks, the „doll”, the picture! But it can’t be him.

„You know it Y/N-„ his voice sounded more human and familiar as he took off the helmet.

„Jason...” you knew it wasn’t possible. He shouldn’t be here. Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you because of the exhaustion. But he was there. Taller and muscular than last time you saw him but he was your Jason. Right here. „How...”

„Does it really matter?” he asked his voice gentle, making your legs fill like they’re made out of jelly. He stepped closer, holding out his hand towards you.

No, it really doesn’t. He is here now and that’s what- wait. The Red Hood has been here for weeks!

„Jason.” you looked up at him. „How long?”

„Well...”

„Were you even dead?”

„Yes! Of course! For a while I was. I died. It was real but-„ he couldn’t finish his explanation because you smashed him across the face.

„How could you? I was mourning, we all were. Goddammit we still do, you idiot! Do you hate us that much??”

„Oh, so were continuing where we left off! Great! I loved that fucking fight we had. Amazing last memory of you!”

„How can you say that?!” you shouted, lips trembling, your whole body shaking. You felt like you couldn’t breathe and tears felt your eyes. Jason’s face fell. Fuck, I’ve gone too far.

„Hey..uhm try to listen to my voice and-„ he was cut off with a glare from you.

„I know, I know. I fucked up, I’m sorry. Just try to breathe and I will just be out in minute”

„Don’t you dare- don’t leave you idiot.” you reached for him with shaking hands. And he took your hands. You touched the rough material of his gloves, his jacket and as he gently hugged you, you felt his armor too.

You stayed like that for god knows how long in his embrace. Sure you were mad at him and he knew that but that could wait. He was here now and he wasn’t about to leave. You had all the time in the world.

He brushed your hair out of your face, with a loving gaze. Without a word you cuddled closer to him, laying your head on his chest you listened to his heart beat. He continued to play with your hair with one of his strong arms wrapped around your torso. You didn’t talk. Not because you didn’t know what to say but because you didn’t need words to understand each other. Even after all these years. And you knew that the of you belong togethe. Whatever happens, you will always find your way back to the other.

#ice cold #melted hearts #jason todd angst #jason todd one shot #jason todd x reader #jason tod x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x ice powered reader #red hood x reader #red hood one shot #jason todd imagines #tw angst #tw anxiety #tw panic attack #tw death #tw grieving #im-hqlover #alias imagines

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heli0s-writes · 5 years

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VI. Three Conversations

Summary: You have three conversations, respectively, with Peggy, Steve, and Sam. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Very dialogue-based! Thanks for reading and let me know what you think! Not too much happened here as far as ~*~Steve-time~*~ goes, but sometimes break-ups be like this, y'all.

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

The phone in your hand feels like it weighs a damn ton.

Steve’s message echoes through your apartment, bouncing off the walls of your brain, too. Honey. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

“Stupid!” You chuck the phone on your bed where it bounces into the dresser before tumbling to the floor with a thud. The insult is both for yourself and Steve, and you huff the entire time as you finish getting ready and head out the door for your first workday. In your head, a single string of words spin uncontrollably: How could he? How could he? How could he?

“You all right there?” Heather’s concerned voice snaps you out of the miserable derailing train of your thoughts—crashing right into a cliffside.

“Hm? Yeah. Totally fine.” You smile at her. The two of you are exiting the gym together and heading to lunch. The morning has been full of professional developments which feel like what hell might be if it was led by your Operations Manager—monotone, unqualified, boring. The packet of strategies in your hand is heavy and you’ll probably shred it with your bare hands once you return to your room. You’re in quite a mood.

In the teacher’s lounge sits a spread of pastries to celebrate the first workday. You know exactly where it’s been ordered from and you pass right through the room. Jessica Sweetwater calls out to you to try out the pie and you grin, promising to come back as soon as you drop off your things.

Heather closes the door when you’ve both returned to the dusty room with the still-stacked chairs and desks. The windows are drawn. She flips on one light switch when you plop down in your swivel chair.

