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thecottoncandylamb · 7 months

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Reunions (Or Lamb is terrible at titles)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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dr-george-ordell · 1 year

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@nat-of-personifications

"A yellow carnation bloom expresses the idea of rejection and disappointment with someone. In the world of the European personifications, to recive a yellow carnation was a sign of rejection in an alliance or proposed marriage. In more dire cases, it was a silent disownment from one's chosen family. To be disowned is to do something so unforgivingable, a henious crime of personal betrayal to those who once considered you to be family. It results in a social ostracisation, as disownment is rare in the world of nations."

"Alfred once threw yellow carnations at Arthur in a fit of rage before, kicking him out from being family after years of disagreement. But the son will not escape his father's fate, as the child whom he first held, rejects him day by day, consumed by the posion of the Foundation," - Matthew Williams

#the “child” matthew is referring to is Ira #scp foundation #ira brainrot #ira scp #scp x hetalia #scp #scp au #scp writing #scp fanfiction #hetalia #hws #hws arthur kirkland #hws alfred f jones #hws matthew williams #hetalia fanfiction #the nations have their own kind of culture and customs in my hc #ao3 fanfic #ao3

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thedutchess07 · 26 days

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Sim Screenshot Quality?

Hey everyone <3

I've been getting asked how I get my screenshot quality the way I do quite a bit lately, soooooo I thought I'd answer through a general post. Sorry for the long post >.<

Software and lighting mods I use:

Gshade, ADOF* & Relight*

SRWE

GIMP or Facetune

In-game lighting mods

Maxis lighting

GSHADE, ADOF & RELIGHT

Installing Gshade tutorial here. This video also goes over how to change over to DX11, which if your PC has the capability to do so I totally recommend.

What Gshade preset do I use? Check my FAQs.

*ADOF... okay so ADOF is not a separate software but a shader in Gshade/Reshade. This is one of the common questions I get asked. Check out this Youtube tutorial on how edit your ADOF settings to your preference (15:53 min). For those confused on ADOF, it's what the blurry background of the pics. For ex. below, I like to play around with this setting a lot depending on my mood haha.

*Relight.. like ADOF, relight is not a separate software but a shader in Gshade/Reshade. This is what takes my screenshots to the next level. Youtube tutorial here and in depth guide here. Now you have to play around with relight a bit to get it exactly how you want it. Depending on the mood I'm going for will determine my placement and color of the lighting. For ex., below I focused on the middle and eye area with a white light...

I was going for a Catherine Zeta-Jones, Morticia Addams vibe (idk if yall caught that or can see my vision lol)

SRWE

Youtube tutorial here and in-depth guide here. Now SRWE is my bestieee lol. For SRWE profiles, that depends on what your computer can handle. The in-depth guide I linked helps you configure what profile is for you. Typically for me I do 3600 x 4800, but depends what kind of shot I'm going for. You don't have to use this esp, if you have a top tier GPU and monitor... I'm in the process of upgrading my PC, so who knows if I'll still be using it.

GIMP or FACETUNE

Tutorial on GIMP and tutorial on FaceTune. GIMP is like a free version of photoshop and Facetune is a photo/video editing application. I use GIMP and Facetune is for the grain effect and sharpener. I will only use the grain effect if it fits the vibe I'm going for, yes I can turn on film grain in Gshade, but I don't like how it comes out in my photos. As for sharpener tool, I only add a touch of it on my pics and not every picture. When I say touch I mean literally lol, I don't like a lot where it gives it that weird drawing effect (???). Like I said, I use this occasionally depending on the mood. A new feature I've recently used on GIMP was the shadow and contrast tool. For ex. below you can see before and after. I darkened the background and added a bit of contrast for a more pop effect on my sim.

Before After

LIGHTING MODS

I use:

Northern Siberia Winds Gentle CAS and Even Better In-Game lighting mods.

Lummia's No Blu and No Glo.

Lotharihoe's Brighter Walls and Foundations, Cubemap Remover, and Out Of The Dark (Indoor Lighting Mod). Which can all be found here.

I don't have Softerhaze's lighting mods, my brain cannot process how to install it hahaha (all jokes aside if you know good youtube tutorial lmk, bc I'm a huge visual learner).

MAXIS LIGHTING

Yessss maxis lighting also plays a role (for me personally). We all know maxis lighting is kinda trash, but it also has its place in things. Depending on the theme/vibe I'm going for also determines the season and time in game. For ex. below these pictures were taken in summer at 6pm (in-game lol). That gave me the perfect lighting from the maxis side to compliment all the other components I use.

Alright, I think that's it. Sounds like a lot, but it's really not. This is just how I do it, so you will find your own groove and settings on how YOU like your pics. Hopefully that makes sense to you all, and if not shoot me a message through my WCIF/Ask button. :)

Like you, I am learning about all of this. I am by no means a tech whiz, I have to do a lot of research myself to understand things.

Have a lovely day or night ppl!!!

#asks #wcif #simblr #sims 4 #sims 4 edit #ts4 screenshots

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ominoose · 1 year

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𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐮𝐩 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭

Pairing: Blue Jones x Reader Blurb: Blue does your makeup for you since you suck at it apparently. Warnings: None, it's fluff. WC: O.6K

The vibrations of the music tickled your fingers as they laid splayed over the chairs worn leather armrests, muffled by the walls of the dressing room, yet still loud enough to be felt. Blue’s breath fanned across you face, humming along absentmindedly as his eyes traced over you intently, focused on each feature, each detail. He was so close you could see his nostrils flare softly with each breath.

