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coupleoffanfics · 4 months

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teehee I have a small thought (batfam related, yk that one where y/n gets killed)

imagine if y/n was brought back by the pit, but instead of being a "shell" in that hc u made, she becomes completely stoic, like just blurts out what she was feeling back when she was neglected with the most blank expression ever, I imagine it being more focused on bruce and Damian since yk..bruce was the shittiest parent ever, and Damian with his sparky ass insults.

You…God, damnit Anon. You summoned me and I suddenly have the motivation to write after reading your two requests.

I don't know if you wanted a one-shot or HC. So I just went with a HC because it's much easier to push out. Though if you want me to make a one-shot feel free to ask. I'll take 7 years to write it. Though at the end I did sort of a one-shot.

Damian should have known something was wrong when y/n didn't start thrashing around and attacking anything that moved after crawling out of the pit. She just stared at her hands, clenching them into firsts and then unclenching them slowly.

Maybe Damian was too relieved to see y/n breathing and moving to really care. Maybe he thought that she was just in shock. Coming back to life isn't always expected and it can take a real toll on someone.

Not to mention that y/n was, compared to her brothers, far weaker. Not just physically, but mentally as well. So it's not surprising that she was so docile, right? It's only a matter of time before that effect wears off and she'll be normal. Or something close to normal.

Okay, maybe deep down Damian knew that there was a chance that he wasn't getting y/n back. Everyone knew that there was no getting her back, but he was willing to take the risk. He came this far and it didn't take long for Bruce to pick up on what his youngest was doing.

Damian has his big sister back and he's not going to let her go again. It's only a matter of hours before Bruce comes breaking down the door to drag them back to Gotham. So Damian took the time to clean up y/n.

She was still in her funeral clothes for goodness sake. She reeked of death, but that didn't stop the boy from hugging her tightly.

While getting cleaned up, she doesn't say a thing. Or even make a lot of noise. It was almost like she was still dead.

By the time Bruce gets there, he's not surprised by Damian's actions. He thought of doing the same thing, but he couldn't bring himself to do such a thing. He couldn't disrespect her life by bringing her back. How could he dare think of that when she looked so at peace when she died.

He remembers how her body was tense before it became horrifyingly relaxed. There was a fear of death in those [eye color] eyes, he knows because he saw it. But it was so quick and fleeting that he could have missed it if he wasn't so close.

In a twisted way he wished y/n had clung on to him just like she did when she was a wide eyed little girl and cried. Cry that she didn't want to die. Cry that it was too early to leave now. Cry that she didn't want to leave them.

But all she did was give a crooked smile and mumble to herself as blood dribbled down her chin. She spoke incoherent things to herself. A name or two slipped from her cold lips, but they weren't ones of her family. From what he gathered it was just a close friend and her significant other's name. She died thinking of those who cared and loved her back. Not of the family that she couldn't stand to be around.

Even when her own adopted father held her dying from close, they were far from her line of thought.

So seeing y/n alive was gut reaching for Bruce. There was no pain, anger, sadness, or joy on her face. She was just there. Staring at him with an uncomfortable indifference.

Damian was ready to start a fight with Bruce. Not a physical one, but he would cross that line if he needed to. He was ready to defend himself in what he thought was best for y/n. Yet Bruce lets out a quiet sigh and tells that it's time to come home. How anticlimactic.

The plane ride back to Gotham is long and quiet. It also felt cramped by how close Damian was to y/n and unwilling to give her too much space.

By the time they made it back to the manor, everyone was caught up to date. The development is surprising to some while others not so much.

Everyone is in the bat cave. Gathered around to see y/n back from the dead. The silence is deafening as they wait for something. Just something from her, but she walked past them all. Out of the cave and to where her room was. Nothing was out of place in her room, though it was mostly empty after she had moved out a few years ago. She laid on her bed and slept as if nothing was amiss.

That's where the family infighting starts. Question of was this the right thing. What are going to do now? Why the hell did you think this was a good idea? There's going to be a lot of hash words being shared, but at the end of the day what was done was done and they had y/n back. They weren't going to mess up the second time.

Did they really get a second chance because it didn't feel like it. A week would pass and y/n has yet to come out of her room. She's alive and breathing because the trays of food left outside her door are always empty.

