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the-witty-pen-name · 3 years

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The Nanny Pt. 3

Lee Bodecker x Nanny!F!Reader

18+

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: alcohol/drinking, food, corrupt cop, mentions of prostitution/smut, implied age gap (reader is in her 20s), cursing, mentions of serial killers/murder, mutual pining,

Summary:

Based on this Request: The reader moves to Meade/Knockemstiff while answering an advertisement for a nanny in the paper. We learn that the ad was posted by Sandy, who has the reader watch her child whenever she and Carl leave to do their secret thing. After one of these trips, Sandy and her husband never return, so the reader is left caring for their baby. With the new investigation into these events, she meets Sandy’s brother Lee, the older, out of shape, alcoholic bachelor, and they are suddenly thrown into each others lives as he begins looking into his sister’s disappearance. Through it all, Lee starts to fall for her, and they slowly become a family.

A/N: I got inspired re-watching one of my favorite shows and I want to know if anyone else gets the reference I’m using! If I missed anything I should include as a warning that I missed please let me know! This is also unedited!

Taglist Form is in my bio!

Series Masterlist

Your shoulders tensed listening to the radio in the morning. Sitting on your ottoman, you were painting your nails, using the coffee table as your nail station. It was a really bright morning, and you had the curtains pulled open to draw in light. Julie frantically rushed between her room and the bathroom getting ready for her shift at the diner. The newest single from The Beach Boys was playing through the little counter top radio, but at the top of the hour, the melodies playing through the speaker changed to the news. The top story of the morning was chilling.

“Jules,” you said, calling her over hesitantly, putting the cap back on the bottle of polish. “Come listen to this.”

She scurried out of her room while working to tie her apron in the back, and then she stood next to where you sat to listen to the story on the news. The color drained from her face as you both listened to the reporter describe the horrific scene that was under investigation early this morning.

Roy Laferty was an evangelical preacher whose body washed up by the lake very early that same morning. The news report talked about the police investigation, and also disclosed his wife Helen, is also reported missing. They are looking into the disappearance of Helen, as well as opening a full investigation on Laferty’s murder. They also urge individuals with any information regarding the two to call the Sheriff’s department and to provide a statement.

“That’s horrifying,” you mumble, shocked as you try to process the news. Julie nods in agreement but strangely doesn’t seem nearly as affected by the news as you.

“It’s happening again,” she mutters, obviously concerned but her lack of surprise worries you.

“What do you mean again?” you ask.

“There was a string of unexplained murders, all men, like this newest one,” Julie explained, “This was all over the news like two years ago- can’t believe you hadn’t heard about it.” All you could do was shrug; this was all new to you. “Obviously, there was nothing linking their deaths, but there were these five killings a couple of years ago that are still unsolved. There’s no evidence, but the town rumors it was like a serial killer or something. Nothing is confirmed, of course, just a story.”

“What makes people think it was all the same person?” you ask, hesitantly.

“All the people were always the same type,” she shrugs, “Men all in their 20s and 30s. Again, there’s nothing linking them all together. It’s just talk.”

You clicked off the radio, and didn’t know what to do with yourself. Julie patted your shoulder, comfortingly but she had to go on with her day. So did you, and you almost her ability to move about the apartment almost unfazed by the news. You suppose it makes sense, her growing up here she’s probably used to it. You didn’t have the experience or the thick skin she had.

You had decided to go to the library, still preoccupied by the news segment as well as the things Julie had told you about the Sheriff. You spent the better half of the morning looking at the library’s archives of old newspapers. You wanted to read more about the unsolved cases Julie had told you about, so there you sat for several hours looking through the microfilm reader. You even stumbled upon articles that featured the Sheriff.

There he was plain as day on the front page when it was announced he had won the election the first time he ran several years back. You couldn’t help but notice the changes in his appearance and demeanor compared to the man you keep running into. He was a little slimmer, and he looked a lot happier, a little fuller of life, you decided was a good way to explain it. His smile was wider, and you could see the difference in his eyes as well. It was seeing how he was before the stress of the job began to take its heavy toll. He had on the same leather jacket as well, you were fairly certain, even though the one in the photograph hung a little looser.

You continued to skim through articles, piecing your way through the history of Knockemstiff. Little articles in black and white that persevered the history of this dark little town. You were beginning to realize this backwater town was a lot more tangled and complex than you originally believed. It was a tangled history, riddled with crime and unclosed cases, that people seem to have either forgotten or choose to ignore for their own sake. Your mind wandered back to the things Julie had told you about the Sheriff and him being corrupt. You wonder how much of what you read about linked back to him. Though you imagine if he has any sort of political connection, which a man like him must have, the things he was involved in probably didn’t even make it into the paper. The thought made you physically shiver.

You put the large leather portfolios of archives you took and put them back into their proper place on the self chronologically. You grabbed your sweater from the back of your chair, and pushed the chair back into place. Looking up at the clock on the wall, it was only just one in the afternoon. You decided to head down to the diner and grab a bite, and also visit Julie during her second shift. It was a short walk from the library to the diner. Everywhere felt like a short walk here, probably because everything in downtown was not much bigger than a few blocks. The majority of people lived far from the center of town, on their own land and farms.

The little bell on the door rang when you stepped in and Julie waved at you from behind the counter and pointed for you to grab an empty table in her section. You put your bag on the table and took a seat. It was a fairly busy time, most people who worked at the surrounding businesses coming in for their lunch break. Julie brought you over a coffee and then said she’d be back to chat when she got to take her five.

Lee hadn’t been able to go home since the phone call. The symptoms of his hangover were worsening and he was growing more irritable. His five o’clock shadow was still evident on his tired face and his head was pounding. He tried his best to just power through it but the sound of anyone trying to talk to him just made his ears ring.

After leaving the scene, he had to stop by his office and then he was on the phone for the better part of an hour fielding calls from frantic citizens not only of Knockemstiff but also Meade, where Laferty was from. Despite how horribly he felt, he tried his best to keep his temper level and just reassure people he had things under control. He was losing his patience.

He opened up his desk drawer and grabbed his bottle of asprin. Empty. He threw it into the small waste bin and got up abruptly grabbing his jacket off the hook and storming out. He didn’t tell anyone he was leaving and he didn’t care. It was a short walk to the drugstore from the station and he wouldn’t be five minutes. He just needed to do something to stop his head from hurting.

“Afternoon, Sheriff,” the pharmacist greeted when he walked in. He nodded his head upwards briefly to reply without having to talk. He just needed to get in and out. She went back to whatever she was working on when he came in, and he browsed the aisles for what he needed. After paying and walking out, he glanced in the direction of the diner when he was crossing the street. There you were, again. Sitting alone and chatting with the waitress that was refilling your coffee.

He let out a heavy sigh, and then continued walking. He didn’t want you to see him like this, hungover, unshaved, wrinkled uniform and heavy undereye bags from his lack of sleep. You looked- well, Lee thought you were the prettiest thing he’s seen in a while, maybe ever. There was something about you he couldn’t pinpoint. Maybe it was just because you weren’t from here. You were a fresh face, and not ruined by this town. There was a sweetness and an innocence in how you talked to him, because you didn’t know him like the rest of people here did. He liked that.

Even when he left the station for the day, he couldn’t even go home yet. He had a meeting at the bar with one of Brown’s lackeys. He was just supposed to collect his cut so he couldn’t imagine it would take long, but he was still annoyed. Stepping into the bar he looked around as he took off his hat. It was a little more crowded tonight then when he was here last. The red curtain was closed and his eyes lingered there for a moment before directing his attention to the man he recognized who was waving him over.

“Sheriff,” the man greets and Lee slides into the booth across from him.

“Hayward,” he replies. Without even needing to order, the bartender comes over bringing them a bottle of scotch and two glasses.

“You ever go back there?” Hayward asks, watching as a girl came out and brought a man behind the curtain who had been waiting at the bar.

“No,” Lee scoffs.

“They are amazing,” Hayward says, almost giddy. Lee feels sympathy towards the poor woman who had to take care of him. Lee doesn’t acknowledge the statement and just empties his glass and begins to pour himself a second.

“So, my cut?” Lee asks. Hayward frowns and goes into the breast pocket of his sports coat and pulls out an envelope of cash.

“You aren’t getting full,” the man says when Lee cocks a brow at the thinness of the envelope.

“Still?” Lee asks, pissed. Hayward nods. Lee’s jaw clenches.

“You didn’t keep things tidy on your end,” Hayward reminds him, “You got one job. Keep the cops out of our territory. We had two cruisers drive through last week. The only reason you’re getting anything at all is cause you managed to keep your people off us when we did the exchange with Deckard’s crew.”

The man finishes his drink, and then slaps the empty glass on the table. He pulls out his own envelope, which is much thicker than Lee’s and drops down more than enough for the drinks. He chuckles condescendingly and tells the Sheriff to get a dance. Fuck that. Lee takes the extra money and plans to just put it right in his pocket and go home. He finishes his third scotch and suddenly his headache was back. He felt worse than he did earlier today.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” a feminine voice asks, making him break his line of thought. He looks to his side and he recognizes her as one of the girls he sees bringing men to the back room, behind the velvet curtain. He shakes his head, and instead of leaving him alone, she slides into the booth next to him. Her hand grazes over his thigh. “You seem awful tense, Sheriff,” she says and then bites her lip.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted. He knows she doesn’t actually want him, and it’s just an attempt to get him to spend money in the backroom. If he doesn’t focus his already hazing vision, maybe she could vaguely remind him of you. He can’t do it, but he wants to. Her hand moves up his leg and he pulls away. He adjusts his pants and she shrugs.

“Maybe next time then,” she winks before walking away. He rests his head back on the vinyl seat and sighs. He grabs his hat and jacket, leaving before he changes his mind. “Ask for Cherry when you come in, yeah?” she calls when he walks out.

You are just everywhere. You’re in his head and he doesn’t even know you. He needs to sleep, desperately, and part of him in the back of his mind hopes you’ll be there. When he wakes up, he doesn’t remember.

“Have you heard about the Church fundraiser coming up?” Julie asks. You shake your head. “It’s a pretty big deal here. Everyone participates.”

“What is it?” you ask, kicking off your slippers so you can sit crisscross on the couch.

“Bid-On-A-Basket,” she says casually, like it’s the most obvious thing.

“Never heard of it,” you reply, “It sounds fun. What is it?”

“All us single gals put together a picnic basket with everything for a lunch,” she explains, “and then all the eligible bachelors bid on the basket and a date with the girl who made it. Last year, the dreamiest guy, Bill Whittier, bought mine- it’s so fun. Me and Bill didn’t work out but it was a good time.”

“I don’t know anyone here,” you say hesitantly.

“Perfect way to get a date then,” she teases. You bite your lip. You aren’t sure about this.

“And what if some creep is the highest bidder?” you counter.

“You get a bad date story for your next date?” she poses. “Please,” she begs, “It’s for a good cause, all the money this year is going to help the Sunday school.”

“What if no one bids on it?” You rebut.

“Look at yourself,” she scoffs, “you’ll get bids. Trust me.” You roll your eyes.

“I’ll think about it,” you say finally. She smirks, completely planning to wear you down.

“Remember it’s for the kids,” she reasons, “It wouldn’t hurt to go and participate.”

“I said I’ll think about it,” you laugh.

Time passes and soon enough you get another call from Sandy, and you are suddenly back to taking care of Valerie. You had missed her, a lot actually. You definitely have gotten attached to her, and you think you’ve grown on her too. Sandy was vague this time for how long they’d be gone, but since the previous time went so smoothly, you didn’t worry about it.

About a week after Sandy and Carl left this time, there was another disturbing news report. You were sitting on the floor, changing Valerie and you had the television playing softly in the background. The news told the story of another body, this time found in the woods off of the highway. You finish changing the baby and hold her close, her little chin resting on your shoulder as you watch the news story. It was just like Julie had talked about. Another man, thirty years old. He was shot and his body abandoned. You jump at the knock at the front door.

You peep through the curtains, and you see the Sheriff waiting on the front porch. You wonder if he knows you’re there. Part of you almost wishes he knows it you here and he wanted to see you. It’s incredibly stupid on your part and you know better, but nonetheless, part of you hoped he came here for you. Very stupid. With Valerie on your hip, you open the door.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he says walking into the house. He stops in front of you and presses a kiss to Valerie’s forehead and she squeals happily seeing Lee. You close the door with your foot. “May I?” he asks, and opens his arms. You agree, based on Valerie’s reactions to him whenever she sees him. He takes her in his arms, and she starts playing with his tie. He loosens it so she can play with it and not choke him.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” you ask. He reacts in a way in a way you can’t really read, but you don’t press.

His mind just goes back to the woman a couple weeks back in the brothel who asked him the same thing, and that his mind immediately had gone to you. He just clears his throat and snaps himself out of that thought process.

“Um, I just came by to see Sandy,” he says, “But I can fathom a guess that she’s not here?”

“Excellent deduction,” you joke, and he smirks. Valerie has his tie in her mouth and is covering it in drool. He doesn’t even seem to care.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you nod. “You looked a little scared when you answered.”

“Just watching the news before you showed up is all,” you explain, “They were talking about how there was another man found dead.”

“Ain’t got nothing to worry about,” he says, “We’re on top of it. I’m on my way over there now.”

“Can I ask you something?” you ask hesitantly.

“Of course, darling.”

“My friend, you probably know her- Julie Grady.”

“Yeah, nice kid,” he says, listening but gently pulling his tie from Valerie’s grasp. She starts playing with the flap of the pocket of his jacket.

Kid. You almost grimace. That’s right. Of course, Lee would view someone your age that way. You weren’t. You chastise yourself for even caring, but you decide to continue. You shouldn’t care how he sees you.

“Yeah- well, she told me there have been others,” you continue, “I also read up about it, just the newspapers at the library- but she said people thought it was some kind of serial killer… I just, I want to know what you think.”

“I don’t think know,” he answers honestly, a little taken aback, not expecting you to approach him with something this serious. “I doubt it,” he explains, “Serial killers stay close to home. Now those cases you read about, and these two we are looking at- they sound close together but logistically, they aren’t really. Two of those unsolved were in completely different states- just like this new one.”

“So, no traveling serial killer?” you chuckle, trying to sound lighthearted. He chuckles and shakes his head.

“Most people like that stay in one area,” Lee explains, “They work jobs, they have a home, you know? They tend to stay near where they live.”

“That makes me feel much better,” you answer honestly.

“You got nothing to worry about, and that’s a promise,” he grins, although he supposes coming from him that probably doesn’t mean much. Regardless, it makes you smile.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” you offer again. He bites his lip, taking a moment to think.

“Sandy keeps a bag of candy in her cabinet,” he says, walking into the kitchen with you following close behind. He passes Valerie off to you and he chuckles under his breath at the state of his tie. He reaches up in the cabinet and pulls down a brown paper bag, filled with taffies and chocolates.

Something about this man who has a whole time scared of him playing with his niece and then stealing sweets from the cupboard is something you find so strangely endearing. He unwraps one of the brightly colored taffies and then puts the bag in his pocket.

“I gotta go,” he announces, “let me know if you hear from Sandy, yeah?”

“Of course,” you reply.

“Gonna head out to that scene, and do my report,” he discloses, not really sure why he’s telling you. “Then I have a meeting at the rectory about that fundraiser thing. Figure out security.”

“They need security at Bid-On-A-Basket?” you ask, with an eyebrow raised. He smiles.

“You going?” he asks, flirtatiously.

“Just seems weird to have police at a Church thing.”

“There’s been stupid fights,” he shrugs, “some guy will get outbid and cause a fuss. Nothing serious. Probably just gonna be me and a deputy in case. You going?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” you say sheepishly. “Why?”

He walks towards the front door, and you follow seeing him out.

“Cause I gotta know if I’ll be bidding on a basket,” he winks.

“You gonna start a fight if you don’t win it?” you joke.

“If it’s yours? Absolutely, darling.”

Taglist:

@adelaide-walker @thedepressolit @samanthadegaro @pyronack @greeneyedblondie44 @acciosiriusblack @weenersoldierr @teenagemutant @witchybarb @iraot @my-love-darling @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @swiftieandthewintersoldier @letsfly-andbe-free @rebekahdawkins @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @hersilencedscreams @unsaltedalmonds @dangerdolns @vintagepigeon @bluebouquetcupcake29 @goslytherin @captainofallfandoms @buckistan @aynanasstuff @everything-is-all-clear @rosalynshields @tinynshykitten

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker imagine #lee bodecker fic #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x you #the devil all the time #sebastian stan characters #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker x f!reader #lee bodecker smut #slow burn #mystery #lee bodecker oneshot

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wolf-and-bard · 3 years

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The Geraskier dark academia AU of my dreams (because writing these up keeps me sane; TLDR at the bottom because this escalated):

-Jaskier is so ready for college. Like, the readiest he's ever been for anything in his life. He couldn't wait to get out of his stuffy family home, away from his narrow-minded hometown, he is ready. He signs up for a Liberal Arts major, moves into a dorm, drinks his brains away during the first week. He makes an archnemesis, he makes friends, he live-documents the whole affair on Snapchat for his friend Triss who lives across the country, but is always with him in spirit. Life is good.

-Jaskier doesn't think twice when his roommate Zoltan invites him to come along to a party at the Kaer Morhen fraternity house because hello? Orientation week was last month, high time he goes to an actual frat party full of guys like wardrobes that eminate sexual self-assuredness and hopefully some sexual flexibility as well. He puts on his most revealing shirt and too tight jeans and joins Zoltan. The fraternity house is old, red-brick with sandstone pillars and iron-wrought gates which would seem rusty if not for the ivy that curls around them. It's chock-full with people of every kind of major and age, most of them drunk beyond reason by the time Jaskier and Zoltan arrive. Zoltan disappears in a tangle of rugby-players and leaves Jaskier to his own devices. He befriends a group of Archeology majors, their leader being a cute blond called Filavandrel, and they share a bottle of red wine, round and round. He meets his archnemesis, the one he spent all orientation week bickering about music with, Valdo or some nonsense, and they do tequila shots. It’s a nice party and Jaskier has the time of his life until he returns from the bathroom to find a god of a guy standing in the hallway.

-"Oh hello," Jaskier mutters under his breath. Before, his evening was aimless, he let the wave of the vibe take him wherever, let the alcohol blur the world around him. But now, he has an objective. And that objective stands all by his lonesome, scowling down the hallway. Man, does he brood well. Jaskier usually goes for people that are easy to read if some casual fun is what he has in mind -and it's not out of his mind just yet - but this guy intrigues him; there is more to him than simple dudebro-ness. He has shock-grey hair and startling amber eyes and seems to cast the longest shadow. Jaskier wants to ride him. Jaskier also wants to serenade him on a starlit wooden bridge and collect all the guy's deepest secrets and desires to keep under his pillow and draw divine inspiration from. Okay, that may be the Tequila shots talking. He scurries over to the bar, downs another two, then approaches the guy.

-"Hi," Jaskier says as he sidles up to him. The guy half-heartedly raises his beer in greeting. Taciturn, dark, dramatic. Jaskier decides to go for it. "I absolutely adore the way you just stand here and brood." (Jaskier will only learn much much later that he accidentally used some weird Kaer Morhen frat code and set off a chain of events that changed his life forever). "Lamb," the guy calls out instead of answering, something that makes Jaskier think he's so far gone that he's actively hallucinating. But no, seconds later a guy with equally lush red hair and equally thick arms appears from the crowd. He wears a scowl which has Jaskier's throat tighten. "What is it, Wolf?" Wolf, huh? "Go collect Goat and Kitty-Cat. I found him." And Wolf-Guy grabs Jaskier by the back of the neck and hauls him through a door, down some stairs - is that marble? are those torches? GARGOYLES? - and into pitch blackness. Jaskier squeals. This is what he imagined when he dreamt of college. Well not exactly this, but close enough.

-They bind him with silk scarfs and put a blindfold over his eyes which, okay. Jaskier knows he shouldn't find this as sexy as he does, but he can't help it. He has no sense of self-preservation and this will just be the best of fuel for the first assignment in his screenwriting class. "Oh, this is fun," he murmurs when someone tugs off his boots and someone else smears a fatty paste onto his lips. It smells like... okay it smells lot like his uncle Matthew's pigsty. Weirdly disgusting. "Who are you guys anyway?"

-They don't speak at all that night, don't take off the blind-fold until way later. All night, Jaskier can hear them rustling around him, chanting in some language he doesn't understand. They give him several drinks, most of which honestly taste like asphalt, but make his insides go fuzzy. When the blindfold comes off eventually, Jaskier finds himself on the front-seat of a pick up truck, Wolf guy behind the wheel. They are parked behind the frat house. "Look, I don't think you're a suitable candidate. The guys all said they want to keep you, but my friend recognized you from the freshman introduction party and we usually only inaugurate sophomores." Jaskier blinks. He has absolutely no idea what's going in anymore. His friend Triss is probably worried sick because he hasn't checked in all evening. The faint taste of burned rubber clings to his lips and all Jaskier can think is: Fuck, is this man hot. "Go out with me," he blurts. "Go out with me, I'll show you how suitable I am."

-Over the course of a month's worth of introductions, preparation and inauguration traditions (which, among other things, have him dropped butt-naked in the middle of the forest, requiring him to find his way back to campus; have him spend more time learning long-dead languages than he is comfortbale with; have him getting thoroughly intimate with Eskel's (Goat) helper syndrome, Lambert (Lamb) and Aiden's (Kitty-Cat) ostentatiously loud fucking, Coen's (Hawk) frequent absences and Geralt's (Wolf) quiet, but passionate idealism) Jaskier learns the truth at the core of Kaer Morhen. It is more than a fraternity, it is a brotherhood of students that spend their free time in rituals to protect the college, its city, likely even the whole state from supernatural creatures that threaten to cross over into the world. The existence of these is no surprise to Jaskier who's come out of an adolescence of escapism and coping through fiction and song, but the fact that there are handsome tough guys who work to banish him is too much of a dream to be true. It is true. Unofficially, the call themselves Witchers. They catch wraiths in cricles of runes, they re-direct necrophages into Kaer Morhen's basement and slay them with blades of silver. They brew potions and cast minor spells to get rid of mutated insectoids. And Jaskier is to be one of them. They call him Lark.

