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ave09 · 10 months

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Can you do an Indy x female! reader where Indy meets a single mother who has a 4 month old baby girl? When Indy meets her daughter, the baby instantly likes him, and he over time bonds with the baby, plays with her, rocks her back and forth, sings her lullabies and the reader is slowly falling for him! They even bond and fall for each other.

ofc! i kinda went overboard and off the plot line, but i hope you like it! if not, i will 100% rewrite it for you 🫶🏻

promise

indiana jones x reader

note: i know wizard of oz came out in 1939, but for the sake of a sweet moment, it came out in 1931, okayyy?? also i apologize for anyone named beth 😭

“please, honey, please just rest.”

beth seemed to only wail louder. you were now receiving glares from those around you trying to study in peace. you were going to end up being kicked out of the library for sure.

“beth, sweetie, please.” you begged softly, trying to place the pacifier in her mouth, but she only spat it out, causing it to tumble across the floor, now completely useless.

“goddammit.” you muttered softly, reaching for it, only to find someone was already reaching down and had their hands upon it.

you glanced up at the figure, smiling softly, “thank you.” you recognized him

immediately to be doctor indiana jones. he seemed to recognize you too. you had studied in his archeology class for half of a semester before you had to drop out in order to raise beth. you never were crazy over the professor as most of the women in your class were, but looking at him now, he had to be one of the most handsomest men you’d seen, far more handsome then beth’s father.

“your welcome,” he spoke, his voice low and smooth as he handed the pacifier to you. his hazel eyes flickered to the baby in your arms, whose gaze was locked on the man before you, her arms outstretched toward him.

the man smiled, “and who is this?”

“uh, this is my daughter, beth.” you were shocked to find that her wails had turned into whines as she continued to reach for the man before you. indiana glanced at you, “may i?” he seemed to be who beth wanted, therefore, you carefully passed the baby to him, she nuzzled into his chest immediately and began to suck her thumb.

your eyes widened, “are you some sort of baby whisperer or something?” you asked. indiana laughed heartily, “definitely not.” he glanced down at her, examining her, “she can’t be more then five months right?”

“four months.” you corrected. he nodded slowly, the cogs turning in his head, “i’m guessing she is the reason you dropped out?”

you closed the book in front of you, “yeah. her dad dipped about two months into the pregnancy, i wasn’t working at the time, i needed to create a stable foundation.” you gestured at the books before you, “i’ve been trying to slow ease back into it, but it’s kinda difficult with a four month old.”

“you don’t have any family? anyone who could help?

you exhaled deeply, running a hand through your hair, “they still believe her father is around.”

you had refused to tell them he’d left. beth’s father, william, was a cruel man. he was one who was in disguise of an angel only to reveal his true intentions. but her family believed him to be a nice man. they’d find a way to bring him back to you, but you refused to have that man in your life.

awkwardness fell upon the two of you, and you immediately regretted diving into your history.

“well,” you rose from your rickety wooden seat, “i should go-get her home for dinner, y’know?” indiana nodded, trying to pass the baby to her, only to hear her burst into tears again.

“beth, honey, shh.” you whispered, indiana glanced down at you, “someone seems attached.” he said with a soft laugh.

“yeah, well, it’s gonna be difficult to get her home now.”

the man remained silent for a moment, before clearing his throat, “i don’t wanna sound too forward here… but…”

you collected your books, glancing up at him, “but?”

“if you ever needed any help, with beth, or your studies or anything, i could be of some assistance.” it sounded exactly what you needed. assistance.

“oh no, i-i couldn’t ask that of you, dr. jones.”

“well first off, you’re not asking, i’m offering. and please, i’m not your professor anymore, call me indiana.”

“well indiana, i appreciate the offer, but i don’t want to burden you with my issues.”

he tilted his head slightly, adjusting the child in his arms, “burden me? is that what you think this is? i’m pitying you?”

you suddenly realized how it sounded. “no-no. that’s not-that’s not what i meant.”

“i know you’re an independent woman, but even the most independent people need a little help sometimes.” he was absolutely right. the life of a single mother was difficult, and you believe that you were doing the best you could, but you couldn’t deny how truly tired you were.

you sighed softly, “what can i do in return?”

“oh no, please-“

“i’m offering indiana.” you said, using his words from earlier. the man thought for a moment, “i’d say, dinner.”

you furrowed your brows, “dinner?”

he nodded, “mhmm, i haven’t had a good home cooked meal in a while. i could help you get beth home, and after dinner, i could help with your studies.”

you smiled softly, a feeling of warmth washing over you, “that sounds perfect.”

that one dinner turned into weekly dinners, and soon you found that indiana jones was constantly frequenting your home.

and it was wonderful.

after work, indiana would stop by the house, and beth would be overjoyed. her relationship with indiana was nothing less then paternal. he was the father figure she was missing, and beth was most definitely a daddy’s girl.

not only was beth’s relationship growing with indiana, but so was yours. the two of you had spend late nights together, studying at first, but would slowly turn into talks of his adventures. you wanted to hear all about them, indiana lived such an interesting life, and sometimes you’d wished you could adventure like him, but then you saw your daughter’s face light up, and everything became worth it.

you remembered coming home from the store one day to find indiana seated on the floor criss-cross, playing with the young girl. they were building a tower out of blocks, well, mainly indiana was building the tower, beth was trying to eat the blocks.

“oh no, honey, take that out of your mouth, those blocks don’t taste good.” he said, reaching for the block, only to have beth move her hand away. “ah, you’re quick kid, but i’m faster.” he then took her pacifier off of the coffee table, carefully taking the wooden block and switching it with the pacifier. your daughter didn’t seem phased.

and something clicked that day. you and indiana’s relationship has purely been platonic, but now, oh lord, you were in trouble.

it had been two months since indiana began helping you out when everything changed. it was a later night, you and indiana planned to study after putting beth to bed, but the girl would not sleep. you’d fed her, changed her diaper, nothing.

“geez baby, what’s going on?” you whispered, brushing some of her hair away from her face. there was a soft knock against the door, and you glanced up to see indiana in the doorway, “how’s it going up here?” he asked.

“she keeps fighting me. if i don’t get her to sleep now, she’ll be up all night.” you muttered, stifling a yawn. she’d been struggling with sleeping for the past couple

of days, causing you to lose sleep too. silently, he approached you, gently taking beth off of your hands.

“go get some rest, sweetheart, we can study tomorrow.” you were too tired to object. you stood on your tiptoes, placing a kiss to his cheek, “thank you, indy.” and you then slipped out of the room, closing the door slightly.

but as you began to walk to your bedroom, you heard indiana’s hushed voice. “goodness beth, you’re givin’ your mama a hard time, huh? well can i tell you something? she’s working really hard to take care of you, honey. i don’t think i’ve met such a woman like her, and she loves you very much. so, if you could sleep now, that would be very nice of you.”

the baby cooed in response. indiana remained silent for a moment, before sighing, “you’re really gonna make me do this? okay beth, you asked for it.”

and then, you heard the most angelic thing: indiana jones was singing.

“somewhere over the rainbow, way up high. there’s a land that i’ve heard of once in a lullaby.”

this was a song that you’d sang to beth countless times. it was your absolute favorite, and hearing indiana sing it caused butterflies, fireworks, a whole plethora of metaphors could be used in order to convey how you were feeling.

you were most definitely falling for him.

“someday i’ll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me… where trouble melts like lemon drops high above the chimney tops, that’s where you’ll find me..”

suddenly, a loud knock pulled you away from the beautiful singing. it was late, who could be here?

you moved past the door, heading toward the stairs. another knock, it sounded urgent.

what the hell?

you descended the staircase before rushing toward the front door. you unlocked it cautiously, before pulling it open.

your heart dropped.

“william?”

“hi babe.” no, this could not be happening. not now.

“um, what are you doing here?” you questioned, immediately feeling uncomfortable. what was he doing here?

“i want to see her.”

you crossed your arms over your chest, “no.”

“no?”

“you can’t see her, william. she’s sleeping.” suddenly, he pushed past you, barging into your home. “goddamnit william.” he glanced around, nodding, “nice place you have here, personally i’m not the biggest fan of pastels-“

“why should your opinion matter? it’s not your house.” you snapped, your anger building. the man let out a sigh, approaching you, “listen babe, i want you back. i want to be part of becky’s life.”

you took a step back, taking a shakey breath, “beth. her-her name is beth.” you said. “right, beth.” he corrected, brushing it off as though it was nothing. william then caught sight of a picture on the hallway table, shoving past you, taking it in hand.

“who is this?”

it was a picture of beth and indiana. you remembered that day. it was when he returned home from south america, and beth was so excited to see him again. you had immediately taken a photo to commemorate this moment.

“william, i think you should leave.”

“you replaced me? does she called her daddy? does she think he’s her dad?”

you scoffed, absolutely appalled by his behavior, “replaced?? you left! you fucking left me william! i was pregnant with your child and you left! i don’t need you, i never needed you.”

“but you need him, huh? does he help you with every need? every desire?”

“william, i swear, if you don’t-“

“is everything okay down here?” there he was, your knight in shining armor. indiana was descending the stairs, his gaze switching from you to william.

“oh he’s in your house now?”

“william-“

“this is william?” you’d told indiana all about him. it was safe to say that he hated the man with a fiery passion. you didn’t even try to stop him as he rushed down the stairs, standing in front of you.

“i think it’s time for you to leave, william.” indiana stated. your ex scoffed, glancing at you, “really? this is the best you can do? he ain’t gonna stop me from seeing my daughter.”

“wanna bet?”

you let out a gasp as indiana socked william

in the jaw, causing the man to tumble to the ground.

“indy-“

“what the hell dude!”

“you listen to me, william, you are going to leave right now, and if you ever come back, i swear to God, you’re gonna regret it.” you’d never seen indiana so upset.

“and let me tell you something, william, you ready? you’re a fucking idiot, leaving an amazing woman like this. i’ve known her for three months and dammit i love her and beth more then anything in this world-“

he loved you?

“and i would’ve never in a million years left such a woman and my child like that. but she doesn’t need you anymore. so, get. lost.”

he didn’t need to be told twice. william scrambled to his feet before rushing out the door. indiana sighed deeply, closing the door behind him, “son of a bitch..” he mumbled before glancing up at you.

“are you okay?”

“you love me?”

he was silent, holding your gaze.

you asked again.

“you love me?”

this time he nodded, “yeah. yeah.. i think i do.” he said softly. you smiled, moving towards him, “funny. because i think i’m falling in love with you.”

indiana’s large hands cupped your face as he pressed his lips against yours, kissing you deeply. it lasted a moment, before you pulled away, “wait-wait-“

“i’m sorry, was that-“

“promise me something?” your voice a hushed whisper.

“anything.”

“don’t leave me. don’t leave beth. go on your adventures, find your artifacts… but just don’t leave.”

indiana brushed a stray hair away from your eyes, his thumb caressing your cheek as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “i’m not going anywhere, sweetheart, i promise.”

#indiana jones x reader #indiana jones #indy x reader #indy #harrison ford #harrison ford x reader #harrison ford movies #young harrison ford #indiana jones and the last crusade #indiana jones and the raiders of the lost ark #indiana jones and the temple of doom #indiana jones imagine

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anika-ann · 9 months

Text

Cracks in Foundation (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, standalone or part of Love on the Brain series

Pairining: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 6000

Summary: Dating Steve Rogers is a curse and a gift. Even as it was always a privilege, right now, it feels like the former. You really want to smack some sense into him so this never happens again, but you know it will – after all, that’s half the reason you love him.

In other words, Steve is stupidly brave on a mission and it has consequences neither of you could foresee. But maybe you should have; because now you’re here alone to pick up the pieces.

