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elektrae · 4 years

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Christmas is all around

a/n: Hello everyone. If you stumbled upon that fic, first of all: I am sorry. Second of all, I haven’t written anything other than essays in like 4 years, and this is my way to try to write fanfics again. I may be rusty, like a lot, and I apologize for that. Also, English is not my first language so again, I am sorry for any typo or weird sentences, I try my best skskjsj. Finally, did is my first Jason Todd fic ever (or DC fic, for that matter) so dont expect too much ig? Anyway, I just miss writing fanfictions so I’m gonna try to post some from time to time, even if they suck. That’s okay<3

Pairing: Jason Todd x y/n (she/her pronouns used, sorry about that)

Word count: 3,759

Warning: some drinking, too many paragraphs, slight cringe ig, uhm maybe some ooc Jason idk I’m not so sure about how I want to write him yet!

The title is from the cover Sleeping At Last did for their Christmas album, I was listening to it while writing.

“Tell me the truth now.”

You took the baking tray out of the oven, careful to not burn yourself as the dish towel between your hand and the tray was barely thick enough to protect you from the heat.

You hummed absent-mindedly, organizing the cooling cookies on the dish you decorated specially for the event. You bit the inside of your cheek as you felt a pair of eyes on you, waiting for you to give a clue – anything, really– away. You took the final baking tray from your fridge and put it in the oven, closing it and putting the timer on twenty minutes.

“What have you planned?"

You let out a tired sigh as you turned around, going to a cupboard to grab a pack of chips and a bowl to pour them in. You carefully ignored the other person in the kitchen who was supposedly here to help you, but was rather doing an investigation of a new genre. Poking at your mind tirelessly was apparently more interesting than putting together a Christmas Eve’s eve party for your friends.

"Won’t you give up and help me with those?” You pointed at the appetizers that were already ready, then pointed at the empty table in the living room.

As to prove her previous point that she can do two and more things at the same time, I swear, Barbara grabbed two plates and moved over to said table. She mumbled a couple of indistinct sentences, but since she was finally helping, you let it slide and simply rolled your eyes at her antics.

“I just know”, she grabbed a plate of stick crudités with their condiments. “I just know”, she started again, “you’re plotting something and I don’t like it."

"I am most certainly not”, you scoffed loudly, putting a hand on your chest. “I have no idea, and I mean no”, you gave her a bowl of peanuts and she went back to the table, expertly avoiding several presents messily put on the floor, “idea why you would say that.”

“You have that glint in your eyes since I-”.

She stopped herself from finishing the sentence, but you could feel a smile coming back on your face. “Since you’ve told me you were desperately and hopelessly in love with the one and only-"

"If you finish this sentence I will embarrass you on every social media for the next decade”, she warned.

“-Dick Grayson.”

“I am not desperately and hopelessly in love with him.”

“Helplessly and irrevocably?” You tried, raising an eyebrow as you spare a glance her way and see her smiling despite your teasing.

She shook her head which prompted you to try new adverbs, as idiotic as they sounded. “Terribly and blissfully?"

"What does that even- you know what”, she shook her head and took the last plates and some decorations to put the final look on the table. “Why don’t we talk about you and our dear Jason?"

"Oh no, no, no, we don’t talk about this”, you yelled at the same time she was finishing her sentence, practically running after her while still being mindful of the dozen of glasses you were carrying in both your hands. “I am not the hot topic of discussion for this Christmas."

"Well you should, because you being into Jason is way more gossip worthy than my crush on Dick.”

“Well it’s my apartment, and I say I am not worthy of anyone’s attention, but you definitely are.”

“Not even Jason’s?” She laughed quietly as you avoided her gaze, keeping your attention on the glasses you were carefully putting on the table in a shape of a snowflake. Fuck it, it’s Christmas after all.

“Not even Jason’s”, you confirmed a few minutes later, but Barbara couldn’t ignore the tone of sadness in your voice.

*****

“Y/n, they are here”, Barbara yelled, drawing the ‘e’, right after the bell was rung.

“Coming!"

You heard new voices coming from the living room and you smiled to yourself as you put on your outfit for the night.

The bell rang once more, and more voices started to fill your apartment. Among them, you clearly recognized Dick’s as he told some joke, which was followed by Barbara’s laughter. Donna and Wally joined her as Roy added his own take on the joke. There was a quiet grumble you could without a doubt attribute to Damian, and three more voices you guessed, more than knew, were Tim’s, Steph’s and Conner’s entered the conversation.

After fixing your hair one last time, you came out of your room and walked towards your friends. Donna is the first one to see you and she immediately put you in a hug.

"Your apartment looks very nice”, Dick complimented you, hugging you sideways as he said so once Donna had let go of you.

“Barbara helped”, you informed him as you glanced at the key player of this whole thing, who was currently glaring daggers at you.

“I don’t doubt it."

Barbara blushed slightly at Dick’s comment. You resisted the urge to tease her a bit when you noticed her eyes shining with happiness.

"Well, blue is the new”, she stopped for a second, her eyebrows knitting together, “red, I guess?"

"Yeah, it works for Christmas, Babs”, Roy affectionately said as he ruffled her hair, earning an eye roll.

You watched with a knowing smile, as well as everyone else in the room but two persons, as Dick’s smile grew wider and his cheeks a little warmer. You wished these two could see just how much they meant for each other. But no, Richard Grayson and Barbara Gordon were two idiots. Two idiots who definitely needed a push in the right direction.

“Oh, by the way”, Roy caught your attention as he walked to the table to grab an appetizer, “Jason and Kory are swinging by later, they had a thing.”

“A thing, uh”, Steph wiggled her eyebrows in his direction making Tim and Conner choke on their drinks they shouldn’t have already.

Barbara sent an apologetic look your way but you simply smiled back, grabbing two bottles of Champagne from the fridge.

“Who’s ready to party?"

*****

You made your way towards the kitchen to grab more appetizers and a new pack of chips. You smiled as Stephanie and Cassandra were lively talking near the Christmas tree, pointing at various presents. Damian was clearly starting to enjoy the night as Jon, who Clark had dropped off half an hour ago, was showing him a new toy Lois had bought him mere days before Christmas.

You stopped dead in your tracks when your eyes landed on Dick who was observing a customized Christmas decoration. One that has been created by Barbara, a deep blue bird with mechanical wings that fluttered every so often. He had the cheesiest smile on his face and he kept swinging the bird with his right hand. As he stood under the threshold of the kitchen, right above his head was one of the two mistletoe branches you had put in your apartment.

Just as the doorbell rang for the umpteenth time this night, you sprung towards the door, unwilling to let this great opportunity go to waste.

"Babs, could you grab a new pack of chips please?” You sent her a warm and what you hoped was an innocent smile. “I’ve left some on the countertop!”

“Alright”, she replied, excusing herself from Donna and Wally. Once you reached the door, you discreetly pointed at Dick who was right on Barbara’s way. A knowing look was shared before you finally opened the door, barely registering the people in front of you.

“Hey”, you greeted the two new guests, glancing back and forth between them and Dick and Barbara who were currently having a nice conversation if your eyes weren’t to lie. “Nice to see you could make it! Roy said you’d be held back for a while.”

“Sorry about that”, Kory smiled a little for an unknown reason. “We did our best.”

“It’s fine! Please, just come on in.” You opened the door a little wider to let both her and Jason walk in.

“So, is something going on?” Kory asked after several seconds of you being oblivious to Jason’s stare on you.

“Well”, you waved in the general direction of your friends having a conversation under the mistletoe near the kitchen, “I think something is working there, don’t you think?”

“Did you set them up?” Jason’s question sounded a lot more like an accusation, but you didn’t really mind at this exact moment.

You turned your head to reply to him but, before you could open your mouth everyone around you started cheering loudly, making you whip around right when your eyes locked with Jason’s.