-His first ritual goes bat-shit wrong. Jaskier is reasonably sure he did everything right, but the wraith doesn't stay contained after they bound it . "Fuck," Geralt growns after, pressing a cloth to the gaping wound in Jaskier's shoulder while they wait for Eskel to whip out the first aid kit. Jaskier shudders, can taste blood. "There shouldn't be fireflies here, right?" - "Ah, nope," Lambert says. He keeps snapping his fingers before Jaskier's eyes. "Hey, Lark, stay with us, okay?" - "He's fine," Aiden says, inspecting his nails. "If anything, it's Geralt we should be worried about. He's about to have a full blown panic attack." Geralt grunts and holds Jaskier closer.

-"Does this mean I can ask Priscilla to let me copy her homework," Jaskier asks later. He's in bed, bundled up in one of Kaer Morhen's bedrooms. Portraits of alumni line the wall and a hearth crackles away. Geralt sits next to the bed, a pretense-book on his lap. His eyes bore into Jaskier, wide, haunted. "Jask," he breathes out shakily. - "Hello, big guy. How are we doing?" - "Better now that you're awake. We... we had to call in Vesemir. He will want to talk to you." - "Alright, okay," Jaskier says. He knows who Vesemir is of course, but he has no idea what exactly his job entails or what having to talk to him means. "Geralt?" - "Hmm?" - "What did I do wrong?" - "Nothing. You were uncharacteristically precise... but it turns out I was right all along. You're not suited for this kind of work." - "Because I'm not big and buff like all of you?" Jaskier asks, pouting. Geralt has the audacity to laugh. But he also takes Jaskier's hands and kisses his knuckles and huh? What? Jaskier's brain short-circuits. Fuck when did he fall so hard for Geralt? "No, Jask, you're perfect. I mean, uh, ah, perfectly annoying." That bastard. "The wraith went crazy because it turns out you're an amplifier. That means supernatural creatures are pulled to you and can draw from you to manifest easier in our world. You wouldn't have noticed this unless you ever passed by a spot where the spheres overlap significantly. As it is, your participation in the ritual poses a danger." - "TLDR: I'm fired?" - "That's for Vesemir to decide... truth be told, I don't want you to go. But I can't stand the thought of you being in danger. Because of me, this." - "Go out with me, Geralt. Please. One coffee," Jaskier practically begs. Yes, his shoulder is minced meat and he feels exhausted from the blood loss but Geralt has never been this open and honest with him. "...fine."

-Jaskier heals up under the diligent care of his friends. Priscilla is allowed over too, practically drags him though his classes with tutoring and copies of her homework and sugar-coated emails to his various professors. Triss video-calls him three times a day. Eskel's med school expertise leaves Jaskier with the most neat scar he is ever going to get out of this, Lambert and Aiden hang out to play Gwent with him, a strange card game they invented and custom-painted, Coën even pops in to bring Jaskier his guitar and a venti Matcha Tea Latte even though the nearest Starbucks is miles away. Geralt... Geralt is there almost all the way. He sleeps in the chair at first, then - on Jaskier's stern insistence - in the bed with him, though careful to keep his distance. He helps Jaskier into the shower, something so strangely intimate without feeling innately sexual, he takes him out on slow walks. Geralt doesn't talk much, but Jaskier knows he feels responsible. It's fine. Sure. Absolutely fine. Jaskier is so far gone for this man by the time he moves back into his own dorm that he considers getting injured again just to have Geralt by his side. They never do go out for coffee.

-Vesemir doesn't so much invite Jaskier as have him called out of his choir session by a girl about Jaskier's age. She has the same hair color as Geralt and Jaskier thinks he's seen her around Kaer Morhen's bigger parties. "Hello, Jaskier," she says sweetly, but one look at her tells Jaskier she's deadlier than any of the frat boys. If his drunk memory serves correctly she also does a phenomenal keg stand. "Ves sends me to collect you." Which has Jaskier even more impressed with her. None of the boys dare to call him anything but Vesemir or Sir, even when he's not around. - "I've been expecting this," Jaskier says, shouldering his bag. The girl laughs and grabs his arm to guide him out of the building and across campus. - "You are cute," she says. "Geralt said so, but I thought that was just because he's so infatuated with you. I'm Ciri, by the way, his younger sister." Infatuated, huh? Jaskier has just enough brainspace left to save her name. Ciri. They will have to become very good friends. Infatuated.

-It turns out, Vesemir isn't half as scary as the boys made him out to be. He's closer to sixty than fifty, has a stern face, but a kindly voice and the first thing he does after dismissing Ciri with a meaningful glance is offer Jaskier a glass of whiskey. Jaskier sneaks a photograph of the bottle's label when Vesemir stands at the window and glances down at the campus, hands clasped behind his back. Triss will never believe this. It's the sort of alcohol that exists only in myth, at least to college students. "So, Mr. Pankratz. I'm afraid apologies are in order." - "Please, I prefer Jaskier." - "I know," Vesemir says and turns. "I would kindly ask you to delete that picture, my office and its contents fall under the terms of the non-disclosure agreement you signed when entering our brotherhood." Jaskier gulps heavily, the whiskey suddenly sour on his tongue. But he's quick to paste over a smile. He's gotten this far with the mysterious Kaer Morhen fraternity, he can pull all the way through. He deletes the picture. "Good," Vesemir says. "Now down to business." Vesemir gives him two options. Jaskier can consult a local magical artisan and have his memories of Kaer Morhen's true purpose removed. It is an easy procedure, won't cost him anything. Except for his new-found friends and the love he feels for Geralt. Except for the only place he's ever truly felt at home. Jaskier chooses the latter option which is to become the fraternity's chronicler.

-After that, things are supposed to calm down and they do, for a bit. Geralt still dodges any and all attempts Jaskier makes at flirting even though it's evident his resolve is thinning out. Jaskier observes and documents the rituals, begins to collect old notebooks. He's planning to go above and beyond his job and compile a comprehensive history of Kaer Morhen and its members before he's graduated. He may not be able to partake in the rituals or help the guys protect this city from monsters, but he can play his part. Leave behind a legacy.

-Between that and his normal studies, hanging out with his theater group, meeting Triss on alternate weekends and throwing epic frat parties, all of Jaskier's time is consumed. There are several instances in which Geralt and him almost manage to have their coffee, but then they have Eskel on the phone because Lambert and Aiden managed to give themselves poisoning over a simple Endrega job, or Priscilla needs an emergency stand-in for her weekly performances at a local bar, or Jaskier is simply too tired and falls into bed, sleeping over Zoltan's aggressive snoring. Jaskier doesn't mind so much. They catch glimpses of intimacy, Geralt's hand on the small of his back as he guides him downstairs for another ritual, a good night kiss on the cheeks once it's done, a spot of quiet homework-doing in Kaer Morhen's common room together, their legs pressed close under the table. One of these days, Jaskier will find the courage to close the last bridge between them. He just wants to wait until Geralt seems absolutely comfortable with it.

-All is as well as can be until Vesemir comes up with an idea. Because more and more creatures have been getting through and they are unable to hold off all, he wants to capture one of them, an Archgriffin, to bind in their world and act as guardian against lesser creatures. "You're mad," Aiden says. "That's fucking brilliant." - "It's a good idea," Eskel and Coën agree. Lambert keeps exchanging grim glances with Geralt because they both know what this means. They will have to use Jaskier to lure the beast. Which is why they both protest the idea heavily and Geralt gets into a fight with Vesemir. Jaskier is not there for it, but Aiden and Lambert tell him later, once he's back from theatre rehearsal. He watches them fight over it too and then it's only him and Lambert. Jaskier steals one of Zoltan's bottles of spirits and they get stupidly drunk, wandering around campus all night until Eskel collects them and tucks them into bed at Kaer Morhen. "I will not stand to lose you," Lambert slurs, arm dragged over Jaskier's chest. "You're like, almost my best friend. Plus, Wolf would be devastated." - "Aiden seems to think it'll be fine," Jaskier says, snuggling up to Lambert. - "Yeah, fuck him." They fall asleep like that and the first thing Geralt does when he finds them is kick Lambert all the way down the stairs.

-In the end, Geralt and Lambert are outvoted, not that they can stop Vesemir. Geralt is more silent than usual throughout prep and Jaskier can't seem to cheer him up. He knows his life is likely on the line, but he wants to help so badly. These guys are his family after all. If he can make their lives a little easier by doing this... well, he wants to. He needs to. Being in Kaer Morhen is the first time he seems to have a purpose other than writing angsty teenage songs. Eskel keeps checking up on him. Vesemir writes preliminary excuses for all Jaskier's exams which leave him with only A's, something Priscilla does not appreciate in the slightest. Lambert and Aiden fight and fight and won't stop fighting over this whole affair until Jaskier sits them down and makes them talk. Geralt... remains quiet. Jaskier can tell he doesn't sleep. Can tell he rarely eats. He decides now is as good a time as ever.

-It's the night before and the others have all returned to their dorms, but Jaskier stayed in Kaer Morhen under the pretext of Zoltan having his girlfriend over, and Geralt rarely ever goes home. He has a flat off campus, but Jaskier suspects it's drab and lonely. He gets it. Kaer Morhen has soft fluffly beds and fire places and wards and books. Currently, it has the two of them, bundled up in one of the upstairs rooms. They share an armchair before a low fire, not an unusual sight for them, not anymore. And still, Geralt pretends they're just friends. It's ridiculous. "You know I'll be fine, right?" Jaskier says. He has his head tucked under Geralt's chin and has been humming show tunes under his breath for the last half hour, something that usually puts Geralt right to sleep. Not so now. "I can't know that," Geralt replies. He lifts Jaskier's hand which he's been holding and traces the veins on the back of it with his thumb. "You've no idea how dangerous the ritual is. Even more so with you being an amplifier." - "So protect me." - "I will. I promise, I will." - "Geralt, when are you going to finally give in?" Jaskier sighs and pulls back a little. Geralt stares at him, a little cross-eyed and Jaskier gives a shaky laugh. "I'm going to kiss you now. Pull back if you don't want to, but allow it and I'll never let you go." Geralt allows it, kisses back. It's the first night they indulge in a love that has been growing for almost a year and it's gloriously sweet, blazing, beautiful. It leaves Jaskier with faith that, even if things go sideways, Geralt will get them both out of it alive.

-The ritual goes well thanks to the Witchers' meticulous preparations, the dozen or so warding spells they put on Jaskier and Geralt's reflexes that save him from a swipe of the Griffin's claw. They bind the creature to one of the basement holding cells and celebrate with excessive amoutns of vodka and cake. "All is well that ends well, huh?" Jaskier asks from where he sits on Geralt's lap. Strong arms hold him and his chest is full of nightingales that flutter and sing. He watches Eskel drunkenly dance-offing with Coen in a corner, watches Lambert and Aiden make out in another. Vesemir took off, but Ciri is there, lounging next to them on the couch, nose buried in her phone. "I will never put you through such danger again," Geralt grunts, his nose buried in Jaskier's hair. "Of course, love." Jaskier relaxes into the embrace. All is well, though it is not nearly the end of this story.

-TLDR: Kaer Morhen is an occultist fraternity that keeps supernatural beings away from campus. Jaskier, unable to participate in the actual rituals due to a genetic predisposition, becomes their chronicler. Geralt worries a lot. Jaskier tries for the longest time to get him to go on a coffee date or something. Lambert and Aiden are a disaster couple. Eskel keeps them all together, literally and figuratively. Ciri is the one who got all the brain cells.

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tryingmyves · 3 years

Text

Sober

DENKI KAMINARI x Y/N

part two

A/N: A fic inspired by Wish You Were Sober by Conan Gray (I swear they put crack in this song). You’ve been in love with Denki Kaminari for as long as you can remember and he only seems to think of you as more than a friend when he’s inebriated. Simple, right?

sorry this chapter got a bit long but things are getting ~spicy~

c/w: alcohol mention, smut (soon)

chapter 1

[FOUR MONTHS AGO]

Technically, classes wouldn’t start for three more days, so you weren’t quite a college student. But you and Kaminari came to the city early because the lease on his apartment was starting and you needed to meet someone from Craig’s List about the car you plan to buy. To be honest, the car was what you expected: a piece of shit. But it would get you to your part time job and back to campus, so what more could you ask for? You couldn’t move into your dorm until tomorrow, but Kaminari said you could stay with him for the night. His roommate Kirishima hadn't moved in yet, so he had extra space.

Aside from the brief meeting with the stranger you bought your car from, you and Kaminari spent the day hauling cheap furniture up four flights of stairs into his apartment. Both of you were utterly exhausted. You were both covered in the grime of your own sweat; countless trips up and down the stairs had left your legs burning and heavy. When you agreed to help Kaminari move in you didn’t expect that he'd have so much shit, or that his apartment would be on the top floor of a building with no elevator. But at the current juncture you were too fatigued to complain. The two of you are laying on your backs, sprawled out on the cold wooden floor of the living room, unpacked boxes surrounding you.

“I feel disgusting,” you complain, raising your head slightly off the ground and unsticking the mat of sweaty hair from the back of your neck. You push it upwards so it fans out above your head.

“Yeah, you smell kind of disgusting too,” Kaminari replies with a laugh that becomes a cough when your arm swings down to connect with his stomach.

“I think you mean, “gee Y/N, thanks so much for helping me move into my apartment! I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Kaminari raises himself up on his elbows, still recovering from your blow. “Hey - I have your thank you, it’s just in one of these boxes. Alcohol tends to be the universal thank you for helping a friend move - plus I don’t have wifi until tomorrow, so tonight we’re getting drunk and celebrating as college students!” he smiles.

You let out a sigh, “Well I hope you have ice. Find my thank you gift - I’m going to go break in your shower,” you say rising from the floor, “but not because you said I smell. Only because I want to!”

Kaminari laughs as you make your way to the bathroom, pulling himself off the floor as well to start rooting through the cardboard boxes full of his belongings. You lock the bathroom door behind you and spend a few moments deciphering how to use the unfamiliar shower. You start the water, a bit cooler than usual, still feeling balmy from all of today’s physical activity. After moving all of Denki’s belongings into the apartment you didn’t remember to grab anything of your own, so you would be using his toiletries to wash up. You throw a thin towel on the back of the toilet before stepping into the refreshing stream of water. The water cascades down your face, snaking down the curves of your body before disappearing down the drain. A sigh escapes your lips, thankful for a small moment of relaxation after a long day. You get to work washing your hair and scrubbing the day's sweat off of yourself, wrapped in the scent of cedarwood and lemon, something you’ve long associated with Kaminari. After roughly fifteen minutes you feel sufficiently clean and turn off the shower, stepping out to towel yourself off.

Not wanting to put your dirty clothes back on, you sneak out of the bathroom with your towel wrapped around you and down the hall to Kaminari’s room. You snatch a t-shirt and pair of sweats out of an opened box and creep back to the bathroom to get dressed and brush out your hair. You pull the over-sized shirt on, relishing the traces of Denki’s cologne that linger on the fabric and step into the sweats. You rake a comb through your wet tresses before re-emerging from the bathroom. You find Kaminari in his kitchen, haphazardly unpacking a box of cutlery with a mixed drink in his hand.

“Did you break into my thank you present without me, Denki?”

He turns at the sound of your voice, “Well maybe if you hadn’t taken so long -” He stops, registering you’re now in his clothes instead of your own. “Hah, nice threads,” he laughs.

You grab the hem of the shirt, holding it out from you a bit as if you're presenting it. “Yeah, well my shower wasn’t going to do much good if I got back into my sweaty clothes, so I helped myself.”

“Seems to be a recurring theme tonight. I don’t mind, you look cuter in it than I do anyway,” he winks at you. “Now,” he slides a second cup across the counter towards you, “thanks for helping me move in. Let’s get drunk!”`

You smile as you place the cup to your lips for a drink, your mind buzzing even without the alcohol. You’ve been friends with Denki long enough to know that he is always flirting, even if he doesn’t mean anything by it. Usually you just brush off his comments or turn the tables with a line of your own, hoping to get him flustered. But lately you haven’t been able to ignore the flutters in your chest at his words. The pair of you have been friends since middle school and you’ve grown accustomed to people assuming you’re more than that. But in reality, things between you and Denki have always been platonic, despite the incessant flirting. However, you want there to be more. His golden eyes draw you into him and he can so effortlessly make you laugh. For you, home isn’t a static location but wherever Denki happens to be.

“Woah Y/N, I didn’t mean you had to chug it!”

Denki’s comment snaps you out of your thoughts and you realize you’ve drunk nearly half of your drink while lost in silent longing. You lower the cup, “Well you have a headstart on me!” you reason, not wanting to tell Denki he’s the reason you got lost in your cups.

“Fair enough, but head start or not, I’m drinking you under the table tonight,” he challenges. “Let’s play some Mario Kart! I set up the switch while you were in the shower.”

“Fine, but if you’re wanting to get drunk we’re playing Beer-i-o Kart.”

Kaminari huffs, “well, obviously.” He grabs a bottle of whiskey in addition to his own cup and heads to the couch, you following close behind.

The rules of the game are simple: you win if you’re the first person to cross the finish line but you have to finish your drink before the end of the race. Even in the world of Mario Kart, drinking and driving is a no go, so there’s a few different options on how to play. You can either chug your drink at the start, put your controller down mid race to slam your drink, or stop just before the finish line on lap three to empty your cup. You can also drink while you’re put back on the track if you somehow manage to drive off the course. Both you and Denki are highly competitive, and while he might think he has the monopoly on video games, your skills rival his.

Unsurprisingly, Denki picks the Lightning Cup as it’s both a nod to his quirk and he’s a sadist who actually enjoys rainbow road. He beats you handily in the first two races, able to finish his drink slightly quicker than you, but you manage to win the Grumble Volcano race. He hits pause before the final race can start so he can mix two more drinks. You laugh as he nearly drops his own cup, his cheeks pink from all the liquor.

“Oh shut it, Y/N, or you can make your own drink.”

“Aw, don’t be bitter just because you lost that one Denki!” you tease.

He hands your now full cup back to you, “Yeah well this next one’s all mine. You’re going down!”

You just stick your tongue out in response and ready yourself for the last race. Once you’ve both situated yourself, Denki unpauses the game and the countdown begins. He immediately starts chugging his drink but you peel out from the starting line. You know you’ll fall off the map several times, so you might as well use that time effectively by drinking then. Denki finishes the freshly poured drink in under 30 seconds and is already in hot pursuit. He manages to pass you on the first lap and despite the multiple red shells you send his way, you can’t catch up. You’re not sure if it’s your competitive nature or the copious amounts of alcohol that influence your next move, but you shift from your seat on the couch and plant yourself directly in Denki's lap, blocking his view of the screen and making him drive off the road.

“Y/N, you cheater!!” Denki squirms beneath you, trying to dislodge you from your new position.

You laugh, “We never said this was against the rules!”

You zip past his character as he’s being lowered back onto the track, a triumphant hah! announcing you’ve overtaken him.

“Well in that case, neither is this!” Denki’s hands grip at your sides, his fingers poking at all your most ticklish spots. You shriek in surprise and jump from his lap, desperate to get away from the sudden assault. You land on the couch, laying on your back, but Denki doesn’t relent. He crawls between your legs and bares over you with a wicked grin on his face before bringing his hands to your sides once more.

Now you’re squirming beneath him, a breathless ball of laughter, your game forgotten in the background. When Denki finally stops tickling you his face is no more than a foot from your own. Your better judgement goes out the window, forced out by the haze of your laughter and half a bottle of alcohol. You wrap an arm around the back of Denki’s neck and pull his lips to yours. You can feel the smile on his face as he opens his mouth, tracing at your lips with the tip of his tongue. You part your lips, allowing him inside. His lips are soft and you're not sure whether or not he activated his quirk but you’re feeling sparks.

He separates from you, nipping at your bottom lip as he does. His forehead resting on your own he whispers, “I’ve always wondered what that would be like. It’s better than I thought.”

The low hush in his voice makes your breath catch. “What else have you wondered about?”

“Well if kissing you is this good, I can only wonder what you’re like in bed.”

You press your lips to his again, “one way to find out,” you say through the kiss.

At that, Kaminari grabs your thighs and stands from the couch, hoisting you to his waist. He carries you down the hallway towards his bedroom, kissing you the whole way. As you cross the threshold of his room he separates from you, “say less.”

#denki kaminari x y/n #denki kaminari x reader #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero #boku no hero academia #denki kaminari #by ves #fan fic writing #fan fic blog

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a-witch-in-endor · 3 years

Note

Hi! You write so beautifully that I was wondering what your writing journey was like. Have you written fanfiction for a long time and in what ways have you seen your writing improve over the years?

Hi! This is a very nice question, thank you for asking. :-)

I used to write fanfic (and original stories) a lot as a teenager. I also used to read pretty much any fiction book that was put in front of me. However, I then went through about a decade in which I put fic (and most written fiction) down, because I decided I was a Serious Person who would Change the World. I collected several degrees, travelled all over the world, worked a bunch of really weird and wonderful jobs, etc etc etc. And then I came back to fic.

Now, to be fair to what happened, I never stopped reading fic. I basically considered it my guilty pleasure. I was reading academic books instead of fiction, but I would often go to bed with a good fanfic, because I could read short stories and... well, it was comfortable and I liked it. But then I found myself really stressed out - I was working two jobs (one of which was very demanding), studying fulltime and taking extra classes for “fun” (i.e. because I am a nerd), living thousands of miles from my home country, and trying to make decisions about my career. And I found myself sitting in a Starbucks, halfway through an essay, pile of books next to me, replying to work emails... and I just broke. I sat and poured out a ridiculous Marvel fanfic in a very short period of time, and I felt better. And then I realised that writing fic is a great stress release for me.