Warnings!!: Steve being an absolute dumbass, mentions and images of death, hypothermia, PTSD, flashbacks, probably not an ideal treatment of a flashback, canon typical violence, language

A/N: reader is called “Agent Jones”, works for the Avengers Initiative; you do not need knowledge of Criminal Minds or Love on the Brains series to read this, but it will, of course, make more sense. I imagine this taking place much later - in about a year after the events of Love on the Brain; divider by firefly-graphics

In my body I fight fire With the snow, my hell is cold (SYML – Body)

This shouldn’t have happened. This nevershouldn’t have happened but it had – of course it had. You should have seen it coming, both the action and the reaction. All of you should have known better, but you in particular.

Unfortunately, sometimes, despite your ability to profile people, you still failed.

Sometimes, despite your best knowledge of Steven Grant Rogers, you still managed to underestimate him. His literally unhuman body. His profoundly good heart. His incredible strength in both muscles and psyche. His ability to have you burn for him with a single touch. His ability to touch your heart in ways no one ever could.

His extraordinary dumbassery.

You really should have known so much better.

If you had, you wouldn’t have him here, face ashen, lips turning blue, eyes wide and unfocused; he looked like death itself.

You swallowed your tears and tried to battle the ever-rising panic crawling up your throat, closing your eyes for a moment as if it could erase the terrifying sight.

“Steve? Stevie? You’re going to be okay… I’m here. You’re going to be okay…”

You repeated the mantra so many times you weren’t sure anymore whether you were saying it to him or to yourself.

The craziest thing was, it wasn’t even the worst sight of the day you were offered by your exceptional dumbass of a boyfriend; no, that had been what your own mind had shown you. Now that image was going to haunt you forever and despite knowing yelling solved nothing and it couldn’t change the past, you were going to scream your lungs out when you’d get the chance. Later. Right now, you had more pressing matters to attend to.

Like making sure Steve Rogers, your GG, would come back to you.

You needed to get to work.

It was a routine mission really, if such things as routine existed within the Avengers Initiative. It was rather routine in terms of involvement of the actual Avengers; Steve and Natasha joined missions like these – sweep a base, gather intel, make some arrests if lucky enough – on a regular basis. Tony Stark coming with? Less so. Still, one could call it routine enough, even when located in the death of tundra in Russia around 100 miles from the border with Finland.

Besides the cold and Tony, there was nothing extraordinary. Just another mission.

And it had been; until the agents scattered and you heard several voices in the comms reporting they were in pursuit of the enemies. Until you found out they were chasing them through the tunnels and suddenly found themselves outside of the base. Until you learned that outside meant the landscape of the very frozen lake Natasha had purposely avoided landing the quinjet on for the fear of the heavy aircraft destabilizing the already risky environment.

Until you heard agent Smith was down. And by down, they meant under the ice, because a thinner layer of it cracked and broke under his feet. Until Steve fucking Rogers, two hundred and forty pounds of muscle and zero brain power at the moment had the wonderful idea to rush to Smith’s aid.

You had made it out of the base just in time to see his navy-blue suit disappear and your sleep for the following nights probably with it. You had stood there holding your breath as if you were the one in the icy water, as if subconsciously testing how much oxygen – as if that was the only concern – you had left before you’d have to make it to the surface for another breath.

It was long. It was too long. You had taken at least two breaths in the meantime and you weren’t sure the panic rising in your chest with every frantic beat of your heart, with every second they did not appear above the surface, was to blame.

Your hand flew to your comms and you cursed yourself for not having done it moments ago.

“Tony-“

“I’m onto those idiots, Squirt, don’t worry,” his voice sounded in your ear, not quite easing your worry in fact.

Steve was still under. Still in the water. Even though you were aware that he survived much worse than a few seconds of icy cold water – try decades – you’d rather he was still conscious when Tony would get his stupid ass out. And the second Steve would be able to hear you, were going to yell, very loudly and probably more than a little hysterical, because what the hell had he been doing beside tempting fate to give him another involuntary icy nap. You were going to chew the hell out of him, your fists curling in your thick microfibre gloves, because you felt like punshing him too, anything, just so you could stop holding your breath.

But you needed him to get out first.

“And get to the jet, your bae will need some warming up,” Tony added, causing you to grit your teeth, even as you were grateful; not a second later, the whoosh of Iron Man’s suit flying above your head blew the few stands of hair that escaped your hat in your face.

Completely ignoring Tony’s inappropriate comment and his sound advice, you remained right where you stood, gaze transfixed where you had last seen Steve, slipping under the surface. Your pulse thundered in your temples as you watched the red and gold of Tony’s suit fly like a flare above the flood of white surrounding you all, nearing the break in the ice, no doubt searching the heat signatures you assumed were fading with each passing moment.

And then the Iron Man himself performed an obnoxious superhero-like landing, complete with fist on the ground and your anger, gathering since you saw Steve dive into a fucking ice soup without a second thought, exploded, your vision turning bloody red for a split second. What the fuck was Stark doing that for?! Did he really just feed his ego while on a rescue mission?! You were going to-

And then the fist landed again. And again and again and then it hit you. You didn’t have the capacity to scold yourself for assuming and assuming completely wrong; the realization stunned you, blood freezing in your veins having nothing to do with the snow and harsh wind hitting your face.

The ice had frozen over. Steve jumped in and before he could emerge, the ice had frozen over his head. The image of a him under water, holding Smith, the fucking moron, to his chest and fighting to punch his way through the solid surface, swinging his arm heavily through the icy water stinging every inch of his skin, losing oxygen by the minute, that was an image that would haunt you forever, even as you had never set your eyes on it.

Then again, the arm of Tony’s suit diving into water and pulling out two men as easily as if they were helpless kittens was etched into your brain just as effectively, arriving with overwhelming relief. With a wordless prayer on your lips, you squinted against the snow blowing in your face to search for a lump of beloved and hated navy blue suit contrasting against the endless white of the plain surrounding the incident.

You’d swear you could hear him coughing, hungrily drinking in air in between when he doubled over as soon as Tony dropped him off in a safe distance from the crack. In the back of your mind, you were aware of the red and gold figure carrying the motionless body of Agent Smith, flying it to the quinjet, the medical team having prepared on the ramp with a stroller and equipment, but your eyes were transfixed on the dark mass of a supersoldier good hundred feet away still. You were almost certain, even from the distance, that he also managed to empty his stomach to make him feel even more miserable. Not that you blamed him; it had to be, apart from really fucking cold, extremely terrifying. It definitely was for you. Just the memory made your feel throat as if squeezed in a vice.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, pick-up number two happening right away,” Tony assured you face-to face, uncharacteristically humourless now that he had set eyes on the momentarily lifeless body of Agent Smith.

You thought you uttered a thank you, but he couldn’t hear it as he was already off to carry your exceptionally idiotic boyfriend along. And so you ran to the jet, boots heavy with snow falling in and biting coldly into your calf and shins, legs stiff from the shock of the experience still.

When Tony finally brought Steve after what felt like a lifetime, you certainly didn’t speak a word of complaint when he also hauled him further into the quinjet into one of the medical cubicles sans a team. You followed, painfully aware of every single muscle in Steve’s body trembling, the tips of his fingers having turned white.

“You can yell at him first,” Tony told you graciously, shooting Steve an ugly look before glancing at you entering just behind them.

“Gee thanks,” you snarked back automatically, tone softening when you met his genuinely worried eyes. “Thank you, Tony, really.”

“Whatever,” he scoffed, but a small smile passed over his lips. “Jarvis, heat up this room for our Capsicle, will you?”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. Steve wasn’t going to live that down any time soon, probably ever, not after attempting to became an icicle for the second time.

“Certainly, sir. Gradually heating up to 25 degrees Celsius, as recommended in the medical manual,” the AI chimed helpfully, the wave of heat washing over you instantly. The air felt almost tropical after the arctic wind outside, but you were grateful. Steve would need that.

“Thanks, J,” you said, throwing off your gloves, hat and parka as quick as you managed with your fingers freezing, not bothering with more as to help Steve strip his soaking garments as soon a possible.

The silence that settled after rang a sudden alarm bells; it dawned to you at last that during the whole exchange, Steve remained quiet. Way too quiet.

You’d expect the sounds of zippers and Velcro as he was tearing off his uniform, the fabric dripping icy cold water despite the best engineers and designers having worked on the material. You’d expect his teeth to clatter in doing so, colourful curses on his blueish lips, especially when in company of only you and Tony. He had been coughing out water, quite violently, barely just having been dropped in the jet, so you’d think his air-ways would still fight spasm and the biting intrusion of ice, the raspy wet cough not ceasing.

But Steve was doing neither of that, tripling your worry for him in the process.

You moved to round him to get a look at him with an urgent whisper of his name, stomach flipping in fear when he didn’t answer.

The lack of any action or sound was incredibly disconcerting, because it could mean two things: either, he was absolutely stunned, the weight of what could have happened finally falling on him, or he had been already struck by hypothermia severe enough to be acutely in danger despite being a far cry from what Smith had looked like when Tony dropped him off.

When you finally laid your eyes on Steve’s face, your heart nearly stopped. His skin was scarily pale, his lips turning alarming blue, but that, while worrying, wasn’t surprising at all. What shocked you was his eyes; his pupils were blown wide, unfocused, misted over to the point that had he been lying on the ground, you’d swear he was--

Do not even think it. You can’t. He was going to be fine, he was alright, he just needed to warm up, he was not—He was very much alive, you were sure of it, he had to be. But the fact was, Steve couldn’t see you. He wasn’t seeing anything.

With horror, your gaze fell to his chest and in a split second, you realized that his whole body was still. Way too still. He wasn’t moving at all; he wasn’t even breathing. And yet, he was standing upright, almost as if his feet simply froze to the ground and that was the only reason why he hadn’t collapsed yet- But you knew, you knew that wasn’t possible, and despite the panic clawing at your throat, you were hundred percent certain that he wouldn’t be standing upright had his heart stopped, so how was he still standing?

It would be baffling if it wasn’t absolutely terrifying. Why was he so still? It literally looked as if he was frozen, as if-

He was frozen.

When it finally clicked, a choked noise erupted from lips, your heart shattering into thousand pieces; but your mind snapped into action, already working on solutions.

“Tony, get us as many of towels, blankets and those small heat packs, as you can manage and give me full access to J. Make sure we have complete privacy. No one needs to see this.” Your throat was too tight for you to be able to speak on normal volume, but that was the least of your concerns, truly. You were sure Tony heard you just fine.

At least someone did.

“Kinky-?” Tony uttered, confused by your sudden escalated panic and the look you shot him – if looks could kill, he’d already be lying in a pool of his blood.

“Tony, get your ass fucking moving or I’ll swear to god I’ll strangle you in a way that will make Sam McDowell look like an amateur.”

Whether he knew the name of the prolific serial strangler or simply understood the urgency in your tone, he had enough wit to take his leave without further protest and with relative hurry, leaving you focus fully on Steve. Oh Steve. The absent brilliant blue of his irises had your stomach make another unpleasant somersault, your eyes filling with tears, nose tingling in anticipation of a full sobfest.

You so couldn’t afford that now. You couldn’t afford screaming either, but good god, did you want to – you wanted to stand in front of a mirror and scream your lungs out because how could it have not punched you straight in the face right away? How could you have not seen it coming?! You only had years of experience in profiling, with dealing individuals struggling with PTSD among other things. You only known Steve for years, knew what he had endured. You only learned about the sacrifice of Captain America in high school, several years ago.

God, the icy water. Could there be any more obvious and deadly trigger?

Of course Steve’s gaze was absent, his whole mind was. He wasn’t here with you, not in time and not in space; he was in the water. In a water so icy it was turning solid, trapping him for decades to come. People couldn’t breathe under water. People couldn’t breathe when frozen in a mass of ice.

Now you understood the reason for the absolute stillness of his whole body including his chest. Steve’s mind was locked so firmly into the memory that it either shut his body – because logically, he wouldn’t be able to breathe, let alone move in the prison he found himself in – or it latched onto his survival instinct, screaming at him not to breathe to prevent the water flooding into his lungs.

