#it’s explained away as trauma from the crash. from loosing that much that quickly. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Note

If/when you are doing prompts: In terms of personality and/or timeline of events, what, if anything, would be different if LWJ was raised in a different sect?

The healers said it was trauma.

Perhaps he was too young, or too sensitive; perhaps it was only that it had happened in such a way, at such an impressionable time – in any event, Lan Wangji’s reactions to his mother’s death had gone well beyond the normal signs of grief and turned into something much more severe.

After some intense discussion, it was agreed that he should be temporarily sent to live as a guest in another sect to see if he would benefit from the change of scenery. From not being around the place where he was drowning in the memories of his mother.

For Lan Wangji, the first he became aware of this was when a small dog darted through his feet and a boy of approximately the same size, who was chasing after it, crashed straight into him.

“Are you Lan Zhan?” the boy asked, blinking at him. “I’m Jiang Cheng. Can you help me catch the dog? It’s important!”

Lan Wanji blinked back, the entire experience being incredibly unlike anything he’d ever encountered before, and nodded.

“Thanks!” Jiang Cheng said, exhaling with relief. “My dad says he’ll think about getting me my own dogs eventually, but only if I show that I can take care of one, so the neighbors have been letting me hang out with theirs except this time he got loose and –”

Lan Wangji didn’t say anything, but Jiang Cheng didn’t seem to mind, and together they were able to wrangle the dog back to its proper owner.

Later that day, Lan Wangji’s uncle came and told him that he would be staying with the Jiang sect for a little while, since it seemed like the heat was good for his health. Lan Wangji hugged his brother good-bye and nodded seriously when his brother made him promise to write him a letter every day, and that, it seemed, was that.

Lan Wangji didn’t really fit in at the Lotus Pier, but then again, he hadn’t really fit in much at the Cloud Recesses, either. He wasn’t noisy or boisterous the way most of the children there were – he didn’t even say a single word for the first six months, and even then he only broke his silence long enough to call Jiang Cheng an idiot, and he would maintain for the rest of his life that Jiang Cheng deserved it – but luckily it seemed like Jiang Cheng didn’t really fit in all that much either.

Sure, he was noisy and loud sometimes, and he certainly liked chattering, but he wasn’t very good at being spontaneous – he liked things that made sense, that happened in order, and by chance that was also what Lan Wangji liked. Jiang Cheng was sensitive, too, his emotions easily manipulated and often prickly, and that meant he needed to be protected, and Lan Wangji liked that, too: he was used to being the younger brother, but he found he was pretty fond of being an older one.

(He wrote to Lan Xichen every day, and had a visit with him for a week once every season, so that they only missed each other a little bit sometimes, and sometimes not even all that much given the age gap between them.)

When Lan Wangji had finally started really feeling comfortable, about two years in, he noticed that Jiang Cheng’s father was often missing, and the terrifying idea of another father that was always in seclusion panicked Lan Wangji into another bout of mutism for a month or two until Madame Yu finally figured out the problem and explained to him that Jiang Fengmian wasn’t going into seclusion, but rather travelling out and about through the world, looking for something.

She didn’t specify what that something was, and perhaps she should have; it would have made Wei Wuxian’s arrival a little less of a shock to the system.

Don’t get Lan Wangji wrong – he likes Wei Wuxian.

He likes Wei Wuxian an awful lot.

But he’s an outside, a guest, and that meant that he could be upset where Jiang Cheng couldn’t about having his dogs sent away, and that meant he could notice that Wei Wuxian got picked up as often as he liked while Jiang Cheng never was, and that meant he could see the way Jiang Fengmian praised Wei Wuxian for all the things he was good at and never said anything to Jiang Cheng anymore and how it made Jiang Cheng more and more desperate to be better than Wei Wuxian at something, anything, if only it meant that his father would pay attention to him again.

Lan Wangji still had his problems with speaking sometimes, especially when he was upset, and he was a guest. He could notice things, and be upset, but that didn’t mean he could say anything about it.

“You have to tell me what the problem is,” Wei Wuxian told him very seriously. They were all eleven by then; Wei Wuxian had been with them for two years, an endless joy that always drew out Lan Wangji’s previously rare smiles. “Your speaking problem’s been getting worse over the past few months, and they’re even talking about sending you back to Gusu – I don’t want you to have to go!”

Lan Wangji gestured helplessly. Jiang Cheng had been the one to think of learning a sign language to help when Lan Wangji couldn’t find words, all those years ago, and Wei Wuxian had taken to it like a fish to water, but being able to sign didn’t matter if the problem was Lan Wangji not being able to communicate.

It was all much too awkward.

“I promise not to tell anyone without your permission? I’ll believe whatever you say, and I won’t get angry, no matter what!”

That helped, that helped a great deal, but Lan Wangji still couldn’t do it, the words crowding in his mouth and sticking in his throat.

“Why don’t you try writing it all down?” Wei Wuxian suggested. He was always paying attention to Lan Wangji, attentive and trying to find the ways to make him happiest; Jiang Cheng liked to tease them that they’d get married one day when they got older, and honestly Lan Wangji rather liked the idea.

He wrote it all down and gave Wei Wuxian the letter, then signed, “You promised not to get angry.”

“I won’t,” Wei Wuxian promised, and read the letter. He frowned. “Lan Zhan – you don’t really think Uncle Jiang would do this, do you?”

Lan Wangji felt angry tears sting at his eyes. “You promised you’d believe me,” he signed, furious and betrayed, and ran away before Wei Wuxian could respond.

He found one of the old haunts that he and Jiang Cheng used to frequent before Wei Wuxian joined their little group and sulked there for a while, wondering if he could maybe petition Madame Yu to send him into seclusion for a few months – but no, that would only mean he wouldn’t see it happening, instead of actually taking steps to stop it, and they were cultivators, Lan and Jiang; they weren’t allowed to just turn a blind eye like that.

After a while, he went back to his room, and Wei Wuxian was waiting there.

“I believe you,” he blurted out when Lan Wangji stopped at the door, considering a retreat. “Please, Lan Zhan – just come inside and talk to me, okay? I thought it over after you left and – you’re right. Uncle Jiang is like that, and I only didn’t notice because I’m the one he’s being nice to, but you’re right and we can’t let him treat Jiang Cheng like that.”

Lan Wangji stepped inside and quickly shut the door, glaring at Wei Wuxian.

“You’re right,” Wei Wuxian said, nodding. “We can’t let Jiang Cheng know we’re trying to help; he’ll only get embarrassed.”

Lan Wangji’s shoulders relaxed. No one understood him better than Wei Wuxian, not even Jiang Cheng or Jiang Yanli – not even Lan Xichen, on his regular visits, and Lan Xichen knew everything about him.

“Wei Ying,” he said, and stopped there.

Wei Wuxian grinned at him. “Okay,” he said. “I have a few ideas…”

It wasn’t the first time they’d work together to solve something, and it wouldn’t be the last, either.

#mdzs #lan wangji #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #brasslizard

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sometimesiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

Steady As She Goes

Part 1

Fandom: The Witcher

Characters: Essi Daven/Lambert

Summary: Lambert begrudgingly insists on escorting Essi through Velen on her way to Novigrad. On their three days' journey, an unexpected bond is formed as the unlikely traveling companions encounter one another in new light. But will they get through unscathed?

Warnings: Lambert-typical language; pragmatic killing of a small animal (not a pet, for food); sexual assault (groping, not Lambert); reference to gore, head trauma; lethal self-defence; shock/trauma response, adrenaline crash; cliffhanger

A/N: A little while ago, I wrote a little letter to Lambert (you can read it here if you’re so inclined—mind the TW). I wanted to thank him, but more importantly, I wanted to offer him a place in my heart and my brain along with his brothers. This story started from a small prompt and has since turned into a 12+k proper-ass Story. This is part 1. Please join me in joyfully welcoming Lambert to the ranks with a wordcount he deserves with a character who has also become very dear to me.

MASTERLIST

@morethangeraskier

Essi eyed the back of her travelling companion with curiosity as they rode North toward Crow’s Perch: the tight swing of his hips still keeping tempo with his horse’s cadence; the sharp alertness at the nape of his neck as his eyes scanned their surroundings; the subtle forward tuck of his shoulders; and every muscle in his body fine-tuned and ready for action in the blink of an eye. Even his silence seemed to radiate a low buzz that tingled the air around him and made Essi wonder how many thoughts and calculations were crammed inside his head at once. She’d found it charming rather than off-putting how irritatedly he’d suggested accompanying her through Velen. There was a genuineness about his prickly outward demeanor—she felt like a detail worthy of practical consideration rather than a damsel on the road and she appreciated it. Better than most alternatives.

The fact was, Lambert had insisted. Not because she was attractive (yeah, yeah, big blue eyes, blonde hair, yadda-yadda, who cares), not because she seemed helpless (there was something keen behind those big blue eyes, and he’d known better than to ignore it), but because it seemed like the right thing to do. She’d explained she was an experienced traveller, knew the roads well, had good relationships with the innkeepers along the way. She would be fine, and didn’t want to take him out of his way.

“Sorry. Not happening. I’m coming with you.” Why? “Bandits.”

He would know. He’d spent the last few days doing nothing but clearing out Nekker nests and trashing bandit camps all over Velen, and the last thing he needed was the innocent blood of some wide-eyed woman-bard on his hands. “Back to fucking Novigrad,” he’d grumbled, turning his horse back North. He sighed heavily and waited for Essi to catch up, “Fuck me, I need a drink—alright, stay close on my tail for the next little while. We’re taking a shortcut.” As they rode, Lambert gave his new companion a rundown of “ The Rules”.

“No chit-chat, I’ve gotta keep focused, plus I don’t like excess noise. If I say ‘duck’ you duck. And I mean get the fuck down and stay silent. If I say run, run and don’t look back. I’ll find you later. Do your best not to panic or freeze up on me, I need you to listen carefully and do exactly as I say.”

Essi nodded earnestly beside him, her big blue eye fixed on his lips, taking in every word. He wasn’t used to actually being listened to. It was nice. A little off-putting the way she stared, but it was... nice.

On that topic, “One last thing,” he said, turning away to watch the road and check their sides, “Don’t get any ideas. I’m only doing this because no one deserves to die at the hands of heartless assholes except other heartless assholes. I am not Prince Charming, I am not a knight in shining armour, and I absolutely have no intentions of sweeping anyone off their feet. Capisce, bard?”

Essi smiled elusively, turning her own eyes back to the road. “Good. I’m no princess or damsel, and I’m hardly looking to be swept off my feet. As far as I’m concerned, we’re merely travelling in the same direction at the same pace.”

An agreeable grunt from Lambert signalled the end of the conversation and the beginning of “quiet time” which Essi did her best to honour. It was difficult at first. The poet was accustomed to conversation with strangers she met on the road—where they were headed, where they were coming from, how their journey had been. But Lambert was a witcher. Her usual litany of questions were either already answered or were none of her business to be asking in the first place. She was more or less quite content to travel in silence on an average day. But this was not an average day and her mind was bursting with curiosity, which made for a restless start to their journey.

“What’s your horse’s name?” Essi finally asked as they stopped briefly at a stream for water. She decided it was an innocent enough question with a short enough answer to risk breaking the rules.

Lambert gave her a disapproving look, a scolding reminder about ‘no chit-chat’ perched on the tip of his tongue. To her credit, she'd surpassed Lambert’s expectations for what he’d learned to expect from bards in the category of Not Talking. She’d only hummed a little and only then when she was lost in thought, large blue eye staring into the distance. She was an odd one, this woman, with her deep eyes that blinked too slowly sometimes. But his medallion was still and he didn’t have that gut feeling that usually told him when something was off. It was a harmless enough question, anyway…

“Royal,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Never met a noble that wasn’t a horse’s ass.”

Essi let out snicker, flashing her pearly teeth with an open grin. He was abrasive, sure, this witcher, but he was quickly proving himself to be animated and clever. She also believed him to be kind, despite his best efforts to prove otherwise. Whether or not Essi would earn a glimpse of his full capacity remained to be seen, but regardless she found his particular brand of panache refreshing.

"Yours?" he asked with a nod back at the small Icelandic gelding currently occupied with nibbling at some honeysuckle.

"Ginger," Essi replied, kneeling to take her turn at the stream, refilling her waterskin and drinking from her cupped hands. She stared at her saddlebag. “Wait here,” she said, striding to her horse and extracting a bundle of fabric.

“Whoa, hey, where’re you going?”

“It’s alright, I’ll only be a minute,” she assured him as she headed for a thicket.

“Nuh-uh, can’t let you just wander off and get yourself killed before we even reach the first signpost. What’s the plan, Goldilocks?”

“I’m just…”

“Just…?” Lambert gestured impatiently.

Essi squared her shoulders to him, “Going to change my dress. It’s too hot, and I would like to feel Just Right.”

Her sharp-witted comeback earned her a raised eyebrow. It was rather warm, the witcher had to admit. Early summer’s heat glared down with the midday sun, tempered only by an occasional cool breeze from the West. Lambert himself had pulled off his gauntlets, opened his jerkin, and tied a damp kerchief around his neck—witchers were less susceptible to heat stroke or hypothermia, but they were no less vulnerable to discomfort. It was only fair to allot his companion the same opportunity.

Lambert did a quick sweep of the area. Looks fine, sounds fine, smells fine… “Fine. Three minutes.”

He stood guard in front of the only gap in the dense bushes and waited for the sounds of rustling fabric to subside. After two and a half minutes, Essi emerged, hitching up her linen sleeves. She returned her former dress to her saddlebag and extracted two slender, ornately-carved whale bone sticks which she used to scoop her long, thick hair off the back of her neck and secure it in a twist.

Essi squatted back down beside the little brook and let the cool water trace over the tender undersides of her wrists, cooling her veins and refreshing her as the breeze fluttered the light fabric against her skin. Much better, she thought, glancing up at Lambert. This new garment was more loosely-fitting, he noticed, save for the cinch that tied around her waist.

She looked nice—comfortable. She looked comfortable. The dress looked comfortable.

Essi smiled up at Lambert as she stood, pressing her damp hands to the sides of her neck and ooooh it felt nice. She thought she caught the smallest hint of a smile as the breeze wafted a bit of honeysuckle their way. He still looked tired, but he seemed lighter. Something new had come into his rugged, sun-tanned face. Boyish, maybe?

“Better?” Lambert asked. He barely waited for her to answer before he continued, “Let’s get moving, I want to make tracks before we lose our light.” Essi mounted without protest and they were on their way again, quietly riding single-file until they reached an acceptable spot to settle down for the night. Lambert left the travelling poet to make camp while he hunted for some dinner. Essi went about setting things up. She dug a small fire pit with a trowel she kept on hand, gathered kindling, and stacked it neatly to the side where it could be easily reached. Finally, she dragged two logs from the underbrush and placed them on either side of the small hole. It was, perhaps, a little domestic, but the witcher still seemed tired, and he was going out of his way to give her a safe escort through dangerous territory. She’d wondered earlier about offering him some coin for his trouble, especially seeing as he was doubling back and wouldn’t have any opportunity for new contracts. Then again, she’d thought, perhaps that might insult him, make him feel like a hired bodyguard. In the end, the very least she could do was help make the experience a little nicer. She could ask about payment when they arrived in Novigrad.

A loud whistle caught Essi’s attention and she turned to find Lambert approaching with what looked like a squirming ball of fur. Upon closer inspection, it was a rather fat grey squirrel. “Dinner,” Lambert announced, looking pleased with himself. He held the creature toward her, “Care to do the honours?” He waggled his eyebrows facetiously. The witcher had always prided himself on his capacity to read people, to pick up on the little things that others might miss, second-guess, or excuse away. So far, after nearly five hours on the road with Essi Daven, Lambert still couldn’t get a clear read on her, and he decided (for whatever reason) the quickest way was to hand her a small animal.

Essi looked down at the wriggling creature cupped in Lambert’s hand, her eyes devoid of any specific expression. The poet could have been feeling anything: shock and horror, stony rage, remorse, awe… casual hesitation. In fact, the only feeling that wasn’t in the running was glee, and while Lambert hadn’t expected it in the first place, it was still a relief to know he wasn’t sharing his camp with a psychopath. But what was she going to do with it, this wide-eyed, innocent-faced, prim young traveler? Probably some tree-hugger shit like let it go.

Essi lowered her eyes to the wriggling rodent. It had been a while since she’d had to procure a live meal. She could have declined, easily, graciously, and her witcher companion would probably have shrugged and thought ‘no surprise there’. But she knew a schoolboy’s smart-assery when she saw it—the audacious victory behind his bright citrine eyes told her everything she needed to know about what he was expecting from this brief-but-loaded exchange. A shriek, a gasp in horror, perhaps a distressed stomp of her feet and fitful shake of her gilded head?

Essi reached a slow, dainty hand towards the squirrel, enveloping the soft, furry body as Lambert mentally prepared himself to go set another snare. There was no way this bard would ever be the type to—

Crunch.

—Lambert’s face went slack as the now-very-limp squirrel was handed back to him.

“I wouldn’t’ve thought a witcher would be so squeamish,” Essi remarked, casually wiping her hands on her skirt. Lambert said nothing but stared at her with a look of defeated befuddlement. She fired again, her sweet, melodic voice dripping with offhanded superiority, “Was that all? Or do you need me to clean it, too?” She blinked blankly once again as Lambert gaped, even less sure what to make of the young woman who had just snapped a rodent’s neck.

“No,” he answered petulantly. “I can do it.” He pulled his buck knife from its sheath on his thigh and went about his business. He was quiet and brief with her for the rest of the evening, and she was beginning to feel her own irritation mount. She had half a mind to bite back the next time he snapped at her for asking a simple question. Though, she admitted, he didn’t seem the type to back down easily. If she prodded at him, he might decide to leave her, and they were on a different route, completely unfamiliar to her. She’d be as good bear food without his directions.

No, she decided, it was best not to go digging and let whatever it was that was eating at him subside on its own. With no assurance of peaceful conversation and nothing but the crackling of their small fire to drown out the distant howls of wolves, Essi asked if she could play quietly on her lute—not too loudly, she promised, remembering what all she knew about a witcher’s senses, how sensitive they are. She’d asked in her usual straightforward way, her big blue eyes blinking slowly at him from across the fire. A simple request, and one that he couldn’t very well deny at the risk of being a Grade A Jackass.

Ordinarily, he would have jumped at the opportunity to claim that title, but Essi didn’t deserve that. Stranger or no, she’d been quiet and courteous, and had shown herself to be witty and good-humoured to boot, laughing at even his crassest jokes. So what could he do but bob his head from side to side and relent, reserving the right to end it if he deemed it necessary. He’d met enough bards in his time to know that his and their definitions of “quietly” were rarely on the same page of the dictionary.

But Essi kept her word, and took up a slow, gentle melody that drifted airily through the fading twilight. The witcher might even have called it pleasant, as the dusky grey shifted to darker and darker shades of nighttime. Lambert took out his whetstone and, after a few strokes along his dulled steel blade, found his mind wandering. The poet’s voice was captivating without demanding attention—sometimes clear and bright, but never piercing or imposing; occasionally breathy, but always expressive. His eye drifted to the instrument in her hands, no longer content to merely hear the music, but wanting to watch its creation. The taut catgut strings pressed divots into thick calluses on her left hand as she fingered the fretboard, her hands flexing no differently than if she were playing at full volume. But how was she strumming so quietly? Shit, gotta keep focused. Stay on task. The whetstone once again returned to steel as Lambert pulled his mind back from its daze.

It wasn’t long before curiosity got the better of him and he glanced back to the instrument cradled against the musician’s midriff. It looked delicate. Like something that could shatter if he held it wrong. Glancing to the hand nearest him, he could now see she was using the soft pad of her thumb to strum rather than her fingernails, which were long and carefully-shaped; well-honed in that sense, Lambert mused. He’d never paid attention to a musician this closely. They always drew crowds in the cities and experience had taught him that performers on the road were just as likely to pick a man’s pocket as they were to put on a show. But this was different. Essi wasn’t performing—on the contrary, she almost seemed to be in some kind of trance. She wasn’t even looking at her hands most of the time, and from the lyrics, Lambert began to wonder whether she was making it up as she went along. It was impressive, the way she knew her instrument so well. Despite his previous feelings of irritation at having had his ass handed to him, he couldn’t deny skill when he saw it, and Essi was clearly a master of her craft.

The whetstone had been silent for close to a full verse when Essi looked up, wondering if perhaps the witcher was growing tired of the noise. She found Lambert closely examining the hone of his blade, and so, thinking nothing of it, went back to her playing. It took him longer than usual to sharpen his swords. Longer still to replenish his potions and oils. He should’ve made quick work of it. Would have, too, if it wasn’t for the fact that he found the music so… pleasant. It was difficult to meditate. Not because he couldn’t relax, but because he didn’t want to stop listening. He just—there was something about… It didn’t matter. It wasn’t important. Get the shit together for tomorrow, go to bed, get up, and hope you don’t have any trouble on the road.

Lambert laid out his bed roll and the music silenced abruptly. “Oh, are you turning in? I’ll stop now,” Essi gently lay down her lute next to her saddle bags and started to get her own sleeping mat. It was thin, Lambert noticed, as he watched her set up. His long, tired body stretched out, hands beneath his head, as he stared up through the dense oak canopy above them.

“Thank you,” Essi said, now standing by his head.

Lambert craned his neck to try and see her properly and resorted to propping up on an elbow. “Yeah? What for?”

“For finding us food and for letting me play a little,” she said with that same matter-of-factness that made Lambert feel both comfortable and uneasy.

