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whirlybirbs · 3 years

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( chapter 6′s gif by @buckysbarnes from this lovely set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 6/?

summary: gunshot wounds, panic attacks, and evil next door neighbors.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 5.3k, a filler before the real sexual tension.

a/n: be warned, this chapter has a diy medical procedure where bucky removes the slug from rabbit’s shoulder. it’s nothing too graphic, but keep that in mind! also, i wanted to say thank you to everyone who has rec’d, reblogged, commented, kudos, liked, looked at this fic. the response to every chapter has been so overwhelmingly kind and i’m so thankful that i have the oppurtunity to share this fic with you all. that being said, i broke this chapter up. next week has some spice. ;-)

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Bucky wakes up with a headache that feels like someone’s tapped an icepick between his eyes. A fire-bright burn radiates under his ribs.

It’s a slow creep back to reality — he just lays there and stares at the peeling wallpaper that meets the corner of the ceiling for a while, knowing deep in the back of his muddled, confused thoughts that he most likely has a nasty concussion, maybe a few broken ribs.

How? Hm. Fighting. Music? The club.

Rabbit.

He sits up fast and Bucky’s blue eyes struggle to adjust in the low-light of the scarcely furnished apartment. The searing pang of his headache is enough to make his stomach churn, but he’s had worse. So much worse. This is manageable. So, he swallows down the nausea and looks around the room like a wounded animal — and almost immediately, relief greets him at the sight of you in the armchair across from the couch.

Your hair is a mess, falling from it’s previous style that you’d proudly worn to The Glass Cannon. Your lipstick is smeared, there’s glitter on your cheeks, and your make-up has transitioned from starlet beauty to broken-hearted bombshell. Bucky notices, with a bit of dismay, that you’re even missing an earring. There’s a nasty bruise forming along the peak of your cheekbone and a gash there from when Alexei had cracked you across the face with the pistol — and even despite all this, Bucky can feel his heart clench at the sight of you. A good clench. The sort that makes his heart kick into a stutter step.

You look… well, you look like someone who’d had the shit choked out of them and then was shot.

Shot.

Your jacket, punched clean through with the single bullet hole, is hanging over the back of the chair and there’s gauze taped to your shoulder. You’re leaning your good cheek in your hand, attention turned totally to Bucky, where you’ve fallen asleep. From here, you’re a picture of exhaustion.

Anxiety flashes in his heart and he swings his legs over the edge of the couch.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Take it easy.”

It’s the woman from before, Kiwi, and she’s got an ice pack in her hands. It’s wrapped in a ratty, green dish towel, and she hands it off to Bucky with a pitiful little look. Rounding the couch, Bucky finally gets a better look at her.

She’s older than you, maybe by a handful of years, but sharp and beautiful nonetheless. Her hair is dark as night and the tips are drenched in a lime colored dye. Her eyes are dark, too, ringed by kohl and glitter, and Bucky wonders if he’s ever seen her before.

“You heal quick,” she says quietly as she plops down into the chair across the room. On a makeshift desk, there’s a laptop, “Care to explain how you know our dear friend Rabbit here?”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Again, his eyes fall on your sleeping form.

He maneuvers the ice pack in his hands, then gently presses it to his ribs. He melts a bit, ignoring the evident tears in the silk shirt. He feels bad — he’d busted some of the seams in the midst of the brutal scuffle and it seems like this artifact of Jaimie’s was most likely beyond salvation.

His dog tags jingle against his chest.

“Therapy,” Bucky croaks, “We, uh, we met in therapy.”

A new voice comes into the picture now, one that’s muffled by a mouthful of food.

“That’s cute.”

It’s the other one, Climber. He’s traded in his all-black, all-polyurethane outfit for an expensive looking t-shirt. Without the strobes, without the tunnel vision, Bucky can now see the intricate buzz cut that sits beneath the mountain of blue curls on his head. There are patterns buzzed into his tight-shave. He’s got a smile, too, the glimmers a little too artificially. Bucky spies crystals inset on his incisors between bites of what looks like a bowl of cereal with no milk. Spoon and all.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met,” Climber says as he plops down next to Bucky on the couch, “What’d you say your name was?”

A hand is jutted his way. Bucky blinks. He shakes it with his vibranium hand.

“I’m Bucky.”

“Well, I’m gay and you’re gorgeous,” he says candidly, giving it a good shake, “So, if that’s of any interest—”

“Can you please shut up, Climber?” comes an irritated rasp from you in your armchair. Bucky turns to watch as you raise your head and rub your eyes, “Christ, I just fell asleep.”

“And your little supersoldier just woke up,” Kiwi chirps from her preoccupation with the laptop and contents on it, “So why don’t you stop being a little baby and let him look at that gunshot wound.”

Bucky’s face falls flat. He drops the ice pack to the coffee table with a thwunk.

You sit up, gingerly trying to maneuver yourself so as to not bother both your ribs and your shoulder. It takes a moment, but finally you’re sitting up with only a dull ache of pain throbbing beneath your skin. Now, the real sting comes from the bitter look Bucky has pinned you with.

“You haven’t cleaned it yet?��

“The shits in the kitchen,” Kiwi waves at Bucky, as if to say told you so, “She fuckin’ refused to let me take care of it.”

“You’re going to get an infection if it stays in you any longer,” he snaps, standing to his feet, “Get up.”

“Kiwi isn’t exactly the most gentle person I know,” you manage to supply as an excuse as you move through the room, “And I know that thing isn’t coming out without a fight.”

He can feel the grey hairs coming in already.

You stand slowly, and Bucky looms behind you as you weave into the small apartment’s kitchen.

It’s barely lived in, but a few years ago it most definitely had life. Now, it’s mostly abandoned save for a few necessities. Kiwi had told you, a long time ago, about this spot — it was her parent’s place before the Snap. After the Blip, they ended up moving back to Massachusetts. Now abandoned by anyone seeking to really live in the one bedroom, it sits collecting dust until Kiwi inevitably needs it.

Like now.

“Up on the counter.”

You wince at his tone, but still thankful to be away from Kiwi and Climber’s prying eyes.

For the entire time Bucky had been out, you’d been subjected to a myriad of questions — all were fair, really, since Bucky did just bust out the Avenger-level super-moves on some Russian mafiosos for your sake, vibranium arm and all. The arm was really the biggest stuck point in the conversation as you tried your best to explain the nature of your relationship with the unconscious supersoldier on the couch. It was met with plenty of looks, both curious and skeptical.

You’re slow to hop up on the dusty marble countertop. From there, you watch Bucky poke through the kit that Kiwi had pulled from under the sink.

Then, with the calculated process of a man who has pulled one too many bullets from himself, Bucky slams the kit shut and wanders into the bathroom.

He returns with a pair of large tweezers. He’s silent as the dead as he rummages for a pan, fills it with water, and sets the gas burner on. He stares, watching the pot boil, as his foot taps against the floor.

You swallow down any comments.

There’s a clean towel beside you, and Bucky casually reached into the boiling water with his vibranium hand to retrieve the tweezers — whether or not he purposely ignored the pain is lost on you. You’re too busy anxiously spiraling into silence.

(He’s trying to ground himself, to feel something other than panic. It’s a mild spike, but it’s still panic. Because you’re hurt. Because you still have a fucking casing lodged in your shoulder and he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Ever. Because he saw it happen and then it was black, and now that anxiousness is creeping in.)

Rubbing alcohol, tweezers, gauze, tape, and… Jack Daniel’s.

It’s from the top of the fridge. It’s got a layer of dust on it — and it’s unopened.

Bucky unceremoniously pops the cap and hands the open bottle to you.

You take it and pause.

Bucky’s gaze is cold.

“You’re gonna want to take a few swigs, Doll.”

You almost snarl. You take a long drink then, ignoring the burn of the whiskey down your throat. It’s only when you’ve had enough to nearly gag that you hand the bottle back and then hiss:

“Don’t call me Doll.”

He takes the bottle and unceremoniously slams it down on the counter.

His movements are rough as he washes his hands — and if Bucky was a better person, maybe he’d take a second and parse through why he was feeling so damn irritable. But, no, no, he could figure out that he was angry at himself and you and Alexei Gardzov and Innessa Sidrova and fucking… everyone because he can’t have any normal relationships in his life without there being bloodshed or pain or suffering. That was enough, and he didn’t want to dig deeper into the nipping fear of losing you, not now, not when he had a job to do—

You suck in a sharp breath when his fingers brush your collarbone. He gently moves the delicate strap of your bodysuit, ignoring the soft skin beneath, and pulls the gauze away from your shoulder.

Your jacket had taken most of the impact it seems. Bucky frowns deeply at the pink fibers clinging to the entry wound. It’s a nasty puckered bit of flesh, smeared with blood, right in the soft muscle of your left shoulder. The hole is a little smaller than a quarter — Bucky recognizes it as shot from a 9mm almost immediately. He’s taken a few of these in his days. He’s glad it wasn’t close range. The burns from the muzzle flash make for nasty scars. He’d know. He has one on his back, right above his hip.

Bucky’s jaw is tight. He’s gritting his back teeth. His headache throbs angrily behind his eyes.

Bucky leans, eyeing the wound carefully. His limited reaction is enough to spark a little light of bravery in your gut, and you move to look at the hole — only to find a vibranium hand rooting your jaw in place. It’s gentle enough as it recorrects the line of your gaze straight ahead. His thumb rests on the curve of your chin as his index climbs your jaw, and the vibranium is warm and cold all at once. It’s an odd sensation. Not bad, but not flesh.

You like it.

(You find your mind quickly flashing with the thought of what that hand would feel like in other places. You ignore it.)

Your eyes are stuck on Bucky.

He’s clearly upset — the pinch between his brows and the evident scowl on his lips is enough of an indication. The bridge of his nose is busted and there’s a bruise crawling under his left eye. The shirt you’d given him is a wreck, and as he bends to snatch up a rubbing alcohol soaked pad, the feeling of shame creeps up on you. The anxiousness that’s settled in the pit of your stomach doesn’t help.

Arguably, it exacerbates the symptom.

The whiskey is slow to make an impact.

But, when Bucky finally swipes the gauze across the wound, your ankles have begun to tingle and it isn’t blinding white pain you feel — not yet. It’s sharp and it feels like he’s touching your shoulder blade when he presses his fingers into the holes to clean the immediate area. That has you grimacing tightly.

His obsidian-hued hand holds your face still through it.

So, you opt to stare.

His arm reminds you of some pottery you’d seen back at the Museum of Modern Art once, on a school trip. In a dimly lit room, spotlights lit up a row of vases that had been gilded back together with gold-dusted sap. You’d sat there for nearly an hour, staring at those things. You can’t remember the name now, not while Bucky does one more pass across the wound. It started with a ‘k’. It was beautiful. You loved that exhibit. Why can’t you — fuck — remember the name? Kinsi… kinsigumi? Gumi. Kintsi —

You grit your teeth and grip the counter tightly. He pauses. You exhale.

You inhale.

Kintsugi.

The seams of his arm remind you of Kintsugi.

It’s beautiful.

Bucky’s eyes flit to yours. He sees your stare.

Maybe it’s the pain, or the half-cocked daze, but the look in your eyes is enough to spur an immediate reaction. Bucky scowls. He yanks his hand back, retreating to the supplies on the counter. He’s pulled, hard and fast, and now he seems miles away.

Quietly, and with a bit more chill than he intended, he speaks. “If it was making you nervous, you should have said something.”

It.

Your head snaps to him.

“What?” you ask, nearly incredulously.

He’s silent. He has the tweezers in his hand now.

Your eyes narrow critically — and instead of shame and anxiety, it’s hurt that flies off your tongue. It’s drenched in enough pain that Bucky hears it in the waver of your voice.

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

It’s nearly a whisper.

He swallows.

He ignores it. He has to. He doesn’t want to know the answer. Either way that conversation goes is enough to drag him into territory he can’t handle right now. Not when he needs to do this without his hands shaking.

“This is going to hurt.”

Your mouth is open — be it shock or anger, he’s not sure. Bucky, however, makes a point of ignoring your expression and your reaction by handing over the whiskey once more. You snatch it from his hands quickly. There’s a look on your face that makes his chest ache. With one last pass over him with your eyes, you take a long swig.

You feel like crying.

You won’t, though. Not now. Not while he does this.

You deserve this.

And holy fucking hell does it hurt. It’s like someone’s taken a hot poker and punctured your skin, then rotated it around and around and around. You can feel every time the tweezers touch the bullet because the metallic little click echoes in your chest. It’s enough to make your head spin, and you grit your teeth and close your eyes and try to breathe — but even after a handful of minutes, when Bucky finally retrieves the slug, there’s no relief. Just a desperate throb.

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the whiskey once more.

You do cry, finally, when Bucky packs the hole.

He rolls the gauze up tightly into a cylinder and, as gently as he can, pushes it in.

It’s a horrible choke of pain that you smother into your palm and pant through. It reminds you to breathe, and while you stare up at the water damage on the kitchen ceiling, Bucky tapes a square piece of gauze over the bruised wound and wraps your shoulder tightly. He takes his time, but there’s a curtness to his actions.

Finally, when he begins to clean up the mess of bloodied gauze, you speak.

“If you’re mad at me, then just say it.”

He snaps almost immediately, like a kicked dog. “And say what, Rabbit? That I almost lost you?”

Your mouth slips shut.

Bucky pauses what he’s doing. He drops the gauze onto the towel and he bares both hands against the counter top. He leans and exhales and drops his own head back — then, you can see his own waves of anxiety knocking him against the shore of composure. His eyes move back and forth, he inhales, and then after a long while he speaks.

It’s calmer. Not so horribly mean.

“You should have told me about Alexei.”

You go to speak — but he stops you.

“I mean really, really told me,” he explains, “Had I known he wanted your fucking head mounted on a spike, I would have kept you far away from that place.”

“We had to—”

“No,” he says sternly, standing up full height, “No, we didn’t. We never have to do anything that’s going to put you in danger. Never. I won’t do it again. You should have fuckin’ told me.”

You’re quiet.

“A few more inches to the right,” he says, gesturing to your throat with his finger. His eyes are expressive and he’s speaking like he’s lived this experience, “You’d be dead. Cold and dead and I’d be here, carrying the fucking guilt around with me because I wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”

His voice splinters at the end — but he’s moved to throw away the gauze and dump the tweezers in the sink. He can’t look at you as he says it, and you know that. Because, just like before, people like you and him have a hard time looking the truth in the eyes.

You slide off the counter.

Your heart is sad. It’s heavy and mournful and weighed down with guilt.

“Bucky.”

It’s soft. He’s scrubbing your blood from his hands.

He doesn’t turn around. He can’t. He can feel the prick of an anxious breakdown beginning to climb into his eyes. Instead, he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs and your blood is stuck in the plating of his hand and it’s not going to come out—

Think of what could have happened if it had been a few inches to the right. The arched spray. Blood everywhere. She can’t speak through the gargle, she’s going cold, she’s gone. And, like always, you’re alone again, Bucky.

Then, your hands are on his.

The touch is enough to stop him. It’s enough for him to move aside at the large, inset kitchen sink. You exhale slowly as you run the water a little warmer and gingerly run his hands under the tap. Your hands are smaller than his, a bit more delicate, and he’s stunned into a sharp silence at the feeling of your fingertips gently washing away the crimson blood.

You grab another dish towel from a drawer beside the stove.

Then, in the dim light of the kitchen, you take both his hands and dry them.

It’s the vibranium hand that you pay special attention to, though. And Bucky feels like a fucking idiot — just standing there, just watching as you run the rag between the gilded plating and use gentle pressure to get into the harder to reach spots. You turn it over, and you dry his knuckles.

You take your time.

You don’t look up when you speak. You’re focused. Almost reverent.

He doesn’t deserve this.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you say sternly.

His mouth is dry. “Rabbit…”

Bucky shifts on his feet and takes a deep inhale. He feels lightheaded.

The whiskey, and the closeness of the two of you, makes your skin warm. His whole nervous system feels like it’s on fire.

“I didn’t mean to stare, I don’t ever mean to,” you apologize as your hands still over his arm. He watches your irises trace the plating above his wrist. The rag is forgotten, its purpose null. Your words are heavy, and Bucky can hear a little shake in them as you swallow, “I just… think it’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful.

Even now, blood-soaked and sweat-stained. With makeup running down your cheeks and your composure in shambles. Even now, on the run and apparently wanted, you’re incredibly beautiful. Bucky hates how easy it is to admit and how hard it is to keep off his tongue. It nearly gets the better of him. He watches your eyelashes flutter. When you look up at him, the world is suddenly drowned in honey.

“I’m sorry.”

You mean it.

Your bottom lip wobbles.

Bucky, immediately, regrets being so goddamn cold.

You were just trying to help — you were just trying to do the right thing.

“Stop it. Come here.”

The hug is the first time you can remember touching him like this. You think you’ll always remember it, too. It’s sturdy and warm and gentle and honest and you bury your face into the shoulder as his arms come up around your neck. He’s careful of your own injured shoulder, and his fingers find the base of your neck. Around his waist, your fingers dig into the back of his shirt. Both of you ground yourselves in the other’s arms, and for the first time in a handful of hours, you both find peace.

Quiet, sturdy, lovely peace.

And the two of you stay like that for a while in the quiet little kitchen.

It’s not until Climber’s voice rises from the living room that you’re pulled away from Bucky — and even then, your face linger inches from one another for a moment too long. Neither of you say a word, only swallow down confessions that could have been, and move on.

“Oh, girlie, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

Bucky frowns. With your brows knotted tightly together, you weave through the kitchen and back into the living room.

Kiwi has sat up and both her and Climber have their eyes on the bulky flat screen on the dust-covered entertainment center. It’s cable news, and as Climber leans to turn the television up, a picture of you flashes across the screen.

It’s a photo from your arrest six months ago.

“Local authorities are asking that anyone with information on the whereabouts of this young woman call the FBI’s anonymous tip line—”

“Is there a reward?” Climber whispers almost excitedly, eyes on the screen.

“—Authorities are offering $100,000 dollars to the person who provides enough information to lead up to this dangerous fugitive’s capture.”

“Dangerous fugitive?” hisses Bucky.

“A hundred thousand dollars?” cries Kiwi, “Who the fuck did you piss off?”

You inhale deeply as you wave your hands. “The bigger question is who the fuck knew I was going to The Glass Cannon last night. Because they’re looking for me — not you.”

You point at Bucky and the gears are turning in your head.

The pacing is almost immediate, and Bucky crosses his arms tightly as you begin to walk back and forth behind the full length couch that Climber is currently spread out on.

It’s cut short, though, by Kiwi’s laptop chiming successfully.

“Well,” she stands quickly, “I have a feeling that someone knows you’re onto them. And the facial recognition software just got a match. A three point one, too.”