There, under the mistletoe by your kitchen, Dick and Barbara were finally kissing, smiling through it.

“Tim, you owe me 20 bucks here”, Steph yelled over the clamor and Tim clearly huffed loudly at that, although the smirk on his face was still present.

“Same over there Wally, and you too, Roy”, Donna added while collecting the money both men already had put out from their pockets.

“Jason”, you could hear the smile in Kory’s voice as she turned to Jason, her hands awaiting the bank bills. “I believe I get something too?”

“Did you all bet money on us?” Dick eventually said, catching everyone’s attention.

“Anyway, more champagne?”, you changed the subject after a couple of minutes of silence and glances exchanged between everyone.

A chorus of “yes please” and two “orange juice, please” was your answer and you swiftly walked to the kitchen, Barbara following close behind from the moment you walked past her.

“Proud of you?”

“Mad at me?” You shot back, the smile apparently ever so present on your face.

“No”, she confessed, her voice as close as what someone could expect Barbara’s dreamy voice to be. “I could have done it without the help though.”

“I don’t doubt it”, you put three new bottles of the bubbly alcohol in your fridge as you grabbed the last two. “But I wanted the girls to have their money.”

“Makes sense”, she blocked your way, letting you know something else was going on. “Now, about you and a certain someone-”

“Nu-uh”, you waved a bottle in front of her face, “I am not stealing your thunder tonight.”

“Or ever”, she mumbled but you decided to ignore her.

“This is your night.”

“It’s also supposed to be a Christmas party”, Tim chimed in, pushing his glass in front of him, expecting you to pour him a new one. You gently grabbed it before filling it with water, handing it back to the younger man. He gave you a face before chugging it, awaiting once again the champagne. “Are we gonna open those presents or what?”

“Let’s do it.”

“Presents time everyone!”

*****

People were slowly filling out of your apartment with new gifts falling from their arms.

You waved bye at them as you slowly picked up the wrappers that littered your floor. You simply wanted to throw away everything you could and had already put the plates and glasses in the sink, so you wouldn’t have to do it the morning after, on Christmas Eve, while being slightly hungover and way too tired.

You heard the door shut close behind whoever left last. You went to open the window of your living room to let in some fresh air. Picking up some used napkins from the table, you put them in the trash as well, trying not to make too much of a mess.

“You forgot this one.”

The voice startled you and you spun around, smashing the trash bag into whoever was standing behind you. Some wrappers and napkins you had just put inside the bag flew out, landing all around you.

“Wow.”

“Oh, my god, Jason”, you let go of the trash bag and your hands immediately went to his torso, wanting to make sure you hadn’t hurt him. “I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

“Fine, fine”, he mumbled back, pushing your hands away a second too late to be considered an outward rejection or anger of any kind. “Can I help?”

“Oh, no, no”, you shook your head and went to stop him. “Go get some sleep. You’re gonna need it for tomorrow dinner.”

“Tomorrow dinner?”

“Christmas dinner?” You raised an eyebrow and waited for him to realize what you were talking about. “Alfred insisted you had to come this year, if I remember correctly.”

“How d'you know that?”

“I was there when you got Alfred’s call?”

“Right”, he drawn out. “Don’t think I’m going anyway. Might as well help you.”

“Oh no”, your hands went on your hips and you stood your ground, not letting him move. “You are going. Alfred would murder you. And”, you picked up the bag from the ground, but didn’t look away from Jason. “You’re supposed to spend Christmas with your family.”

“Are you?”

“It isn’t about me here.” You took several napkins and wrappers in one hand and stood back up, waving them in your friend’s face. “You’re gonna spend Christmas with your family and that’s final. Now go get some sleep.”

He slowly crossed his arms over his chest, giving you a strange look as you kept picking up the mess you had made mere moments earlier. “I’ll go if you let me help you.”

You stopped in your tracks and slowly raised your head, finally locking eyes with him. You weren’t sure how much of what he was telling right now was true, but you knew he had to go spend Christmas with his family. He needed this, whether he knew it or not. Their relationship was getting better by the day, this much was true, and you didn’t want any party, but especially not Jason, to be hurt. “Alright but, I’m warning you dude, you better be in bed in one hour tops.”

With a shrug, Jason walked to your sink and opened the tap, letting the water flow on the dishes. He grabbed the sponge and started doing the dishes, not saying much more.

“So, Dick and Barbara. Your plan, uh?” He broke the silence as you were sweeping your apartment, the cleaning getting a little out of hand without you realizing.

“Well, it was obvious they were into each other, you know”, you moved the couch back towards the wall and kept sweeping your place. “It was bound to happen, you know.”

“You did it for Steph.”

“And Donna”, you laughed and spared a glance his way. He was currently drying all he had just washed. “They’re gonna give me fifty percent of what the guys just gave them.”

“Uh, didn’t think you were after money like that.”

“Why do you think I’m friends with you?” You winked at him over your shoulder, now sweeping under the table.

“Makes sense. Although, I kept telling Roy it was because of my amazing cooking skills”, he put the last glass in the cupboard, closing it while he turned around, looking in your direction. “I know my pastas are to die for.”

“That”, you grunted slightly as you moved the table a little, putting it back into its original place, “they are.” You let out a breath and took a small pause. “Pasta and money. The basis of all healthy friendships.”

Jason let out a raspy laugh, one that took you by surprise. It was a contrast with how quiet he had been all evening. Your smile grew wider and you desperately tried to hide it as you crouched down to collect the dust in the dustpan. You put the dust in the trash bag before tying it and putting it on the small balcony, closing the French window as you stepped back inside.

“Time you go to sleep”, you went to the kitchen, looking around you to make sure everything was more or less clean. You would finish in the morning anyway. “Get your beauty sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Are you finished here?”

“Yep! Going to sleep until twelve, probably.”

“Alright. D'you know where I put my keys?”

“Countertop, the cup”, you dismissively said as you poured some water in a glass. You turned around just in time to see Jason swaying a little as he made his way to the other side of the countertop. “Alright buddy”, you ran after him, putting a hand on his arm before he could reach the keys. “You are not driving home.”

“I remember you telling me to get some sleep?” You could see the tiredness catching up with him as the alcohol left his system. You wondered how much he had drunk and, most importantly, what had made him drink that much tonight. Jason was a close friend, you had hung out together numerous times. You had seen him drink a lot more than you or even Dick or Kory, and he never had been in this state.

“Well, you’re gonna have to get some sleep here.” You locked the door before leading him to the couch, on which you pushed him down. “I’m not letting you go out there.”

“Alright, mom.”

You scoffed loudly, leaving him there with a roll of your eyes. You went to your room to grab a blanket, a pillow and Jason’s spare bag he had left one day, you couldn’t exactly recall when. To be fair, many of the local heroes had been dropping spare bags at your place throughout the years. You made a stop in the bathroom to grab a box of painkillers in case he woke up before you did.

As you walked down the small corridor that connected the living room and kitchen to the rest of your apartment, you bumped into a hard chest. You raised your head a little to meet Jason’s gaze, and you could feel his hands on your hips as he stabilized you so you wouldn’t fall down. You know it was just a reflex for him, but you couldn’t stop your heart from beating a little faster.

“Was wondering where you went”, he mumbled.

“Blanket, pillow, your spare clothes and”, you raised the hand holding the box of medicine in front of his eyes, “this, for the morning.”

“Oh, thanks. You didn’t have to”, you let out a quiet chuckle as he looked around him. You didn’t see him freeze as his eyes landed on what was just above the two of you.

“If I don’t want Alfred and Dick chastising me, yes I did”, you laughed loudly this time, still unaware of both your predicament. “That’s the least I could do, you know. Sorry you have to sleep on the couch, still don’t have a spare room."

"There’s mistletoe."