“Yeah, well,” Lambert flopped back down on his bedroll, “Don’t worry about it. Get some sleep, we gotta keep moving in the morning. I don’t want to be out here longer than we have to.” He waved a dismissive hand in Essi’s direction, and she took that as her cue to leave him alone and be quiet.

“Goodnight, Lambert,” she murmured softly before turning and crossing back to the other side of the fire. She settled under her blankets and, after some drawn-out negotiations with a few poorly-located lumps in the ground, she was able to lie still and close her eyes. The insides of her eyelids flickered orange with the fire as it danced beside her. Before sleep took her, she heard a muffled voice from across the flames.

“G’night, Essi.” ---- Essi rose early, but not early enough for her travelling companion. The fire had already been doused and buried, and Lambert’s things were all neatly packed away and ready to be loaded onto Royal. Both horses were still hitched, and sleepily nibbling on some dewy crabgrass as the grey mists of early morning lingered. The sun hadn’t risen high enough yet to burn away the moisture, and Essi bundled her blanket around her shoulders against the chill. Lambert, she presumed, was off doing something witcher-y—taking a leak more like, she wagered as her own bladder complained. The moment he returned, Essi shot up from her log and headed into the trees.

“Just where do you think yo—”

“I have to piss!” she called back over her shoulder as she traipsed into the dense wood.

“Heh, good morning to you, too!” Lambert scrubbed his hand through his scruffy brown hair and ambled back to the fireside to begin packing and saddling the horse. When he arrived, he saw Essi’s things were also neatly packed away and stacked by her own mount. He offered a brief nod of approval before stowing his things, making quick work of the well-practiced process. By the time Essi returned, not only was Royal fully-prepared and Lambert armed and armoured, but Ginger was also mostly packed with the exception of one bag and the lute, which was cradled in the witcher’s hands as he crouched near the ground. She paused a little distance away and waited, observing as she listened to the faint sound of strings being delicately plucked.

Lambert looked up, embarrassed. “I uh… sorry.”

“What for?”

Lambert stood carefully as Essi approached and dropped his gaze, holding out the fragile instrument for it to be angrily snatched back. The musician paused for a moment, observing this gesture of cowed humility. It was a habit, she suspected, born from decades of harsh punishment without explanation, frivolous harm without justification. Essi could sense the shame as it rolled off his shoulders, the prickly-heat of defense building under his skin. She took the lute and a swell of sadness washed through at the stark evidence of the world’s cruelty—that a man should be ashamed for a little harmless curiosity only told one story: pleasure’s not for you.

Lambert looked up to find Essi still standing there, staring at the lute in her hands. “Did… did I…?” he pointed to the instrument.

“No,” she smiled softly, “not at all. And I’m not bothered that you looked at it. If you like, you can look at it again. I can even show you a chord or two?”

“Ah,” the witcher scratched the top of his head, “that’s okay. It’s, uh… I mean it seems like it’s good—well-made. Never seen one up-close like that.” There was a lull in conversation as Lambert ran out of things to say. But Essi just stood where she was, smiling her little enigmatic smile and blinking at him. He turned back to the horses, and motioned for Essi to do the same, “I, um, packed up your stuff, well most of it.”

Essi took the hint and followed suit, strapping the few remaining things to Ginger before mounting. After a brief survey of the area to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything, the two were off, Essi following behind as Lambert continued on his shortcut through what mainly seemed to be wilderness for the first several miles. They finally emerged at a small footpath, though, and Essi finally got her bearings. They were back in familiar territory, at least for the time being, and it was proving to be a beautiful morning. Even Lambert seemed to be in a better mood, offering her things to eat along the way, and even starting his own little snippets of conversation.

It was an hour or so after midday that Lambert’s ears pricked at the sound of hooves in the distance. Could be soldiers, could be travellers… could be bandits. After a few minutes, they seemed to fade, and the witcher relaxed a little as the path took them into a wooded area by yet another stream, though this one was deep and flowing quickly. Better keep my ears sharp, Lambert thought as they rode along. Water’s too loud. Can’t hear for shit. They stopped next to the water to stretch their legs and replenish their drinking vessels again. The rest of the journey would take them mostly through high ground without much shade, and swampland. Any water they wanted to have with them, it was now or never until they reached Novigrad the next day.

Lambert relieved himself against a nearby tree while Essi washed her face and, having determined the coast was clear, gave her the go-ahead to have a squat in the underbrush. He was still on the alert. It wasn’t a high-traffic area, so in theory bandits would be less interested in diverting from the main road. On the other hand, a less-trafficked area meant less chance of a hideout being discovered. But it smelled okay, although the wind was coming across the water. And it sounded okay, although the water was so damn loud. And things looked okay, aside from the fact that there was only so far even a witcher could see without trees getting in the way.

A twig snapped in the woods behind him and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled, his hand mechanically finding the grip of his steel sword. He chanced a glance back into the woods—Fuck it, what’s the point of modesty if you’re dead? Another twig, this time from another location beyond the line of trees. There was a flash of golden hair as Essi finished her business and stood up, straightening her skirt. She turned to Lambert, ready to scold him for looking until she saw his hand on his sword. Somewhere in the near-distance, a horse whickered. The witcher lifted his finger to his lips and the poet stood stock-still, her hand slowly reaching for the small dagger at her waist as her heart beat heavily in her chest. Something rustled to Lambert’s left, and he turned, stepping quietly as he stalked in the general direction of the sound. It wasn’t wolves or Endregas, they were too high for Drowners, too woodsy for Nekkers.

Essi watched with interest as the witcher’s body went on full alert, his senses sharpening, his posture shifting, muscles coiling to accommodate any number of reflexes. She scanned the trees in front of them then looked back out to the road, marking the location of her horse in the event Lambert told her to run. A large horse came to a standstill beyond the edge of the woods somewhere and Lambert froze, listening carefully for sounds of footfalls or rustling clothing.The gears started to click a little faster as Lambert entertained the possibility they were being surrounded. He flicked his left hand at Essi in the direction of the road: get out of the woods. Quietly. Without a second thought, she began to carefully make her way back to the road as silently as she could, Lambert following, his eyes still searching.

Just as Essi’s feet met the smooth dirt path, a beefy arm wrapped tightly around her waist. But the brute was foolish enough not to cover her mouth first, and Essi let loose a loud, powerful scream that a witcher would have heard at least a mile away. Lambert abandoned his methodical retreat from the woods and came crashing onto the path, fixing his eye dangerously on his target as he circled his sword around his wrist. The witcher felt a rush of angry heat flare under his skin at the sight of Essi kicking and clawing in the bandit’s sweaty grip. He was large, reeked of booze and the funk of cured meat. Essi fought the urge to gag at the stench of his clothes as she did her best to keep her mind sharp, or else risk becoming collateral damage. Her best bet: keep her eyes on Lambert.

“Hands off the bard and you might keep your head,” the witcher barked as he approached. “Can’t make any promises about your other appendages, though.” He wanted to lunge, run him through, gut him and leave him to the wargs... but it was too risky. He was holding Essi too tightly, and there was no guarantee he wouldn’t snap her neck if Lambert took a wrong step. To make matters worse, the trees were full of footsteps. Eight, maybe ten men. Hmmm.

“Oh-ho-ho, look what we got, lads!” the bandit called to his approaching comrades as they began to filter out from the woods. “Your plaything still any good, witcher? Or have you ruined the fun for the rest of us?” The man grasped roughly at Essi’s breasts and Lambert felt his stomach drop as her eyes met his. He knew the look that was waiting for him behind those eyes, that broken terrified look of “I trusted you.” But the look never came. Those big beautiful blue eyes were steely and determined in spite of the fear he knew was churning in the background and he felt a thrill of triumph. Essi was still with him in whatever this was about to turn into. Not only that, she was thinking something, devising a plan. Lambert hoped to Gods it wasn’t something stupid. What is it, Essi? What are you thinking?

As if in answer to his question, Essi tilted her head, seductively baring her neck to her aggressor as Lambert’s options quickly decreased, the other bandits starting to close in, clearly in no rush, confident that they could easily take one man even if he did have two swords on his back and eyes like a cat. Sure boys, that’s going to go real well for you. He did a quick circle, taking stock of their exact locations before turning back to Essi, watching carefully as her hand traced up the outside of the bandit’s right leg. Yes, Essi, come on, come on, come on…

The man rasped something foul in her ear, but all she could hear was the sound of her ears ringing and her own heart beating out of her chest as she did her best to focus on the task at hand. She barely knew what she was doing, but the witcher was watching her every move intently, and that somehow made whatever she was about to do feel possible. She felt her thumb brush the cool handle of her dagger, and Lambert nodded almost imperceptibly. Do it.

With a swift, fluid movement, she plunged the short blade into the man’s side and he roared in pain as his compatriots mulled around in confusion, their fisstech-addled minds still catching up. Lambert took the opportunity and sliced through the three nearest him with swift, clean strokes, focusing back in on Essi just in time to see her take a right hook to the face. She fell to the ground and blinked heavily, her vision blurry and head spinning. Her fingers found a large rock as a pair of meaty hands grabbed her legs, pulling her across the rough dirt road. She scrambled and turned, bringing the heavy rock squarely to the side of the man’s head with a sickening crack. He fell limply to the ground as the poet found her way to shaky legs, the makeshift weapon falling limply from her hand.

From out of the chaos of grunts and screams and clanging weapons, Essi heard her name, “GET OUT, GO, GO!” It was Lambert. Without a second thought she stumbled the short distance to Ginger and mounted, bolting across the river and holding on for dear life. She rode until the horse slowed, until she wasn’t sure where she was or whether the river she’d stopped beside was the same river or a different one. Essi dismounted and only then noticed that her hands were shaking. Interesting, she thought, as she was overcome with trembling and heaving sobs. I suppose this is what they mean when they say ‘fear catches us later’. She sat on a boulder and listened to the clear water, waiting for Lambert to find her.

#Essi Daven/Lambert #Lambert/Essi #rarepair #thank you Lambert #and I'm sorry #more to come!#Stay tuned #The witcher #Lambert #Essi Daven #Bardcore: dark mode

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years ago

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innocence - 12

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, anxiety, ptsd, trauma, angst

A/N: i do know i was supposed to post this yesterday but i got lost doing a bit of cleaning around my room so here it is a bit late. hope you enjoy it! let me know what you think, much love xx

NEXT CHAPTER

Y/N liked the dark of the night, it brought her comfort. She could never explain why but the ambience of the dark night only disturbed by the glittering lights of the tea light candle on a heart cut glass which flashed little heart shaped golden flecks of light onto the wall. The TV volume was low, playing When Harry Met Sally which Bucky had insisted to watch after confessing he had never seen it, yet he was not the slightest bit interested in the movie. She, however, was. Cuddled in chunky yarn ticket blanket, oversized sweater pushed up to her chin and eyes glued onto one of her favourite romantic movies. Bucky was more interested in how she was curled against him, head laying on the side of his torso. She looked adorable with her shiny eyes in the romantic comedy and maybe Bucky would’ve shown some interest if he was watching the movie with Steve or Sam but whenever she was close by, he didn’t want to look at anything else but her. In all honesty, he didn’t think he ever wanted to look at anything else after h saw her. He’d be happy to protect her, as long as he could look at her. As long as he could look at her, he’d be happy.

He remembered the goggles they made him wear, it distorted his view, it made everything clearer yet somehow darker. He could never see people’s faces, he could never see their expressions but he could hear them scream, he could hear them telling him to stop and he wanted to stop, he really did, but he couldn’t. He was a bad person, he was a terrible person.

- James? - her voice dripping with worry cut through his thoughts. - Are you okay? You look spaced out.

- Yeah. - her hand escaped its blanket confinements to hold his hand. - Just tired.

- You can spend the night if you want. The couch doubles as a bed and I have some extra blankets. - she moved around from her place so she could sit straight. Bucky wanted to say no, he really did. He probably knew Steve was going to freak out at the idea of him not returning, he could do something to hurt her and he just didn’t want to risk it. However, looking into her hopeful eyes which held nothing but love and sympathy for him as if he had never caused anyone harm ... as if he wasn’t a monster, as if he wasn’t someone, or rather something, people should fear, knocked all his defences down. He wondered if it was a perk or a flaw to be that forgiving, to be able to look past the past, specially in an industry like hers. He wondered how long it would take to harden her and he wondered how long it would take for her to become a cynic. Most importantly, he wondered if he could protect her from that. - If you want you can take my bedroom, I can sleep in the couch.

- I can sleep in the couch, princess. - he sighed, smiling at her sleepy form who had begging eyes and a little sleepy smile. - You’re awfully good at persuasion.

- I was Capitan of the debate club. - she perked up, excited about the compliment. Bucky wondered what else he could do with that, knowing she liked to be complimented. She deserved to be complimented. - I’m very persuasive.

- No, princess. It’s those doe eyes. - he pointed at her eyes, little smile on his lips. - Saying no to you is like shooting Bambi. You have a very weird soft kind of persuasion.

- Thank you. - she smiled, pushing her blanket away to get up. - I’ll go grab you some blankets. Do you want fuzzy ones?

- I don’t need blankets.

- Yes, you do. - before he could tell her again that he didn’t need blankets, she was already rushing to a little closet nearby the door of her room. She opened it with her foot before placing herself on her tip toes to grab some blankets she had folded and put away. Her arms could barely wrap around the thick winter bedding and Bucky found it amusing how she started to waddle around with them before dropping them on the coach. - I’ll get you some pillows.

- You have pillows on your couch.

- They’re decorative pillows, Bucky. You don’t sleep on them, you decorate with them.

- Y/N ... - he wrapped her hands around her waist, pushing her to the couch as she got ready to go grab some pillows. - This is fine, princess. You don’t need to accommodate me.

- You’re my guest. It’s common manners, Bucky. - she tried to snake away from his grip but Bucky was much too strong and she had never been very good at leaving holds. - Let me grab you a pillow.

- No.

- Let me help you make the bed then. - she pulled onto his arm so she could raise her head to look at him.

- If it makes you happy. - his grip softened on her waist allowing her to escape him and get back on her feet. He let out a mindless little smile, raising from the couch along with the blanket.

Y/N quickly got to work, leaning to pull at the bottom of the couch which unfolded down onto a quite big bed. He tried to help but she shushed him away, placing the sheets in a way which would make a five star hotel jealous. Bucky couldn’t help but pick onto how much love and attention she seemed to lay onto every single motion she did. It was feather like, like the movements of a ballerina, so light, so soft, hypnotising even.

- There. - she pointed to the bed happily. - A nice comfortable bed for the night. Are you sure you don’t need some pillows?

- I’m sure. - he walked over to her side. - Wanna watch a movie?

- Sure. What do you wanna watch? - she jumped onto the bed, remote in hand as she wrapped herself back with her blanket. Bucky sat down on her left, lifting his legs to rest over the comfortable, now extended couch.

- You can pick.

- I have terrible taste in movies. You pick.

- You’re an actress.

- So? Cliché and chick-flicks make me happy and I don’t think you wanna watch any of those.

- Sure, I do.

- You big liar.

They two of them weren’t sure what movie it ended up being picked, maybe some preview just played on a loop but it didn’t matter because in less than half hour the two of them had fallen asleep.

Bucky disliked falling asleep, it always felt like falling. Falling reminded him of falling from the train. He could never exactly explain it, not to Steve, not to his therapist yet it wasn’t like he wanted to. It was an indescribably feeling; when you’re a child and you feel like falling you known warmth is gonna be at the end, you know someone is gonna catch you but no one caught him, there was no warmth. There was only cold. He could still feel his bone break, looking down at his arm to see half of it was gone. He remembered looking up at the skies, waiting for death to take him as the snowflakes fell onto his face. Bucky thought that was the worse, he thought that was the worse which could happen until they dragged him, dragged him through the snow. Whatever was left of his arm was chopped off, he felt it all, he felt it all through a numb-like status of mind and once he regained consciousness he rose his arm to see the metal arm.

- Buck? - she could feel him move and hear him whimper. It had woken her up and it was breaking her heart so she decided the best was to wait him up. She poked his arm once more yet when she tried to shake him, he topped over her, metal hand going straight for her neck, eyes wide open. It just hoovered there, over her neck, no grip but there was a look of pure fright on his eyes. Disbelief. - Bucky?

He immediately got off her, looking around before starting to walk quickly away from her. Bucky pushed the door open which sounded alarm bells in her mind. She tried calling out to him again but he ignored, leaving her home. Y/N rushed off her bed and followed him, not caring if she was in her pyjamas in the hallway.

- Bucky, stop! - she asked him, rushing after him. Bucky, however, kept walking away, pushing the door which led to the staircase open and expecting her to tire herself out but she didn’t. Y/N kept running after him, going down the stairs until she finally caught up to him. Her small hand grabbed his much larger arm. - Bucky!

- I need to go.

- No. - she said, calmly, hand over her chest to regain her breathing. She placed her hands on top of his shoulders, pushing him from a hug. Her head tucked in the space between his shoulder and neck feeling how tense he was. He was never this tense around her. - You need to go back to bed.

- Y/N.

- No. - she rose her head to stare at him. She sighed before leaning in to kiss him, giving him a soft, dragging kiss. - You need to rest.

She turned around, hand lowering to hold his before climbing up the stairs back to her floor. Her door was still open and she led him in, closing the door with her foot. She continued to walk through her apartment until she stopped at her bedroom.

- You’re okay. - her hand caressed her cheek. - You’re okay.

He wanted to believe her, he really wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe he was okay but he was not. He was still damaged, held together by tape which was losing its glue and it was only a matter of time until it broke loose and the pieces fell back into the shattered mess. Bucky was not okay but she was persistant and as she laid him down, he almost believed he was okay. Her thumb caressed his face while her other hand was firm against his chest. He didn’t want to fall asleep, he didn’t want to hurt her but his body didn’t agree with him and her soft touch lulled him to sleep.

The morning came with a crash, he woke up earlier than her, feeling her close to him, tucked under his chin. He pulled away softly not wanting to wake her up. He didn’t even know what to say to her and so he left, closing the door on his way out. Steve was probably freaking out at the tower and he didn’t want to have to deal with the after mat of almost chocking her. He reached the tower and most were still asleep except for Steve. Here we go again.

- We were worried. - he started.

- You don’t need to say “we”, Steve. I know it was you who was worried.

- Where were you? You were out the whole night, I tried calling you.

- My phone was dead, I stayed over at Y/N’s for the night.

- Y/N’s? - he raised an eyebrow. - You didn’t, Buck ...

- I didn’t fuck her if that’s what you’re so worried about. She just asked if I wanted to stay and it seemed like the better idea.

- Buck ... - Steve sighed. It was a hard conversation to have, one that he definitely didn’t want to have but he had to, he had to had this conversation either he wanted it or not. - We need to talk about Y/N.

- I don’t wanna talk about it.

- But we need to talk about it. You just ... The therapist and I think it’s not a good idea to get into a relationship. You still have some work to do until you’re ready to be in a relationship specially with someone who is not in our world and doesn’t understand that you’re still ... having some issues.

- I know.

- Maybe in a few years, after you’ve worked through every ...

- I KNOW! - he screamed at him before leaving Steve speechless in the kitchen.

He didn’t want to talk, he didn’t want to hear Steve but most importantly, he didn’t want to think of her waking up alone in a cold bed.

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @nsfwsebbie @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @buckyandsebastian @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @tonystankschild @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverrated @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi @emzd34 @writerwrites @bluevxnus @that-girl-named-alex @captnrogers

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ratonnhhaketon · 4 years ago

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Still Breathing

Read on Ao3 | Previous | Next

Summary: Six months after the defeat of Thanos, the world is still in chaos. The threat of the Flag Smashers combined with the new headstrong Captain America means it’s time for Valencia Zicari to help save the world one more time. But, in doing so, she also has to pick up the pieces of a broken relationship.

Warnings: Major TFATWS spoilers, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, Slow-Burn

A/N: Original character backstory reveal time!! Sorry this took longer than anticipated, I planned on having weekly updates for this fic, but I’m trying to finish up this year of college and my classes have been draining me of any motivation. Hopefully I’ll be able to update quicker in 2 weeks when I’m finished. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter and as always if you have any questions or comments about my oc or the story feel free to send them my way! Feedback is always accepted and appreciated!

Chapter 2 - So We Meet Again

The entire way to Berlin, Valencia just felt off. Going to see Zemo, after everything he did to tear apart the only family she had left, just did not sit right with her at all. Especially when she considered everything he put Bucky through. Her mind was preoccupied as they walked through the facility, her body on autopilot as it followed closely behind Sam and Bucky. She didn’t realize they had stopped following the guard that was escorting them until a gloved hand rested on her shoulder, her confused gaze snapping up to meet a set of icy blue eyes.

“D’ya hear me, doll? I’m gonna go in alone.”

Valencia’s eyes widened in horror at his words. “What? Like hell you are!”

Bucky’s eyes moved from Val to Sam. “Both of you are Avengers. You know how he feels about that.”

Sam rolled his eyes at his words, his hands settling on his hips as his patience grew thin. “Buck, it's not like you two were known for frolickin' in the sun together.”

The super soldier held back his own eye roll at his words. “He was obsessed with HYDRA,” he spoke in a firm tone, his voice dropping with the last word. Bucky looked between the two people in front of him and noticed how Valencia was practically staring him down.

She spoke up in a monotone voice, “This is an absolutely horrible idea.”

“Look, we have a history together. Trust me. I got it.” As he turned to leave Valencia reached a hand towards him, catching his wrist. He immediately stopped and turned back to look at her.