“Got anything for me to do?” She volunteers meekly. She knows something has happened between you and Steve; it’s hard to hide and too easy to put together.

“No, it’s okay. Enjoy your lunch.” What are the five stages of grief again?

“Huh?” Heather asks. You shake your head—must have said it out loud.

“Nothing. Sorry.”

The phone rings, and you absently fiddle around in your pocket for it. Steve’s face lights up on the screen— now cracked from when it pitched into the corner of the dresser. It’s a picture the two of you took together on the couch, with your head against his shoulder, eyes closed and laughing. He’s smiling too— perfect white teeth as he looks into the camera. Full brown beard. Ocean eyes, olive flecked. Damn it.

Your hand shakes, and from across the room, Heather sends you a sympathetic glimpse before she steps out and closes the door.

“Hello.” You say in monotone.

Silence on the other line greets you back.

You ask again, steeling your voice, and finally, a shuddering breath passes. Steve stutters your name a few times before asking, “Did you get my message?”

“Yes.” Your brain is melting. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, and you know he’s sorry. He sounds like he’s been crying because his voice is a bit scratchy and gruff. You probably do too.

“I- I uh… What can I do?”

Abrupt anger burns out the sympathy in you. “Oh, go fuck yourself!” and then it quells as quickly as it had arrived. “Ugh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” You mutter, face heated. “No! I’m not sorry.”

You’re backtracking and unable to find the right feeling to begin with—Hurt? Resentment? Disappointment? Or understanding? Because all of them are here, mixing together in a sickly-sweet potion.

Then, a wretched sob escapes, and you feel so stupid for breaking down over just the sound of his voice.

“Oh baby,” He sighs, “God. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you like this.”

It pours out of your eyes and nose and mouth like the smashing of an hourglass, releasing a summer’s worth of sand. You press your hand to your forehead and try to hold it back, but it continues relentlessly.

You scold him angrily in-between choked sobs. “You didn’t even call. You did nothing, Steve. Fuck. I understand your priorities. I know you love Sarah and want what’s best for her. I do too, you know!”

“I know—”

You gasp and cut him off, take a breath to calm your voice. “I get it. Okay? I get it. It doesn’t change the fact that I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not.” He whispers, “You’re not. It’s me. It’s all my fault. I know I have no right to ask you...” He pauses. “I-- Yester—Sarah asked if you were coming to the airport.”

A scoff finds its way out when the anger returns. Tears well up again in your eyes. Fuck! Why is he doing this? “Her flight lands at eight Friday night. She really misses you.” He continues. “She... would like to see you. I do too.”

“Is that right? You want to see me after the last two weeks? Fuck you.”

You hang up, slamming the phone face-down on the table while another sob wrenches itself from your throat.

Pulling your shirt over your face, you muffle the howling scream in your palms.

—

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

You show up at the airport fifteen minutes early and park your car underneath the shade of the blue section. Lot 5. A three-minute walk across the way. Your last workday consisted of rearranging your room back to its former glory. Dusting. Hanging posters. Sorting books and changing out colored butcher paper. Laminating so many things. Writing 24 new names on binders. And journals. And folders. And workbooks.

You dragged yourself home at 3:30 and took a swig of wine and a long nap. Your wrists hurt. Your feet hurt. Your heart, most of all, hurts.

Then, you spent the next three hours debating whether or not this was going to be either fine, or goddamnstupidwhatthefuck. So far, it has been fine.

Now, as you cross the street and see Steve standing with his fists shoved in his pockets, the switch reverses and fine becomes goddamnitstupidwhatthefuck. How does his beard stay so fucking --- ugh! His hair has grown, too, the ends of it flipping out when it touches it neck.

You take in a shaky breath with every step your feet cross the road’s white block lines. Your hands come up to smooth your white and orange flower print blouse, but you put them back down. There’s no one to impress here, you chide yourself.

Steve’s smile is wary and sad, and he dips his head low to regard you. His greeting gets lost in the honking and bathumpthump of cars running over speed bumps. “She’ll be out soon. Want to go in?”