Your eyes brighten.

You’d given Kiwi the photo of the young Innessa, with all her decorated furs and blonde curls. She’s laughing and she’s young and she’s in love and it’s hard for you to imagine a woman like her to be dangerous. While you’d made sure Bucky was propped up comfortably on the couch and then finally calmed down from the adrenaline high enough to get comfortable yourself, Kiwi had dug out the hard-drive she kept on her at all times and began pulling data from the Alexandria Library files.

It had been a handful of hours, so it was clear that Innessa had hid herself well in the vast, expansive database SHIELD kept for all those years while it was in operation.

Bucky is quick to gather behind Kiwi, eyes scanning the screen.

Sure enough, when you come to look at the photos pulled up on Kiwi’s screen, there’s a hit. There’s an identification card photo of an older woman, maybe in her forties, pulled up alongside the photo Bucky had given you. Her hair is no longer blonde, but deep auburn color. She’s marked as having worked with Rumlow — a supervisor of some sort. Makes sense. You didn’t need to see a picture of Crossbones to remember Brock. Even when you’d interned, he’d been infamous.

And that was when he was one of the good guys.

There’s a handful of other photos of her — candids, professional photos, and even one where she is shaking Tony Stark’s hand.

And in all of them, you see your next door neighbor Bonnie McLayne.

“Fuck.”

Bucky blinks. Kiwi turns to look at you over her shoulder.

Again, you speak. Your eyes are wide. You can’t look away from the screen.

“Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Rabbit…?”

“Fuck.”

Bucky’s face narrows considerably, confusion melting to make room for realization.

His voice is quiet.

“Do you know her?”

“Oh my god,” you say loudly, shaking your head and blinking, “Oh my fucking god, that’s my neighbor.”

Bucky can feel his whole face go clammy.

“The neighbor who—”

“—Who I showed your fucking picture to,” you nearly shriek, “Like it was some cute little matchmaking game!”

Immediately both hands are over your face as you throw your head back. Now, the pacing has begun, and like you’re being carried on autopilot, you begin to move back and forth and back and forth and—

“You don’t think she’d hurt Poke, do you?”

“Rabbit.”

“Oh god, oh god—”

Oh.

Oh, you’re having a panic attack.

Oh, that was quick. Brutally fast. Nearly immediate.

After all, she knows where your family lives. She gets Holiday cards from mom to give to you. She’s been your closest friend for nearly six years. But she’s not Bonnie, she’s Innessa fucking Sidrova. She’s seen you with Bucky. She knows — she knows a lot and you don’t know anything and you’re miles from home, from Poke, from Mom, from Ana… Oh, god, the baby. The baby.

“The baby.”

Bucky’s voice is level. “Rabbit, you gotta calm down.”

“I have to call my mom.”

“No,” Kiwi snaps immediately, “They’re going to be watching for your cell phone pings. No calls, no texting, none of it. And god forbid this woman is one step ahead of the FBI—”

“Oh, god.”

You gasp like a fish out of water, paralyzing fear sending you to lean against the back of the couch.

You claw at your chest and try to remember what Dr. Hart said about these sorts of moments. Square breathing. In and hold and out and hold. Again and again.

“Sit down,” Bucky says as he returns to your side, nearly sweeping you up long enough to plop you down into the armchair from before, “And do me a favor and breathe.”

The whiskey isn’t helping right now.

“I’m trying.”

Another gasped breath.

Climber and Kiwi watch.

Bucky shakes his head sternly, kneeling on one knee and snagging your hands. “Don’t try. Just do it. You can do it. Just follow my lead — you’re the sidekick, after all. Remember? C’mon. There’s the smile. Breathe.”

So you do.

In, hold. Out, hold. You draw a square with one hand on your jeans and hold onto Bucky’s with the other.

Again, in and hold. Out and hold.

And again.

And then, you just listen to Bucky’s breathing.

You’re not sure how long it takes — half an hour, ten minutes, who knows — but finally you’re able to calm the spiraling thoughts in your head. Finally, the loudness quiets down, you catch your breath, and the world isn’t falling apart. The bite of anxiety still remains in the hollow of your chest and Bucky can see that when you finally open your eyes and squeeze his hand.

There’s that look again between the two of you. The one from before, in the kitchen.

“Good?” he asks quietly, blue eyes swimming with some sort of emotion you can’t really pin down. Not now. Maybe, if you’d been a bit more collected, you would have seen it as infatuation. But, no. It’s just… nice.

You swallow and nod.

“Damn, girl,” says Climber from his spot on the couch, “Now I’m starting to get the whole therapy thing.”

“Thanks, dickhead.”

“That’s recent, isn’t it?” he asks, genuine worry crossing his face as he stands to gently pass a hand over your back, “I don’t remember it ever being this bad.”

Your face is sad. “I was just partying through it back then. Distraction was always the best method and then… When I had no more distractions and it was just me? Alone? And, psh, the accident with Jaimie? It got worse. So much worse.”

Climber’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry, bunny.”

You try to put on a brave face.

Bucky stands from in front of you and begins his own pacing. This one isn’t so much born out of anxious nature — but more of a tactical logic born out of keeping you safe.

This wasn’t exactly the turn he was expecting.

“You didn’t recognize her?” he asks after a moment, voice high and tight.

“I’m sorry,” you wave a hand, exasperated, “She doesn’t exactly look the same as she did in the 70s.”

Kiwi frowns at the screen. “Definitely botox.”

Bucky squints. He looks to you for an explanation.

You vaguely gesture to your face.

His brow lifts, he closes his eyes, and he sighs.

Kiwi is next to pipe up. “It explains why the feds are looking for you, especially if she saw you with the one man she knows is looking to hunt her down — so, I think it’s best the both of you lay low for a couple of days.”

“Not to mention,” Climber wags a finger, “Bucky the Babe over here did just piss off one the smaller Russian crime families in New York. So, there’s always that ontop of the evil Nazi-HYDRA-woman-next-door.”

You groan.

“Poke has enough food for a week,” Bucky says nearly reading your mind, “He’ll be fine.”

“So, what? We just wait here? Until something happens?”

“Sidrova is going to try and bait us out,” Bucky mutters, “She knows she can’t just disappear. She’s been settled for too long and we know too much. Engaging us in an altercation is how she’ll do it. Plus, I have a feeling she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to shoot me in the knees after a few decades. So, we wait.”

“Few decades?” Kiwi whispers.

“How old are you?” Climber asks.

“Hundred and six.”

Both of them just blink at an unphased Bucky.

You sigh, finally standing on wobbly legs. “This feels like a bad idea. I’m just stating that for the record.”

“Better than her hunting the both of you down,” Kiwi supplies, “You can stay here. There’s cable, there’s booze, and there’s plenty of instant ramen to last you until winter.”

“Stale cereal, too.”

“Wait— where are you two going?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, “You’re leaving?”

“Keeping our hands clean,” Kiwi says, closing her laptop, “And letting you be the sidekick, bunny.”

The sadness in your heart grows a little heavier at those words, but there’s a little bit of pride in Kiwi’s tone. As she stands, she moves to wrap her arms around you in a gentle hug. Quietly, she murmurs into your hair.

“Your dad would be proud of you, y’know.”

Bucky watches.

Climber is next, and that hug is bigger, more brotherly, more like sunshine and less like autumn.

“Don’t be a stranger, Rabbit.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out as the two of them gather their belongings, “For dragging you both into this. But, thank you. You didn’t have to help me—”

“Yeah, we did,” Kiwi chirps as she knocks Bucky on the arm three times, “Keep her safe, aakarshak purush.”

The Hindi rolls off her tongue with ease.

Bucky laughs. “Bahut lamba.”

Kiwi pauses mid-step. She narrows her eyes. There’s a smile on her lips. “Your pronunciation isn’t bad.”

He shrugs plainly. “I get lunch almost everyday at the Indian place below my apartment, so. The owner has been teaching me some stuff on the side.”

An approving nod.

Kiwi hucks you the keys across the room.

She points at Bucky.

“I like him. Try not to fuck that up, eh?”

And then, the two of them are gone.

And it’s just you and Bucky in the empty apartment.

#vacant mirrors #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barns x you #bucky/reader #winter soldier x reader #mcu imagine #tfatws imagine #A LITTLE LATER THAN PROMISED BUT SHE IS HERE

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arrogantsonofabiscuit · 3 years

Text

Their kid helps them shave their beard.

Feat:- Sakusa, Mattsun , Kuroo & Atsumu.

Genre:- fluff, mentions of pet names & implied female reader.

A/n:- Thinking about how will they react when their kid helps them shave🥺. check out my wifey’s work @kentoangel (i got inspired by them for mattsun’s part!)

Sakusa Kiyoomi:-

It was Sunday morning and Sakusa wanted to get up early and make breakfast for you. Omi had a habit of making you breakfast whenever he had a day off and would clean up the house. (I want you so bad 🥺🥺🥺) .

He gets up from the bed quietly making sure that you don’t get up, he looks at the crib where his son is sleeping. As soon as he reaches where the crib is he saw his son is wide awake and is admiring his dad. (My heart 💗) .

“You are awake little man “ he coos. He picks him up and places his son on the counter top of the bathroom so that he would pay attention to his son. Omi washes his face and grabs a shaving foam. The little boy was observing his father’s action.

Omi applied the foam on his face and grabs a shaving kit which had the trimmer. He grabs the trimmer and starts shaving his beard which seemed to poke you yesterday when he tried kissing you.

He looked over at his son and saw that he had grabbed a brush thinking that it was the trimmer same like his father. Omi was smiling widely he felt on the top of the world because his son is adorable and he has everything he ever needed in his life.

After cleaning up , Sakusa picks his son up and peppers his face with kisses. Your son was giggling and was enjoying his fathers company. You were standing near the doorframe of the bathroom to observe this and your heart was full with love.

Matsukawa Issei:-

You and Issei were fast asleep on the couch after watching the baby toons with your daughter. She loved those toons a lot. Apparently a baby rhyme made you guys fall asleep it was afternoon.

Issei could feel a tug on his shorts thinking it’s you he smiles and nuzzles closer to you only to find that he couldn’t get any closer to you. He opens his eyes slightly to see where he was sleeping , he saw that his daughter had tugged his shorts to grab his attention.

“Oh you are awake my princess,” He replies groggily and picks his daughter up and places her on the couch with him. The tv was still on , he switches off the tv to see you who was fast asleep on the couch and were snoring lightly. He smiles and strokes the small hair strands away from you face.

“Angel would you help me shave?” He asks his daughter as she smiles and open her arms indicating that she wants go be lifted in his beefy strong arms. She giggles as he lifts her up and takes her to the bathroom. .

He places her on the countertop and grabs his shaving kit. He applies the shaving foam on his face and starts trimming his beard. Lil matsukawa found it amusing and as soon as Issei was done with shaving he puts the trimmer with the protection cap on top and gives his daughter the trimmer.

She grabs with her small hands and starts moving the trimmer the same way he did and smiles when Issei makes weird faces. She grabs her dad’s face and boops her nose on his lips.

Issei was so busy admiring his daughter That he didn’t even see you standing by the doorframe smiling , you enter the bathroom and pepper your daughter’s face with kisses . You hug Issei and kiss his lips tenderly falling more in love with your husband.

Kuroo Tetsurou:-

Kuroo had come home early as his work for the day was done and he wanted to do nothing but rest with his son , daughter and his wife.

He enters the house to see you asleep on the couch with you son on top of you and your daughter was playing doll house in the same room.

He smiles looking at you and picks his daughter up who nuzzles Kuroo’s face and kisses his cheeks.

“How’s my princess today? were you a good girl today?” he asks her and gently sways her.

“I was good daddy, but he was a big cry baby today” she points her finger towards your son who is fast asleep on you.

“Oh, good girl, would help daddy shave?”

“yes!!”

He walks with her in his arms and enters the bathroom. he places her down on the countertop and loosens his tie. He takes out the shaving kit from the cabinet and places it near the wash basin.

“Daddy you are home!” your son arrives and rubs his eyes to wake up.

“Oh hi there young man, c’mere” he starts walking towards his father only to be lifted and Kuroo makes him sit next to your daughter.

He washes his face and applies the shaving foam on his face, both of them were observing Kuroo and what he was doing .He starts using the trimmer and shaves his beard.

When he was done he takes the aftershave and applies it on his cheeks where he trimmed.

“You wanna apply that to me?” Kuroo asks his son and daughter who excitedly say yes to the offer and start applying the aftershave to him.

You got up because of the noise coming from the bathroom , you looked around in the living room to see nobody was around so got up and started to run towards the bathroom only to see your son, daughter and husband were in a bathroom making weird designs with the bubbles using your favourite body wash.

“Tetsu!!!!!!!!!!” you smile because nothing was precious other than your family.

Atsumu Miya:-

You were fast asleep on the bed with your daughter and Atsumu was out for his practice.

Because of the rain the practice got canceled so he was standing at the doorstep opening the front door.

He enters the apartment quietly because he knew that you might be asleep. He tiptoes to the bedroom only to see his two favourite girls fast asleep. To his surprise your daughter was wiggling her way out of your hold and was successful.

“Angel face, how are ya?” He picks her up gently and asks her in a low voice. She giggles and holds Atsumu’s cheeks.

“Yer hurting me , my lil demon” he walks towards the bathroom holding her close to his chest.

He places her near the bathroom countertop and takes his shaving kit out of the cabinet. He washes his face and sees his daughter was giggling as the water droplets fell on her. Atsumu smiles at her and continues washing his face.

Once he was done he opens the kit and takes out the shaving cream along with the brush. His daughter was about to pick up the trimmer that’s when Atsumu gave her the brush and took the trimmer away from her .

He starts shaving only to see his daughter use the brush as the trimmer on her cheek.

“Angel face, that isn’t for ya . You don’t need to shave. You have soft cheeks like your mommy”

“Oh does she” you reply with a smirk prominent on your face.

“Hey baby” he replies

“Hey love, you are early?”

“Yeah practice got canceled and look at our lil girl she likes the brush I guess.”

“Mhmm”

“Atsumu why are you crying?”

“No am not”

“You are?”

“Those are my happy tears okay?”

“Okay” you giggle.

“She is an Angel 🥺🥺”

“Yes she is plus she is adorable right?”

“Yes baby , I love you guys so much”

“Ilubyiu”

“What?”

“WHAT?!”

Thank you for reading. Take care <33

Reblogs are highly appreciated <3

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ameliora-j · 3 years

Text

what a lie // ts x reader

words: 1.5k

warnings: angst, smut, mcd, blood, mention of injury, nipple play, pull out method (pls don’t use this irl), pregnancy mention

a/n: this is only half proofread but as always, lmk if i missed any warnings pls. italics is a flashback :)

“you’ll be okay, little dove,” thor whispered as he set a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“we’ll all be okay, y/n,” steve added, accompanied by a hiccup and a small sniffle from his spot next to you. you could no longer contain the loud sob that raked your body as you set down the flower reef that held your fiance’s arc reactor in the center and read: proof that tony stark has a heart.

the blonde super soldier pulled you into his chest and allowed you to harshly sob into his suit coat. tony was your forever. and he just got ripped away from you.

⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊

you walked into the grandiose building called “stark industries” one--very sunny--monday morning. you went to the desk and were greeted with a very pretty blonde woman. “can i help you?” she asked you.

“yeah i um... have a meeting with tony stark. he... he told me to come and meet him here,” you stuttered shyly.

“ah, you must be y/n,” you nodded and she offered you a smile, leading you into tony’s office. that day, he hired you as his personal assistant. however, at the time, you had no idea what was to come of that one fateful day.

in the coming weeks as tony’s assistant, you picked up his coffee, and scheduled his press conferences, and answered e-mails, and scheduled his meetings, and answered the phone. in that time, you had also become closer to the man you called your boss. you might even go as far as to call the two of you friends.

tony was really funny. whether it was intentionally or not. he told a lot of jokes, and he was nothing like the media painted him out to be. he was nice and caring. he was also very attentive. he stopped turning the ac so high when he noticed that you would always bring a jacket into the office, and he kept little candies laying around for your sweet tooth, and he always had your favorite pack of pens delivered weekly because you were always losing your’s and stealing his. he even let you sign all of his important documents with your pretty, purple glittery pens because he knew you liked them the best.

not to mention, tony bought you a whole set of y/f/c office supplies for your desk after you called his decoration “bland and boring.” everyday working for mr. stark was a brand new adventure and you absolutely couldn’t wait to see what the future held for you at stark industries.

you learned a lot about tony while you were working. you were the first person that he revealed his identity as iron man to. you, of course, freaked out, lecturing him on safety and being careful while fighting literal aliens, all while he chuckles and assured you that he was fine. one night--or early morning is a better term for it--there was a knock on your window. when you checked your bedside clock, the numbers “2:23″ flashed across it in bright red. when you looked over to the window, you noticed tony in the iron man suit, floating outside of your window.

“what the hell stark?! it’s half past two in the morning!” you complained as you opened the window and allowed him in. he grumbled loudly as he took off the suit and stumbled his way into your bathroom. he ignored you as you flung a million and two questions in his direction. untill finally, you noticed the blood running down the left side of his face. “what the hell!” you exclaimed before leading him to sit down on your toilet seat. you took the small first aid kit from underneath your bathroom sink and began to clean him up while simultaneously muttering what an idiot he was and how he could have been killed.

once you were all finished, you looked down at him. you had seen tony monday through friday for ten hours a day and sometimes on weekends if he had a press conference on a saturday or needed you to come in quickly and do something on a sunday, but this was the first time that you had truly noticed him. cuts and scrapes and bruises over his face, his hair sweaty and some falling into his eyes. those eyes... pretty, brown, and tired. the way that his facial hair had begun to grow on his jaw as a result of not shaving that morning. tony stark was gorgeous... ethereal even. you knew your boss was an attractive man, the media said it every day. hell, your boss said it himself every day. but now, actually looking at him, you saw it. you truly saw it, anthony howard stark was quite possibly the prettiest man you had ever laid your eyes upon.

you and tony sat in silence. it was in that silence that you realized your current position. the only thing donning your body was a very short pair of black sleep shorts that really didn’t cover much and a black tank top with no bra. you were standing above tony, straddling his left thigh and your faces were mere centimeters apart. the silence was long and loud as you stared, unblinking, into each other’s eyes. it was a hairs breath of a second when tony’s eyes flicked from your’s to your lips, and then back up before he was hungrily pressing his lips to your’s.

the kiss was nothing but the clashing of teeth and tongues. it had you moaning into his mouth as he stood and quickly pushed you against your bathroom counter. he wasted no time as he quickly rid the both of you of your clothes. “you have protection?” he asked from his place, sucking dark hickies into every inch of your neck.