You fought your instinct to gag when the iron fist that realization hit you square in the stomach and sent bile up your throat.

So not the time. You needed him to snap out of it. And you needed it fast before you’d lose any more precious seconds.

“Steve?” you called out lowly, giving zero shit about the crack in your voice. “Stevie? You’re going to be okay, but I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me?” you pleaded.

Grimacing, you released an involuntarily whimper when you got zero reaction. You pushed through the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to repeat the words in normal volume. The only response you got was the ever-present unnatural stillness; and Steve’s lips gradually turning bluer.

Your thoughts whirled in your head, mind desperately trying to latch onto any knowledge and experience you had with dealing with PTSD. You had never encountered someone with similar problem, never dealt with a flashback of this magnitude; Gideon had once taken the lead with a soldier trapped in his mind, murdering civilians for he believed them to be enemy soldiers, but that was Gideon. Jason Gideon, with his mind of steel and twenty-five years of experience. Jason Gideon, one of the founding fathers of the Behaviour Analysis Unit himself.

On your own, you were at loss with someone so far gone; but what you knew had to be enough. What you knew was that the only way of breaking Steve out of the prison his mind had created was to anchor him in reality, to appeal to all his senses.

The problem was that the majority of stimuli Steve was receiving from his senses matched the very environment of his flashback. The reality you would try to ground him in was his clothes soaking wet in freezing water and him being on a planewith a voice of a woman in his ears, trying to sooth his suffering. In other words, the reality was how he ended up buried in the ice in the first place.

Aware that you were shaking like a leaf yourself, jaw set so tight it was beginning to hurt, you were also painfully aware you couldn’t just stand there doing nothing with cheeks wet with tears and stare at the strongest person you had ever knew involuntarily depriving himself of oxygen. You had to do something.

Touching him was, frankly, a terrible idea; touching anyone with a flashback would be, because you’d be risking triggering a fight or flight response instead. Touching Steve and triggering the fight part in a supersoldier however, get him run on pure instinct? Now that could result in your broken neck or crushed windpipe really quickly. That idea truly didn’t sound appealing to you; and Steve would never forgive himself. You’d rather avoid that.

You took a deep breath, releasing the air shakily as your mind raced. Alright. Time. If you couldn’t ground him in space, you needed to ground him in time.

“Steve, GG, look at me. I’m Agent Jones – I’m Sparkles,” you said urgently, taking care to voice every syllable, daring to step an inch closer to him, hoping to fill his field of vision completely. “And I’m right here with you. There’s no water. Nothing’s stopping me or you from breathing.” You exaggerated an inhale and exhale, the warm air washing over his face, but without any effect. “There’s plenty of air, GG, for both you and me. Please.”

You dug your nails into your palms when nothing happened but your love staring back blankly, unnaturally stiff.

Steve could hold his breath for a long time – much more than an average human, his lung capacity unmatched – but he had also been drowning, so you really couldn’t count on that. You were running out of time. He was going to pass out. Sure, his breathing would kick in then and hell, maybe losing consciousness would be a blessing compared to this, but that sleep would not be peaceful and there was no telling what the wake-up call would look like other than really fucking unpleasant. The idea of him escaping one nightmare only to be find himself in another and then another until he woke up to the reality just as harsh, as if freshly having lost the whole world he knew all over again, chased fresh tears into your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Tony’s voice snapped you from your focus, your heart nearly bursting through your chest.

Jesus, how long had he been standing there?

Not important; and you didn’t have time to explain. Without thinking, you spilled the truth in as few words as possible, in the very same breath you tried to appeal to Steve again, your gaze never shifting from his pale face.

“He’s having a flashback, please leave, thank you for the blankets-- GG, please. Breathe with me, there’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise. I’m right here. Trust me. I can breathe just fine…”

You could not. You felt as if someone smashed your ribs with a crowbar for laughs and hit and hit until you couldn’t breathe in without blinding pain, but you knew, you knew it had to be nothing compared to what Steve was facing and you needed to get a grip, you couldn’t wallow in it and you couldn’t let the biting fear consume you. Not with Steve like this.

You were out of other options. Gulping, you oh so slowly lifted your trembling hand, settling it against Steve’s ashen cold cheek. You only got as far as your skin brushing his when a vice-like grip on your wrist stopped you, tearing your touch away and completely immobilizing your hand in the process.

He didn’t look at you as you hissed in pain; he was still far, far away, not moving an inch more than strictly necessary to stop you. But the jolt of pain into your wrist was accompanied by a loud gasp for air, his ribcage expanding right in front of your eyes.

A wet laugh escaped you. “Oh thank god.”

His fingers might as well be made of ice, just as freezing and just as rigid, clutching at you with all the might his body was probably capable off and it hurt. But at least it wasn’t your throat in his grip; you could both breathe. That was a tremendous win.

You still needed to anchor him further and actually bring him back, but the door to his mind were unlocked at least. Now you needed to appeal to all his senses, talk him through it, so he could open the door himself.

“Agent Jones? Do you require assistance?” Jarvis asked warily, no doubt reacting to your physical distress.

Rightfully so, because it was growing – if it was possible, Steve’s fingers dug further into your flesh, already making for a bruise, you were sure. Your fingertips begun to tingle, strange numbness spreading through your hand, but you were far too gone to give up now. You could handle this. You’d get Steve release you on his own.

“Not for now, J, thank you. We’re good—actually, Jarvis?” you called out lowly, the artificial intelligence instantly letting you know he listened. “Can you play me a song? I need to get Steve in the modern times.”

“Certainly. What would you like me to play, Agent Jones? Something contemporary?”

“Yeah. Contemporary and irritatingly ear-worming,” you muttered, mind racing.

A song Steve would hundred percent know, one his mind would without a single doubt identify as something modern. It was the biggest assholery of your mind to push the melody of Let It Go into the forefront of your overstressed brain before anything else, but a hysterical chuckle escaped you anyway, forcing you to lick off tears from your lips. It was the stupidest thing and the worst irony ever – because yeah, the cold really fucking bothered you now and it sure bothered Steve.

“Something way too overplayed on a radio, preferably without the words cold, snow, ice and such in it, J.”

It was only half a second later, when Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off came out the speakers.

Despite yourself, you snorted, fresh tears springing out. This time, you appreciated the irony. That was what Steve needed, right? He just needed to shake it off. He’d be fine.

Taking a deep breath, smiling through your tears and the growing pains in your wrist, you got to work.

You told him what he was hearing. The engines, the song, the heating running, your voice. You told him what he could see, your hair, the colour of your eyes, the Avengers logo etched onto your uniform and not an SSR one, the high-tech equipment you knew he could have never seen in his original time. You told him about the heat washing over his face and hair, your hand in his.

The owlish, painfully slow blink you elicited was a victory, bringing a smile to your face, drying your tears, bringing a softer and softer tone to your voice as you continued speaking.

“Steve? GG? I know it’s cold and I want to help you,” you said gently, trying to meet his gaze as it began to slowly roam to room; still absent, but not misted over anymore. “I could help you by taking off that wet suit, taking away the cold. But for that, I need you to let go of my hand so I can-“

You gritted your teeth and squeezed your eyes shut when the response you got was the exact opposite, as if he was mad at you for even suggesting it; you stifled the whimper at the prickling his grip sent through your arm. It was hard to tell whose hand was paler now; he definitely cut off your circulation and it was not a pretty sight. But you only had yourself to blame and you promised yourself you’d never do otherwise.

It was only when the numbness replaced the pain that it dawned to you where the problem might be.

“GG, please? I promise I won’t leave. I’ll stay right here with you. But I need you to release my hand so I can take that cold away. Only the cold, I swear.”

You nearly cried when the pressure on your wrist gradually eased, a shaky exhale sounding a lot like a whine escaping you. That was most definitely more than a bruise; you allowed yourself a few seconds of deep breaths, fighting off the dark edge in your vision.

Then, you grabbed after one of the small heating pads, snapping the thin metal plate inside to initiate a chemical reaction; in an instant, the thick liquid began to solidify and warm up. You placed in into Steve’s still open palm, hanging loosely by his side, enclosing his icy fingers around it despite the gloves getting in the way. You winced at the sharp pain shooting through your arm. Definitely more than a bruise. You repeated the process to warm up his other hand, finally going for the Velcros and zippers on the front of his suit.

Thankfully, the temperature Jarvis had set melted the microcrystals of ice around the metal, allowing you to undo it relatively easy. You felt Steve’s eyes on your now, his body slowly, oh so slowly getting on with the programme, fists unclenching when you needed to pull the sleeves over his hands without dropping the pads.

“You’re doing so good, Stevie, so good,” you praised him softly, loud enough to speak over the second playing of the song in the background. You were going to hear it for days, you were certain. And you’d hate it forever, too. “You’re a great help, GG, thank you.”

When he dropped the pads, you made a quick work of undoing his gloves too, before pushing new pads into his hands. His thick pants followed; the boots though, those were trickier.

Fuck this. You swiftly searched the transparent cabinets for scalpel, slicing the material through as carefully as you could with your still trembling hands. The water was still brutally cold against your fingers; and your wrist was beginning to throb. Almost there, you soothed yourself, wondering whether you’d manage to make Steve sit down so you could take off those boots and the pants… and underpants. You’d rather have him keep his dignity, but his boxer shorts were soaked through as well and way too close to his core… maybe if you placed enough heating pads around…

The truth was that despite your instincts screaming at you, you knew you didn’t have to worry that much about the physical effects of the low temperature on him. As awful as it sounded, you knew he could take the icy cold – that was part of the problem. It was the numbing memory constructing the perfect trap for his mind, the dissociation, that took precedence, as unusual as it was. And if you weighted the pros and cons…

Well. It wasn’t like his dick was going to freeze right off.

You stood to your full height, licking your lips as you faced Steve again. He was watching you now with surprising intent; you tried to give him a reassuring smile, raising your unharmed hand slowly enough for him to register and placed it on his ribs, almost under the armpit, ready to support him in case his muscles didn’t quite respond to his command as expected when you’d ask him to sit down.

What you didn’t expect was for him to crumble under your touch.

Over two hundred pounds of muscle was too much for your body to carry. When he leaned onto you without a single warning, his knees giving way, dropping his whole weight on your shoulders, you tumbled to the ground as you were without a real chance to slow down the fall. Your hands instinctively attempted too, but you knew you could add bruised backbone and your other wrist to the list on your injuries.

And while pain briefly shot through you very bones, you soon didn’t give a damn.

Not when Steve buried his face in the crook of your neck, arms gripping onto your body like as if it was a lifeline, harsh breaths and heartbreaking sobs escaping his lips, shaking his usually strong frame; but maybe that was just shivers from the cold. His skin was still almost icy to touch, his nose like an icicle as he pressed to your collarbone over your thermals, wet hair tickling your chin; his pants at his ankles, his boots, barely keeping together, still as his feet. You let them be as they were. Instead of stripping him further, you managed to reach for at least one of the pads and throw it into his lap, the blankets and towels too far away.

You enclosed Steve in a hug, achy hand carefully resting in his hair, the other running soothing circles on his back in a poor attempt to console him. His tears seeped into your shoulder and you never cared less for anything in your life; yours in return disappeared into his hair. Sweet nonsenses were spilling from your lips, drowned in his ragged sobs; you whispered his name over and over, his name and all endearments that came to mind and even remotely fit him. I’ve got you, love. Sweetheart, I’m here, sweet, I’m here… oh GG, my gentle giant, giant heart, I’ve got you, this will pass, I’ll help, I’ll help, I’ll help you stand up again. You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you, baby, so proud…

The song, thank god, stopped playing as soon as Steve broke.