“Bucky, just.. Be careful. Please,” she spoke in a small voice. Her eyes were pleading with him just as much as her words.

“I always am.” He shot her a small smile as he turned back around, walking down the hall towards Zemo’s cell. She felt her heart sink watching him walk off.

Valencia leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest and a defeated sigh slipping past her lips. Sam copied her body language on the wall across from her. “So what’s going on with you two?”

Her brows furrowed together. “What?”

“I know you two aren’t still together but you seemed real friendly back at the police station.” The corner of his lips turned up as he spoke.

“Oh, my god,” she rolled her eyes at him. “I haven’t seen my boy-” she stopped mid word, mentally cursing herself, “best friend in almost a month and suddenly I’m not allowed to hug him? Especially when I thought he was going to be imprisoned?”

Sam put his hands up in surrender. “All I’m saying is that it looked like more than just a friendly hug.”

“Even if it was, we’re still broken up.” Her foot nudged a small clump of dust on the ground. “Besides, I know he’s been trying to move on.”

He let out a chuckle. “Oh I call bullshit on that.”

“I’m serious! He’s been going on dates. His friend Yori set him up with a waitress a few days ago.”

Sam sighed, pursing his lips and shaking his head to the side in frustration. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Val. His feelings haven’t changed.”

“I just..” she huffed. Her teeth chewed on her bottom lip as her mind worked to string her thoughts into a coherent sentence. “I’m worried. He called me the other night. At three in the morning. Which means his nightmares are coming back and I just hope to god it isn’t about what I think it is.”

“Have you thought about taking a break from work and going down to see him?” She stared at him, her jaw tightening as she held back. It was obvious where he was going with this. “He needs you, Val. Now more than ever.”

That one sentence was enough to send her over the edge. She pushed off the wall and stared at the man across from her, tears starting to blur the edges of her vision. “Do you think I don’t want to be there for him? That I want him to suffer through his trauma in silence?” With each word her voice rose until she was practically yelling. “When Steve left I made him a promise that I would be there for Bucky to help him recover. And I was, for so long. I made sure he went to his therapy appointments and was working on his list. But I can’t exactly do that anymore when he was the one to push me away!” Her chest heaved, hot tears running down her cheeks.

“Val, I’m sorry.” Sam stood up, crossing the space between them and planting both hands on her shoulders. Her figure shook gently from the bottled up emotions leaving her all at once.

“I don’t even care about what happened with The Winter Soldier anymore. I wasn’t even a year old, it barely matters now.” she sniffed, looking up to catch Sam’s gaze. “I just want to make Steve proud. And I thought that letting Bucky push me away was what he needed in the moment but.. now..” she trailed off, eyes turning down to the floor.

Sam pulled her towards him, his arms wrapping around her shoulders. “You did what you thought was right, no one can blame you for that.” Valencia pulled her eyes closed tightly, her hands clutching onto the back of his jacket. She clung to him as she cried, holding on for dear life as if she would slip away if she let go.

After a few minutes she had calmed down enough that she was only sniffling. “Do you think I made the wrong choice?” Sam mumbled, breaking the silence.

“What?” Valencia looked up at him, eyes still glassy from residual tears.

“Do you think I should have given up the shield?”

“Sam, that was your decision. And I’ll stand by whatever choice you made because I know you did what you thought was right.” He wanted to do right by Steve, just like she did, but it was difficult. He didn’t truly know if he was capable of handling everything that came with carrying the shield.

His eyes moved from the patch of wall he was staring at ahead of him and back down to Val as she pulled away from him, her left hand coming up to wipe away the stray tears from her cheeks. “I’m not mad that you gave up the shield, Sam. I understand that it was your decision and you thought it was just going to sit at the Smithsonian exhibit. I’m only mad at the goddamn government for giving it to that prick who wishes he could be half the man Steve was.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

She smiled back at him, letting out a deep breath before tugging at his hand. C’mon. Let’s go see what’s taking Bucky so long.”

~~~~~

The three of them slowly trudged through the darkness, one of Valencia’s hands gently holding on to the back of Bucky’s jacket as she tried not to trip. “Buck, where the hell are we?” she practically whined out at him.

“Are you serious? You wanna break Zemo outta jail?” Sam questioned from behind them, causing Bucky to turn around sharply. The flashlight he held in his right hand flashed directly across Valencia’s vision, a hand coming up quickly to shield her eyes as she grimaced.

“Do you have a better idea?” Bucky asked in a curt voice before turning back around to keep walking. “We have no leads, no moves, nothing.”

“But what we do have is one of the most dangerous men in the world behind bars.” Valencia pointed out, nearly falling as Bucky stopped abruptly in front of her.

She watched as Bucky’s eyes scanned over the control panel in front of him. “And there’s also eight Super Soldiers that are loose.”

“Zemo’s gonna mess with our minds. Especially yours. No offense.” As soon as the words left Sam’s mouth Bucky had finally flipped the lights on, revealing the angry expression he wore.

“Offense,” he said with a pointed glare. “Super soldiers go against everything he believes in. He is crazy but he still has a code.”

“Yeah, and all three of us have been on the wrong side of that code.” Valencia interjected before Sam could speak. “Remember Bucharest? Him bombing the UN and blaming you for it? Because the Wakandans certainly didn’t.”

Bucky sighed, his hands finding purchase on his hips. “Look, let me walk you through a hypothetical. Can I walk you through a hypothetical?”

Before he could begin to explain a loud crash came from the next room over. Sam and Valencia’s heads snapped over towards the sound, leaving Bucky to hang his head in defeat.

Off to a great start.

The vague outline of a person started to approach them, to which Valencia’s eyes widened as she whipped around to face the blue eyed man behind her. “You broke him out?!” she practically yelled.

“Hell no,” Sam spoke up, pointing a finger towards the man standing before him. “You’re going back to prison!”

Zemo stood timidly in the doorway, taking his hat off to hold between his hands before saying, “If I may-”

Immediately the trio turned and shouted “NO!” before returning to the matter at hand.

“Okay, just, listen.” Bucky spoke in a low voice. “When Steve refused to sign the Sokovia Accords, you two backed him. You broke the law, and you stuck your necks out for me. I'm asking you to do it again.”

Valencia’s gaze repeatedly flickered from Bucky to Zemo, the same uneasy feeling from earlier in the day resurfacing in the pit of her stomach. She just knew this wasn’t going to end well, but also knew that Bucky was as stubborn as a mule and would not take no for an answer. Especially when Sam finally agreed.

Bucky looked down at her expectantly, his icey blue gaze piercing her soul. She let out a breath she did not realize she had been holding before nodding. “Yeah. I’m on board.”

“Alright Zemo,” Sam said. “Where do we start?”

~~~~~

After finding out about Zemo’s wealth and joining him on the jet, they learned that their destination was Madripoor. Zemo explained that they had to disguise themselves and gave each of them a set of clothing to change into for their roles.

Valencia was in the back of the plane, the curtain pulled across the doorway for privacy as she pulled on the deep red cocktail dress given to her. After repeatedly struggling to reach behind her and pull the zipper up her back, she threw her hands up into the air as an exasperated sigh left her lips. Admitting defeat, she peeked out of the curtain and spotted Bucky standing a few feet away with his back towards her. With one hand Valencia pulled the back of her dress together while the other pushed the curtain back. “Bucky? Would you mind?”

He ducked past the curtain behind her, a warm hand taking the zipper from her grasp and a metal one landing on her hip. He slid the small zipper up her back, hand lingering between her shoulder blades for a second before she turned to face him.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” she said in a low voice, barely above a whisper. She didn’t like seeing him dressed up as The Winter Soldier. That part of his life was behind him. That man was gone.

His gaze met hers and he could see all of the apprehension, the fear, in her eyes. He wanted to pull her in close, to kiss away all of the uneasy feelings, but he couldn’t. Not after everything that happened. Everything he did to her. Instead he put a gloved hand on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing light circles into the exposed skin. “I know, doll. I’m not a fan of this plan, but it’s all we have right now.”

“Hey,” Sam called, walking towards where they were tucked into the back area of the plane. “You two ready? We’re landing soon.”

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futurebicon · 4 years ago

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No Control Part 2

Part 2. I'm actually managing to write these faster than I thought I would be able to. Part 3 will probably take a little bit longer considering I had more time during the weekend. But I hope part 3 will be out as soon as I can write it.

Warning- hospital, mentions of car accident, semi and brief panic attack (?), no medical knowledge

Remus didn't know what to do as he sat in the cold metal chair of the hospital waiting room.

Leo was frozen. Staring blankly at the wall in front of him. His pupils were wide and his skin was a ghostly pale. His chest was rising and falling quicker than it probably should be.

He was 19 years old. He had never lost someone before and now he was in danger of loosing one of the loves of his life. No wonder his mind was trying to protect him.

Shock

Finn was pacing the room and would of punched the wall about half a dozen times if Dumo hadn't stopped him.

Anger

Remus didn't know what was going on. He kept looking towards the doors thinking Sirius would walk through them with his bright smile and kiss him with his soft lips. "Ready to go, mon loup? Doctors said I'm fine so you can stop your worrying. Lets go home and cuddle and maybe later I can prove to you just how fine I am."

Denial

+++

The team trickle in quickly.

James and Lily first. James wanted a play by play of what happened as Lily ran over to Remus with tears on her face. She pulled him into her side and let him cry.

Regulus was next. Pale and frantic. He went over to Leo after squeezing Remus's shoulder in a desperate attempt to comfort. He sat beside his best friend and didn't say anything, just let him process what was happening while hoping his presence help enough.

Remus must have zoned out because when he blinked again the entire team had filled the small waiting room.

"What happened?" James asked again.

"Uh-" Remus explained how they got the call with stuttered and hitched breaths.

+++

"Sirius Black?" The doctor walked into the waiting room.

"Is he okay?" Remus jumped up.

She smiled kindly. "Have a seat."

That can't be good.

"Sirius is in surgery right now to fix severe internal bleeding in his head and to remove his spleen which was ruptured in the crash."

"Oh god." James breathed.

"Now I know it sounds extremely bad but he can survive without a spleen. The only long lasting effects will be a weakened immune system." She calmed their nerves only slightly.

"He does have severe head trauma, the extent of which we won't know until he wakes up. He broke four ribs, one of which punctured his lung. Along with that he also broken both his tibula and his fibula on his left leg. And has severe whiplash. It might not seem like it but he is suspected to make a full recovery. I'll be back if anything happens and when he's out of surgery." She left the room, passing a man in a matching white coat on the way out.

"Logan?" Leo choked.

The doctor nodded and sat down. "His injuries are extensive but he will be able to make a full recovery."

They all let out a sigh of relief.

"He has severe internal bleeding in his chest, abdomen, and head. He also has severe whiplash. His kidney's were mildly damage and he has bruising on his heart. I know it sounds terrifying but all it means is he needs to take it slow and not move around too much." He told them. "You'll be able to see him once we get him stable."

"He- he's not stable?" Finn stammered.

"His vitals are taking a while to get under control." He hesitated. "But it's nothing too concerning considering the trauma his body went through."

They two didn't say anything and the doctor left the room to silence.

+++

Logan was awake when they came in.

"Hi, loves." He rasped out.

Finn sobbed and had to stop himself from flinging himself into his injured boyfriend.

"Shh. I'm okay. I'm okay." His words were slow but held comfort as he cupped his face with a bandaged hand. "I'm okay."

"Lo" Leos voice was gasped and choked. He made no attempt to hide the fear.

"Hey Peanut." Logan smiled. "Come here"

Leo took a step towards him and stopped. "I dont- um- what if I-"

"You're not gonna hurt me. I'm okay."

"But I could." He scanned the room like he was trapped.

"Hey" Finn stood up and walked over to the teenager who hadn't fully come out of his shock yet and seeing his love like this made his mind want to hide away again.

"Here." He gently led him over to the hospital bed. "He's okay."

"Hi, my baby." Logan smiled and grabbed Leo's hand.

"You're okay?"

"I'm okay." Logan nodded.

"Promise?" His voice was broken and his eyes never stopped their sweep of the room.

"I promise."

"Okay." He breathed out and finally calmed down enough to sit beside Logan's bed.

+++

"Hey, Loops" Logan nodded at the pale man as the team walked in. "Any updates?"

"He's still in surgery." His voice was rough with tears and misuse. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore and in pain but I'm alive." He shrugged.

"Thankfully." Dumo walked over.

"Hey, Dumo." Logan hugged him as well as he could.

"Scared me for a while there, kiddo."

"Sorry about that."

"So what happened exactly?" Kasey asked.

"We were gonna go get something to eat and Sirius turned at a greenlight. Someone ran the light and hit Sirius's side. We spun out and then rolled, fuck I don't even know, a lot of times. I think I blacked out on the six or seventh roll. Maybe the second. It felt like forever. I don't know when, or if, Sirius blacked out." Logan explained.

"Kept saying your name though." He looked up at Remus.

Remus's hazel eyes filled with tears and he let out a sob into his elbow.

"Sorry."

"No, no it's okay." Remus sniffled back the tears. "Just, uh, just worried. You know?"

"He'll be alright." Logan told him before smiling. "We just have to come up with some new nickname for him now that he doesn't have a spleen or an immune system."

"Spleenless."

"Captain of the sick ship."

"Sniffles"

"Captain Spleen."

"No mo munie."

They all threw around names.

"He's gonna be more upset about the fact that he won't be able to hide when he's sick than he'll be about the missing organ." James laughed.

"Probably." Remus nodded.

Their laughs were cut off by a knock on the door. "Remus Lupin?" Sirius's doctor, Dr. Gemma, walked in.

"Yeah. What's going on? Is he alright?"

"He's out of surgery and awake." She told them with a kind smile.

"So he's okay?"

"He is showing signs of very, very slight amnesia. Just not remembering the accident at all which is completely understandable and no cause for concern."

"Can I see him?"

"Of course." She nodded.

Remus followed after her with whispers to update them on how he is.

+++

"I do have to warn you about the possible side effects he could start to show or is already showing." Dr. Gemma said as they walked down the long hallways.

"Like what?"

"As I said he does have slight amnesia. He seems to either be having hearing problems or is having a hard time understanding speech. Possibly both. He might also be having difficulty thinking. There is other symptoms that he hasn't shown yet but might in the future, headaches, seizure, nausea, vomiting, fever, and more. If any of these happen or anything concerning, page us immediately."

They finally turned down the hallway that seemed to be his.

"I'll let you two be, and again, page us immediatly if anything happens or if you need anything. Okay?" They stopped outside his door.

"Okay, thank you."

"No need for thanks." She smiled. "Now go see him. You were the first thing he asked about when he woke up."

Remus smiled at that and pushed the door open. He tried hard not to react to all the wires surrounding him but it was hard not too. All he could do to try was hurry over to his lovers side.

"Hi, baby." He smiled through tears as his hazel eyes saw grey. "Hi" He gripped his hand tightly.

"Re" Sirius said slowly.

"Yeah. yeah. It's me, baby. I'm right here. You're okay. You're okay." He kissed his forehead to hide the tears.

"Don't- cry- mon loup." It took him a while to say.

"Sorry. You just scared me for a little while." Remus smiled at him. "Are you feeling okay?"

Sirius gave him a confused look.

"What? What's wrong? Are you okay? What do you need?" Remus rambled in concern.

"Shh" Sirius set a hand on Remus's. "Okay" He talked about himself. "Just, too many."

"Too many what, love?"

"Words. Can't know. Don't think." He was begining to get frustrated.

"It's okay." Remus said slower. "I know. It's okay."

Sirius nodded and relaxed against the pillows.

"Said Logan- with- hurt?" the words were chopped and Remus could see the frustration in his eyes.

"Logan was in the car." Remus nodded. "But he's okay. The team is with him."

"Team?" Sirius furrowed his eyebrows and blinked in confusion.

"Your hockey team." Remus tried to keep the panic out of his voice. "James, Dumo, Logan, Leo, Finn, Kasey, Walker, Kuny, Olli-"

"I remember." Sirius cut him off. "Just forgot."

"That's okay. The doctors said that would happen."

"See them?" Sirius asked hopefully.

"See the doctors?"

"No. Team."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah. I'm sure the team will be here soo-"

As if they heard them, a group of hockey players knocked on the door and walked into the hospital room

I really don't like this part compared to part one.

Thank you @lumosinlove for letting us take your happy, lovely characters and make them be in pain

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #sweater weather lumosinlove #coops #oknutzy #car crash #No Control

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iamcayc · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 2: Kids

Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Gojo Satoru/Reader, Gojo Satoru/Original Character(s) Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Flirting, Developing Relationship, Original Character(s), Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Strangers to Lovers, annoyances to lovers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Vaginal Fingering, Heavy Petting, Gojo Satoru is a Little Shit

---

The phone ringing startles you as you’re sitting on your couch, a true crime documentary on the television as the soundtrack to your night of grading essays. There’s still half a stack of essays to slog through, and only one more glass of wine left in the bottle on your coffee table.

You glance at the screen of your phone, frowning at the name you see.

“What’s up, Nanami?” The phone rests against your shoulder as you scribble a barely-passing grade on the paper in your hand.

“You busy?”

Well, this isn’t going to end well.

“I’m almost out of wine and have twelve more essays to suffer through before I can call it a night.” Nanami chuckles at your predicament. “So, yeah, I guess you can say I’m a bit busy. Why?”

Nanami sighs and you can just see him rubbing his temple as he tries to work out a way to ask you something he knows you aren’t going to like.

“Spit it out, would ya?” you probe with a sigh.

“Satoru wants your help with a mission.”

Your frown immediately deepens. “I already told him that I’m not a sorcerer.”

A muffled series of thwumps and thuds force you to hold the phone away from your ear before a new voice chirps through the device.

“Technically, you only told me that you have asthma,” Gojo says brightly. “You didn’t say anything about not being a sorcerer.”

Your eyes narrow at nothing in particular. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you’re the kind of guy who likes to point out technicalities?”

Gojo chuckles, the sound a warm caress through the phone. You’re fairly certain that’s mostly the wine reacting, but you aren’t taking any chances.

“Regardless, let me make it perfectly clear to you: I am not any kind of practicing, jujutsu sorcerer,” you say slowly, clearly. “I received enough training to keep my energy in check and help out where I can as a Window since I work at a school and know what to look for. Now, if you’d be so kind as to return my cousin’s phone, I’d like to tell him to make himself available for you since he is sorcerer.”

A soft grunt sounds as you listen to the phone getting passed back to Nanami. “I’m sorry, Kaya. I tried explaining—where the fuck are you going? Satoru!”

As he shouts Gojo’s name, a polite knock sounds at your door. You leap to your feet, your heart thundering in your chest.

“Kaya? Kaya, are you there?” Nanami’s voice sounds tired. “Do not open that door. You give this guy a fucking inch and he takes a mile.”

“Are you telling me that the random-ass person knocking on my door right now is Gojo?” you ask tersely. “Because I’m pretty fucking sure I live a solid distance away from your school.”

Nanami sighs and mutters a series of graphic swears as the person at the door begins to knock on the door to the beat of “Mary had a Little Lamb.”

“I can’t tell you if he’s being so stubborn because he genuinely needs your technique, or if he’s only thinking with his cock, but you do not have to answer that door.” You snort, not buying for a second that Gojo has any intention of giving up so quickly.

“I’m never having dinner with you again,” you hiss into the phone before hanging up. As far as you’re concerned, this is all Nanami’s fault for allowing Gojo to crash their weekly dinner. You toss the phone on your couch before stomping towards the door and yanking it open to reveal a casually-dressed Gojo leaning against the jamb with a grin.

“What the fuck do you want?” you ask with thinly-veiled hostility. Gojo ignores the venom and grins wider.

“I have to say,” he remarks, “I think you’ve got the most beautiful eyes when you’re irritated.”

You haven’t wanted to throttle someone in so long, you forgot what it felt like to have your blood boil.

“What do you want?” you ask again, this time through gritted teeth.

“Your help.” Gojo tilts his head innocently as he looks at you. “Pretty please?”

The bubbling frustration with this man isn’t something you need your neighbors witnessing, so you step aside and yank him through the door, surprised that he allowed you to grab hold of him at all, considering what you know of him.

You ignore his chuckle as you stomp back into your living room and pause your documentary, knowing you’ll likely have to restart the whole thing since you missed so much thanks to the asshat currently making himself comfortable on your couch. He stretches his arm along the back of the sofa, tilting his head back to look at you.

“You’ve got a nice place for a teacher.” You stare at him. He did not just backhand compliment you. “Though, the sound proofing tiles are a little odd.”

“You’re an asshole,” you tell him with a glare. “And now that I am fully aware of the fact that you have highly selective hearing, let me say this one more time: I have absolutely no interested in joining your mission.”

“Because of your asthma, right?”

Dear fucking god, you want to punch him.

“And the fact that I’m not a fucking sorcerer. I have never and will never work as one.”

“Why not?” Gojo watches you as you sink onto a pillow on the floor at the coffee table. “Nanamin isn’t anywhere near my level and he still makes a solid living doing exorcisms.”

You look at him as you pick up your red pen. “If you had to quantify the actual size of your ego, how big would it be?”

The jab is ignored with a dismissive wave. “Your cursed technique, it’s based on sounds that you personally create, right?”

“I mean, it’s definitely bigger than your dick. There’s no way that thing is bigger than a handful of centimeters, considering the way you carry on every time I have the displeasure of seeing you.”

“But that can’t be it, because if that were the case, you would be wreaking havoc on the populace if you so much as farted.”

“I wonder what that server thought when you finally whipped it out, after doing everything she could think of to get your attention? Ha! I bet she was so disappointed.”