The camera's installed while she slept showed that she was doing nothing. All she did was lay in bed. She'd get up to use her private bathroom, but other than that there wasn't much. She was rotting away alone in her room.

This rang familiar bells in Alfred, Bruce, and Tim's head. y/n wasn't prone to long depressive episodes, so this could be something similar. The lack of socializing and excessive oversleeping was typically a big red sign for them to do something. In the past they would not force, but push her into doing social things or at least being out of her room.

They could approach this situation the same way, but they'd have to be extra careful. This was a unique and tricky situation to be in. It was also odd if not worrying that she hasn't succumbed to lazarus fever.

They could try to bribe y/n out of her room with activities that have to do with her old hobbies.

"Alfred is baking today, he said might need some help."

"I just stole the keys to the batmobile, you wanna take it for a ride?"

"Hey, do you want to…um, play a video game with me. I remember we used to play Hellflight Deadcraze a lot. They came out with the 3rd game. I just bought it today, so...Yeah."

Though the likelihood of that working is low. If they're really desperate to interact with her, they might as well just bust down her door.

At some point all the poking and prodding is going to irritate y/n. Whoever popped her bubble is going to be on the receiving end of pent up emotions.

I don't believe y/n would ever intentionally say how much the family's treatment harmed her. Again it would bubble up and fester for a while before she explodes. The thing about y/n is that she has an inferiority complex. In her life she aimed to please and help.

She understands that Gotham is dangerous. A lot of people need help and she couldn't bring herself to pull them away from their job. To her it would be like pulling a fireman away from a fire to chat as people burned alive. Even if the fire was out the fireman would be tired and need to rest, so she couldn't just pull them wherever she wanted to go. She shouldn't pester them.

In y/n's eyes, she was never worthy of being a hero because she wasn't good enough. She was never worthy of being with the family because she wasn't helping enough. She should do this to prove her worth. She's not worthless because she can do this for you and this as well!

She embodies inferiority and self-loathing. Someone that feels insignificant and has the strong urge to do more. She has- or had in this situation, hope. Hope that she'll be worthy of love. Love, affection, praise is what drives her and will seek it out if she's desperate. If she does ask or seek it out she'll be feeling guilty since she didn't really do anything to get it. In her mind she was being greedy and she couldn't help herself.

Bonus

"Just stop. Leave me alone." Her voice was almost pleading as she gripped the wrapped gift box. The gift was a symbol of peace, almost a treaty. That's all it was supposed to be, but she acts as if she had been spat in the eye.

Seeing that Bruce wasn't listening to her, she dug her nails into the gift. Almost tearing into the [favorite color] wrapped paper. He stood before her like an unmoving entity. The longer he stood by the more she wanted to snap into herself. She didn't want to slowly curl into a ball. She wanted to snap herself together with a violent and almost sickening crack. This just wasn't fair.

Clenching her jaw, her voice became much colder. It wasn't as cold as the middle of winter, yet it still had a chill to it.

"I thought you'd get it that I didn't want this. I shut you out, but you- all of you just keep buzzing. None of you are getting the hint. You just keep coming back louder than before. Why can't you let me be alone? Why can't you act overworked and tired? Why can't you just leave things the way they were?"

Bruce was conflicted upon hearing her say that and would try to claim that everything is going to come around. Everything always comes around in the end and this wouldn't be any different. They are going to get through this as a family.

y/n's frown would deepen and her eyes would furrow at his attempt at comfort. She looks as if she just ate something that was expired, leaving her mouth with nothing but a nasty sour taste.

"Because we're family." She whispered to herself before almost grimacing at the words. Her voice became sharp and cold as a blade, "I don't understand why you'd suggest that I was still a part of the family. I don't think I've been family for a good while now."

She clicked her tongue as she dropped the gift box while looking Bruce in the eyes. "Come on, you can't say you cared about me after I stopped being useful. When did you realize that I wasn't anything special? Was it when I kept crying about punching villains or when I was too slow to teach."

Seeing the conflicted look in his blue eyes confused her. Why would the truth conflict someone unless it was pity. Even after all this she's just a pitiful little crybaby to him. One good hit and she's out wailing on the floor for someone to kiss her boo-boo away.