Anyway, as I broke through “I’m so stressed and I don’t know what I’m doing with my life” to “I have figured out my career path and I’m stressed for containable reasons”, I decided to stop pretending fic was a dirty secret and embrace it. I like fanfic. I like writing - it’s fun. I like reading - it’s comfortable. A bunch of people in my life know that it’s a hobby, some read my stuff, and the most negative response I’ve gotten is the reminder that I probably need a hobby that isn’t actually productive. So yeah, I’ve gotten over needing to be a Serious Person Taken Seriously, partly because I’ve gained enough qualifications that I no longer really care, and now I’m re-embracing the same things I enjoyed when I was a teenager.

Looking back at what I wrote as a teenager is interesting. I’m not sure I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on that, so thanks for prompting it!

I think there are two significant ways in which I was a better writer when I was young:

1. I only spoke one language. I had a pocketful of phrases from my parent’s native tongue, and a handful of prayer phrases from my religious institution, but I was not an early linguist. I think my writing process was more fluid then, because I would have an idea and then I would express it. Nowadays, I sometimes find myself going “oh, that’s not a phrase in English, but that’s the emotion I’m going for” and needing to work around it. I also sometimes just... forget how English works.

2. I had so much more time and energy. Nowadays, I write in fits and spurts. I finish an email and I have ten minutes until my next meeting, so I open up whatever is at the front of my mind and I write a little, or I flesh out an idea. I mostly write late at night after stressful days (I just can’t really write while relaxed, which is not great). I used to work something and then rework it until it felt right. I don’t do that anymore; I finish writing and then I post, sometimes with a cursory glance-through for typos, and sometimes without even that.

But there are some significant ways in which I think my writing has developed for the better:

1. Life experience. Ugh, I know, that sounds awful and patronising. I don’t mean that I’m a grown-up now and that I was a kid then. I’m sure that in ten years I’ll look back at what I’m writing now and feel similarly. But drawing from experience instead of simply imagination does change things, I think.

Take for example ‘this is a gift (it comes with a price)’. That is a story I could imagine working through as a teenager. The premise wasn’t unreachable for me: I could have come up with the idea of a ghost story which is really about astral projection when I was seventeen*. But since then, I’ve spent years working in the anti-human-trafficking field, I’ve worked in hospitals with people dealing with their lack of bodily control, I’ve worked with people in other emotionally damaging situations, I’ve led dialogue groups across a war-torn border, and so on and so forth, and all of that informed the journey through the story (even if I didn’t really think so while writing it). It’s not that I couldn’t have imagined it before, it’s that I can feel it now in a way that I could only have imagined before.

*This is only kind of true. ‘this is a gift’ is in some ways a metaphor for dissociation as a survival tactic, and I’m not sure I really would have understood that back then. But the basic premise would have worked anyway.

2. I just don’t care anymore? I know this sounds counterintuitive, but as much as I love comments and conversations about my stories (and I love them a lot), I no longer find myself paralysed by ‘what if I get it wrong’. I’ve gotten a lot wrong, and I’ve survived thus far. A bad story won’t be what knocks me over anymore.

3. I have a decent grasp on multiple languages. Um, I know I put this as why my writing was probably better before. I think that, in a technical sense, I probably wrote more smoothly back then. But I’m also more willing to play fast and loose with language now, because it took years of learning for me to realise that language is just about communication, and as long as you’ve communicated your point, the rest of it doesn’t actually matter at all.

Yikes. I wrote a lot.

#writing process #this is a gift

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adhd-adept · 3 years

Note

I have self diagnosed adhd and i was wondering if you could provide some advice regarding reading. I used to be able to just pick up a book and read when i was younger, but now that I'm older it's a bit difficult to just pick up a book and read for the sake of reading. I love reading, but i just can't seem to motivate myself to.

Any advice? I'd really love to get back into reading, but I'm trying to find a way to do it easier

Hello! I’m sorry this took me so long to answer, I’ve been mostly off Tumblr for a little while. I saw this some time ago at 3AM and thought “this deserves a more coherent response than I can give right now” and then forgot that this blog existed for several days.

That said, I absolutely have some advice for reading! I was a big reader as a kid, too, and I’ve recently had to re-discover reading after a long gap in any time spent sitting down with an honest-to-goodness book. There are a number of things you might consider!

DISTRACTIONS

First and foremost, recognize the reason it is difficult to read! For me, it is because reading isn’t the most interesting thing available. That doesn’t mean I don’t love reading! If I can manage to sit down and read a book, it is immensely satisfying - but it’s the satisfaction of the effort you put into something paying off. My favorite hobbies - drawing, writing, reading - are my favorite because of that sense of accomplishment that they give me.

I love the feeling of holding a book and watching my bookmark move through the pages each time I set it down. However, it doesn’t give me the same instant gratification of reading wikipedia, or tvtropes, or scrolling Tumblr, or checking notifications on social media; even when I am unsatisfied, or even frustrated, with the internet, it can be very hard to put down. I know that people will tell you all the time “You need to put your phone down more!!” It gets old. But they have a point. What people don’t tell you is how to do that.

For me, that tends to be about making it inconvenient for myself to get online, or do whatever is distracting me. This doesn’t necessarily mean making it completely unavailable. The distraction just needs to be less available than the task I want to do. I am the kind of person who gets online out of muscle memory, and then gets stuck there. Thus, many of my tricks rely on disrupting the muscle memory that lets you pick up distractions. I will put my laptop charger in another room, so that my screen time is limited to its battery life. I might tie a string around my laptop, or tape it closed, so when I go to open it I will be reminded “Oh yeah, I don’t want to do this right now.” I will occasionally rearrange the apps on my phone, so when I try to open Instagram and end up with the weather app instead, the thought of “wait, how did i get here” will snap me out of the thoughtless habits that led me to pick up my phone in the first place. I’ve even gone so far as to tape my phone to the ceiling. Whatever works.

If the weather permits, I might also walk a little ways down the block and find somewhere to sit and read. This can come with its own distractions, but it gets me away from my laptop, and I get a tiny bit more exercise and sunshine than I would have otherwise! This depends, of course, on whether you have transportation and whether you feel safe. But getting yourself out of the house can be a great way to get away from the things that would otherwise draw you away from reading. If you have a local cafe or library that permits you to sit and stay, those are also great options! I will bring my phone when I leave the house, but I might put it at the bottom of my bag, or put a bit of scotch tape over the power button, so that I have my phone in case of emergency but it’s just slightly inconvenient to get to without thinking about it.

It may not be the internet distracting you. But whatever the distraction is, it doesn’t need to be less compelling than reading. It just needs to be less readily available than your book is!

ENTHUSIASM

Another thing that prevents me from reading is that it often doesn’t have the same sense of urgency that other tasks might, whether that urgency is real or not. Give yourself a time limit! I may own books I haven’t read yet, but I will get to a book sooner if I have borrowed it from the library, because I know there is a deadline to return it!

You can also get other people involved. If you have a friend who wants to read the same book, commit to a chapter or two a week and then call to discuss it.

Or, if you have a friend who would be interested, and you are comfortable with your reading voice, you could read to someone! It might feel weird to offer, but you’d be surprised how many people really do enjoy being read to. If you both have time in your schedules, you could try to set up a regular call to get through a few chapters at a time.

Generally, having a friend who likes the book is great for maintaining enthusiasm, even if they’re not reading it with you - I get to books faster if someone with similar taste says “This is one of my favorites! You would love it!” If you have a friend who has read the book you plan on reading, announce to them that you intend on reading it. Their enthusiasm might help you feel more compelled to read it, and there’s a good chance that if you don’t sit down and read it, they will remind you by asking “Have you read it yet? What do you think?” the next time you talk to them.

PREPARATION

Another great way to make reading easier is to set up a reading space beforehand. It’s one thing to pick up a book and say “I’ve been meaning to read this.” It’s another thing to put on some pajama pants, make a cup of tea, and curl a soft blanket around your shoulders before you settle down to read. For one thing, it’s just nice. But more importantly, it can function as a signal that tells your brain “it is Reading Time now. We are in the Reading Zone.”

Do you ever watch a TV show or listen to a podcast, and you let the theme song play on the first episode, and then skip it for the rest? Even if I’ve watched a show before, I will play the theme song on the first episode I watch that day. It’s the same principle - it serves as a transition, an intro that says “this is where I am now, and this is what I’m doing.” Give yourself an intro for reading! Have a certain spot that you like to sit when you read. Have a certain snack you eat beforehand.

I have all kinds of tasks with little “rituals” before them that help me focus on that task, or certain items that I interact with which I associate with it. I call them “declarations of intent,” and once I’ve made a declaration it’s easier to commit to it. Sometimes that means simply saying out loud, “I am going to do the laundry now.” Sometimes it means I wear a certain shirt if I’m planning to go for a walk that day, or drink from a certain mug at breakfast if I want to get some homework done. I have a specific hat that I put on when I want to write a certain character. Try to find something you can do to act as a cue that says “When I do this, then I will read a book.” Because of this, it can help to really lean into whatever the “aesthetic” of reading is, in your mind. Embrace a reading atmosphere!

It may also help to recognize that reading is something you can work your way up to! There is no shame in being out of practice with a hobby. I took my reading proficiency for granted for a long time because it was just a part of my life. It may help to think of reading as a skill! Start with something smaller and work your way up. Pick up a book of short stories or folktales before you tackle that six-book series you’ve heard good things about! Set achievable goals for yourself when you’re setting out. An early success can make a huge difference to morale, and it’s much better to start “too easy” and accomplish something than to jump in at the deep end and be frustrated by an early setback.

FORGIVENESS

On the topic of working your way up to things, I would like to say a word about mindset. It is easy to feel self-critical about things. Things that you think should come more easily to you. Things that you feel like you have no reason not to be able to do. One of the biggest things I’ve done for my ADHD is recognizing that there is always a reason why I behave a certain way. Accepting that allows me to actually address my struggles, rather than just feeling ashamed of them. I’ve had to accept that I won’t always do things that I set out to do the way I set out to do them.

I bring this up because not all of my advice here may work for you. In fact, some of it doesn’t work for me every time - a technique may work once, but I might fail to make a regular habit of it. I may make a regular habit of something, only to have it become less effective as the novelty of it, or my enthusiasm for it, wears off. I may eventually talk myself out of implementing an effective strategy because there is some part of it that I find unpleasant; or an intentional unpleasantness I once found motivating may eventually become intolerable.

That’s okay. I’m telling you now, it’s okay if that happens. It’s okay if the first method you try doesn’t work. Don’t set yourself up to feel frustrated. If you become frustrated, take a step back. If you borrow a library book and you still haven’t read it by the due date, just give it back. If you don’t actually enjoy the first book you pick up, put it down and try a different one. If you feel badly about not reading something your friend wants you to read, be honest and tell them you have a hard time sitting down, and that you don’t want to disappoint them if they keep asking, but that you will let them know once you have started it!

It can be easy to convince myself that feeling badly about something means it’s important to me, and that maybe if I feel bad about not doing something, it motivate me to do it. There is a balance between making commitments, and not committing to anything that is just going to distress me. Sometimes there is a benefit to a sense of pressure, but I have to recognize when the pressure I create turns into frustration. That’s a fine line to walk! For all I speak of inconveniencing yourself, or holding yourself accountable, your strategies should ultimately feel satisfying, and show results fairly quickly! You may not see immediate results, but if it has been several days and your strategy isn’t working out, change tactics! And the moment you feel apologetic or ashamed about the thing you are trying to do, drop that strategy. Again, this can be easier said than done, but it is so worthwhile to learn how to allow yourself to “give up” on things that aren’t actually helping you, without feeling like you’re giving up entirely.

You want to get back into reading again because you want to enjoy reading again. If you set it up to feel like homework, or a chore, or an obligation, you may make it more difficult for yourself! Getting back into reading is about focusing on what you love about reading.

And hey, I’m always happy to help! I do only check Tumblr every couple weeks right now, but I’ll do what I can to be supportive. If you’ve tried these suggestions and they don’t work out, no worries! Everyone is different, and it’s no insult to me if things that work for me don’t work for you. But feel free to reach out again, let me know anything you have learned about how you function best in the meantime, and we can reevaluate your strategies!

I hope that helps! Happy reading!

#thanks for asking!!#nezjazz #let me know how this works out #a lot of the advice i have for reading is advice i have for Doing Tasks With ADHD in general to be honest #i use the same tricks i use to get myself to read sometimes to get myself to do things like wash dishes #it's about making yourself more interested in what you want yourself to do #and making it easier to do the important things relative to the ease of doing the less important things #i will just straight up delete apps off my phone if i spend too much time on them #most of the time i dont miss them #and tumblr i can access from my laptop it's just slightly more steps to actually log in and type in my password #(i ONLY use tumblr on incognito mode so it doesnt save my login and i have to actually enter my password every time)#(that way i know that if i actually take the steps to log on it's because i WANT to)#(because something about doing that is worth it to me)#(i did that today to come and answer this question lol)#(but that's also why it's taken me so long.)#(do let me know if you have any other questions! i'll be back eventually to help as best i can!)#(and i love feedback)#(if you discover something that works better for yourself let me know that too so i can share with everyone!)

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jamiemackenziefraser · 3 years

Text

All That Was Fair

Chapter 15: The Woman of Balnain

Summary: Jamie finally sits down with a certain book.

Read on AO3

Read chp 15 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, masterlist, next

They spent the afternoon in lazy bliss. Together, they’d gone into the kitchen where Jamie had shown her how to whip up a burrito. Although most of it clearly went over her head, she had such a good time that she asked to make something else directly after he finished eating.

After a brief explanation on how humans get full after eating, he gave in and offered to show her how to make cookies.

Jamie felt distantly like his life had turned into a romcom as they baked cookies together. When Claire bumped him teasingly on the side, he grabbed a handful of flour and chucked it straight at Claire. Her mouth fell open in mock dismay before an impish gleam shone in her eye. Jamie learned that afternoon the true reason the word “impish” had originated to describe the fair folk.

Claire was mischievous and exuberant in her retaliations. Handful after handful of baking supplies had been lobbed in his direction, shoved down his clothing, mussed into his hair, and even discreetly snuck into his pockets when he was later occupied with sticking the baking sheets of cookies in the oven. Long after their initial food fight had ended, Claire continued their little game.

Later that afternoon while they sat together on the couch (the faerie’s legs draped over his, Jamie’s hands shoved under his own legs in order to keep from caressing her soft skin that was right there), Claire had produced a handful of oats from nowhere and shoved them down his collar. He’d flung her legs off, grabbed her waist, and threw her over his shoulder without a second thought as she squealed and thrashed. Stalking to the kitchen like a caveman with his prize draped over him, he unceremoniously plopped her down and then dumped an entire bowl of excess flour over her head.

“I give up,” she screeched, smacking blindly at his chest with her flour-caked face still screwed up, puffs of powder exploding from her lips.

“Promise? No more surprise attacks when I let down my guard?” he asked guardedly, trying to keep his grin out of his voice.

“You have my word,” she promised. She gave him a grave, floury nod.

Feeling quite magnanimous now that he’d won, Jamie grabbed a dishtowel, wet it, and then approached Claire.

He cupped the back of her head, feeling her curls tangling between his fingers, and gently wiped the flour from her face. Once her eyelids had been cleaned, she opened them and stared up at him with a soft look. His bones felt like they had been turned to water to be receiving such a look, and he struggled to focus on the task at hand as he tenderly dabbed at the spots of flour still left on her face. She stayed quiet, just looking at him and allowing him to clean up the mess he’d made.

How he loved her.

When the moment finally broke, their gazes tearing apart, Jamie inspected her hair.

“No way I’m gettin’ this out of these curls. Do ye want a shower, a nighean?”

“I would never say no to a shower,” she beamed.

So, he’d graciously turned it on for her and then explained that he was going to get some work done. Leaving her to it knowing full well that she’d be in there for a long time, he headed for his office.

But it wasn’t work he had in mind.

There was another matter tickling at his brain. One he’d been itching at for far too long. He’d barely had time to breathe, let alone sit down and address it, until just this minute.

He needed to read the book that the eccentric bookstore owner had shoved into his hands.

Unsure how to explain the strange interaction to Claire and disinclined to possibly worry her over nothing, Jamie still hadn’t mentioned anything about it. He’d been waiting to read it until he had a moment alone.

Settling into his office chair, Jamie stared down at the cover of the mysterious book. He was motionless for a few seconds, feeling a strange uneasiness.

The title was The Woman of Balnain. It was short, perhaps a novella, and the description on the back said that it was about a time-traveling lass. Why would the mysterious Geillis give this to him?

He was just about to start into reading, but as he opened the book, several sheets of paper suddenly fluttered out and onto his lap. Warily, he picked them up, turning them over to see what appeared to be hastily scrawled notes.

The words at the top made him draw a sharp breath.

“The Standing Stones of Craigh na Dun.”

The following notes seemed like a jumble to Jamie, the words swimming together in his mind in his haste to take them all in. He began to read so fast that several times he had to pause and reread. Geillis— at least he assumed that she was the author of these notes— wrote about planes of reality, magnetic fields, magical properties of the standing stones...

And below that was another section that was entitled “traveling.”

Gemstones. One could travel from this plane to another— through the stones— by use of gemstones. According to this, only some people (or fae, he supposed) could travel. But those who could had discovered that gemstones ensured their safety.

His hand was shaking so hard that he dropped the papers entirely. He brought his trembling hands up to bury his face into them. The gravity of the situation sat heavy on his shoulders as the realization descended.

If this was true, he’d just been handed the way to get Claire back home.

What followed was perhaps an hour of frantic, mind-bending sorting of thoughts. He read and re-read over and over, trying to ensure that he truly had understood the implications of the document. But no matter how many times he reviewed the words on the page, the meaning was clear: If Claire had a gemstone, she could safely use the stones to return to her plane. To her people and her life. Away from him.

But then he spiraled into doubt. How did he know he could trust this mysterious Geillis and her instructions? But as much as he wanted to deny it— to dismiss the entry as garbage and all thoughts of Claire leaving along with it— he couldn’t ignore the feeling in his wame that this was the truth any more than he could refute the fact that Claire deserved a shot at returning home. Besides, something about Geillis had seemed odd… mystical perhaps. Not in the same way Claire did, but he certainly believed that whoever (or whatever) the bookkeeper was, she knew a hell of a lot more about this stuff than he did. And she’d known about Claire. So in the end, while he wasn’t certain that she was a friend per se, he thought it likely she was at least an ally— and he believed what was written on the page was the truth.

Once Jamie had addressed comprehension and credibility, he moved on to his sorrow.

Grief over the thought of losing Claire.

He was no longer lying to himself about the extent of his feelings. He was in love with her, plain and simple. Infatuated, enamored— all those things— but it went deeper than that. She’d walked her way straight into his heart and burrowed in there as sure as she did when she nestled against him in his bed. And now that she’d filled that empty space in his life, he couldn’t even imagine going back to the hollow loneliness of existence without her.

Every part of him longed not to tell her. He could crumple up the page and throw it away, or better yet, he could burn it up without a trace, and she’d be none the wiser.

But his mind swirled with images, memories eating at him that he couldn’t quite ignore. Claire crying against him only a few days ago, weeping for all she’s lost. Her trepidation as she’d faced the terrifying unknown of the city. The sheen of tears in her eyes that she’d fought back as she admitted Jenny had made her scared…

As he thought about all she’d been through since being ripped from her home, he knew that taking away the chance to return would be unfair. He wanted to be selfish— God, help him, he burned with it…

But he loved her enough to let her go.

A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye— scalding as it dripped down his cheek. He sat motionless in his office chair, his hand squeezing his opposite arm so tightly that the nails made deep red indents in his flesh, but he knew what he had to do.

He’d tell her.

Decision made, Jamie stood from his desk. His feet felt like they were encased with lead, and he was light-headed, as if all that thinking and agonizing had sucked his brain out with a straw. As horrible as he felt, he was resolved, and he made his way sluggishly downstairs.

The scene in the living room nearly shattered that decision.

Claire was asleep on his couch, all curled up and shoulders hunched under the fuzzy throw blanket she had clutched around her. Her bonny pink lips were parted just slightly and tiny whooshes of air tickled a single curl that had fallen over her face.

He ached to see her like this for the rest of his life.

Just as he was about to turn on his heel and leave her to her rest (this was not the time for such a heavy revelation), she stirred. His stubborn feet anchored him in place as he watched her shift, head lifting a bit, and her eyes blinked open.

“Hi, Jamie,” she breathed sleepily.

While giving him a fond but drowsy smile, her head nestled back down onto the throw pillow. She looked up at him with eyes that always reminded him of a fawn’s.

“Havin’ a wee rest?” He asked tenderly.

“Yes,” she breathed. She glanced him up and down appraisingly and then said, “maybe you should too. You seem tired.”

Jamie was tired. He felt like he’d been put through a meat grinder several times over. Still, he knew there was no way he’d actually sleep even if he could tear his eyes away from her long enough to close them.

But if Claire wanted a nap, and was hinting for him to join him, who was he to deny her?

He indulged his selfish desires for a moment and approached the couch so he could bend down and run a hand over Claire’s hair.

She smiled drowsily and leaned into his touch. Her eyes blinked slowly as she gazed up at him.

God, she was beautiful.

“Let’s go upstairs, mo nighean donn,” he suggested quietly.

His sleepy faerie did not seem inclined to get up. Her eyes had fallen closed again, but her hand blindly reached out for him. She caught his cheek, her fingers tracing over the stubble on his jaw.

Then, suddenly, her eyes popped open.

“Are you alright, Jamie?” she asked, her whisky gaze swimming with concern.

Her abruptness startled him, but he quickly snapped himself out of it and put on his brave face.

“I’m fine, Sassenach. Do ye want to stay on the couch or go up to bed?” he softly asked.

Her brows furrowed, disbelieving, but she firmly answered, “with you.”

He felt bad that he’d upset her but couldn’t seem to drag himself out of the cloud of depression that had wrapped around him the moment he’d decided to take her home.

But he’d have this one last time with her, and he wouldn’t ruin it with dark thoughts.

“Alright. Let’s go, mo nighean donn.”

She sat up, eyes fixed on him all the while, and then took his hand. The way she was looking at him, soft and searching, made his heart skip a few beats. He hardened himself to the overwhelming desire to pour out his heart to her, lay all the cards on the table, and beg her to stay. But he knew in his bones that this wasn’t the time.