Gojo leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees as he grins at you. His aura is practically dancing around him; he’s loving every second of this.

“You really didn’t like her, did you?”

“I really didn’t care either way.” Half-truth, but who’s counting? “I just got tired of seeing her tits every time she came to check on us. That, and her aura was starting to make me motion sick with the undulating and buzzing.”

He raises a white brow. “You can see auras?”

“I heard them first. I’ve always been sensitive to sounds.” You frown at the introductory paragraph of the paper in your hand. Did you students even read the assignment? “I only started to see the auras after training with Nanami.”

“I’ve never heard of someone hearing an aura... what’s mine sound like?”

You look up at him, surprised to see that he’d taken off the sunglasses he’d been wearing to pin you with those eyes. Why is someone so far up their own ass this hot?

Setting down your pen, you take a breath to center yourself, allowing your own aura to reach out to his. You let your eyes guide the edges of your aura along the edges his, like a bow across a string. If Gojo feels anything, he doesn’t say; he just watches you with an intense expression.

At some point, you let your eyes meet his, and that’s when his aura begins singing to you.

“You sound like a cello’s mid-range, that sweet spot of notes on the G and D strings.”

“What does your sound like?”

The question throws you off. No one has ever asked about yours before. It’s not that you don’t know how your aura sounds, but rather, you aren’t sure how to explain what you hear.

“It sounds like me,” you reply plainly. “I sound like... just me.”

He regards you quietly before letting his cheek rest on his fist. His gaze softens as he looks at you, sending whatever traces of annoyance you feel towards him scattering into nothing.

“There have been reports of a cursed human loose in a residential area outside of Hidaka. Some sightings have it listed as a child, others say it's a few adults. But all the witnesses agree that whatever it is, it’s luring children from the area into the woods.”

“Is this the part where you tell me why Six Eyes needs me to find some cursed human in the woods?”

He shrugs. “I’m not good with kids.”

You snort. “You’re a teacher.”

“And you’ll notice that my students are well above the age of 6 years old.”

“So are mine.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“Pot, meet kettle.” You set down your pen and look at him seriously. “And before you throw my whole aura-sight at me, I’ll point out that you seemed to have no idea that I could see auras until a few minutes ago. So, tell me why you want my help on a mission you and your students are more than equipped to handle on your own?”

Gojo leans back against the couch once again and sighs. You let silence creep into the space between you. His aura isn’t singing anymore, but it isn’t agitated, so you haven’t totally pissed him off. Yet.

“I want you to lure the curses out and get them to bring the missing kids with them.” One of his hands slides through his hair. “At least, that was my initial idea. But, if you can see and hear auras, that might help us get the kids out before shit goes south with the curses.”

You frown. “That original plan assumes that I can control more than one curse at a time, which isn’t the most fool-proof, either. I’m not being modest when I say that I’m not a sorcerer, I’m being honest. Your dark-haired student’s aura is more powerful than mine, and he wasn’t even trying to let me see his aura.”

Gojo considers you quietly, his blue eyes shimmering in the artificial light of your apartment. You’re tempted to examine the shifting colors of his irises up close, until you remember that you know better than to let your body anywhere near a man that self-confident.

“I’d say you’re an upper Grade 3, just as you are now. Properly motivated, maybe a Grade 2. Still, that’s more than enough to draw out a few curses. I don’t need you to exorcise them, only get their attention and make them a bit more docile for the kids to take out.”

“You really aren’t going to let this one go, are you?” you ask him, sighing as you rest your chin on the heel of your palm. He flashes you a bright grin, sending an armada of butterflies up your stomach and into your throat.

“Nope.”

You lean back on your palms as you look at him. You have no interest in telling him that you’ve already decided to help since there are missing kids involved, so you let him watch you watch him. Because, maturity.

“And what do I get out of this? Other than a potential asthma attack?”

His grin slips into a smirk. “What do you want?”

You raise your brow, knowing full well what he’s insinuating. “I don’t touch sloppy seconds, thanks. I was thinking more along the lines of a few bottles of really nice wine, or maybe an expensive whisky. Or, if you’re feeling really guilty about triggering my asthma, never asking me to help with your job ever again.”

“Since I’m feeling generous, why don’t you decide after you’ve helped me out? You know, see how much effort you have to put in and get the most reward for your buck.”

You don’t trust that new sparkle in his eyes as you agree to his terms.

You only agree to meet Gojo and the others after school the next day because the sooner you’re done with this favor, the better. Then, you can get back to watching Netflix specials on serial killers and grading piss-poor essays on the Baroque movement in peace.

The grounds of the Tokyo Jujutsu High School are well kept, despite there being so few students enrolled. The spans of the campus practically begged to be bustling with chattering students, but all it gets is the occasional grumpy alumni and sporadic admissions.

It wouldn’t hurt to plant some flowers either.

“I told you she wasn’t going to show up with a flute or drum!” You glance over your shoulder and see Gojo leading the two boys from before and a new addition, a girl with down-turned eyes and a bored expression.

Gojo inclines his head towards you by way of greeting. “Kaya, you saw these two yesterday, Yuji and Megumi.” His thumb points out Pinky first, then the dark-haired kid whose temperament you like. “This is my other first-year, Nobara.”

You wave with a polite smile, your teacher’s smile. “Nice to meet you all.”

Nobara peers at you a little longer, her eyes sweeping up and down your outfit with analytical eyes. You couldn’t wait to hear what a sixteen year old has to say about your clothes. You chose to swap out your black jeans for a sturdy pair of athletic leggings to increase mobility, though you are acutely aware of how tight the pants are, especially around your ass.

You pick at an invisible lint on the sleeve of your jacket. Gojo is doing a marvelous job of surveying your… assets.

“I want you to design our new uniforms,” she declares boldly. You blink in surprise since that is definitely not what you were expecting. Not sure what’s so stunning about leggings and a rarely-used running shirt, even if it has Gojo eyeballing your butt with enough heat to send his aura in languid waves around him.

“Thanks, I think.” You slip on your leather jacket and look over at Gojo with an arched brow. “Are you finished gawking? I have classes to teach tomorrow, and there’s nothing worse than trying not to make a bunch of teenage girls cry when you’re too tired to tell them their god-awful piano composition sounds like something out of a third-rate anime.”

If they thought Nobara offers up some hot takes, they need to see you with less than six hours of sleep and a full day of classes on the horizon.

Gojo chuckles as he rubs his lower lip with the pad of his thumb. There is something unfairly sensual about the motion, and extremely predatory. Frowning slightly, you turn away and hand the kids the the earplugs you had stuffed in your pocket before you’d left the apartment.

“What’re these for?” Yuji asks, inspecting the bits of foam like you just handed him cocaine. .

“Maestro, here, uses a cursed technique rooted in sound.” You feel Gojo sling his arm around your shoulders. “Though, seems like she didn’t bring enough for me to get a pair, too.”

You shoot him a look. “You know precisely why I didn’t bother. Now, can we please get a move on?”

Wordlessly, the kids gather around and latch onto Gojo’s jacket, and you brace yourself for the gut-punch that comes along with teleporting. Nanami graciously informed you of Gojo’s aptitude for warping after a series of threats of bodily harm that exponentially increased in severity the more he dodged your questions. In that time, you realized that Gojo’s perpetual use of Limitless could stop your technique without a thought.

You’re in the midst of replaying a particularly entertaining memory of Nanami squealing like a pig after you started to make him juggle kitchen knives when you feel a strong hand press you against Gojo’s chest by the small of your back. Sputtering with utter indignation, you glare up at the grinning man, wishing with every fiber of your being that your knee could make contact with his balls at that moment.

“Ready, maestro?”

“Fuck off, Gojo.” Yuji snickers from behind him. Gojo watches you expectantly and your glare deepens. “I’m ready.”

“There’s a good girl.”

“Dude, keep that shit up and she’s going to find a way around your Limitless to kick your ass,” Megumi mutters from the right. “And Lord knows, the majority of us will sell tickets to that show.”

You don’t hear Gojo’s reply as you're lost in trying not to hurl all over the man as he yanks your body through space. The surrounding trees whisper and rustle in the evening breeze, the low glow of the sunset making the setting feel eerie. You hope the missing kids are okay, but you’re jaded enough to know better. Rolling your shoulders, you shake off the creeping shadows of memories you’ve worked hard to ignore on a daily basis.

“You’re up, Kaya.” Gojo nods at you as he removes his blindfold, his eyes more aquamarine in the dying light. “Think you can tag the auras for me?”

“Everyone got their earplugs in?” you ask the teenagers behind you. They all respond with solemn nods, their expressions resolute. You glance at Gojo, his eyes unseeing but all-seeing as he looks out into the forest around you.

“When I start singing, Six Eyes should pick up any auras my technique hits, like sonar.” It’s been over a year since you last sang, but you’d prepped your vocal cords most of the day with hot tea and a couple shots of bourbon before heading to the school. “I’ll also be willing whatever hears me to come to me as I sing.”

He looks at you with slight concern. “How long can you sustain that?”

You set square your shoulders and look back out into the darkness ahead. “As long as I need to. My priority will be the kids, you guys can deal with the cursed human.”

He nods as you take a deep breath to settle the flurry of nerves in your stomach. Why are you so nervous about singing in front of Gojo, of all people? His opinion has never mattered to you, since the moment he crashed your dinner. Who cares if he doesn’t like the song choice or if he thinks your voice is garbage?

“Unsteady” by X Ambassadors is a go-to warm up song for you. It sits right in your chest range, so it’s easy to project as you start walking slowly into the woods. Besides, you know how it feels to beg someone, anyone for help but end up ignored instead.

Gojo’s footfalls are nearly silent as he stalks behind you, but your voice makes his aura pulse against your own. It’s a comforting feeling, lending you more courage than you were feeling, that’s for sure.

A sharp rustling to your left makes you pause, the movement too harsh and erratic to dismiss as an animal. The icy blue of the aura halos around a tiny form, the fear tinkling like a shrill bell being shaken by a child. Gojo stiffens behind you, but you raise your palm before shooing him back.

Without faltering in the song, you crouch down in the direction of the stumbling child, pulling a small handbell from your other jacket pocket. A steady, calming beat in time with your singing pulses forward, coaxing the child out slowly as her aura shifts from pale blue to a saturated cobalt.

A little girl, no older than six or seven, flies into your arms, making your stumble in your singing. She’s coated in dirt and gods know what else, clutching your jacket so tight that her tiny knuckles turn white.

“You caught the culprit’s attention,” Gojo chuckles as you soothe the frightened child into letting go of your jacket. She clings to your leg when you stand, her snot and tears soaking into your leggings. You try not to cringe, but Gojo catches your obvious distaste and laughs, earning him a glare.

“There’s a cluster of black auras there,” you tell him quietly, gesturing further into the woods, to the east. “I can see them, but they’re silent.”

He hums as he nods, stroking his chin thoughtfully before he looks at you again. His eyes flick to the little girl, whose grip on your leg is starting to get painful, and it’s in that moment you realize two things.

First, that you get to tell Gojo, “I told you so.”

Second, in relation to the first, the tiny girl death-gripping your leg has an aura that is shrieking and melting into an opaque black.

Fuck.

Without a second thought, you send a surge of your cursed energy into your aura, ballooning it up rapidly. You swing the handbell down sharply, a clear, piercing note with the demand to be let go striking the tiny cursed human, tossing her away from you a good 30 yards.

A dull ringing pulses in your ears as you struggle to keep your balance. You shouldn’t have used that move so soon out of semi-retirement.

Arms scoop you up before you hit the ground. Muffled voices bicker as you barely hold onto your consciousness, but they fade away quickly as you’re overtaken with another bout of nausea that pulls you back towards consciousness. You try to move, but the arms hold you tighter against what you learn is Gojo’s chest.

“Easy, easy.” His breath warms your face as he calms you. “Shocked you’re not passed out yet.”

You don’t have the energy to remind him that he’s the pot and you’re the kettle when it comes to stubbornness. Based on the bits and pieces of the room you can see through still-blurred vision, he had warped you both back to your apartment.

He lays you down on your bed, checks your pulse, then slips out of the room long enough to get you a glass of water and a banana.

“I told you I wasn’t a sorcerer for a reason,” you mumble as you push yourself up slowly. The dizziness is gone, but exhaustion presses against your bones at this point. Gojo sits on the edge of the bed as he watches you sip at the water and peel the banana.

“Your stamina is shit, yeah. But you know what you’re doing.” You break apart the banana bite by bite. Like hell you’re going to eat an obviously phallic fruit in front of a man with the maturity level of a teenage boy. “I’d say with a bit of training, you could hold your own without passing out again.”

You shoot him a look that hopefully conveys how little interest you have in making that a reality. He only gives you a small smile before he stands.

“Better go check on the kids, make sure they didn’t completely fuck that simple exorcism.” He pauses at the bedroom door, lifting his blindfold just enough to look at you with one eye. “Thanks for your help, maestro. Think about what you want for compensation. I’ll be in touch.”

He winks at you with that one azure eye before he just blinks out of sight. Your thoughts start replaying your time in his arms, a coveted location, you’re sure. He smelled like cedarwood and eucalyptus, but on the designer fragrance side of the spectrum, which surprises you considering how boring his attire generally is.

Sighing, you fish your phone out of the inner pocket of your jacket and swipe it open. No new messages, but a couple of missed calls from Nanami. You’re too tired to both giving him a lecture, so you just tell him he’s your personal chauffeur tomorrow until you can pick you bike up from the school.

And if you even THINK about sending Gojo in your place, consider yourself a eunuch the next time I see you, got it?

You don’t bother to see if he responds. Instead, you shed your clothes and crawl back under the covers, setting a few different alarms, just in case. Yawning, you curl onto your side and let your eyes drift closed, willing your brain to just shut the fuck up with the semi-intrusive thoughts. Falling asleep now would get you a solid 7.5 hours, more than enough for another round of compositional reviews.

I wonder what he thought of my singing…

#jjk #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #archive of our own #fanfiction #ao3 #gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x oc #nanami kento #also on ao3 #itadori yuji #fushiguro megumi #kugisaki nobara

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iridescent-petrichor · 4 years ago

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life is a daydream

Steve Harrington x reader

Warnings: nothing?

Words: 2K words

A/N: in which the title doesn’t correlate to the fic itself again,,, the idea for this was based very loosely on my dream, but now that it’s finished, I think the only thing that’s the same is that Steve and Dustin are there

It was a quiet Friday night, the last gleams of sun streamed through the window of your bedroom as you laid back with a book in your hands. It was nice to finally relax after a long week of school, although most kids were probably partying the night away.

Suddenly, Dustin burst through the door, grinning when he saw you. He had that look on his face, on you knew all too well from your many nights escorting him to the Wheeler’s house when your mom said no to driving him. “Can you drive me to Steve’s house?

You frowned, glancing at the clock. 8:47 pm. “Why are you going to Steve’s house?”

“The party is having a movie night!” He explained, trying to rush you out of your room. You stopped to put your book down first, sighing to yourself. When Dustin had his mind set on something, he wasn’t going to stop asking until you gave up and let him go to Steve’s house.

“Okay, and since when was Steve Harrington part of your party?” You threw a hoodie over your t-shirt and shorts, heading to the front door.

“Since his parents are rarely home and he has the biggest TV out of all of us!” Without waiting for a response, he ran outside to get in your car.

Slipping on your shoes, you chuckled to yourself, following your excited brother outside.

The drive is quick – Steve’s house was only a couple blocks away – but Dustin’s leg never stopped bouncing. “Hurry up, we’re already late!” He’d exclaim, which didn’t make you drive any faster.

Pulling into the Harrington’s driveway, you barely put your car in park by the time Dustin was throwing himself out to get to his friends. He sprinted up to the front door, knocking a couple of times.

You got out of your car as well, knowing your mom would kill you if you didn’t tell her what time Dustin would be getting home. However, before you had the chance to ask, Dustin seemed to read your mind, calling out to you.

“I’ll just spend the night, and then Steve can drive me home in the morning!”

“I can?” Steve opened the door, giving Dustin an amused expression. His eyes wandered, widening when he saw you standing there. “Y/N!” He ran over to you, taking your hands in his. You jumped, nearly pulling away from him. “Help me.”

“What?” You looked behind him to see Dustin already gone, and the front door closed.

“These kids are little monsters, I’m telling you. You have to help me control them; they might actually listen to you!” He stepped closer to you, desperation evident in his eyes. “Please, Y/N, I can’t do it by myself.”

“Uh,” you chuckle, not really sure how to respond. “Sure?”

He smiles brightly – the smile that you could get lost in, giving your hands a grateful squeeze. “Thank you.”

You didn’t have the opportunity to respond, because he was already pulling you inside his house. The noise hit you first, and you were starting to understand what Steve meant by little monsters.

Max and Mike were yelling, in a heated debate about something you couldn’t make out. Lucas was trying to get Max’s attention by showing off his aiming skill that was, admittedly, quite good. Every time Lucas would slingshot something across the room, El would wordlessly use her powers to return it to him. Dustin was in the middle of the group as if he’d been there for hours already, cracking jokes that he knew would make his friends laugh. Will was the only relatively well-behaved kid there, joining in the conversations and laughing at Dustin’s jokes, but otherwise not causing a massive fuss.

Steve gave you a look, and you felt a laugh bubbling up in your throat at how badly he was handling the kids. You turned your focus back to the room of children, raising your voice above the chaos.

“Okay!” In an instant, every head turned to yours. “What movie have we decided on?”

Dustin gave you a look, confused as to why you didn’t just go home, and then Max spoke up, thankful for a reason not to continue her argument with Mike. “The Shining.”

For a moment, you forgot the trauma all of you had dealt with and wondered if that movie would be too scary. You nodded, continuing on giving orders to prepare for the movie.

“Alright, Lucas and Mike are going to go with Steve to find blankets and pillows for everyone. Dustin, Max, and I are going to get snacks set up. Will and El, you’re going to set up the movie and move furniture around so there’s room on the floor for everyone to pile in together.” They all jumped up, Mike and Lucas racing each other up the stairs with Steve following way behind them. Max and Dustin stood in front of you, waiting to help. You smiled, ruffling Dustin’s hair for a moment before walking into the kitchen.

Max went to the fridge and Dustin went to the cupboard, grabbing anything they deemed worthy for movie night. You opened the cabinets, finding some bowls to hold enough snacks for two teenagers and six kids.

By the time you went back into the living room, the movie was paused at the beginning and there were piles of blankets and pillows strewn about the floor. You handed off bowls of snacks to some of the kids, before collapsing on the couch that El pushed to the back of the room next to Steve with a sigh.

“You are surprisingly good with them.” He says, smiling at how silent it was as Will pressed play on the movie.

“Comes with the territory of being an older sister.” You replied, reaching forward to grab a chip from the bowl Dustin was holding.

“Hey,” Steve whispered without looking away from the screen. “How uh- how scary is this movie supposed to be?”

“Pretty scary.” You grin, biting back a laugh at the way Steve’s face fell.

You were quickly enthralled by the movie, and you were so focused that you didn’t notice Dustin’s disappearance from the room until a small crash from the hallway made you nearly jump out of your skin. It brought you back to reality, looking around the room before your eyes landed on Steve.

“Where’s Dustin?” You whispered. He shrugged, not taking his eyes off the screen.

Since none of the kids seemed disturbed by the crash or the disappearance, you quietly got up and snuck out into the hall. Dustin was found standing over a shattered glass picture frame with a photo of a young Steve Harrington in a soccer uniform proudly holding a plastic first place trophy inside.

“Okay, step away from the glass.” You instructed, barely acknowledging Steve walking up behind you to investigate.

“Sorry.” Dustin mumbled to Steve, who quickly waved it off.

“Not a big deal, just some broken glass. I’ll grab a broom and a dustpan; you can go watch the movie.” With a nod, Dustin ran back into the living room. You stayed put, carefully picking the photograph out of the frame, and holding it up.

Steve comes back when you’re eyeing the empty spot on the wall where the picture hung. You never took notice before, but now the wall looks too blank without the single picture to decorate it. He hands you the dustpan, and you duck down, keeping it steady on the ground as Steve sweeps the shards of glass into it.

Once the glass is cleaned and disposed of, Steve throws out the old picture frame. You still had the photo in your hand, well-kept from its time behind glass.

“Sorry Dustin broke it.” You spoke up, cutting through the silence.

Steve shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, my parents won’t even notice it’s gone.” You know it’s meant to reassure you, but you can’t help the twinge of pain in your chest when he tells you that.

“It’s a cute picture.” You hold it up, so Steve can visibly see it now, too. He laughs, and you see him flush in embarrassment.

“Yeah, I felt like I was posing for hours.” He glances at you, but you don’t notice. “You can keep it if you want.”

Your gaze snaps to him. “Seriously? You won’t miss it?”

He shakes his head, his lips curling up in a smile. “Yeah, I mean I honestly forgot this thing was still hanging in the house.”

Nodding, you pocket the picture, thanking him with a smile. You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him, and you could’ve sworn he was leaning in until-

“We should head back. If we miss too much of the movie, we might miss all the scary bits.” He mutters, backing away from you.

You take a step back as well, forcing a quiet laugh. “Yeah, you wish.”

He leads the way, and you silently follow him back into the living room. The only one that even notices you’ve left and come back was Dustin.

When the two of you sit back down on the couch, Steve sits closer to you than he did before you got up. His thigh brushes against yours, and you pretend it’s not completely distracting.

At some point you noticed Steve move his arm around you. It was casual, something you probably would’ve considered entirely platonic if you didn’t overthink every interaction with the boy due to your unfortunate crush. You scoot closer, trying to seem as casual as Steve seemed, leaning in just slightly without taking your eyes off the movie.