Somehow this hurt her. Her pounding heart felt like it was twisting on itself. She wanted to cry and laugh at how she thought things couldn't get any worse. Then somehow it did. The universe, the world, the Wayne had proved her wrong yet again. It was as funny as it was sad.

She could have broken down there, but she needed to hear it. She had to hear the truth, so she kept twisting her heart with her own hands. It didn't matter how much it hurt.

"Or maybe you were in denial? You had wasted a lot of time and resources on a dud. Then Damian threw cold water on you and left you shivering, right? I'm just leeching off of you and the others. Then…Then you choose them over me. I was an afterthought, or is that being too generous? Did I ever circulate in your mind before this?"

Her voice was becoming shrill and gruff like she was on the verge of tears. "When did you realize that I was dead weight, Batman? Did I make Bruce Wayne look more caring to the people when I talk about how much I love my family? Did my life serve any use or was I always just a speck of dirt on your shoes?"

Those words were far from the truth, yet with how she spoke Bruce knew that she believed in all that she was saying. Each and every word was true to her. Honestly he didn't know what to say. This was all too much. Having to hear your own child degrade themselves with such honesty was heartbreaking.

Taking his silence as a sort of confirmation, y/n ordered him to leave and of course he did. He'd fix this somehow. He just needed time. They needed time.

I cut off the ending because I didn't want to write too much. Anyway I hope you enjoyed it. I haven't proofread this, Google Doc says there aren't any errors (probably a lie), and it's 3 in the morning. Goodnight.

#batfamily x batsis #batfamily x reader #batsis reader #yandere batfam #God damn you anon #you beautiful bastard #I'll clean this up later when I sleep #x reader #x batsis reader

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ginnsbaker · 10 months

Text

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (23/23)

Chapter summary: One year later, Wanda returns to the place where you promise to meet each other again

Chapter word count: 5.5k+ | Warnings: None | Ship: Wanda x Reader

Author's note: And here we are! Will post the Epilogue tomorrow night :)

AO3 | Masterlist

Next part: Epilogue

Twenty-Three

One year later

It’s the most important flight of her life.

Wanda Maximoff is finally going home after a year in Barcelona.

And it's only a matter of days before the date circled on her calendar arrives, the day she's set to see you again.

Before she boarded the plane, Pietro gave her a call, extending his well wishes and backing for her reunion. Shannon is expecting their second child, a baby girl. Pietro would have loved to be there for Wanda, to welcome her back after such an extended absence. However, Shannon's pregnancy has been more delicate this time around, requiring his undivided attention and care.

In the remaining moments before take-off, and after having secured Sparky on her lap, Wanda finds herself gazing at a picture of you on her phone. It’s an image that Valkyrie captured during the Cup-off, a picture of you and her side by side, your awkward yet endearing smile juxtaposed with her exuberant, wide grin.

As the plane ascends, distancing itself from the ground, her mind becomes filled with thoughts of you. She pushes the tray table up and leans her head against the window, watching the shrinking world below.

Have you changed? Have you grown out your hair or cut it shorter? Did your laugh still come out in those adorable bursts, or had life worn it down to a chuckle?

But beyond these surface changes, she wonders about your feelings. A year can transform emotions as much as it can alter appearances. But her heart aches for you, hoping that this part, this important part of you, remains constant.

The questions dance around in her mind as the miles fly by beneath her.

Soon, she thinks, soon she'll see you again. Soon, she'll have her answers.

The moment her feet touch the ground at JFK airport, Wanda heads straight to the cafe.

Although she's still got three days until she sees you, she has missed everyone else. When the opportunity arose to further her studies in culinary arts overseas, she felt compelled to take it. It was a prestigious scholarship in hospitality, coupled with advanced pastry and chocolate crafting, offered to her by one of the judges from last year's Cup-off competition.

Before leaving, Wanda had finalized a business partnership with Agatha, entrusting her with the cafe's operations during her absence. It was a decision made out of trust and necessity, knowing the cafe would be in capable hands.

At first, Wanda was ambivalent, reluctant to leave the comfort of all she knew. But when you told her about your decision, about needing a year to yourself, she took it as a sign. She took the opportunity to explore, grow, and learn more, just like you were doing. But now she's back, eager to catch up with everyone and curious about how the cafe has thrived under Agatha's care.