You hummed quietly, prompting him to explain himself further as you took off some dust from the blanket, holding the painkillers between your chin and chest.

"We’re right under the mistletoe.”

“Oh.”

You stopped what you were doing and let the box of medicine fall on the blanket to finally look up. There, unmistakable, was a branch of mistletoe.

“Oh yeah, forgot to take that one off”, you said under your breath. “You can just ignore that, let’s get you to bed.”

“Well, tradition is tradition”, countered Jason, finally looking at you.

“Sure, but we don’t have to”, you smiled warmly at him, trying to ignore the glint of what your mind discerned as sadness in his eyes. “I put them up mainly for Babs and Dick. And for, you know”, you shook your head a little, “everyone else, so they had an excuse to go at it.”

“Still, tradition is tradition, so”, he trailed off after that, looking at something just above your head.

“Okay."

You took a step closer to him, or at least as much as you could considering what you were carrying at the moment. You went on your tiptoe and, without giving it too much of a thought, you pecked Jason’s cheek, your lips lingering a moment too long on his skin.

"Alright buddy, now let’s get you to bed."

You gently grabbed his wrist and tugged him so he would follow you back in the living room. You tried as best as you could to ignore the fact that he was staring at you with something you couldn’t exactly pinpoint. You set the pillow down on the couch after making sure it was as comfortable as possible.

"Okay, take off your shoes and whatever, I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“I can get it."

"Focus on undressing yourself!"

You jogged to the kitchen, pouring some water from the tap in a glass and in a bottle. Not even two minutes later, you came back to set them on the coffee table, right next to the painkillers.

"Right so everything’s here”, you looked at Jason who was now lying on the couch, in nothing but his underwear, his right arm shielding his eyes from the light. “You know where everything else is. Your phone’s on the countertop where you left it. Sleep tight”, you finished, putting the blanket over his body.

“Hey”, his voice stopped you right as you were about to turn the lights off. “You should come home with me tomorrow. For this Christmas Eve dinner. It would be more bearable with you there."

"Jason”, you sighed and leaned on the wall on your left. “It’s a family dinner. Plus”, you pushed yourself off the wall, your hand hovering above the switch, “I doubt Bruce would be happy if I were to crash. Or Alfred, for that matter.”

“Pfff”, he turned his head so he would watch you, “Alfred loves you, he’d be more than happy. And he always cooks too much. As for Bruce, I don’t really care about what he has to say.”

“Well, I do.”

“You shouldn’t."

"Alright tell you what”, he straightened up a little so he could focus on your words better. “If tomorrow, when you’re not drunk nor hungover, you can assure me I won’t be be a bother during this dinner, I’ll come.”

“What, I just gotta call Alfred and tell him you’re coming? Deal!” He lied back down, eyes closed as a small smile played on his lips. “He’s gonna take care of Bruce.”

“We’ll see”, you laughed as you finally turned the lights off, leaving Jason in the living room as you walked towards your room, ready to drop on your bed and sleep for the next twelve hours.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #red hood imagine #red hood fanfiction #jason todd one shot #jason todd fanfiction #my writing #dc imagine #jason todd #*writing

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celestialvoid-fanfiction · 6 years

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The Flower That Blooms in Adversity - Chapter One

Sterek Persephone and Hades AU

When Stiles Stilinski – the God of nature and harvests – is bitten by a viper, Derek Hale – the God of the Underworld – fights to keep him alive, taking him to the Underworld where he can keep him safe. However, the Heavens are not happy.

The boy walked through the field of golden wheat, careless and unburdened. He trailed his hands through the stalks, watching as the crops slid through this fingers like ribbons of water. Veins of gold trailed after him as he wove this way through the flourishing crops.

The radiant sunlight played across his pale skin. His body was covered in moles that danced like the stars in the night sky, charting out constellations on his skin. The soft breeze blew through the tousled mess of his hair, his dark eyes catching the light and sparkling like golden liquor. The fabric of his robes billowed around him, the faint hem of golden embroidery glittering as it moved. A crown of flowers rested on his head, a halo of olive leaves, soft roses, pale peonies, and sprigs of baby’s breath that the children in the nearby town had made for him. Coils of vines and golden cuffs would their way around his slender arms, small buds and blossoming flowers making his pale skin seem radiant.

Stiles. The God of nature and harvests.

He was gorgeous; pure and perfect.

Derek watched him from afar, always scared to step out of the shadows; scared to get too close.

He looked down at himself, dressed in a smooth black leather vest that had been weathered with age. A long black cape billowed from his shoulders, pinned in place by two silver triskelion broaches – the symbol of the three Great Families: Argent—the Gods of the Heavens, Deucalion—the gods of the Sea, and Hale—the Gods of the Underworld. Silver cuffs were wound around his bare biceps, embedded with rubies and onyx. He wore black pants and knee-high black leather sandals that wrapped around his calves, decorated with shiny silver studs.

He felt his heart sink into his stomach, dropping his gaze as he disappeared into the shadows.

How could someone as radiant and pure as Stiles ever like a corrupted being like Derek?

Derek heart skipped a beat as a cry echoed throughout the field.

His eyes snapped up in time to see Stiles’ face turned towards the heavens, twisted in pain as tears broke past his lashes and fell down his cheeks. His scream died away as he drew in a deep breath, his body weakening. The swaying wheat surrounding Stiles withered and died, the golden stalks rotting and turning black as the boy collapsed among the crop. He disappeared among the stalks of wheat, pulling him down like foaming waves that surrounded a sinking body.

Derek leapt out of the darkness, the shadows trailing behind him as his cape billowed around him. The wheat parted as he ran through the field, a howling gust of wind thrashing the stalks. He sprinted to the boy’s side, dropping to one knee as he looked down at the young man.

Stiles lay on the ground, his face twisted in pain. He was ghostly pale, beads of sweat forming on his brow and trickling down the side of his face. His body was still, limbs sprawled and unmoving.

Derek listened, hearing the frail wisps of breath that passed Stiles’ trembling lips as he struggled to breathe. His eyes rolled over the young man’s body, catching a glimpse of a leathery-black body of something slithering across the boy’s leg before disappearing into the maze of wheat. Derek’s eyes drifted to Stiles’ ankle, falling on the bloody welts that pierced his skin. Streams of blood and clear trails of venom trailed across his skin, droplets like rubies falling to the earth where they shattered like glass.

Stiles’ expression weakened, his eyes fluttering slightly before falling still.

That’s when Derek heard them; the inhuman whispers and animalistic growls.

His head whipped up.

Hellhounds, he thought.

He looked down at the young man again, realisation hitting him hard: they were coming for Stiles.

“Damn,” Derek hissed under his breath.

He tore a strip of fabric from his own robes, tying it around Stiles’ leg to stop the venom spreading, or to at least slow it. He hoisted the boy’s limp body into his arms, digging his feet into the cool earth as he ran back towards where he had come from, to the foot of the rocky mountain bluffs where the entrance to the Underworld was concealed by the shadows.

His feet pounded against the earth, his blood beating in his ears. His chest ached as his heart thumped against his ribs.

They were drawing closer, rolling in like story thunderclouds and bringing with them a tense static that hung in the air.

The heavens above rumbled as the gods realised they had lost one of their own.

The misty clouds rolled into the valley, blinding him as he ran forwards. But it didn’t matter, he knew where he was going; it called to him.

Droplets of rain fell to the earth, gathering in puddles beneath his feet and washing over his face. The fabric of his robes absorbed the water, dragging him back.

He pushed on, running faster. He couldn’t let them catch him; he couldn’t let them take Stiles.

His feet struck dry earth as he burst into the cave, sprinting into the abysmal darkness and into the world beyond.

He burst through the gates of the Underworld and into his home, the heavy doors opening at his will. The torches in the metal brackets bolted to the walls roared to life as fire lit the way.