You step behind him, holding onto the strap of your purse like it is the only thing to keep you on earth. Through the sliding doors and into the bag check line, the two of you stand awkwardly, waiting until the next teller is available. You let your thoughts loose amongst the strangers with roller bags and pressed suits, or mothers wearing sweatpants, teenagers returning from summer vacations, finding anything else to care about but him.

“Sorry sir, there’s no unaccompanied minor by that name on the flight.”

Steve shakes his head, “That can’t be right— look, it’s my daughter and we need passes to get her at the gate.”

“Sir, the passenger with that name isn’t traveling alone. You’ll have to wait by luggage pick-up for them.”

Steve frowns and steps away as you follow him. He shakes his head, “I didn’t know Peggy would be coming back with Sarah.” He tells you in a hushed voice, “If you.. if you want to leave… I understand.”

Part of you wants to disintegrate from this airport, not just leave. Leave is a term that sounds serene, normal, decidedly rational— a term for people who have the grace to choose to depart. Your departure would be instant, like being struck by lightning and cremated on the spot.

But it’s already too late. You are already here, with him. And it is 8:38, the plane has already landed. So, you smile defeatedly and shake your head. “I’m fine.” The former Misses Peggy Rogers will shatter you with her perfect white teeth and prim posture while Mister Rogers stands watch and you’ll kiss Sarah on the cheek before you go home to pick up what’s left of your pieces.

Steve doesn’t push it. He only leads you to baggage claim 6 and stares at the flight of stairs that disappear up to the second floor. The first wave of arrivals streams down with scattered footsteps. Two families and a few young men with backpacks come to stand by the dusty conveyor belt. A few more passengers follow them before the crowd picks up with a steady current of arrivals.

Clicking heels and a high-pitched voice alerts you of the one arrival you are here for.

And then you see them, walking down the escalator because Peggy Carter doesn’t stand still for anything. Even on an already moving platform she is face-forward and in motion by her own accord. Sarah follows her with the same determination, holding her hand and slipping through standing people easily.

“That baby cried a lot, mumma. I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Shh, Sarah. It’s rude to say those things. Babies cry, it’s natural, my love.”

“Did I cry a lot?”

“Yes, darling, you did.”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath upon seeing them, and you exhale just a little bit for him. You could cry too, like that baby, because the wave of emotions crashing over you is exploding saltwater into every single wound that has been punctured into you this summer. Seeing them, the three of them now, all together, is the final nail in the coffin. The final puncture, and the final seal— hard, metal, definitive.

You are the lonely remainder in this familial equation.

Sarah catches sight of you first and takes off as soon as her feet hit the slate tight-knit airport carpet. She’s yelling your last name in between shrieks of “Daddy!” and when you think she might pause to say hello to her father, she leaps forward into you, instead.

Third time is the charm, you think, as she careens into your arms and you pitch over with a small squeal. It happens too quickly, you’re too far away, and Steve doesn’t catch you this time. The idea of how fitting it all is tears a laugh from your throat.

“Sarah!” Her parents exclaim in unison as they both rush forward. You put your hand up when Steve bends down and brush yourself off, picking bits of fibers from your knees. Sarah doesn’t give you a chance to stand as she reaches into a pink and orange fanny pack around her middle.

“Look!! I used the camera a lot! Look at this horse with a carriage! And this man with the tall hat just like in our Snapshots book when Nate went to the U.K.!”

She dumps the contents of her pack out onto the floor and all over your legs as you stare on, open-mouthed. “Thank you thank you thank you so much for letting me use the camera!” She surges forward into your arms again and wraps all four appendages around your body.

You’re glad you wore pants as you pat her back with a smile, “I’m happy you liked it, Sarah. C’mon, let’s clean this up.” You quickly scoop as many polaroids into your hands as possible so that neither of the other adults will try to help you. Sarah tugs open the mouth of her pack and you slip them in before standing.