You could feel his body weighting a ton, every muscle weary, strung and feeble at once, and yet, it was his mind making for most of the weight he couldn’t bear. Feelings he normally hid behind a wall as tall as Tower of Babel so he could lead others into battle with a brave face now oozed off him and soaked your skin and mind. You could only imagine the onslaught of emotions and memories, reminders of all he lost, the ghost of having woken up in the new millennium for the first time looming over him.

The way his fingers dug into your forearm, clutched at the flesh of your waist, it would hurt later; but at the moment, those long agonizing minutes that felt like an eternity, you barely felt it, instead consumed by overwhelming grief for the kindest and strongest soul you had ever met. The best man, breaking in front of your eyes and in your arms.

It took long minutes before you dared to move, just enough to reach for the blanket and strip him off the pants and shoes at least. You never went too far. The volume of your voice decreased along with Steve’s, along with the tremble of his exhausted body. He melted into your frame, falling asleep right there, held in your considerably weaker arms and you were grateful.

In a low voice, you asked Jarvis to notify Steve’s therapist – and yours, even if with less urgency. The worst of it was over, but you weren’t naïve as to think that just because the storm was over, there would be no damage and no need for restoration.

For now, you held Steve and tried to keep him warm, not blind to the fact his body combined with Jarvis’ service was already drying off the last piece of clothing he wore. You ran the fingers of your unharmed hand through the golden damp strands of his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead every now and then, hoping his sleep was dreamless.

Minutes or hours later, Natasha was the one to find you still curled one into other, gently telling you that everyone had already left the jet and that she’d send medics over in a few. You gave her a brave smile even as you were feeling everything but, your adrenalin wearing off and leaving you on the brink of breaking yourself.

When two medics rolled Steve away and you followed, refusing to move an inch farther from Steve than necessary just in case he’d unexpectedly wake up, a third one forced you to take an x-ray as your hand was already swelling.

As it turned out, there was a crack in both your ulna and radius, the mass, however strong, having been unable to withstand Steve’s strength. The swelling was bothering your nerves and your veins, hence the painful tingles and numbness; but in the end, they were just cracks. They’d heal.

Cracks actually usually hurt more than complete breaks, Doctor Jackson told you. You thought it was quite fitting. What Steve had experienced was not a break, for he was never broken; you weren’t certain he could be. It was but a crack; the foundation of who he was had so far been strong enough to withstand horrors unimaginable. And even though the cracks hurt like a bitch, you’d be there for him to help him through the pain.

The cracks in your bones could be solved by a few pills and rest; his would be a little more complicated.

But you’d help build him up again. You’d help him stand tall. Not for the sake of Captain America, the shining beacon of hope, the façade that could be speedpaint with shines of red, blue and white with ease. No, you’d help repair the real cracks for Steve, the gentlest of giants you knew, even if it would take more time and effort than an icon.

He was worth the trouble; even as you suspected that once he’d wake, he might have a thing or two to say about that. You’d convince him otherwise; you wouldn’t be alone.

And neither would he.

With a splint all over your forearm and wrist and a promise you would do a session in Doctor Cho’s cradle to speed the healing, you settled on the bed by Steve’s bedside, the surprisingly serene expression on his face and the gentle beeps of the heart monitor making for a warm hum of satisfaction in your chest.

You’d heal together. Of that, you were sure.

I was hearing words in black and white Twisted up inside my broken mind Outstretched dirty hands just like a child Hungry little fool, but you were mine (SYML – Body)

Steve Rogers masterlist // Love on The Brain masterlist

Notes (because the first aid trainer in me screams and severe hypothermia is a bitch): normally, first concern would most definitely be the cold, hypothermia and the impending arrhythmia (can be caused by the cold), but a) it was established Steve’s body can take it (proved the hard way) and b) his suit probably kept the absolutely worst away… PSA over.

ANYWAY. I hope you – well – liked it ("enjoyed" feels like a little too strong of a word for Steve’s suffering) 🥰 Thank you for reading! Feedback is life.

P.S. – this will likely be followed by a second part called Restoration, but I make no promises.

P.P.S. - if you wish to read a fluff about "Steve fell through frozen lake" situation, I recommend Frozen by @tilltheendwilliwrite 🥰

P.P.P.S. - if you are a CM fan, know that the title is a loose reference to Emily's issues in the second half of season seven when she tries to re-settle down with the team and at Quantico.

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #captain america imagine #captain america x you #captain america x reader #captain america #steve rogers #captain america fanfiction #love on the brain vibes #love on the brain #cracks in foundation #anika ann

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its-vannah · 1 year

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Along For The Ride | Graham Dunne x Reader

A/N: Y'all need to prepare yourselves, this is as devastating as it gets. Also the CHOKEHOLD this man has over me. I'm posting an alternate version of the same prompt sometime later today, I had two ideas that I just couldn't merge.

Warnings: Groupie lifestyle, angst, implied sex, drug use, alcohol consumption, smoking, OD

Daisy Jones and The Six Masterlist

Warren: Being on the road was fun, and it wasn't just because of the drugs and cheap booze. We had girls from thirty different directions coming at us. That had never happened before.

Eddie: The groupie scene was enjoyable, but I never really got into it. I'd see some of them, but I didn't take it to the level Warren or Graham did. One slept with every girl in a fifty mile radius and the other fell for one he couldn't have.

Warren: We had a few girls go to almost all of our concerts, at least the ones in the states. They couldn't all afford going overseas and we sure as hell weren't going to pay for it. There's no shortage of women who love a guy that can play the guitar, sing, or in my case, play the drums.

Eddie: Graham became infatuated with this one girl, Y/N, while we were touring. It was nice to see him actually get a girl, but he never shut up about it. It was enough to drive you crazy.

Graham: Y/N wasn't just a groupie. Not to me, at least. She was different.

Warren: The thing about groupies is that they only care about one thing: sex. I know from experience. That's not a complaint, by the way.

Graham: Y/N was only seventeen when I met her, and she had ready been through so much. I just wanted to help her.

Eddie: Graham thought he could "fix broken women". He was convinced. None of us had the heart to tell him that some women just don't want to be fixed.

Graham: She'd grown up loving music. In that way, she was just like us. The only difference is that she followed bands around. She got taken advantage of.

Warren: Y/N was a sweet girl. Easy on the eyes, had a fire to her. But she was sad. You could see it. Something wasn't right.

Graham: She sort of just melded right into the band. Started going on tours with us. She'd sit in the backseat with me, laying her head on my chest. It was a good feeling, being with a woman who saw you. Really saw you.

Eddie: Graham was caught up in his feelings for her. He didn't realize how self-destructive she was.

Graham: I found out she was addicted to coke not long after meeting her. She was doing lines in the bathroom while I slept in one of the hotels we were staying at. I begged her to stop, to think it through. I told her I'd be there to help her. She walked out.

Eddie: When I heard she had left, I wasn't surprised. That's what girls like her did. And when Graham told me what happened, I knew why she did.

Graham: I don't think anyone had ever told her they'd help her. It scared her.

Warren: It was quiet without her. Graham wasn't as chatty as he usually was, which was great for Billy, but it made tours boring.

Eddie: Graham started seeing Karen after Y/N left, something we didn't find out until much later. I think he was trying to heal from losing her. Not that he didn't love Karen, he did, but he was so lost. He really wanted to help her.

Graham: I found out she overdosed a few months after she left. I was devestated. The band had already split up, and music couldn't pull me out of that sinking feeling in my chest anymore.

Warren: I don't think he ever really got over her. Even now, she's in the back of his mind.

Graham: I started a foundation to help women struggling with addiction. We get them in counseling, room and board until they get a job that can support them, teach them life skills they may not have been taught when they were younger. It's all to prepare them for adulthood, even if theyre already in it.

Billy: One thing about Graham is that he's got a heart of gold. A part of me always knew it, but I never really acknowledged it. I'm proud of him, being able to turn something that overtook his mind into something that can help other women.

Graham: I don't want another girl's life lost to overdose or addiction. I don't think I could handle seeing it happen again. The band will always be an important part of my life, but I think the foundation is where my heart is.

#fanfiction #daisy jones and the six fanfic #daisy jones fanfic #daisy jones & the six #daisy jones and the six #graham dunne x reader #grahamdunne #graham dunne #graham dunne x y/n #fanfic #angst

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a-midnight-rest · 7 months

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Fixing the T'au empire part 2

So, in the first part I explained how the T'au were fine as they were, because their relatively hopeful outlook on the galaxy shone bright in contrast of the rest of the setting, how that turn the rest of the setting even darker, and how I love the idea that the solution to the Galaxy's problem is a truly different, alien approach to our individualist societies.

However, I have come to realize something, a reason as to why the T'au Empire may not feel at home in the 40k universe, and I thought about it by watching Indiana Jones 4, so sacrifices have been made.

The T'au Empire is not mythological.

The 40k is not a sci-fi setting, it is a dark fantasy setting with guns. And part of what makes the grandiosity of it is how mythologized every faction is. And I do not speak about religion, I speak of myths as in the stories we, right now, tell ourselves are the foundations of the world, the archetypes of what is and is not.

The Imperium incarnates the various mythologies of vast empires. Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, the British Empire, vast swats of lands combining different people united by righteousness and oppression. And also how all those empires fell. It's the idea of "things were better before" (even when they were not). Moreover, the equipment used by this faction is deliberatly old, centuries old, technology is religiously taken care of, weapons are blessed, vehicles are passed down from generation to generation. It is all very old, marked with that myths of the old Empire on its last leg.

The Orks are the Barbarians At the Gate, the savages who relish only destruction, like Attila the Hun, but british. In truth, it's not like barbarians actually existed, those were just foreign countries, but the myth is there.

The Tyranids are the Monsters in the Dark.

The Craftworld Eldars are the Atlanteans, the Utopians, the Babelians, the Old Civilization who fell due to their own hubris, and is now a superior people with no place to call home and no way back their transgression.

The Dark Eldars are the Feys of old, trolls, goblins, fairies stealing children in the night, playing cruel and horrific pranks, eating people. And following them to their home is a death sentence.

The Chaos is the Evil of Man, the primordial sin, the dark part of Humanity that eats itself to death, self destructive and perverse (They should have western dragons, that would fit them).

The Necrons are Death, or at least they try. They are like the Craftworld Eldars in a sense, but in a more Inevitable return way.

But the T'au? They do not fit any myth, in fact they specifically are immune to myths and the Warp. They are no none-sense, they do not play by any rule. As they were written, they would be better as a recurring joke than a faction. Everything about them is bright new, from theme to lore, and it makes them feel shallow.

There is one exception to that, and that is Farsight, who fit the myth of the Virtuous Rebel, an archetype that is not really coined by any faction as far as I know. In a way, he could also be kind like King Arthur, with his magic blade and his knights around him, but the clash of eastern/western reference hide this interpretation of him.

So... how to fix it? Modern problems requires modern myths.

As I said, myths are not about what is actually old, myths are always modern, visions we have right now about the past. So what Myth could fit the T'au Empire? I think we must look to a very modern work of literature: The SCP Foundation. A collective work written like articles depicting how an advanced and secret organization captures, study, and contains supernatural entities. They are much like the Men in Black, or the government in X-Files. They gain they mythology not through what they are, but what they deal with.

I think we should make the T'au Empire's main armies kinda fade in the background and focus on an organisation within the the T'au Empire that would approach the other mythological faction with a saavy appraoch based on tech to contain and use the horrors back at the horrors. A cold scalpel who knows what they are dealing with, knows they are outmatched, and use secrecy, focused efforts, and unconventional tactics to deal with it. The T'au Empire already have the foundation for it, they are technologically advanced, learn from their mistakes, and have authoritarian ruling cast shrouded in mystery.

They could pop up bio/cyber/solar-punks units, highly specialised and modified modern soldiers. Not the WW1 Kriegsmen, not the WWII Cadians, not the Catachan Rambos, not the Angelic Space Marines. People, with modern, recognizable equipment, turning to extremes in order to deal with demons, and civilizations using farming equipment more ancient than their prehistory.