The doors slammed shut behind him as he burst into the open living space. His feet slid across the marble floors as he ran towards the sunken lounge room, laying Stiles’ limp body on the couch before the marble fireplace.

The flames flickered and crackled, burning brighter as the warm orange glow lit the room and cast shadows across Stiles’ face. In the light of the fire, Derek could see how sunken the boy’s features were; how frail he looked.

Derek felt them approach before he heard them. He ran to the heavy oak door by that was fitted into the wall near the living room, shoving it shut and pushing the heavy iron bolt into place.

The hellhounds slammed against the door. Derek stumbled backwards, his heart racing as the hinges rattled and the door struggled to hold them back. They snapped, snarled and growled ferociously, locked on to Stiles’ scent. The door rumbled as they threw their weight against it, over and over again, desperate to get inside.

“Enough!” Derek bellowed, his voice ringing out through the Underworld.

The room fell silent, the hellhounds retreating from the door.

Derek let out a heavy breath, feeling his body tremble and his power subside. He turned his attention back to Stiles. He hurried into the kitchen, trying to remember the ingredients his mother would use for the times when he or his sisters were bitten.

“Leafless mistletoe aerials, nettle leaves, grape seeds and fox-grape root,” he listed, pulling a mortar and pestle out of the cupboard. He froze, looking at the boy.

If something from the Underworld were to pass the lips of someone from the Surface World they would be bound to the Underworld; that was the rule. And that included medicines.

He couldn’t use the plants that grew in the Underworld. He couldn’t bind Stiles to a life of misery and darkness. He couldn’t deprive the him of that choice, of his freedom.

He rushed over to the lounged, kneeling beside Stiles’ frail body.

“I need you to hold on,” he whispered. “I know you are stronger than people think you are. You’re a fighter. I’m going to help, I just need you to hold on a little longer.”

Stiles’ breathing slowed, no longer stained by pain or weakened. His eyes fluttered as if he were dreaming. His fingers twitched as he balled his hand into a fist.

Derek felt his heart flutter as he looked at the young man.

He was fighting.

Derek grabbed a blanket, draping it over Stiles’ frail body. He gently brushed aside the stands of hair that clung to Stiles’ face.

“I’ll be back,” he promised. “Just hold on.”

He leapt to his feet and ran for the doors, the heavy gates opening before him as he sprinted towards the Surface, the darkness carrying him like a breeze. He ran through the fields gathering the things he needed before rushing back to the Underworld.

He slid to a stop when he noticed another person in the room; a dark figure standing by the couch, looking at Stiles with an expression of confusion and contemplation. His brown hair was pulled back from his face, his pale eyes flicking up to meet Derek’s.

“The God of Death, trying to save a life?” his uncle scoffed. “How ironic?”

“Peter,” Derek said warningly. “I do not need a lecture from you right now.”

He turned and rushed into the small kitchen. He set the herbs and plants down on the counter, sorting through them as he grabbed the parts he needed and put them in the mortar. He began to grind them together in a paste.

“What makes him so special?” Peter asked, glaring at the small figure that laid on the couch. A look of disgust twisted his face.

“He—” Derek stopped himself. He felt his heart skip a beat as he answered, “He just is.”

Derek set the pestle aside, gathering bandages and carrying the mortar full of paste over to the couch. He lifted the blanket, looking down at Stiles’ ankle, bile rising in his throat as he looked down at the bite.

It had gotten worse.

His veils were pulsing black as the venom spread, the bite was swollen and bruising, colouring his ankle with smears or black, blue, purple and green. Blood streamed from the wound, droplets falling into a pool that was gathering on the marble tiles.

Derek tried his best to be gentle as he wiped a cloth across the wound, clearing away the blood and fluid. He smeared the paste across the wound.

Stiles’ body tensed, but he was too weak to pull away. He whimpered in pain, making Derek’s gut twist with guilt.

“You do remember that your role as the God of the Underworld is to ferry dying souls into the Underworld, right?” Peter reminded him. “Not to try and save them.”

“Peter, please,” Derek said, impatience wearing this voice thin.

“Fine, I’ll leave,” Peter huffed. “But I can’t wait to see how you explain this to Argent. I warn you, it won’t be pleasant.”

Derek ignored his uncle, gently wrapping a bandage around Stiles’ ankle.

Derek watched out the corner of his eye as his uncle’s image blurred into smoke, folding in on itself as he teleported somewhere else.

He let out a sigh and sat down on the rug by the couch, waiting by the Stiles’ side until he settled.

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#the flower that blooms in adversity #sterek #sterek au #sterek persephone and hades au #sterek greek mythology au #sterek gods au #persephone stiles #persephone!stiles #hades derek #hades!derek #read all the tags on AO3 #sterek fanfiction #sterek fanfic #sterek fic #eternalsterek

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darling-cas · 6 years

Text

All Is Well: Rowaelin

TOG/ACOTAR Christmas Fic Co-written with @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty

Summary: Rowan and Aelin decorate their house together for Christmas. MODERN AU

Note: When Shelby told me she wanted to do Rowaelin, I couldn’t help but think FINALLY SOMEONE PICKED MY OTP!!! I missed writing Rowaelin so much and it was even more amazing writing them with such a wonderful lady. This girl is such a sweetheart and I had this most amazing fun working on this with her. Thank you for doing this, Hun! It was such a pleasure writing my OTP with you! Love you bunches, XX

All Is Well Masterlist

——————–

“Put that one there, with the rest.”

Rowan huffed as Aelin pointed to the pile of boxes in the centre of their living room without as much as a glance his way. She simply walked straight past him, towards the computer on the other side of the room

“Yes madam,” he mumbled, dropping the cupboard box to the ground with a faint thump.

At his tone, Aelin paused to glance over her shoulder, raising a perfect eyebrow.

“Do I sense sarcasm?” She asked, but Rowan could see the ghost of a smile threatening to pull on her lips.

Her expression had his own smile forming. “Of course not, madam.”

Aelin held his gaze for just a beat longer, before rolling her eyes.

“Prick.” She rolled her eyes. But Rowan heard the lightness in her voice as she turned back around, stopping at the computer.

As she typed away on the keyboard, Rowan made his way to the couch and sat down, his eyes staying trained on Aelin. She was dressed in her black leggings, knee-high red and green socks, and an oversized Christmas sweater. Her long blonde hair was left in waves down her back but pushed out of her face with a red headband.

She looked adorable. Just the sight of his girl standing before him, dressed so festive, had a smile pulling on Rowan’s lips, desire twisting in his stomach.

He watched as she pulled up some music on their computer, and it didn’t take long for the holly jolly bells and jingles of some Christmas tune to fill the room.

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the sound.

Rowan wasn’t one for Christmas. He didn’t hate it, but he didn’t love it either. If he lived by himself, he probably wouldn’t even put up a tree up if he was being honest. But Aelin, on the other hand, was the embodiment of Christmas. She was the person who wanted to decorate the day after Thanksgiving, the person who listened to Christmas music all year round. She loved the shopping, the lights, the snow, the decorations, the baking, anything and everything to do with Christmas, Aelin loved. And now that the two lived together - and because Rowan loved Aelin - he had to accept her love for the holiday season. It was something he couldn��t escape, a fight he would never win - he tried before and it ended badly on his part.

Christmas made Aelin happy and seeing Aelin happy was a good enough trade-off for Rowan.

But that didn’t mean his own feelings on the season changed over the years.

Satisfied with the music, Aelin stood up straighter. She turned back around, smile on her lips, only for it to fall when she saw Rowan lounging on the couch.

“What are you doing?” She asked as their gazes locked, hands on her hips.

Rowan gave a shrug. “I thought my job was done.”

“Not even close, buzzard.” Aelin sent a smug smile his way. She made her way over to the pile of boxes on the floor, opening one on top of the stack before turning back to Rowan. The smile never left her lips once. “Get your ass over here.”