Steve and Peggy exchange firm, grim lines of their mouths, speaking in low tones to each other about why the flight has changed—why Peggy’s in town, and why she didn’t tell Steve. You stand around awkwardly and clear your throat. “Well—uh, Sarah. You ready to go home?” You ask, eyes fixed on the young girl. She blinks by your side, as if suddenly remembering that she hasn’t said a word to her father at all.

“Yeah! Daddy!” But mid-step, she turns around to tug at your hand. “Can you come over for dinner again?”

Steve shushes her and lifts her up onto his hip, “You don’t want to spend time with your dear old dad, Sarah?” She’s ready to argue with him, but Peggy steps up and pinches her cheeks.

“Steven, would you mind getting our bags from the luggage claim?”

He sends the two of you a worried look, but his daughter has already hopped out of his arms and tugging him towards the crowd of people who wait for their bags. You are left alone with the former Misses Peggy Rogers and her flawlessly lined red lipstick.

“Hello.” She smiles carefully, placing her hands together. You stare on, as if gazing into the sun, blinded by her composure. The two of you must look like complete opposites—her in a pressed black suit and matching pencil skirt, creamy silk button up decorated with delicate lace collars, polished black heels pointing forward directly at you who is dressed down in a blouse and blue jeans. Your ballet flats are well-worn and dirty. Your hair is a knotted and tangled bun.

“I know what you must think of me,” Peggy begins, sending you a sad smile. “I just—well, I had business in the states, but I really wanted to come and apologize to you.”

“I’m sorry, what?” You blurt. “Apologize?”

She laughs a disappointed tone, as if she’s scolding herself, “Green’s never been a good color for me. And I suppose I needed the reminder.”

What the fresh hell is she talking about, you think as you continue to listen as much as you can. If that comet is coming to incinerate you, you only wish it would hurry up.

“Sarah wouldn’t stop talking about you when she arrived. Really, the whole time. And I… I just felt so replaced that I acted selfishly and irresponsibly—I.. I was so jealous. I knew who you were, of course—” Yes, of course. You’ve been sending her weekly newsletters all year, the same as you send every other parent in your classroom. You begin to shake your head- to stop her from continuing because you can’t bear to hear any more of it, but she pushes through, and her will is leaps and bounds stronger than your own.

“I saw how… changed Sarah was. How she’d grown. And I know that I have you to thank for it. I just… I felt as if suddenly my little girl had forgotten all about me and… I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I’ve ruined what you and Steve have.”

“Had.” You correct her candidly. “And thank you. For your apology. But I’m just Sarah’s former teacher—I’m not your replacement, in any way. Really.”

You slip away from Peggy’s apologetic brown eyes and linked fingers. You don’t bother to look behind you when she calls out to you. Your muddy flats stomp as quickly as they can out the sliding doors and back into the safe confines of your car where you blare the radio as loudly as you can to drown out the static fritz in your mind.

The lights in your apartment are turned off, save for the one strand of Christmas lights you line around the perimeter of your room. The walls glow a melting array of peach and rose, dappled with blue-green, and you plant yourself face-first into the mattress that smells only like detergent. He’s been washed out. You sigh.

In bed, you think about Peggy Carter’s apology and her manicured fingers clutched together and squeezing themselves so tightly.

It doesn’t matter. She’s not even the person you’re most upset with.

It doesn’t matter at all.

The first day back to school is in five days, with a whole new set of children who require your attention. You have bigger concerns than your crumpled little feelings.

There are thirteen students in the gym who sit bouncing their knees. You’ve met some of them at the early open house yesterday and some of their parents at the orientation after the final Monday workday. You remember a few—Kalyn, Carson, Phoebe, Meredith. Some were harder to recall, like the set of similar-lengthed brown hair of two girls.

They file in slowly before the first bell, and soon enough you meet all twenty-four pairs of big eyes full of wonder as they search around the tops of their classmates’ heads looking for familiar friends from Kindergarten.

You read them a book—First Day Jitters, about a character who is afraid of the first day of school because she doesn’t know if her peers will like her at the new school. At the end of the story, it turns out the character is the teacher and the class erupts into laughter and asks you if you are nervous.