In that perspective, the T'au main armies would kind of become the background, the necessary fight force to win actual battles and hold ground. Their stories could develop nicely on their own until they become established enough to have their own mythos. But the main event would be the Secret Cadre, the Black ops, the Foundation, the Men In Black of the T'au Empire, using not ancient techs and beliefs against demons like the Inquisition does, but developing Reality anchors of their own, sending modified Tyranid viruses into the other faction, using Soul Traps to capture and send daemons to corrupt enemy tanks.

Fire warriors spawned from tyranids biopools, weapons build by engineers trapped in time distortion to produce more advanced stuff faster, ships recycled from Space Hulks...

To mythologize the T'au, the T'au must, I believe, become Myth users to become Myth Breakers.

#warhammer 40k #t'au empire #Imperium #Orks #Myths #Tyranids #Space Marines #Chaos #Farsight #tau #tau empire

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thetriumphantpanda · 10 months

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Stolen | Marcus Pike (Day Two)

Series Summary | A week on from the biggest museum theft in history, you find yourself shipped to D.C. to track down the most important British archaeological artefacts, stolen from right under your nose. You didn’t plan on Special Agent Marcus Pike getting under your skin in the process. Special Agent Marcus Pike didn’t plan on falling for you either.

Chapter Summary | You fall into a quick routine whilst the hunt for your artefacts is ongoing. Marcus makes good on his promise of the best Italian food outside of Italy as a way for you both to forget your daily stress for a moment.

Pairing | Marcus Pike x Archaeologist/Curator F!Reader

Word Count | 4.9k

Warnings | Marcus and reader shamelessly flirting with each other, mentions of food and alcohol consumption but nothing much else right now.

Authors Note | Day two with Marcus and this is... not my best. I think because the pacing on this fic is so different to anything I've done previously, I'm not confident that I'm not completely rushing things but here we are! I hope you enjoy it and if you do, please consider dropping me a comment, reblogging or heading into my ask box to share the love! If you're interested in being added to the taglist for this or for any of my other work, please check this post on how to do that! And as usual, a HUGE thank you to @morning-star-joyfor beta-ing this huge chapter and generally just HYPING ME UP. ILY.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You groan at the incessant chiming of your alarm. There is no way that it is already time to be awake. You roll over and through blurry eyes manage to turn the alarm off, rolling onto your back to let your eyes adjust to the soft morning light drifting in through the curtains.

Rubbing the last of the sleep from your eyes, you pick up your phone, opening it to find your email app overflowing with unread emails from London. They were already five hours into their workday, and each and every email you opened was basically screaming at you for an update on the case. An update you had expressly told everyone wouldn’t come until later in their afternoon. You sigh as you push yourself up in bed, dialing Mark’s number before you can think about what you’re doing.

“Jones, good to hear from you,” You can hear the familiar background noise of the office behind him, “How’re things over there?”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, “Fine, I guess, would be even better if you could get everyone off my ass looking for updates though.”

“I’m sorry Jones,” He sighs down the phone, “I really am trying, but I’m sure you can understand that everyone here is on edge right now.”

You sigh again, “I know, it’s not your fault, hopefully I’ll have something to update you with when I call you later on,” You shift on the bed and push yourself up, padding over to the window to draw the curtains, “How’s Geralt?”

“Geralt’s fine,” Mark chuckles, referring to your dog that he had agreed to look after whilst you’re away, “He’s got a taste for roast chicken now, Miranda cooked him one especially as a treat.”

“If you spoil him too much, you’re paying for the roast chicken I’m going to have to feed him when I come back, you understand.”

“Loud and clear Jones,” You can hear someone trying to talk to him on the other end of the phone, “Listen, I’ve got to bounce, but I’ll speak to you later, alright?”

“Alright, have a good day.”

“You too Jones,” He finishes, “Go get ‘em.”

You’re in and out of the shower in record time that morning, cleaning the rest of the jetlag from your skin, swiping on some mascara and painting on your foundation and concealer to cover the pretty large circles around your eyes from sleep deprivation. You’re shrugging on your blazer when there’s a knock at your door.

“Morning, boss,” It’s Lizzie, “Car should be downstairs in ten.”

“I’m ready,” You mumble, letting her hold the door open whilst you grab your laptop bag and your handbag, checking you’ve got everything before closing the door, “Sorry about last night, I slept for longer than I thought I would.”

“That’s alright,” She smiles, pressing the button for the elevator, “I managed to entertain myself.”

There’s a smirk on her face that has you smiling too, “What did you get up to?” You tease, nudging her with your elbow.

“I just went for dinner,” She unlocks her phone and opens up Tinder, “American men love British women,” She winks, “I met Tod, who took me to the fanciest steakhouse in D.C., paid for my dinner and then blocked me when I told him I wasn’t interested in sleeping with him,” She’s scrolling through her messages to make a point, most of them unread, “Who do you think I should go for tonight?” She’s stepping into the elevator, you’re close on her heels, “David looks nice,” She opens his profile and scrolls through his photos so you can see, before she’s going back to his message, “He seems to think I’ll like a seafood restaurant around the corner from here.”

You’re both laughing by the time the elevator reaches the lobby, Lizzie pressing send on a message to David, letting him know when and where to meet her, “What about you?” She asks, “Don’t tell me you managed to sleep all the way through to this morning?”

You shake your head as your heels clip through the lobby, “There’s a great diner just around the corner,” You shrug, “Marcus showed me.”

Lizzie looks up at you with telling eyes and a smirk on her lips, “Did he now?”

“Shut up,” You chide, “It was kind of weird to be honest, phones me to ask if he’d upset me and then takes me for pancakes at nine in the evening.”

“I can’t blame him,” Lizzie shrugs, “You did look like you were about to slap him yesterday.”

“That’s because he chooses to ask the old white man the questions automatically, instead of me.”

“Come on Jones,” She’s speaking as she rounds the car that was sent for you, slipping into the backseat next to you, “That’s because Pete works for the police, it’s his job to know the answer to those questions, you can’t blame the poor man for that.”

“Well, don’t go getting any ideas,” You warn her as the car starts slipping through the city, “It was a one-time thing, just so I had somewhere to go on my own.” You know it’s a lie. You can already taste the pasta and the wine he’d promised you this evening, but Lizzie didn’t need to know that.

“I knew you agreed with me,” She speaks after a few minutes of silence, just as the car is pulling in to drop you off, she senses your confusion, “When I said he was cute!”

You groan as you both reach for your things and start walking into the building, “I do not think he’s cute.”

“The blush on your face would suggest otherwise,” She teases, shoving her own bag into the airport style security scanner to be checked, “You never go for dinner for anyone, not even at home, you definitely think he’s cute.”

“We’re shelving this conversation right now.” You demand, following her actions of setting your things down and heading through the scanners.

Once the security detail is satisfied neither of you are terrorist’s about to blow the place to the ground, they let you through and its only moments until you’re back in the office from yesterday. There’s a similar buzz about the place, people tapping away on computers and walking around with files. You can already see Marcus and his partner sitting in the meeting room with Pete, talking and laughing with each other, which makes your blood boil. You hope they aren’t talking about the case.

You march over, Lizzie having to run to keep up with you, knocking twice on the glass before you enter. Their conversation goes silent, only adding to your suspicions that they were in fact discussing the case without you.

“Good morning,” Marcus stands to greet you, “Sleep okay?”

“I slept fine, thank you,” You reply is curt as you sit down, “I trust you’ve got an update for us?”

He’s still standing, and his partner is looking up at him with a jovial look that you’ve seen in men before, and it infuriates you even more. Steven is looking at Marcus as if to say, ‘who does this girl think she is?’, flouncing into our office and demanding answers from us. You couldn’t give a fuck, you think, looking back at him, I didn’t make my career worrying about what silly men like you think.

Marcus takes a deep breath and sits back down, opening up the folder on the table, “So, the good news is, Steven managed to track the gang from the airport,” He pushes some grainy CCTV stills across to you which you take, “We’ve tracked them from here to a warehouse on the edge of the city, but the issue is, in all of the footage, there’s no sign of them carrying anything, no bags, no boxes, nothing.”

You throw your head back and groan in frustration, “That would have been too easy, wouldn’t it?”

Pete chuckles to the side of you, you shoot him a glare. It wasn’t meant to be funny; you fume silently.

“Doesn’t mean your artefacts aren’t there,” Marcus reassures, “We see it often that they’ll ship these things separately so they can’t be caught with them, so we’re planning a raid on the warehouse to see if that is the case.”

“Today?” You ask, optimism in your voice.

“It’s a big operation, you’ll understand,” Steven speaks now, “It’ll take us some time to pull the right resources in so we’re aiming for tomorrow afternoon.”

“Are you joking?” You scoff, “I’m sorry, but this is the biggest museum theft in history, of one of the most important British archaeological finds and you’re going to wait until tomorrow afternoon?” You turn to Pete now, hoping for some back up, “If this were the Met they’ve have raided it this morning, right Pete?”

He looks like a deer caught in headlights, his stutters a little, “Well, I mean, we’d need some time to put things together.” Traitor.

You take a deep breath in and push it out through your mouth to calm yourself, “Is there any way we can raid tomorrow morning?” You ask.

This time it’s Marcus who speaks, “We know how important this is, not just to you, but for us as well, so let me see if I can pull some strings and get things moving a little quicker.”

You nod in understanding, wondering whether he is in fact doing this for the greater good, or just to stay in your good books, “I appreciate that Marcus, thank you.”

He nods, “No problem, let me head out and make some calls,” He turns to Steven, “Can you get the briefing document ready, just in case we can get things moved around.”

Steven nods in understanding but you don’t miss the glare he shoots your way as he stands up to leave. What is his problem? Pete also stands to leave, mumbling something about updating headquarters back in London.

“Is it okay if I stay here to dial into my call with everyone back home?” You ask Marcus, who is shuffling papers back into his file.

“Sure thing,” He smiles, the warm smile you remember from last night, “Take your time,” He says, shutting the file and turning to Lizzie, “How about I show you where the coffee machine is, I’m sure you both need one.”

You’re waving her out of the room as your other hand is pulling your laptop out of its bag, she knows how you take your coffee, you just pray that the creamer they use here instead of milk doesn’t make you sick.

As soon as you dial into the call, you’re wishing you hadn’t. Wishing you could curl up into a ball and forgo all responsibilities. It’s times like this that you really missed fieldwork, sure digging up ancient skeletons could be emotionally taxing, but at least they never talked back to you or demanded why their stolen artefacts were still in fact stolen before they’d even greeted you a hello.

“Good morning to you too,” You smile sweetly into the camera as soon as Hartwig has demanded his update, “I’ve got some good news, the team here have managed to pick up the gang exiting a flight here in D.C. and then making their way to a warehouse on the other side of the city.”

“And is there any update on anything being found?”

“They’re pulling a team together as we speak with the hopes of raiding it in the morning.”

Hartwig looks bereft in his little square box on your screen, “Is there no way you can push for any earlier?”

“I already did, they were going to wait until tomorrow afternoon, but Agent Pike is putting in some calls as we speak to get things moving more quickly,” You look up from your screen and you can see the aforementioned Agent Pike stood with Lizzie, who has two mugs of coffee in her hand, they look deep in conversation, when his eyes flit to yours you immediately look back down at your screen, “I’ll be heading out with the team tomorrow, hopefully as early as possible so I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got any news.”

As soon as the pleasantries are over you slam the laptop shut and bury your face in your hands. God, you just wanted to be at home, on your sofa, with your dog and a cup of tea and all of this nonsense behind you. There’s a soft tap on the glass and you expect to see Lizzie, but it’s Marcus, two mugs of coffee in hand.