With a sigh, one more dramatic then he would admit, Rowan pushed off the couch and slowly made his way over to Aelin. He watched as she started pulling decorations out of the boxes, sorting them in piles on the floor as dainty bells and jazzy Christmas music floated around the room.

Just seeing her standing there, wide eyes shifting from ornament to ornament, took Rowan’s breath away. And as she bit down on her bottom lip softly in connection, Rowan couldn’t help himself.

He walked up behind her, lightly brushing her blonde hair off her shoulder. The sweater soon followed before Rowan placed his lips on her soft skin.

Aelin paused before him, ornament in hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She breathed, tone not as stern as he knew she wanted it to be. But this fact only made him smile against her shoulder before he lazily made his way up her neck.

“Don’t I at least get paid for bringing all those heavy boxes up from the basement?” He mumbled between kisses, lips never leaving her body as he licked and nibbled at the sensitive skin.

Aelin’s head fell back, giving him better access. Rowan let his hands trail up her thighs, under the Christmas sweater and across the bare skin of her stomach. To his pleasure, Aelin shivered against him as his fingers made idle circles on her skin, very close to the waistband of her pants.

“Keep being a good boy and your payment will definitely be worth it tonight,” she managed to say before trailing off with a deep moan as Rowan nipped at her ear. “Stop that.“

But Rowan didn’t stop. He kept teasing her with his lips, his tongue, his teeth, Aelin’s body responding exactly like he knew it would. And soon, the idle circles weren’t enough and Rowan fingers slowly started to dip below the waistband of her pants.

Then to Rowan’s surprise, despite the sounds he was dragging out of her and the way she arched into him, Aelin stepped out of his embrace. She turned around to face him, face flushed and eyes lust heavy, but brows narrowed.

“We have a house to decorate,” she said, turning back to the boxes. But not before glancing over her shoulder and casting Rowan a sensual look. “And the faster we get done the sooner we can play.”

Rowan didn’t need to be told twice after that.

As she continued to pull ornaments, tinsel, and garland out, one by one, Rowan began to hang the glass orbs on the tips of the tree she’d had him cut down the weekend before. They worked in a comfortable silence, nothing but the sound of the merry music filling the room, as Aelin emptied box after box.

He heard her bustling around the room come to an abrupt stop. “What are you doing?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. There was a look of absolute horror on her beautiful face. “Decorating the tree?” He asked, gesturing with the ornament still in his hand that he was about to place near the others.

“No,” she groaned. “No, no, no. You can’t have them so close together there,” she pointed to an area where, he had to admit, they were a bit cramped. “And you can’t put so many of the same color together!” She took the blue ornament from his hand and replaced it with a green one. “There is an art to this, Rowan, and I am Picasso.”

He tried not to roll his eyes, he really did. “Alright, Picasso, why don’t I hang the garland on the banister and you can decorate the tree, since I don’t have the eye for art apparently?”

“I would appreciate that,” she beamed, reaching up on her tip-toes to press a kiss to his lips. He snaked an arm around her waist and kept her there, his tongue brushing along her bottom lip, begging for entrance.

She pushed against his chest, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “Play later!” She chastised, but he could tell her heart wasn’t in the admonishment.

Scooping up a box as he walked towards the stairs, he glanced over his shoulder as he heard her begin to hum. Nothing made him happier than when Aelin was happy. As he pulled out the garland, fake pine needles falling to the carpet around him, he listened to her quietly singing as she decorated the tree. Winding the garland and lights around the banister, he watched as she flitted around the room, pulling ornament after ornament out of the box. He reached the top of the stairs and plugged the string of lights in, and looked down at his handiwork. He may not have the eye of an artist, but he could wrap a handrail, and damn, did it look good.

Grabbing a spool of shimmering, red ribbon Aelin had laid on the foot of the stairs, he began to wrap it around the garland when he heard Aelin’s singing stop and he glanced at her.

She was standing on her tip-toes, an ornament in the shape of a white stag in her hands, reaching towards the top of the tree.

Creeping up behind her on silent feet, Rowan lifted her onto his shoulders as Aelin squealed, trying to keep her balance. The hand that wasn’t holding the ornament clutched the front of his cream-colored sweater as she leaned forward.

“What are you doing?” She cried, giggles and laughs leaving her full lips.

“Helping the master achieve perfection!” He said, hooking his arms over her knees and holding her in place.

One by one, he handed her ornaments and she placed them towards the top of the tree. After placing the large star on the top of the tree, Aelin clapped her hands together.

“There!” She cried, placing her hands on the top of his silver hair. “A masterpiece!”

She began to move her legs as if she was going to shimmy off of his shoulders.

“Just one more thing,” Rowan said, holding her legs in place. Moving to the threshold between the kitchen and living room, he handed her one last decoration.

He heard the soft intake of breath as she took it from his hands and hung it in the doorway. Lifting her off his shoulders, he carefully set her feet on the floor. Her arms immediately snaked around his neck as she looked up at the mistletoe hanging above their heads.

“Merry Christmas, Fireheart,” he whispered, just before his lips brushed against hers.

“Merry Christmas, you buzzard.”

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gldnsctn · 3 years

Text

The Double Image

BY ANNE SEXTON

I am thirty this November.

You are still small, in your fourth year.

We stand watching the yellow leaves go queer,

flapping in the winter rain,

falling flat and washed. And I remember

mostly the three autumns you did not live here.

They said I’d never get you back again.

I tell you what you’ll never really know:

all the medical hypothesis

that explained my brain will never be as true as these

struck leaves letting go.

I, who chose two times

to kill myself, had said your nickname

the mewling months when you first came;

until a fever rattled

in your throat and I moved like a pantomime

above your head. Ugly angels spoke to me. The blame,

I heard them say, was mine. They tattled

like green witches in my head, letting doom

leak like a broken faucet;

as if doom had flooded my belly and filled your bassinet,

an old debt I must assume.

Death was simpler than I’d thought.

The day life made you well and whole

I let the witches take away my guilty soul.

I pretended I was dead

until the white men pumped the poison out,

putting me armless and washed through the rigamarole

of talking boxes and the electric bed.

I laughed to see the private iron in that hotel.

Today the yellow leaves

go queer. You ask me where they go. I say today believed

in itself, or else it fell.

Today, my small child, Joyce,

love your self’s self where it lives.

There is no special God to refer to; or if there is,

why did I let you grow

in another place. You did not know my voice

when I came back to call. All the superlatives

of tomorrow’s white tree and mistletoe

will not help you know the holidays you had to miss.

The time I did not love

myself, I visited your shoveled walks; you held my glove.

There was new snow after this.

They sent me letters with news

of you and I made moccasins that I would never use.

When I grew well enough to tolerate

myself, I lived with my mother. Too late,

too late, to live with your mother, the witches said.

But I didn’t leave. I had my portrait

done instead.

Part way back from Bedlam

I came to my mother’s house in Gloucester,

Massachusetts. And this is how I came

to catch at her; and this is how I lost her.

I cannot forgive your suicide, my mother said.

And she never could. She had my portrait

done instead.

I lived like an angry guest,

like a partly mended thing, an outgrown child.

I remember my mother did her best.

She took me to Boston and had my hair restyled.

Your smile is like your mother’s, the artist said.

I didn’t seem to care. I had my portrait

done instead.

There was a church where I grew up

with its white cupboards where they locked us up,

row by row, like puritans or shipmates

singing together. My father passed the plate.

Too late to be forgiven now, the witches said.

I wasn’t exactly forgiven. They had my portrait

done instead.

All that summer sprinklers arched

over the seaside grass.

We talked of drought

while the salt-parched

field grew sweet again. To help time pass

I tried to mow the lawn

and in the morning I had my portrait done,

holding my smile in place, till it grew formal.