What immediately strikes Wanda about her cafe is the additional space it now occupies. When the shop next door had shut down eight months earlier, Agatha had promptly rung her up to grab the opportunity to expand their business. The cafe had been drawing an increasing number of customers since their victory in the Cup-off, and Wanda had immediately agreed to the expansion, recognizing that they were quickly outgrowing the existing space.

“Don’t pour anywhere but the coffee bed, Daisy, okay?”

Peter's voice is the first thing that reaches her ears as she steps inside. He's guiding a young woman, likely a new employee, through the ins and outs of the pour-over brewing method, just like how Wanda taught him before. Their heads turn as the door chimes and an almost instant smile lights up Peter's face.

Wanda's own lips twitch upwards into a grin, returning the warm greetings silently before gently unhooking Sparky's leash. He doesn’t waste any time sniffing every inch of the room in a frenzy of enthusiasm.

“Wanda!” Peter exclaims, leaving the confines of the open kitchen to wrap her in a warm embrace. Just as he lets her go, Agatha appears from the backroom.

“Maximoff!” Agatha shrieks, drawing the attention of several heads in the room. She strides over quickly and practically shoves Peter out of the way so she can enfold Wanda in an even more suffocating hug.

“Welcome back!” Agatha exclaims, stepping back to look at her; her business partner is positively glowing. “How was Spain?”

Wanda smiles, “It was an incredible experience. I learned so much and met so many great people. And Barcelona... It’s a beautiful city.”

“And the food?” Peter interjects, looking curious.

“Out of this world,” Wanda replies with a laugh. Then she turns to Agatha and says, “So, tell me about your new hot date?”

As they chat and catch up, Wanda finds herself glancing at the clock every now and then, her heart beating a little faster with each passing minute. Three days. Just three more days until she sees you again.

Wanda wonders if these three days would feel longer than the year she spent without you.

***

Three days later, the large clock on the wall reads half-past eight. The cafe is usually buzzing with activity around this time, but today it’s quieter, as if everyone else is holding their breath too.

Thirty minutes till closing, and you’re still a no-show.

Wanda is seated at the bar stool near the entrance, her elbows resting on the counter as she gazes blankly out of the window. Every now and then, her eyes flit towards the door, hoping to see your familiar figure. But each time, she’s met with disappointment.

She can't help but wonder if you've forgotten about the arrangement, or perhaps decided not to show up intentionally. Maybe you've decided to move on, to continue living your life without her. But the thought that terrifies her most is the possibility that something might have happened to you.

She shakes her head, trying to rid herself of these pessimistic thoughts. “They're late, not absent,” she mutters under her breath, clinging to the hope that you'll show up before the clock strikes nine.

Just as the last of her hope seems to be dwindling, the sudden presence of a new arrival snaps her back to the present.

She pivots slowly, heart thundering, and her eyes lock onto a face she had least expected to encounter today.

It's Natasha striding into the cafe with an inscrutable expression.

Seeing her, Wanda feels a strange mix of relief and anxiety. She hasn't seen Natasha since she confronted Wanda about her feelings for you, hasn’t heard from her since she helped locate you in Montauk. If Natasha is here, does that mean you're not coming? Or is she here to deliver a message from you?

Natasha catches sight of Wanda a second later and offers a small smile, a knowing look in her eyes. Wanda's breath catches, her vision momentarily blurring, while her pulse quickens, thundering in her ears.

“Good, you’re still here,” Natasha mutters, claiming the bar stool next to her. A snide remark about how she actually owns the place flits across Wanda's mind, but she brushes it aside, curious to see what Natasha is doing here.

“Nat–”

“I’m not going to beat around the bush because I’m terribly late and she’ll kill me if she finds out,” Natasha explains in a rush. “But Y/N won’t be able to make it.”

Her grip tightens around the edge of the table, knuckles white, as the room seems to tilt slightly. She had prepared herself for the worst, but hearing that you weren't coming still felt like a blow. She had spent the past year missing you, hoping for your return, and the fact that you weren't showing up as promised was a hard pill to swallow.