Her thumb was tracing lightly over his knuckles, patient as he struggled inside himself.

A part of him wanted to bury his face in her neck and let her stroke his hair— she would do it, he knew. All it would take was him to make the motion, take the comfort from her.

But that wouldn’t be fair. If she saw his distress, she would feel guilty about leaving him. He loved her too much to put that burden on her.

His puir heart was breaking, but he managed to wrap it up in a thin layer of composure, scoop up his scrambled thoughts, and put himself back together. He gave her a brave smile, feigning nonchalance.

Breaking the silence, he said, “let’s go, mo calman geal.”

He took her upstairs by the hand. She was still sleepy, but not inclined to let that stop her from caring for him— even if she had no idea what was going on. He could feel her hovering anxiously by his side, trying to figure out what was wrong.

As they sat down on the bed, Claire tried to tug him down to cuddle with her, but he shook his head. Settling against the headboard instead, he guided her down to lay her head in his lap.

He wanted to watch her. Just this one last time.

Sleepy as she was, but probably even more so because she wanted to do whatever was best for him, she complied. She snuggled down into his lap and settled herself so she was comfortable.

As he carded his fingers through her hair in gentle strokes, Claire began to relax. It wasn’t long before she drifted back into sleep. The lines on her face smoothed, and she seemed to melt into him impossibly further.

His hands still moving soothingly against her, Jamie returned to his thoughts. A terrible weight rested on his shoulders as he came to a realization.

He wouldn’t be strong enough to tell her here— in his home that had become their home (at least he felt that it was theirs)— and still manage to make the drive to the stones. It was selfish to keep this from her, but he simply wouldn’t be able do it. There were limits to his goodness, and he prayed God would forgive him for this one.

So, with his mind made up, a plan began to form.

He would tell her tomorrow that they were going for a hike. They’d drive out to the stones, and he would explain once they got there. His Grandfather’s ruby ring laid on his dresser— that would be what he’d give her to ensure safe passage. And then… then, she’d go home.

And that was that.

This was his last night with her.

He looked down and studied her face for a long time, trying to memorize every tiny detail. He knew it would be the remembrance of her that would warm him on the cold, lonely days that would surely follow. He traced her face reverently, first with his eyes, and then as his selfish, breaking heart took over, with soft touches of his fingertips.

All that was left was to pray that tomorrow he would have the strength to send her away.

***

A/n: I believe now is the time for me to hide 😳

#oh boy #all that was fair #update #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #claire/jamie #fae claire

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unhealthyfanobsession · 3 years

Text

The Hit List

This is based on a head canon I posted a couple days ago- just couldn’t get the idea of Nesta having an Arya-Stark style hit list; mostly crack and pure fluff if I’m being honest 🤷‍♀️

Cassian and Nesta have lived together for 137 years as of last Saturday. Maybe he should be embarrassed that he has been counting, but when one lives with Nesta Archeron one gets used to ensuring that they are always prepared. The woman has an infallible memory. Cassian knows every date that is of any consequence. He knows the day that her mother died because she always shrinks into herself just a little bit on that day, even after all of these years. He knows the day that they met, the day that the war ended, and the day that their mating bond snapped into place. He knows the day that they got married in a tiny little ceremony that consisted of only them plus Elain and Azriel- even Rhysand and Feyre weren’t present- and he knows the day that she finally, finally allowed herself to admit it to everyone that they had gotten married. Cassian knows everything about Nesta Archeron. He has spent 142 years learning every single piece of her (yeah you can do the math on how long it took him to convince her to move out of that damn run down apartment).

There is nothing about Nesta Archeron that could surprise him at this point. He can read her moods in the tense of her shoulders before she even wakes up in the morning. He can tell whether or not she will be amiable to seeing other people by the firmness or reluctance of her lips against his before they eat breakfast.

Cassian knows Nesta.

He does.

Really.

So why is he crinkling his brow in confusion as he stares at this tiny, ancient looking piece of parchment that has fallen out of her drawer.

Nesta is nearing the end of her cycle and he was sent to this particular drawer (his favorite if he’s being honest, but that is not the purpose of this moment) to fetch her new undergarments as she curses and tries to get out of their bed in the next room.

If it were even a day earlier Cassian would forget the paper. He would sprint into that room and tie her stubborn ass to the bed if he had to. She never rests long enough on her cycle, but this should be the last day so nothing bad will happen if she insists on taking herself to the bath.

Cassian is far too intrigued by this discovery to pay the subtle grunts any attention. The paper looks like it has been folded over and over again, uncreased and re-creased. It looks old, and coming from him that is saying something.

Cassian thinks that maybe he shouldn’t open it, but... he and Nesta don’t keep secrets, so surely if she had one then she would hide it better than shoving it under all of these scraps of lace in her underwear drawer. He smoothes the paper out carefully and his brow only creases farther as he reads it

Hybern

Old bitch Queen

Stupid Glaring Queen

White Queen

Old Fae Queen

Tomas

Beron

Jurian

Tamlin

Devlon

The last 3 names are deeply faded, clearly having been written in lead and then scratched at. Not scratched out in the way the others are, with a single black line through them, but... erased? Or attempted to be erased at least.

Cassian rubs his thumb along the final line, trying to feel the deeply faded and worn through section of the paper. The writer clearly wrote and then attempted to erase this word several times. It only takes him a minute to figure it out.

Rhysand

Cassian has never been so confused. None of these names seem to fit together in any way that he can make sense of. The Queens, he has to imagine refers to the mortal Queens from the war, and Hybern is explanatory enough- but what do 3 High Lords have to do with any of that? (Well... 2 current High Lords and a “woefully” usurped loser that no one will miss). Not to mention a resurrected human, the Lord of Windhaven, and some poor male named... Tomas?

Cassian shakes his head and does what he always does when something about Nesta confuses him. He walks right into their bedroom and asks her.

“What is this?”

Nesta lifts her eyes from the sheets, hands still gripping at her abdomen as she glares daggers at him.

“The fact that males don’t have to go through this torture is proof that the cauldron has always been an insufferable prick” she growls.

“That’s what I love about you, Nes” he grins that infuriatingly charming lopsided grin of his “you could wish that you weren’t in pain, but no no- instead you wish that I was as well”

“That stupid mating bond does claim to pair equals” she grimaces

“Oh so now it’s stupid?”

“If stuck me with you, didn’t it?”

Cassian laughs, moving closer to the bed with a wicked grin “I didn’t hear you complaining last night as I took that pain away in the only way that ever seems to work” he winks

“Hmmm” Nesta considers idly, reaching out to pull him onto the bed beside her so that she can lean her back against his chest “I suppose you do have your uses.”

Cassian chuckles, running a hand through her hair “what is this?” He asks again, holding up the parchment.

Nesta pauses for only a second before shrugging “it’s my kill list”

“Your what?” She said the words so casually, as though she was informing him what she wanted for dinner that night.

“I should think that the words ‘kill list’ are rather self explanatory”

Cassian pauses, looking down at the female that he thought he knew so well.

They are literally connected together. How could he not know what a bloodthirsty little minx his wife is? Well no, that isn’t accurate. He did know, he just didn’t know that she wrote it all down so literally and physically.

“Rhysand’s name is on this list”

“No it isn’t” Nesta shakes her head in annoyance “I erased it last year after he built that garden and named it for Elain” she shrugs “he’s one of the rotating players. Every few years he does something to get his name on the list but then usually he acquits himself within the decade.”

Cassian only nods, long since learning the pattern of Nesta’s speech that indicates when she is finished speaking on a matter and will not give it any more of her time. Of course, he also knows exactly the right buttons to push in order to make her keep speaking, but... now isn’t the time to play one of those cards. Nesta and Rhysand have always shared a tenuous relationship at best, so he supposes that her erasing his name from the kill list is probably about the greatest level of affection she will ever show the High Lord.

“Who is Tomas?” Nesta’s entire body tenses in his arms and Cassian’s mirrors her exactly one second later.

Oh.

Him.

“I’m glad that he is crossed out” Cassian grits through clenched teeth.

Nesta sighs “not nearly as satisfying an end as some of the others I’m afraid. So much time passed that one day I realized it would be impossible for him to still be alive, so I just crossed his name out” she shrugs.

”why does that old Queen still draw breath?” He grins a little, enjoying the strangely morbid conversation as he moves his hands down to gently massage her lower abdomen. She lets out a little moan that he assumes means some of her pain is subsiding.

“Every day that she lives is her punishment” Nesta grins this time, and Cassian sees it as she lays her head back against his shoulder “she wanted to be young and beautiful forever. Now she is an immortal old crone. If I never cross that name off I’ll consider it a type of victory entirely its own”

“What about Devlon, Jurian, and Tamlin?”

Nesta scoffs “they’re all on thin ice, but...” she sighs, an annoyed sort of huff “Tamlin did save Elain in a way and Jurian was playing doubt agent. And...” she pauses “you speak well of Devlon in comparison to the other Illyrian lords so he remains in the safe zone...for now.”

Cassian just grins a little, hands continuing their careful ministrations “I love you” he murmurs into her hair.

“I love you too”

Cassian pauses, straightening up a bit and pulling Nesta with him as he does so.

“Wait” he narrows his eyes “have I ever been on this list?”

Nesta curls her lips into a teasing smirk and gives him the most innocent little shrug as an answer.

Cassian chuckles, resting his chin on top of her head “as long as you always erase it”

“I use a lighter lead when I want to put you on it” she turns over in his arms so that she can look up at him “easier to erase. No smudges”

“I do believe that is that most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me, Nesta” they both laugh as Cassian leans down to capture her lips in his own, and suddenly Nesta’s cramps don’t seem quite so bad.

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #a court of silver flames #acosf #sarah j maas #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #nesta and cassian #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #acotar

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phis-corner · 4 years

Text

demon’s daughter

I decided to re-open the taglist for this fic because I am sometimes a pushover, so now you can either ask or comment to be on the fic’s taglist or the permanent taglist!

Additionally, I have no consistent update schedule. My first draft is written by hand- I always like to stay two chapters ahead, so I posted this chapter when I finished copying chapter 5 into a Google Doc and proofreading.

Also, fun fact: I hate chocolate. My senses just do not like it at all. I also have a very sensitive tongue and can taste the barest hint of spiciness in foods, which also means I have zero spice tolerance whatsoever. As a Chinese-American with family in Sichuan, this means I get force-fed a lot of extremely spicy foods anyway.

Masterlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 [Chapter 3] Chapter 4

“Why are you letting them stay? He tried to kill Dick!” Timothy points at Damian, who glowers at him from across the cave as Alfred stitches Richard’s cuts.

Marinette sighs. “Akhi was not trying to murder Richard. If you paid more attention, you would notice that all of Richard’s wounds are carefully placed in non-lethal areas meant to slow him down instead of severely injuring him.”

Batman does not say a word. He hasn’t spoken since Richard called him to verify their claims.

“They were raised as assassins, Timmy. It’s normal that they’d feel threatened a lot, and act accordingly. They’re family now. Give them a chance.” Richard replies, and Marinette blinks. She did not expect to have Richard defend them so easily.

“Pardon me,” She pipes up. “But ‘they’ are currently present.”

“Right. Sorry.” Richard has the sense to look guilty. Timothy just glares.

Damian squeezes her hand three times, their signal for I would like to leave. Marinette sighs as she exits the Batcave. Being accepted into the family is… a work in progress.

.o0o.

Slade is put into Blackgate not long after with the information Ubu gave after being interrogated by the Bats. Damian and Marinette were not allowed to go.

Too young, Richard had said. They had interpreted that as You cannot be trusted to keep him alive. He did make the right call though. Damian would have tried extremely hard had he gotten the chance.

Of course, the League did dispose of him not long after anyway, but it was the thought that counted.

Damian and Marinette spent their days in the Manor sparring, reading, or practicing their instruments. Richard, who seemed determined to bond with them, bought them both new sketchbooks, for Damian’s drawings and Marinette’s designs. She had discovered an affinity for clothing design while undercover on a mission, and had been designing ever since.

Cass (she insisted that they call her that instead of Cassandra,) was always happy to spar when asked, and although nobody ever defeated her, it was a welcomed challenge to fight someone who knew your every move, sometimes even before you did. Damian grudgingly admits she is a worthy sister, which makes Marinette smile and Cass beam.

Jason had his own home and only visited every once in a while, and Timothy was rarely seen. It didn’t help that Damian continued to make snarky comments whenever they did see him, but if Timothy was scarce, Father was practically nonexistent.

Since they came to the Manor, their father has said a total of two words to the both of them, and that was just their names when he exited his study as they passed by.

Marinette is determined to make her new family work, and so when she finds Timothy completely by accident, typing away on a laptop in one of the less-used rooms in the Manor, she takes a chance.

“You do know we are not trying to replace you, right?” She asks softly, sitting down in an armchair and deliberately not making eye contact with him.

Timothy snorts. “But is that not what you’re doing? Bruce chose to take in everyone else. I had to blackmail him into letting me be Robin. And then the biological kids show up, born and raised like fucking royalty, so who would care about Tim Drake? The little kid whose parents didn’t even want him and his neighbor only adopted him because he knew his most well-kept secret.”

“We have more in common than you think.” Marinette says quietly.

“Yeah, right.” Timothy laughs bitterly. “The Princess of the League-”

“I wasn’t.” Marinette interrupts.

“Huh? But-”

“I wasn’t the Princess.” Marinette keeps her voice calm with considerable effort. “As soon as I was born, Ra’s gave me over to Lady Shiva. He declared me unworthy because I was a girl, and I was raised as the lowest-ranked assassin. I may have been Shiva’s protege, but that just meant she went even harder on me. I did not know even my last name until after my first death when I was five. I did not properly meet my brother until last year. Ra’s decided that I could be acknowledged, but maintained his stance on feminine inferiority.”

She chuckles hollowly. “You fear being replaced by your father figure’s biological children, Timothy. But your fear is unwarranted. Bruce Wayne chose to adopt you, because he is a good man with copious amounts of generosity. However, it evidently does not extend to his biological children. Talia dumped us at Batman’s feet and left without another word, without looking back. And Father? We may have been a complete surprise, but he has said two words in total to us since that first night- our names. You need not worry, Timothy. You shall not be replaced.”

Marinette stands, her message conveyed, and pauses in the doorway of the room.

“Have a good afternoon, Timothy.”

The next day, Marinette and Damian watch on live television as their father is killed by Darkseid.

.o0o.

The funeral for Batman is somber. Everyone cries except for Marinette and Damian.

She thinks they should be crying, but Marinette simply didn’t know her father well enough to really mourn him. Damian squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back. The twins stand, faces carefully blank, shoulders straight and unmoving, like rocks in an ocean of tears.

Crime in Gotham runs rampant when they think Batman is gone, and so Richard becomes Batman out of necessity- and chooses her twin brother as his Robin.

Nobody else sees how it crushes Timothy, because Cass has left for Hong Kong, abandoning Batgirl and making her own identity as Black Bat. Jason is holed up in a safehouse somewhere, Richard and Damian are in their own little world as they prepare for their first patrol together, and Alfred needs time to mourn too.

So she finds herself knocking on the door to Timothy’s room, one hand holding a plate of sandwiches and a freshly brewed coffee because he hasn’t left his room since the funeral. Marinette quietly enters upon his muffled “Come in” and sets the plate down next to Timothy, whose eyes are red-rimmed and have even larger bags than normal, and yet he continues to work.

“I… noticed you have not come out to eat, so I brought some food and fresh coffee. Black.” She adds, after a moment of hesitation.

“Thanks.” Timothy mumbles, immediately going for the coffee. “Why are you doing this?”

Marinette shrugs. “Everyone else was caught up in their own situation and had issues to work through too. I am relatively unaffected by the circumstances and therefore my observation skills have not declined.” She says simply. “You should also eat. I will not stop you from drinking the coffee, but you cannot work on an empty stomach, either.”

He begrudgingly eats a sandwich, still typing away at his laptop all the while. Marinette notes the tension in his frame.

“Would you like to talk about it? I have read that venting is significantly better for one’s mental health than keeping it bottled up.” She offers.

Timothy suddenly slams the laptop shut, hard, but Marinette doesn’t flinch. The reaction was trained out of her a long time ago.

“It’s not- it’s- my entire life, I’ve been trying to prove myself. Robin was- Robin was special. I wasn’t the first Robin, but it was a reminder that I was worth something to someone, that I could do good and be useful. And then Bruce dies, Dick becomes Batman, and he just names Damian as his Robin like my opinion on the matter meant nothing, booting me out of the position, without any semblance of an explanation and-” He breaks off into sobs.

The sight of somebody crying makes Marinette more than a little awkward, because what is she doing? She doesn’t know how to comfort a crying person, but she does know that Timothy was touch-starved as a child. However, she isn’t the most touchy-feely person on the planet either, so she just settles for rubbing his back as he lets it all out.

Once he’s run out of tears, she silently hands him the tissue box she plucked from his desk.

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you are not worthless.” Marinette says sternly. “Nobody is worthless, and you are far from being anywhere near so. You are the cleverest and most intelligent of us all, a capable, quick-thinking strategist, and you have detective skills that rivaled Father’s. I believe Richard chose Damian as Robin because Robin is always supposed to be Batman’s sidekick. He is always taken under Batman’s wing because there are things he hasn’t learned, that Batman can teach him. Richard sees you as an equal, and therefore cannot keep you as his Robin because you have graduated the mantle. It is time you created a new identity and moved on. Do you have anything in mind?”

Timothy sniffs once. “Thank you. I really needed that. And as for the ideas,” He reaches over and pulls out a sketchbook, a smile spreading across his face. “I’ve got a few.”

.o0o.

They brainstorm ideas for almost three hours before Timothy falls asleep. Marinette easily carries his light frame to his bed and drapes a blanket over his shoulders before quietly exiting his room.

Thankfully, she managed to convince Timothy that the cowl was a terrible idea. Marinette returns to her own room for her sketchbook. Batman and Robin will have each other’s backs. But Red Hood works alone, leaving Red Robin with nobody to watch his back.

Timothy is Marinette’s brother too, and everyone else is headed into the field anyway. She, like Damian, also had the phrase ‘justice, not vengeance’ drilled into her head, and Richard had made sure to remind them daily to aim for non-lethal spots. Not that she planned on taking a life ever again anyway.

Marinette flips open her sketchbook to a bookmarked page and smiles. It seems that Starling would be making an appearance very soon.

.o0o.

It is almost time for Richard and Damian’s first patrol as Batman and Robin. Marinette heads downstairs to wish them well, but freezes at the sight of her twin in Timothy’s old suit.

“This is unacceptable!” She screeches, hurrying forward and looking pleadingly at Richard. “You cannot let akhi out into Gotham looking like a traffic light!”

Richard frowns, as does Damian. “But you never had a problem with Tim wearing it.”

“Tt. Timothy had little to no prior experience in combat before being trained as Robin. Damian has been trained to utilize the shadows in combat since birth. Wearing those bright colors will make him stand out and put him at a disadvantage.” Marinette tuts, already scribbling out a new design in her sketchbook.

“Then what do you suggest, ukhti?” Damian asks.

“I have a design in mind. The colors will stay, but the yellow and green will have to be significantly darker, and the red should be dulled as well. Sadly, you will have to wear that monstrosity tonight, but I can have the suit finished in time for patrol tomorrow, as will mine and Timothy’s new suits.” She replies, not glancing up from her book.

“What do you mean, Marinette?” Richard questions, and Marinette feels a tiny twinge of annoyance at how he handled telling Timothy about Robin.

“I mean that Timothy and I have crafted new identities as well. You did not expect him to just stop fighting crime, or for me to just sit at home while everyone else carried out Father’s mission, did you?”

Damian nods, a small smile pulling at his lips. “It will be nice to see you in the field too, ukhti.”

“What will your names be?” Richard prods curiously.

“I will not tell you just yet.” Marinette smirks. She shows her twin the finished design. “Does this look alright, akhi?”

“It looks wonderful, ukhti.” Damian replies. “Thank you.”

She sniffs. “Well, somebody had to fix the lack of fashion sense in this household eventually.”

.o0o.

Everyone else in the family may use capes, but Marinette decided that Richard’s Nightwing suit was by far the best because of its lack of one. Capes were long, heavy, a waste of fabric, and overall useless.

The Starling suit was primarily black, with a dark emerald mask covering the lower half of her face (because why carry a gas mask and rebreather when it can be built in?) with gloves and boots in the same color. A single silver star with curved sides was splayed on her chest, and a dark green utility belt rested on her waist. Her steel war fans had holsters strapped to her thighs.

All in all, the suit was built for the shadows. Marinette had learned to master slipping through the dark, unseen, and Gotham was the perfect place to utilize that. Starling would be nothing more than a ghost, a legend, if she had her way. After all, the less citizens knew, the less likely the information would hit the underworld, and that way, the vigilantes wouldn’t have all their cards out in the open.

Damian looks much better in his new suit as well, and Timothy is also grinning when he steps out of the male’s changing room. (A/N: the new 52 suit. I’m not letting him out of the Cave with that ugly cowl, or the traffic light costume with an extra R. Don’t even get me started on the Drake one.)

Richard, cowl still down, smiles as bright as the sun itself. “Good to see you, Robin. Tim, Marinette, can I ask your names?”

Timothy fastens his domino. “Red Robin.”

Marinette pulls her face mask up and curtsies with perfect posture. “Starling. I wish to work in the shadows, if that is alright.”

Richard puts on the cowl and becomes Batman. “You guys all look amazing.” He grins, and it is unsettling to see Batman smile. Oracle logs into the comms from the Clocktower.

“You all ready?”

They split the city in half. Red Robin and Starling take the North while Batman & Robin will cover the South.

Starling trails Red Robin from afar, leaping from building to building and only using her grappling hook when the distance is too great to close by foot. They stop four muggings and two attempted assaults, all without Starling being spotted. The criminals think they hit their head on the alley walls or each other instead of her fist from behind.

It’s almost three in the morning when Batman calls it quits and they return to the Cave, changing out of their suits and showering. They are somehow all unharmed, so Alfred sends them up to bed.