Once I mailed you a picture of a rabbit

and a postcard of Motif number one,

as if it were normal

to be a mother and be gone.

They hung my portrait in the chill

north light, matching

me to keep me well.

Only my mother grew ill.

She turned from me, as if death were catching,

as if death transferred,

as if my dying had eaten inside of her.

That August you were two, but I timed my days with doubt.

On the first of September she looked at me

and said I gave her cancer.

They carved her sweet hills out

and still I couldn’t answer.

That winter she came

part way back

from her sterile suite

of doctors, the seasick

cruise of the X-ray,

the cells’ arithmetic

gone wild. Surgery incomplete,

the fat arm, the prognosis poor, I heard

them say.

During the sea blizzards

she had her

own portrait painted.

A cave of mirror

placed on the south wall;

matching smile, matching contour.

And you resembled me; unacquainted

with my face, you wore it. But you were mine

after all.

I wintered in Boston,

childless bride,

nothing sweet to spare

with witches at my side.

I missed your babyhood,

tried a second suicide,

tried the sealed hotel a second year.

On April Fool you fooled me. We laughed and this

was good.

I checked out for the last time

on the first of May;

graduate of the mental cases,

with my analyst’s okay,

my complete book of rhymes,

my typewriter and my suitcases.

All that summer I learned life

back into my own

seven rooms, visited the swan boats,

the market, answered the phone,

served cocktails as a wife

should, made love among my petticoats

and August tan. And you came each

weekend. But I lie.

You seldom came. I just pretended

you, small piglet, butterfly

girl with jelly bean cheeks,

disobedient three, my splendid

stranger. And I had to learn

why I would rather

die than love, how your innocence

would hurt and how I gather

guilt like a young intern

his symptoms, his certain evidence.

That October day we went

to Gloucester the red hills

reminded me of the dry red fur fox

coat I played in as a child; stock-still

like a bear or a tent,

like a great cave laughing or a red fur fox.

We drove past the hatchery,

the hut that sells bait,

past Pigeon Cove, past the Yacht Club, past Squall’s

Hill, to the house that waits

still, on the top of the sea,

and two portraits hung on the opposite walls.

In north light, my smile is held in place,

the shadow marks my bone.

What could I have been dreaming as I sat there,

all of me waiting in the eyes, the zone

of the smile, the young face,

the foxes’ snare.

In south light, her smile is held in place,

her cheeks wilting like a dry

orchid; my mocking mirror, my overthrown

love, my first image. She eyes me from that face,

that stony head of death

I had outgrown.

The artist caught us at the turning;

we smiled in our canvas home

before we chose our foreknown separate ways.

The dry red fur fox coat was made for burning.

I rot on the wall, my own

Dorian Gray.

And this was the cave of the mirror,

that double woman who stares

at herself, as if she were petrified

in time — two ladies sitting in umber chairs.

You kissed your grandmother

and she cried.

I could not get you back

except for weekends. You came

each time, clutching the picture of a rabbit

that I had sent you. For the last time I unpack

your things. We touch from habit.

The first visit you asked my name.

Now you stay for good. I will forget

how we bumped away from each other like marionettes

on strings. It wasn’t the same

as love, letting weekends contain

us. You scrape your knee. You learn my name,

wobbling up the sidewalk, calling and crying.

You call me mother and I remember my mother again,

somewhere in greater Boston, dying.

I remember we named you Joyce

so we could call you Joy.

You came like an awkward guest

that first time, all wrapped and moist

and strange at my heavy breast.

I needed you. I didn’t want a boy,

only a girl, a small milky mouse

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mirkwoodshewolf · 7 years

Text

Little ray of sunshine; Bucky x child reader

Here is yet another Bucky x child oneshot. Now BEWARE of murder, HEAVY ANGST but it’ll get better in the end, don’t worry. There are hints of some brotherly STUCKY feels in this and I wanted a true child’s reaction in this story so yeah this will hit ya’ll hard but again I promise it’ll get better towards the end. Hope you enjoy ;)

Taglist:

@evyiione

_______________________________________________________

The Winter Solider silently snuck into the house of his next target for HYDRA. He quietly stalked through the house until he found the man HYDRA had sent for him to assassinate. He was hunched over a cupboard almost as if he were looking for something the Winter Soldier readied his gun until he was standing right behind the man. The man stopped what he was doing as his breathing began rapid and his heart raced in fear. He knew who was behind her and said not a word as he shut his eyes slowly, held out his hands in surrender and exhaled softly.

BANG!

The man soon fell dead with blood splattering across the cupboard and the walls. The Winter Soldier had done his job, now all that was left is to return to the HYDRA base and have his memory erased and put back in the cryo-freeze. He was just about to leave when he suddenly heard a noise.

A soft, crying noise. He turned around and took notice that it was coming from the cupboard he also took notice of movement coming from beneath the blankets covering whatever it was that was underneath the covers. He reached out and gently pulled the covers away to reveal a small baby no more than several months old.

The Winter Soldier's eyes flickered with a small spark of shock at the fact that just as he shot his victim, he had done so in front of his child. He had not been told there was a child, but if there were any other eye-witnesses, wipe them.

As the baby rubbed it's eyes and looked up at the man before her she tilted her head in confusion at first before finally happily squealing and cooing up at him. The Winter Soldier's heart ached. He didn't know why but he just couldn't kill this child, but maybe if he secretly hid the child and raised her maybe HYRDA would soon move onto their next target. He picked up the child and took notice of the pink onesie noting that it was a girl. As he held the baby close to him, it cuddled close to him and cooed softly.

The Winter Soldier began to feel something in his chest that wasn't hate or regret, it felt warm and fuzzy like he felt it was right for this baby to be in his arms. It even began to awaken something within him, like visions of his past lie before HYDRA when he began to remember holding a baby once or twice before in his life.

He wrapped the baby up to protect her from the cold and then left the house before lighting a fire to it using a fire grenade to hide any signs of a crime.

Once he had gotten back into HYDRA he immediately went to hiding the baby in his room in the very corner of his closet. He stroked the baby's face with his human hand and whispered.

"I know you won't understand, but you must be very, very, very quiet. You can't let anyone hear you ever. If you hear anyone that doesn't sound like me stay absolutely quiet. Don't make a sound. Okay?" The baby cooed softly and only stared at the soldier. The Winter Soldier hoping she understood closed the door and locked it tight until he would hopefully return to her.

A few days later, The Winter Soldier kept going on assassination trips for HYDRA and thankfully kept him out of cryo-freeze or memory wiping. Any chance he got, he would take his new found baby out and hold her as she would coo up at him giving him that fuzzy feeling in his stomach, even make a smile appear on his face as he would rock the baby, feed it, and take care of it.

Like he was her father now.

One day though as he came back from another mission, he had hoped to spend time with his daughter but when he opened the doors to his closet he was horrified to see that his baby girl was gone.

His mind began racing with the worst possible ideas that could've happen to his only ray of sunshine. It was then he heard loud crying coming down the hallway. His eyes narrowed and darkened as he grabbed his gun and followed the sounds of the crying. He peeked into the room to see three HYDRA soldiers with his sunshine. She was being hung upside down by her ankle as the three HYDRA snakes held out either knife or gun wondering how to silence her insolent yelling.

It was then Bucky Barnes snapped.

He ran at one of the guards and tackled him to the ground repeatedly beating him with his metal arm until he was beaten to death. The other guard withdrew his gun and fired but Bucky dodged all the bullets by blocking them with his metal arm ricocheting the bullets away then Bucky snapped the guard's neck until he had just one guard left who was still holding his daughter. Bucky withdrew his knife spinning it and as the guard suddenly feeling afraid of the Winter Soldier that stood before him like a savage wolf protecting it's pup, he tossed the baby away and took off running but as quick as lightning Bucky caught his little girl and took out his gun shooting the retreating guard in the back of the head just before he could alert the rest of HYDRA.