By the time the movie ended, all the kids were fast asleep. You weren’t surprised to find that they weren’t even close to afraid afterwards. Once you’ve experienced the things you and your friends experienced, horror movies never seem to compare. Seeing the real things make the effects look horribly cheesy.

It was nice seeing them all so relaxed, though. While the events of last fall and the year prior had been over for months, you could tell the fear never fully left any of you. You saw it when you and Dustin couldn’t be alone during a power out. You saw it when a loud noise made El snap to attention. You saw it when you opened Steve’s trunk, and found the old nail bat still sitting there. You wished it didn’t have to be this way, for the kids especially. They were so young, they needed to be able to be kids, so seeing them in a pile cuddling together made your heart warm.

“They’re kinda cute when they’re not raising hell.” Steve’s voice startled you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, you would’ve never known they kill monsters if you saw them like that.” He laughed, nodding. You turn to him, about to say something when the words die in your throat. He’s a lot closer than you expected him to be, but this time, neither of you move to get away.

Steve’s hand hesitantly reaches up, gently cupping your cheek. You catch his eyes flickering down to your lips, and your cheeks burn red. He leaned closer, not daring to close the gap between you.

When you feel like you’re about to die from the anticipation of what he’s about to do, he whispers, “can I kiss you?” His voice is barely audible, and you’re glad you managed to hear him. As an answer to his question, you pressed your lips to his, hands finding their way around his neck. Your fingers idly rest on the nape of his neck, fiddling with his hair.

When you hear someone stirring awake, the two of you quickly pull away, turning to see Dustin slowly sitting up, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. He searched the room, looking to you once he realized all his friends were still asleep. His brow furrowed, taking in both of your red faces and flustered expressions, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He glanced down, seeing the way Steve’s hand had fallen to your knee, and look back up at you with a knowing glint in his eye, a mischievous smile forming on his face.

“So, what are you guys up to?”

#steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagine

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americankimchi · 5 years ago

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ok and I GET the concept of attachments leading to vulnerability and therefore weakness but to impose that on a CHILD who so desperately needs a family, someone he could bond with, its honestly tragic. and since qui gon isnt there to do it anymore it falls on obi wan, whos basically a kid himself, whos dealt with rejection his whole life, and how can you expect him to provide anything, much less mentor a padawan?? idk i just have so many FEELINGS abt this and can’t put it into proper words lol

okay you know what i think that’s on qui gon because why!!! would you make the decision to rip a child away from his home like that so quickly!!! i get that they were making a movie and thus needed to speed things along for pacing reasons but COME ONNNNN

i feel like if it wasn’t restricted for movie reasons it would have gone down very differently. difference being: hey, maybe we don’t rip anakin away from his mom and leave not only his mom still in slavery but also punt a tiny child directly into a warzone.

hear me out

so assuming qui gon decides not to take anakin with him (at that moment in time because anakin is still going to be heading to the order just in a more meticulous fashion) right after meeting the skywalkers on tattooine, he still needs to get off planet. so he does the whole race thing yadda yadda he gets the engine and they take off

so here’s where it diverges: anakin stays on tattooine and never goes to naboo.

(bro this got so long i had to put it under a cut omfg)

but cindy!! you might say, leaving anakin on tattoine??? stuck in slavery??? how could you!!!

YES, but this is a temporary thing, just stay with me for a second

padme disagrees but relents because qui gon says he’ll come back for the boy when he’s not, you know, neck deep in the middle of tense wartime negotiations that could trigger a full scale onslaught at any moment. that’s no place to bring a small child into no matter how powerful in the force he is.

qui gon heads back to the council, gives his report, and then mentions anakin. mentions his fuckin. midichlorian count. which is still so ridiculous to me oh my god the midichlorian is the powerhouse of the force i GUESS

anyways

the council still disapproves, but qui gon makes the case that even if they don’t believe him about the chosen one thing it’s still dangerous to leave such a powerful force user out there untrained and vulnerable to the stresses and traumas of slavery. what if he turns to the dark side??? he’ll have ample reasons to if he’s stuck there, and the amount of destruction he could unleash by being untrained and powerful is unspeakable!! qui gon, being the master diplomat he is, even if he is constantly butting heads with the council, could probably convince them of the importance of at least meeting the child. hell, it’s not as if they haven’t broken people free from slavery before it’s honestly jedi basic training at this point

so the council agrees on the condition that qui gon is not allowed to personally mentor the boy because as it stands now he’s too close to the situation, too eager which honestly??? might have been a good chunk of the reason why the council was so against it in the first place. qui gon pushed for it too hard and for no real solid reason. and for fuck’s sake qui gon your padawan is right there

obi wan, awkwardly shuffling on his feet like..... yeah i’m here too master

SPEAKING OF OBI WAN

imagine how gutting it must be to hear that your master wants to get rid of you for the newer, younger model. like at this point obi wan is so used to this shit. abandonment? by qui gon??? it’s more likely than you think,

and obi wan’s ALLL ready to be like “yeah okay. i’ll just. go over here then i guess. fuck me for thinking that you respected me as a person or anything lmao right”

and qui gon’s just “ah fuck. i can’t believe i’ve done this”

anyways hand waves qui gon explaining his reasoning to obi wan and saying that he just wants to ensure that the boy gets the training he needs and obi wan understanding but asking if he really thinks he’s ready to be a knight genuinely or if he’s just saying that to get him out of the way and wow that thought actually hurt a bit lol!!! no problem though qui gon whatever you want haha i’ll just... be in pain. over here. ((:

and qui gon being like, “honestly obi wan the only reason you’re not actually knighted is because i cherish your companionship and i don’t want to let you go” because ANAKIN ISN’T THE ONLY ONE WITH ATTACHMENT ISSUES CASE IN POINT: MY MANS JINN

let’s be honest obi wan could’ve been knighted ages ago. the only reason he hasn’t been is because the master dictates when that step should be taken and qui gon wasn’t ready to let his surrogate son go.

anyways RECONCILIATION WHOO kicks that insecurity off of obi wan’s already weary shoulders because that gnarly bit of tension could’ve been avoided so easily with just a simple conversation!! wow!!! communication can do wondrous things who! would! have! known!!!!!

anyways

they get to naboo. how do they beat the trade federation without anakin? the force works in mysterious ways alright it happens they win boom.

now, onto qui gon. in this au qui gon lives because of that healthy bit of communication up there that went down. see that conversation? where they affirm how important they (qui gon and obi wan) are to each other? and how that bond was repaired and confirmed between their leaving coruscant and fighting maul on naboo and thus their harmonious fighting wasn’t impaired by that underlying resentment and betrayal and tension??? TELLING YOUR KIDS THAT YOU LOVE AND RESPECT THEM CAN DO AMAZING THINGS WITH YOUR ABILITY TO COORDINATE WITH THEM IN THE FIELD IMAGINE THAT

coughs

so they fight maul and maul gets turned into maul 1 and maul 2 and qui gon almost gets got but is saved just in time by his padawan who is!! right there with him!!! because qui gon WAITS 5 SECONDS FOR HIM TO CATCH UP so they can F I G H T T O G E T H E R. qui gon has a permanent limp and an ache in his spine that never really goes away but he’s ALIVE TO SEE THE NEXT SUNRISE BABEY

celebrations happen. and the most important bit of all here: palpatine never meets anakin on naboo.

why would he? anakin’s not fuckin there mate!!! maul wouldn’t even know anything about anakin because qui gon never bothered to take him with them to coruscant and maul was chasing the delegation from naboo, not going hunting for babies in the tatooinian sands

/kicks the palpatine was anakin’s experimental force daddy theory to the curb because. i don’t like it that’s why. suck it dickpatine.

ANAKIN NEVER MEETS PALPATINE!! ripples in the fucking pond babey

qui gon and obi wan ask a boon of padme, that boon being “hey can you give us truly disgusting amounts of money so we can go free those delightful people we had to leave behind on tatooine due to the fact that we were on a time crunch and also ripping people away from a familiar environment without a stable plan of action to provide them a better quality of life is actually called, as the professionals say, a dick move.”

and padme’s like “um fuck yeah here’s some cash let me know how this goes and give anakin and shmi my love”

SO OFF THEY GO TO TATOOINE TO FREE THE SKYWALKERS. shmi tags along to the temple because why wouldn’t she. she wants to see where her son is going to be going. she also pesters qui gon and obi wan constantly about the order and its philosophies and etc. etc. and subsequently gets a crash course in jedi doctrine that anakin also gets to sit in on and you know, educate himself on.

“we want you to know that being a jedi is a choice. being a jedi is a religion unto itself.” they say

“but it’s a set of philosophies that are meant to at its core help others live happy and free lives?” anakin (and shmi) ask

“that’s a very very very large generalization but i guess for the purposes of this conversation that could be seen as true. from a certain point of view,” they respond. qui gon then lets obi wan loose on his musings about the code because the code is simple, and complex in its simplicity, and how the beliefs of the jedi should be taken very seriously because it reflects their connection to the force and by extension the world around them etc. etc.

anakin makes it to the temple. anakin knows (at least a little) what it means to be a jedi. it’s not all light sabers and noble battles and fighting the good fight. it’s about sacrifice and humility and nobility and above all kindness and empathy and loving all things, great and small, and not letting your personal hatreds cloud your judgement even if it takes all your strength to do so

and most importantly to anakin: no attachments.

and that’s what anakin struggles with the most. that never changes. but this time shmi is there to explain it to him, and coming from shmi, the most important person in the world, makes it stick

“it doesn’t mean you love me less,” shmi explains. “it just means you don’t love everyone else less because you love me. it means not loving me to the exclusion of all else. it means love, but for everyone. for everything.”

and then the two jedi reaffirm that it’s a choice. it’s always about choice. you can’t be a jedi without choosing to be one, it’s not something that can be forced. either you believe in the lifestyle, or you don’t. simple as that.

“can i leave if i want to” anakin asks.

“yes. of course you can, any time.” qui gon responds.

“not sure why you would want to though, being a jedi is kind of super cool” obi wan adds, with a wink.

but anakin isn’t a jedi yet. he’s not even an initiate. he doesn’t want to leave his mom, not until he knows she’s safe. he wants to be a jedi he burns with the need to be a jedi, but he’s not sure if he can be a jedi. not the way that was explained to him anyways. but that’s okay because he has the time to decide!!! there are no sith lords breathing down his neck!!! he has two (2) in the flesh examples of what jedi can do, what jedi are, what they can accomplish in the world!!! most of all he has his mother there, supporting him either way!!!

maybe he does go into the order. maybe he does ultimately choose that life for himself. maybe he does manage to untangle himself from the snarls of attachment and apply himself wholeheartedly to the ways of the jedi. he might even succeed this time since palpatine has no fucking CLUE anakin’s even there!!! he’s not nine years old and freshly braided and attached at the hip to a mourning brand new knight, he’s nine years old and trying to figure out how the fuck you levitate off the ground with your legs crossed under you while his crechemates balance things onto his nose!!!

and you know what!! maybe he chooses to leave the order because it’s not for him, but this time he’s got enough stability in his life, in the way that he manages and examines his feelings, that he’s not a threat to himself and those he loves. maybe he becomes a mechanic and lives a nice, simple life with his aging mother and becomes penpals with a pretty girl from naboo. WHO KNOWWWSSS

and that’s important for anakin: knowing that it’s always a choice always his choice and that he never has to have anyone tell him who he can and cannot be because he is his own master now he has full autonomy and the jedi cannot and will not take that away from him

this got so long oh my god i just have so many THOUGHTS

qui gon taking anakin like that in tpm was such a rushed decision my man can you CHILL AND THINK

anyways,,,,, that’s all thank u for coming with me on this journey,,,,,,,

#YELLS ABOUT TPM INTO MY HANDSSSS #this is super long i'm so sorry ghfjkdghfj #star wars #anakin skywalker #qui gon jinn #shmi skywalker #obi wan kenobi #anon #ask #meta

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deans-mind-palace · 4 years ago

Text

Nightcrawler

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Summary: Jensen and you never got along well. But when a stunt accident almost caused him losing you, everything changes. What will Jensen have to say if you wake up?

Word Count: 2,182

Warnings: Description of an accident, Mean!Jensen, Angst, Fluff

Author’s Note: Based on this request. Anonymous: Can I ask a Jensen x fem!reader, where reader is an actress on spn. Jensen kinda hates her (like don’t like her). One day some stunt accident happens on set and reader goes in critical situation. Jensen gets very upset, stays with reader every time from ambulance till hospital. Goes crazy over the reader surprising Jared, Misha and other people on ser since everyone assumed he doesn’t like her. But he ends up confessing to reader at the end and alllll fluffy end?

It was late in the evening, but you had just arrived on the set for your shoot today. It was a night shoot, because the scene had to be shot in the dark outside on the studio grounds. It was a particularly important scene and you were late, so you hurried straight into make-up.

"Look who's late. Again." Jensen greeted you friendly as always. You rolled your eyes. "Mind your own business, Ackles." you were giving back before falling in the chair next to Misha. It was the seat furthest away from the blond actor. Misha sighed after you gave your best friend a quick hug. "I will never understand your hatred for each other." he muttered with a side glance at Jensen, who was now excitedly engrossed in a conversation with Jared and the make-up artist.

The truth was that you and Jensen didn't like each other from the very beginning. In your eyes he was an arrogant ass who looked good and was fully aware of that fact. In his eyes you were a bitch who couldn't understand a joke and was closed off. Neither of you had ever bothered to look behind the façade of the other one. Right on your first day on set you had argued so terribly that the shooting of the scene had to be stopped. When you were told a few weeks ago that you were to play Dean's love interest in the series from now on, the arguments between you had reached their peak.

"So, nervous about shooting tonight?" Misha ripped you out of your thoughts. You took a deep breath and tried to give him a halfway confident smile. "Oh, no. It's okay," you said. Misha saw right through you and gave you an encouraging smile. "I'll be okay. Don't worry about it." Further back you could hear the deep laughter of Jensen and Jared patted him on the shoulder in a brotherly way. You turned your eyes away when Jensen looked over.

A few minutes after your make-up was ready, a young personal assistant also walked into the trailer. "Ms L/N? We need you on set in ten," he reminded you. "Of course, thank you." you smiled. Then he looked at you nervously and fidgeted. Your eyebrows furrowed in wonder. "Can I help you with anything else?" you asked and smiled at the nervous student. "Err... No - Yes. Y-yes. I-I'm a big fan of yours. You're such a great actress and-" Jensen snorted in the background, for which you gave him a deadly look that made the young PA freeze completely, but Jensen was not the least bit bothered. You smiled reassuringly at the PA and granted him his wish for a selfie, then he led you to the set and lectured you for a few more minutes on how great he thought you were. You smiled and nodded from time to time, but you were far too nervous about the upcoming shoot to really listen to him. He didn't seem to notice that.

The spotlights were already set up and radiated the dark area. Cameras were flashing and the car was ready. It was time for the shoot. A bit away, Jensen sat in his chair and watched the action. Technicians hurried across the set. Cameramen were changing settings and the director gave final instructions for the scene.

"Everyone to their places, please!" shouted the director and clapped his hands. You took off your bathrobe and swallowed before stepping on your green mark. Immediately the director approached you. "You ready, Y/N?" he asked you. "This is an important and difficult scene. You must be ready for it because we only have one car, the next one would have to be delivered first." You nodded, unable to put your doubts into words. You wanted to appear professional, damn it! "All right, you know how the scene works? You're standing on the marker. The car, possessed by a demon, is going to race towards you, but you jump aside at the last second because you lure it into a trap and it crashes into the wall behind you. All right?" he went over the sequence of the scene with you again. "Yes." Your voice sounded uncertain, but he didn't seem to notice. "Fine, let's do it." He turned away.

"Light? "Check." "Camera? "Rolling." "Silence on set, please. Scene 17, Take 1. Go!"

As soon as the engine of the car in front of you stuttered to life, the sweat broke out on your forehead. Your fingers trembled, but it appeared as if it was part of your acting. You swallowed and your fingers clenched into fists. "Come on!" you shouted to the possessed car. "Come and get me!" The headlights of the car flickered and it roared a couple of times on the spot. The radio turned up loud and AC/DC's 'Highway to Hell' came out of the speakers, before the tires screeched and spun, and then the car started moving rapidly. Now it was getting serious. When the car crossed the green line, you had to jump to the side onto the green mat.

But the car approached the green line relentlessly and you were frozen like a deer caught in the headlights. Literally. When it reached the green line, you couldn't move a muscle. Immediately, panic broke out around you and the last thing you saw were Jensen's green, wide-open eyes filled with panic before the car hit you.

Suddenly everything happened very quickly. You felt a stabbing pain shoot through your legs as you collided with the bumper. Immediately, you were hurled over the hood, bounced over the roof and hit the ground. Blood ran from your hand and forehead where you had been smashed into the glass. Pain shot through your entire body, then everything went black.

For a split second there was complete silence on the set, then hell broke loose. The director instructed everyone to stay calm, an ambulance was called, but Jensen didn't notice the chaos around him. His gaze was locked on your motionless body as if in a trance. Then he jumped up and started running. Kneeling on the ground, he slid towards you. You had lost consciousness and blood was running from the cuts on your hands. His fingers trembled as he brushed the locks of hair from your face. He would have loved to lay your head in his lap and watched over you until the ambulance arrived, but he knew there was a chance the fall had broken your spine. Your face was pale and smeared with red crimson.

Suddenly he heard yelling in the background. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Misha rushed out of the trailer followed by Jared and ran towards Y/N. Jensen held your bloody hand and stroked your forehead. Your breath was very shallow. He paid no attention to his panicked friend at all. All his attention and concern was only for you. As if in shock, his gaze kept wandering over your wounds. His breathing trembled and with every breath he had the feeling that his chest would burst. Should it end like this? You dying in front of him? Never again your cheeky comments or your bickering in the morning when you arrived late on set again? Would he never be able to make you coffee with too much sugar purposely, because he knew how much you hated sugar in your coffee? Or would he never ever listen to your complaints you always made when you were getting your hair done next to him and he just rolled his eyes? Would he never see the sparkle in your eyes again when a day of shooting was successfully completed? Or would he never feel the joy again when he saw you again after a long break in shooting, even though he would never admit it? A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed. Next to him Jared moved Misha away.

Suddenly, turmoil broke out again. The ambulance hurried to the set and immediately bent down to you. Jensen did not hear their words. But the doctor ordered two paramedics to lay you down on the stretcher. "Sir, you have to let go of her hand now," One of the paramedics told him. "N-no." Jensen shook his head violently. "I-I can't leave her alone." The very thought filled his stomach with nausea. His voice croaked. "I ask you only once more, Sir." But Jensen made no move. Suddenly, Jared grabbed him from behind and pulled him away. Jensen tried to fight back, but he was afraid to cause you more damage. "No! I can't leave her, Jared," he yelled in panic and tried to free himself from the iron grip of his best friend. "Sssh. It's okay, Jensen! It's gonna be okay! They're taking her to the hospital now," Jared explained calmly. But Jensen didn't take his words seriously.

"Let me be with her," Jensen pleaded. "Okay, it's okay, Jay. I'll take you to the hospital." Jensen shook his head. The paramedic cleared his throat because he felt sorry for the distraught man. "Family members are allowed to ride in the ambulance, so..." Even before he had finished the sentence, Jensen had already started running. Shoulder shrugging, Jared looked at the Doctor. "I'll catch up with my friend." He nodded at Misha, who was beside himself. The doctor nodded.

In the car, Jensen had already taken your hand. Gently he stroked the skin with his thumb, careful not to touch any of your wounds. The paramedics put you on all kinds of tubes and you still weren't conscious. Jensen got sick at the sight of all the wires running into your body. All the needles they stuck under your skin. Suddenly the ECG kicked in and your heartbeat started beating flat. "Fractures of the ribs 11 to 12. Craniocerebral trauma. Multiple contusions and a broken leg. Also some superficial lacerations." explained a paramedic. " Her condition is critical. She has sustained severe head injuries and internal bleeding cannot be ruled out. A hematoma is probably already forming. She must go to the O.R. immediately for a trepanation." The paramedic's gaze was serious as the ambulance reached the hospital. The doors of the ambulance were ripped open and the stretcher was taken out. Immediately, the paramedic informed the doctors and nurses of your state of health.

You were immediately taken to an operating room and Jensen was asked to take a seat in the waiting area. He wandered up and down nervously. Soon Misha and Jared arrived. Y/N's family would not arrive in Vancouver until tomorrow afternoon. So you had no family. A few hours later, one of the leading doctors arrived. "Gentlemen. Ms. L/N made it through the operation in good shape. We had to stabilize several fractures with screws and drill a hole in her skull to give the pressure room to dissipate." Jensen went pale. Jared pulled him into the seat next to him so he wouldn't faint. "It'll be a few more hours before she wakes up. She is now under the influence of strong painkillers, but you may see her now," the doctor explained. He gave the room number.

Jared came into the room with a cup of coffee for Jensen. Misha had gone home several hours ago to meet Y/N's parents in the afternoon. But Jensen had not left your side. Jared supplied him with coffee for the third time already and yawned tiredly. It was already 8 a.m. and they hadn't slept all night. "I'm leaving now, Jay. And you should rest too. She's fine. They'll let us know when she wakes up." But Jensen didn't answer. Jared put the coffee on a small table and left the room. Jensen sat by your bed and had trouble keeping his eyes open. The constant beeping of the ECG lulled him in and calmed him down.

When you woke up, your whole body felt numb. The painkillers clouded your mind and you didn't know where you were for a moment until it all came back to you. The accident.