Yes! Of course! you reply. You are. They titter and wiggle their heads. Your heart is about to burst.

At recess, you chat with Heather and walk around the grassy path, keeping your eye on as many of your students as possible. Jared scrapes his knee in a rather physical game of soccer, and you catch Ruby before she slips off a swing. When you blow the whistle to line up, you see that second grade is already filing out the back door.

It’s complete and utter chaos. They stream down the ramp and screech and your mostly single-file line begins to wobble and curve. Heather briskly walks back and forth down the row to reel them in, counting the tops of heads by twos, making sure all are present.

“Woah! It’s okay. Let’s scoot over so the big kids don’t run into us!” You call over the shouts of a hundred children.

The other first grade classes aren’t faring any better as more yelling breaks out.

Just as you think you can begin leading them back in, a body crashes into the back of your legs and you stagger.

It’s Sarah. She’s pressing her face into your hip and there are two rivers running from her eyes. “I wanna go home!” Behind her are Harper and Grayson, both shyly waving.

“Sarah,” You say firmly, taking a second to signal to your previous students. Then you try to peel her grip from your legs, “Sarah, I have to go with my class.” Her teacher stands by the railing, giving you a silent plead with her eyes. All morning, she mouths, hasn’t stopped.

“No! No no no no! Please please please!” She’s heartbroken, squeezing her eyes shut as if it could be the balm to ease her crying. If she keeps this up, she’ll likely vomit. “Please don’t go please don’t go! D-”

“Sarah!” You put a finger up as you kneel, then you motion for Heather to take the rest of the class inside. “Sarah Rogers, listen to me.” The hiccupping ceases for only a second.

“You’re in second grade now and I know it’s tough, but you have to stop.”

Then, it gets louder, more panicked, almost to a shriek as she grips you tighter. You’re in way over your head as the last child in your class disappears into the school, and your brain is spinning every possibility you have to find one that is best suited for this situation. You mouth a message back to her teacher—who graciously nods, and then you tug Sarah along inside. She sniffles the whole way and when she gets to the door to your room, she’s wailing again. “Stay here.” You say.

Heather starts the kids on lunchtime, and you grab your phone. “Sarah. I’m going to call your dad. He is going to talk to you. You may eat lunch with me. And then you are going to go back to class. Okay?”

She nods tearfully.

“But this is the only time. This cannot happen again.”

She nods once more.

Steve picks up on the second ring—alert, confused, a little hopeful. “Hello, Mister Rogers,” You say as calmly as possible even as his daughter continues to sputter in the background. It’s like you’re reading a television prompter, but the plan in your head must go just right or else Sarah’s breakdown is going to also cause the rest of your kids to panic.

“Sarah is having a very emotional morning. I have invited her to eat lunch with me, but could you please console her just for a second?”

He pauses- begins to say yes, halts, begins a different sentence, but finally, he stops and breathes a sigh. “Yes. Thank you for reaching out to me.”

The wall of necessary professionalism separates you both.

Lunch is spent mostly fielding off Sarah’s questions about when you’ll come back to her house. She speaks much too loudly about the time you watched The Little Mermaid and soon enough the rest of your class wants to know when you’ll be visiting each of them for a sleepover.

“Not a sleepover!” You exclaim, but the moshpit of voices only responds with, “Yay, sleepover!”

Heather is laughing so hard she’s pitched over her desk. You grumble and put your head down before escorting Sarah back to her class at the end of lunch.

Her teacher meets you at the door and ushers her in quietly.

“Thank you so much.” She sighs, “Apparently it’s been like this for days. Dad walked her to the room this morning really tardy and he was... not happy.” She says the last bit painfully and you can just imagine what Steve must have looked like. “He said he’s not working today but I wasn’t sure if calling him was a good idea. First day, you know?”

You push your hair from your forehead, hum a little because it’s Wednesday and Steve isn’t working? Also—being tardy is very unlike him.