Bucky dropped the gun and looked over his sunshine who had stopped screaming but still sniffled and whimpered to see if he saw any injuries or bruising on his little girl.

"Shhhh, shh. Don't cry, I'm here. I'm here now". He held his baby close to his shoulder gently patting her back gently bouncing her up and down as he kept whispering soothing words in her ear. It was then Bucky realized he couldn't stay here, especially now that HYDRA knows that there's a baby here and that he was probably the one to bring it here. Quick as he could, he grabbed a small gun to hide in his pants, a blanket to cover his baby up and ran away from HYDRA.

Until he was found by his old friend Steve Rogers a year later.

Now two years later, Bucky and (y/n) the name he had given her were now living at the Avenger's tower with every member of the Avengers, including the additional members like the Maximoff twins, Vision, Loki (surprisingly but after helping Thor with saving the world from the dark elves reign he sorta redeemed himself but was still a wild card to certain members of the team), Sam Wilson, and War Machine.

It was just the beginning of the Christmas season and all the Avengers were in a hustle with getting the decorations up, preparing the guest list for the party on Christmas Eve, figuring out what foods were gonna be provided, gift shopping, anything to make Avengers Tower ready for Christmas. Little (y/n) who was now 4 years old was trying to put up a mistletoe above the doorway. She pulled up a chair to see if the extra height would help her but she was just a few inches shorter than the door even with the chair.

"Need a hand?" She was soon lifted up and she looked down to see her cousin Pietro holding her up and (y/n) got the mistletoe hung up right at the center of the door.

"Thank you Pietro".

"No problem, now if I'm correct, you are now suppose to give me a kiss" he gesture to his cheek making (y/n) giggle but just as she was about to give him his peck on the cheek, she suddenly disappeared in green and gold light. "What the—Loki!" It was then Loki now stood a few feet away from Pietro under another Mistletoe (Tony thought it would be funny to put a mistletoe under every doorway, ceiling, even places you wouldn't expect just to see who got caught under one).

"Now then my little one, I believe I deserve a kiss". (y/n) not wanting to hurt her uncle's feelings gave him a peck on the cheek making Loki smile a true smile. He then pecked her cheek multiple times as he tickled her sides making her laugh and squirm in his arms.

"Hey if we're giving kisses to (y/n) under the mistletoe I want in!" Exclaimed Tony.

"Get in line Stark because I'm next!" Clint said.

"In your dreams hawk man, besides falcons are the faster bird so you're gonna have to wait your turn after me!" Sam proclaimed.

"You lot are so tiny! And Puny! Lady (y/n) wishes to have my kiss under the mistletoe!" exclaimed Thor.

"Zhat is not fair! I got mine stolen!" Pietro cried out. It was then all the boys starting fighting over who would be the next best uncle/cousin to kiss little (y/n) under the mistletoe.

"Alright! Alright enough! You boys are horrible. Fighting over who (y/n) will kiss next, you boys should be ashamed of yourselves!" Natasha exclaimed as she took (y/n) from Loki and towards the living room. "You little missy will grow up to be such a heartbreaker".

"Not if I have anything to say about it!" All the boys exclaimed.

"Ohh okay, whatever you say," it was then Natasha pecked (y/n)'s cheek and smirked to the boys and gestured with her eyes to see a mistletoe hanging above them and the boys who hadn't kissed (y/n) yet all wailed as if it were the end of the world as Natasha took (y/n) to the kitchen to bake some Christmas cookies with Wanda, Vision, and her dad.

A few hours later everything was ready and (y/n) was currently cuddled close with her daddy Bucky on the couch right by the fire. Bucky had really taken (y/n) as his daughter very seriously, she had helped him rekindle his past self and was always his guiding light if he ever had a relapse as the Winter Soldier. As (y/n) observed the rest of her family all resting after a long day of decorating the tower, she began to think back on how she was found and why she was here.

Don't get her wrong she loved her family but she always wondered why she ended up here? Weren't all children suppose to have a mommy and a daddy? She only had a daddy, well not really Bucky only found her because there were some slight differences like she didn't look a thing like him there was nothing, not even eye color *A/N if you have blue eyes just change it I'm sorry in advance*.

She just wanted to know where she truly came from but was always to afraid to ask because she thought she would hurt her father's or even her family's feelings.

But she had to know, something inside was just screaming at her to find out why she was here and how she was found.

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I—can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, of course you can baby girl, you can always tell me anything. What is it?"

"Well..... I uhh.....umm—" she wanted to ask it she really did but that fear suddenly came back and the worst outcomes came popping up into her head. Her dad hating her because of it, being kicked out of the tower for hurting her family's feelings, being alone and lost out in the streets of New York.

"Well spit it out sweetheart, I'm not getting any younger". Her dad teased.

"How did you find me?" It was then the other Avengers all sat up in shock and looked at her. Bucky especially froze in fear at her question, hoping that this day would never, ever come.

"What?"

"That's my question, how did you find me? I know I don't look like you, nor do I look like any of the other Avengers, I just want to know why I was found?" The Avengers all remained silent and looked at each other with a soft look in their eyes that could only read sympathy. "You all hate me now don't you?"

"What? What makes you say that sweetie?" asked Tony.

"Because of my question. Because of what I said. Now you all hate me and will throw me out on the streets where I have to be alone and never see any of you again!" (y/n) rambled on as tears formed in her eyes and her shoulders shook in a light sob.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey shhhh, shhh, shshshsh" Bucky held her closer to his chest and rocked her to stop her crying. Soon Bucky passed her to Steve who held onto her, kissing and rocking her back and forth for awhile. He then passed her to Natasha, who passed her to Clint, soon all the Avengers got their chance to comfort their littlest member of the team with warm hugs, gentle rocks, sweet words, and comforting kisses until she was passed back to her father.

"Sweetheart, we do not hate you. That is literally an impossible thing to do" Tony said.

"Little dove, if we were to hate you, then that would be the start of Ragnarok itself" Loki stated.

"(Y/n) we would never hate you for asking a question like that. So don't you ever think that way again that we would, you understand?" Clint said.

(Y/n) nodded and wiped away her tears with her sleeve and sniffled one last time as Bucky stroked her back and kissed her on top of her head.

"I think it is time that you did know the truth on how I found you, but I think I may need your god-father Steve to help me with this one". Steve stood up and sat on the other side of Bucky and (y/n) and assured him. "Take your time Buck, she'll understand". Bucky turned away and took a deep breath and exhaled deeply and soon began his tale.

"(Y/n); I just want you to know that what you're about to hear is true, I'm—I'm not proud of what I did, but that's because I was captured and brainwashed by very, very, very bad people that Steve and I had been fighting against for a long, long time now, even longer than any of the other Avengers here," Bucky then started to explain to (y/n) about how he was assigned by HYDRA to kill a man know as (your father's name here) because he had Intel on some material that HYDRA needed to help build their "Project Insight". He began to explain how he himself pulled the trigger as her real father was what he originally thought was hiding the Intel her had but was actually hiding her from being found by HYDRA.

Bucky every now and then turned away as his eyes were red with tears and tried to stop them from falling until he was done with his story for his ray of sunshine to know that the man who had found and raised her had killed her real father and didn't even flinch.

"You—so you killed my real daddy?" Bucky refused to answer but his eyes of pure sadness and regret answered for her. (Y/n) didn't know how to feel. She felt anger, sadness, betrayal. "You killed my real daddy!"

"Now (y/n) remember Bucky was—"

"You killed my really daddy and then stole me away! YOU'RE A MONSTER!!" She then ran away crying as Bucky remained still.

"Buck?" Steve started but then Bucky took off running. He didn't stop until he reached the gym level and once he got there.

Bucky totally snapped.