“Lizzie asked me to bring you this,” He sets the mug down next to you, “She had some calls to make so she’ll meet you downstairs when you’re ready to head back.”

You smile up at him, gripping the mug. You don’t look before you take a drink and yep, the creamer is far too much that it has you pulling a face, but you take another big drink, hoping the caffeine makes today a bit more bearable, “I needed that, thank you.”

He’s perched himself on the table next to you, a safe distance away that it doesn’t seem inappropriate but close enough that if you wanted to, and you really did, you could put your hand on his thigh. Not this again, you chide your brain. It’s actually him that closes the gap though, reaching one of his hands to rest on yours which is on the table.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise.” He says softly, clearly able to understand that this might just put you into an early grave with the stress you constantly feel through your body.

You unconsciously turn your palm up on the table before you know what you’re doing and suddenly, you’re actually holding his hand. He doesn’t seem to mind, just squeezes your hand with his before letting it go.

“Now, I know that a good bowl of pasta and a glass of wine will help,” He’s smiling, “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

You nod with a smile that matches his own, “See you at seven, Agent Pike.”

The rest of your day goes by in a blur. You spend most of it back at the hotel, replying to the myriad of emails you have to get through, all of which seem to be some kind of version of ‘I understand the magnitude of the situation, but myself and the team here in D.C. are doing our best.’. You take a nap in the early afternoon, supposing it’s one of the perks of everyone back home having logged off and gone home, and then soaked in a bubble bath, which did nothing to relieve the stress and tension from your shoulder blades.

It's not until six that you realise you have absolutely nothing to wear to dinner this evening. Your suitcase either consisted of the suits you wore during the day to give you the confidence to tell off jumped up FBI agents how to do their job, or the comfy clothes you’d favoured when working in the field. Nothing you pulled out screamed ‘dinner at a nice Italian restaurant with the handsome man who should really remain a professional colleague but that you definitely wouldn’t mind kissing.’

You shake your head again at the intrusive thought. When was your brain going to catch up with the fact that even if you did kiss him, you were only here for a few weeks at best. You had to remind yourself of the last time you went too quickly with someone. It never ended well.

Settling on your most casual pair of trousers and a knitted jumper, you sighed. This would have to do. You stuff the company card and your phone into your pocket and head down to the lobby. You’re thirty minutes early but there’s still an incessant vibrating coming from your pocket, indicating you’re still receiving a tirade of emails that will need to be dealt with. When you exit the elevator, you’re not expecting to find Marcus already sat waiting for you, typing on his phone in a way that makes you think he’s probably got the same amount of stress on his shoulders that you do.

“You’re early,” Your voice makes him jump and you stifle a giggle at the way his phone nearly slips from his hand, “Tell me you’ve not been here for too long?”

He looks at his watch, “Maybe a half hour?”

“You turned up an hour early for dinner?”

“You turned up half an hour early for dinner,” He counters, “I was just catching up with emails.”

You take your phone out of your back pocket and flash the screen at him, Outlook notifications stacking up by the minute, “Looks like we’re both in the same boat then.”

He moves closer to you, showing you his phone as he switches it off, “Go on, do the same.” He urges.

“Marcus, I can’t…” You trail off.

“Of course you can,” He shrugs, “Unless you were planning to ignore me for the entirety of dinner?”

He has a point, even you would never dream of spending your evening ignoring this man in favour of your emails. You curse the smile appearing on your face but follow his lead, showing him the screen as you turn your own phone off and put it back into your pocket.

“Good girl,” He praises, you think it must have been an unconscious choice of words because you’re both blushing as soon as it’s left his mouth, but you don’t complain, “Now come on,” He grabs hold of your hand and starts dragging you outside, “It’s time for the best tiramisu outside of Italy.”

Marcus manages to hail a cab outside with ease and only let’s go of your hand when he leaves your side to circle the car and take the other seat, but not before opening the door for you to climb in. He makes polite conversation with the driver as he zips through the streets to drop you off at the restaurant. You smile as you look out of the window, he’s ticking one of the green flags you’ve always looked for in men back home, being polite to anyone doing you a service. God, this was bad news.

The restaurant is a small, hole-in-the-wall, type establishment which has you excited. In your experience these were always some of the best places back home. Much like the waitress from the previous night, the waiter here greets Marcus with a firm handshake and a ‘welcome back’, you wonder if this man ever cooks his own food.

You’re sat at a table for two in the back corner, candlelight splaying across the table. There’s soft music playing in the background and starched napkins. Far too nice for a dinner with a colleague you think to yourself, but let it lie for now. He orders a bottle of white wine and when it arrives you must admit that this man knows his wine.

“Fuck, I needed this,” You whine, taking a second sip, much bigger than the first, “Thank you, by the way, for getting everything moved up for us.”

“It’s the least I can do,” He shrugs, something which you realise is one of his quirks that you enjoy, “I know how much stress you’re getting, so anything I can do to make things easier, I’ll do.”

The waiter comes back to take your order. Marcus insists on sharing bruschetta to start with, you opt for a carbonara because it’s the only tried and true way you know to test an Italian restaurant’s caliber, Marcus goes for a risotto which you’ve already decided you’ll be stealing a forkful of.

“So, considering this is two for two where the waiters have greeted you by name, do you know how to cook?” You tease over your glass of wine.

He chuckles, “I do, but when I’m on my own it makes more sense to come out to eat, or order in.”

“So, there’s no Mrs Marcus Pike then?” You watch closely as his face drops a little and you realise that you’ve probably fucked up, “I’m sorry, that was too personal, don’t feel like you have to answer that.”

He takes a sip of his own wine and leans back in his chair, his way of creating space between the two of you, “There was, once, but we were young and stupid so it didn’t work out,” He takes a deep inhale now, “And then a failed engagement, she was actually meant to move here with me but decided there was someone else who was better for her.”

You want to reach across the table and squeeze his hand, whilst his voice doesn’t give away his obvious disappointment in his failed relationships, his face certainly does. Gone is the usual smile, replaced with a frown and a furrowed brow.

“I’m sorry Marcus,” You lean yourself back on your own chair, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

He looks up at you and his features finally soften a little, “It’s fine, Jones,” He insists, “It’s part of who I am, the fact that I fall in love without really thinking about it, nothing to be ashamed of, just something to be careful of.”

“Who told you that was my nickname?” You ask, trying to steer the conversation away from the misery it was sitting in currently.

“Lizzie,” He takes a break to answer when the waiter puts down your appetizer, “That’s what she called you earlier when we were talking, you want me to call you something else, because I can if it makes you uncomfortable?”

You shake your head, “No, it’s fine,” You reassure, “Didn’t know if that was another of your federal agent things, knowing my deepest secrets.”

“If I knew that then I’d be able to answer why you’re here instead of out in the field,” He’s taking a bite of his food and then speaking before he’s finished, something that would normally drive you wild but is endearing here, “Makes sense though, Indiana Jones, world famous archaeologist.”

“He’s actually a terrible archaeologist,” You speak once you’ve taken a bite of your food, “World famous, yes, but I’ve never seen that man write an archaeological report.”

Marcus actually throws his head back in laughter, which has you giggling too, when had things ever been this effortless with anyone? You think back to all the forced first dates back in London, where one finance man after another had bored you to death. It had never felt like this.

“Point taken,” He says when he’s recovered, “So, what about you, no man missing you back in London?”

“There is only one man in my life right now and that’s Geralt.”

“I’m guessing Geralt isn’t your boyfriend?”

“No,” You laugh, popping the last bite of your bruschetta into your mouth, “He’s my dog, I’d show you a picture, but you made me turn my phone off.”

“Remind me to ask you tomorrow then,” He smiles over his glass of wine, “But no actual man, good to know.”

“I guess jetting all over the world to find pieces of history wasn’t really conducive to anything long term,” You mirror his own shrug from earlier, “And the men in London are just shocking, so I’ve found it easier to be on my own.”

“Never had the urge to settle down?” He asks as the waiter places your pasta in front of you.

“Of course, especially when all of my friends are doing the same,” You swirl the spaghetti around your fork, “You and I have the same issue of falling too easily, tends to scare a lot of people off right?”

You don’t miss how Marcus’ eyes are trained on you as you purse your lips perfectly in order to suck the end of the spaghetti through your lips, or how his eyes flit to your bottom lip when your tongue peeks out to lick the last of the sauce from it. There’s a sudden realization that you might actually have this man wrapped around your finger if you wanted it.

“Hello?” You move your head down into his line of sight, “Earth to Marcus.”

You watch as he does something like you do when you find your mind drifting, shaking his head and apologizing, “What did you say again?”

“I said, falling too quickly is something we have in common and that it tends to scare people off.”

“Right,” He scoops some of his food into his mouth finally, “That was my mistake last time, asking her to uproot her life to come and marry me after a few months.”

“Her loss,” is all you respond with, “Lucky me though, I get to sit and have dinner with you by candlelight.”

“Who say’s I wouldn’t have brought you here if I did have someone?”

“Because this is totally a date,” You smirk, he raises an eyebrow, “Candle on the table, folded napkins, talking about our failed love lives, you brought me here on a date Marcus Pike.”

“If the shoe fits,” He smiles, “You want this to be a date?”

“Undecided.” You tease as the waiter clears your plates; Marcus asks him to bring you a slice of tiramisu to share before he leaves.

There’s an air of tension as you sit and sip the last of your wine. The tone has definitely changed, and you don’t even really know why you’re doing it. You know nothing can really happen between the two of you. You know that in a few weeks you’re going to have to pack up your suitcase and go back to the mundane life of London. You know if you start something here, you’re probably going to fall in too deep and break your own heart, as well as his, when you leave. But when Marcus Pike is looking over the rim of his wine glass like he wants to devour you, you can’t really help yourself.

The tiramisu is placed in the middle of the table but there’s only one spoon. He picks the spoon up and drags it through the corner of the dessert before putting it to his mouth. You watch as he drags the spoon back through his lips, stopping to run his tongue over the bit of cream he missed the first time. Then, he’s dragging the spoon back through it and leaning over the table slightly to bring it to your lips.

You look at him through hooded lids, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out to catch the bottom of the spoon, before closing your lips around it as he pulls the spoon back out from your mouth. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat and this repeats until the whole dessert is finished.

There’s a sense of haste when he asks for the bill and you throw down your company card to pay, much like you’d done the night before. Even when Marcus is gripping onto your wrist and dragging you outside, you wonder if your minds are thinking the same thing. For you, all you can think about when you’re back in a cab and going back to the hotel is that you want to kiss that delightfully plump bottom lip of his and run your fingers through his hair.

He practically throws some dollar bills at the driver, mumbling to him to keep the change as he’s following you into the hotel, standing silently next to you whilst you press the button for the elevator. All you can think is that you wish he would make a move, touch you, whisper something in your ear, anything. When he steps inside the elevator with you, you’re finally thinking he might.

“You’re getting in the elevator with me?” You ask, eyebrow raised as he steps in behind you.

“Just making sure you get back safe.”

“Marcus, my room is a two second walk from the lift.”

“And I would be a terrible federal agent if I didn’t make sure you were safe for those two seconds.”

The doors close behind you and you let out a silent prayer that you’re the only two in there. You rest your back on the wall as Marcus steps a little closer, “I’ve gotta give it to you, agent, that was the best date I’ve been on in a while.”

He takes another step towards you, closing the gap so that his body is almost pressed to yours, “You just needed to fly across the pond to find the right man.”

You tilt your head to the side a little, pushing yourself off the wall to close the final inches of air between the two of you. You can feel his arm wrap around the small of your back to steady you. You’re tilting your head up to meet his. You can see his glazed eyes staring down at you before they flutter shut, much like your own do in the next second. You can feel his breath fanning across your cheeks, his hand at your back pressing more firmly, bringing you even closer into his warmth. You’re almost certain that there is the faintest touch of his bottom lip to yours, but then there’s a ding of the elevator bell and the doors are opening. You hear Marcus groan in frustration, the moment entirely lost as he pulls his face from yours.