“just pull out, please i want it,” you whimpered as you tugged on his chocolate locks. your whimpers and begs were all the encouragement the man needed as he pushed his cock into you, making you release a loud moan.

the way tony fucked you was a stark (no pun intended) contrast to the way he kissed you. his thrusts were slow and deliberate, hitting spots you never even knew existed, while his kisses were rough and hungry. “feel so good wrapped around me, princess. fuck,” tony moaned into your mouth.

“fuck, tony please. more. give me more,” you whined, causing him to chuckle as his lips traveled down, sucking your nipple into his mouth as his hand came up and twisted and tugged the other one. “feels so good. ‘s so big,” you whimpered as he fucked his cock into you even harder. he moaned at your praise as his teeth scraped across your sensitive nipple before he pulled off of it with a small ‘pop’ and began giving the same attention to the other one.

“always knew your little pussy was made for my cock, princess. knew it from the day you stepped into my office. looking all innocent, just begging me to bend you over my desk and make you mine,” you moaned loudly at this, causing him to smirk. “that what you want? come on, use your words, princess.”

“wanna be your’s. make me your’s tony please. want you to corrupt me. ruin me for anyone else’s cock.” you whined out pathetically as the head of his cock abused your gspot.

“who’s pussy is this?” he asked as he began to rub harsh circles onto your swollen clit.

“your’s. your’s ‘s your’s please let me cum,” you whimpered as you arched into him.

“cum on my cock princess, go ahead,” that’s all it took for you to cum with a loud shriek of his name. he continued his assault on your clit to fuck you through your orgasm as he pulled out and used his free hand to stroke his cock untill he came with a groan of your name, all over your stomach.

that night, after tony took care of you and made sure you peed and were cleaned up, as he pulled you into his chest, you whispered, “can i really be your’s?”

“you can be mine forever if you want princess.” you fell asleep with a wide smile on your face.

⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊⎊

you stayed at the lake after all the avengers had left. you sat against the tree with your left hand on your stomach, staring down at the large ring that tony presented you with just days before going to fight on titan. the one that was supposed to symbolize forever. the one that made tony stark your official future husband.

“i’m pregnant tony...” you whispered as the tears collected on your waterline. “you promised forever. you promised that everything was going to be okay five years ago,” you took a deep breath as you rubbed the small, three month bump that was forming. “what a lie that was.”

how the hell were you going to raise a baby by yourself. how were you supposed to go on without your other half? how were you supposed to heal your heart? your baby would never know how amazing their father was. and your husband would never know how amazing his baby was. it still didn’t feel real. it never would feel real.

but you would figure it out. after all... you were a stark now. and stark’s are nothing if not strong-willed.

#marvel mcu #tony stark x reader #iron man x reader #marvel x reader #marvel angst #tony stark angst #tony stark #mcu angst #avengers x reader #avengers angst #marvel smut #tony stark smut #iron man smut #avengers smut

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maddiwrites · 4 years

Text

Beauty is Pain

Pairing: Mostly Platonic!Pogues, mentions of JJ Maybank x reader

Summary: You and Kie try to wax your legs yourselves for the first time and accidentally get yourselves trapped in a sticky situation that gets you locked in your room with JJ and Pope while you listen to Sarah and John B fight outside your door. Routledge!Reader.

Note: I got this idea from a Friends episode. If you watched the show, you’ll know exactly which one I’m talking about. Mostly wrote this without the intention of doing a JJ x reader pairing but then I got an idea(: Hope y'all like it!

Word Count: 3.5k

Warning: Language, maybe angst??

For her birthday, Kie was gifted a hard waxing kit. At first you thought it was odd, a Kook like her was better off going to a professional to get evenly waxed brows or a perfectly clear bikini line. But when she asked you to try it out with her, you were intrigued.

You invited her over to your messy home everyone calls the Chateau. Your brother had a date with his Kook girlfriend, Sarah Cameron, which meant you had the house all to yourself. Even though it was just Kie, your best friend of four years, you decided to clean up the place before she got there. Your house was littered in empty beer cans and ends of JJ’s rolled blunts. You noticed John B was drinking more, smoking JJ’s weed, and even sleeping in later than usual. He’s called out of work two times in the past two weeks, and if he does manage to a say hello to you, it’s a grumbled mumble of words you can barely understand. You chopped it up to him just being moody, but there was also a small part of you that wondered if something serious was going on you didn’t know about.

You tried questioning your friends about it. Kie said she had no clue but noticed his change of attitude too. Pope would get nervous when you brought up John B’s name and claimed he didn’t know what you were talking about. Before you could question him further, his dad whisked him away to clean up the store and run a couple of last minute groceries. JJ, your boyfriend, tried to tell you it was probably nothing, but he wouldn’t make eye contact with you when he talked. He busied himself with rolling another blunt or folding the tossed laundry on your bedroom floor. When you called him out on it, he got snippy and frustrated, which just led you to drop the topic because you didn’t feel like dealing with a second moody teenager.

Kie showed up right when she said she would with the boxed waxing kit in her hand. You raised one brow up at it as you tossed the filled trash bag out the door.

“This it?” You said.

“Yes. You haven’t shaved your legs in a while, right?”

“Yeah. It’s been two weeks like you said. JJ says my legs are looking hairier than his. He’ll barely even touch them. One time he called them monkey legs.”

Kie rolled her eyes. “Boys are such hypocrites. If they had to do half the stuff we did, they wouldn’t be complaining at all. They shouldn’t even get to complain about what women decide to do with their bodies.”

Kie continued ranting about how pain is beauty and men will never understand it unless they lived in a woman’s body for a whole month, including the week a woman’s period started, as she set up the kit.

You worked in your room because there was more space for both of you to try your best to be comfortable. Kie plugged in the warmer on your nightstand and mixed the pink wax pellets with a flat wooden stick until it turned to a warm goo.

“Okay,” Kie sat up against your bed’s headboard and patted her thigh to motion for you to give her your leg. “You’re up.”

“Why do I have to be first?” You asked.

You’ve never waxed your legs before. Only your brows and sometimes bikini line and even then, you usually just pluck and shave. Getting your hair professionally waxed was expensive and you tried to prioritize your purchases as much as possible to stabilize the life you and John B still had.

Kie sighed. “Fine, we’ll do it together. Let me just put the wax on you.”

You gave Kie your left leg and she slathered the warm wax up the left side of your shin. You watched as she did the same to her own leg and grimaced nervously when you felt the wax hardening against your skin.

“Ready?” She asked with a teasing smirk.

“On the count of three?”

Kie nodded. “One.”

“Two.” “Three.”

At exactly three, Kie pulled the long waxing strip from your leg and you did the same with hers. A searing hot pain ran up you leg as Kie ripped the wax off, making you bite down a scream.

“Fuck!” Kie screamed up into the ceiling. You looked down at both your legs. There was a thick line of red from where the wax was. “That shit hurts.”

“Let’s try it again,” You suggested. “Maybe we’ll get use to it if we keep doing it.”

Kie nodded. “Okay. Yeah, let’s try again.”

This time, Kie slid two long strips on both your left and right leg. The warm wax felt soothing. You almost wished you didn’t have to rip it off in the first place.

“On three?” You said.

Kie nodded.

On three, you each ripped one strip off your own legs. You cursed against gritted teeth from the pain. You were wrong about getting used to it. You didn’t think you would ever be able to tolerate this pain.

“What the hell? This has never hurt this bad.” Kie said.

“I think whoever gave this to you secretly hates you,” You said to her.

Kie sighed and looked down at the hardening wax still left on your legs. “Well, we have to finish. We’ll just rip them all off really fast.”

“Okay.”

You ripped three out of the four strips that were left at rocket speed, but they all hurt exactly the same. It felt like you were ripping more than just the hair off your leg. You wouldn’t be surprised if you looked down and saw half the layers of your skin ripped off.

You blinked back the tears at the exact same time Pope and JJ busted into your room looking around frantically. JJ was holding a baseball bat and Pope a pan you just washed and placed on the drying wrack an hour ago.

“What’s wrong?” Pope yelled.

“What the hell is going on?” JJ narrowed his eyes at you, surprised he wasn’t looking at you being attacked by an intruder or covered in cuts and bruises. When he first heard you screaming when he and Pope walked into your house, his heart raced a million beats per minutes. His mind wandered to all the different things that could have happened to you. He swore he was going to make you lock your door every day and night now.

But here you were, safe and sound and laying in bed with Kie. Although he could see your labored breathing and clouded eyes, he knew you weren’t in any imminent trouble. His eyes traced from your face down to your legs where a pink strip of wax was still waiting to be pulled off.

“We’re fine. We’re just waxing our legs.” Kie said.

“What are you doing here?” You asked your boyfriend.

“Pope said Kie was here so we came to hang with you,” JJ said absentmindedly. “I thought you were being murdered.”

“It sure felt like it,” You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered from JJ’s protective side.

JJ scoffed. “It can’t hurt that bad.”

Kie tutted her head forward. “Oh yeah? Come here.”

“What? No.”

Kie ignored him and grabbed his arm from across your body and slapped on another slab of wax. JJ hissed from the heat then visibly relaxed.

“Y/N, wanna do the honors?” Kie smirked at you.

You glared at her. “I’m not volunteering to hurt my boyfriend.”

Kie scoffed at you. “What did he call your legs again?”

You clenched your teeth together and nodded once. Kie made her point, and you remembered everything she said about how men will never understand the pain women go through to please not only themselves, but their lovers too.

“Oh, yeah,” You said within a split second and ripped the wax off JJ’s arms. He flinched away from you, rearing his arm back far away from your reach. His mouth was opened in an ‘O’ shape and his brows pinched together. “Monkey legs.” You smirked at him.

“Fuck,” JJ shook out his arm as if you physically lit it on fire.

“It can’t hurt that bad, right, JJ?” Kie mocked him.

Pope laughed at his blonde friend and shook his head. “Stupid.”

“Y/N, you have one left.”

“Shut up, I know,” You rolled your shoulders back like you were getting ready to run a marathon.

“Want me to do it for you?” You nodded. JJ came up next to you and offered his hand for you to squeeze. “Okay. On three. One, two -” Before Kie even said the word three, she ripped the wax off. You closed your eyes and squeezed JJ’s hand hard, until his knuckles rolled in your closed fingers.

“Shit, baby,” JJ crouched next to you awkwardly, trying to mend his fingers back together.

“Sorry,” You huffed. You weren’t that sorry. He called you monkey legs.

You heard the screen door open and close. Figuring it was just John B back from his date, you relaxed against your headboard again and made a promise to yourself to never wax your legs again. Beauty wasn’t worth this pain. You’d rather be monkey legs than go through that again.

Or just simply shave.

“ - And that’s supposed to make this all okay?” Your eyes opened when you heard, not JB, but Sarah Cameron screaming right outside your room. Pope quickly closed your bedroom door as quietly as possible and held up his finger to you and Kie to be quiet. “That’s your excuse?”

Your brows pinched together in confusion and you looked at your boyfriend for some kind of answer. This was the first time you ever heard Sarah raise her voice at your brother. As far as you knew, the couple never fought.

JJ was looking down at the ground and avoiding your stare. His hands were wracked through his blonde strands and resting on the top of his head. He and Pope didn’t look as surprised as you and Kie.

“What the hell is going on?” Kie asked in a hushed whisper.

“I - I was scared. I’ve never done this before -” John B stuttered.

“Here’s some advice. Rule number one. Don’t cheat!” Sarah yelled. You swore you could hear the pain behind her voice.

You gasped in surprise and snapped your head in JJ’s direction. He wouldn’t look at you, which mean he knew about this long before you did. You put the pieces together. No wonder John B has been acting miserable. Who knows how long he’s been holding onto this.

Well...apparently JJ and Pope know.

“What the hell...” Kie sits up straighter. “Is she serious?”

“Did you know?” You asked your boyfriend. This time he did look at you. And he looked guilty as hell.

Your eyes snapped back to the door when John B yelled back at her. “That’s gold coming from you. Did Topper use that same line when you got together with me?”

You physically cringed at the mention of Topper’s name. It may have been a low blow, but John B had a point.

“Shit,” Kie cursed and sped walked towards the door.

You followed in her footsteps and pressed your ear against the door. One thing was for sure, you couldn’t leave your room now. You couldn’t walk in on that. But at least you could be nosy and eavesdrop.

“That’s not fair. I didn’t love him. I loved you. I left Topper for you!”

“You cheated on him.”

“Because I loved you, John B! You cheated on me because you were scared because...why? Because I’m a Kook? I’ve always been a Kook and you’ve never had a problem with that! Not until now!”

You and Kie crouched on the floor so JJ and Pope could hover over you and listen. It sounded like John B cheated on Sarah a couple weeks ago with a Pogue from your school because he got scared of his feelings for Sarah. Rafe got in your brother’s head, telling him how he will never be enough to care for Sarah when she’s no longer reliant on her father’s money. He became insecure and looked to someone who wouldn’t ever think of him like that - someone who would understand him.

John B was in the wrong and your heart cracked for the couple you once swore was going to be the first to get married out of your group of friends. Although you and Sarah had a rocky start, she quickly became the sister you never had. You got along just as much as you and Kie did. Sometimes John B would find it annoying when Sarah would come over to hang out with you instead of him, but the other part of him loved that the two most important people in his life were as close as he was with JJ. You couldn’t imagine him with anyone else. Not even another Pogue.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Sarah asked. She sounded broken and her voice cracked with exhaustion. You wanted to walk out of the room and hug her tightly while yelling at John B for being an absolute idiot.

You heard John B sigh. “I was going to. I regretted it the second it was over and I was afraid to tell you because I didn’t want you to leave me over some stupid mistake. JJ and Pope said -”

“JJ and Pope knew about this?”

You and Kie looked up at your boyfriends with the deadliest glare either of them have seen out of both you. JJ took a step back and held his hands up in surrender as if you were holding a loaded gun to his head.

“I can explain -” JJ said quickly as Pope’s mouth moved silently to come up with an excuse.

“I didn’t know what to do! They said telling you would only hurt you -” John B weakly tried to explain.

“Of course it would fucking hurt me! You’ve been lying to me for weeks. You had sex with another girl!”

You heard something shatter before a deafening silence. You waited for John B to say something, praying he was smart enough to say anything that could salvage what little of a relationship he had left.

You didn’t want to make this about you, but you wondered how many times JJ didn’t tell you something because it would hurt you. You wondered if he did anything just as detrimental to your relationship and didn’t tell you because he was afraid you would break up with him.

John B and Sarah continued to fight for another hour. You wondered if John B was worried about where you might be. If you go somewhere without telling John B, you usually text him later in the day to tell him where you are. It’s something both of you started doing ever since your father disappeared. So that if something were to happen, you would know where to look first.

You thought about jumping out your window, but your window frame was rusty. Even if you moved the window up a little bit, the wood would grind against each other, and your cover would be blown. You were getting hungry and JJ was getting antsy, probably afraid that John B would say something more to push him in the dog house. You’ve barely looked at him since John B threw him under the bus.

“Baby...” JJ said quietly to try to get your attention. “Come on, baby, let me explain.”

You glared at him and continued braiding Kie’s hair with your back to the door.

“We had good intentions,” Pope tried to save his own ass but Kie’s look mirrored yours. “We just didn’t want them to break up.”

“Shut up, Pope,” You said for Kie.

“We were wrong,” JJ said, making you advert your attention from Pope to your boyfriend. “I was wrong. It was my idea for John B not to tell Sarah. But the more time I spent with you, I knew I’d never be able to do that to you. It would eat at me inside, and that’s exactly what it was doing to JB. So yesterday I told him he had to tell her. Or else he would hate himself for the rest of his life if he didn’t.” Your eyes soften under his ocean blue ones and your hands fell from Kie’s hair. “I know I would.”

The corner of your lip twitched up into a lopsided grin, and just like that, you were entranced by the blonde Pogue all over again. JJ had his way with words. It’s gotten him both into certain situations and out of other bad ones. But you knew JJ like the back of your hand. You knew when he was lying. He wouldn’t look at you and if you questioned him on it he would get angry. Looking at JJ, you knew he was telling the truth.

“Yeah, what he said.” Pope said, pointing at your boyfriend.

You and Kie rolled your eyes playfully. Pope, on the other hand, wasn’t so great with his words. That’s why it took so long for him to score Kie as his girlfriend.

“Where are you going?” You heard John B yell. He sounded defeated.

“I can’t be here. I need...I need space.”

“Sarah...”

“Please. I just need time to think. Okay?”

Your front door slammed shut and you held your breath, waiting for John B to run after her or break more shit in your living room. But nothing like that ever came. Instead, you listened to John B cry to himself probably somewhere on the couch.

And just like that, you didn’t care about being caught. You didn’t care if he screamed in your face for eavesdropping or calling you nosy and inconsiderate. Your brother needed you, and in that moment, it didn’t matter to you that he was the one in the wrong. At the end of the day, he was your brother. Your blood. Your family. And you’re the one who will always be his rock.

Kie stood up with you and watched wearily as you showed yourself to your brother. John B looked up with wide eyes, surprised to see not only you but the rest of the Pogues hidden away in your room.

He wanted to be mad, but he didn’t have the energy to be. Instead, he cried harder because he hated that you of all people knew what he did and that he was now being weak by crying about it in your living room. He wanted to be the role model you could always look up to, especially now that your dad was gone. And he thought he failed at it.

John B was pleasantly surprised when he felt a pair of gentle arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him into a side hug as you sat on the couch next to him. Kie sat on the coffee table in front of you and rubbed John B’s knee comfortingly. Pope and JJ knew the girls were better equipped to handle John B’s emotions, so they busied themselves in the kitchen, grabbing a couple beers and pretzels and setting them down on the table next to Kie.

Even though John B cheated and created a big mess in not only his life, but the rest of yours too, you were family. You would never leave him on his darkest day and play the blame game. You’ll help him get control. You’ll help him fix it. You’ll help him live his life to the fullest. And that’s what John B loved about you. You never turned your back on him, even when he deserved it.

The five of you spent the rest of the night drinking beer, ordering pizza, and watching comedy movies to get him to forget. Later in the night, you and Kie left to comfort Sarah. You admitted that you two heard the whole thing and would support her with whatever she chose to do about her relationship. You and Kie slept over her house and discussed the pros and cons of her staying with John B. You ate popcorn and applied face masks while Keeping Up With The Kardashians played in the background.

“You know, Kie’s waxing kit is still at my house,” A mischievous smirk pulled at your lips. “We could cause a lot of damage while he sleeps.”

Kie encouraged the idea and Sarah laughed, feeling grateful that the two of you would even come to see her when you both had loyalties to John B. She really did love you guys and would be devastated if her relationship with John B drove you guys apart.