Damian and Marinette brush their teeth before climbing into bed and flipping off the lights.

“Tonight was actually quite enjoyable.” Marinette remarks. “It is a nice feeling, to know that you are helping people.”

Damian hums sleepily. “It is good to know that we are continuing Father’s legacy.”

Marinette smiles. “Yes, I suppose so.” She burrows deeper into her blankets. “Sleep well, akhi.”

“The same goes for you, ukhti.”

For once, Marinette doesn’t have a nightmare.

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vampcubus · 4 years

Text

Quiet (Midoriya/Reader) [part 2]

| A/n: I have to admit, I re-wrote the ending several times and I’m still not satisfied with it but here we go anyways! |

| See part 1 ... here |

✦✿ Warnings: Angst with a happy ending. ✿✦

✦✿ Words: 5500+ ✿✦

are you guys ready to c r y??

. . .

You stare blankly at a red and purple sky, eyes lazily watching the clouds roll by and the half-visible sun dip down and slowly set. You leaned forward to capture that perfect in-between moment, smiling as the last sliver of the sun finally dipped behind the horizon, letting the sky gradually shift from warm pinks and oranges to dark blues, indigos, and purples. You sighed and sank into a more relaxed position as your eyes welcomed the appearance of the moon as it took to the sky, washing the park in its gentle white light.

You sat at the same rotting-wooden picnic table you sat at every night, a familiar book with kitty skeletons draped in red and black across the cover sat just beneath your hand. The lukewarm coffee you’d picked up hours earlier sat right next to the book, half-empty from your lack of interest despite it being your favorite kind.

You’d even considered dropping by your dorm to throw it in the freezer—to beat yourself with later if you kept thinking about a particularly annoying green-haired boy—before coming here, but you found that you just didn’t want to be on campus more than you had to.

Being out and about decreased your chances of running into him.

You let your eyes stray from the steadily appearing stars and to your right, where Midoriya had sat just a few nights ago.

You let out a frustrated sigh, turning your gaze back up to the sky and raising the cup of coffee to your lips. It didn’t taste amazing right now, but it served as a good enough distraction to stop thinking about him. You’d done the right thing, whether you cared about Midoriya or not, you wouldn’t let yourself be manipulated. You would not come running back into his arms only to be forgotten when other things in his life became more important than you again.

It was better this way.

You told yourself, trying to convince yourself that you would only distract Izuku from his dreams. You’d only get in the way and end up broken again when he realized that.

You flicked the book open and skimmed your eyes over the pages. The illustrations of grim-themed yet still cute cats above each new chapter momentarily consuming your attention. Your soft smile faltered when you stumbled upon a particularly strange looking cat with wild, curly fur and huge round eyes cowering underneath a couch. Your eyes lingered on the drawing, everything about it just screams Izuku.

You shake yourself out of it and flip to the front page, breath hitching when you noticed a sticky note attached to it. It was in the handwriting of the clerk you’d grown familiar with. She often scribbled funny quotes or little notes things into the books you purchased for you to laugh about when you stumbled into the shop again.

He was here today, wanted me to slide this to you once you came in today. Not quite sure if he knows that ‘secret admirers’ are supposed to be discreet?

-Kiko ッ

You almost smile at that, not doubting for a moment who she was referring to. But then you knit your brows together in confusion when you noticed an arrow at the bottom of the note. Curiously, you unstuck the unusually heavy sticky note and flipped it. Your heart stopped functioning entirely when you saw a familiar bracelet taped to the back of it.

You gasped tearing the bracelet from the note and inspecting it closely. No way… there’s no way he even remembered this existed.

It was a colorful and cute bracelet with mostly green beads and white lettered ones spelling out ‘All Might.’

The sight of the bracelet brings you way back, and suddenly you are no longer outside at the park.

Instead, you are laying on your stomach with an impressive fort of blankets hanging above your head. Your small hands fiddled with the beads, tiny fingers slipping on each random-shaped bead you could find in your craft box that was remotely green in color. Across from you lays a much smaller Izuku on his belly with his nose buried in a comic book, eyes sparkling and lips noisily slurping at the straw of a juice box.

“Y/N-chan look!” The curly-haired boy squeals, shoving the comic book over to you and pointing at a panel of a very stylized All Might with multiple civilians draped over his shoulders. It’s a familiar frame from the video you’ve watched with the boy about a million times already. You personally didn’t idolize the symbol of peace as passionately as your friend, but it always made him happy, so you always watched it with him. You squinted, scrunching up your nose at the picture.

“They drew his hair wrong!” You complained pointing at the clearly exaggerated shojo-looking hairstyle the number one hero had been illustrated with.

“No, that’s just the artists’ style.” Little Izuku exclaims, standing up in the fort, proudly posing in his All Might one-sie, holding the comic book up into the air like it was Simba.

“Ohh,” You remember humming thoughtfully before returning to tying an s-clip to the end of the bracelet, looking your newest creation over with pride. You sat up too, looking anxiously over to your best friend who had engrossed himself back into the comic. “Gimme your hand.”

You vividly remember the young boy’s freckled face lighting up and his hand being shoved in your direction. You slid the way-too-big bracelet over his tiny wrist and looped it around a second time so it wouldn’t fall off. “Here, so everybody knows you’re the next All Might!”

His big green eyes overflowed with tears, almost flooding your blanket sanctuary and drowning you both in his own tears when he tackled you to the ground, hugging you tight. You remember him showing the bracelet off to all of his friends and Kacchan the next day. He wore it even more religiously than his hero-onesie, his mother even mentioning that he only took it off to bathe.

You recall your shock when a week later he dropped a similar home-made bracelet with your favorite-colored beads and your idolized hero’s name on it. It had been the first time anyone had ever made something for you and you cherished it.

“We match now, so that means we gotta become big strong heroes together when we get big!” You remember his high-pitched voice declaring with his best All Might impression.

You felt your eyes burn with salt and the telltale weight of tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, your fingers shaking as they clutched the bracelet. Despite how old the plastic piece of jewelry was, it was in outstanding condition--save for a few scratches on the bigger beads here and there.

You’d thought that he’d lost it or thrown it away a long time ago. It’s been years. How on earth did he still have this?

Feeling your breath start to quicken you shot up from your seat, grabbing the book from the table and dashing off towards U.A. You turned each sharp corner, narrowly avoiding crashing into several other students—including Bakugou who hissed and swore at you as you retreated to your dorm You shoved the door open and slammed it shut. The next fifteen minutes were spent digging through your stuff, looking through untouched boxes of your things you’d brought from home but never needed until now.

And then, you finally found it tucked away in an old pencil pouch. You pulled out an all-too-familiar bracelet, holding it up to compare to the green one in your other hand. There was no doubt about it, it was real. Your fingertips traced the familiar beads of your own bracelet, eyes flickering between it and its counterpart.

Why…?

Why did he keep it so long?

You kicked the box back into the closet and toed the door shut, tossing both bracelets onto your nightstand and flopping face-down onto your bed.

It didn’t matter. It was just a bracelet, nothing more than a flimsy piece of plastic. Nothing compared to the friendship you had. So what if he held onto some dumb bracelet? That didn’t make up for months of distance, weeks of him slowly forgetting you existed while you stood idly by. Letting it happen because you cared too much.

So why did you feel so guilty?

You groaned exasperatedly into your pillow snuggling your face into it when it started to soothe your headache. Your eyes opened suddenly with a furious glower when your stupid brain immediately thought back to the times you and Izuku would nap together when you were kids, anywhere anytime. You often played so hard you knocked yourselves out so his mom would find you cuddled up against one another in your blanket forts, on the couch, on the slide at the park, under the sink once… anywhere you could fit into and doze off, you would.

In fact, you didn’t shake the habit of napping together until you were at least thirteen, which is usually around when parents start getting suspicious so you stopped doing it. You felt a slight blush rise to your cheeks, remembering those special times in middle school when you would sneak in and sleep together for a while if one of you had a nightmare. That was most likely the most rebellious thing you two innocent little suck-ups ever did.

You sigh, eyes drifting over to the bracelets strewn carelessly across your nightstand.

How can one bracelet bring back so much nostalgia?

. . .

Midoriya was slumped miserably against one of the couches in the dorm lounge, pen shakily scribbling away at an assignment. His handwriting has gotten a little better since last year, still wobbly and inconsistent in places but his teachers have voiced their appreciation of its improvement. He thinks back to earlier when he had dropped off that bracelet at the bookshop, afraid that if he approached you, you wouldn’t want to see him or he’d start crying again.

It really tore him apart inside to part with it, having kept it for so long. He’d found the bracelet while looking through some of his things one day. It fell out of a box with a bunch of his older more beat up action figures.

Seeing it after being put away for so long had brought the biggest smile to his face, remembering how much he’d loved it when he was younger. It was also what made him remember you… It was as if you suddenly popped back into existence. And in excitement to share the memory with you, perhaps catch up with you over coffee, he had disregarded the fact that it had been months since you’d last spoken.

He now realizes his mistake.

But after last night he knew he didn’t deserve to have such an important piece of you to himself. He absentmindedly wondered if you still had yours… probably not, huh? His wasn’t as pretty as the one you made him, and why would you keep it after he practically ignored you for a year?

Still, he had hope that just maybe there was a chance he could make it up to you, that he hadn’t messed up so bad that you never want to speak to him again. Midoriya closed his eyes, frowning down at his notebook in shame. Who was he kidding? It was just a piece of plastic and likely held no value to you after what he did.

He misses it. Already.

“Midoriya.” Iida’s voice piped up and the green-haired boy jumped.

“Oh hey, Iida. Did you need something?” He asked, trying not to sound as worked up as he really was, forcing a small smile.

“I came to ask if you’d heard from L/N at all today?” Midoriya’s heart dropped at the sound of your name.

“No… why?”

“Well, it’s just that several students claimed to have seen her running obnoxiously through the halls earlier this evening and I was curious if you’d happen to know anything about it?” Iida asks, straightening his glasses with a displeased expression, clearly not amused by your behavior.

“No, I haven’t. Sorry,” Midoriya admitted sullenly, eyes downcast to the floor.

Iida’s eyes softened and the bluenette sighed, taking a seat next to his friend. Ochako and he hadn’t managed to get much out of the sulking Midoriya since the other night, but they suspect that things didn’t necessarily go well between him and you. Not to mention he’s been a zombie all for days, barely getting any sleep at all these past few nights

“And, as your friend, I am concerned about your wellbeing,” Tenya confessed, pushing his glasses up closer against his face as Midoriya sighed.

“I’m fine, Iida.” Midoriya offered him a half-smile but otherwise made no attempt to spill anything. Tenya made eye-contact with Ochako across the common room, who had been the one to encourage him to approach Deku in the first place.

“Midoriya, what happened between you and L/N last evening?” The Iida son pressed, cautious not to pry too much in fear of upsetting him.

“I messed up,” Midoriya looked down at his lap, a drawing of your face in the corner of his math homework. He abruptly turned the page in hopes Iida hadn’t already seen it. “Really badly.”

. . .

The next morning, Izuku is as sluggish and mopey as ever, worrying his classmates with his lack of enthusiasm.

“You should talk to her.” Todoroki’s cool voice shakes Midoirya out of his daze after homeroom. He’s been staring absently at you as you ignored his existence, focusing on the lesson. It isn’t hard to guess who the half-and-half teen was talking about. And yet he still found himself surprised.

“I’ve tried, Todoroki. Talking won't help.” Midoriya sighs, eyes dropping to his mess of notes, including several crumpled up drawings of you.

“And sulking around doing nothing will?” Todoroki questions, not able to recognize the shell of the boy in front of him.

“I messed up, and she wants nothing to do with me now.” And he respects that.

“Something tells me that isn’t entirely the case.” Shouto replies and the green-haired boy sends him a puzzled look.

“What do you mean by that?” He asks, a brow raised at the possibility that Todoroki knows something he doesn’t.

“You forget that Y/N and I are close friends now, although you haven’t necessarily been around so you may not have known at all.” He states bluntly and it does nothing to comfort Midoriya at all. He hadn’t known you and Todoroki were friends! What else did he not know about you?

“What are you getting at, Todoroki?” Deku asks with a defeated tone, wishing the stoic prodigy would just be out with it.

“Y/N tells me everything, don’t think she hasn’t told me about what happened a few nights ago. But when she spoke about you it didn’t seem like she didn’t want anything to do with you.” Shouto explained, definitely catching the young Midoriya’s attention. “She’s upset, yes, and you aren’t wrong to assume that she is angry with you right now. But the longer you wait to talk to her about it—if you planned to at all that is—the longer it will take for her to forgive you.”

Forgive him? Was that even possible at this point? He didn’t know, but if what Todoroki said was true, and he actually had a chance, he couldn’t waste any more time ‘sulking around and doing nothing.’

“Are you sure that’s even possible, Todoroki?” Deku questioned, eyes adept as ever as he searched the bi-colored eyes of his rival and friend for answers he may not even have.

“I don’t know for sure, Midoriya. That is up to Y/N.” Todoroki admits, and Deku bites the inside of his cheek still torn over this. “But I don’t think she will forgive you if you don’t try.”

“Mm.” Deku nods, thanking the two-toned boy and packing up for his next class of the day.

. . .

Your ears perked up at the sound of someone knocking on your door later that night. You sighed into your pillow, not wanting to leave its soft embrace. You tried to ignore it at first, pretending to be asleep but he insistent knocking continued. Grumpily you pushed off of your comfy bed to sluggishly open the door, thinking it was most likely Mina and she’d just keep knocking until you opened up.

You were not expecting Midoriya to be standing there.

“What do you want?” You asked, your voice holding no softness or enthusiasm ad your narrowed eyes stared coldly at your former best friend. He flinches at the icy tone of your voice.

“I-I um… can we… talk?” Izuku asks anxiously, wringing his hands together, elbows drawn in close to his stomach self-consciously. “Please?”

He meets your steeled gaze with his own apologetic one, green eyes pleading with yours. Izuku owned the most convincing pair of puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen, even when he wasn’t meaning to and even now you faltered.

“Why? Why should I let you in? Give me one good reason not to slam the door in your face and go back to bed?”

“B-because I w-won’t leave until I say what I need to say,” Midoriya stated as firmly as he could, a determined glimmer in his eyes as he did so. You don’t doubt that he might sit at your door all night if you refused him. “A-and I have a feeling you have some things to say too.”

He wants to resolve this.

“I have nothing to say to you.” You hissed stepping back into the threshold of your room starting to close the door but his hand smacks against the wooden surface, a desperate look in his eyes that only makes you push harder. “Move.”

“Please! Please just hear me out, Y/N, please just give me this! Let me try! You don’t need to forgive me. I just need you to listen!” Midoriya pleads, his glossy eyes already spilling hot tears down his freckled cheeks. He’s shaking. “Please…”

Midoriya stumbles forward when the door opens and he just barely catches himself, wide eyes darting up to yours as you take several steps away from the entrance. You cross your arms, you can’t believe you’re actually doing this.

“You have five minutes. Start talking.” You relent, sitting down on your bed.

Midoriya sighs in relief, closing the door behind him before clumsily scrambling over to you. You pat the spot next to you, avoiding any and all eye-contact. Izuku’s heart skips a beat when he spots his bracelet on your nightstand. So you did get it! His breath gets caught in his throat when he tries to speak at the same moment his eyes drift to your wrist, where a relic of your friendship dangles.

You kept it! He feels his eyes overflowing, the ugly fat tears streaking down the sides of his face as he stares dumbfounded at the familiar bracelet.

“You have four minutes.” You flatly remind him, and he jumps, trying to think of the words he’d practiced just a half-hour before he showed up at your dorm.

“AH—o-okay! um, I…” When he fails to speak even after a good minute passes, you sigh deeply. If he had nothing to say, why’d he even come? What happened to all that gusto about ‘saying what I need to say’?

“Why did you keep it?” You ask out of the blue after an uncomfortable silence and his head perks up, but he looks confused, eyes searching yours.

“Keep what—?” He starts, but you cut him off.

“The bracelet. Why did you keep it? It’s been years, I didn’t even think you still remembered that old piece of junk existed.” You blurt out, each word sounding distressed and just… confused. You wanted to understand.

He stares at you, mouth agape at a complete loss of what to say. His mouth suddenly feels dry and his tongue rubs anxiously against the roof of his mouth.

“Because… because it was important... to me.” Izuku breathes, the muscles and nerves in his hand twitching as it laid only inches away from yours. “I was s-so happy when you first gave it to me, my mom had to pry it off of me just to bathe me.” He chuckles, smiling at the memory.

“And I kept it because it reminded me of you, it felt like there was a part of you with me even when you couldn’t be there. It comforted me, knowing that you put s-so m-much thought into something j-just for me and I f-felt so special!” He breaks off when his hiccups start to get out of control. “A-and—”

He chokes and apologizes taking a moment to breathe again. You hadn’t realized how much one silly piece of jewelry had impacted him until now, so much so that he’s crying over it.

“And I made a promise, remember?” Izuku sniffs, wiping his eyes uselessly with his hand, only really smearing the wetness across his cheeks and wetting his hand with his own tears as they continued to spill down the freckled planes of his red cheeks.

You nod, but turn away when you feel your own emotions starting to spike up. You bit your lip, held your breath, clenched your teeth. Anything to keep the tears at bay as they threatened to fall.

“I-I said that when we—”

“We match now, so that means we gotta become big strong heroes together when we get big.” You butt in, sniffling and raising a hand to scrub at the tears streaming down your face and pooling at your chin. “That’s what you said.”

Deku stares at you, guffawed as you quoted his younger self. He hadn’t expected you to remember it so clearly, It makes him feel even worse. Knowing how much it must’ve hurt you when you grew apart. How hard it must’ve been on you to keep quiet about everything while he lived his best life, forgetting all about his dearest friend.

“Why’d you give it back?” You asked, voice trembling as you wiping your eyes with your arm. You glanced over at the green bracelet lying on your nightstand. “If it meant so much to you, why give it back?”

He closed his eyes. He listened to his heart as it slammed against his chest like a pinball machine, demanding him to say something.

“Because I forgot about the friendship it represented, and I shouldn’t have. I wish I wouldn’t have, but I did. I broke my own promise and e-even worse, I hurt you because I was just too caught up in my own problems—my own dreams—to remember that you’ve been a part of them since the beginning.” Izuku sobbed, there was no point in holding it all in now.

“I gave it back because I was so afraid I screwed up everything between us, and I don’t deserve it!”

I don’t deserve you. The phrase rang in his ears so loudly it was almost deafening, he wanted nothing more than to say it too. He couldn’t because he couldn’t catch a single damn breath to say it. But even as he feels he has gathered that breath it’s stolen away once more when he feels your hands on his face.

In a flurry of your own emotions and a nagging force of habit you had reached out and grasped his face, the soft pads of your thumbs wiping at his cheeks.

“Stop crying already, you had something you wanted to say right? Stop letting your emotions get in the way of that.”

The firmness in your tone as your stern eyes descended upon his own struck a chord in him. You’ve said something like that to him before. Years ago.

“Stop crying, Izuku! Stop letting your emotions keep you from standing up for yourself! Kacchan steps on you because he knows all you’ll do is cry!”

Multiple times.

“Would ya quit crying already? You’re tougher than that, Izu. Like All Might!”

Constantly.

“Stop crying because you don’t have a quirk! Become a hero without one!”

It had always been you. You there comforting him, encouraging him, telling him to quit crying and speak up for himself. To keep pushing on despite the fact that he just wasn’t as gifted as other children. How could he have forgotten one of the most important lessons you ever taught him? How could he have forgotten about you?

You tugged one of your bunched sleeves down with your teeth and dried up the downpour of tears from his cheeks with your hoodie sleeve. Careful not to rub the skin raw, you kept at it until he was simply too shocked to cry anymore. This is the first time you’ve done this in years, yet far from the first time you’ve had to do it at all. Even as children, you were using your fingers, your sleeves, the edge of your shirt to wipe his tears away.

“I—”

“Shush, I don’t want to hear it unless it’s what you came here to say.” You interrupt, and the look in his eyes changes from nervous to determined.

“I was going to say that I am s-sorry,” He stutters.

“What else?” You encouraged, watching as he slowly gained more confidence. “You said you weren’t going to leave until you say what you need to say, keep your promise.”

“I was going to say that I don’t deserve you!”

“And are you lying?” You ask.

“No!” Midoriya exclaims more confidently, more certain of himself than before.

“And is that all you wanted to say?” You asked again, smiling as the sobbing boy from before completely changed with your encouragement, egging him on.

“No…” Midoriya confesses, faltering slightly as his nervousness returns. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to say it yet. Would that even be acceptable right now? Even as strong as he feels right now he can’t help but hesitate, to blush, to avoid your gaze.

“Then say it.”

“I…” He trails off, suddenly terrified of the thought. He couldn’t! It would put everything on the line! “I-I…”

Your hand cups his cheek coaxing him to look back up at you.

“Stop hesitating, tell me what you want to say.”

He’s already put your friendship on the line, what difference would it make? You wanted the truth so you’d get it! He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes before opening them again, meeting your own straight on. There’s a spark in those green eyes that wasn’t there before he squinted them shut. It’s like an emerald fire was lit behind them.

“I love you!”

It’s quiet.

You stare at him, and he stares right back, his determined gaze never weakening as he maintained eye-contact.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Midoriya replies.

This time it’s your turn to shy away. Your face darkens incredibly fast, heart racing against your chest as your eyes darted from side to side, deep in thought. Your mind threw numbers together into every equation it knew, each answer coming out the same. You had expected an “I want to be friends again!” or “I want a second chance!” or “I want to fix this!”

Never in a million years could you have predicted him to say that. Not to you. Your eyes drifted back up to his. He looks a little less confident now, almost worried as he awaits your response.

“Get out.” You breathe, eyes wide as you stare at him watching his determined face change to one of confusion.

You couldn’t believe it. After forgetting your existence for almost a year, after only remembering when he found the bracelet, after only wanting to talk to you because it was most convenient to him… and he has the goddamn nerve to say that he loved you.