“Guess I’ll have to wait to kiss you when you find my artefacts tomorrow,” You breathe, taking a step around him to exit the elevator, “Goodnight, Agent Pike.” You finish, just as the elevator doors start to close and he disappears.

If only you could have heard the sigh of his reply as he leant his head against the wall of the elevator, “Goodnight, Jones.”

Marcus Pike Taglist: @theviolethourdeux @yvonneeeee @dinsdjrn @morning-star-joy @cavillscurls @sinsofsummers @tightjeansjavi @cupofjoel @swiftispunk

#Pedro pascal #Marcus Pike #Marcus pike fic #Marcus pike fanfic #Marcus pike fanfiction #Marcus pike smut #Marcus pike fluff #marcus pike imagine #Marcus pike x you #Marcus pike x reader #Marcus pike x female reader #Marcus pike x f!reader #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fic #Marcus Pike Pedro Pascal

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loversgothic · 1 year

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stinky bitches need baths

#fortnite #foundation x jones #jonesy x foundation #foundajones #jonesdation #fnbr #fortnite battle royale #agent jones #agent jones fortnite #jonesy fortnite #foundation fortnite #the foundation #sorry! shirtless men jumpscare #mlm

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hail-americas-ass · 10 months

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🔆JUNE FIC REC II

✒ a greek tragedy by ash

(I can’t express enough how amazing this is) 4.6K Words

When Steve started drawing the comic, he drew himself before the serum and Bucky as he remembered him when they worked together to keep from ending up on the streets and dreamed of futures with floating cars. He drew them then and now, scenes against a New York he remembered and scenes against this future he didn’t quite fit in, one drawn soft and hazy, the other hard lines. When he drew them in the present, he never drew himself looking at Bucky; Bucky was always behind him, a shadow that followed as he tried to find a trace of the world they used to know in this one. He called them Orpheus and Eurydice.

🦾 Touch Me I’m Going to Scream by buffypeppers

(This is a classic in my opinion. It’s got recovering!Bucky and every trope you can imagine, so very fluffy) 107.5K Words

Only a few days have passed since the Winter Soldier put Sam into a hospital bed but Steve is ready to find HYDRA’s assassin and bring him to justice.

Things won't go according to plan once the Avengers find the infamous man.

🕵️‍♂️ End of all Days by Minka ( @minka-g on tumblr)

(I was motivated to reread this recently, it kept me on the edge of my seat the first time I read it and it had the same thrilling effect when I reread it too. There’s only one word to describe it: thrilling.)

(Archeological Historian!Steve x Spy!Bucky) (Indiana Jones & Atomic Blonde AU) 116.7K Words

Captain Steve Rogers had thought his military days were behind him, left in the bloody nightmare that was Saigon. Retired and working as a History Professor, the last thing he expected was to get caught up in a cataclysmic Slavic prophesy foreshadowing the end of the known world.

With Cold War tensions running high, Steve finds himself in need of a guide and translator to get him behind the Iron Curtain and into the isolated snowdrifts of Siberia.

It’s deep in the heart of Bucharest’s resistance fighters that Steve finds the ideal candidate, but swaying the enigmatic ex-operative known as The Winter Soldier proves to be complicated. Trust is hard-won, especially in the world of espionage, and with a KGB death squad nipping at his heels, the Soldier has countless reasons to stay presumably dead.

As the lines between right, wrong and the supernatural begin to blur, Steve is forced to reconsider everything he’s ever believed, right from the sanctity of his own country to the very foundations of creation itself.

❤️‍🩹 Every Door Opens by Notoska ( @notoska on tumblr)

(This fic, the words and the way they were written, not only yanked my heart out of my chest, it also sunk deep in my bones where I was forced to carry it and think of it for days. Fantastic.) Recovery fic. 73.9K Words

Then Bucky licks his lips, tip of his tongue just grazing the sensitive skin of Steve’s ear and Steve moans. Nothing close to the surge of lust behind his ribs, but a tiny, breathy sound all the same. Bucky doesn’t react—he must not have heard. Though a minute later he curls his fingers and extends them again, moving just slow enough for it to be a caress.

Just tip your head into his touch. He’ll take the lead and trace the folds of your ear with his tongue until you can’t keep quiet any more. Then he’ll smother your desperate little noises with his mouth, fingers twisting in your hair. Kissing deeply, tongues reaching to declare your filthy intentions. Find his knee with your hand and slide wolfishly up his thigh until you reach the bulge behind his fly. Palm him through his trousers until he’s panting in your mouth, until he’s pressing his forehead to yours, hips bucking, and you can see his dark eyes, glinting in the screen’s flickering light, pleading—

Steve jolts back to the present. The credits are rolling and Bucky is reading them as well. The screen blacks and two fluorescent lights buzz to life. Bucky loosens his hand from Steve’s head, welcoming the world back in.

#stucky fanfiction #stucky fanfic #stucky #steve/bucky #ao3 #stucky fic recs #stucky fic rec #steve rogers x bucky barnes #steve rogers/bucky barnes #stevebucky #fic recs

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html-nae · 10 months

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T R A P S O U L

42!Miles x fem!OC

Last Part of the 42!Miles x fem!OC series

WC:947

The upbeat rhythm of Bob Marley’s Could You Be Loved played through the speaker as a breeze blew from the open window by the bed.

Both teens were positioned on Harmony’s twin sized bed. Miles in between her legs with her hands in his hair, gently taking out the overgrown braids.

They could hear the cars driving past on the busy streets and the occasional kid yelling with joy followed by the sound of a ball bouncing.

The room glowed orange as the sun was beginning to set. Shadows from the vines around Harmony’s wall were casted on the beige walls and decorations.

They sat in silence as the smell from the kitchen wafted in through the open door. Miles’ stomach growled loudly causing Harmony to giggle.

“What’s funny, ma?”

He asked with a smile on his face. It felt nice to relax and bask in the times he got to spend with her.

Harmony shook her head as she finished taking out the last braid and ruffled his hair. She found his hair pretty, even with the dried gel flakes that decorated the dark hair.

The song ended and changed to another Bob Marley song.

Harmony’s favorite.

Is This Love

Miles got up and looked in the mirror to examine his hair.

“Look at how long my hair got.”

He said excitedly as he stretched a piece of his hair. It went past his collar bone.

“I see it, babes. It’s pretty.”

He watched her get up and stretch, relieving the pain of sitting in the same position for so long.

“What?”

Harmony asked, cocking her head to the side with a look of confusion. Miles looked like he was stuck. The orange glow from the setting sun made her skin shine a golden color, her eyes looked brighter and the shadow on her cheeks from her lashes made Miles’ breath get caught in his throat.

Is this love that I’m feeling?

Is this love? Is this love? Is this love?

He walked towards her and looked down at the Haitian girl. She was beautiful.

She is beautiful.

Miles took her hands in his and slowly spun her in a circle then tilted her back, nearly dropping her on the floor.

Harmony let out a laugh with Miles following.

They danced to the beat of the music around her room, careful not to step on the few pairs of shoes that littered the floor.

She is the foundation for his conception of Love.

When he thinks of what a black woman should be.

Its her.

Harmony Khelani Jones.

He would give her the clothes off of his back just to see her smile.

He would sacrifice anything for her.

Because without her, the sun didn’t shine. Her eyes can look through his soul.

She was all he knew.

If you asked Miles what the highs felt like. He would say her.

She reminded him of the color blue.

Miles Gonzalo Morales was in love with Harmony Khelani Jones.

“Hijo?”

Rio called from the doorway, with Harmony’s father behind her.

They watched as their kids danced away in their own little world. Brian looked at Rio and stretched out his hand.

“May I have this dance, my beautiful sister in law.”

The older woman laughed, memories of him saying the same thing at her and Jeff’s wedding appeared in her mind.

Him and Jeff were best friends and Brian took Rio under his wing and looked out for her like an older brother. Much like Aaron did.

“Of course.”

Rio placed her hand in his with a smile.

A real smile.

Everything seemed to fall into place. Everyone was happy and didn’t have a worry in the world.

“Hey when did you guys join in?”

Miles greeted with a smile on his face as he spun Harmony around in a circle.

They both looked ecstatic and carefree. Both of them living in the moment.

“We just joined in.”

Brian answered. His eyes squinted as he smiled.

“The more the merrier. Right hermosa.?”

Harmony took in the environment around her.

“Right, bèl”

Harmony looked happy.

She was happy.

Miguel found a way for her to stay in this universe.

There was nothing for her in Earth 1610. Except for Miles and his family.

After much fighting and arguing, they came to the realization that Miles from Earth 42 wasn’t the bad guy, not even close.

Like stated before, he was still Miles. Just the Prowler. But on this Earth, he was a vigilante in New York. He just wanted some peace and protection for his mother since his father was gone.

He was the same Miles that spanned across the different dimensions. The same dorky shy kid that loved to draw and loved music. He only had his guard up in this dimension. He grew up in a different environment compared to the New York Harmony and Miles was used to, but he was the still dorky kid that Harmony knew and loved.

Miles thought as he watched from the window as Harmony threw her head back in laughter when Miles picked her up and spun around.

He missed her more than anything.

He also loved her more than anything, and realized it after the painful truth that she wasn’t coming back.

In his opinion.

She was like trapsoul.

A genre of her own.

Her own unique sound that blended with two clashing aesthetics.

Two different people, with different stories.

The two strangers that were put in random predicaments. Each with a soul so they could make their own choices and live with it.

Two strangers that she both complemented so well.

She was the definition of Trapsoul.

Taglist:

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#spider man #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles #earth 42 miles x reader #miles x reader #spiderman x y/n #across the spiderverse #miles molares #gwen stacy #across the spider verse spoilers #spiderman #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles x oc #miles morales #spiderverse x reader

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xplainthexmen · 29 days

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Jay & Miles X-Plain the X-Men, Episode 444 - Damnit, Magnus

In which it’s difficult to flee with soup; Miles may or may not be haunting the X-Men; Colossus collaborates involuntarily; Marrow is full of surprises; Magneto is a dick; Jay continues to carry a torch for Secret Wars: Siege; and you should totally come to our birthday party.

X-PLAINED:

Several rather pointed allusions

X-Force #86

Uncanny X-Men #365

X-Men #85

Almost Reno, NM

Where mutants come from

The Aguilar Institute (more) (again)

Abandoned towns

Mary the telepathic moppet (more) (again)

Odysseus Indigo

The Damocles Foundation

Sibling names

The Fundamental Attribution Error

A haunting

Christmas beer

Christmas ghost exquisite corpse

Bill Jones

A rescue mission

Essential stories of the ‘90s

Our weird favorites

Siege

Our upcoming 10th birthday party (more) (again)

NEXT EPISODE: Magneto War begins!

Check out the visual companion to this episode on our blog!

RSVP to our birthday shenanigans!

Find us on Apple Podcasts or Spotify!

Jay and Miles X-Plain the X-Men is 100% ad-free and listener supported. If you want to help support the podcast–and unlock more cool stuff–you can do that right here!

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#X-Men #podcast #XPlaintheXMen #Jay and Miles X-Plain the X-Men #Uncanny X-Men #X-Force #Jay and Miles

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thecottoncandylamb · 2 months

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Reunions (Or Lamb is terrible at titles)

Here it is. The first of the many, many one shots that I wrote because I'm mentally ill and just want Jones and the Foundation to be in love.

It had been almost 3 years since they had seen each other, and Jones’ world couldn’t be more different. After altering time, the former IO agent had found himself on a new version of the Island, filled to the brim with unfamiliar faces and voices. This time, it carried the name “Helios”, and like every other Island before it, it was in a war for its life. Filled with Loopers and factions, citizens and militaristic groups, it felt the same as every place he had been before. He couldn’t recognize anyone here, nor did anyone recognize him. His only companion here was Peely who got sucked through time with him. Almost immediately upon arrival, the banana was snatched away by the Society, one of the large factions that ruled Helios, when their leader, Valeria, realized Jones could have helpful information related to some box she was looking for.