“Is it... is it because she doesn't want to?” Wanda asks quietly. Her whole disposition seems to wilt, as though an unseen force is pressing down on her.

Natasha lets out a heavy sigh, avoiding Wanda's questioning gaze. “It's...complicated.”

Wanda feels her heart dropping at the evasive response. A part of her doesn't want to hear what comes next, but she knows she has to.

“Y/N's mom has recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer's,” Natasha begins carefully. “And it's been tough on her, especially since she's also trying to mend their strained relationship.”

Wanda feels her heart twist at the news. She knew of your tumultuous relationship with your mother, and the added burden of dealing with such an illness must be incredibly hard on you. It only increases her longing to be at your side, to provide you the comfort you need at this critical time.

“Moreover,” Natasha continues, “She feels like she's not yet ready to see you... that she needs more time.”

The words sting, and Wanda can't help but feel a rush of disappointment.

“Thank you for letting me know, Natasha,” she says, attempting a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. “I had...well, you know, built up a lot in my head about this reunion.”

“I get that,” Natasha admits with a sigh. “And honestly? I wish she'd had the guts to tell you herself.”

Wanda looks away, blinking rapidly. “Yeah. So do I.”

Natasha's gaze lingers on Wanda's downturned face. There was a time when she despised the very sight of the woman before her, every fiber of her being resisting any empathy. But now, watching Wanda crumble, it twists something inside of her.

“Do you... do you have any idea why Y/N still doesn't feel ready to see me?” Wanda asks all of a sudden. There is a slight tremor in her voice, but she fights hard to keep her emotions in check, swallowing the lump in her throat. She needs to know, needs to understand, so she can find a way to support you, even if it's from a distance.

Natasha merely shakes her head. “I'm sorry, Wanda, but I don't have the answer,” she says, her voice carrying an undertone of regret.

Wanda gives a nod, a sad smile curving her lips. “Alright, thank you, Natasha,” she says quietly, a soft resignation in her voice. She wraps her arms around herself, as if trying to find comfort in her own embrace. Despite the gloom, she tries to put on a brave front. “Tell Y/N that... tell Y/N that I'm here, whenever she’s ready.”

“There's something else, Wanda,” Natasha says evenly, but there's a solemn look on her face that sends a shiver down Wanda's spine. “Y/N wanted me to tell you that it's okay to move on. She feels guilty that she couldn’t fulfill her promise and she doesn’t want you waiting forever.”

Wanda takes a deep breath, her eyes glistening as she fights back the tears, especially in front of your best friend.

“She... doesn't want me to wait?” Wanda's voice breaks a little as she forces the words out.

The idea is utterly unfathomable to her. The very thought of not waiting, of possibly moving forward without you, feels foreign, almost laughable. All this time, she felt tethered to you, even with the miles and silence between.

“No, Wanda, that’s not it,” Natasha gently corrects, her demeanor softening. “She thinks it’s not fair to you. To keep you waiting for something that might not even happen.”

Wanda blinks, a frown marring her face. “But I want to wait for her.”

Natasha sighs, rubbing her temples. “She worries that she might be holding you back from finding someone who can, well, be there for you. Someone who can offer you more certainty.”

“Does she need more time?” Wanda asks, and though she can hear the tinge of desperation in her own voice, she couldn’t bring herself to care. “I can wait, you know. I can give her all the time she needs.”

“That's the thing, Wanda,” Natasha says, meeting her eyes with a grimness that makes Wanda's heart sink. “She no longer knows when she'll be ready, if she'll ever be. She didn't want to give you an indefinite timeline.”

The gears in Wanda's mind are visibly turning as she digests the information, her face contorting with various emotions before settling on a desperate resolve. “Can I contact her? Just to see if she's okay?”

Natasha is quick to shake her head, an empathetic look on her face. “Wanda, I don't think that's a good idea.”

“But–”

“Listen,” Natasha interrupts, holding her gaze. “I understand where you're coming from. I do–”

Fury surges through Wanda. She pounds her hand on the table, her voice trembling as she snaps back, “Oh, so you know all about it, do you? Given your own track record with relationships, Natasha, can you honestly tell me you get where I'm coming from?”

“Yes,” Natasha says firmly, a statue of patience, undeterred by Wanda’s outburst. And she's able to remain steady, because she truly does get it.