In the end, Sarah ended up taking John B back. It took a while for them to get their relationship back to the way it was, but they loved each other enough to salvage it. John B worked his ass off to prove how much he loved her and Sarah appreciated every second of it.

And as for you and JJ...well you made sure to give him one really good reason as to why he should never cheat on you (;

#jj maybank fic #jj fic #jj x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #outer banks #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #john b routledge #john b #kie carrera #pope heyward #pogues x reader #pogues #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank one shot

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readinginthereadyroom · 3 years

Text

it’s the queen’s gambit job (lev 4x10) and they are sitting around a table in mcrory’s eating takeout. running down the con.

and nate’s last minute addition of salt to parker’s equipment wasn’t plan b. no, it was plan m.

which is the plan hardison usually dies in. that is if he hasn’t already died in plans c, f, or m thru q. which hardison is VERY concerned about. after all that’s like 27% of the time. it’s a little too close to home.

eliot and parker don’t die in any plans, tho eliot could be permanently disfigured and blinded in one.

nate DOES NOT ANSWER for sophie.

so they are bickering and being found family (and seriously hoping this is just nate messing with them) and parker proposes a toast. to a glass eye.

and I am gonna headcanon that this becomes a kinda inside code. maybe not plan m, but bad. tho the level of bad is never discussed. after all it’s just a joke. right?

so it’s years later and parker’s the mastermind. she regularly assures hardison that there is no plan m. it’s not even in her alphabet. eliot teases her that her plans span different languages. hardison mutters about binary code and quadratic equations. there’s no m in cuniform, right?

and most the time their cons go off without a hitch. parker’s good like that. the best. her plans are like ballets spun between rotating laser beams. both planned to the smallest movement and completely on the fly. set to violin symphanies, country ballads, and christmas carols.

but sometimes the cons go wrong. eliot gets injured. hardison can’t hack the code. she gets trapped inside a building. and sometimes the cons go wrong bad. sometimes it gets bloody.

that’s when they say it. the first time was eliot. he’d been fighting with the mark’s security goons when the gunshot had rung out over the comms. followed by a grunt of pain and the sound of a body hitting the floor. then a terrible silence. parker hates that she knows what it means.

she flips around in the air duct. barely manages to keep her voice low. the cons over. I’m coming to you eliot. the only sound on the comms is the clack of hardison’s lightspeed typing. a buzzing static. do you hear me eliot? I’m coming to get you.

eliot? hardison’s voice sounds so small. that’s when parker remembers that they’d hacked the cctv footage. hardison had seen the whole thing. I-- he-- hardison stutters before rushing out he’s been shot. it’s bad. you got to get to him parker and you got to get to him. now.

eliot’s gruff drawl interrupts them. I think this might be a glass eye scenario, sweethearts.

hardison’s typing never falters, but his breath hitches over the comms and his voice is strangled—like he swallowed his soda wrong—when he tells eliot to shut up, I am trying to save your ass. you already look mean enough without any damn glass eye.

it’s classic hardison. talking right over all his internal fears. trying to manifest his words into being. eliot’s huff of laughter tho. it’s strained but it’s also the most beautiful thing she’s ever heard.

parker’s still in the air vent. she’s moving as fast as she can without rattling the ducts. she whispers into her comms. you should have hardison make it bionic. put a laser in it. and after dealing with a tricky corner dip, also it should be green.

more pained laughter, followed by a groan. my eyes are blue, parker. then hardison’s, guess we’ll just have to save you then. keep you from going all 6 million dollar-terminator-borg on us. keep your baby blues blue. parker smiles. she knows her boys. knew they always focus better when they are bickering.

and in the end it’s okay. parker gets to eliot with the first aid kit and patches him up. hardison hijacks them an elevator and they get out safely. eliot’s glass eye is evaded.

the next time it’s hardison. he’s snatched from lucille 5—right out from under their noses. they can hear his squawk of surprise over the comms. the shuffle of bodies and the distinct sounds of fists hitting flesh.

eliot growls deep and menacingly. parker can hear him instantly switch gears—from grifting the mark to protecting the team. his heavy footfalls are followed by offended protestations as he knocks people out of his way. the con is blown but parker doesn’t care.

because there’s snow fizzing in one ear and a polite automated error message in the other telling her all she needs to know. hardison’s gone. taken.

it’s an excruciating 28 hrs later when a text message from an unknown number chimes thru on parker’s backup burner phone. it’s only two words: glass eye.

parker sidles right up to eliot. bumps their shoulders together and shows him the message. it’s hardison. we can track his location if we move quick.

good. eliot’s voice drops from it’s usual honeyed whiskey to bloody gravel. it always does when he’s in hitter mode. tell me where he is. I swear if they’ve hurt him I’ll rip their lungs out. parker nods, hardison’s spare laptop already open on her lap. I’ll help.

hardison’s in bad shape when they find him. but not as bad as his captors once eliot’s thru with them. they’re on the highway speeding toward a hospital when hardison finally opens his eyes. parker can see him smile up at eliot in the rearview mirror before he glances up at her.

it’s my peoples. knew you’d come get me. eliot uses a corner of his bandana to wipe the blood away from hardison’s face. course we did, alec. can’t have you getting any glass eyes. wouldn’t suit you. eliot leans down and stage whispers in his ear, his voice warm and smooth again, you’re not nearly badass enough.

hardison sputters in outrage and parker lets out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. drops the hard line of her shoulders. lets up on the gas. if her boys are bickering then she knows everything is going to be okay.

hardison will be okay. they will be okay. no glass eyes today.

and eventually it’s parker’s turn. it’s not even a proper job—she’s scaling an elevator shaft for recon when a support gives way. and it’s silly. she’s fallen 3 floors and her leg is definitely broken. and she can hear eliot’s voice in her ear saying it was a very distinctive crunch but all she can think is that this is her glass eye.

she must’ve said that out loud because hardison is babbling on about scars and lasers and talking about numbers. seven and nine what? she vaguely thinks it might be some sort of new concussion protocol tho she can’t quite focus enough to make it make sense.

something warm and wet is pooling under her cheek, blocking her vision. oh and that’s it, isn’t it? hardison’s still muttering under his breath and eliot is grunting her name over the comms. c’mon parker you gotta talk to me! I’m coming to get you dammit but you gotta talk. to. me.

can I have a snowglobe in my glass eye? hardison sputters before stuttering—woman I swear you will be the death of me. and she thinks he sounds a little bit relieved. but it doesn’t stop his voice from warbling when he asks, you okay mama?

parker lifts her face out of the tacky puddle it’s in, starts to nod and then immediately throws up. she can’t focus. eliot’s don’t move parker, you have a concussion is followed by a sympathy gag from hardison.

her head is throbbing and her leg feels like it’s on fire. but she can hear her boys breathing over the comms. can hear them cajole her to talk more. they’re coming to get her.

but they’re not bickering. and that feels wrong. that feels wrong bad.

and then there’s a metal scraping sound as the elevator doors above her are pried open. light floods the shaft and parker blinks into it. I can see you she whispers. and she can. they are silhouetted in a rectangle of light above her.

and then they are setting up ropes and climbing down toward her. just like she taught them. and it’s kinda beautiful. even if it’s plan m and a glass eye. I think I broke the pretzels.

when she wakes up it’s two weeks later and she’s hooked up to a hospital bed. her left leg is in a cast and her arms are covered in bruises and rope burn. there’s a bandage blocking half her vision.

but then she sees eliot. he’s asleep in a chair next to the bed, his hand wrapped gently around hers and his head resting on hardison’s shoulder. he looks exhausted. his hair is frizzy and he hasn’t shaved. hardison doesn’t look much better. his mouth is open and he’s half snoring. his clothes are dark and rumpled.

she smiles. she’s always enjoyed catching her boys like this—soft and quiet and together. it’s the next best thing to hearing them bicker.

that’s when she sees it. a sparkle of light, almost like a diamond, on the medical cart between them. nestled in a padded velvet box is a glass eye.

#okay so I unintentionally ended up writing some ot3 whump #please please do not come at me #yes I wrote in tiny details that make it seem like parker will actually need a glass eye #but they are also red herrings #because it is very much in grim humor character for hardison and eliot #to get parker a get well soon glass eye #so read it how you will #eliot spencer #alec hardison #parker leverage #leverage meta fic #leverage #leverage ot3 #cw injury #also just fyi I updated the eliot part of this metafic #it needed more

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

I Want It Back

CW: References to negative stimming resulting in self-injury, description of injuries, brief reference to past noncon, trauma response, traumatic memory recovery, internalized guilt, victim-blaming, and ableism, grief, PTSD

Found Out, Akio, Chris Sees, and Tell Me Everything.

“Will you talk to me, today?” They crouch in front of him, their hair limp and badly in need of a wash, settling along the back of their neck, hanging lank over their forehead. They take his hands in theirs, rubbing at the cold, long fingers to warm them, the pale of his skin against their own deep warm brown.

He rocks, forward and back, but he doesn’t look at them. His eyes are focused off to the side, one something they can’t see, something entirely inside his own mind.

They wait, but nothing changes.

“Okay, so no words, yet.” Laken tries for a smile, soft and loving, but it gets no reaction. “That’s okay, Chris. That’s okay. You don’t have to speak before you’re ready.”

Jake managed to even out his hair, using a tiny pair of scissors from his shaving kit to get everything about the same length, and it’s shorter than Laken has ever seen it, shorter than they ever imagined it would be. Clipped close to his scalp, only the occasional visible hint of the blue they’ve always known him with, the coppery strawberry blond makes him seem even paler, makes his green eyes more intense and saturated, fades out his eyebrows almost entirely.

He looks alien, here, curled up in the corner of his room at Jake’s house in Jake’s big shirt and loose, long pajama pants. Without his compression shirt his arms and his neck are so bare, so vulnerable.

Like this - lit dimly in ways that seem to bring out a glimmer from beneath his skin - Chris is an unearthly, almost eerily pretty thing, human only in the barest outline of his form, in the bandages affixed over his forehead, his neck, one on his cheek. The other scratches weren’t deep enough to need covering but they’re still red, darker and bruising, healing so slowly and standing out even more than his freckles.

Laken thinks, with a sickening twist inside of them, that they are seeing what the people who hurt him saw, once.

A broken, beaten, frightened boy, locked up so he had no way to escape, not even from himself. They are seeing what was molded into whatever he was when he was found. They are seeing what Jake recognizes from back then, and what sets the lines of his face deeper, harsher, with an anger he doesn’t dare express where Chris can see him.

Jake is at some other safehouse right now, talking to someone else, getting all his rage out while Laken, Kauri, and Antoni take turns making sure Chris isn’t going to hurt himself again. It feels strange, surreal, a sort of at-home suicide watch only Chris isn’t trying to do that, he’s just… lost, deep inside himself, in the cycle of crying and screaming and rocking married with long periods of near perfect stillness and silence.

The light is not total, Antoni had told them earlier, strange and enigmatic, with his own sad soft smile. They cannot truly erase us. We are only pushed beneath our surfaces.

He'll cycle for a while, Kauri had said, and he's easier for them to talk to, really. When it comes back, you either push it back down like I do, or you don't. He's not. So it's… gonna hurt.

What's going to hurt?

Knowing. Kauri's smile had weakened, then. Knowing that they tore you apart and told you that you wanted it that way. Knowing that it wasn't always like that, and knowing that it didn't ever have to be, except for bad fucking luck.

Laken doesn't understand, not really, but they're here for him, and it's all they know how to do.

He needs someone to put their hands between his head and the wall, to get his feather into his mouth, get his fingers on the stimming bracelets on his wrist, at last resort to give him a pillow so he can get the motions out without causing himself any physical damage. They can do that.

Laken hasn’t slept in two days, except sometimes dozing on Chris's bed, and Chris hasn’t spoken in that long except to tell them to leave, that he’s too difficult, there’s too much pain in him that Laken didn’t sign up for, and they don’t know how to tell him that they’re not scared of his pain, they’re scared of losing the chance to help him carry it.

He’s barely recognizable as the brightly shining smiling boy they met on their first day at college, but he’s still their Chris, their sunshine, their light and life and love. Going through hard shit is what you do, sometimes, and they can carry him, for a while, but he has to let them.

He has to believe that he deserves their love.

How do you tell someone they deserve to be loved when their mind is screaming at them, louder than you could ever speak, that they are too broken, too used up, too far gone?

“Baby, I still love you,” They whisper, and lean forward, resting their temple against his. He makes a low, soft sound, wordless, but he leans into the touch. His fingers are slowly warming under theirs. “I do. You can’t make me stop loving you, nothing that happened to you is too much for me to love who you are.”

His feet lift and drop, tap on the ground. His head tilts to one side and then the other, but the hair that he used to like feeling rest against his cheekbones is gone, and there’s nothing to feel. The empty spaces in his ears where his piercings go seem strangely haunting, to Laken, now.

Places where Chris made himself look how he wanted, removed. The hair he painstakingly dyed, gone. Giving himself back over to whatever is in his head telling him that it’s not his decision to make.

“I’m sorry it happened this way,” They whisper to him, keeping their voice low. A bird calls outside the window, a plaintive mourning dove, coo-coo, coo, coo. “I am so, so sorry. I know that it’s hurting you, and-”

“Go, go, go away,” He says, voice flat, and their heart cracks open, spills out sadness in a waterfall, but Laken knows what it means to push down grief in their own way. They’ve seen their mother bury her parents with stoic compassion for her children’s grief even while never really showing her own. They don’t let anything out but the same love that’s been written across them from the beginning.

He's not trying to hurt them. He's trying to hurt himself, first, before anyone else can do it again.

He rocks, and they shift back to give him even more space for it. Despite his words, though, his hands still hold theirs, tightly, refuse to let go. He’s lying, Laken thinks, and there’s hope there. He's a terrible liar, he doesn't know how to make his body tell the same lies his mouth does.

He doesn’t really want them to go. He can say the words to shove them away but he can’t stop holding on.

“Chris-”

“You, you, you can, there’s-... there’s other people, easier, easier people than, than, than than… than-than-than, than-... silence is better than stammering-”

“No it’s not fucking not, Chris.” Laken’s voice is a firm and certain hiss, and they duck their head, catching his eyes. “It’s not. I’d rather listen to your stammer for the rest of my life than live one more day with you silent when you don’t want to be. Listen to me, okay? Please. Please listen. I don’t care about easier people.” Laken sighs, rubbing his knuckles with their thumbs, but his eyes are moving over their face, more focused than they’ve been since Jake led him out of the bathroom. “Okay? You keep saying that, that I deserve someone easier, but I don’t want anyone easier. I have my shit, too, that I carry everywhere with me.”

“Not, not, not-not like this.” His eyes are so huge, so wide, so very, very green. Glimmering with the tears he can’t stop crying, shimmering wet marks down his face over the scratches he made on himself. Making himself ugly, Jake had explained, but Chris doesn’t look ugly to Laken.

He just looks like the same beautiful man they love, but drowning.

“No,” Laken admits, pulling his hands to their mouth, kissing lightly at his fingernails, one by one. Some of them cracked and broke while he was scratching himself, and the rough edges pull at Laken’s lips, catch on chapped places. He watches them move, his eyes finally, finally focused on them, for the first time since he saw the video. His fingers twitch, a little, against Laken’s kiss. “Not like that, no. But Chris, what you went through doesn’t make you less, baby. It just makes you stronger for surviving it.”

He shakes his head, but his hands are tightening on theirs again, refusing to let go. It’s a lifeline, a rope they can throw him, something maybe he’ll grab and let them pull him up with. Please let me help you, please want to breathe air, please let us pull you up above the water.

“I-I’ve been… taken so, so, so many times, b-by so many people, handlers, and I-I-... I didn’t, didn’t remember, and I did, but I didn’t, and I do, now, and…” Chris rocks forward one more time, his forehead landing on Laken’s shoulder, and they take the hint to slide their arms around him, hand moving up through the soft shorn hair along the nape of his neck. “I, I, I had a mom, Laken."

Laken has heard bits and pieces from Jake, now - heard what Ben has found in his own searching and his conversation with the Akio guy and his mom - but they hold still, and they’re quiet, letting his hands move over them, the familiar welcome taps of his fingers over the curve of their shoulders, down their sides, to their back where he likes to tap them the most. It’s a good sign, they think, that he’s tapping. Tapping is his good stim, his comfort stim, that means he’s coming out of himself a little, if he’s not hiding it. “Yeah,” They say softly. “I, um. Ben and I were looking for some stuff, and we found-... what we think is a news article about it?”

He nods into their shoulder, nuzzling against the crook of their neck. “I, I had a dad, and a, a, a a-a-a mom, and they-they died, b-because I moved when I was, was supposed to, to, um, to, to stay still-”

“No,” Laken protests, but he shakes his head, and they go quiet again.

“And, and, and I did gymnastics and went to, to-to-to state and re, regionals once and I was… I was, was, was okay. I think. I had had had friends. I had, had real friends. I think I, I was a good person, until I-... until I moved, and they d-died… my, my, my dad liked dinosaurs.”

“So do you,” Laken says, gently, and they feel his lips move, the hint of a smile, an attempt at one.

“Mmhmm. He, he, he had dinosaurs he kept from, um, from when he was a kid and g-... gave them to, to to me. When, when I was six I had a-a racecar bed we got secondhand from, from, from my mom's friend and, and, and my dad bought those, um, Hot Wheels cars. We-we watched the Tour de France on, on, on TV every year. My, my mom took me everywhere. I, I remember holding her hand in, in in in parking lots. We, we, we did everything together. She, she, she said, she said… said said, y-you and me, Tris, we, we, we can do the hard shit, together.”

“Sounds like a badass mom.” Laken speaks against a closing throat, the flush of their skin, tears threatening in their eyes, too. They move back to finally sit on the floor, and Chris moves with them, keeping himself pressed against their warmth, their solidity, their beating heart, their life.

“Yeah,” He breathes out, and there’s so many layers of pain in that single simple word. “They, they, they took… they took my mom and dad a, away from, from from-from me. Out of, of my head. They, they took them and I… I didn’t-... I knew I lost, lost something, but it was like I could, um, could see the shape of them in the-the light but I couldn’t have their faces any, any… more. And I, I, I see them… now. I see-... but, but, but I have to see it all. I can't see only, only them. I, I ,I… see the bad stuff, too." His breath catches, and when he whimpers Laken is already tightening their arms around him, anticipating the sound, the shiver through his body, the grief that rocks through him like a wave crashing against a fragile shore.

Grief is love with no place to go. When their abuela died, Laken’s mom had said that to them once or twice when they were angry-crying all over the house. They hadn’t really understood it, then, but they got it now - Chris’s whole body vibrated with the force of grief that had been pushed down, sublimated, forcibly given no firm subject to focus it on, but the love had never been gone - and neither had the grief at the loss.