“W-what?” Izuku gasped, not understanding what was going on. Suddenly you were pressing yourself against the wall farthest from him on your bed.

“G-get out!” You exclaim, the angry tears running down your face.

“Y/N, what are you s-saying?” His voice shook, the tears starting to fall from his eyes again, his nose beginning to run as well as his entire body shook. Why were you telling him to leave? Did he make the wrong call? Did you not feel the same?

“Why are you lying to me?” You asked, the question coming out like a whisper.

“I-I’m not lying to you, I love you!” Midoriya cried. “Please, you have to believe me, I wouldn’t lie to you! I’ve always liked you—since we were kids, Y/N! I can’t fake that! You know I can’t!”

You shake as his desperate green eyes plead with yours, a sincerity in those irises you grew up staring into, a sincerity that just can’t be faked. He actually… he actually loved you? But why? He ignored you for a year!

“And you can honestly tell me that in that year you forgot about me you loved me?!” You demanded, your tears making your vision blurry and unmanageable.

“I never stopped loving you, even if it was overshadowed by my dream to become a hero, even if I made mistakes not even I can fix, my heart always belonged to you.” Midoriya crawled over to kneel in front of you on your bed where you still had your back pressed to the wall and your knees pulled tightly to your chest. “I’m not perfect, Y/N. I made a mistake by not being there for you, and I will do anything it takes to fix it if I can.”

“And you won’t forget me again? You promise?” You ask shakily, feeling a little embarrassed by how small you felt, scrunched up in such a way and crying in front of someone other than your cat at home.

“Yes,” His immediate response confirms it, not an ounce of hesitation present in the way it rolls off his tongue. “I promise, I’ll never forget you. And I’ll never be the reason you cry again.”

“Can you believe me?” Izuku reached his hand out to you.

“I… I believe you.” You admit, a small smile gracing your lips as you take his hand. Izuku lets out a relieved sigh, his free hand trembling over his heart. You can tell how terrified he was. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you though, Izu.”

“I know, and I’m going to try my very best to make it up to you. I promise.” Izuku states. It doesn’t bother him that you didn’t say ‘I love you’ back, he wouldn’t have deserved it. He’s going to have to work for it, and that was fine with him.

“Do you…” You started, face flushing and eyes avoiding his as you removed your hands from his face. “Do you wanna hug it out?”

“Yes!” You yelp when he throws himself at you, tackling you to the bed with his arms around you. You squeeze your own arms around him, face burrowing into his shoulder as you squeezed the life out of one another.

“Sorry.” He mutters when he realizes he’s practically on top of you and most likely crushing you. He moves to roll off of you but your arms only tighten around him.

“No, please just… can we just stay like this for a while?” You asked, and Izuku felt his heart beating so fast he was convinced it eventually just commit seppuku if it pounded any harder. He nodded against your shoulder, cheeks burning a bright crimson as he relaxes.

“Also,” You spoke up and he hummed in response, he couldn’t be bothered to move. You reached over to your nightstand to snatch the green bracelet from it, the green-haired boy whining when he had to re-adjust after you started moving. “Gimme your hand.”

He pulled away, green pools swirling with confusion. He complies with your sudden request and gasps when you slide the bracelet back onto his wrist.

“This belongs to you.” You smiled and he mirrored it with one of his own, hand impulsively taking yours, fingers intertwining with your own. Your matching bracelets reflected the dim light of the room, casting a warm glow over your faces as you smiled at each other. No longer did you feel forgotten or used, instead you felt loved again. “Now get off me.”

Izuku laughs and slips off of you to lay at your side, his arms pulling you in close so he could cuddle you, just like you did when you were kids.

Izuku rested his forehead against yours, one hand reaching up to timidly brush against your reddened cheek, causing your eyes to flutter closed and a small sigh to escape your smiling lips. He missed seeing you smile. But there was still something else that he needed to take care of before you drifted off to sleep.

“Y/N?” He asked.

“Yes?” You sighed sleepily,

“Don’t ever feel like you have to keep quiet anymore, alright? Please, always talk to me.”

You blinked, your mouth opening and closing several times.

“Okay.”

3K notes · View notes

free-pool-trash · 3 years

Text

folklore - isaac lahey {7/?}

Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait I’ve been ridiculously busy the past few weeks 😓BUT!!! As compensation I made this part super long and fluffy with sooooooo much Isaac/reader content (enjoy it while you can because shits gonna be messy from here on out 🤭🙈)

Having said that, I don’t have my laptop right now as I moved houses and my stuff got put into storage so I’m working with the mobile version 😓 sorry in advance if formatting is weird I tried to make it better 😓 also there’s no continue reading button so sorry if this comes up on your dash 😭

Let me know what you think tho I’d really appreciate it 💕

Word count: 5.5k 🙈

Warnings: Fluff 😳, mentions of blood, Derek being a PAIN IN THE ASS, Isaac being the cutest 😌✨, ✨kissing✨, swearing

Masterlist

Tag list (open as always): @makeusfreefromthisfandom om, @cece-lives-here here, @chocolate-raspberries , @belsandthings , @dancing-tacos-23 , @truly-dionysus , @britty443 , @tanyaherondale , @furiouspockettoad , @yunsh-17 17, @random-thoughts-003 , @gloomybrieyxb , @futuristicslimemongerbanana , @linkpk88 , @big-galaxy-chaos , @im-a-stranger-thing , @riaisnotcool (I think u had a username change but idk let me know and I can fix it), @its-evita-here , @pad-foots , @sweetpeabellamyblakedracomalfoy , @bookswillfindyouaway , @what-the-hap-is-fuckening , @awkwardnesshabitat , @pieces-by-me me, @wreny24 , @kerosene-angel (if this is the wrong username I’m sorry it wasn’t working the way I had written it down so I’m assuming I just took it down wrong 😳 it it’s not you let me know and I’ll remove you), @marveloucnco o, @babypink224221 let me know if you’d like to be added <3 (strike through means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you)

The days you’d spent in Mystic Falls bled into weeks and soon enough you were being beckoned back to Beacon Hills with a head full of things you hadn’t had a clue about two weeks prior.

There, of course, was the matter of Peter- who was now dead, well technically, he was murdered.

Derek’s first course of action as Beacon Hills’ new alpha was to break the news to you. He’d killed him but due to Scott and Stiles’ constant text updates, you knew it would’ve had to be done sooner or later. But still, you had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last of him. That small intuitive feeling in the back of your mind told you that you’d see him again soon. You just hoped your next meeting wouldn’t be happening because you ended up buried next to him.

Over the course of your stay with Alaric, who had left you in the care of the Salvatore brothers- Stefan and Damon, you’d honed several new vampiric powers. As it turned out, some of the powers you possessed were completely unfamiliar to the vampires of over a hundred years.

You had super speed, it wasn’t just enhanced as you’d previously thought. As well as that, you’d discovered that you could run circles around both Stefan and Damon Salvatore, who were obviously a lot older and therefore should’ve been a lot faster.

And for that matter, they should’ve been stronger than you, they should’ve been able to snap you like a twig. They should’ve been able to. But they weren’t. Because not only were you faster, you were stronger too.

While having super speed and super strength was nice, mind compulsion, your most recent discovery, now that was incredible. All you had to do was look into someone’s eyes and they would become completely entranced to do whatever you told them.

Despite being over a hundred years old, neither Stefan nor Damon had ever seen a vampire quite like you.

They’d never seen a vampire who was also an empath, that, apparently, was usually more of a witch thing. Neither of them had ever come across a vampire bite which had a euphoric effect either. But having said all of that… they’d never heard of someone being turned from a wolf bite. Or a vampire who still had a beating heart, for that matter.

Your only real downfalls were that, for one, your blood’s healing capacity didn’t operate at the same speed for you as it did when being used to heal others. You’d put this down to the possibility that maybe your system had just grown too used to it. To be perfectly honest, though, you had no idea.

Secondly, your empathic tendencies were beginning to bring you down, but it wasn’t just that… it was the way in which you’d been instructed, by Damon Salvatore himself, on how to make them stop.

The plane ride home to California dragged on longer than you would’ve liked, the flight was delayed and you were absolutely starving by the time Derek picked you up from the airport. Your parents were still away, they’d travelled to Romania in search of answers to your predicament and they wouldn’t be home until at least next week, so that left Derek on chauffeur and babysitting duty.

“How are you?” He’d only spoken up thirty minutes into the car ride, you let out a sigh from the passenger seat and gave him a tired smile, you could feel the nerves radiating from him. He was afraid you’d be mad at him for killing Peter, and maybe you should’ve been, but again, you had a feeling he’d be back, and besides, spending time with Damon had helped you realise that everything wasn’t so black and white. It finally registered with you that people like Derek and Damon, the dark mysterious bad boys with secret hearts of gold- they sometimes did bad things but with good intentions.

Once you discovered this, you decided amongst yourself that you’d ease up on your not-really-big-brother in the future. Even if it meant you got hurt a little in the process. If hurting you was what he needed to do to learn his lesson then you’d be willing to make that sacrifice.

So you gave him a soft smile and answered, “Hungry.”

Derek let out a chuckle at that, nodding his head towards the backseat, drawing your attention to the three full blood bags laying on the leather seats.

A delighted gasp left your mouth as you snatched the plastic bags into your hands, wasting no time you stuck the attached tube into your mouth and began gulping the first bag down- it was definitely Stiles’ blood you were drinking, you’d gotten so used to the taste of it you were sure you could recognise it anywhere.

Letting out a happy groan you threw your head back against the headrest, “Stiles Stilinski you are a doll.”

Derek chuckled again, glancing at you fondly before his steely eyes returned to the road ahead.

It was only another 30 minutes before you were back in your driveway. “So are you staying here until my parents get back?” You questioned from the porch as Derek got your bags from the trunk of his car, the wolf shook his head with a smile, “Nah, I’ve got some stuff to do at home.”

“Derek, that home isn’t even structurally sound.” You chastised softly. Surely he’d be happier spending time with the family he still had breathing rather than living in the remnants of what used to be his.

Walking up to the porch, Derek placed your case down gently by your feet and moved himself to stand in front of you. A genuine smile painted his lips as he gazed at you, “New rule.” He stated, placing both of his hands on either of your forearms before going on, eyes staring affectionately into your own, “From now on, I will be doing all the worrying about you, alright? Not the other way around.”

With a defeated sigh, you nodded your head. “I’ll try my best.” That had been a lie. Unable to blind you with his unusually sweet sentiment, through the physical contact you could tell he was scheming.

“Good. Now, go get some rest I’ll come check up on you in the morning.” He kissed your forehead and then made his way back to his car, speeding out of your driveway and out of sight before you’d even unlocked the door.

The house was cold and empty when you’d re-entered. A shiver ran up your spine the second your feet stepped past the threshold. Something was very wrong, and unfortunately, you couldn’t tell what exactly it was that was so wrong. The feeling was unnerving, it was dark and it was agonisingly heavy. Like anxiety on steroids, lots of steroids.

Swallowing thickly, you gripped -more like clawed- at your chest. Nails scraping your skin as you attempted to catch a single breath, though it seemed that oxygen was determined to outrun you as you glanced around helplessly.

Almost twenty minutes has passed as you heaved and gasped frantically, overwhelming dread flooded your chest while simultaneously tears flooded your eyes, and still you didn’t have even the slightest idea of what it all meant.

And then it hit you. That panic- it didn’t belong to you.

Within a second you’d risen to your feet, breathing still staggered while you rushed out the front door, your vampire speed being put to good use as within seconds you were where your panic had led you. Night had fallen by now and it was completely dark, not to mention absolutely freezing, the hoodie you had on doing nothing to protect you from the biting cold in the air. The trail of feelings you’d been chasing had led you to Beacon Hills cemetery and before your eyes, there it was, the something that was very wrong.

Derek and Isaac. More specifically, Derek’s teeth buried in Isaac’s arm. You hadn’t even registered what you were doing when you ripped Derek from Isaac and violently threw him across the cemetery, the impact in which the Hale hit the tree all the way at the edge of the graveyard was a testimony to your strength. You hadn’t even used half it.

Without hesitation, you inspected Isaac’s body frantically, eyes lingering on the bloody bite across his right arm. Slowly and mournfully, your eyes met his, which were wide with shock. His heart was beating out of his chest to the point where you couldn’t ignore it.

“What did he do to you?” The question slipped out as a whisper, your anger melted away only to be replaced by dread as Isaac began to speak, “He offered me the bite and I- I said yes.”

“Isaac…” Your gaze drifted to the bite and you weren’t surprised to see it already healed. “I’m sorry.” You heard him mutter from above you, his anxiety pooling in your chest and mixing with his guilt.

Shaking your head softly you pulled him into you, your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders while his own arms held you tightly against him as you kissed his temple to release him of the intense anxiety plaguing him. “Don’t be sorry. I understand.”

He relaxed against you upon hearing your words, the two weeks you’d been gone made him realise something, he was utterly useless without you, or so he thought. He felt weak. He felt as though if he didn’t have you as emotional support he was defective. Derek had honed in on that and manipulated it to his advantage, convinced Isaac that the bite was what he needed in order to be strong by himself. To keep you safe instead of you protecting him all of the time.

“Was that really necessary?” Derek’s voice broke the moment and you found anger was surging through you once again. You separated from Isaac to face Derek.

At this point, you didn’t care what his intentions had been, you weren’t going to let him away with this.

“I’m going to give you three seconds to explain why you did this.” As Derek moved to speak you ruthlessly cut him off. “Too slow.” And with that the back of your hand met his cheek, again sending him flying, only not as far this time.

His fangs were barred now, as were yours. Both of your eyes glowing, his red ones threatening as he attempted to demonstrate his power. And yet again, you had a revelation.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that fell from your lips, a synacal and sarcastic lilt to it as you towered over Derek’s form on the floor.

“Oh I get it!” You exclaimed, lip held between your teeth in mock disbelief you pressed your palm to your forehead as you spoke, “You thought you’d go around and stalk some kids so you could add to your big bad pack. Right?” He growled at you and attempted to pick himself up, only for you to give a swift, hard kick to his chest, returning his back to the dirt.

“I guess you told him it’d make him stronger? That it’d make all of his problems go away? And what about the Argent’s, huh? Did you tell him that you were manipulating him?” It was then, again in panic, Isaac spoke up to your surprise, in Derek’s defence.

“(Y/n), I promise it isn’t like that! He told me everything, it was my choice I said yes!” You spared him a glance before crouching down to Derek.

“Well did you tell him how you usually treat your pack?” The words were dripping in venom and the guilt that radiated from the man didn’t deter you from moving forward with you verbal attack, your head turning to Isaac, your eyes sparkling with sadness as you locked eyes with him, speaking hoarsely you wondered out loud, “Did he tell you that he’s a liar? That he doesn’t know how to run a pack? That if he doesn’t understand you he’ll leave you in the dust?”

The look on his face spoke volumes as he recalled the state Derek had put you in the weeks previous.

With a final sneer in Derek’s direction you delivered your parting words, “You better treat him better than you continue to treat me or so help me Derek Hale I will tear you to shreds.”

As you angrily stormed away, Isaac stood in confusion for a second before he began to chase after you, leaving Derek on the dirt floor to help himself.

“(Y/n)! (Y/n) please wait!” He shouted as he was just starting to catch up to you. When you felt that you were at a good enough distance away from Derek you finally slowed your pace.

When Isaac finally made it to your side, he was panting slightly, swallowing the lump in his throat he nervously grabbed your hand.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, his eyes resembling those of a puppy and you could already feel your composure slipping away from you as you looked at him.

It’d been almost three weeks since you’d seen him, three weeks since you’d made out in the school basement and this definitely wasn’t how you were expecting the reunion to go.

“Isaac it isn’t your fault. I’m not mad at you, ok? I get it. I’m just worried, this town isn’t exactly kind on the supernatural.” You reassured him gently, squeezing his hand and giving him a sad smile.

“Don’t worry about me.” Isaac told you and you had to laugh, “Sorry, babe but I will not be taking my eyes off you until this town becomes normal.”

Isaac’s face was then taken over by, what could only be described as, a Cheshire Cat smile, “Did you just call me babe?” His voice was teasing and you felt your face heating up despite your freezing temperature.

Sucking on the inside of your cheek you tried your best to conceal your growing smile, you shrugged innocently, “Yeah. What about it?” The playful lilt in your voice had his smile widening even more as he began to lean down to you, his face getting closer to yours by the second.

His breath fanned across your lips when he spoke next, “I liked it.” With that, his lips pressed to yours cautiously, as if he was still unsure of whether or not it was okay to do so.

His uncertainty melted away when he felt your lips begin to reciprocate his actions and your hands moved to cup his cheeks.

The both of you could agree that this kiss was different than the last one you’d shared a few weeks ago. “Why is it that we only ever kiss when one of us is coming out as a supernatural creature?” Isaac laughed against your lips as you pulled away with a sigh.

“It would be us wouldn’t it.”

After a few minutes of nagging at Isaac you managed to put all the pieces of Derek’s plan together. Isaac himself didn’t actually know all that much, just that he was the first to be turned, but that alone told you everything that you needed to know.

Derek was now an alpha with no pack, so logically, a pack was what he was building and that would have been perfectly understandable- if he hadn’t started with your best friend.

“There’s a full moon coming up, did he tell you what would happen?” You questioned gently, ready to throttle Derek when the boy in front of you shook his head.

Heaving a deep breath you squeezed his hand reassuringly, the initial excitement of being turned had worn off and Isaac was beginning to radiate anxiety once again.

“Don’t worry okay? I’m gonna call Scott, he’ll be able to help you.” Isaac’s eyebrows came together in confusion, “Scott McCall?”

You nodded your head, “He’ll know how to help.” You tried to convince Isaac without spilling Scott’s secret. Not that it was going to stay a secret for too long, but it wasn’t your secret to tell.

Isaac shook his head rapidly, his hands moving to hold your forearms, his panic at your suggestion hitting you like a freight train as he stared into your eyes, a wild look in his own.

“No no no no. You can’t tell anyone. (Y/n) promise me you won’t tell anyone okay? If my dad finds out I’m a werewolf he’ll-“ The words came out almost as fast as you could run and his panic only intensified when his father entered his mind.

Quickly catching on to his looming panic attack as his eyes began to glow yellow you cut him off, “Isaac.”

He didn’t hear you as he kept rambling, claws growing past his nails and digging into your arm, “No he’ll kill me. Oh my god he’s gonna kill me. (Y/n) he’s go-“

Yes, it would’ve been easy to rip your arms from his grasp that was causing you quite a lot of pain as his nails sunk into your skin as his hands held onto you desperately. However, you had a feeling that his hold on your now bloody forearms was the only thing keeping him from spiralling completely out of control.

“Isaac! Look at me!” Your voice was strict but served to make his amber eyes finally settle on yours.

Gently, you finally slipped your arms out of Isaac’s clawed grip, although you were sure it would’ve been less painful to just leave them, his claws dragged down your arms while you lifted them slowly and cautiously until you replaced them with your hands, using your new grasp of the boy to provide him with some peace of mind.

You focused your energy on shifting a sense of relaxation from your own palms to Isaac’s sweaty ones as you spoke, voice soft again, “I’m not going to tell anyone. It’s just you and me, alright? Focus on me, yeah?” Isaac nodded his head, still slightly frantic but calmer than before as he did as you told and simply focused on you, “Take a deep breath.” You instructed, breathing steadily along with him until his eyes returned to their natural blue colour and his claws retracted.

A moment of silence passed with Isaac slumped against you, hands held tightly in his while he steadied his breathing. You placed your lips to his cheek and then again to the bruise forming beneath his right eye, you hadn’t noticed it earlier. You’d almost forgotten it’d been nearly three weeks since you’d been together, he’d probably been though it with his demon of a sperm doner over the time you were away.

“I’ve missed you.” It was Isaac that broke the silence when your lips disconnected from his injured face.

“I missed you too.” You replied simply, there was so much you’d planned on saying to him while you were in Mystic Falls but at the moment, you felt there were more pressing matters to discuss and again, it was Isaac who spoke.

He pulled away slightly to look at you properly, hands still clasping yours, he gave them a squeeze before he started speaking, “This pack that Derek’s building… I’m guessing you’re not in it?”

“I was never asked. But I’ve kind of already got a pack, which you are more than welcome to join.” You responded hopefully, wishing he’d agree but you knew he wouldn’t. As such a fresh beta he’d stay loyal to his alpha, but, you had to ask.

Isaac nodded his head sadly, “Scott McCall?” You let out a small laugh, at how quickly he’d caught on, “Yeah. He’s not exactly an alpha but he’s helped me out a lot, more than Derek has.”

“Derek told me that wolves are stronger as a pack, he didn’t say anything about vampires though.” Isaac went on, a confused lilt in his voice.

“I found out in Mystic Falls that vampires rarely belong to packs and by vampire nature I don’t need one, but Ric figures that it’s in my nature to want one since it’s all I’ve ever known.” You relayed the information to Isaac.

“Then why not, you know, join mine?” His lip was pulled between his teeth and he was looking at you with a hopeful expression.

“Isaac I just told you…” You said pleadingly, you didn’t want to upset him any further but you also couldn’t throw away the pack bond you’d built with Scott and Stiles when you’d first turned. If it was a matter of Isaac’s pack being made up of just Isaac there would’ve been no problems, it was the fact that it wasn’t Isaac’s pack but Derek’s.

Scratching what you’d decided about Derek earlier, you came to a new agreement with yourself: all of hell would freeze over before you even thought of easing up on Derek Hale.

Isaac threw his head back with a groan, “Come on, (N/n)! We are not going to let our love play out like Romeo and Juliet!” The way he spoke was humorous but it was obvious that he wasn’t really joking.

With a sigh you moved your shaking hands, that were now covered in scabbed over cuts as opposed to their previous status of raw and bleeding, to Isaac’s face. Your thumbs moved gently along his cheek bones as you took him in with an encouraging smile on your face as you told him confidently, “I refuse to let us become a modern day Romeo and Juliet, that’s not happening.”

You pulled him closer to you, slipping your arms around his shoulders and doing your best to ignore the butterflies rioting in your stomach when his arms wrapped tentatively around your waist.