“Look, Wanda,” Natasha begins, leaning back in her chair with a sigh. “I made Bruce wait for me for years,” Her gaze falls, as if lost in the painful memories. “But all that waiting, all that uncertainty, it only bred more resentment, more pain. I hurt him more by making him wait than if I had just let him go. Perhaps I even took away many opportunities for him to be happy.”

She finally lifts her gaze to meet Wanda's. “Sometimes, we have to let go of the people we love, not because we want to, but because it's the right thing to do. It's not easy, and it hurts like hell. But sometimes, it's the kindest thing we can do.”

Wanda lapses into silence, feeling a sting of regret for having belittled Natasha's own experiences. She realizes, perhaps too late, that heartache is not a competition and that she has no right to assume that her own pain holds precedence over the other woman.

“In the end, I think Y/N is trying to spare you both from going through the same thing,” Natasha finishes, her voice thick with emotion as she allows a glimpse into her own painful past.

An extended period of silence blankets the pair as they both wrestle with their respective thoughts, looking out the window. As Wanda observes the thick snow blanketing the Manhattan pavements, she can't help but draw comparisons to the winters she experienced in Spain. The biting cold is a far cry from the Spanish winters where temperatures never dipped below zero. She likens herself to a plant frozen in an enduring winter, suddenly thawed out, expecting the warmth of spring, only to be thrown again in an even longer winter–an uncertain one.

The silence stretches on until it is broken by an awkward cough from Natasha. “So...uh,” she starts, glancing at her watch. “Is it too late to order a cup of coffee? I know you guys close in like, ten minutes?”

Wanda can't help the small chuckle that escapes her lips. Nodding, she pushes off from the table, making her way towards the counter. “It's never too late for a cup of coffee.”

Natasha follows her to the open kitchen, leaning casually against the countertop as Wanda gets to work. Wanda moves around the space with practiced ease, retrieving two mugs and starting the espresso machine.

“When did you two patch things up?” Wanda tosses out casually, glancing at Natasha while the coffee brews.

“About six months ago,” Natasha shares. Wanda acknowledges with a nod, meticulously pouring the espresso and then frothing milk, completely absorbed in her task.

“Because she took your advice?” Wanda asks over her shoulder, the undercurrent of raw emotion detectable in her otherwise composed demeanor.

Appearing a bit disconcerted, Natasha shakes her head slowly. “Truth be told, I didn't even know she took my advice... went her own separate way,” Natasha reveals, her eyes darting away. “I found out when her mother called me by accident. The anger had subsided by then. I wasn't furious anymore. I just... I missed her.”

As Wanda brings Natasha her coffee, they fall into a comfortable silence, standing side by side at the counter.

“Even if she hadn't taken my advice, I think we would have found our way back to each other, eventually,” Natasha says, her voice soft, almost wistful. "She's my best friend, after all.”

Natasha stirs her coffee, her gaze lingering on the whirls of foam swirling in her cup. She doesn’t look at Wanda as she speaks again. “I’m sorry, Wanda,” she says, her tone solemn. “For having a hand in this. I never meant for things to turn out this way.”

Wanda gives her a long, hard look before letting out a sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I know, Nat. It’s not your fault,” she says, her voice subdued. “I’m the one who set things in motion.”

Natasha, with a stern look, responds, “You can’t keep blaming yourself, Wanda.”

“I'm not blaming myself,” Wanda quickly counters, her voice carrying a faint echo of a smile. “But it's the truth. I've accepted that what happens in our future is like ripples spreading out from our decisions and actions.”

Natasha gazes at Wanda thoughtfully until Wanda starts to fidget under the intense scrutiny.

“What?” Wanda finally asks, her tone almost defensive.

“Nothing,” Natasha replies, her lips curling into a small, amused smile. “You just called me 'Nat'.”

Taken aback, Wanda gives a small, sheepish laugh. “Is that... bad?” she asks, her cheeks flushing a little in embarrassment.

“No, not at all,” Natasha's smile is warm and friendly. And for the first time, Wanda feels the start of a real, meaningful friendship between them.