Only simmering, under whatever they’d done to remove him from himself, tension building all unknowing, a volcano beneath the placid sunny surface waiting to erupt.

“I know, know, know she loved me and I know how sh-she died and I know that it was, was my Sir who hurt me, me, me me me first, and I know how, how how how… how he, he, he hurt me, and… I can’t, can’t, can’t make it be different things. It’s… all… all one awful everything. I can’t remember one, one, one thing at a time, I keep getting-... too, too, too much.” Laken’s thumb moves over his soft short hair, rubs the wrong way to feel its slight resistance to their touch. “It’s, it’s, it’s all one hurt and it’s so-so-so… so so so, so big.”

“You don’t have to carry that hurt all by yourself, baby,” Laken murmurs. “We’ll carry it with you. Your brothers, and me. Ben wants to help. We’ll carry your hurt with you, and maybe it’s not so heavy if you share it with us?”

He shakes his head, rocking again, but it’s the gentle low rocking he does to calm himself, not the out-of-control rocking where he could hurt himself without help, so Laken just holds him and lets him rock. Short hair and scratches and pain and all, he’s still their sunshine boy.

He’s just… he just needs help to find the sun again.

“We found one of your friends,” Laken tries, and Chris goes still, then rocks again. They let out a breath they didn’t realize they were holding when they feel him gripping onto his feather on his own, rubbing at the ridges of the vanes in the silicone. Controlling himself, redirecting himself, it’s all important, it’s all more ways he can throw his hand out to grab the lifeline they are desperately trying to throw him. “Akio Nakamura.”

Chris nods, in rhythm with his rocking, and whispers, “Ah, Aki. We, we, we, in the video-... we did a bunch of, of, of those. We, we did-... he, he, he was better than me, he was going to, to, to be professional, I just-... my, my, my dad thought I’d go to the Ol, Olympics but I just wanted to be moving.”

“He really misses you,” Laken says, and feels Chris pull back and away, raising his head to look at them. There’s an expression of uncertain confusion on his face, disbelief. He can’t imagine anyone wanting to remember him, they think, and that hurts. He can feel grief like a knife inside him remembering his parents, but he doesn’t think anyone ever felt that for him.

“He, he does?”

“Yeah. Ben, um… Ben went to meet with him and I guess his mom. He… he wants to see you, Chris. He misses you. Do… you want to see him?”

Chris is silent, watching them, and in the dimness of a room where they don’t dare turn on any lights, his pale skin seems to give off its own light, and underneath it all their sunshine boy is still there. Hurting, and scared, and sad, but he’s there.

“You don’t have to,” Laken says gently. “You don’t, I promise.” They take his hands again, move them to their own stomach, press his fingers there to encourage him to tap, to feel the certainty of a warmth that isn’t going anywhere. “But he wants to. He missed you, he and his mom. They want to see that you’re okay.”

For the first time in three days, Chris smiles. It’s faint, and weak, but it’s there. “I’m, I’m, I’m not okay, though.”

“They want to see you anyway,” Laken repeats, softly. “Ben says this Akio guy was… was really broken up about not knowing you’ve been here all along. I won’t pressure you. No one will. But if you think you can… there are people who remember you, Chris, people who missed you.”

Chris swallows, nodding more to himself than to them. "People who, who, who missed Tristan Higgs."

"Tristan Higgs is you, Chris. You're the same person he was. You're both."

There’s a long pause, and Laken sees dust motes catching the light, and thinks to themself that Chris can stare at dust motes for hours on what he calls bad brain days, lost in the way he says they sparkle in sunlight.

“Do, do do… do you think… do they know where, where, where my, my parents are?”

Laken nods, slowly. “I’m sure they do.”

He pushes himself back into the corner, but the distance isn’t there this time, and Laken feels like this isn’t retreating, but simply finding somewhere secure to think it through. “I, I, I hope I was a good, good person when I was, was Tristan. I hope I, I was… good. Like, like a nice person."

“I’m sure you were. You’ve never been anything but good, Chris. Nobody made you that way. That’s just who you are. Nothing that's ever happened to you has been able to change that."

His eyes flicker to theirs and then away, but something has shifted in his expression. Determined, not distant. A firmer set to his jaw, a flintier look in his eyes. “I, I, I remember Aki. But, but I can’t… remember him without remembering, um, without, without the guns and, and, and blood, and my Sir, and s-signing, and-... and… all, all of it. I want-... I want to, to, to have the good things all on their, their own.”

“Give it time,” Laken says, wishing they knew that for sure, wishing they weren’t just bullshitting their way through this, wishing they knew anything about the trauma that Chris has survived. Wishing they could be anything more than just a partner, arms to hold him, a heart to love him. “It’s new, still. Give it time.”

Chris slumps back against the wall. “May, maybe. My, my, my aunt… gave me away. Because I, I, I was too hard when I was, was sad. For them. My, my, my aunt-... they, they told me when I signed, they, they said-... I remember it. I remember asking for, for, for help…” He looks down at his hands, opening them, staring at his palms. “I was, was too hard when I-I was hurting. Too, too, too angry, too bad, too much. She she said-”

“Fuck her. No, you weren’t.” Laken holds their own hands out - and this time he reaches for them on his own. They sit there, holding hands in the dark of his room. The only light comes from the sun cutting through the blinds. “You were a kid missing his parents, and if she wasn’t up to the job of being a halfway decent human being, there were other people who could have stepped up. Listen to me. You’re hurting right now, and not a single person who loves you thinks it’s too hard or too much to help you. You’re not too hard, it’s not too much, you’re our Chris and we love you. Nobody’s walking away from you now.”

He swallows, watching them.

“Chris.” Laken squeezes his hands, just a little. “We're all here. We're not going to leave you alone to hurt, you have people who will hold you through it. I love you."

He manages, one more time, the slightest smile for them. “I, I, I love you, too. I… I want you, you, you here. Please… please, please don’t-... don’t leave me.”

“Never.” They kiss his hands again, and this time he presses his knuckles into their lips, chases the reassurance in the sensation, the gentle platonic affection. “Everyone’s here for you, Chris.”

“I, I, I just want-... want someone to love me, even-... even like this,” Chris whispers, his head tilted back against the wall. Laken grabs onto the smile he still has, and holds on tight. “Even when when when I’m too hard, when, when it’s too much. Love me even when when when it hurts."

“I do, Chris. I love you, like this, like before, like any way that you are, I love you.”

They kiss every cracked fingernail, every bruised or bloodied knuckle, as they speak. He watches them, and they can feel inside themself that he’s ready to be pulled up out of himself, that for the moment he’s ready to grab the lifeline.

And the next time he drowns, they’ll be there with another one.

“I’m not leaving you, Chris.”

“Pl-please-”

“Not ever. No matter what happened or who hurt you, I’m not leaving you.”

There’s a silence, and he nudges himself back against them, eyes closed, and softly - slowly - he hums, tuneless and toneless, and Laken lets out a deep sigh of relief. Self-soothing, comforting sounds, but ones he can’t always make when he’s scared, sounds he hasn’t made in two days now. They sit with him, holding him, feeling the comfortable movements of his body trying to put itself at rest, the gentle taps, the vibration of his hum, the slight rock of him against them.

Finally, he says, softly, “Do, do, do-do-do you remember Oliver, Oliver Branch?”

“Who?” Laken blinks, turning to look down at him, so fucking young even though he’s three years older than they are. “Wait, the, um, the… the, shit, the Governor who was on trial for trying to sell a Senate seat, right? And then he died?”

“Um. Yes.” Chris tucks his head against them, and they shiver at the brush of his soft hair over their jaw.

“Yeah, kind of. We went to see him my freshman year, he used to host all these field trips for high schools…”

Chris swallows - the sound is audible - and then whispers, “I, I, I remember.”

“Did you go on one?”

Chris breathes, in and out, slow but not quite steady. They can feel the warmth of his breath against their skin. They run their hands over his bare arms, his arms that are never bare except when he’s sleeping, skin that feels raw, exposed, covered in scratches from his own fingernails. “I was… there.”

Laken blinks, caught off-guard, confused. They rub their thumb over the ball of his wrist, feel him shaking against them. “What?”

“Un, under his desk.” Chris swallows, eyes shut tight. “He, he, he kept me under his-his desk when the, the kids came to see him. Or, or in the hall, or… on the bed…”

“Chris, what are you-... are you saying-”

“I was-... his.” Chris licks his lips, and Laken stays very still, afraid if they move he’ll flee back to his corner, hide under the bed, disappear like dew in the sun. “The Governor’s… pet. For-... he, he, he used me for-”

“Jesus.” Laken’s stomach flips, a drop down to their knees and back again.

“When, when you came to-to-to see…”

“Chris-... no-”

“When you came… I was, was probably… un-under his, his, his-his… his desk. He drugged-... drugged me, to, to to to to-to keep me quiet.”

Laken thinks about Chris, having a headache after a long study session, nerving himself up to take nothing more than a couple of Tylenol, the way he always hesitates before he takes his ADHD meds in the morning. Something clicks into place.

Chris’s hands twist into the fabric of their shirt, and his face reddens, fading out the freckles over the flush. The white bandage over one cheekbone suddenly seems too white, garish. “Some, sometimes he would have me-... or, he would, um, hide me. Down, down, down the hall. On his bed. Waiting for him to, to, to come back and-”

“Jesus Christ,” Laken whispers. “Jesus fucking Christ. So that night you got all fucked up because it’d been a year since your-... you called him your Sir-… died... you were talking about Governor Branch?”

He’s quiet again, for a long time. Then, as if confessing a sin, he whispers, full of shame, “Yes.”

Laken needs very badly to go throw up all the anger and disgust and loathing they feel, and worse than that – the guilt that they were maybe a few feet way and never knew there was someone who needed help. They couldn’t have known, and yet Laken felt some sense that they should have, that they should have had some sense that something was wrong, and… they didn’t.

They need to throw up, but Chris needs them to stay right here. That, they can sense – that if they walk away from him, he won’t understand that they are not disgusted with him. “Does Jake-”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Chris.” They kiss into his hair, feel the warmth of his scalp underneath. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry. Te quiero, cariño. So much. I’m so sorry.”

“Me, too,” Chris murmurs, and they hold while he rocks, gently, into their solidity. “I’m, I’m, I’m… I’m-I’m sorry, too. I… I didn’t know how to, to, to… be anything but good. They, they took everything else away from me, Laken.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

“They took m-my parents, and, and, and my friends, and my… my fight… away.” Chris sniffs. “They took eh-everything and, and, and it-… it-it hurts, but… but it’s coming back. It’s, it’s… it’s, it’s, it’s coming back. I, I, I want to-to-to see Akio.”

“I’ll text Ben,” Laken whispers, feeling a twinge of something like fear at the sudden burst of strength in Chris’s soft, sweet, sad voice. Not fear of him, exactly, but fear… for him. For his heart, and his head, and everything he was tearing down inside it.

And what all that darkness and weight would do to his solid, determined sunshine.

“They, they, they took my, my, my-my-my mom and dad, and, and… and Aki, and everything, and… I, I, I…” He looks up at them, then, and his eyes are bright and so, so very green, and brilliant with all the pain and courage inside him. “I want it all back.”

---

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @orchidscript, @itallcomesdowntopain

#whump #trauma recovery #trauma recovery whump #recovery whump #ptsd tw #grief tw #parental death #memory loss #traumatic memories #pet whump #oliver branch is gross #chris the strawberry blond romantic #laken mamani: frankly I want to date them #referenced self-injury #victim-blaming tw #ableism tw #past noncon reference

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Note

Hello! I am thus rudely intruding upon you with the thought that since birthdays and celebrating them with gift-giving is canon in the Witcher universe, it's not unreasonable to think that Jaskier would be inclined to note them and do something special for them, perhaps celebrate extravagantly -- while Geralt probably doesn't even know when his own birthday is. Just an angsty thought I had, hope you don't mind sharing my pain :D

Please do keep intruding upon my day with such wonderful ideas, Nonnie. This may have turned out a little less angsty than intended. Sorry about that!

After a while, Jaskier lost track of how many years he’d travelled with Geralt. They met up, had adventures and parted ways as it suited them. Sometimes it was days or weeks, other times it was months, maybe even years before their paths crossed. However, it was safe to say that Jaskier had spent all seasons bar winter with Geralt.

It was probably their fifteenth year together when Jaskier greeted Geralt with a cheery “have a good winter and birthday?” because logically, if Geralt hadn’t mentioned birthdays the rest of the year, it stood to reason he was a winter baby.

“Winter was cold.” Geralt replied and it was impossible to miss the fact he had side stepped the topic of birthday.

“What, did the other witchers not bake you a cake?” Jaskier was joking but looking at Geralt’s face he had a sinking feeling he was right.

“It wasn’t my birthday.” Which made no sense. If Geralt hadn’t mentioned his birthday in all their time together but he said it wasn’t his birthday over winter then when- “I don’t know when it is.”

It took all of Jaskier not to screech “what?!” at the revelation. He’d spent the last who knew how long swanning around and needling Geralt into treating him whenever it was his birthday, spending coin to lavish himself because it was a special day. He’d bemoaned the fact if nobody was going to spoil him on his special day then he was going to have to do it for himself.

Now, Jaskier felt guilt and the burning need to rectify that.

“Well, do you remember getting gifts? Or being celebrated?”

A scoff was his first answer but he kept watching Geralt until he was graced with a verbal reply. “You really thing witchers are celebrated? Or showered in gifts at any point?”

And that was how Jaskier’s heart broke. Because birthdays and their special meaning had been so ingrained into his childhood, he had assumed everyone had similar experiences.

“Not even as a child?” he asked softly.

“I don’t remember.” To make it worse, Geralt seemed like he didn’t care. As if this was perfectly normal to not have a birthday or people to celebrate with.

Almost hesitant to ask, Jaskier knew his next words were going to break him no matter the answer. “What about the other witchers, do they know theirs?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe Lambert, he likes to get absolutely smashed for no reason on the third day after summer solstice.”

Jaskier had been right, his heart was crumbling and crying out at the injustice that was called the life of a witcher.

“Right, well-” he clapped his hands, “-next winter, I’m coming home with you.”

If Geralt had thought he’d forgotten about the idea by winter, he was very much mistaken. Jaskier spent the whole year preparing. Trinkets, small gifts, things he’d seen Geralt’s eyes linger on or items that he thought would make a witcher smile, they all ended up hidden in his pack. By the time winter rolled round and they arrived at Kaer Morhen, Jaskier had two extra packs, he’d also stashed some of his spare clothes and items in the safe keeping of a friend so he could make sure he had everything.

Setting his plan into action wasn’t all too difficult. He commandeered the kitchen, raided the pantry, even got up early one morning and barred all the witchers from coming in. In fact, he banned them from the dining hall too. It made his job so much easier. While the cakes were baking, he could decorate. Jaskier put the slightly crushed silk flowers on the table along with candles, and an envelope with a card in it on top of a small pile of carefully wrapped gifts. He’d tried to put as much thought as he could into the gifts for each witcher, giving them each an identity and a sense of uniqueness rather than a generic pile of “this is what I thought a witcher might like”. So while Eskel’s gifts included a comb for his hair and oils to keep his saddle in peak condition, Lambert’s had a new pair of sturdy leather gloves and a premium shaving kit. Jaskier had even remembered to include Vesemir, found older tomes on the history of spells to go along with a soft throw that was both warm but could be folded up into a surprisingly small parcel for ease of travel.

FInally, there were four cakes ready, a candle in each of them, all decorated with a name. There was even a hand crafted party hat made from parchments Jaskier tore from one of his notebooks, the ties made of the finest ribbon he could find.

“Oh wolf pack!” He trilled from the door. “Come satiate your curiosity!”

Like the least subtle pack of starved wolves, the four of them rounded the corner, trying to look like they hadn’t been trying to take a peek. They poured into the dining hall and froze, looking at the banner hung haphazardly declaring “Happy Birthday!”. Casting furtive glances at each other, they zeroed in on the table and Jaskier waited with baited breath.

“Go on. Find your name.”

There was hesitation from the witchers and suspicion. They approached their own little piles, not trusting whatever was going on. Even Geralt, who had known Jaskier for so long, looked hesitant.

“Happy birthday, my wolves. Blow your candles out and make a wish.”

It was Eskel who did it first, the most trusting of the lot and he sat down, curiosity getting the better of him. Given that his name was on the envelope before him, he picked it up and pulled the card out. Nobody expected him to read the card, face going through a subtle shift before he was pushing away from the bench and striding over to Jaskier, pulling him into a bear hug. That was what helped the others lurch into action. They each pulled their cards and read the message and birthday wishes Jaskier had left them.

Upon reading his, Lambert got up and stalked into the kitchen. There was the sound of a thump and he emerged three minutes later with watery eyes. He took one look at the table, at Jaskier and turned again, unable to cope with it all. It took him a further ten minutes before he slunk back in and settled by his gifts.

In that time, Jaskier watched Vesemir with thinly veiled interest. The oldest witcher seemed utterly unperturbed. He nodded once at Jaskier after reading his card. It seemed he was utterly unaffected by the whole thing, taking it in stride. However, the modest pile of gifts seemed to disappear piece by piece. Never when anyone was watching, like a starved wolf he snatched the closest one and opened it under the table, out of sight of everyone else. Each small treasure was then whisked away, hidden in his robes and out of sight as though it had never been there.

Quietly, Geralt had tugged Jaskier down next to him. He hadn’t touched any of his gifts though he had swiped his finger through the icing on his cake and tasted it with an appreciative hum. And then went back for more.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Don’t thank me until you see what I’ve gotten you. You might hate them all.” Jaskier tried to play it off with a joke but his heart was bursting with love as he watched Lambert croon over the new coin pouch he’d just unveiled.

“Thanks for those too. But thank you for this. For making them so happy.” Geralt looked at Jaskier at long last. “I don’t think they’ve ever smiled this much.”

Meeting the steady gaze, Jaskier beamed, “Best get used to it. You’re all my winter birthday boys now.”

He was already making plans for the following year, plotting ways to make it even better for his wolves.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #lambert #vesemir #witcher wolf pack #tldr: jaskier gives his wolves the birthdays they deserve

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fenheart87 · 4 years

Note

Lukanette prompts #26 (but Luka says it...)

There was always a feeling of calm when he came home, almost nothing was better than touching down in the Paris airport and feeling the stress from touring fall off with every step from the airplane. It had been longer than Luka had liked to be away from his family and really this time he was early, not that he had told his family just yet. Luckily, Penny was the best and booked him a room where he was able to crash for the night and had options for food places nearby as he was sick of hotel room service.