“Yeah. I mean...” You find your words again and peek through the door’s window to where Sarah has laid her head down. “You’re fine, Christine. It’s... this happened at the end of the year last year. She should be okay for the rest of the day. Esther is usually pretty good with her, too. Have you tried calling her?”

“Yes. And Esther sent her back. I’m pretty worried—if this is frequent, does she need a behavioral plan?”

Oh Christ, you think, it’s really not that serious. And Steve is going to lose his mind if he gets summoned to sit in a conference for behavioral intervention in the first week. You shake your head quickly, “It might be too early to tell. Can you send her to my room at dismissal? I’ll talk to dad at the end of the day.”

Your colleague smiles and thanks you again before slipping back into her class. You wander down the hallway, take a deep breath, and return to your own post.

Sarah links her fingers through yours and stares at her feet as she walks. “I’m sorry.” She says as you lead her down the ramp and around the dismissal cones. “I don’t like school.”

“Don’t say that, Sarah. You liked school last year.”

“No. I like you. I don’t like Miss Parsons.”

“You don’t know Miss Parsons. You might hurt her feelings if you say that.”

“Daddy says you are upset with him. And that you can’t be his friend anymore because he did something wrong…. did he hurt your feelings?”

You shut your eyes for a second, and you hope Sarah’s out of harm’s way. You hope a little that somebody’s SUV full of children will pummel right into you. Let you splat over the traffic circle. Add a little color to the concrete.

“He said he was very sorry.” Sarah peers up at you with those giant doll-eyes.

“Yes, he did.”

“Okay. Can you come over today?”

“Sarah... it’s not that simple.” But to her, it certainly is. Saying sorry means, you take responsibility for what you did—the wrong that you did—and it is an all-absolving expression. Then the hurt and the wrong disappears and then you can be friends with that person again.

The world of adults is not that simple, but Sarah Rogers does not yet live in that world.

“Daddy!” She perks up at the sight of the familiar blue sedan.

Steve steps out of the car sporting a cap and sunglasses. It really is his day off. He rushes over, “Hey.” He breathes when his feet finally point at you and still.

“Hey.” You motion for Sarah to get into the car and she does, waving to you and yanking the handle until the door swings shut. “She cried all day. Before and after lunch with me.”

Steve puts his face in both his hands, “Shit, I’m sorry. It’s been like this since she got home.”

“Since Friday?” You ask in disbelief.

His defeated nod almost breaks your heart. “It’s constant. Nothing helps. We’ve gone to the movies, the pool, made her favorite dinner... which apparently has now become the yuckiest thing, and she just...”

“Did you talk to her mom about it?” You venture to ask, steeling your heart that begins to squeeze at the idea of Peggy. “Did she experience this on the trip?”

He takes off his sunglasses and you see the deep blue that rests below his eyelids. You feel as tired as he looks as the sun beats down on you both. “Yes. She said the only thing that helped was the camera.” Steve looks slightly uncomfortable and you sigh because you know exactly what he’s thinking. Now that Sarah is back home, the camera has finished serving its purpose. Now she needs more. And he thinks she needs you.

“Christine is thinking about a behavioral plan.” You admit, and then correct yourself when Steve doesn’t seem to recall the name, “Parsons. Steve, your child’s teacher. Christine Parsons.”

He shakes his head, “Shit. Sorry, I knew that. What is a behavioral plan?”

You explain the process of him being called into a conference and how the teacher will outline with interventionists ways to implement and manage behavior modification. You try your best not to use the kind of jargon that only educators understand, but it’s really hard to explain to a man that his daughter is throwing a tantrum and needs to be mediated with without making it sound like she’s just a brat. Because she’s not.

“Jesus.”

“It sounds worse than it is... but it is kind of bad. Especially since...” You shrug, unsure of how to word the next part. How would you say it if you didn’t know him? It would be so disengaged, you think, and you really need for Steve to understand that it is urgent.

“Because she wasn’t like this with you last year?”

“It’s not me.” You reply, “And it’s not her teacher, either.”