You brought your lips to meet his briefly before fixing him with another determined look, “But listen to me, we might be loyal to different packs but I’m on your side, no matter what.”

Isaac nodded his head in understanding, “If it comes down to it, I’m always gonna choose you.” He responded honestly, arms tightening around you to hold you against his chest, his height causing his chin to be tilted downwards so that he could meet your eyes.

“I meant what I said to Derek, by the way.” You informed, Isaac’s eyebrows rose in confusion again, “If he mistreats you I’ll tear him apart.”

“Should I give Scott the same warning?” Isaac asked humorously and you had to shake your head in order to hold back a laugh.

It wasn’t until you’d separated from your embrace with Isaac that you took into account the fact that your body was now shaking with the cold.

“Come on, I’ve gotta call my dad and probably the sheriff and you’re freezing.” Isaac stated, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and leading you back to the cemetery where you noticed his overturned excavator and the dug up grave plot.

You listened with curiosity while Isaac spoke to his father on the phone, trying to explain exactly what had transpired in the last couple of hours since his shift started.

“How the hell does an excavator just flip over, Isaac?” You could hear his fathers anger through the line and Isaac fumbled for a response, “Someone, or something- I don’t know it could’ve been an animal, but it got pushed from the side and tipped over. I fell into the plot I was digging and that was it, I didn’t see the rest.” He explained weakly.

“You still stuck in hole, you idiot?” You watched as Isaac clenched his jaw and motioned to yourself when he was finally looking at you, “No. No, um, (Y/n) just got back from Virgina, she came looking for me and helped me out.”

“She still there?” His father questioned, seemingly cooling off at the mention of your name. You hated how much that man seemed to like you when he should’ve held that affection for his actual son.

“Yeah, she’s with me now.” Isaac confirmed and you offered up a fake cheerful, “Hi, Mr Lahey!”

“Invite her over while I call the sheriff and see about getting this mess cleaned up.” With that, he hung up the phone and Isaac sighed, “You’re starting to look like Mr. Freeze, let’s get you warmed up.” His arm stayed comfortably wrapped around your shoulder and as you reached up to hold his hand that was hanging over your shoulder you stopped dead in your tracks, “Isaac, I can’t go and greet your father looking like this.”

You motioned to your torn and bloodstained hoodie, immediately regretting it when his eyes widened in shock, “Did I… oh god (Y/n) did I do that?”

Not missing a beat you grabbed his hands and made sure you soothed his panic before you got a rerun of earlier.

“It’s not your fault. You’re new to this, okay? Mistakes happen and that’s fine it’s all part of the process. And look!-” You pulled off the hoodie to reveal your now completely healed arms and hands, nothing but dried blood to show that the claw marks were even there in the first place. “‘M all healed up! No harm done.” You reassured him, bringing his lips to yours to further convince him that you were okay and distract him from the guilt you could feel building within him.

Your arms, although no longer cut, were covered in goosebumps as Isaac ran his hands affectionately down the length of them. “It won’t happen again.” He promised and you gave him a shaky smile, teeth beginning to chatter, “Let’s go home?” Isaac nodded his head, nothing short of ripping his own hoodie off before pulling your arms through the sleeves and moving himself in front of you to zip it up.

You watched completely content as he fumbled with the zipper. His curls were falling in front of his eyes and his eyes were squinted in concentration. The quiet, but triumphant, “got it” he let out when he finally finessed the zipper had you grinning like a fool.

When he moved his focus from the zip and back to your face, he smiled bashfully, “What’re you looking at me like that for?”

The sleeves of his hoodie, that was miles too big for you, hung far past your wrists and brushed against the nape of his neck, your fingers finding a place tangled in his hair while you stared at him, grin ever present.

Your other hand was otherwise occupied being placed firmly against Isaac’s chest, enjoying the feeling of his rapidly beating heart, and you didn’t know it entirely. But in that moment it was beating for you and you alone.

Isaac’s hand made itself comfortable holding your waist, the other holding your own against his chest, keeping it in place.

Neither of you needed to say it. You could both feel it. But still, you found yourself uttering the words, “I love you.”

Not half a second had passed before Isaac echoed your declaration, “I love you.”

“I feel like if I kiss you right now I won’t be able to stop but I’m still freezing my ass off so… your place?”

Isaac nodded his head in agreement, “My place.”

Upon arrival at the Lahey residence, Mr. Lahey had greeted you with a wide smile and ushered you into the kitchen where he instructed Isaac to make you some tea, to which Isaac had to restrain a grumble as he’d been planning on doing it anyway.

Mr. Lahey was happily chatting away to you when Isaac set down two cups of tea, one in front of his father and one in front of you, his eyes lingering on you with a certain kind of glint before he turned back to the counter to grab his own cup and returning to sit beside you at the table.

Isaac was, in all honesty, losing it. He didn’t even know why. You were just sitting there, wrapped up in his hoodie, nose ever so slightly pink from the cold, talking politely to his father. It was nothing out of the ordinary but he was finding it hard to think about anything other than how his hoodie would look splayed on the floor of his bedroom.

He wasn’t very good at hiding it either, you could feel it as clear as day. Teenage boy hormones mixing with teenage werewolf hormones were causing havoc and it’d be a lie to say it wasn’t having an affect on you.

Trying to return your attention to whatever Mr.Lahey was babbling about you clearing your throat and took a sip of your tea, keeping your expression neutral as Isaac’s hand slipped to your knee under the table. His attempt to pull you into his mess of hormones was obviously successful as you found yourself ready to yell out in frustration when his hand stayed put on your knee for a solid twenty minutes before his father finally rose from the table.

“I’m going to check out the situation at the cemetery, you’re welcome to stay tonight, it’s pretty dangerous out there these days.” Mr. Lahey offered and you smiled innocently at him as he stood in the doorway, “I think I’ll take you up on that. Thank you.” The older man gave you a nod but said no more before walking out the front door.

“What the hell are you doing?” You finally burst when the front door clicked shut, whipping around to face Isaac.

“What?” He asked as if his hand didn’t start sliding further up your leg the second his father left the room.

You groaned, “Don’t ‘what?’ me when you’re about four centimetres from having your hand between my thighs!”

“Sorry.” He immediately retracted his hand, eyes wide as he realised how close his hand was to reaching the top of your thigh, “I, um, I didn’t mean to- I mean, I did mean to but i won’t do it again if you don’t want me to-“

“Isaac.” You cut him off, lip pulled between your teeth, “I want you to.” You declared and he let out a heavy sigh full of relief, “Thank God.” He muttered before he was pulling you up off the chair and right against his chest.

His lips immediately found yours and his hands were gripping your waist like there was no tomorrow.

At this point, the butterflies in your stomach were going absolutely bat shit feral when his lips began to trail past your lips, to your chin, then to the curve of your jaw. It was when his hand slipped deftly up your side to settle against your jaw that you realised just how much you’d been wanting this.

Isaac’s lips fell further to your neck and you couldn’t stop the hum of approval that escaped your mouth at the sensation of his soft lips sucking and licking at your pulse. “It this okay?” He asked in a mutter, the dainty and nervous nature of his voice contrasting greatly with the confidence and ferocity of his actions.

Your hands tugged gently at his hair to get him to meet you clouded eyes, when he looked at you you were sure that his eyes had flashed yellow, his breathing was getting heavy and you had an inkling that his lips on your neck was the most exciting thing that was going to happen between you tonight.

“It’s more than okay.” You told him with a dopey smile, letting out a laugh when he dived back into the crook of your neck, kissing your skin through a smile.

Despite your words your hands moved to his chest to push him away slightly, “But…” you started as Isaac threw his head back with a groan, “I think we should stop, and maybe revisit this after the full moon passes.”

After taking in a steadying breath Isaac nodded in agreement, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” His hand slipped into yours and he intertwined his fingers with yours, he spent a moment just looking at your linked hands with a fond smile and the look of achievement on his face. It was easy to tell, with the help of your empathic powers, that Isaac was proud of himself.

You yourself couldn’t quite pinpoint why he was feeling so prideful in the moment, but he knew. To be truthful he wasn’t just proud of himself, he was downright ecstatic. He’d been nothing more than your best friend since you were both eleven, and now, six years later he finally crossed the threshold from being your best friend to being your- well actually now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure what he is to you now.

A few hours passed before Isaac worked up the courage to ask the question that had formed in his mind after his make out session with you earlier.

The pair of you had since gotten comfortable in his bed, which was nothing particularly new. You laid on your side with your back to the bedroom door, Isaac was behind you, his chin tucked in between your shoulder and your neck with his arms around your torso holding you close to him.

“Can I ask you something?” His voice broke through the silence and you responded with a tired hum, adjusting his arm so you could snuggle closer and tried your best to stop yourself from falling asleep while he murmured softly in your ear.

“What are we?” He kept his eyes trained on the dark room ahead of him, his hand grabbing yours as you readjusted his arm and he absentmindedly began playing with your fingers, the action being successful in calming his nerves.

“What do you want us to be?” You asked sleepily in response, a small smile forming on your face as you heard his heartbeat speeding up.

Isaac let out a nervous breath against your neck and you held back a shudder at the feeling, “I was kind of thinking that all the kissing would make us a couple.” Letting out another sleepy hum, if it was even physically possible, you snuggled deeper into his hold. You sluggishly turned your head to place a light kiss against his cheek, “Then we’re a couple.”

#isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey #teen wolf x reader #folklore i.l #derek hale x reader

132 notes · View notes

roboticonography · 3 years

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Fic Preview: Except Perhaps in Spring

Dear @formerlyir,

I’m your Secret Santa! I’ve so enjoyed getting to know you in 2020, and I look forward to many more chats and Snippets Mondays. I guess now you know why I was so cagey with you about what I was working on for the exchange! ;)

It’s been a lot of fun working on a story just for you, but December has been an eventful month for me, and in the end it got away from me a little. So here’s a taste of your story, “Except Perhaps in Spring.” I hope you have as much fun reading it as I’ve had writing it.

Happy New Year!

=======

As she would maintain for many years afterwards, Peggy hadn’t wanted to go to the pub in the first place.

It wasn’t that she disapproved of such amusements. She liked a stiff drink as much as the next field agent (though not, perhaps, as much as Colonel Phillips, who kept a bottle of bourbon at the back of his middle desk drawer for “medicinal purposes”).

And she appreciated that the boys from the 107th invited her along on their madcap outings—not out of a misguided sense of chivalry, or some crack-brained scheme to charm her out of her knickers, but because they genuinely enjoyed her company.

Along with their fearless leader, the three biggest troublemakers of the group were in London for one night to accept an award on behalf of the 107th. Dugan, Barnes, and Morita had been invited to accompany Steve to the award ceremony, but not to any of the PR opportunities that followed. While Steve spent his afternoon posing for pictures with various elected officials, his boys would spend theirs loitering around the SSR’s London headquarters, trying to convince Peggy to come out on the town with them that night.

Peggy was in no mood.

It had been raining in sheets all day, and her umbrella had already given out on the walk in. The cavernous underground war room was freezing: everyone was wearing scarves and gloves at their stations.

Peggy’s office—little more than an alcove with a door, really—had sprung a leak during the night, which meant she’d arrived that morning to find a stack of finished paperwork completely drenched. Aside from shoving her desk against the wall and putting a rubbish bin under the steady drip, there wasn’t much to be done.

Thanks to some especially severe belt-tightening, there was no comfort to be had even in a hot drink: the coffee was dismal sludge, the tea in the communal bucket had been stewed to within an inch of its life, and there was, naturally, no milk or sugar to be found anywhere on the premises.

Peggy had spent most of her day hunched over her typewriter, re-typing a twelve-page report that Colonel Phillips would undoubtedly skim for two seconds before it would disappear into the SSR’s vast storehouse of files, never to be seen again.

So when the invitations started, Peggy’s polite-but-firm no, thank you was already locked and loaded, and her aim was true.

She hadn’t counted on the boys being either bored or bold enough to try their luck again as a trio, wedging themselves into her office three abreast, with Dugan as the filling in the sandwich.

“I said no, gentlemen.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard this song before,” said Dugan, grinning.

“Me too,” chimed in Barnes. “‘Her lips said no, but her eyes said—’”

“On your bike,” said Peggy curtly.

“She’ll change her tune when we tell her who’s coming,” said Dugan. “Won’t she, boys?”

His companions gave solemn nods.

“Yep,” said Morita, drawing the word out. “She’ll come around pretty quick when she hears that we convinced him.”

Peggy glared at each of them in turn.

“All right,” she said at last. “Who is it?”

“Me, of course,” said Howard, shoving his way in between Morita and Dugan. “See? I told you she’d be excited.”

“Thrilled,” Peggy deadpanned.

“I think she thought we meant someone else,” said Barnes.

“Someone taller,” Dugan agreed.

Howard feigned indignance. “Taller, maybe, but I can guarantee I’m a better dancer. Did you know there’s a leak in your ceiling?” he added helpfully.

“Right. All of you, out.”

The unholy barbershop quartet reluctantly took its leave.

It wasn’t the first time they’d implied that there was something between her and Steve. She didn’t appreciate them doing it in earshot of her office colleagues, though she was certain there must be talk already: Steve’s last visit to HQ had ended in a legendary bust-up between them, after she’d interrupted him with Private Lorraine, mid-embrace.

She wasn’t only angry that he’d kissed someone else. She was angry that he’d kissed a woman he barely knew, after he’d made himself out to be a different sort of man. She’d felt foolish for believing him, for liking him, when he’d told her he was waiting for the right partner.

She was angry that he’d had the nerve, afterwards, to try and brush it aside, pretending it hadn’t meant anything. If a kiss like that didn’t mean anything, how many others had there been? And how many more would there be while they were apart?

(And, though she’d never admit it, she was angry that Steve appeared to be a decent kisser.)

Then, to add insult to injury, he’d brought up Howard’s one-sided flirting—as though she had any control over the invitations and innuendo men chose to pitch at her day after day, as casually and aimlessly as they dropped their litter in the street.

If that was all it took to drive Steve into the arms of another woman, then perhaps it was best that they remained separated by the English Channel for the time being.

Peggy applied herself to her work, ignoring any further overtures. As much as she appreciated the inclusion, she didn’t want to spend her evening sitting in a smoky pub, drinking cheap beer and bellowing herself hoarse. She wanted a warm bath and a warm bed. There was only one person she was interested in inviting to join her in either, and even if she hadn’t still been a bit cross with him, the chance of her seeing him at all on this brief visit grew more remote with every hour that passed. His itinerary included supper with Senator Brandt at his hotel, and was liable to be a late night—the senator’s aide had also arranged for a room for Steve at the hotel, presumably to avoid cutting their evening short.

She was grateful Steve would have a chance to get a decent meal and a good night’s sleep while he was in London, even if it meant she wouldn’t get to see his preposterously good-looking face in person. She knew from the dispatches that he was doing gruelling work, and that he often passed up opportunities for respite so that other men could take leave.

By six, it seemed as though the boys from the 107th had all cleared off at last, along with the rest of the office. Peggy slipped into the women’s locker room to change clothes. Transit to and from home in uniform for women was allowed, but not precisely encouraged—and the uniform had a way of making a person more approachable, which was the very last thing Peggy wanted just now.

She quickly tidied her hair, and reapplied her lipstick and a small dab of eau de toilette, before donning her trusty navy shirtwaist dress. It was slightly threadbare at the cuffs and collar, but still serviceable, and a decent fit, even if it wasn’t as stylish as one might wish for. Peggy knew that plain outfits were a small sacrifice for such a worthy cause—but she still longed for the day when she could have a new dress every season, with features and embellishments, in colours so rich her mouth watered at the thought.

Daydreams of pleated skirts and pockets carried her all the way back to her desk, where she collected her hat and gloves, and tried to revive her sad umbrella. If her office ceiling was any indication, it was still pouring outside, but she knew better than to risk bad luck opening the thing indoors.

Just as she’d started to don her Mackintosh, she heard Barnes’s customary “shave-and-a-haircut” knock on the open door behind her.

She didn’t bother turning around. “For the last time, sod off!” She didn’t often use that kind of language in a professional setting, but if they weren’t going to accept a polite refusal, then—

“Yes, ma’am,” said a familiar voice.

She spun on her heel.

Steve was leaning against the door frame, hands in his pockets. His dress uniform jacket was tucked under his arm, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. His tie had come loose, his collar unbuttoned, and his hair was mussed, tumbling boyishly over his brow.

He looked, in short, half-undone and entirely ravishing.

All of the sensible reasons she had for keeping her distance suddenly seemed small and remote in comparison.

“Steve,” she said, unnecessarily. “Hello.”

“Hi.” The warm smile he gave her suggested that he hadn’t taken her dismissal personally, at least.

Peggy had imagined this exact scenario an embarrassing number of times: the two of them, in the office after hours, all alone. The fantasies ranged from fairly chaste (teasing, light flirting, an innocent kiss or two) to positively filthy (Steve’s hands roaming her body, his mouth open and demanding against hers).

Looking at him now, her preference was decidedly for the latter option.

Oblivious to the turn her thoughts had taken, Steve asked, “Rough day?”

“Not really, not—” Not anymore, she wanted to say, but clamped her mouth shut just in time. “I didn’t know you were coming in.”

“I’m not here—not officially. I was just gonna leave this on your desk.”

He jiggled a small brown paper packet at her. It took her a moment to recognize it as the portion of sugar from a ration box.

“How on earth did you manage to hang onto that?”

“We’re still getting it in the K-rats. And I like to save mine for a rainy day.”

“It certainly is that,” she conceded, glancing up at the ceiling. “Are you sure you won’t miss it?”

A different sort of man, a smooth operator, would have taken the opportunity to feed her a line: not as much as I’ll miss you, or, how about you just owe me something sweet? But Steve just shrugged, and tucked the packet gently under the corner of her desk blotter.

Peggy was both touched and exasperated.

She knew that in combat, even with no experience, he could be confident, creative, and quick-thinking. He was almost certainly capable of applying that approach in other situations too. But he hadn’t—at least, not with her.

She wanted one romantic overture from him. Just one. A single, unmistakable gesture, something that couldn’t possibly be attributed to kindness or friendship or sheer accident.

She felt she deserved at least that.

Still, he’d come halfway across town, to bring her less than an ounce of sugar that he’d probably gone hungry to save. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, but it counted for something.

And so she smiled, and thanked him, adding, “I’m glad I was here to accept it in person.”

“Me too.”

“I thought you had supper with the senator and his cronies.”

“I told him I had an early start tomorrow. I think he got enough of my time.” His tone made it plain that he would rather have spent his day getting shot at by HYDRA. “I told the guys they ought to ask you to come out with us tonight. I’m sorry they bothered you.”

“No, it’s fine—I mean, yes, they did, but—” Being half-in and half-out of her coat meant that instead of breezily waving his apology aside, she wound up flapping her sleeve at him, ineffectually.

Obligingly, Steve stepped closer, and held her coat up by the collar.

“Oh,” said Peggy, letting him slip the coat over her shoulders. “Thank you.”

It was a simple gesture, one any kind person would make, and Steve was nothing if not kind. There was absolutely no reason for her heart to be racing, she told herself sternly.

His hand still held her collar; she turned, drawing the circle of his arm around her shoulders, as though they were about to dance.

Up close, she could see the faint dusting of freckles across his nose, the speck of a mole on his cheek. Details that the artists who depicted Captain America always seemed to miss, slight imperfections that belonged only to Steve Rogers. She was strangely tempted to brush her fingertips over them, to prove that they were real, that he was real.

His eyes were wide, his gaze clear blue and bottomless, and she suddenly felt in danger of drowning.

A hard pellet of water hit her cheek, making her jump.

“Don’t tell me it’s raining in here, too,” said Steve, glancing up at the ceiling with his hand outstretched.

“It’s London in March,” she observed, stepping out of the line of fire. “It’s raining everywhere.” She emphasized the point by buttoning her coat and hooking her umbrella over her arm.

“Can I walk you to the train?” His look was hopeful.

“Actually,” she said, against her better judgement, “I think I will come for a drink, after all.”

Steve beamed. “Swell.”

(TO BE CONTINUED...)

#steggysecretsanta #steggy #robofic #formerlyir

66 notes · View notes

jbbarnesnnoble · 3 years

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Hazy Horizons (Part Five)

Summary: In the wake of their lives being turned upside down and losing their son, Andy and Laurie Barber move to Maine, in search of starting over and starting a new family, by any means necessary

Features/Warnings: Dark!Fic; Dubcon/Noncon; Drugging; Manipulation; Smut; Breeding Kink; mentions of Lacatation Kink; Pregnancy Kink; Gaslighting

Series Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon; Manipulation; Breeding Kink; Drugging; Gaslighting

Pairing: Dark!Andy Barber/Reader/Dark!Laurie Barber

Notes: A glimpse into the thoughts of Laurie and Andy, two weeks after the doctor’s appointment

Another short part, think of it more as an interlude. I usually aim for 2k but fell short this time around. We get a glimpse into the thoughts of Laurie and Andy this part. Features some mild smut, nothing too heavy.

Please note, I likely will not be updating again until the New Year because my dissertation is due at the end of December!

Please bear in mind that this is/will be a dark fic. You’re responsible for the content you choose to read.

Word Count: 1411

Week Nine - Sunday - March

Laurie woke before you, the sunlight coming through the window, hitting you in a way that made you look angelic. And you were. You were their angel. The missing piece that made their family complete. She could hear Andy down in the kitchen, the bedroom door ajar. You were officially at the start of the third month, nine weeks. Three more weeks and you would be able to shout it from the rooftops. The two weeks since the appointment had been spent getting you to relax, a job Laurie took seriously.

You had started acclimating. You didn’t fight them anymore, not too much, anyway. Laurie reveled in your submission. You were more vocal, finally giving in and saying their names in bed. Laurie wasn’t stupid. She knew at some point you would lash out, that you would test the boundaries. Andy knew too, which was why precautionary measures were going to be coming into play. They had laid the groundwork with the name change, with conversations with neighbors. Everyone in town knew you were having their baby, and as far as they knew, it was your choice.