You looked around the white room until your eyes fell on a blond mop of hair. Jensen's head was on your bed. His hand in yours. He had pressed his forehead against your hand in his sleep. Worry overshadowed his sleeping face. You were surprised. Gently you released your wired hand from his grip and stroked his cheek. At once he blinked and jumped up. "Y/N! You are awake! Oh, thank God!" You saw his eyes shimmer with tears of relief. "I thought I had lost you," he said and his voice broke. "Jensen, it's all right," you muttered reassuringly. He nodded, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When they opened again the green sparkled intensely.

"Y/N. I'm sorry for what I did. I was an ass. I want to apologize for all this. I acted like an idiot because I didn't know how to handle it, but -" He took a deep breath. "The truth is, I love you, Y/N."

Wanna get tagged? Check out the link in my bio or drop an ask/comment.

Jensen/Dean tags: @vicariouslythruspn @crazybutconfidentaf @zizzlekwum @ashthefirefox @outofnowhere82 @rintheemolion @myopiamystical @vicmc624 @imaginationisgrowth

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen x reader #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural reader insert #spnfamily #spn cast #spn fandom #hurt #angst #fluff #reader insert #anonymous #requests

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hecohansen31 · 5 years ago

Note

because i really fricking miss, love and cherish sojourn! michael can i please request a vvvvvvv soft fluffy moment between reader and him where she’s the one to take him home after church and just like ,,,,,,, takes care of him and washes his hair for him and helps him with any bruises and cuts and they end up just ordering food and watching some random movie whilst she consoles him 🥺🥺🥺🥺 i really am a sucker for fluff

(A/N): Hello there, sweetie!

Ahhh I honestly feel like on my blog I don’t celebrate that much Sojourn! Michael, but I honestly love and cherish him, because he is a cutie patootie, with a feral hunger I long to satisfy!

I hope you’ll like it and if you want me to change anything, please let me know!

Have a nice day!

WARNINGS; Mention of Previous Trauma, Satanism and Bringing Home a Stranger.

You didn’t go at the Satanist Church, anymore, because you believed in it, but more because it was some kind of social occurrence which had become a ritual to you.

You knew half of the people there and knew that half of them were exactly like you: standing there as unbelievers, but unable to move away and search something better to do on those nights.

And because most of the people knew each other, you were able to spot a new person, next to Madeline as you entered in the church: he was a gorgeous boy of probably your age, if not slightly younger, with the most gorgeous curls you had ever seen, although they were covered in dirt as his whole body.

Moved by curiousness, you sat by him, gently smiling to Madeline, meanwhile you pushed a few dollars in the offering bucket, looking at the embarrassed boy and quickly suggesting to Madeline that a fellow Satanist was in need of help, freeing the boy of the old woman’s presence scooting lightly closer.

“Hey” he was lightly startled, and you tried to approach him carefully “… couldn’t help but notice that you are new, I am (Y/N)”.

You offered your hand as a way to test the waters and the stranger looked at it with a mixture of worry and uneasiness, as if he had come back from a long trip just to find that everything had changed, alongside his entire aspect showing he had gone through quite the trauma.

“… Michael” he didn’t accept your hand, but looked at you in the eyes, gripping his hand on his knees and you nodded.

“Is everything alright, Michael?” you asked, trying not to seem noisy, but you were definitely worried “… people don’t wander here, usually, without a specific reason”.

“Let’s just say that I am lost” he mumbled, his stare unfocused in front of him and you were even more worried.

“Everyone is lost, in this life, sadly we aren’t given an instruction manual” you explained softly and dared to reach out to grab one of his hands, managing to shift his attention to you, meanwhile you smiled softly “… it’s why life is such a beautiful trauma”.

Michael smirked sadly and looked at your joined hands, before he swiftly and surprisingly shot his eyes to meet yours and you were left dumbfounded by the intensity of his gorgeous eyes.

“And what made you wander here, (Y/N)?” he mumbled, his tone requesting only the truth and you were unable to deny it, blushing lightly and lowering your head.

“… my family has always believed in all this, I grow up to recognize this as something normal, but, between us…” you lowered your voice, and pushed yourself slightly closer to Michael, him slightly inching also closer, some part of him striving for human contact “… I am not really a believer, I haven’t sold my soul and neither I think about doing it”.

“Smart move” mumbled Michael, meanwhile his eyes shifted unfocused onto the altar, definitely trying to follow the ritual, but with no true interest “… Satan doesn’t give a fuck about us”.

“Neither does God” you replied, simply smirking sadly “… it is people that have to care for each other”.

You had always thought that, in the end, what mattered was what humans could create, on their own.

Hence why you chose to ask Michael if he needed a place to crash in.

He looked like a recently homeless person, maybe he had been thrown out of his house or maybe he had lost everything, but what was sure was that he needed somewhere to stay.

Michael shook his head lightly, again his eyes unfocused, and a slight shade of annoyance appearing in them, which changed in surprise as you proposed he actually came with you at your home.

“… you don’t have a place to stay and I have a comfortable bed and a shower, they might help you a bit, since the homeless rescues I know should be closed by now, sadly” you explained, meanwhile Michael looked at you definitely shook “… we could order pizza and watch a movie, you look like you might need a bit of comedy in your life”,

Michael looked at you, almost as if a miracle was happening in front of him, before a harsh expression appeared onto his face and he mumbled, annoyed:

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, confused, before he sat up to look at you in the eyes, searching desperately for something “… I am a complete stranger to you, and maybe a danger to you, you don’t know me!”.

“I’d like to think that if Destiny or Satan threw you at me, it is for a reason other than you being a danger to me…” and then you took a good look at his slim body “… and don’t take this as an insult, but… you look like you couldn’t even lift a penny from the ground, right now”.

“And how can I not know that you won’t take advantage of me?” this question broke your heart, because he seemed to speak from experience, not to talk about the frail shrill in his one “… all the people I have had around me did nothing more than take advantage of me”.

“… I know that swearing on something doesn’t matter much,,, but I swear I don’t want to do anything but help you, Michael”.

“It is difficult for me to believe that” he mumbled, and you were sure that you that he would have straight up refused, although it pained your heart to leave such an hurt soul “… but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, if you can add to that also some candies…”.

“Well then candy it is!”.

As soon as you arrived home you gave Michael some slippers you had stolen from a hotel not too long ago, which would fit him, and they were certainly more comfortable than the elegant but ruined shoes Michael wore.

Then you showed him the bathroom, explaining to him how the shower worked and where he could find some soap and other bathroom necessities, leaving him some privacy to him, as you moved away to collect some new clothes from your neighbor and tenant, Mrs. Roses, a noisy woman whose son had left her some clothes, before he went to college, for when he came back during the holidays.

She gave you quite the stare, as you moved away with a pile of clothes you hoped would fit Michael, but you simply justified that request as a ‘friend crashing in, since he had an appointment in the city, tomorrow’, a dashing and uncaring smile on your face, meanwhile you blushed all the way back home, finding a shivering Michael wrapped loosely in a towel.

You immediately came to him, realizing that the old lady in the apartment over yours must have used all the hot water, and immediately gave Michael the fluffy clothes, warmed up by the atmosphere in your apartment.

“Oh, sweetheart, I am so so sorry! Mrs. Krystel must have washed her chihuahuas” you said, meanwhile he changed, hidden by the loosely closed door of the bathroom, his little shivers audible enough, and you were thankful that your apartment was always a bit too warm.

Thankfully dinner went better than the shower and not only the pizzas warmed up Michael a bit, but it was also an occasion to talk about some general stuff, Michael opening up a bit, explaining to you that he had lost a rather important person and his father had rejected him when he had searched for him.

Small tears escaped his eyes and you weren’t able to stop yourself from gently moving closer, with a tissue in your hand to help him collect himself, drying his tears and softly caressing his face, till his sobs quieted and he gently and loosely, hugged you, burying his face in your hair.

Although it was definitely strange and a bit unusual to hug a stranger, you weren’t able to deny him and gently cuddled him closer to your chest, softly kissing his forehead, as he clutched you closer, till you suggested to soothe his uneasiness with a bit of chocolate.

You then realized that he hadn’t been able to wash his hair and suggested you washed it for him.

“I am not going back in that shower!” he immediately shouted, as a cat scared of being given a bath.

You then proceeded to explain that he wouldn’t need to go back, and just filled a basin of hot water, making Michael immerge his hair into it, meanwhile he laid with his back to the table, a bit uncomfortable but he started basically purring as you began playing with his hair, combing them through your fingers and massaging his scalp with some hair lotion.

In the end he was putty enough in your hand, making you let out a laugh as he closed his eyes, halfway through sleeping, already.

“This is… rather enjoyable” he muttered as you smirked.

“I was sure you would feel like this… I honestly love when people play with my hair” you joked as you wrapped a towel around his hair to dry it, and as you waited you watched a movie, ‘The Holidays’ since you were feeling lightly Christmas-y and Michael giggled at the meeting between Graham and Amanda.

And meanwhile he was giggling, you heard him lightly moan in pain, something that made you turn lightly, looking at him worried, meanwhile he muttered a simply ‘everything is alright’.

But you didn’t trust him and gently touched his chest, feeling him take a deep hiss as your hand came down to a peculiar point, and Michael allowed you to raise his shirt so that you could examine it, a big bruise forming onto the right side of his lower torso, an horrible color, that made you almost wonder if the ribs under it hadn’t broken.

But Michael was adamant about not going to the hospital so the only thing you could offer him was a bit of comfort and ice, wrapped in a rag, which made him hiss, but you felt him relax, softly, even more as you again played with his damp hair.

You didn’t know what had made you take a stranger home.

Had it been his pretty eyes or the way he looked so desperate that you just felt like you had to cuddle him.

But you were glad you had, as you both fell asleep listening to each other’s breaths, on the couch.

It had been decidedly an amazing idea.

#Michael Langdon #sojourn! Michael #Michael Langdon Reader #Michael Langdon x Reader #Michael Langdon Imagine #Michael Langdon Fic #Michael Langdon Fluff #Fluff #Michael Langdon Ask #Michael Langdon Blurb #Michael Langdon Drabble #Michael Langdon Fanfic #Michael Langdon Moodboard #Michael Langdon oneshot #Michael Langdon One Shot

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my-whumpy-little-heart · 5 years ago

Text

Persistence -2

Hey all! This is a continuation of the OC pirate story I’ll try to think of a name for at some point (ayy there’s a name now look at that). If you didn’t catch the first part, the link to that is on that first paragraph.

Series Masterlist

Content warnings: creepy/intimate whumper, kidnapping, noncon (nonsexual) touching, brief head trauma, lady whumpee (not associated with creepy whumper)

————————————

He didn’t even see the fist fly through the air before it crashed into his jaw, knocking him to the ground as his vision faded to black. The other man may have said something, then, but he could only hear the ringing in his ears before that left him too.

Floyd came to at some point, vision fading in dim patches of light and shape. He was thankful just to be conscious right up until his body left the ground without warning, a sickening sensation rushing through him. It only worsened when he was thrown over a shoulder and he swayed in what must have been Percival’s hold. Any doubts he had were dismissed when the body he was pressed against rumbled with that same deep, soft voice that sent a shiver of dread down his spine.

“I have what I came for. Wrap it up and get everyone back on board before anyone catches on, or they’re getting left behind.”

Shouting from someone else followed the command, but it faded into the distance as Percival ran the opposite way, jostling Floyd roughly and making breathing a chore with the bones of his shoulder pressing ever harder into his torso. It was then, in the hands of the enemy, being taken to what he could only assume was a secondary location, the threats from earlier still hanging over his head, that Floyd realized compliance wasn’t likely to keep him alive.

Fighting against every instinct that told him to just go with it, he pushed weakly against the arms that held his body in place, wriggling in hopes of loosening the grip. But no matter how much he struggled, the arms around him only grew tighter. Like a python weakening its prey. Or a serpent, he thought wryly.

When darkness enveloped him again, it took Floyd a second to realize he hadn’t passed out, but instead been taken inside. A maze of dim cabin hallways passed by as he craned his neck for a view of where they were headed, but it was all so strangely unfamiliar. Where were they? Floyd had explored every inch of his own ship. He should’ve known where they were.

The thought that he might be aboard the Golden Felucca hit him like a slap in the face. It didn’t make sense, but if Percival wasn’t going to kill him after all... Floyd sobbed aloud at the memory of his mindless begging, the offering of himself in exchange for his life. He hadn’t expected it to work. He hadn’t thought any further ahead than that isolated moment of desperation and he felt a dizzying, fearful regret bubble up to his head.

There was no more time to dwell on it before Percival strode into a room and Floyd’s body hit the ground, rolling a few feet with the momentum. There was no struggle left in him, even as he opened his eyes to the horrific sight of a small room outfitted with chains, metal loops, and more he didn’t even care to identify in his exhausted state. Adrenaline nagged him, pulled him on to his side, but the full force of his exhaustion, hunger, thirst, and fright hit all at once.

Percival gathered Floyd’s wrists above his head in a firm grip, dragging him backward, sitting him up against a wall, and locking him there with heavy metal shackles. Floyd couldn’t breathe steadily enough to speak, raising his tearful eyes instead in a last ditch effort to plead with his captor.

This couldn’t be happening. There was no way Percival had run away with him unseen. In a few seconds, his crew would burst through the door to save him. They had to.

Tall legs bent before him and a lopsided smile spread over Percival’s face. He reached a hand up to stroke Floyd’s hair, which he shied away from with a shudder.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Percival chided, running fingers through short waves even as his captive pressed the side of his face to the wall, refusing to look back at him. “This setup is only temporary, alright? I’ll make sure you’re much less comfortable tomorrow.”

With a final ruffle of Floyd’s hair that pulled his head back and knocked it off the wall, as well as a flourish of his own long coat, Percival stood up and strolled back to the door.

“See you soon, dear!”

Then he was gone.

——————————————————

(The Thief’s Halyard, just minutes prior)

Ray thrust his sword fiercely at the opposing pirate, driving them toward the edge of the ship. They parried his strikes well but backed up too far, leaving them vulnerable against the railing. Ray was prepared to force them into submission, perhaps threaten to push them over into the churning waters, when a shrill voice cut through the action, calling all of the opposing pirates to retreat.

It caught him off guard and Ray hesitated just long enough for his foe to use their position on the rail to deliver a high kick across his face before scrambling to their feet and jumping the gap between ships.

Ray cried out at the nasty hit, cradling his cheek, and by the time he looked back the person had scaled a rope ladder and disappeared. All around him, people were retreating and doing the same, leaving the crew of The Thief’s Halyard alone and dazed.

A quick glance around found nearly everyone standing up at the very least, traces of blood at a surprising minimum. His eye was quickly drawn to Mabel, running over to him with her hands pressed over a deep red stain on her side.

“Mabel! Mae, hey, are you alright, is it bad?” Ray tried to pry her hands away and see the wound, but she wouldn’t let him. She only pressed harder, breathing heavily through clenched teeth, only causing more pain in an attempt to stanch the bleeding.

“It’s fine, ‘m fine. Just a stab, may-hhh-! Maybe a few centimeters, but that’s not, ‘s not important-”

“Yes it is!” Ray butted in, placing a careful hand on her shoulder, “Here, hold on, let me get a look at that and we can get it stitched up and taken care of.”

“No, no! Floyd, it’s Floyd.” Ray froze, eyes suddenly wide, darting around the ship. He’d seen Floyd just a few minutes ago, hadn’t he? “Hhhh-he’s, gone, I dunno… Thought I saw Percival for a second and he was gone then Floyd was gone…” Mabel stumbled on unsteady feet, and Ray caught her before she could fall to the ground, eyes wild.

“Gone? What do you mean? Where? People don’t just disappear, Mae.”

“Just, over there, look!” She pointed to a wall away from the main battle congregation and the traces of blood around it.

“I... Where is he now? Where’d he go?”

“I didn’ see... it leads off the side, though, and- Gods, Ray, if he- hhhe…” she trailed off, the words catching in the back of her throat, her breath hitching. Her eyes were glazed over with tears and pain, but Ray’s were dark, focused, and intense.

“It was him? You’re sure it was him?” He shook her a little as he asked. Mabel swayed listlessly to the side and nodded. “Look at you, you can hardly even stand. You might’ve just seen it wrong. Can’t trust your body, can’t trust your mind, right?” She squinted and shook her head as if to clear it but he kept going. “We’re going to organize this ship and we’re going to find him, and I’ll only relent when we do.”

Mabel looked up, trying to put her thoughts into words, but her head spun and she couldn’t think before Ray helped her sit on the ground, made sure she was still putting pressure on the wound, and called everyone else over to him. Beside them, the Golden Felucca was pulling away, no worse for wear but no richer, either. It was strange, to say the least.

When people circled around, Ray did a quick headcount and frowned.

“We’re missing Charlie and Floyd. Has anyone seen either of them?”

“Charlie just went in, said he couldn’t take the heat and needed to lay down before he passed out entirely,” one woman explained.

“Okay, thank you Edith. And Floyd?” Ray was clearly desperate as he looked over everyone, each slight shake of the head and avoidance of eye contact sending a shiver down his spine. “Okay... okay.” He wiped his eyes and swallowed the emotions that wanted to bubble up. It wasn’t too late. Surely it wasn’t too late.

“Listen up, then,” he said, voice harsh, “I need one person who can handle a needle and thread... Clara, yes, you’ll do. Take Mabel with you, fix her up, and get back to me when you’re done. The rest of you are going to scour every single place on this ship to find Floyd.”

Clara hurried to Mabel’s side as Ray launched into more specific directions, offering two hands to pull her to her feet. She nearly collapsed the moment she stood but Clara caught her around the waist and guided both of them toward the cabin door. Mabel was so dizzy and distracted by the unusually harsh, commanding tone of Ray’s voice that she didn’t even hear Clara for a few seconds.

“Mabel!” A shout finally brought her back. “The stairs. Can you make it down or should I try lifting you?”

They were inside. She hadn’t even noticed they’d walked so far, but considering how Clara was already shaking with the effort of holding her upright, Mabel couldn’t imagine asking to be carried. She shook her head loosely, stumbling forward and shakily making her way down. Even here, she could still hear Ray in the distance.

“I will not give up on finding him until I exhaust each and every method at my disposal,” he shouted, “and I will not be hearing a single complaint from the lot of you that entire time. I do not care how parched your throat is or how tired your legs are. Do whatever you need to survive, and get the fuck to work.”

Mabel felt faint. She wanted so badly to get back out there and redirect the situation, but she couldn’t think straight as she was. She could only hope and pray despite herself that Floyd was still aboard, that what she’d seen really had been wrong, but she knew that was just too good to be true.

————————————

Next part

#whump #pirate whump #Benedict Floyd #Percival #Raymond Bates #Mabel #kidnapping #held captive #shackled #creepy captor #stabbed #stab wound #blood loss #missing teammate #y’all I’m so excited to write the next one #but it’s gonna be a real test of my whump pacing so oh man #Persistence

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ashfountainfanfics · 5 years ago

Text

It’s July 18th.

It’s been two weeks since the Mind Flayer was defeated and the gate was sealed. Everyone is trying to get back to their old lives the best they can. It’s weird how every time everyone seems to go back to normal even though they all know things are different. They all have something familiar to lean on everyone except...

“HARRINGTON!”

Steve heads upstairs to heed the call, cursing under his breath. He nearly trips over the middle step but catches himself. He’s gotten so graceless in the last year or so. Sometimes he wonders if every time Hawkins is under attack he loses cool factor. He’s never really returned to his old self not since the beginning. With every new, terrifying event Steve takes on a new role.

Steve opens the door to his family’s guest bedroom.

“Radio!” Steve shouts back upon entry, “What is so hard about using it?!”

“Bite me,” a gruff voice responds.

It’s late evening in Hawkins and given the seclusion of the Harrington residence and the drawn curtains of the guest room; it feels as if the voice belongs to the dark itself. The smell of the room is unsettling too; two week’s worth of unwashed everything sealed into four walls. Steve holds his nose.

“Y’know there’s a shower right through that door,” he says as he tries to breathe as little as possible, “and the light switch-”

“Turn on that light and you’re dead.”

Steve ambles toward the low light lamp he knows is on the bedside nightstand. It clicks on and gives the room a dull, warm light. That lights hits a bedridden Billy softer than the switch would have. Still he winces and groans at the change and Steve sighs.

“I’m not much help if I can’t see.”

“Bucket’s full,” Billy replies through grit teeth.

“Of course.”

Steve comes around to the other side of the bed and looks at the large paint bucket filled with vomit. It’d be nice if he had help to care for his unwanted house guest but he wouldn’t dare put anyone else through this. As far as Steve’s skills as a nurse go; he somewhere between shitty boyfriend and a good babysitter.

“Chair,” Billy says right as Steve is about to pick up the puke bucket.

Billy’s wheelchair is on it’s side and out of reach for him. Which means he threw it again. Steve doesn’t mention it. Instead he rights it and brings it bedside for Billy.

“Do you, uh-” Steve tries to phrase it differently as he locks the chair in place.

“If I want your fucking help, I’ll ask.”

Steve returns to the bucket and sets about dumping it into the toilet in the adjacent bathroom. He has to do it in small bits and he prays silently that he doesn’t spill any. The last time that happened he had to toss his jeans out.

As he flushes, Steve can hear Billy grunting and struggling to get into the wheelchair. It’s hard to manage even with help given that he’s covered in stitches and has a broken foot. He can’t do crutches because the stitches on his sides might split from the pressure. They’re huge, oddly shaped patch jobs that the doctor insists require bed rest. Oh, and the nurse essentially guarantees scarring. Steve doubts that Billy will be playing any shirts vs skin games anytime soon.