He screamed at the top of his lungs, punched holes in the walls with his metal arm, knocking over equipment, just letting out his sorrow and anger by completely trashing the gym.

"Bucky! Bucky! BUCKY!!!!" He paused and turned to see Steve and the rest of the Avengers standing by the entrance all in shock at what Bucky had done. Steve slowly went up to him and placed both hands on his shoulders and as Bucky fell to his knees sobbing hysterically, Steve embraced his friend in a brotherly hug comforting his best friend.

"She's gone. She's gone, she's gone she's gone she's gone".

"No Buck, she's just trying to grasp everything she's been told, she'll come around. I promise".

"And uhh, I'm just stating the fact that you know owe me some serious cash for the gym" Tony stated bluntly making the other Avengers glare at him and Natasha gladly hit him across the head. She walked up towards her old enemy and knelt down beside him and said.

"Give her time, your little ray of sunshine will come around". It was then the elevator opened again to reveal a teary eyed (y/n) with Loki standing beside her. The team cleared a path leaving Bucky and (y/n) to stare at each other teary eyed. (Y/n) turned to Loki and he looked down at her and nodded with a gentle smile. (Y/n) sniffled and whimpered before crying out and running towards Bucky.

"I'M SORRY! I'M SO SORRY DADDY!" She wrapped her arms around his neck and continued to sob out. "You aren't a monster! I'm sorry I called you a monster daddy! I promise to never be mad at you again! I DON'T HATE YOU!!" Bucky's heart melted and he immediately embraced his daughter back as the rest of the Avengers watched with loving eyes at the sight before them then leaving them to give them some privacy.

*EXTENDED ENDING*

"So reindeer games, what did you say to the kid?" Tony asked.

"That is just between me and her alone". Loki then disappeared and in his room took out a photo of him and Thor as kids and held it close to his heart praying for those old days once more but he would never admit it out loud.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes x child reader #child fluff #fluff #bucky barnes x reader

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bovendigul · 7 years

Text

The Double Image

1. I am thirty this November. You are still small, in your fourth year. We stand watching the yellow leaves go queer, flapping in the winter rain, falling flat and washed. And I remember mostly the three autumns you did not live here. They said I’d never get you back again. I tell you what you’ll never really know: all the medical hypothesis that explained my brain will never be as true as these struck leaves letting go. I, who chose two times to kill myself, had said your nickname the mewling months when you first came; until a fever rattled in your throat and I moved like a pantomime above your head. Ugly angels spoke to me. The blame, I heard them say, was mine. They tattled like green witches in my head, letting doom leak like a broken faucet; as if doom had flooded my belly and filled your bassinet, an old debt I must assume. Death was simpler than I’d thought. The day life made you well and whole I let the witches take away my guilty soul. I pretended I was dead until the white men pumped the poison out, putting me armless and washed through the rigamarole of talking boxes and the electric bed. I laughed to see the private iron in that hotel. Today the yellow leaves go queer. You ask me where they go. I say today believed in itself, or else it fell. Today, my small child, Joyce, love your self’s self where it lives. There is no special God to refer to; or if there is, why did I let you grow in another place. You did not know my voice when I came back to call. All the superlatives of tomorrow’s white tree and mistletoe will not help you know the holidays you had to miss. The time I did not love myself, I visited your shoveled walks; you held my glove. There was new snow after this. 2. They sent me letters with news of you and I made moccasins that I would never use. When I grew well enough to tolerate myself, I lived with my mother. Too late, too late, to live with your mother, the witches said. But I didn’t leave. I had my portrait done instead. Part way back from Bedlam I came to my mother’s house in Gloucester, Massachusetts. And this is how I came to catch at her; and this is how I lost her. I cannot forgive your suicide, my mother said. And she never could. She had my portrait done instead. I lived like an angry guest, like a partly mended thing, an outgrown child. I remember my mother did her best. She took me to Boston and had my hair restyled. Your smile is like your mother’s, the artist said. I didn’t seem to care. I had my portrait done instead. There was a church where I grew up with its white cupboards where they locked us up, row by row, like puritans or shipmates singing together. My father passed the plate. Too late to be forgiven now, the witches said. I wasn’t exactly forgiven. They had my portrait done instead. 3. All that summer sprinklers arched over the seaside grass. We talked of drought while the salt-parched field grew sweet again. To help time pass I tried to mow the lawn and in the morning I had my portrait done, holding my smile in place, till it grew formal. Once I mailed you a picture of a rabbit and a postcard of Motif number one, as if it were normal to be a mother and be gone. They hung my portrait in the chill north light, matching me to keep me well. Only my mother grew ill. She turned from me, as if death were catching, as if death transferred, as if my dying had eaten inside of her. That August you were two, but I timed my days with doubt. On the first of September she looked at me and said I gave her cancer. They carved her sweet hills out and still I couldn’t answer. 4. That winter she came part way back from her sterile suite of doctors, the seasick cruise of the X-ray, the cells’ arithmetic gone wild. Surgery incomplete, the fat arm, the prognosis poor, I heard them say. During the sea blizzards she had here own portrait painted. A cave of mirror placed on the south wall; matching smile, matching contour. And you resembled me; unacquainted with my face, you wore it. But you were mine after all. I wintered in Boston, childless bride, nothing sweet to spare with witches at my side. I missed your babyhood, tried a second suicide, tried the sealed hotel a second year. On April Fool you fooled me. We laughed and this was good. 5. I checked out for the last time on the first of May; graduate of the mental cases, with my analyst’s okay, my complete book of rhymes, my typewriter and my suitcases. All that summer I learned life back into my own seven rooms, visited the swan boats, the market, answered the phone, served cocktails as a wife should, made love among my petticoats and August tan. And you came each weekend. But I lie. You seldom came. I just pretended you, small piglet, butterfly girl with jelly bean cheeks, disobedient three, my splendid stranger. And I had to learn why I would rather die than love, how your innocence would hurt and how I gather guilt like a young intern his symptoms, his certain evidence. That October day we went to Gloucester the red hills reminded me of the dry red fur fox coat I played in as a child; stock-still like a bear or a tent, like a great cave laughing or a red fur fox. We drove past the hatchery, the hut that sells bait, past Pigeon Cove, past the Yacht Club, past Squall’s Hill, to the house that waits still, on the top of the sea, and two portraits hung on the opposite walls. 6. In north light, my smile is held in place, the shadow marks my bone. What could I have been dreaming as I sat there, all of me waiting in the eyes, the zone of the smile, the young face, the foxes’ snare. In south light, her smile is held in place, her cheeks wilting like a dry orchid; my mocking mirror, my overthrown love, my first image. She eyes me from that face, that stony head of death I had outgrown. The artist caught us at the turning; we smiled in our canvas home before we chose our foreknown separate ways. The dry red fur fox coat was made for burning. I rot on the wall, my own Dorian Gray. And this was the cave of the mirror, that double woman who stares at herself, as if she were petrified in time — two ladies sitting in umber chairs. You kissed your grandmother and she cried. 7. I could not get you back except for weekends. You came each time, clutching the picture of a rabbit that I had sent you. For the last time I unpack your things. We touch from habit. The first visit you asked my name. Now you stay for good. I will forget how we bumped away from each other like marionettes on strings. It wasn’t the same as love, letting weekends contain us. You scrape your knee. You learn my name, wobbling up the sidewalk, calling and crying. You call me mother and I remember my mother again, somewhere in greater Boston, dying. I remember we named you Joyce so we could call you Joy. You came like an awkward guest that first time, all wrapped and moist and strange at my heavy breast. I needed you. I didn’t want a boy, only a girl, a small milky mouse of a girl, already loved, already loud in the house of herself. We named you Joy. I, who was never quite sure about being a girl, needed another life, another image to remind me. And this was my worst guilt; you could not cure nor soothe it. I made you to find me.

Anne Sexton

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