Wanda’s quiet for a moment, mulling over something. Then, she breaks the silence with a soft sigh, “I'll wait for her. No matter how long it takes.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows, a clear question on her face. “Are you sure, Wanda?” She asks, her voice equally soft. “You're setting yourself up for a long, uncertain wait.”

“Yeah, I know,” Wanda murmurs, eyes instinctively darting to where the band used to be on her finger, now just a faint mark left behind. “But I want to. And... I'd appreciate it if you don't tell her. I don’t want to weigh her down with the burden of knowing that someone is here waiting for her.”

“You have my word,” she promises. Natasha takes a sip from her coffee, then poses her next question, “Hey, do you mind if I swing by here sometimes?”

Wanda gives her a mock exasperated look, rolling her eyes, “Of course, Nat. As long as you're not planning to rob me blind or something.”

Natasha chuckles at this, taking another sip and then humming in satisfaction. “Good,” she smiles appreciatively, “Because this might just be the best coffee I've ever tasted.”

***

A year and two weeks later

As you amble down the familiar streets leading to Second Chances Cafe, each footfall feels heavier than the last. You're more than a year late, and you have no idea if there's anything or anyone still waiting for you after all this time.

“Sure, Yelena, I can look into it for you,” you speak into your phone, rounding the corner onto the alley where the cafe is located. A twinge of nostalgia hits you as the signboard comes into view.

“Really?” Yelena sounds surprised and relieved all at once. “I mean, that's fantastic! You have no idea how much this could help. And don't worry about your identity being revealed. I'll make sure it stays hidden. This exposé is about uncovering the truth about Stark Industries’ tax evasion case, not dragging you into unwanted attention.”

You appreciate her consideration, knowing how much of a sticky situation it could become if your name gets thrown around with the exposé, especially considering you used to work for them.

As your conversation wraps up, you remember to send your best wishes to her partner, “Give my regards to Kate, will you?”

Yelena's laughter echoes from the other end, “She's right here. Kate, Y/N says 'hi'.”

There's a muted shout from the background, presumably Kate's greeting, and you can't help but chuckle. “Tell her I’ll beat her half-marathon record next time. I'll see you both soon.”

With that, you end the call. As you slide your phone back into your pocket, your fingers trace and then retrieve another item there–the contours of an old photo you have carried with you all this time. It’s the photo Valkyrie took of you and Wanda at the Cup-off, and you kept it with you wherever you went for more than two years. It’s tattered around the edges, but you both looked so happy, so in love, and so hopeful.

It was a different time–a different you.

Taking one final glance at the picture, you tuck it back safely into your pocket and push open the door to the cafe, the bell overhead jingling in recognition. The familiar sounds, the smells, the sight of the cozy interiors bring back a flood of memories. Your heart flutters with both anxiety and anticipation as you step inside, not knowing what awaits you, a year and two weeks too late.

Two unfamiliar faces are tending to the cafe at the moment. As you slowly approach the counter, you catch sight of a name tag on one of the employees–‘Daisy’, it reads. She greets you warmly, welcoming you before promptly asking for your order.

Rather than choosing a drink, your mind is focused elsewhere. You hesitate for a moment before speaking. “Actually, I was wondering…” you start, pausing to gather your thoughts. “Is the owner here today–”

Before you can even utter Wanda's name, Daisy interrupts, offering an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry, but the owner's not here right now. She's on an extended honeymoon in Asia,” she explains.

As soon as the words leave Daisy's mouth, it's as if everything around you ceases to exist. The casual banter, that constant buzz of the espresso machine, even the sound of mugs and spoons clattering, it all just blends into some distant background noise.

“Honeymoon?” The word tumbles out of your mouth, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears, the impact of the statement making your heart lurch uncomfortably in your chest. “She's... married?”

Daisy nods sympathetically, her eyes showing a hint of surprise at your visible shock. “Yes, they left three months ago. I think they're in Bali now... or was it Thailand?”

Her words ricochet inside your mind, leaving you grappling with the sudden change in reality. Looking back, you guess it isn't the worst thing that could have happened. Honestly, you had no idea what you were walking into when you decided to come here. After all, you had asked Natasha to tell Wanda not to wait.