“Fuck!”

There’s a loud thud that follows right after. Steve drops the bucket and hurries back to the bed to find Billy crumpled on the ground. The chair is flipped and Billy is on his stomach holding a hand to his bandaged side.

Steve moves the wheelchair aside quickly and starts going about picking Billy up. Billy pushes him away and screams not to touch him. Steve keeps trying and manages to flip him onto his back. This makes Billy more furious and he starts throwing punches to the best of his ability. This isn’t the first time that Billy is fighting help. He’s been doing it since he was discharged from the hospital.

“Stop. Hitting. Me!” Steve grabs his dirty patient by the wrists.

Billy screams into Steve’s face so hard that the veins in his neck stand out. Steve holds steady though and the scream seems to be the last of the fight left. He takes stock of him as he keeps him pinned; the red eyes and the tear stained cheeks. Billy is hissing from the pain and, one could argue, whimpering, if there was ever a guttural version of whimpering.

“Okay,” Steve collects his thoughts, “I can’t keep doing this. I have dealt with some shit, man but this? Trying to take care of you is the hardest bull shit I’ve ever been through-”

Billy manages a weak growl and the slightest push back against Steve’s hands.

“No, no no, I’m not done! You have two choices; either you start letting me help you or I dump your ass on your parent’s front porch.”

The violence in Billy’s gaze disappears in a single blink. It’s replaced by something else, something that feels familiar to Steve. He can’t dwell on it though. He needs to seize the opportunity while he can.

“I’m not asking for any thank you’s or even a please, okay?” Steve softens, “Let me help you. That’s it. Just let me help you.”

Billy nods but can’t bring himself to make any eye contact. Steve sighs in relief before putting one arm under Billy’s good knee and the other under his arm. He remembers to lift with his legs but the transition isn’t painless for Billy. The wounded of the pair seems to be trying to meet the other halfway though as his groans and hisses are absent of anger.

“Bathroom’s all yours,” Steve says, knowing full well that’s why Billy wanted the chair in the first place, “just mind the bucket and when you’re ready-”

Steve grabs the radio he already knows is stashed under one of the pillows. He puts it in Billy’s lap.

“Radio me and I’ll take a look at your stitches.”

---

Billy absolutely pulled a stitch during his last tantrum. Thankfully, it doesn’t warrant a trip back to the hospital but it does require a little cleaning and a fresh bandage. It’s unbearably quiet as Steve mentally walks through the steps Max left him. Babysitting even in upside down level circumstances takes less effort than playing nurse.

The instructions for all this isn’t too difficult but Steve has to sift through all of Max’s details and what if scenario information. That kid is like an encyclopedia for wounds. She’d make a great nurse. Someday. And not for her formerly possessed brother who tried to kill her and her friends. Even the most seasoned nurse might have a little trouble with that.

“What are you doing?” Billy asks over an unintentional sneer from the disinfectant.

“Huh?”

This seems to wake Steve up from his intense thought process.

“Your mouth,” Billy gestures gently, “you’re moving it like you’re saying something but you’re not saying shit.”

“Uh...I’m thinking, I guess.”

“You need to do that to think?”

Steve takes a bit of his frustration out on the roll of tape for the bandages and forcefully pulls a strip.

“Guess so,” he replies curtly.

No one’s ever pointed out that quirk before but then maybe no one ever noticed? Or maybe it’s a new development? Some neurotic shift resulting from the trauma of being tortured by Russians or purposefully crashing a car or seeing a building sized rotting flesh monster? The world is full of possibilities.

Steve places the strip of tape on the headboard to keep it ready and within reach. He moves in to adjust Billy but thinks better of it.

“Can you hold yourself up a little more?” he asks.

Billy obliges. Awkwardly, Steve sits on the free space of the bed and moves in close. Billy lifts his arms enough to allow Steve to start winding the gauze around his torso and over a shoulder. In the past couple weeks this was just as difficult as anything else was but now that the boys have an agreement the physicality of it goes smoother.

“Why is this taking so long?” Billy grunts.

“Uh, maybe because you’re not screaming and trying to punch me?”

Steve has time to do this right, no rogue limbs and noise pollution to make it hurried. However, that lack of sound and movement does make things quiet and kind of weird. It seems as though if they’re not fighting then they’ve got nothing to talk about.

Steve gets to the final round and places the big strip of duct tape across the uninjured part of Billy’s chest. Then he carefully places his hands on his work and checks for loose gauze.

Billy’s body is so warm under the bandage and despite the damage on his torso he still looks like he could bench press Steve. Maybe Billy would be playing shirtless basketball again after all.

“If you don’t explain what this is I’m going to have to punch you,” Billy says flatly.

Steve pulls his hands back quickly and holds them up in pseudo surrender.

“I’ve never been able to check if I did it right before. Feels right,” Steve stumbles over his words, “Firm. And-and good. How do you feel?”

Billy narrows his eyes and the air shifts dangerously.

“You queer?” he asks in disgust.

Steve feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him. Queer? Nobody’s ever asked if Steve’s a queer. Steve’s the one who asks that. An instinctive rage tears at the question but then Steve remembers...

‘But Tammy Thompson’s a girl.’

Steve used to ask shit like that. Not anymore.

“What if I am?” Steve asks heatedly.

“The fuck did you just say?”

The anger starts to flicker back into Billy’s eyes.

“What if I am?” Steve repeats, “It wouldn’t change anything. Being queer, or uh, different doesn’t make someone not a person and in case you forgot right now I’m the person stuck taking care of your ass.”

Of all the times that both Steve and Billy have ever accused someone of being gay neither of them have ever heard that kind of response. It’s twice as shocking for Steve for no other reason than it’s his response. The room feels a little smaller now and Steve tries to keep in mind the kind of insecure asshole Billy is, the kind of asshole Steve used to be. The longer Steve sits there on the bed with his statement in the air the smaller the room gets.

“But no,” Steve stands up, “I’m not queer.”

“Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

“Calling people pretty boy, honestly? That sounds kinda queer, so-”

“Don’t you ever fucking call me that!” Billy shouts, his fists pounding into the mattress.

He backs off his anger right away though his body unable to handle it.

“Okay,” Steve relents.

“I’m not a fag.”

“I got it.”

“I’m no-”

Billy’s face goes pale and his mouth begins to quiver. Steve knows what this face preludes and makes a run for the bucket left in the bathroom. He manages to get a hold of it as Billy starts dry heaving. He runs back into the room but trips over his feet. He slides desperately trying to get the bucket back in time. He misses by an inch and Billy vomits hard all over himself and the bed.

---

“No,” Billy gurgles quietly as Steve does his God given best to place him into his parents’ large, squared bath tub.

The tub squeaks as Billy’s body settles into a decent position. Steve breathes out heavily and tells himself not to think about the effort that’s going to come from getting this dead weight out of the tub. Instead he has to focus on the quickest and least weird way to bathe another person’s entire body. Like all of it. Because the thing Steve was dreading the most is here; Billy absolutely needs a bath.

Billy also seems as though he was dreading this but luckily Steve had the foresight to convince him into taking his pain medicine first. Then it was just a matter of letting it kick in as Steve threw out the sheets and set the mattress on the curb for garbage to collect.

His parents can afford a new mattress and Steve honestly feels it’ll be less effort to be bitched out than trying to clean up.

“Give me… my clothes,” Billy slurs.

“Listen, you’d be in your underwear right now if I had a choice but as it turns out you don’t wear underwear.”

It’s practically comical, the unfortunate luck Steve has. He manages to avoid the fight but gets stuck with nudity. He’s technically seen Billy naked before, back in high school in the gym showers, but other than a douchey tap on the shoulder from Billy there was no contact. It was a circus trying to load Billy into the tub naked and desperately trying to avoid everything around and attached to his pelvis.

Steve turns the water on.

“Cold,” Billy groans as he tries to pull a face at the faucet.

“It’ll get warm, relax.”

The water adjusts and Billy seems to forget the circumstances of this bath as he relaxes. He’s practically serene against the cream colored tile despite the seran wrapped cast propped on the edge of the tub. His eyes are heavy like he might just fall asleep after all. Steve realizes that in time he’s known Billy he’s never once seen him calm like this or any other variation of calm. In many ways, Billy reminds Steve of some big wild animal. He always looks… predatory.

Steve takes a large cup and pours water slowly across the front of Billy’s chest, allowing it to pool down to places where Steve’s not looking to make direct contact given his previous acrobatics around them. The water clears the faded trail the puke had left behind.

Billy hums a little as Steve tries not be repulsed by pressing a bar of soap to his skin.

“Don’t do that,” Steve practically begs.

“I haven’t had a bath,” Billy muses, “in a tub. A bathtub bath. Since I was a kid. My mom...”

Steve makes a face and tries to move a little faster. He was hoping that the painkillers would tire him out too much for any talk. Although given that Steve has also been high and babbled inconveniently before he shouldn’t judge.

“My mom was the only one...who gave me baths...and then she was... gone.”

Steve stops mid pour on the second cup of water.

Gone, he has the good sense to wonder and not ask, like left? Or gone like dead? Or both? Wait how would he know if it was both if she left? Unless someone called. That would really suck.

Steve sticks with his better judgement and lets Billy’s comment go without further acknowledgement. He finishes up the second rinse.

“Can you wash my hair?” Billy opens his heavy eyes just long enough to make eye contact, “Please?”

“Sure...”

Steve finds himself coming around to the other side of the tub to sit down. The shampoo he uses has an orange color and smells sweet like honey. It may be his mom’s or his dad’s or both. Steve wouldn’t know. He hadn’t been in close enough proximity of either to know something like that. He can’t even recall what products, if any, they ever smelled like. They always keep at least a foot between them and him even when they’re angry.

Steve digs his fingers into Billy’s hair and does gentle circular motions. He starts at the crown and works down to the base of the neck. Billy’s hair has isn’t too bad and the movement breaks up the any matting. Eventually, Billy’s hair is soft again.

“Is this okay?” Steve asks despite wishing he hadn’t. The silence was probably better.

“Where’d you learn to do...that?”

Steve looks around as if somehow someone might be spying on him. He takes his hair secrets very seriously.

“I don’t think you’ll remember this but if you do you better not tell anyone. You better swear.”

“I swear,” Billy vows with a goofy smile.

“I’ve got a cousin who’s a hairdresser in the city and she says this is the best way to wash hair. Helps it to grow and stuff. It’s the way I wash mine so yeah. I guess it’s a technique.”

Steve is working his way back to the top again, his fingers massaging Billy’s scalp under honey scented bubbles and warm water.

“It’s like getting a blow job but for your hair,” Billy laughs sleepily.

“And we’re done now.”

Steve pulls his hands out of Billy’s locks. His cheeks go flush and without thinking he wipes the suds off on his shirt. He retreats back to the other side of the tub to get the cup and get this over with.

“No..no no,” Billy continues to giggle to himself, “I like it. Head for your head haha.”

“Very funny,” Steve deflects as he tilts back Billy’s head to rinse his hair out.

“No... no, you’re not listening.”

Billy places a lazy grip onto the collar of Steve’s shirt while Steve still has a hand on the back of Billy’s neck. The atmosphere shifts into unfamiliar territory. Steve feels like maybe all this isn’t just awkward, it’s inappropriate.

“I like it,” Billy mutters before pulling Steve closer and very gently kissing him on the mouth.

Steve panics, drops the cup and tries to pull back but Billy holds his grip and kisses him again, this time using tongue. Steve’s ears feel hot with embarrassment because he can taste Billy’s tongue. It’s a cool mint from brushing his teeth earlier. It tingles the roof of Steve’s mouth.

Billy lets go of Steve’s shirt to let his hand migrate to Steve’s neck. He tangles his fingers into Steve’s dark strands.

It’s a primal kiss and the energy shocks Steve into staying completely still. He’s the proverbial deer in the head lights.

Billy breaks the kiss by seizing his fingers into Steve’s hair and pulling him back.

“Whatsa matter, gorgeous?” Billy smirks, “Can’t keep up?”

He’s an animal, Steve panics, all he knows is fucking and punching and now that he’s not punching- oh God.

“You never kiss like this?” Billy taunts him, “I can give you romance if you want. Treat you soft-“

His pouty lips start to trail kisses on Steve’s jawline.

“You can be my pillow princess if you want, pretty boy. I can be gentle.”

Something snaps in Steve. Something competitive and furious. Angrily he brings his lips to Billy’s and starts to kiss him wanting to prove that he’s no princess. He’s a man.

Billy moans into it before biting Steve’s lip baiting him to give him more. Steve is overcome with the need to devour him. He wants to taste everything Billy has to offer. He grabs Billy’s wrists and goes to pin them at his sides.

Billy winces and lets out a pained groan which stops them both. Steve had grabbed a little too roughly and with that pulled stitch on one side Billy can’t be handled like that.

Billy is staring at Steve. He’s wide eyed and shocked and Steve stares back.

Things feel awkward again but this time Steve is a reason for it. It now seems inconceivable that Steve had kissed him back let alone with that vigor. He wipes the water and shared saliva from his lip with the back of his hand. He can still Billy’s eyes on him as he spits into the sink.

That was gross...I’m gross.. Steve thinks as he looks at his reflection in the mirror.

“We should, uh,” he desperately tries to change the subject, “we should get you to bed.”

Billy, still high as a kite, snorts and gestures to nothing in particular.

“What bed?”

—-

“Oh my God.”

Steve is expecting something a little more succinct from Robin but maybe taking the Lord’s name in vain is the best way to sum it up.

“I know.”

“Oh my God!”

“I know, Robin!” Steve responds in equal parts shame and exasperation.

“No,” Robin glares at Steve, “I mean ‘oh my God’ as in; Oh my God I’ve been gay like my whole life and you get to have a same sex kiss before me?! Jesus Christ you get everything!”

Steve, dumbfounded, sits quietly as he lets Robin process things. It felt dangerous to breathe a word of last night’s events to anyone but Robin isn’t just anyone. She gets the gravity of keeping this kind of secret.

It’s hot again today as they sit out by the pool. Steve’s radio is within ear shot, sitting on a lawn chair in the shade, should Billy call but given that he’s been out cold since last night Steve doubts it.

It was Robin’s idea to have daily pool time. They were both out of job and the second she saw that Steve’s place had a pool she knew she needed at least an hour a day in the water. Steve’s thankful for it now. It feels therapeutic to see Robin show up everyday in her black one piece and her short hair clipped back at the sides. She always reeks of sunscreen though.

Steve kicks his feet a little in the water.

“So… what do I do?”

“How should I know?! You’re more advanced than me.”

“No. No, no, I am not advanced. I’m not even in this class!”

“Billy kissed you,” she laughs, “you’re not even gay and you get action. Is it something that only I don’t get? I mean I like women, so of course I don’t get it but I thought Billy was straight.”

“He is!” Steve backtracks, “I think.”

“You think?”

Billy didn’t actually date in high school. Every girl, with the exception of the usual groups, wanted Billy. Bad. The guy could sneeze and panties would drop. They were obsessed.

But he never dated them. Any of them. He didn’t even fool around. He acted like they weren’t good enough and that made him even more appealing to them. He was hot and completely unattainable and he didn’t seem at all interested in that advantage.

“Well being gay would explain that,” Robin remarks after Steve shares his thoughts, “cover it up by telling yourself you’re better than them. I can relate, yknow, minus the popularity stuff.”

Unbeknownst to either Steve or Robin, Billy had actually spoken at times about his hookups with women. These were women though not high school girls. Some of those women being the mothers of the very guys who supported his social status by the way. He gave enough details to keep from being questioned but never enough to out the cohorts of his sexual escapades. Older women prefer that kind of discretion and Billy didn’t mind.

But, since Robin and Steve aren’t in the know, there’s only one logical conclusion.

“He likes boys,” Robin shrugs before slipping the rest of her body over the edge and into the pool.

She starts making a lap leaving Steve to stew in this deduction. How is this whole Nurse Steve thing going to work now? How does he avoid any interaction when he has to take care of him? It’s not like Billy can go anywhere else, El made that clear over the radio this morning. Under no circumstances is Billy to be handed over to his father. El’s tone ensured there’d be no room for argument and Steve isn’t exactly itching to argue with her either. She’s a scary kid.

Robin and Nancy have nowhere to hide him. Johnathan has enough to take care of with his mom grieving for the chief of police. Not that the Buyers have much room either. There’s no one else with time and room to get Billy back on his feet. It’s not like Steve can claim that his parents are coming home any time soon either: they’re both camped out in the city in order to wait out their ties with the former mayor. The soonest they’d be back is Thanksgiving if they come back at all.

“Hey dingus!”

Robin had made half a lap and is now pulling herself out of the water. She shakes her hair, almost like a dog, and Steve feels an overwhelming affection for her. That’s his best friend there, drying off like a Labrador.

“Shall I point out the obvious?” She calls out as her bare feet leave a trail of wet footprints behind her.

“The obvious?” Steve asks more to himself than to Robin.

Robin stands behind Steve and plants a foot firmly onto his back.

“You never said that you didn’t kiss him back.”

Steve can’t respond to that though as Robin gives a kick sending Steve into the water.

#harringrove #sthhch1 #steve/billy #fanfiction #stranger things have happened ff #Chapter One: Nurse Harrington

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capsized-heart · 5 years ago

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(I Promise You) If You Need Me, I’ll Be There: Chapter 1

(fic masterlist!)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Chapter Summary: Three years after the attack on New York, you find yourself in Sokovia....

A/N: first chapter comin’ at ya! My girl Wanda making her grand entrance, enjoy!

Novi Grad, Sokovia. 2015.

Some time after the attack on New York, you find yourself in the snow-capped mountains of Novi Grad. The Chitauri invasion had left you traumatized, plagued with nightmares, anxiety, and overwhelming guilt. Textbook symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

So, you had packed up your entire life and moved to Sokovia. Not that you had much in New York anyway, aside from that waitressing job, and you figured your studies in linguistics were much more applicable in eastern Europe. Your symptoms still persist, but getting out of ground zero had significantly helped contribute to your well-being.

Sokovia is a breath of fresh air, a new beginning. The lush greenery and quaint, modest cityscape is a welcome change from the cutthroat climate of New York. The summers are pleasant and balmy, the winters lifted straight out of a fairytale with seasonal markets, festivals, and silver as far as the eye can see.

Prior to leaving, your few friends back in America had expressed nervousness on your behalf of moving to a country infamous of strife and war. You had reassured them with a polite smile, their ignorance all the more reason you wanted to get the hell out. Nation-state and group identity are so trivial when it can all come crashing down at the mercy of the cosmos. Sokovia is perhaps corrupt, but by whose standards?

You pick up work as a freelance translator, spending your hours in local cafes poring over documents and essays. Sokovian Cyrillic is considerably difficult for an inflected language, drawing influences from Serbian and Croatian dialects. There are few interpreters in the field who can do work as quickly and accurately as you and the pay is comfortable enough to cover your new apartment at the edge of the city.

You feel good, productive. Most of all, your work keeps one-on-one interactions to a minimum.

Three years since the attack. Three years of cycling between careful analysis and skimming the surfaces of your power, trying to find an equilibrium. The Chitauri blast had left a gemstone in the skin of your chest, a shard of blue fire in the center of your sternum. You’re thankful that you’re easily able to hide it with the right clothing.

From what you’ve observed, the gem looks to be fragmented, as if broken off from a larger piece. It acts like a chakra of sorts, your energy center for your gravitokinesis abilities.

At first, you had been extremely hesitant to even attempt to tap into that part of yourself with the attack still so fresh in your mind, the taste of smoke and smoldering metal still burning at the back of your throat. Only after you had moved to Sokovia had you begun to ease open your chakra. Even now, drawing up that power from your center is like revisiting that day.

Nightly, you see the distorted bodies of the civilians who had been within your gravitational blast radius. The main cause of your nightmares. You resent yourself for losing control, for taking innocent lives with you. You were no different from the Chitauri.

You had come to the conclusion that these nameless individuals would be your catalyst to hone your abilities as best you can, for their sake and for the sake that an accident like that will never happen again. In the meantime, you have to keep your distance. For the safety of others.

In your nightmares, you also see the burning silhouette of the soldier. His presence haunts you the most, the helplessness, the desperation closing your throat like your voiceless screams. Each time you watch the plane of his turned back, pleading he’ll see you. Each time you wake up gasping for breath.

Thanks to the oversaturated media coverage of the Avengers, you had been able to put a name to a face just days after the attack. Steve Rogers, natural leader and America’s golden boy. The man who had failed to save you.

You had done your homework on Captain Rogers. Selected for Project Rebirth by Dr. Erskine in 1943. Fought alongside his team, the Howling Commandos, until 1945, the same year he had gone into the ice. For someone who claimed to be looking out for the little guy, the common man, Rogers sure did a bang-up job of letting his loved ones get hurt and leaving them to pick up the pieces. You had read about Bucky Barnes’s fall in your research, of the assassination of Dr. Erskine, of Peggy Carter continuing the SSR’s work fighting HYDRA well after Rogers disappeared.

If Rogers couldn’t even protect his childhood best friend, why is the rest of the world so eager to believe he can protect them?

After New York, news outlets and tabloids had been worked into a frenzy once the Chitauri had left Earth. The Avengers had vanished just as quickly as they had appeared, leaving behind a ruined city and shaken morale in their wake. To you, a true leader didn’t cut and run. The Avengers had the liberty of going their separate ways, of going home. You had been ripped from yours, trauma forcing you to relocate, learning to better control and understand your powers alone.