“If you’re fighting with Ma again, I don't want to hear about it.” He answered the phone, knowing it was his sister on the other line.

“No, just talking about your baby pictures.”

“Oh great, you’re being sappy? Do I want to come home in that case?” Luka teased, not meaning a word of it.

“Blame your nephew, he started it.” He choked on air as he heard shuffling before Rose’s voice came through, indicating she had taken over the phone.

“Luka! We got approved for a baby boy! Captain has been a little weepy but like a good weepy because he has the most adorable face and dark hair but with a slight curl and his eyes gosh! They are like the ocean! He really likes your baby pictures, ah I can't wait for you to meet him!” Rose squealed in excitement, risking Luka’s much needed eardrum.

“Wait, wait, how did you get a whole baby?!” the older exclaimed, putting the phone on speaker in an attempt to save his ears.

“Well, two mommies loved each other very much and decided they wanted to share their love with a very special little baby. The two mommies went to meet the baby but on their way they met another precious child and they knew right away that the little boy with hair as dark a night and eyes like the ocean was destined to become part of their family. And after some time of play dates and special trips around the city, the mommies got to take their new son home.” There was some shuffling as Rose was sniffling and his sister murmuring words of comfort to her.

“I wow, congratulations… Another Couffaine huh?”

“Not quite, we still need to finalize some papers and such. We’re meeting up at Marinette’s parent’s bakery, he loves it there. This will be his first overnight stay so we’re excited but nervous because we want him to feel comfortable.”

“I don't think you have to worry, you both have a lot of love to give and worst case, Uncle Luka can come to the rescue.”

“If you were here yeah, rescue us or him depending. Maybe next time.”

“See you can be sappy! I’ve got to get going but do keep me posted, I’ll read my message even if I don’t respond right away.”

“Sure, stay safe and away from crazy fans.”

“Jules, you know we have a dye party set for when I get back. I’ll be fine.”

"Whatever loser."

So change of plans, Luka would get to see his favorite designing baker sooner rather than later which was fine by him. First he needed to wash off the plane smell and find his plain black hoodie, then he would surprise his girls. Plan in mind, Luka grabbed his shaving kit and started the shower. Shucking off his clothes and tossing them into the bag of dirty laundry he would need to do soon, the guitarist Stepped into the Shower to rinse off with Some body wash. Deciding his hair wasn't in need of a washing, Luka quickly got out and toweled off.

Luka watched as Marinette played with Llewellyn. The boy looked so happy to be running around the bakery and picking up speed now that he had some sweets to perk him up. It was kind of eerie to look at said child because Llewellyn was similar in looks to a younger Luka, it was definitely that fate had played a huge hand in guiding the boy to his family. The smiles on his sister's faces were definitely worth it and seeing him he hoped would bring an even bigger smile to them.

"Do you want to color a picture or have more cookies?" Marinette kneeled down to the little boy's height and smiled gently, hoping to ease the sudden anxiety he seemed to be feeling. It really pulled at the guitarist's heartstrings and his body moved to do what needed done before his brain had caught up with it. A soft tune slipped gently from the strings, sneaking by everyone as it blended in the background and caused little shoulders that were scrunched up to slowly relax and fall at ease. Two pairs of blue eyes sought his person but he pretended to not notice as he twined together the gentle melody with the heart songs of those sitting at the table sipping their drinks.

"Luka! You big meanie head!" Rose squealed and carefully tackled her brother in law from behind.

"Hey watch it now, Claire doesn't like the rough treatment."

"Oh hush you! Sneaky little meanie head." The petite blond hugged him even tighter.

"Well since you're here, can I get you anything to eat or drink?" The designer rose from her crouch and turned to the counter, slipping through the gap of the raised counter.

"Ah something warm please and maybe a macaroon or two."

"You got it!" Marinette spun around and reached to grab a mug from the shelf, her shirt sliding to reveal a hint of green and black on her pale skin.

"I uh hey Ma-ma-Marinette uh is that- its okay if I just have a plain cup! I just uh okay please don't punch me too hard but is that a tattoo?! " He could feel his cool factor dying at that moment.

Marinette dropped from her tiptoes to standing normally once more and Luka found he could breathe again as the tattoo went out of sight again. She had always been able to give him a heart attack and the guitarist could already hear the ribbing from his ever lovable sister.

"Oh! Yeah, it was a gift from Nona. You know Nathaniel and Marc’s comic? It’s inspired by Viperion." The petite woman brought over some macaroons and his designated cup with Sabine's special blend. It was like a piece of home and Luka took a large gulp in excitement, "I tend to forget unless I'm in a swimsuit or in the shower."

"Oh Luka!" Rose cried, swatting at Juleka who was laughing and grabbed some napkins to help clean up the tea that her brother had spit everywhere.

"Hey who are you?" The small voice drew the adults attention.

"Well I am called many names but to you, I am Uncle Luka. Juleka is my sister."

“Cap’tin says I look like a little you.”

“Yeah a little bit but just means you were meant to meet us, maybe even be a part of our family if that’s okay with you?” Lka smiled softly, watching the little blue eyes grow wide and a bit sparkly from tears. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Smoke on the water.”

“Oh good choice! And what’s your name?” Luka started strumming the requested song, twisting the notes and improvising some notes as he watched the kid.

“Llewellyn, I’m this many!” The small boy held up six fingers with a big smile.

“That’s a big number.”

“Not as big as your number though… Why is your hair blue? Can I have green hair? Can I play guitar? How do you play it? Is it heavy? Can you sing too? Are you a rockstar? When I’m big, can I be like you?” The young boy fired off, slightly catching Luka off guard and causing the women to laugh.

“Slow down speed racer, deep breath,” the guitarist inhaled slowly and evenly with Llewellyn and released the breath in the same manner before answering, “now isn't that better? Blue is my favorite color, maybe we can have matching green hair for your party. Playing guitar can be tricky but if you want I can show you how, it can be heavy if you hold it too long but then you build up some muscles and it’s not so bad. I can sing but not as good as your Momma Rose. I’m not a big rockstar but when I grow up more I hope to be. And I’d like that but I doubt Momma Jules would like that too much, I drive her crazy.”

“Are you mean to her?” The small boy frowned, scooting back a few steps warily.

“Nope, just silly and it drives your Ma crazy because it happens a lot.” Luka’s honesty and resuming the plucking of his guitar strings to ease the sudden tension. Sharing a fond look with Juleka that they would later deny, the elder male lifted his guitar and removed the strap completely before sliding to the floor. Waving over the young look-alike, he helped to position the guitar and demonstrated how to strum and play different chords before letting the child noodle on the guitar. Luka picked himself up and finished his slightly cold tea before returning the mug to Marinette.

“He’s so happy Luka! Just look at him!” Rose was sniffling and wiping away tears, the reality that Llewellyn was part of their family finally settling in.

“Yeah he fits right in. So now that you found a mini me, with your attitude and shares a whole name with me, are you going to deny that’s why you picked him?”

“Nothing to deny.” Juleka wiped away a few stray tears from her wife’s face and laced their fingers together. “It was meant to be.”

“Calling dad out here Jules.” Luka quirked a brow, ignoring the snort his words caused.

“Calling B.S. huh? Fine, that’s about ninety percent, the other ten is he looks like he could be your kid if a certain designer were the mom.”

His ears were full of cotton and he missed the squeak of surprise because of course, this was Juleka he was talking about, Marinette was coming up behind him and he froze. The slight curl to Llewellyn’s hair was similar to his if he had it shorter, the blue eyes were lighter than his but the shape reminded him of Marinette’s. And judging by the sly look in his sister’s amber eyes and the giggles from his sister-in-law, they had planned this to drop that bomb at some point. That’s what he gets for having a nosy family.

“Unca Luka! My fingers hurt, how do you play for hours ?” Luka turned around as his nephew, that would take some getting used to, groaned.

“Practice and patience.”

“Sounds like good advice for other things.”

“Practice and patience, two very very useful things when it comes to many things.” Luka tried to smile reassuringly at Marinette who was turning an even deeper shade of red and made his way back to Llewellyn, intent on ignoring his scheming sisters and spending the little bit of time left for the day bonding.

#lukanette endgame #lukanette #luka cou #marin #modern au #Fen's Plunny Corner #rose lavillant #juleka couffaine #oc

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useful-wasting-of-ink · 3 years

Text

I'm Sorry, Baby

Alex finds Henry's self-harm scars

TRIGGER WARNING: death mention, self-harm mention, let me know if anything else needs to be tagged

Read this on Ao3 here

Henry laid in bed with Alex on top of him. It’d started with just harmless cuddling but soon became more. Alex laid a quick kiss on his lips before slowly making his way down Henry’s chest to his stomach and finally he reached the top of his boxers. Alex’s fingers lightly grazed over the tent in his boxers, grinning at the way Henry’s breath hitched.

He leaned down to kiss at his thighs before stopping suddenly in shock.

“Alex? Are you okay?” he heard Henry’s voice distantly. He sat up quickly, his legs on either side of Henry’s. He stared for another moment before reaching out to touch his thigh softly.

“Henry?” he looked up at the other with a mix of distress and sadness in his eyes making Henry sit up quickly as he realized what had happened.

There were small scars littering his thighs, more than he could count. Some deeper and darker and some much lighter, nothing more than a faint white line. Some were obviously much newer than others, still light pink. But none looked like they’d been done in months. Alex didn’t know how he could have missed them before, they were so obvious.

“Did you… Did you do this to yourself?” His voice was soft and shaky. He already knew the answer, but he didn’t want to. He hoped he was wrong.

Henry nodded slowly, staring down at his lap. He figured one day Alex would notice, but he had hoped he wouldn’t. It wasn’t something he liked to explain. Only three people knew - Pez, Bea, and his therapist. Eventually, he was going to tell Alex that he used to self-harm but he wasn’t ready for that conversation yet.

There was a moment of silence before Henry began talking, “When my dad died, I lost myself pretty bad. It was bad for a very long time. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I lost my dad and I lost my mom and suddenly Phillip was being an ass and Bea was nowhere to be found. I felt so alone. So one day I found this loose blade in my shaving kit and just thought ‘fuck it.’”

“Henry, you don’t have to tell me,” Alex cut in.

“I need to. I need to tell you.” Alex nodded, leaning over to kiss Henry’s forehead. “I did it for a long time before I started seeing a therapist and it let up for a while then. She recommended I get an emotional support animal and so we got David.” his voice was shaking pretty badly and Alex could tell he was on the verge of tears but didn’t dare cut in again. “I told Bea that same night I came out to her. It was just a night of confessions I guess,” he laughed through the tears, “I haven’t done it in a long time, don’t worry. Not since that week after New Years’. I felt like such a fuck up, but then you wanted me too and everything was falling into place. I was tempted after the lake house but I didn’t so that’s a plus here. I wanted to tell you but I didn’t know how to.”

Alex finally brought his hand up to Henry’s chin, making him look at him, and wiped a tear from his cheek, “I love you. I love you so much and all I want is to make you happy and safe and I’m sorry that you went through this.”

Henry sniffled, leaning forward to hug Alex tightly. It was a little awkward with the way they were sitting, but Alex wrapped his arms around Henry’s waist, holding him.

“You are one of the best things that ever happened to me,” Henry mumbled into his shoulder.

Alex kissed his hair, “You are one of the best things that ever happened to me too, baby. Let’s lay down and just have a movie night.”

“Can we watch Star Wars?”

“Of course we can.”

#red white and royal blue #rwrb #rwrb fanfic #alex claremont diaz #henry rwrb #henry fox mountchristen windsor #self harm tw #death tw #ask to tag

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thevividgreenmoss · 3 years

Text

My grandfather was awake and lucid for a longish while between late Friday night and Saturday morning apparently first time since this past Sunday when we all thought that was It and crammed ourselves seven people in one sedan that got a flat on the way over of course (as we were leaving the handle of the screen door came off in my hand as I was closing it behind me so the vibe was very on the nose things farcically falling apart that whole goddamn day lol) but then when we made it he was smiling and laughing and talking to and teasing everyone that was there, albeit with much more effort than it would have taken him even just a week earlier when he was already in a really frail state because of his hip surgery. My sister happened to be up later than she usually ever is and got to video call and chat with him for a bit I wanted terribly for my cousin in Colorado to be able to also but by the time he could get through my grandpa's blood pressure had suddenly spiked or something and he'd drifted back into that borderline unconscious state so they didn't get a chance to talk which makes me want to claw my fucking skin off of my face but who knows maybe another opportunity will present itself hopefully it does like he suddenly became really talkative and energized the other day after not having said more than maybe a couple sentences over the few previous days like I was there with him for several hours on Thursday and the entire time he didn't say a word and only opened his eyes once for like half a second and even that I might have been imagining after sitting there sleep-deprived and holding his hand trying not to cry because then my mom would start crying and then my aunt and on and on and if he's conscious at that point he'll start to get worried and his heart rate will destabilize but after that for this one stretch without anyone expecting it he was really talkative and alert and joking around with the nurses and doctors and all that for a while but then later yesterday afternoon he started to get disoriented and drift in and out of the present in between dreaming and waking again at one point apparently he kept saying 'look at my shoes' to my mom and her sisters and they thought it was just just the medication/pain-induced delirium talking but he kept insisting and eventually said 'you're not taking me seriously' and I guess gave up? Or said it a few more times I'm not clear on the course of events I only heard all this secondhand when my younger aunt, who also got diagnosed with cancer late last year but thankfully is more or less in the clear now, got back home last night and she and I went into his room and took all the shoes out of the cabinet he keeps them in and like looked inside and turned over and examined the soles of every pair, took the cushion insert things out of the ones that had them, checked for scooby doo-esque hidden doors, all that but there was nothing there just shoes. Her kids flew back out yesterday morning, the older one's tentatively returning to Toronto in the next week or so she had a painfully rough time in some ways her first couple of years and then abruptly had to be uprooted and leave because of covid then everything with her mom and in time honored eldest daughter tradition bearing the brunt of the familial frustration and insanity associated with that and now everything with our grandpa I really really want her senior year to go smoothly and be enjoyable and memorable in a manner opposite to how this past year+ has been I'm so worried about her and her little sister's starting freshman year there in the fall and I'm terribly worried about her in a whole different way like she's still really attached to her parents in this innocent way that still strongly resembles like a baby's adoring my mom hung the moon type attachment and it can be especially hard being away for the first time ever when that's the case...like she's hyper hypersensitive even by my family's standards lmao but she does have this sort of self-possession and inner groundedness that no one can quite pin down but it's

definitely there and maybe that

could carry her through I really hope so...they were saying to come up to visit them in the fall hopefully I can find a job soon after returning to Texas and like be able to afford to do that and also like keep paying the bills and shit lol in either case I hope so so badly that they'll be okay like I think they will be the women in my family are all really strong but they've also had to be because of various fucked circumstances and I don't want that to keep having to be the case...my grandpa's a Strong Woman in a certain way also honestly lmao like my mom's aunts have always been like your father raised you in a way beyond even most mothers which like who fucking receives let alone genuinely deserves that kind of praise from their in-laws lmao let alone a man from a notoriously patriarchal culture of a generation when fathers from any culture barely had any involvement in their children's upbringing at all which I mean most still don't but even more so back then and like literally everyone we've been hearing from or seeing drop by at the hospital has a story of how at one point or another my grandpa was there for them when no one else was like distant cousins variously removed and loose family friends all with something about how he comforted me when no one else could, I remember word for word what he said to me when I suffered some loss of my own, he's the strongest man in our family, the best times we ever had were when he was near us, when he'd take us out, his youngest brother's children saying he cared for and spoiled them as if their were his own after their dad died suddenly when they were just kids, my mom's third cousin whose own father was with her till a late age saying that he was even more of a father to me than my own father, his other brother's son who was ostracized for decades by his immediate family on some straight up racist ass bullshit on the part of his mom and older brother because he married a black woman but my grandpa stayed in touch and made sure my mom and uncle did as well and made sure we all got together when he'd came to the states, like even now lying there on what very well might be his literal deathbed when he can barely talk he was telling my uncle he's worried about him and he needs to go home and rest, asking who's taking care of the house, are the kids all okay even at this point his thoughts are for others. After I put his shoes back in the cabinet I closed it and opened the one beside just in case I guess just in case what I don't know but it was just like standard cabinet stuff clothes a shaving kit and a couple of what I assume are photo albums that I didn't feel like I should open for some reason and a few old books, a collection of Ghalib's which I can't really read very easily if at all because it's in Urdu lol, a history of government college of Lahore where his father was teaching at the time of his death and the two philosophy textbooks my great grandfather had written himself, Inductive & Deductive Reasoning, and inside the latter I found a handful of yellowed pages torn out of an old notebook upon which mostly seem to be translations of french poems and I think maybe a song or two? I guess old coursework or just for funsies I'm not sure whether written by my grandfather or his own father. My khala was mentioning just the other day that she'd kept one of my grandpa's old notebooks marked as having been designated for biology but inside it were no actual notes just urdu poetry which she wasn't sure whether it was his own original tossed off work or something the lifelong frustrated creative transcribed while bored in class. The night I got here I was looking through his bookshelves after everyone had gone to bed and then a couple of weeks ago I was sitting in the living room by myself watching archer when my cousin came and sat down next to me upset and unable to sleep on her own first night here and I held her and tried not to cry and then went through the same bookshelves again, this time with my cousin who we came to Pakistan for the first time after moving to the US