Blue had been dissatisfied with your makeup skills for a while. At first he only quirked an eyebrow when he gave you a once over before your first performance. Then it escalated into a pointed look, then a sigh, a tensing of his sharp jaw and now this. He’d found you an hour before your set, one of the few shows on a slow Tuesday night and seated you in front of a vanity, turning the chair so your back was to the mirror as he leaned down and looked you over.

“I’ve had enough of you embarrassing me in front of customers because you use eyeliner like a fucking crayon.” He mutters bluntly, dark eyes flickering over your face one last time before turning towards the vanity, going through your supplies, the sound of plastic clattering across the wooden surface was the only noise besides the remnants of the club's music.

His hand pushes lightly on your forehead, tilting your head back to find a comfortable position to leer over you properly as he starts applying primer to you, dabbing it all over your face with a warm, rough thumb. Despite the usual ferocity of the man, and the way he held your chin firmly, his touch wasn't rough. It certainly wasn't light, but he applied everything to you with uncharacteristic gentleness you didn't often see from him.

Blue moved through the motions, more practiced than you'd have expected as he brushed foundation onto you, rubbing a light counter under your cheek bones. His dark eyes were intense as they kept on you, like a painter eyeing his muse. "Stop blinking." He snipped as he applied eyeshadow to your eyelids, the constant tapping of the brush to get off the excess powder was oddly soothing. You pouted, but shut your eyes as he commanded, resigning yourself to be his personal little barbie doll.

The way he tenderly dabbed glitter on with a single finger, the warm breathes that tickled at your nose when he got close and the way he held your chin so delicately had your skin erupting in goosebumps. Such a soft moment was quite off-brand for him, but as he dragged a creamy lipstick over your bottom lip, staring down at you with an almost fond look in his eyes, you yearned for more. Yearned to be treated like you were his frail little doll, something he didn't want to break.

"There. Don't you just look beautiful." He cooed, the usual cheshire grin curled at Blue's lips as he stood back from you, tilting his head to marvel at his work.

"If I had more time on my hand's I'd come baby you like this more often, but I'm going to trust you to learn how to do your makeup like a big girl and not look like a five year old that got into mommy's makeup bag." Blue spoke over his shoulder to you as he buttoned up his sparkly suit jacket, already dismissing you to run other business as he walked out of the room. He stopped once he got to the door, glancing back at you, a proud smirk on his face as he bit his lips and admired you before he finally left.

Maybe you could get away with messing your makeup up just a few more times.

#blue jones #blue jones x reader #suckerpunch #oscar isaac #sucker punch #omiwrites #this has been in my drafts for missions

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theholmwoodfoundation · 4 months

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ALT TEXT: A print out of an email from Arthur Jones to Maddie Townsend. Within the signatures from both recipients there is The Holmwood Foundation Logo. Black and White, a flower against a blood drop.

Messages read newest first, in email formatting style:

Hi Maddie!

The trip is going very well! I can’t say what we’ve found yet exactly, there will be an official email sent out - but it’s very promising. We’re going to be sending specimens back for testing in the next few days.I do hope everybody at the Westenra is being welcoming – including Jeremy. I did ask him to be nice, but I hold out no hopes.

It’s still going to be a while before I’m home. The Van Helsings have arranged a lot for Mr Harker and I to do whilst we’re in Europe. I promise I’ll bring you something nice back from Amsterdam!

Speak soon! Arthur x

From: Madeline Townsend (LWB) <[email protected]: Arthur F. Jones (LWB) [email protected] Subject: Emails

Hi Arthur,

After what feels like months, my emails are operational! I just wanted to let you know everything is going well here in Whitby.

How’s the Carpathians? Have you found anything interesting yet? I miss you!

Maddie

Madeline Townsend (She/Her) Archivist THE HOLMWOOD FOUNDATION Email: [email protected] The Lucy Westenra Building, Whitby, YO22 4JT

#the holmwood foundation podcast #arthur f jones #maddie townsend #jeremy larkin #the holmwood foundation #podcast #audio drama #audio fiction #fiction podcast #Extract #Foundation Emails #holmwood foundation emails

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anika-ann · 1 year

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Cracks in Foundation (S.R.)

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

Pairining: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 6000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His extraordinary dumbassery.

You really should have known so much better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You needed to get to work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tony-“

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

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

But you needed him to get out first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was frozen.

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

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

At least someone did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus, how long had he been standing there?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And neither would he.

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

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

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

Steve Rogers masterlist // Love on The Brain masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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ave09 · 1 year

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

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

promise

indiana jones x reader

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

“please, honey, please just rest.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

the man smiled, “and who is this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“oh no, please-“

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

you furrowed your brows, “dinner?”

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

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

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

and it was wonderful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you were most definitely falling for him.

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

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

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

what the hell?

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

your heart dropped.

“william?”

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

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

“i want to see her.”

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

“no?”

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

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

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

“who is this?”

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

“william, i think you should leave.”

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

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

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

“william, i swear, if you don’t-“

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

“oh he’s in your house now?”

“william-“

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

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

“wanna bet?”

you let out a gasp as indiana socked william

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

“indy-“

“what the hell dude!”

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

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

he loved you?

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

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

“are you okay?”

“you love me?”

he was silent, holding your gaze.

you asked again.

“you love me?”

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

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

“i’m sorry, was that-“

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

“anything.”

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

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

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