Early on, you had considered approaching S.H.I.E.L.D. for help. As much as the idea had made your stomach turn in knots, if they had formed the Avengers, a team each with their own unique abilities, maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. could help you too?

But your plan for help had been destroyed with the Triskelion, after Captain America had unceremoniously crashed into S.H.I.E.L.D’s HQ with a HYDRA helicarrier, forcing the few remaining loyalists to go underground. Your hopes had been dashed, your window of opportunity now closed and with HYDRA at the wheel, the last thing you wanted was to be made into an asset, weaponized.

You remember waiting for weeks in hopes of someone, anyone, coming to you to explain what had happened, what this thing is in your chest. New York deserved an answer. You deserved an answer. But no one ever came. No mentor, no guidance.

For three years, you’ve lived the life of a recluse. For three long years you’ve been harboring animosity for Steve Rogers.

You’re sitting in your living room when you hear the commotion. Shuffling footsteps, the click of countless doors opening and closing. Tentatively, you step away from your pile of annotated books and go to your own front door, peering through the peephole.

The hallway of your floor is bustling with activity as residents pour out into the stairwells, carrying all sorts of luggage. Surprise grips you.

Was today some sort of national holiday? You think hard. No, you can’t remember anything of the sort. You glance out the window and see Sokovians filling the streets by the hundreds and all hurrying in the same direction.

It’s eerie. No one says a word to each other. No hum of chatter, no talking, just a mass of people leaving at once, like everyone knows something but you. Curiosity dissipates to sit as nervous energy in your throat. You grab a jacket and jog into the hallway.

“Going somewhere, sir?” you joke politely in Sokovian dialect to Mr. Kostić, the older gentleman who lives next door to you as he emerges from his apartment. His eyes look intensely focused, staring right past you as if deep in thought. Instead of quipping back with a teasing remark, he clips you in the shoulder as he rushes by with a briefcase in tow.

Stunned, the momentum turns you completely around and your neighbors continue to brush past you, not breaking step as you stand in the middle of the flow of people. You raise your voice a bit when you ask again to someone else, even try to catch a young man by the elbow. No one gives you a second glance.

You try to steady your breathing as you follow them down to the streets. It’s cold tonight. Spring is just around the corner for Sokovia, the air still crisp and fresh. Residents have dressed with this in mind.

You spot a young woman in the middle of the crowd. Like you, she seems to be the only one not going anywhere. She stands against the tide of movement, an eye of a storm. It takes you a minute to get to her as you dart and weave around civilians. Her back faces you.

Your hand on her shoulder seems to startle her and she whirls around with quick movement.

She has a pretty face. Auburn hair falls in long, loose waves past her shoulders, framing clear hazel eyes. You swear you see a quick flicker of crimson in her irises before they fade to a warm green. You’re not sure if it’s because of her beauty, but you feel a tinge of warmth in your chest, a connection, when her eyes meet yours.

“Where is everyone going?” you ask her, your voice a bit quieter than you would have liked, mouth drying. You wonder if she feels this link between the two of you, at least, you assume she does as she continues to gaze at you.

“Out of the city,” she answers. Her voice rolls off her tongue with a touch of raspiness, a soft edge. You feel stupidly mesmerized. “You should be too.” The girl says.

Then, something caresses the wall of your consciousness. It’s a gentle push, hard enough to notice. The sensation is foreign, warm, and inviting. Pleasant, even. It envelops you and you want to let it in, curious. But then your power suddenly comes alive with a single firm pulse in your chest, a keening, a warning to resist. You snap out of your daze and brush away the fog from your mind.

“What about you?” you ask her again. She wears a flowy black dress paired with a tight jacket, combat boots. She looks dressed for action, something to move freely in, no risk of restricted movement. Not someone taking refuge. She doesn’t answer, only continues to stare with those captivating eyes and again you feel a push, harder this time.

Your mind’s fog lifts when you both lose your balance, knocked to the ground with a sudden rumbling underneath your feet. Cracking and moaning, the earth begins to split beneath you.

An earthquake?

The roar echoes low over the entire city. Car alarms blare, buildings crumble, streets tear like paper. The tremors are constant, powerful. Something tells you this isn’t a natural anomaly.

Then, you feel it. The pull of gravity, wind in your eyes and hair, a weightlessness in your stomach as if you’re climbing and climbing up the top of a roller coaster like you often did as a child.

You’re rising. And all of Sokovia with it.

A voice then resonates from all around you, like it’s anywhere and everywhere all at once. Raw, cold.

“Do you see the beauty of it? The inevitability? You rise, only to fall. You, Avengers, you are my meteor. My swift and terrible sword and the Earth will crack with the weight of your failure.”

Your hearing cuts out with loud ringing. Your bones feel like jelly and you lay there in the dust and dirt.

Of course this is of their doing. You haven’t heard that name in years, stopped keeping tabs as soon as S.H.I.E.L.D went dark. Tears of frustration and anger sting behind your eyes. If the Avengers are here, then something else is too. Something bad.

Creatures of metal and machine burst forth from the broken earth like reanimated corpses, others touching down from the sky growing ever larger up above, the sky of your second home. The young woman from before helps you to your feet, one protective hand coming to duck your head down as the two of you run through rubble, ruin.

The androids are close, close enough to feel the heat of their plasma cannons. You shiver. A stray android zips dangerously near and the girl drops her grip on you to weave her hands in an arc in front of her.

Red energy materializes from her fingertips, conjuring an offensive forcefield that strikes it with enough force to send sparks as it explodes into a burst of fire and solder. You suddenly feel the energy of your power emerge just out of reach, a gentle tug deep within the gemstone in your chest, blooming and cobalt, eager to surge at your slightest command. Surprised, you ease it back down to its standard low hum in the root of your center.

Your abilities have never attempted to independently manifest before.

You then realize she’s like you. Your own powers have granted you some energy manipulation and barrier generating, but not to her extent, wisps of ruby and scarlet pulsing all around you, shielding, protecting you. You’ve never seen anyone else with superhuman powers like yourself, independent from a lightning-wielding hammer, gamma radiation, a super soldier serum.

As the dust settles, the girl guides you to the city square, or rather, what’s left of it.

“Go!” She exclaims to you in English and sends you off with a firm push. You catch yourself, stumbling. When you turn, she’s gone. A thousand thoughts race through your mind. One floats to the surface, brushing past the questions of her power origins, if there are more people out there like you.

You want to know her name, at least, to thank her.

Taking a deep breath, you feel a gradual trickle as the power of the cosmos start to pool in your clenched fists, bold and blue. You shape a gravitational field large enough to shield the city square, to repel any incoming attacks. You feel it leave the radius of your center, past your own being and stretch outward slowly. But just as you begin to push out farther, harder, an android slams into your field. It startles you, enough for your control to waver for a split second. Another collides, then another. Frightened screams sound from behind you and you grit your teeth in concentration, resisting as hard as you can to keep these civilians safe. Dust and smoke swirl around you. You taste it on your tongue. Your eyes flash.

You suddenly stand in the ruins of New York. Chitauri snarl and roar and you hear a woman begging for her life, the hum of an alien weapon trained on you…

You shut your mind at the memory, but it’s too late. Your gravity field flickers out and the androids rush towards you. You panic. As a last resort, you reach out your ability as fast as you can, the air around you rippling indigo as you take hold of their gravitons, their anchors of personal mass, and smash the androids into the earth with as much force as you can muster.

Your body is zapped of all strength, but adrenaline moves you to direct the group of Sokovians away from the plaza. You all take shelter inside a shop and wait with bated breath. It seems the androids are attacking in waves, the streets outside quiet save for the rush of wind as Sokovia continues to rise hundreds of miles into the air.

You’d managed to keep everyone safe, but your concentration had slipped. The girl who rescued you had performed tremendously under pressure and her actions had inspired a spark of courage within you, to at least try. You, however, had faltered. Your fear and lack of confidence had instead triggered your deepest trauma.

You need to stop doubting yourself, you realize. You can’t keep doing this. If she can do it, so can you. You’re capable. You’re strong.

There’s a sudden clamor to the windows as you see something rising above the clouds. Murmurs of excited whispering that the Americans, that help has arrived. You spot the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia on the lifeboats now loading civilians, transporting them to the infamous Helicarrier No. 64. Your pulse hammers in your throat, from relief or dread you can’t tell.

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers #captain america #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #fic #reader insert

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bookdragonlibrary · 5 years ago

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Soft cuddles

After this episode, I wanted some fluff and cuteness so I finished the fanfiction I started this weekend. I wanted to write headcanons and of course, the story slipped from my hand and became a whole fanfiction... Tell me what you thought about it, first time I wrote something this long in English (and in Spanish). The story take place between episode 17 and 18.

Most of their dates, Bart and Ed spend it in the Youth Center. They could always use a little time between two trainings or conselling sessions and thanks to the zetatube, Bart could always run to the Watchtower - or to the new Outsiders Tower now - for an emergency or just run to the end of the world. No big deal with superspeed. He is the only speedster to be on time whatever the situation. Something his grandm- Iris complains to Barry, that he could take his grandson as a model about it. He was even late at their wedding!

He’s rambling again. So they spend most of their free time at the Center. The place where they bonded and became close friends and then boyfriends. At first, Bart started to talk to Ed because he could not afford being close to Nathaniel. Not because he killed his grandpa while being controlled by the Reach in his timeline - he always knew the guy wasn’t at fault. No, the real reason is he wasn’t his Nathaniel anymore, the one he knew, the one who took care of him after he broke free of the slave camp. Maybe as a payback for killing his grandfather, the only Foundator Leaguer remined on Earth in his time (Batman and the others never came back to Earth but he ignores if it was because of the trial result or the Reach). Bart never dared to ask him, he was grateful anyway.

Well, he never really talked to Ed before. Just met him in Taos after their liberation from the Reach ship and briefly on the World War when the fourth of them liberated them from Mongul and the Reach with Arsenal’s help. Maybe he was in the Watchtower too? The day Wally--

He brushed the thought away. Need to think about something crash.

In his time only English and interlac were allowed. The first one since it was the second language of a lot of people around the world and the second one to trade slaves and Earth’s ressources with other alien species. When he came back to the past, he was amazed by all the languages. He quickly took all Dick’s- he means Nightwing’s expressions. He loves how he plays with English. He was so proud their flawless leader was amazed by his slang. Well it wasn’t technically his, more the expressions of his time. But Nightwing was the second one to pick them after Jaime and the Team quickly follows. Of course the first foreign language he learnt was Spanish, thanks to his best friend. Milagro was kind enough to lend him children books so he could improve his skills. He’s totally crash at reading and understand spoken Spanish. Not so much with the pronounciation, especially rolling his tongue witht la doble erre y la jota. Most of the time, Jaime’s sister laugh at his attempts to reproduce her sounds, but mostly his facial expressions while he’s trying to. If he isn’t shy to try his Spanish with the Reyes, no way he would do the same with Ed... He wants to impress him, not sound ridiculous. So he only uses words withing R sounds involved.

His love for languages isn’t enough. Something even crasher.

Eduardo. His confidence when his was a act. His relaxed personality when his is only energy. His eyes, sweet whenever they look at him. His deep voice full of love. And his hair... Since he met him again in the Center, he dreams of touching them. He retained himself, knowing it was rude to touche people, especially their head, without their consent. He knew that the hard way. When they finally started dating, he asked him if he can, blushing. Ed just smiled and lowered his head without a word. Bart ran his fingers in his curls and they were so soft he melt. So was Ed with the massage.

Ed’s smile. The little smirk he does before a snarky comment or a prank. Ed loves prank his mentees. Especially the new ones. To make them laugh. To make them forget their trauma for a moment. To show them meta powers could be fun and positive. To show them it’s possible to heal, to accept them, to embrace them and be happy.

That’s why Ed signed up in the first place. That and also try to get closer to his papá, to help him, to compensate for all those months he acted like a brat. Eduardo Senior had to move from Argentina to USA to work on the Zetatube. He would have better opportunities and better materials. His mother just died, so maybe he wanted to distract his mind too. So Ed moved with his grandparents while his father sent them money to live. But that wasn’t enough. So he ran away. So he ran to him. He didn’t want to loose him too. What if an experience turns bad? What if he arrives too late and never sees him again? As bad scenarios run in his mind, he isn’t ready for the worst one. His father isn’t going to die, Ed will before him. Because he can’t see how he could survive all this pain. It’s too much. But never enough to kill him.

And then everything stops. He’s free again. He’s thrilled the heroes bring him to Taos. It’s there his papá works! But the scenario in his mind is too optimistic. His papá doesn’t seem to be happy to see him. Why? He was the whole reason he comes here, He almost died just to see him again.

But that is all in the past. Now he embraced his powers, he embraces his papá without argument or anger. He embraces Bart too. In a different way. But there is still one thing about him he doesn’t embrace yet. He’s not sure how to call it. How to call himself. He doesn’t know yet. So they aren’t an out couple yet like Leslie and Andy are. Still not at ease with coming out, not when he still doesn’t know what to respond to people. Why just says “i”m in love” isn’t sufficiant for them? Why he has to find a label for it? Obviously he knows he isn’t straight. But he’s still unsure between gay and bi. He forgot about the word pan since Bart was so confused about why he was talking about liking bread and Ed didn’t even know where to start to explain him the word comes from a completely different language (Was it from ancient greek or latin by the way?) and the difference with bi since he doesn’t know it himself. He tried to see if he sees girls beautiful or attractive or something but he can’t. He’s just thinking about Bart and nobody else. No one else matters to him. Not in this way. Because Bart is so special, so unique. Not because he’s a time traveler. Not because he’s a hero. Not because of his powers. But because of him. Or a mix of all this. For his innocence about normal, common things. For the sparkles and questions in his emerald eyes while he discovers the world like a child. For the maturity and even the wisedom coming from time to time. For his wide smile because he cried so much tears maybe he doesn’t have anymore, because he knows the powerful meaning of a smile over simple things. For the contradiction like he’s two worlds melting into one. Bart was his hero. Not because he save him from the Reach ship or save the whole world from their invasion at the cost of his cousin, but because he showed him you could go through hell and still make it, still find the happiness you thought was gone forever. If Bart could do it while coming from an apocalyptic world and still remember the simple power of a smile, Ed could do too.

Whenever the two of them have free time, they relax and cuddle in Ed’s room in the Center. Ed isn’t much of a hugger, but he loves Bart’s ones. He’s much more a kisser. They lay in the bed, watch movies, listien to music and God Bart has a lot to learn about it. Or they just cuddle on the bed, most of the time Bart in Ed’s arms, in silence, after bad or stressful missions. And the last one was a big moded mission. For both of them this time. Because Ed thought Bart was hurt or even dead on that crash, which wasn’t crash at all. Watching the Outsiders’ mission on the Internet was a good idea. Or so he thought. The Team did inspire the teenagers on the Center. Wendy considered to take off the collar! She even wanted to go back on training to control better her powers. But it still doesn’t feel enough for him. There are a lot of things he should do for them so they can go back to their family for those who still have one. But one thing he wasn’t prepare for was the stress to watch his novio be beaten up by bad guys, watch him nearly die, unable to do anything, just clench his fists as he’s watching the screen, trying to hide his stress to his mentees. But of course the girls noticed. Wendy just put her hand on his. Andy gave him a reassuring smile and gently tapped his arm to show him Bart and the others finally emerged from the ship. Leslie still acted the indifferent play but at Thanksgiving, she did give him a knowing smile when he went on the car with Bart. He knows Andy is bisexual, maybe he could talk to her about it whenever he’s ready but it feels weird, he supposed to be the concellor here.

Now his novio is in his arms, safe and sound, silent and still. Something is definitely out. Bart can’t stay still. Unless he’s moded. He healed thanks to Bart, his little bright sun chasing away his sad thoughts, and he wants to give him the same. Give him love, attention, a special place by his side. So he holds him closer in his arms, tight as he likes, petting his hair, kissing his face, soft and slow kisses wherever he can, to remind him that.

Bart rolls on his belly, looking him above his shoulder, questions in his big eyes.

“Bart, something’s wrong?”

“You... you can do it if you want to...”

Ed needs a moment to understand. Bart often catches him off guard, but never this way.

“Qué? No. No, Tito. Lo siento, I didn’t mean to... Why do you think I would...“

Bart has now his face hidding in the pillow. Ed could barely see his eye through his hair. “A girl who did it because her boyfriend won’t be interested in her otherwise...” he explains.

“Is that a romcom or something?” Bart nods shyly, still doesn’t want to meet his eyes. “First it’s dumb. And more important, I would never blackmail you. Mi Tito, te amo. We have all the time we want for this. We can wait to be both ready, okay?”

Bart nods again, now hiding his face in his boyfriend’s chest while he pets his hair.

“Why did you think I’m gonna leave you?”

“Doi, because I’m annoying...”

“I don’t find you annoying, but... uh... lindo...”

“What? What does that mean?”

Ed blushes, as he often does when Bart is near him. His novio is too innocent and pure for Ed’s good. “I find you cute” he manages to say.

“Really? Even when I’m too fast for this world?”

“Yeah, even when you can’t slow down. I’m also here for that part, right? Did I... did I ever do something that made you felt I found you annoying?”

“No. But what if you loose your patience one day?”

“That’s not gonna happen. I have more patience than you have energy, mi tonto”, he replies as he kisses his forehead.

“Te amo, Edi”, he whispers, without butchering it too much since he doesn’t have to roll his tongue.

Ed knows if he asks him the moon, Bart will find a way to bring it to him.

Ed kisses him again and traces his jaw to his neck, holding him close, his both hands of his waist so his novio would not be afraid of the attention. Bart relaxes, even starts to vibrate like a little purring kitten. And Ed lets him, he just lets him find his pace and his speed. Ed just lets him be himself, without complaining or mocking his weird body. He just adaptes. When he stops Ed cups his face, preventing him for vibrating again, and kisses him deeply. He’s still not used to his novio being so adorable, so beautiful, so affectionate it almost catch him off guard whenever he smiles.

When they start dating few months ago, Ed was too embarassed to give Bart pet names, so cheesy... God he hates the expression in English. Apodo makes more sense than being comparated to una mascota... Well he does like call him bebe and tease him when he complains about it by remind him he is technically not born yet. But he wanted to give Bart a special name, one with a meaning just for them. So he came with Bartito, Tito for short. Bart loves it and Ed can’t stop himself for thinking no one could understand Tito as a love name. Bart wanted to do the same but Edito sounds a little bit too English-like and Dito, while being close to Tito, what Bart loves, reminds Ed another word too embarassing. So Barts went with Edi instead. He even suggested, if Ed still didn’t like the nickname, to call him Teddy, but Edi was just fine. Ed did win him a big teddy bear for Thanksgiving though, knowing Bart loves plushies. He was so proud and happy with his prize almost as big as him in his arms he had to walk the entire time and take the zetatube to go back home. And they could both have cotton candy as Ed was the one ordering it and Bart already had his hands full with the plushie. Maybe it was too much for amigos, but at that moment, Ed didn’t care, just wished to make his novio happy.

“Te amo también, idiota.”

Ed kisses his temple, his forehead, his nose and finally, his lips.

He cannot stop himself about thinking what happened in Bart’s past, what could have happened. The time traveler sometimes talks about what happened back then, but never what happened to him. So Ed can only imagine and without something to hold back his houghts, his imagination goes deep, maybe too far compared to reality, or so he hopes. Despite how much he fears what he could learn, he never asked. He will wait until Bart is ready, if he will ever be one day. Ed still hopes Bart never heard, saw or felt something like this because Bart is oblivious and doesn’t understand subtex sometimes, like when he flirted with him and Bart didn’t notice or like last week when Bart suggested him to come for a sleepover to Neflix and chill and litteraly means that as he asked him which films he wanted to watch, if he prefered English or Spanish subtitles or even the Spanish version with English subtitles for him. Or even when girls or this Mexican boy who arrived last week flirt with him and Bart just thought they are nice and friendly. Ed isn’t jealous, he knows people have to be really patient to make Bart understand they are flirting since he took him months. He just watches the scene from distance, just in case Bart needs him, because if he’s oblivious to flirting, he is also to sexual tensions... Ed knows if he can’t be there, Leslie will watch him, kind of protective with the innocent oblivious teens or maybe it was just gay support?

However, this summer, when the Team and he went to the beach where Mount Justice used to be (the only place where Jaime can swim freely whithout risking to reveal his secret identity with Scarab on his back), Bart wore a swim short and a T-shirt, to protect his skin from the sun he said. He does have a red hair skin, like his discrete freckles and his auburn hair with tinge of red reveals, which is really weak to the sunlight and it was (would have been?) pretty grey and clouded in his past, so his body was never used to a bright day. But Ed still fears what he will discover when Bart will be shirtless in front of him. When his fingers run on his back, he feels some patterns, some paths underneath. And when his does find them, he just holds his novio closer. Maybe Bart is oblivious to people being nice but knows they could be cruel instead, because he’s more used to one than the other.

What he does know, though, is they will be just fine. Despite their powers. Despite him not knowing who he is yet. Despite Bart being a hero. Despite the whole Outsiders thing. Despite the meta trafficking and his fear Bart would be kidnapped again. Despite all of that, he knows they will be fine if they just give time to things as the past proved it.

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Clearly longer than I thought it would be... Maybe a little out of characterisation and a lot of HC for Ed since we don’t know so much about him yet.

I think it’s funny I think about Ed not being the jealous type with his hugger boyfriend before the episode drop xD

#young justice #bart allen #eduardo dorado jr #goldenflash #doradoflash #fanfiction #my writing

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