to see being born who turned three

the day we arrived on what until this current trip was the last time I was here her little sister having just been born earlier that same year (whose life I may or may not have saved when I caught her after she was dropped by the person holding her (the fact that (parentheticals within parentheticals!) I may or may not have been the one who dropped her in the first place is immaterial imo not that I'm the one on trial here but what's important is that I caught her and if anything this would be an even more athletically impressive and frankly heroic incident if I'd been the one that was holding her to begin with since I was 8/9 years old at the time and there wasn't much of a distance for her to fall and yet I kept her from hitting the ground like talk about reflexes like that's what's important and what's more important than even that @ my year older cousin (whose younger sister was the first baby in the family after myself whose arrival in this world when I was three had me positively giddy in the way that young children get when witnessing the miracle of even younger children, who's the only other one of the cousins that's been here during all this, just me and the three I got to see as darling little babies) who was the only other person in the room with me at the time, is that we take this to our fucking graves no one can hear a word of this least of all any adults in the house who like not that they're the ones on trial here either but like who allowed for this scenario to transpire in the first place where two children and an infant are in a room by themselves unsupervised in retrospect that's somewhat irresponsible not that I'd ever hold it against them or even mention it because then they might get mad and not let me hold my little cousin anymore and I do love holding my little baby cousin and carrying her around everywhere, mostly without incident)) neither of whom I'd see in person again until we visited them in Canada the summer after I graduated college the trip during which I finished the last of the Neapolitan novels the day after landing and turned 22 the day after their mother, my younger khala, turned 43, looking through my nana's bookshelves with my baby cousin no longer a baby but a U of T classics major entering her senior year, noting the overlaps with our own, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, George Eliot, the same exact copies of Cheever and Kafka's collected shorts, Umberto Eco, Proust, wondering what the various titles meant to him or what they might say about him, wondering how much of even the version of him that can be hypothesized based off his library I'm missing now that I'm limited to the much reduced version of what had been in his old home in Lahore (when he visited us after my junior year of hs and my mom was trying to convince him to downsize and move in with my other aunt with whom he's been living the past several years, the one who most resembles my grandfather the only one that has his cheekbones my khala whose eyes have sunken all the way into her skull before my eyes with exhaustion and grief over the past two weeks, when my mom was like what's the point of just hanging onto a bunch of books that you've already read: I look at them [dramatic pause], and I feel happy [my mom sighing equally dramatically in.exasperation, me cracking up in the background]) the city I was born in the house where I spent the first almost five years of my life before we moved to the US to join my dad who'd moved back shortly after my mom became pregnant with what turned out to be me, abu nana's house with the garden we'd walk through every morning holding his hand and following along as he puttered around with his plants in the garden in the house in the city he had to leave to move into my khala's house in Islamabad where I've been the past almost a month now where two weeks ago he suddenly came down with pneumonia and had to be dragged to a hospital in Rawalpindi where he's been since, not in his house, my nana's house, with the garden in the city I haven't seen since the last time I was in this country the

summer I

turned nine the day after my khala turned 30 the day before my other khala turned 32(?) the summer I first remember obsessive compulsive disorder becoming an overwhelming aspect of my consciousness although it was there before, the first summer of the Iraq war and being terrified watching the Iraq war unfold on the BBC evening news my nana would turn on

at dinner time and hearing for the first time or maybe just the first time I remember the night we left the phrase 'the rich will get richer and the poor will get poorer' from my younger khala talking to her sisters and some family friends that had come over to see us off feeling terrified and cold then embarrassed because she noticed my face visibly fall from across the room and told my mom and I was like godammit everyone knows I'm scared now smhead then crying the entire flight back home because I missed everyone and maybe had a little kid premonition that I wouldn't return to my nana's house and I would be years and years till I saw any of them again some I still haven't or maybe there was nothing premonitory about it but in either case that's the way it turned out. I do feel grateful I got to see him again at all, when he last came to the US late 2016-early 2017 I was sure it would be the last time we would be in the same room. I'd make breakfast for us every morning and we'd eat together and the entire day I'd sit next to him inhaling secondhand smoke and talking and reading. I was in the midst of my initial aborted attempt to read Swann's way when he arrived. I'd gotten to Guermantes way last summer but I couldn't find a secondhand copy so I had to read it via ebook and that didn't feel right so I abandoned it until now I've been reading a copy pulled from his bookshelf. Last he visited was the first time I learned we were both Garcia Marquez-heads which I'd kind of assumed before and I showed him Mad Men which he heavily fucked with and also every John Le Carre adaptation I could track down online. From the first time I read one hundred years of solitude the summer after freshman year of college the passage describing Colonel Aureliano Buendia's death already absolutely and unbearably heartwrenching enough immediately brought thoughts of my grandfather, aching aching sorrow over the solitude that he himself existed within in all the fucking pain his life has been inordinately filled with grief over the knowledge of this inevitable final separation from him after so many years and so much distance already having separated him from the people he loved and cared for and he loved and cared for so many people so deeply with such sincerity and beauty and endless endless warmth and compassion and humor when Gabo wrote of the colonel trying to reach back through to his memories and being unable to after previously recalling that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice even years later, as he faced the firing squad, at the moment of his death like a 'baby chick' my poor frail beautiful grandfather appearing exactly the same way when he'd take off his dentures and curl over to the side to sleep, then when awake but still half asleep hearing your voice having brought his apple cider vinegar and garlic concoction or a cup of tea or just coming by to hold his hand or play with his beard the way all of his grandchildren have at one point or another and smiling with his eyes still closed smiling bright and wide the expression of a precious little cat purring as you scratch under its chin always the most beautiful smile and even as his hair turned white and his body withered and wrinkled and shrunk his cheekbones while still not bad long ago ceased being the way they were in that picture from his wedding day back when he he looked like young Robert De Niro's much much prettier Kashmiri cousin from then until now always that same radiance and those same quick-witted and kind and bright bright bright sparkling eyes. The past month and a half I've been feeling like I'm seeing my own mother dying before my eyes along with her father, my adorable beloved abu nana, I can't even begin to comprehend how she must be feeling right now I feel like I'm witnessing her death in advance through all of this and losing the part of her that is him even though I know that's not actually the case. Things have been so fucking painful and complicated between us but the one thing we've shared that's never

been painful is our love for him. When he left after his last visit four years ago I spent the next two days barely able to even talk. Compliments or like any positive comments directed in my directions have almost always caused me this reflexive discomfort and uneasiness but whenever he or anyone else would say that I'm his favorite grandchild I'd want to hold on to that as closely as i possibly can. I don't want him to leave us and more than that I want for whatever happens to at least happen with him back at home but neither of those things seem likely right now although who the fuck knows. I hope his last thoughts can be of flowers, like Kafka's, and Lispector's, or of love, wherever he is I hope it's not asking too much to hope for that at least. For someone that spent his life so deeply immersed within that Garciamarquesian solitude he never made those around him feel any way other than at home, safe and warm and loved and adored and adorable and lovable and at home not because of a place not even the garden at the house in Lahore but with him always always I've never felt more at home than during the times I spent near him, and his love and his flowers

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glassbxttless · 4 years

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Can you tell us more about the Randy/Ben/Matt thing? Sounds like the most interesting dynamic.

I would love to (: it’s just a little AU I’ve been cooking up in my head.

• So Matt, Ben, & Randy are brothers here (: there’s two years between Randy and Ben and five between Ben and Matt. Randy & Ben were both planned and Matt was a hella surprise. All three of them are mama’s boys, Han wasn’t around much due to work related trips.

• Randy’s the oldest and an awkward fucker who is just trying his best™️. He went to community college but ended up dropping out halfway through his freshman year and taking a job as a barista. He skated through high school with great grades bc his mother helped with 98% of his homework. In high school, he played trombone in marching band and learned to play jazz on it as well. Also ended up working with Matt at Starkiller Base.

• Ben’s the middle child and suffers heavily from middle child syndrome. He sides with Randy on all disagreements between the three of them and hardly ever gets along with Matt. Although he was the one who taught him how to shave and put on a condom properly. He was the ladies man of the Solo family in high school— every single girl who talked to Matt just wanted Ben’s number. Fucked Matt’s wife when he met her. Ben played football and baseball in high school. Also had a bit of a rage issue but he’s got it under control now. Will not admit to fucking his girlfriend in a dugout but definitely did.

• Matt is the youngest of the three. He’s got some rage issues, for obvious reasons. He was naturally gifted and hardly needed his mother (or father’s) help with much schoolwork. Played Baseball with Ben. He went to a pristine college and graduated in the top of his class. Was married right outta high school to a girl named Reylynn, that he spent a weekend vacation with in Vegas— was with her for three years. Resents Ben for being naturally good with the female populace and for fucking his wife. Was divorced by twenty-four and met you at twenty-five. Taught himself to play a drum kit to impress the ladies. Never played for a girl in his life. Enjoys Pokémon a lot too.

• Leia coddles Randy a bit, which always makes the other two roll their eyes. But everyone knew Matt was her baby— she literally did not wean him from (comfort) breastfeeding until he was four. After Matt’s divorce was finalized, he called her off his ass drunk in the middle of Washington State, so she packed her car and drove straight from New York until she was at his apartment, picking him up and helping him pack to move home. Randy had lunch with his mom every Thursday and was so happy to. Randy’s also vegan. Ben’s a big mama’s boy and always has been. Sometimes he just needs to crawl up the brownstone steps and lay on his moms lap while she plays with his hair and tells him he doesn’t have to think about being an adult right now.

• Ben does everything he can to just cause absolute havoc for his brothers. But is pretty jealous that Matt graduated college and did as well as he did. He loves them both and isn’t exactly proud of himself for hurting Matt in the ways he did. Also fucked his girlfriend in his and Matt’s shared bedroom whilst Matty was asleep on the top bunk.

• Matt lives in New York, Randy lives in New Jersey, and Ben lives wherever the wind takes him. Right now it’s Rhode Island. They don’t visit each other literally ever. The only reason Matt and Randy see each other so much is because they work together. Randy visits Han and Leia the most. Ben visits once a month. And Matt doesn’t visit at all, but does call his mom on special occasions and always ends his calls with a heartfelt I love you.

• Han could hardly tell Randy and Ben apart growing up. They both had dark hair and dark eyes and he definitely wasn’t around enough to know which one was taller. Only could tell Matt apart by that mop of blonde hair. Split Randy’s face open once when he was seven when they were playing outside. Randy has a scar now. Han will lie and say no if you ask if that helped him tell them apart until Randy started to distinctly look different. But it did.

• Randy possibly has a kid somewhere from some girl he knew in his college half-year. All he knows is they’re a girl and she’s gotta be almost graduating. Her name may or may not be Diana, or Diane? Something similar. Ben found out he was “infertile” at twenty-six and just went ahead and got himself snipped. He didn’t really want kids anyway. Matt wants kids eventually— but it’s definitely not something he sees coming too soon.

• Randy and Matt share lunch sometimes, and Matt always keeps an extra hoodie in his locker for Randy because he knows that man can’t remember Jack shit.

• Matt does love Ben, he’d take a bullet for him. But if he had the chance to lay a good one right to his jaw, he would. Also got no sleep in school because of Ben’s constant sex tirades of sneaking girls in and out of their window. Randy had his own room growing up and moved out at nineteen. But since mom and dad were going through it, that became Han’s bedroom.

• but the Solo brothers would be there for each other if one of them called. Matt would pick up and drive to Timbuktu if Ben needed him too. And he’s brought groceries to Randy on more than one occasion. Randy always makes an effort to call his brothers and check in. Ben answers and is always down to chat. Matt let’s it ring through to voicemail. Ben sends each of them something from his travels every time he goes to a new state. Matt has all of the trinkets in his office.

#glassbxttless #Cece’s HCs #the solo brothers #the solo brothers in the glass bottle #if anyone has anymore thots they’d like to hear #I’m down #just ask me (:#I’m so in love with the solo brothers it’s not funny

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

Text

Anniversary (Javier x Reader) {MTMF} [smut]

Title: Anniversary Rating: Explicit Length: 3300 Warnings: Smut (male & female receiving oral and sex) Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set May 1999. Another two days without MTMF, but here I am. Back and smutty as ever. Summary: Reader and Javier celebrate their anniversary.

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @beccaplaying @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts@ @awesomefandomsunited @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @ah-callie @swhiskeys @exrebelshocktrooper @u-wakatoshii @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen @arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato @coredrive @pascalesque @theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou @yespolkadotkitty@seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie @jaime1110 @katlikeme

“I know this is the first year,” You started as you say your suitcase down on the luggage rack, “But I wonder if they’ll ever realize why we go away at the same time every year.”

Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth and shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe.” He remarked as he pulled open the closet door and hung up the hanging suitcase. “Or they’ll think we get away as soon as school’s out.”

“Fair point.” You agreed with a nod, kicking off your shoes and perching on the foot of the bed. “So, a year in… how is this marriage thing treating you?”

“I expected a review halfway through, you know.” Javier shot back, giving you a look before he ducked into the bathroom with his shaving kit. He returned, hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans. “I haven’t noticed too much of a change, baby.”

“Me neither.” You admitted with a soft laugh, fiddling with the ring on your left ring finger. Just for your little getaway, you had decided to wear his mother’s ring — the one Chucho had gifted you with. “I feel like nothing has really changed.”

Even at your worst, the two of you had always been solid.

He hummed in agreement as he leaned down to inspect the mini fridge, “Baby, are we going for a classy anniversary dinner or should we pregame?”

You smirked at him, reclining back on the bed. “Have you ever known me to say ‘no’ to pregaming?” You tucked your arms beneath your head, before turning to look towards the open window looking out over the balcony.

Instead of venturing across the country, the two of you had opted to stay in Miami — but at the DuPont Plaza, in the honeymoon suite that overlooked the water. A little taste of luxury and just down the road from your house seemed like the perfect way to ring in one year as a married couple.

“They’ve got peppermint vodka.” He waved the mini in front of you and you popped up to snatch it from him.

You unscrewed it and took a sip, finishing half of it off in one drink. “We need to get some of this for the liquor cabinet.” You remarked as he sat down beside you.

“I don’t get the appeal,” Javier retorted as he popped the lid off the shot of tequila and knocked it back.

“Looking to get drunk quick, babe?” You snorted, downing the last of the mini and tossing it aside on the bed.

Javier replaced the lid on his empty bottle, “Maybe. We’ve just got to go downstairs to the restaurant.”

“I think the last time you had tequila was Disney.” You gave him a pointed look.

“Oh, I’ve had it since.” He scratched at the back of his neck.

“What do you and Steve get up to when I’m not around?” You cocked your head to the side and smirked at him, “Inquiring minds would like to know.”

“Karaoke.” He shot back as he picked up the empty minis and tossed them in the garbage can on the way back to the mini fridge. “Want another?”

“I think you should have another,” You stared at him, “Because I want song names.”

“Nope.” He let the word pop out of his mouth as he grabbed the two new minis and passed the vodka to you. “That’s a need-to-know.”

You held up your hand, pointing to the ring with the bottle. “I think I’m at the top of the need-to-know.”

Javier shrugged, “Never forget why we moved to Miami.” He unscrewed the lid and took a small swig of his tequila.

You rolled your eyes, “Stephen Murphy. I’m aware.” You took a sip of your vodka, rolling the bottle between your fingers. “Come on, how about a hint?”

“Halfway there.” He remarked as he brought the bottle to his lips and finished the tequila off with a hiss.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You questioned, narrowing your eyes as you finished down your own mini. “There are so many potential songs… Was it Whitesnake?”

Javier gave you a scandalized look, “What? Is This Love?” He rubbed his thumb between his brows. “Fuck. No.”

“Better not have been our song.”

“Our song?”

You glared at him, “What did we dance to a year ago in California? At that bar?”

Javier arched a brow at you, “Uh…”

“Javier!”

“I don’t remember who the cover was by,” Javier admitted as he leaned back on the bed beside you. “But it was an Elvis song.”

“It was Hall and Oates.” You reached over and squeezed his thigh. “So what did you two sing?”

He hummed, “Nice try.” Javier cocked his head to the side as he looked at you.

“Just so you know,” You scooted closer to him, draping your arm over his shoulders. “The ‘to the grave’ sentiment only applies for you and me.” You cupped his cheek with your other hand, running your thumb along the curve of his jaw.

Instead of answering you, Javier leaned in and kissed you, his mouth slanting over yours. You could taste the tequila on his lips and his tongue as you tongue met his.

Your fingers slid from his shoulder into his hair, tugging at it as you pulled back to meet his eyes. “Nice distraction.” You bumped your nose against his before you stood up, leaving him sitting on the bed.

“Where are you going?” Javier questioned, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he watched you with rapt attention.

“Checking on the options,” You told him as you pulled open the minifridge to see what was inside. “Oh, M&Ms!” You grabbed the bag and another vodka mini. “Was it classic rock?”

“Baby—“

You tore the top off the sleeve of candy, popping a couple pieces into your mouth. “Now I know when you come home shitfaced from a night out with Steve, I need to question your drunk ass about karaoke.”

“You say that like it happens all the time.” He huffed, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip as he stared at you.

“At least once every three months.” You popped another M&M into your mouth. “Usually I’m more concerned with getting you undressed without you thinking I’m coming onto you.” You arched a brow at him.

Javier held his hand out and you poured a couple candies into his palm. “What can I say? After a night out, all I’m thinking about is getting home to you.”

You scrunched up your nose and stuck out your tongue, “Such a sap.” You laughed, shaking your head as you sat back down on the bed, this time reclining back against the pillows.

“It’s your fault that I’m a sap, baby.” He retorted as he scooted up the bed to join you, tucking an arm behind his head. “Tequila’s hitting.”

“Time to interrogate you.” You smirked, sitting the M&Ms and the mini on the nightstand.

“Interrogate?” Javier arched a brow as he turned to look at you.

“You heard me.” You shot back, rolling onto your side as you settled down beside him. You reached out and rested your hand on his chest, trailing your fingers over the patch of skin exposed where his shirt was unbuttoned. “The fact that you won’t tell me is a little disappointing.”

“Oh, come on baby.” He pursed his lips. “I tell you everything.”

“Was it a love ballad?” You questioned, running your finger down the length of his nose. “I’ll only be a little jealous if it was. But I know you and Steve have a special bond.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Javier snorted, shaking his head as he rolled onto his side so he could curl his arm around your waist. “I already gave you a hint.”

“You did?” You gave him a skeptical look.

He nodded, tapping his thumb against your side. “Told you that you were halfway there.”

Your brows furrowed together. “To guessing its?”

Javier laughed and you swatted his chest, “Ow.”

“Don’t laugh at me!” You said, as you laughed at his feigned injury. “Dammit Javier, just tell me.”

“No.” He pulled you closer to him, until his nose was brushing against yours. “Why do you want to know so badly, baby?”

“So I can taunt you with it for the rest of our lives.” You grinned at him, playing with the hair that fell across his forehead. “Less hints and more you telling me the actual name of the song.”

Javier’s brows drew together and he ran his hand up and down your back, “I can think of better things we could be doing.”

You snorted, “I’m just going to assume it was Never Gonna Give You Up.”

“In what world would I sing that?”

“The one where you’re drunk on tequila.” You smirked, leaning in to steal a kiss. “Kinda wish I was there to witness it.”

“It was Livin’ On a Prayer,” Javier finally confessed, “Happy?”

You rubbed at his hair, “That’s not even embarrassing.” You shook your head, “I’m just going to pretend it was Time After Time or something like that.”

Javier cupped your jaw, “You asked… or more specifically you pestered.”

“Javier,” You started with a too-sweet voice, “I know everything about your sexual exploits prior to me, but you’re going to draw the line at get drunk and sing karaoke with your best friend?”

“I think best friend is pushing it.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Don’t worry Javi, I promise I won’t ever tell him that you think he’s your best friend.”

“You are my best friend.”

That sobered your amusement quickly, “Really?” Which seemed like a stupid thing to be shocked by, all things considered. There had been so many times back in Colombia that you questioned whether Javier was really your friend — or if you were just easy to talk to.