It was your choice, Laurie thought to herself. At any point before the night they finally had you, you could have rebuked their efforts at pursuing you. She knew you had to feel it too, the chemistry. You were too shy to make a move, so they did it for you.

Her hand found its way to your exposed tummy, gently rubbing circles with her thumb. Soon enough your bump would show. She could swear she could see the hint of it starting. Your breasts were tender, leading her and Andy to be more gentle with them. Laurie’s own breasts had begun to ache, a sign that their efforts were working. Your morning sickness was still bad, but it was manageable. She ensured your meals were healthy, but knew that Andy would sneak you some candy here and there, or a burger at lunch when she’d be out. She knew fatigue had begun to set in, especially with your complaints over your caffeine intake being reduced.

You began to stir beside her. A glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand told Laurie it was just past ten thirty in the morning, a late start for her, but worth it if it meant being in bed with you. You blinked as you opened your eyes, before stretching.

“Morning sleepy,” Laurie said. You mumbled something she couldn’t decipher. She leaned in, placing a soft kiss on your lips. You didn’t return it. Laurie was used to your stubborn nature. Occasionally, you’d return the kiss in the morning, but moments like that were rare. It was one of your last pillars of protest as you came to terms with how your life now was.

Laurie’s hand brushed against your core, left bare with the absence of panties beneath your nightgown. You gasped at the contact, giving Laurie an opportunity to deepen the kiss. She knew your weaknesses, she knew your body, perhaps even better than you did. She could feel your core dampen as she pressed a finger into you. Your brain may not have been on board but your body most certainly was as you ground down on her hand, trying to increase the friction.

Laurie pulled away from the kiss, trailing her lips down your neck as she pressed a second finger into you. She heard footsteps in the hallway as Andy walked toward the room. She could hear his intake of breath before the sound of his sweatpants being removed. She pulled her fingers away, drawing a whine from your lips. Shame flooded your face. She could see the conflict written across it.

“My girls are starting on the main course already, hm?” Andy asked from the doorway, his voice thick with arousal as he moved toward the bed. Laurie glanced at him, a smirk on her face. She knew breakfast would go cold, but something told her, her husband wouldn’t mind that.

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Andy took a deep breath as he took in your relaxed form. He and Laurie had worked you over, making you climax several times before either of them finished once. It was part of their enjoyment, watching you fall apart over and over at their hands. Laurie was preparing a bath for the three of you, breakfast long since forgotten. He didn’t mind, not at all. Especially when he got to start the day off like this.

He couldn’t help but think of the renovations that were starting on the house, the secret room that was being added so prying little eyes didn’t stumble upon things they weren’t meant to, connected to the master bedroom through a hidden door. A nanny would be essential by then. They had no intention of stopping you from working, no, you had worked hard to be where you are. But they would have no problem reminding you of your place. With them, beneath them, writhing in pleasure because of them.

The house was already big, with a huge yard. It was made for a big family, extended or otherwise. You had purchased the smaller side, designed for one or two people. The three of you would stay at the lakehouse for part of the summer. It was close enough that Andy could make the drive in to work if his physical presence was required. It would allow the heavier work to be done on the house. It was still months away, but he couldn’t help the absolute glee he felt at his and Laurie’s plans falling into place so perfectly.

He had done the research, found you while they were house hunting. It was what drew them to the house. You were perfect for them. You trusted so easily. They adored you from the start. Their angel, their miracle personified, the answer to their prayers after the hellacious hand life had dealt them.

You shifted beside him, looking at him with an indecipherable look. You caught him off guard when you initiated a kiss. He allowed it, deepening the kiss as he heard Laurie re-enter the room. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what you were doing. It would be a long while before you truly accepted your place, before you truly realized you were exactly where you belonged. But in the moment, he let himself enjoy it.

“The bath is ready, then I think it’s time for a late breakfast,” Laurie said, a soft smile on her face. You pulled away from Andy and stood, making your way to the bathroom with Andy trailing behind. Laurie helped you into the massive bathtub before joining you, Andy not far behind. He smiled at the scene before him. Once you truly accepted your place, it would be true perfection.

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After a bath and breakfast, you found yourself staring out a window into the yard. Andy had re-made everything, breakfast having gone cold. As it was, he was clearing the walk from the snow that had fallen overnight. You enjoyed the look of snow, but hated the work that came with shoveling it. Andy had purchased a brand new snowblower before winter started and was making use of it, helping a neighbor with their walk.

Laurie flitted around the kitchen, preparing hot chocolate. You glanced her way every now and then. You scolded yourself when a smile rose on your lips as you took in the moment, a feeling of warmth overtaking you. It was getting harder to remember that they were the enemy. Harder to remember that they had essentially kidnapped you, that they had forced you to have their child.

They had mastered the art of manipulation. They had cut off all avenues of escape for you. Hell, they had even gotten to your family. You were well and truly trapped. The easiest routes to escape had long since closed.

You argued with yourself daily. Was it really so bad? They treated you well. But it wasn’t your choice. It wasn’t. Choice had been stolen from you. It scared you, the fact that you were becoming okay with that. What did it say about you that you were starting to bend to the will of your captors? Your thoughts cycled like that, full of the doubt and anger that had been plaguing you for weeks. You watched as snowflakes danced outside the window, losing yourself in your thoughts all over again.

#defending jacob fic #andy barber fic #dark!andy barber #andy barber #laurie barber #andy barber/reader/laurie barber #dark!fic #dark!laurie barber #dark!defending jacob #andy barber/reader #laurie barber/reader #andy barber x reader x laurie barber

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visionsofus · 3 years

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Hi! Just wanted to say that i'm living for you scarlet vision fanfic right now, they give me so much happiness and relief and they are so well-written that i'm re-reading them daily. I just wanted to ask if it's possible to have maybe If You Ever Come Back by The Script. I think that this will fit very well with our favourite synthezoid and witch.

Thank you again and please continue writing about them! Cheers and stay safe

hello! thank you so much for reading and reaching out with this song - it was perfect! I really hope you continue reading and enjoying this series ❤️ I hope you have a lovely morning/evening and are staying safe

| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your song/prompt request |

track #9: If You Ever Come Back by The Script

synopsis: Wanda and Vision recall an argument that forced them to go their separate ways in the early days of their relationship post-CW. Upon finding out Wanda is near the Compound Vision can't help himself and seeks her out to apologise. (Happy resolution)

Wanda had only meant to draw one circle around New Jersey but in her distraction had kept the ballpoint moving in continuous circles so that it was now an unrecognisable big blue scribble.

“Wanda, present please,” Natasha said waving her hand in front of Wanda’s distant eyes.

“Sorry,” she murmured, instead starting to flip the pen nimbly about her fingers.

“As I was saying,” Steve said from where he was braced above the map of the US they had spread out. “We can’t afford any more international travel for a bit, not after Sam was spotted in Venice last week.”

Sam Wilson raised his hands in defence. “Hey, I was actually being very careful, it’s not my fault my fan club spans nations.”

“Regardless, no more international travel,” Steve said looking at them sternly in turn, “Wanda that means you too, no European rendezvous with Vision for the next two months.”

The ballpoint clattered onto the table before them, and Wanda watched it role miserably away. Natasha cleared her throat awkwardly and she could only imagine the looks that she was giving Steve. The pair seemed to be able to communicate most things through very specific glares. Right now, Wanda guessed Nat was giving him a look that said something along the lines of ‘shut up why are you bringing her ex into the conversation?’.

“Uhm,” Steve said slowly, “right yes, no international stuff so all in the US right now. That means we’re going to be moving around a little more frequently to keep out of any states with large security presences.”

“So for now,” Natasha continued on, “that means New Jersey, big things happening in California with old Chitauri tech so we’re staying as far away as possible.”

“We could help,” Wanda spoke up. “That stuff is right up our alley.”

“We can’t help if we’re imprisoned and I doubt they’ll let us out as easily a second time,” Sam pointed out and Steve nodded in agreement.

“I know you want to help,” Nat said putting an assuring hand on Wanda’s arm, “but the most we can do right now is stay far away. We’d be putting the others at risk by being there.”

The Others, code for those ex-teammates they didn’t like to mention despite the fact that they were all still on contact. Nat with Tony, Steve with T’Challa and well, up until a month ago, Wanda with Vision.

“Safe houses have been arranged for all of us, separately, so we don’t draw attention.”

Wanda sighed audibly, she hated the separate placements, hated the loneliness.

“It’ll only be for a few weeks,” Nat assured them as Steve handed out envelopes with their assigned houses, addresses, keys, the lot.

Standing up to get her things ready and make to leave the current safe house, Wanda was stopped by Natasha when she tried to leave the room.

“Wanda,” Nat said, her eyes concerned.

“I already know what you are going to say, and yes I am fine.”

“I don’t believe you though,” Nat said crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows.

“Well, it’s not really my job to convince you,” Wanda said making to sidestep her.

“I’ve seen how you’ve been for the last month, you’re going to burn out at this pace. It couldn’t hurt to slow down and actually think about what happened between you two.”

Wanda shook her head wordlessly.

“I know it’s difficult but there’s no way you can move on if you don’t address it.”

“What if I don’t want to move on?” Wanda asked, frustrated at herself for how easily her accent burst forth.

Nat looked at her sadly, but not with pity, Wanda knew that there was genuine worry behind that gaze. Still, it didn’t make her feel any less crappy. “Look, thinking about it, thinking about him still hurts so I’d just rather not talk about it.”

“You still don’t want me to pass your whereabouts onto him?”

Wanda shook her head and finally succeeded in getting past Nat and into the corridor, where she sped walked to her room and set about gathering her things before she could be coaxed into another ‘let’s all talk about our feelings’ session.

Admittedly there was a part of her that wished Natasha would pass on her location to Vision, even if it was only just to see whether he would actually show up. But Wanda had made Nat promise not to reveal where she was staying in the past month, at least not until Wanda was ready for that. Vision was an addiction she needed to kick, and constantly reminding herself of him or thinking about the chance of a reunion certainly wasn’t going to help.

“Vision I need you on and concentrating ok? Not away with the fairies,” Tony Stark said from where he stood at the front of the board meeting table.

“Apologies, I am present and involved,” Vision said shaking his head slightly to clear his mind, a mannerism he had picked up recently.

“As I was saying, two days from now we’re heading over West to deal with the Chitauri tech that is now a burning pile of shit thanks to—”

Vision didn’t mean to zone out again, but it was so easy to take a backseat in such conversations when he had the assurance that his brain would keep track of anything important Tony said. Lately he had been wishing that his brain was human, or at the very least that it wouldn’t move so fast so that he might be able to get a bit of peace and quiet.

His thoughts were always on her, Vision just couldn’t help it. At home he was always scouring the internet, dreading the moment he might see her name pop up on news feeds as it had with Sam’s the previous week. When he was away for work there was always a small part of his brain filtering through local security cameras, half hopeful that he would catch a glimpse of her somewhere nearby. She was a constant distraction, and it was becoming one of the many things making him seriously doubt the decision he had made those long weeks earlier. Which was strange because that decision had been a logical, rational answer to their problem, it had been a preventative measure for heartbreak. So why was his heart still hurting?

It had been six months since the events in Germany had divided the team he had come to know as friends. The absence of those who had brought such life to the compound had been noticed immediately. But it was Wanda whose absence he struggled with most, both while she was imprisoned and after Captain Rogers had broken her out.

Vision had gotten by on snippets of information fed to him through Natasha, to Tony and then finally to him. He had a suspicion that Stark had known exactly what he was doing in given that information to him. Sometimes it was mentioning which city their old teammates had been in the previous week, other times it was switching off the old school radio in his office just in time for Vision to hear Natasha’s voice crackling from it. Eventually, Vision had gathered enough pieces of the puzzle that he was able to track which radio frequencies they had been using to communicate with each other. He’d listened long enough to discover where Wanda was going to be next and showed up unannounced, despite the danger, despite the bridges burnt between them and the different paths they were on. But Wanda had welcomed him into her arms without hesitation and it had become clear that their connection was still there, as strong as ever. One thing had led to another and before he knew it, he was making time to travel and see her every few weeks. She usually chose Europe, and he was happy to see the world, if it was with her.

Their last trip hadn’t gone so well. They’d nearly gotten caught because Vision had slipped up on his way out of their rental property one morning, forgetting to glamour himself and letting someone get a photo of him. It had been circulating the internet and local media before Vision could stop the spread. Thankfully, Tony had a press release ready to go for this exact situation and made it clear that Vision was acting strictly within the limits of the Accords. It could have gone a lot worse, but it had also made several things clear to him. Their argument after the incident had been bad, to say the least.

“Isn’t it better we stop now before it hurts us both?” Vision cried after half an hour spent arguing over who ought to leave the apartment first. The damage was done on his side so if Vision was seen again it wouldn’t matter, but if Wanda was seen in the same city, he could kiss his currently peaceful relationship with the UN goodbye. On the other hand, if anyone decided to look too closely at his whereabouts of the last few days, Wanda would be discovered, and he didn’t know what he would do. The idea of her getting caught and imprisoned again was sickening.

The argument had got them nowhere. Each was too concerned about the other. He wanted her to leave, regardless of the risk this posed to himself, meanwhile Wanda wanted him to leave before he got caught with her and a target was placed on his back as well.

In the end the decision had to be made.

“It already hurts,” she’d yelled back at him, her eyes telling Vision all he needed to know.

“I cannot keep putting you at risk like this.”

“I am not asking you to!” She’d turned her head skyward in frustration. “This is worth it for me. You don’t get to make this decision for both of us!”

“I am making this decision,” Vision said his voice thick with emotion, walking backwards to the door, “and I am deciding to leave, before neither of us can.”

He’d hovered at the door, coat in hand but she’d already turned away to look out the window, watching rain drizzle dismally outside.

“Then go.”

He’d checked hundreds of radio frequencies in the weeks since, but had never caught them again, figuring that the four must have changed communication tactics since. It didn’t stop him from using the burner number that Tony had given him to reach Natasha. He was sure his messages were getting through, but there was never a reply. He supposed he was not really owed anything considering he was the one who had walked out. It didn’t matter that he’d regretted his decision ever since. Wanda didn’t know that he’d missed two trains all because he couldn’t bring himself to take the next, more final step away from her and everything they had been together.

Back in reality Tony had come to the end of his debrief and had ended the call they’d been on with various other officials related to managing the presence of super-humans in the country.

“When are we leaving on Thursday?” Vision asked, a hopeless attempt at pretending he’d been listening properly.

“Iam leaving on Thursday afternoon; you are staying here.”

Vision was stumped. “Why?”

“Because you are in no state to be heading out on a potentially sensitive mission right now, you could barely pull yourself together for a meeting, Vision.”

Tony sighed with such disappointment that Vision regretted being so absent the last few weeks. He’d been sure to be there as much as he could after the team had disbanded, allowing Tony to delegate to him when needed. But this last month he’d let things slide more than he’d realised, Tony looked tired.

“I’d like to disagree with your decision,” Vision began, standing as Tony made to leave the room, “but I cannot help but think you’re right. If I could just have the weekend to reassess my priorities, I would be back to regular working capacity by Monday.”

“And I want to say I believe you,” Tony said leading the way back through the compound. “But you don’t have a good track record with this particular type of distraction.”

Vision hovered by the front door with his head hung in shame. He heard the beeping of Tony unlocking his car and the soft hiss of air as the door opened automatically.

“She’s in New Jersey this week.”

Vision paused on his closing of the front door.

“I thought you should know,” Tony said rubbing at his chin as he paused by the car, “Address is 22 Steel street, don’t get caught.”

Wanda hated how much America reminded her of Vision now. That was why she was thinking about him so much – it was definitely New Jersey’s fault. It was the proximity to the upstate Compound that had her thinking of him so often. It had to be.

They were done, Vision had made that so very clear the last time she had seen him. But it hadn’t stopped her staying another few days at the house they had rented together in some desperate attempt to come to terms with yet another person leaving her life. At least he was still out there, living a life just not with her.

She pressed her palms into the kitchen bench and took a deep breath. She was halfway through washing up the dishes from the day, but she’d already slipped and broken one glass by accident and was on the verge of giving up. It was frustrating. Wanda could control other people’s minds with ease. She hadn’t had reason to in a while but that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel that dormant aspect of her power waiting to be used. So how come she couldn’t manage her own mind? Why was she grieving the loss of someone still alive?

Wanda knew that Steve and Nat had struggled to understand what she had with Vision, and it didn’t help that she herself struggled to put it into words. They hadn’t labelled themselves in the months since they started stealing moments together, it had all been to see if there was something more there. Something worth pursuing. And well, Wanda had thought they were on the same page but evidently, she’d been wrong. She just couldn’t bring herself to believe that those feelings weren’t real. Hope was a pain in the ass.

And she supposed her alertness these past few days could be owed to him as well. Of course, there was the general haze of fear to consider, the fear that one of these days a SWAT team would arrive at her door to take her back to prison. But on the other side of that coin, she knew there was a fraction of her that was listening out for him. It was painful, knowing he was so close. It didn’t stop her listening out for him, for his soft footsteps, his steady breathing, for the comforting presence of him and the way their minds called out to each other. Even before they’d started meeting like this, he had always been the first one she looked for in a fight, the first person her eyes fell on when she walked in a room, the one person she always wanted to have in her corner.

She paused the absentminded drying of a plate and realised that the imagined footsteps outside weren’t in her head. There was most definitely someone walking up and down the creaky floorboards of the run-down townhouse she’d been assigned to for the two weeks. She’d picked the floorboards out as her first warning if any unwanted guests stopped by the property, probably followed by the breaking of the two locks in the front door.

The closer she listened the more she could hear weight shifting and creaking wood.

Wanda crept through the still unfamiliar house, out of the kitchen and down the dim hallway to the door. As she approached the pacing paused and she distinctly heard a fist rapping on the wooden door three times.

She rose on her toes to peer through the peep hole. A familiar figure was standing on the porch with a head of neat, sandy hair and a carefully pressed blue shirt. Her hand flew to her mouth to hide the exclamation of surprise threatening to come forth. She dropped her hand quickly and stepped back, subconsciously reaching out and letting her magic unlock the door, sending it swinging open.

Wanda didn’t really know what to say as Vision turned around at the sound of the door creaking open. She simply stood there looking at him, fearful that she was imagining things and that he wasn’t really here. She tilted her head in question.

“Mr Stark told me you were here,” Vision said quietly, glancing over his shoulder as though worried someone might be watching them, but the street at his back was deserted. “I’m sorry for just showing up out of the blue.”

Wanda folded her arms, wrapping her cardigan further around herself against the night chill from outside. A deeper cold was spreading through her at the unnatural tension between them, even as she fought the urge to step forward and embrace him. “And why are you here?” She asked instead.

“I made a mistake, and I’d like to fix it.”

“How?”

“I’d like to start by talking, if you wouldn’t mind me coming in?”

Wanda bit her lip hesitantly but knew she couldn’t keep him waiting out on the doorstep. She stepped to the side and nodded for him to come in.

Wanda led him to the kitchen and settled herself opposite the table, so she could lean with the comforting pressure of the kitchen bench at her back.

She watched his eyes flicker about as he entered the space, taking in the washing in the sink, the bread open on the counter and the remains of her supper littered here and there. She suddenly wished she’d finished cleaning quicker. Wanda saw a lot in his gaze, knowing from months of meeting up as a fugitive that he was concerned about how well she was eating on the run. His gaze turned to her next, taking in her clothes, her face, the distinct bags under her eyes and Wanda couldn’t help but soften her stance, unfolding her arms but maintaining the distance she needed.

Vision had dropped his human glamour as soon as he entered the house and she watched as he now stood before her, hardly believing it was real.

“I will not attempt to make excuses, I owe you more than that,” Vision said after a beat seemingly to collect himself. She was unnerved by his unwavering eye contact but met him head on.

“I was wrong. I thought that putting space between us was the right thing to do but I regretted that as soon as I left you standing there. I have regretted it every day since. I know that I was afraid, afraid of what we might become if I didn’t stop things where they were.” He paused for breath. “It wasn’t until I sat on the train that I realised the idea of living a life without you hurt more than I could bear. Perhaps that makes me selfish, wanting to keep meeting up and putting you at risk. But it is the truth. And if I could change things, if I could go back, I would behave differently.”

Wanda felt her breath loose out over her lips, a quiet sigh of relief.

“I would have told you all this the day after I left if I knew how I might reach you. I’m sorry.”

Wanda swallowed, taking a breath to think about what he had said. There was little to think about, she had forgiven Vision the moment she realised it was him standing on her porch. Learning now that he had tried to reach out for her in the past few weeks, something she hadn’t dared hope, and that she had stubbornly not let him in hurt more than she’d expected it to. They’d both made mistakes.

“As much as I hated being left like that, I understand why you did,” Wanda said earnestly.

“I was a fool,” Vision said shaking his head shamefully.

“That makes two of us.” Wanda smiled softly at him.

“I never could have stayed away,” he admitted, gesturing restlessly with his hands.

“I should have let you in sooner.”

Vision wasn’t often hesitant, but he paused before his next words. “Can you forgive me?” He stepped forward as he spoke.

This movement was all the invitation Wanda needed and she pulled away from the bench as he drew closer. They met each other in the middle, his arms coming around her waist, her hands sliding over his shoulders in a hug. They swayed for a moment, relishing the closeness.

“Forgiven,” she murmured to him, though she was sure the hug said it clearer. “No going back,” she added, considering making a joke about cold feet.

“I can’t help but think this was inevitable,” he said quietly from where his chin was pressed to her shoulder, his breath ruffling her hair. “That no matter the bridges we burnt, or how our paths changed, you were always going to be my future.” She hugged him tighter.

“But we need rules from now on,” Wanda said drawing back a little so she could see his face clearly, “like not getting photographed by tourists.”

“I will never live that down, will I?” Vision groaned but smiled nonetheless.

“Never,” she whispered, scrunching her nose at him affectionately, then growing more serious, “please don’t leave me again.”

“Never,” he promised pressing his forehead to hers in understanding.

#wandavision #Wandavision fanfiction #scarletvision #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #visionsofusfics #break up make up fic #soft scarletvision

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