“So it’s me?” He steps back, crossing his arms. No, he’s not understanding at all. You almost roll your eyes at the way he cocks his eyebrow and pulls his mouth, but another teacher breezes by and smiles so the exasperation you have pushes itself down. You forget sometimes that Steve Rogers isn’t perfect. He can also be a little snide and short-tempered.

He’s looking at you now, sunglasses hanging from his shirt collar, standing defensively with his weight on one leg.

“Okay,” You sigh, exhausted by him. He wouldn’t act like this if you weren’t who you were. “This is really neither the time nor the place. I’m not your child’s teacher. Take it up with her, Mister Rogers.” And then you turn to walk away but damn your conscience—it pulls you back despite how angry you are with him.

You wish you could say fuck you like you’ve done before but little Sarah is sitting in the car bopping her head along to the radio and you can’t stop thinking about how she was bawling her eyes out for five hours today.

“Listen up, Steve.” You announce, “You and I aside, I’d like to impart some knowledge onto you as a professional, and also a bit as a child of divorce.”

Stepping closer, you glare into his eyes, which are now wide with shock at your firm tone.

“Your child is suffering, and that is a bold word, but it’s true. She doesn’t know it, but you do, and I do. And because you are privileged enough to afford her the courtesy—I suggest you take her to a child therapist who can talk to her about her emotions and work through them before they fester into something worse.”

He swallows, “Therapy?”

“Yes. Therapy. We have a school counselor, but Sarah does not want to see her. And unfortunately, I think it’s going to take more than Esther. Take her to therapy. Go for forty-five minutes once or twice a week and see the difference it will make. It will. Don’t think about the stigma. Think about your child.”

Steve opens his mouth again, but you push right through his protests, “From my personal experience, I wish I had that option. But instead—as you know-- my rough patch involved a lot of running away from home. My mother did not know how to talk to me, and I did not know how to talk to her. A therapist would have helped both of us if we could have afforded it—or even known about it.”

Then, quieter, you frown. “Steve, even if my attempts weren’t serious—and even if Sarah’s acting out might not be as bad as you think, what happened with my mother and I changed our relationship for years. Do you want that?"

A soft banging on the window pulls both of your attention back to the car where Sarah has started pressing her face to it until her cheeks become flattened white circles against the glass.

“Daddy!” Her voice is muffled, “Daddy! I’m hungry! Is Miss Marnie coming? Or am I going with you?”

He whips over to her and then back to you. You wave to Sarah one last time and then begin to cross the street where cars carefully pull around the bend and back out the circle. “Take the advice, Steve. It’s good.”

“Okay.” Steve calls faintly at your retreating back. “Okay.”

Thank God, you think. Thank God that Steve Rogers loves his daughter more than his pride because you have figuratively eviscerated him in broad daylight. A part of you is so sad that it had to be you who tells him this—in this way. But you’re not confident that anyone else could have. He loves Sarah. He loves her so much that it’s easy for him to become defensive about it, and you know it hurts him to realize that his love alone isn’t enough to raise her.

With a final tight-lipped smile, you respectfully go back inside.

The second day runs a lot more smoothly, and the third day is as easy as a breeze. Granted, it’s a hot, humid, sticky type of summer breeze as you Clorox wipe down twenty-four desks smeared with Elmer’s Glue. How they manage to do this in such a small amount of time is both fascinating and disturbing.

On the fourth day, you arrive at work to a surprise back-to-school Teacher Breakfast and you head to your classroom without another thought. Later on, as you hear from Heather, there were no Rogers-es in sight. You grumble a little at the thought of missing out on two free yogurts and a bagel. But alas, life moves on just fine without both the breakfast and the Rogers-es.

You return to equilibrium in the following weeks: in bed at eleven, up at six, work-work-work, repeat. Wine still exists and is soothing. Your cabinets are stocked once again with tuna. British Bake Show is still fantastic and bless Noel Fielding for dressing himself. There are no more sightings of Sarah in tears and no more run-ins with Steve in parking lots.