“Mhm.” He brushed his fingers over your cheek. “Steve’s alright, but you know me.”

You nodded, leaning in to press your forehead against his. “I know I’ve already told you this before, but I was depressed as hell when Steve and Connie left. And I remember thinking — if it were Javier leaving, I don’t think I would be able to cope. I had never had someone who just fit.”

His lips drew upwards into a gentle smile and he leaned in to kiss you, “Guess that’s why we’re still here… twelve years later.”

Javier slid his hand down your arm, until he could interlace his fingers with yours. He rubbed his finger over the ring you wore, his eyes never leaving your face. “I love you.”

“You do?” You teased lightly, biting down on your bottom lip as you searched your eyes.

His brows knit together and he nodded slowly, “A lot, baby.”

“I love you too.” You ran your thumb over his lips, cupping his jaw as you leaned in to kiss him. The moment lingered, his lips brushing against yours as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

You let him roll you back onto the bed, a knee planted between your thighs as he hovered above you, one palm pressed into the mattress beside your head.

Javier groaned against your mouth as you dragged your fingers through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. You shifted, pressing the apex of your thighs directly against his leg, grinding against him.

His grip tightened on your hand, pinning it back against the bed. All thoughts of drinking minis and eating M&Ms were quickly traded in for the heat burning between your thighs and desire in your veins.

You sank back against the mattress, breaking from the kiss as you turned your attention to the buttons of his shirt which was a struggle with only one hand.

Javier slid his knee forward, keeping it pressed right against your cunt as you rolled your hip against the pressure. It created the perfect amount of friction to make you moan out his name.

He released his hold on your hand, keeping his eyes fixed on your face as he moved down the bed.

“Javi.” You complained at the loss of friction.

“I’ve got you baby,” He drawled out as he slid your skirt up around your hips. “Just trust me.” He promised as he stroked his fingers over your cunt through the fabric of your underwear.

You reached down and played your fingers through his hair as you watched him, “I trust you.” You told him, biting down on your bottom lip as he circled his thumb over your clit.

Javier hooked his fingers in the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down your legs. “Look at you.” He whispered as he parted your sensitive folds, leaning in to flick his tongue over that little bundle of nerves that was already throbbing with anticipation.

He ran his hands along your inner thighs, parting them wider as his tongue swept between your folds, teasing your slick center before returning to your clit.

“Fuck.” You hissed out, your hips rocking up off the bed, angling yourself towards his mouth. His mustache tickled, making you squirm as he lapped at you.

Javier grabbed at your hips, holding you steady as he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked lightly at the little bundle of throbbing nerves — you could feel every pulse of need, heat and pleasure burning in your lower belly.

You swore your eyes rolled back in your head when he worked two fingers into you with little warning, curling them within you as dragging them over that sweet spot that had you seeing stars.

It wasn’t fair. He knew your body too well and could play you like an instrument only he knew how to play like this. Even your own fingers failed to be this good at winding you up.

Your fingers grabbed at the comforter beneath you, heels digging into the mattress as he coaxed you over the edge. He didn’t relent, his tongue replaced his fingers, greedily lapping up the arousal that dripped from you.

By the time he pulled back, breathing heavily as he caught his breath, his mouth and mustache were glistening with you. And no part of that deterred you from tugging at his hair to guide him back up the bed so you could kiss him.

As much as you wanted to wrap your legs around him and beg him to fuck you into the mattress — you had other plans.

You pushed him off of you, sliding out from beneath him and readjusting the skirt of your dress. “Lay back.” You told him firmly, giving him a look that left no rumor for arguments.

Javier sank back against the mattress in your place, his brows rising upwards as he met your gaze. “Love that look on you.”

“And what look is that?” You countered, reaching down to trace your finger over the outline of his cock in his jeans.

“You’ve got this glassy-eyed ‘just fucked’ look.” Javier explained, his lips parting with a throaty sound of pleasure as you cupped him through his jeans. “Fuck.”

“That’s what I call — I’m a little buzzed and very horny.” You smirked, dragging the zipper down slowly, before unsnapping the button. You took your sweet time pulling his jeans open as you settled down between his thighs. “Did you enjoy getting me off?” You questioned as you circled your thumb over the wet spot at the head of his cock that had darkened the fabric of his boxers.

“What do you think?” He quipped, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip as he stifled another groan as he watched you lean down to sweep your tongue over the same spot.

“That wasn’t an answer.” You pointed out, reaching into his jeans to cup his balls, playing with them as you ran your tongue over his cock through his boxers.

His hips twitched upwards and you smirked at the way his fingers grabbed at the comforter beneath him. You loved when he let go for you — both of you were shit at relinquishing control most of the time.

You didn’t even bother pulling his boxers down, opting instead to undo the button and feed his erection through the gap in his underwear.

“Look at you,” You parroted back what he had said before as you curled your fingers around the base of his cock, squeezing lightly as you leaned down and licked at the weeping head of his cock, tasting him.

Javier grunted out something that sounded like your name, his hips bucking upwards.

You pressed your palm against his stomach, “Easy there, Javi.”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he nodded, exhaling shakily. “Don’t tease.”

“Oh?” You questioned, running your thumb up the underside of his cock as you wrapped your lips around just the head of his cock.

The sounds he made.

You had always loved how unabashedly vocal he was during sex. Some men, you had found, had no interest in being loud — but Javier always let you know he was enjoying himself.

Javier’s fingers sank into your hair, tugging sharply as you flicked your tongue over the slit teasingly. And he really lost his shit when you hollowed out your cheeks and sank down to take the length of him into your mouth until he hit the back of your throat.

“Fuck.” He hissed out, brushing his fingers tenderly over the back of your neck. “That’s a good girl.”

You moaned around his cock at his praise, sliding your free hand down between your own thighs as you kept working your mouth over the length of his cock.

“Baby, fuck—“ Javier grunted, “Are you touching yourself, baby?” He managed, tugging lightly at your hair. “That’s it.”

You lifted your gaze to look up at him as you let his cock slide from your lips with a wet ‘pop’. You smirked, “Maybe I am.”

His tongue trailed over his bottom lip as he held your gaze, “C’mere.” Javier breathed out, brushing his knuckles against your cheek.

You rose up on your knees, straddling his thighs as you moved into position above him, hands planted on his chest as you stared down at him. “Is this what you wanted, baby?” You questioned, mimicking his tone.

Javier slowly ran his hands up your legs, curling his hands around your hips as you lowered yourself onto him, the slick folds of your cunt sliding against his cock. “You know it is.” He countered, reaching between your bodies to guide his cock as you moved atop him.

There was something about being half-dressed and fucking that would never wear out for you. The toughness of his jeans against the backs of your thighs, your arousal soaking into the fabric of his boxers as you rode him.

“I’m gonna—“ Javier managed to get out, grabbing at your hips as he moved beneath you. “— gonna come, baby.”

You leaned forward to kiss him, ignoring the slight twinge in your thighs from the stretch. Javier groaned against your lips, kissing you desperately as he came apart beneath you. He tensed, cock throbbing as his released spilled.

Your own orgasm was just out of reach and you didn’t even care, it was enough to bask in the moment with him — his breathing labored as you let yourself slump forward against him.

There was absolutely no way either of you would be going out in the clothes you had on now.

Javier ran his hand down the length of your back, giving your ass a playful swat. “Still got it.” He murmured as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck.

“I should hope so.” You huffed, tugging at his hair with a soft laugh.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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diyunho · 4 years

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The Joker x Reader - “Ghost Driver” Part 2

When The Joker says you’re his, it means you’re essential to him because he needs your services for his own gain; it literally has zero affectionate connotations. Turbo is The King’s Ghost Driver and although she’s a legend, her life is far from perfect.

Part 1

Four Days Afterwards, 7:47pm

“Good evening, madam. I am tonight’s entertainment,” Frost blurs out as soon as you open the door and instantly regrets his pun. “Sorry, that was stupid to say,” he apologizes.

The reason why you look puzzled is not his joke, but another motive: you never saw Jonny wearing anything else besides a suit or military gear; the fact that he’s standing in front of you wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt is quite intriguing.

“Hi,” you move aside so he can come in.

“Did I wake you up?”

“I fell asleep watching a movie,” Y/N smiles at his comfortable attire. “No big deal. Did Mister Joker send you?” the subtle question indicates you want to find out the reason for his visit.

“No... I was just thinking… maybe we could… and it’s entirely up to you, no pressure… maybe you would want to go and watch the fireworks with me. I have food and sleeping bags, plus an ice chest with drinks in my truck.”

You seem confused.

“Mmmm, you know what? Forget about it. That was completely idiotic to suggest,” Frost realizes that asking a freshly divorced woman to get out of the house after she was kidnapped and starved into her ex’s basement only four days ago it’s not the most brilliant idea he ever had.

“You had me at food and fireworks,” you wink at his insecurity. “The drinks sealed the deal. I’m confused on one detail: do I have to change or can I come in my PJ’s?”

“PJ’s are perfect.”

“Awesome!” you grab the keys from the coffee table. “Where exactly are we heading?”

“Fire Creek Hill, it’s one of the best spots to enjoy the view,” Jonny replies.

“Isn’t that closed to the general public?” Y/N inquires and his logic makes you laugh while exchanging your socks for flip-flops.

“I doubt we’re considered the general public. I had to pull some strings though,” he admits, overjoyed you actually agreed to accompany him.

Not that he shows it in any other way besides the invitation he barely mustered the courage to extend towards The Joker’s Ghost Driver.

*************

9:03pm

“Oh, it’s starting!” you excitedly nibble on your Alfredo pasta.

The first fireworks bloom in the distance and Frost opens the cooler, pointing out the goodies he salvaged from the liquor store.

“Pick your poison: we have a bottle of premixed margarita, wine, whiskey, tequila and…,” he fumbles around,”…try to contain yourself: water!”

“You definitely bought some of my favorites , including the food. How did you guess?” the bubbly Y/N smiles.

“I pay attention,” Jonny mentions. “So what’s gonna be?”

“Margarita please,” you hold the plastic cup and can’t help snickering as he pours the liquid.

“What?” he suspiciously bites on his cheek.

“Nothing really… I was imagining you without the beard,” you decide not to keep it a secret.

“Damn!” Frost snorts. “I had it for years; didn’t consider shaving because our employer would freak out. Stop giggling, it’s not funny! He totally would!” Jonny elbows you.

“I bet you have a baby face underneath all that facial hair; if you shave I can promise a new nickname will arise: Baby- Face Frost.”

“Shut up!” he chuckles at your quirky proposal. “Yet I can’t deny it has a certain ring to it.”

“See what I mean? It might work!... Oh my God, that’s a huge one!” you gasp, distracted by the sparkling night sky. “What are they celebrating? 150 years since this piece of crap town was founded?”

“Apparently,” Jonny sighs and watches Y/N bundle up in the sleeping bag.

“Thank you for the feast,” your tone changes to a serious one. “I didn’t have this much fun in the back of a truck in a long time. Go ahead, laugh!” you pout at his reaction. “I’m aware how it sounds like; I didn’t mean it that way!!!”

“Still funny as hell!” Jonny is getting a kick out of the conversation.

“Psst! Hey, Casanova!” The Joker’s mop of green hair pop up from behind the car’s high railing.

“Mister Joker!” you get startled by his unexpected presence.

“Boss, what are you doing here?” Frost utters in disbelief.

“Why aren’t you answering your phone, huh?” J ignores his henchman’s inquiry.

“It’s in the glove compartment, sir. I’m enjoying the…”

“Pardon me for interrupting your date,” The King of Gotham huffs.

“We’re not on a date,” the attempted explanation gets cut short.

“Sell it to whoever wants to buy it,” The Joker growls at Jonny’s words. “I had to follow the signal from your cell and trace your location; what a marvelous bonus to find my Turbo also!”

The eerie grin makes you finally speak up:

“Do you need help with anything Mister J?”

“Do I?” he plays dumb. “Probably.”

Why does he have to ruin the night? Frost reflects, annoyed.

Nobody knows, but if he could spend ages in your company, he believes it would be an eternity well spent.

And The Joker had to ruin it.

Goddammit!

“Can you patch me up?” J takes of his jacket, revealing a blood stained shirt.

“What happened?” you and Jonny jump off the vehicle.

“I got myself in a little bit of a situation,” he grumbles. “It’s a clean wound; the bullet came out on the other side.”

“We should take you to the doctor, boos; you need stitches!”

“Thanks for your concern, Doctor Frost,” The Joker sassily remarks. “I’ll go in the morning. I have more important matters to take care of tonight.”

You peel off his garment and assess the damage; he can’t hold it in:

“I bet you wanted to do this after I texted you my nudes, huh?”

You have to admit he caught you by surprise with his statement and the best solution in this situation is to cooperate:

“Been dreaming about it quite often.”

“Ha! I knew it!” The Clown cracks up. “Were you dreaming about it during your date?” he teases more.

“We’re not on a date,” you frown at the blood gushing from his wound.

“Interesting,” J expands on the subject. “At least you two have one thing in common: you’re both delusional.”

Frost rolls his eyes without J noticing and you signal him:

“Can I please get the whiskey? I need to disinfect this.”

“You have whiskey on your date?! Excuse me, non-date,” his majesty’s obnoxious temper emerges again.

You don’t engage for the moment, just open the bottle that Jonny gave you and splash a generous amount on the laceration.

“Jesus Christ!!!” The King shouts. “Be gentle woman, I’m fragile!!!”

“Sorry Mister J,” you mutter and Frost is certainly approving your tiny revenge scheme. “Can you please turn on the lights on your car? It’s getting dark and I can’t see what I’m doing,” you address The Joker’s sidekick. “Do you have a first aid kit in your vehicle Mister J?” you gesture towards his SUV parked a few feet away.

“I should,” a demented smirk flourished on his lips. “In the trunk!”

“Take a seat in the grass Mister J; I’ll go get it,” you urge the patient.

“Boss, are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the doctor?” Frost offers and instead of obliging your request, J pursues your steps because he doesn’t want to miss Turbo’s reaction.

“It’s fine, I’ll survive until morning time.”

You lift the trunk and gasp, stunned: your stellar ex-husband is tied up in there, duct tape over his mouth, clearly enjoying the repercussions of a confrontation due to bruises you can discern at a first glance.

“Oops, forgot about him,” The Clown yawns, bored.

Adam starts wiggling and mumbling whilst you can’t react.

“The fucker shot me!” your employer hisses. “Had the nerve to try killing me when he’s the one sleeping with MY girlfriend!”

“What’s the plan, sir?” Jonny intervenes, worried at your stunned attitude.

“The plan is simple: since Y/N is intimately acquainted with our guest, I’m willing to work out a deal. I don’t wanna to be accused of not listening to my associates.”

Adam keeps struggling and you finally reach and remove the duct tape.

“Honey, honey please!” he immediately rambles on, panicked. “You know I was joking about your weight, right? You don’t have to lose a few pounds! I admit locking you up in the basement was a huge mistake, ok? OK…? I’m sorry! I swear I’ll never cheat on you in the future. We can work things out, can’t we?” a glimmer of hope alleviates the somber perspective of his imminent demise once you begin searching his pockets.

He has the false impression you’ll untie him when in the matter of fact you are hunting down for his house keys so you can reclaim all the items you bribed him with when he signed the divorce papers.

Bingo! Treasure attained.

“So do you know him or not?” The Joker taps his fingers on the cold metal of his gun.

You take a deep breath, place the duct tape on Adam’s lips and sneer:

“I never saw this asshole in my life!”

“The lady has spoken!” J slams the trunk, unnerved. “Frost, you can go home; Y/N will take me to the warehouse on 8th street: she can borrow a car from there and split. I’ll send someone in the morning to bring it back.”

“Boss, we can leave your SUV here and I can drive you both…”

“DID I STUTTER?” The Clown growls, unhappy with Jonny’s shenanigans.

“No sir.”

“Mister J,” you distract his menacing temper. “Do you want me to bandage your injury now?”

“Nah, you can do it at the warehouse.”

More fireworks illuminate the skies and none in the small group is watching them anymore: the show is over for everyone involved.

You wave at Frost and hop in The Joker’s car as he positions himself in the passenger’s seat; you can tell something is off, besides the obvious of course.

If you’d have to speculate, you would say that his behavior is of a man who wasn’t hurt just physically, but on a different level he doesn’t understand yet: J went after your ex-husband alone when he doesn’t take unnecessary risks; enough proof to indicate he loved Ella and sought revenge for her betrayal without any of his team’s help.

You wonder what he did to the woman: did he kill her? Or worse?... You won’t dig to find out regardless.

The truth is you are The Joker’s Turbo and the statement works in reverse too: he is your Joker who undeniably needs cheering.

And you always deliver. That’s why you’re his.

That’s why you appreciate he made an effort to compromise on Adam’s predicament even if he didn’t mean it.

You steadily drive on the trail until you arrive to the main road, then suddenly accelerate with a specific purpose in mind. You take a sharp turn on Morrison Avenue, already at 100 miles per hour.

“What are you doing?” J bitterly enunciates.

“Why am I your Ghost Driver Mister Joker?” you reply with a question.

“Nobody can catch up with you.”

“Yup, the car to catch up with me hasn’t been assembled. Here they are, Gotham’s finest!” Y/N boasts at the lights glistening behind. “They always have a nightly patrol on Morrison Avenue ready to catch law un-abiding citizens,” you exclaim and J’s smirk widens at your proposition. “What do you say we make them work for their donuts, hm?”

“That’s my girl!” The King gives his blessing while Turbo speeds up the street in a frenzy.

************

11:58 pm

You barely returned to you apartment after the random factors which cut your rendezvous short when the cell chimes: a message from Frost.

“Did you make it home safe?”

“Yes,” you text.

“I’ve been busy. Wait, I’ll send you a picture.”

Downloading picture…

“Holy… shit!!!!!” you yell at your phone because the image depicts a portrait of a freshly shaved Jonny Frost.

“Do you like it?” the sentence appears on the screen concomitant with a knock at the main entrance.

“Who is it?” you drag your feet on the carpet.

“Me.”

As soon as you are standing in front of him, Frost hides his nervousness the best way he can; and he’s not a nervous individual per se.

“I thought you might want to take a closer look…,” he enters the hallway and you slowly lock the door behind him.

You don’t say anything, just touch his face and he pecks your wrist, confessing a secret he kept bottled up for years:

“Do you know I’ve been in love with you from the first second I saw you?”

Y/N doesn’t have to calculate in order to whisper:

“That’s a long time.”

“What’s the verdict?...“ Jonny insists. “You approve the change?”

“Yes,” you kiss him and he holds you tighter, thinking that if he could spend ages in your arms, it would be an eternity well spent.