Since then, Jones has been absolutely *done*. Hope, the leader of the local renegade group known as the “Underground” had been nice enough to let him stay in the abandoned subway she used as a Headquarters, but her kindness and good nature did little to soothe his frazzled nerves, and, like most things, came at a price. Help her defeat the Society while she lent him resources to find Peely. Tit for tat, or so they say, and he was more than willing to return the favor, but Jones was *tired*. He was sick of saving everyone, time and time again just for it to go straight back to shit. He wanted a break, wanted just to have the chance to *actually* enjoy the small moments of peace his actions brought to the island and its inhabitants. A bitter part of him guessed that an eternity of fighting was his punishment for the sins of his past, and he didn’t even bother to stuff that nasty thought away, he just let himself wallow and fester in it.

Standing in front of his corkboard, which Hope so lovingly dubbed his “conspiracy board”, he glares up at the pictures of the Society Leader’s faces, each pinned up near the rough blueprints of their appropriate bases. The group had caught on to his investigation and started moving the banana between their bases. Letting out a frustrated groan, Jones shoves his fingers under his sunglasses to rub his tired eyes. Deciding to turn in for the night, he shrugs out of his coat and starts making his way toward the pale blue couch he had claimed as his own. Tugging his sweater over his head, he crawls onto the cushion, uses his scarf to cover his eyes, and tries to force himself to relax. Under the mocking glares from the Society members, he turns his back to the board and tries to force himself into a fitful sleep.

Meanwhile, the Foundation was surprised by how different the Island had become in his absence. New settlements had formed, the land itself had changed, and the home of the Zero Point had a new name; Helios. The leader of the 7 walked slowly down a beaten-up road, the night sky stretching above him. A small building to his right held the smallest trace of a heat signature, an indication that someone had been here recently. Pressing a button on the side of his helmet, he scanned the building, and it seemed to have a passage to the sewers below the streets. Making a mental note to check the schematics of the Island later, he almost leaves the run-down little building behind before *something* stops him. Like a little voice in his ear, something pushed him to investigate further.

Slowly pushing the door open, he barely acknowledges the loud creak it makes. Let it serve as a warning, he thinks before stepping to look down into the steep drop. A heavy cable hangs from a support beam above him, nearly reaching the floor below. Curling a gloved hand around the cable, the large man lets gravity pull him towards the ground, that annoying little voice in the back of his head urging him to “go go go”. Something was down here, and he wouldn’t stop until he found it.

A faint signal, like a fluttering pulse, was slowly growing visible to the sensitive scanners in his visor. Taking steady steps, the usually collected man could feel his heart rate accelerate in anticipation. This energy was familiar to him, he’d recognize it anywhere. He’d followed it countless times before, and in this new place filled with unfamiliar faces and voices, he’d be the first to admit that he was excited to see a friendly face. After all of these years, Jones’ bright face was exactly what he needed to feel *normal* again.

Finally, the signature narrows in, becoming stronger and brighter the further down he descends down a large flight of stairs. Soon, the Foundation entered a large, dilapidated subway station where rubble blocked off most of the entrances and covered large portions of the floor. The ceiling is covered in a plethora of colors, the stained glass painting a rainbow beneath it as dim lights twinkle above it. The room was a cluttered mess: weapons, targets, and old pizza boxes are scattered on tables and the floor, and a heavy rug beneath one of the tables. A large board, covered in pictures and maps stands to his left, reminding him of the early days of manning the 7, when their organization was little more than a small renegade group in his basement. He can’t help but smile at the memory. In the back of the room, almost directly across from the stairs he used to enter the room, there was a pale blue couch with a dark blanket tossed over the back of it. Its back faced him, and he quietly wondered how long the person on the other side had been there.

The energy signal was all over the room, mixing and mingling with several others, each pacing around the room, back and forth between each object, and he followed it almost eagerly. Rolling his eyes at the frequent circles that were made in front of the board, the energy belonging to Jones didn’t surprise him in the slightest, he watched as eventually, the energy stopped by the couch. Taking strides, he hates the eager warmth in his chest at the thought of seeing Jones again. Worried that the man might be sleeping, the large man carefully leaned over the back of the couch and finally released the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

Laying curled on the cushions was Jones, the exact person he had been looking for, he realized. The man looked awful: his eyes were heavy with dark bags, his sunshine hair was oily and messy, pressed up at awkward angles from the way his head was shoved under the scarf that was slowly tangling with his neck and arms. His face was covered in dark stubble, another clear sign that he wasn’t taking care of himself. Taking a moment to simply enjoy looking at the man, he felt an angry ball form in the pit of his stomach.

In their time together, he had seen more than his fair share of the former agent in various stages of undress, so seeing Jones topless was nothing *new* to him. He had almost every inch of this man’s torso memorized (he would never admit to this) and today, Jones looked like a whole new man. Numerous scars, some fairly new, littered the man’s pale skin, making a map of pain and torment the hero should never have gone through. Tightly gripping the back of the couch, his focus on the visible burns on his skin, nasty and dark, in the shape of someone’s hands, some of the prints are curled around Jones’ neck, others pressed against his chest and side. They looked like brands, and he had to stop himself from jerking the sleeping man up and demanding to know who or what had dared to lay their hands on him.

The Foundation was immediately ripped back into reality by the click of a pistol and the barrel of a gun being pressed to the back of his helmet.

“You have 3 fucking seconds to convince me not to blow your brains out.” A woman’s voice, harsh and angry, comes from behind him.

Ignoring her, he lifts the blanket off of the back of the couch, draping it over Jones’ sleeping form.

“Don’t fucking touch him.” She hisses pushing the pistol forward again to make her threat known.

“Trust me, that little thing won’t even make a dent in my armor.” He growls, standing up to turn towards the woman. She was short, but compared to him, who wasn’t? Her blue hair was pinned up to the back of her head, her eyes a dark blue, glaring up at him from over her dark sunglasses.

“Try me. I think you’ll find that in my hands, this gun is more than enough.” She warns, not even flinching at the much larger, armored man looming over her, “Now get the fuck away from him. He has too much on his plate to deal with some freaky peeping tom bothering him.”

If his visor had been down, she would have seen both of his brows raise high at the way she addressed him, “Lower your gun, girl. I’m no threat to Agent Jones. I’m an old friend.” he huffs out, almost embarrassed at being called out for watching the sleeping man.

“Agent Jones?” The blue-haired woman only raises her gun higher, an angry scowl on her painted lips, “The only friend of his that addresses him like that around here is Peely. Did the Society send you? If so, you’re not making it out of here alive.” with little hesitation she pulls the trigger.

Right as she shoots, his arm shoots out, pushing the gun upward and yanking the petite woman into a chokehold. Rainbow glass rained down around them as the sound of the gun firing echoed around the subway station. The sound is obviously loud enough to startle Jones wake. Ever the dutiful agent, he has a gun in his hands aimed at the two of them before he even emerges from the other side of the couch. The Foundation keeps his grip on the woman as she claws his armor, making the blonde panic.

“Woah woah! Hey put her down!” Leaping over the back of the couch, Jones drops his gun, raising his hands palm up and stepping into the armored man’s line of sight. “Hey, hey it’s okay. Hope is a friend.”

“Your *friend* tried to shoot me.” The Foundation grumbles but complies, dropping the woman, Hope, onto the floor.

Jones tries to ignore the butterflies that erupt in his stomach at the other man’s deep, rumbling voice. How long had it been since he’d heard someone this familiar and comforting, even if said person was angry and trying to choke one of his closest friends?

“Well, to the average person you’re pretty intimidating, Big Guy.” The nickname rolls off of his tongue easily, and for a moment it feels like the years rolled away as he tries to soothe the other man.

Kneeling to help Hope up, he rubs the back of his head. “Sorry about that. Hope, this is the Foundation, he’s a friend from back home. Foundation, this is Hope, she’s leading the good fight here on Helios.”

Glaring up at him, Hope rubs her neck, not liking this mysterious “friend” one bit, but Jones hasn’t let her down yet, so she bites her tongue and offers her hand in greeting. “I guess it’s good to meet you. Jones has been a big help, so any friend of his is a friend of the Underground.”

Grunting softly under his breath, the Foundation begrudgingly takes her hand giving it a firm shake, “Likewise. You have a good ally here. I hope you’re taking good care of him.” the warning is subtle, but he can tell by the look in her eyes that she understood it loud and clear; if anything happened to Jones she would be the first to face the consequences.

Taking a small breath, Jones was glad to see the two get along, his eyes unable to look away from the Foundation. God, he looked good. Well, as good as a guy in armor could look. Suddenly aware of his own rugged appearance, he moves over to the couch, tugging his sweater up and pulling it on over his head. He didn’t know how long the other man was staying and he wanted to make sure he could get a few moments just to enjoy his old friend’s company. A gloved hand catches his shoulder, causing him to flinch at the sudden contact, but the hand remains steady, holding him in place. In a way, he expected to freak him out, but the comfort was undeniable.

“Jones. What happened while I was away?” The Foundation *knew* Jones, and knew when the man wasn’t acting right, “What happened to you?”

Hope, in that moment, felt like she was intruding on a truly intimate moment. Jones let his head hang down while the larger man slowly circles his fingers around his wrist. Slowly, the blonde reaches up and before he can do anything, he’s pulled into a tight hug. He didn’t even care that his face was smushed against the hard plating of the bigger man’s armor, his hands immediately finding purchase on the back of his old friend’s shoulders.

“I’m so fucking tired…” the former agent hated how much his voice shook, how each word wanted to tumble out with a thousand more. How long had it been since he was the weak one?

“I know Jones. I’m so sorry for leaving like that. I should have come back sooner.” Letting his visor lift off of his face, he gives into temptation, burying his face into the blonde’s dirty hair.

The shorter man tried to fight the quivering of his shoulders, but what could he really hide from the man holding him? A large hand rubbed small circles into his back, pulling a tired sigh from his lips as he slowly relaxed in the comforting embrace. The Foundation holds him like he’s scared he’ll disappear, and Jones thinks that maybe he has been for a long time, but in this moment he felt more real than he had in years.

“You need rest, Jones. Lay back down. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Jones is too tired to argue, the comfort of the familiar scent and voice of someone who *remembered* lulled him into a cozy warmth he thought he lost ages ago.

“You promise?” Too tired to be embarrassed by how pathetic he sounds, the blonde lets The Foundation guide him back to the couch.

“Of course, Jones. Even Geno himself couldn’t make me leave this time.” Tugging his cape off of his shoulder, he slowly bunches and rolls it up into a makeshift pillow, letting Jones rest his head on it while the large man drapes the blanket up over him.

He stays leaning over the back of the couch for a long while, watching and petting the blonde man’s hair until his blue eyes slowly drift shut. Hope watches in silence for a long while, not wanting to interrupt this soft moment that her friend never gets to have. Once she’s sure Jones is asleep, the Underground leader clears her throat to get the big man’s attention.

“I’m…look I’m sorry. I just know a lot of people want to hurt him. I didn’t want to take any chances on the Society getting their hands on him again.” Rubbing the back of her neck she sighs, “Hell, when I first met him I had to rescue him from one of their torture rooms..” she jumps as the Foundation nearly crushes the back of the couch.

“I’m here now. And you were just trying to protect him. So, thank you, Hope. He’s more important than you know.” and the people who dared to hurt him would know his wrath.

#fortnite jonesy #fortnite jones #fortnite the foundation #foundajones #jonesdation #jones x the foundation #your honor they're in love #hurt and comfort #hope fortnie #this will have like #2 or three more that are connected to it #but i have more drafted you'll see #uwu #lamb writes #my writing

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