On a bright Saturday morning, you put on some flower-patched denim shorts and head to the PTA picnic where it is crawling with parents and children on the front lawn of your school. There are checkered red and white blankets and corn-hole games set up all around. In the middle are three picnic tables side-by-side littered with tinfoil trays of food. Even a popsicle truck is parked to the side.

You put your contribution in the middle of the table after waving to familiar faces in the crowd. Edward’s mom is there, wearing apple-shaped earrings and you smile at how he’s grown so much. It’s barely a second after you set down the homemade rice-krispies that someone comes by and peeks over your shoulder.

“Those look awesome.”

Turning, you tilt the brim of your sunhat away from your face to find the source of the compliment. It’s hard to see, because the sun shines right into your eyes when you try.

“Thanks!” You blink the burn away and try again. “Sorry—wish I could actually look at you when I talk to you!”

The man laughs a little and reaches forward to take a star-shaped treat from your tray. “Nah. Honestly I’ve just been walking with my eyes shut for the past twenty minutes. Forgot my sunglasses.” He takes a big bite of the treat and a leg of the star gets crushed into his mouth.

“How’s it?” You ask timidly when the blinding afterimages fade away and you can finally make out his features. The first thing you see is –Jesus, that adorable gap between his front teeth. True to his word, his eyes are squeezed tightly.

“Oh man, these are so good. And you cut them into stars? You must be a teacher.”

You laugh again because his mirth is so infectious, “I am. First grade. And thanks!”

“Mmf—don’t let the kids see me. I’ve been eating all their desserts.” He swallows the mouthful and brushes the crumbs from his fingers. “I’m Sam.”

You give him your name and shake his hand, even though both of you have little sticky spots from the marshmallow.

He steps to the side when a student of yours comes tumbling over and gives your leg a hug. You make a bit of chit-chat with her before something else shinier comes along and she’s bounding across the yard to a newly set up face-paint stand.

“So…” You motion vaguely, “What brings you to—”

“the PTA Picnic? Since I’m obviously too good-looking to be a teacher or a dad?”

You shrug shyly, ignoring his overt teasing, “Well, I meant the dessert table. I’ve only seen you here, and you’ve admitted to stealing sweets from all the children.”

He crosses his arms and laughs again, showing you that gap in his teeth and the round shape of his high cheekbones. Gosh, he’s really charming, you think. Sam picks up another treat from your aluminum foil tray and rolls his eyes in exaggeration.

“You know how in The Chocolate Factory, Willy Wonka is super paranoid that his competitors sent spies to steal his ideas?”

“O…kay…”

“Right, right—yeah not a good way to start a conversation, I definitely see that now.” He shakes his head, “Anyway, I’m like the spy because look at all these desserts and… listen, I just started this new job and you can never have too many ideas, right? Baker, by the way.”

You realize you are frowning at him when he sends you a curious look.

“My Wonka reference put you off that bad, huh?”

“You’re a baker?” You’re blighted or something. Another freakin’ baker? There must be a neon sign that is pointing them to you, and you would really like for that sign to shut off.

“Yeah. You might have heard of the place before—pretty popular. Oh! There’s my boss.” He tips his finger in the air over your head and you don’t need to turn around to see who his boss is. Instead, you pull the brim of your hat down and sigh. You can already hear Steve’s unyielding strides reaching the table.

He stops next to you and whispers a quiet hello and you respond in the same clipped tone. Sam looks suspiciously between the two of your suddenly stiff bodies and raises an eyebrow. “Is this?” He waggles his finger back and forth, “Oh. This is… Oh… shhhhhhhhit…”

After circling the dessert table for the last half-hour since his arrival, Sam Wilson suddenly finds the corn-hole game on the other side of the lawn very interesting. He doesn’t even bother to come up with any kind of excuse as he takes two long steps away from Steve and then books it because as a relatively new employee, flirting with your boss’ ex-girlfriend seems like a sure-fire way to get fired.

Next Chapter

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers x reader #fanfiction #steve rogers #modern AU #slow like honey heli0s #reader insert

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