And that’s it, Wanda found love again, real enough for her to want to say 'yes' to a new beginning with someone else, and you’re–

You’re happy for her. At the end of the long dwindling tunnel, you just wanted to see Wanda once again. If not, you want to make sure she’s happy and living her life to the fullest.

And knowing that makes you feel okay, maybe even hopeful, about moving forward.

The smile that makes its way to your lips isn’t forced. It’s not as big as you hope it would be but it’s genuine. As you take in your surroundings, seeing the expanded area of the cafe, you can’t help but be proud of her.

It's so overwhelming that you don't even notice the tears tracing a warm path down your cheeks until you hear Daisy's voice.

“Ma'am, are you alright?” she asks, concern etched in her young face.

Surprised, you hastily swipe at your eyes with chilled fingers.

“May I leave something for her?” you ask Daisy, pulling out the polaroid from earlier. You take a moment, looking at it one last time, before flipping it over and pulling out a pen.

With careful, slow strokes, you inscribe the words, ‘I'm happy for you, wherever you are.’

As you pass the photograph over to Daisy, the reality of the situation seeps in, casting a definitive end to the chapter that was. The young woman before you studies the photograph, her brows knitting together in confusion, a detail you fail to notice as you begin to take your leave.

Wanda is your greatest love–enough to last you this lifetime. You’ll find a way to spend the rest of your life without her, knowing what you two had will sustain you until your last breath.

Daisy watches as you walk away, wondering who you were and why it felt like she had said the wrong thing.

Just moments after you step out of the cafe, its door swings open again to let in a breathless Wanda, her arms laden with grocery bags.

She narrowly missed your visit by a heartbeat.

“God, this city is unbearably cold,” she grumbles, setting down the bags onto the counter with a huff. Daisy wastes no time handing her the keepsake you had left behind only moments ago.

“Hey Wanda, this was left for you,” Daisy says, extending your memento towards her.

Wanda, still catching her breath from her rush over, eyes the object in Daisy's hand with curiosity. From where she stands she can already tell what it is and who it’s from. The world seems to pause, almost taking a breath, as she hesitantly extends a trembling hand to take it.

Her voice breaks a bit as she asks, “Who... who dropped this off? When was this?”

Daisy, reading the urgency in Wanda's eyes, scrambles to recall. “A woman came in not long ago…” she starts, but Wanda's already dashing for the exit before she can finish.

Holding the photograph close to her chest, Wanda barely gives Daisy a chance to finish her sentence before she's out of the cafe, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft chime. Daisy, left in a daze by the abrupt departure, hardly has time to process what just happened.

Then, just as quickly, Wanda bursts back in, her face flushed from the adrenaline. “Which way did she go?” she asks urgently. Daisy, taken aback, simply points north.

With a nod of thanks, Wanda takes off in that direction. Based on Daisy's indication, she surmises you’re probably headed towards the subway station. Her heart pounds in her chest as she makes her way through the familiar streets, the city's buzz fading to a dull roar in her ears. All she can focus on is the hope that she's not too late, that she might still catch you.

Racing towards the station with swift, almost reckless strides, the life she shared with you hit Wanda like a tidal wave. As each scene of their past plays out in her mind, she sends a silent prayer to anyone listening above, begging for a chance to find you.

Wanda's footsteps echo in the nearly deserted subway station. It's a lull between the usual crowds, making the vast space feel even more desolate. The sparsely populated platform should have made it easier to spot you, but instead, it made the hollow in her chest grow.

As she steps onto the almost empty platform, the glaring absence of familiar faces or shapes drowns her in dread. Every corner she checks, every shadow she hopes will move to reveal you, and with each passing second, the sinking feeling in her gut grows.

Drawing a deep, shaky breath, she fights off the building tears, hoping against all odds for a glimpse, a hint, any sign that she hasn't missed her chance.

And then she sees you.

You're at the far end of the platform, bundled up in a thick black coat, hands rubbing together in a bid to fight off the cold. You blow into them, your breath fogging up in the chill.

For a beat, Wanda just watches. She doesn't rush, doesn't shout. She simply approaches with measured steps, drinking in the sight of you, allowing this moment to stretch out.

As she gets closer, she takes in the subtle changes. The way your hair falls around your face, the look of concentration as you keep yourself warm, the way your shoulders hunch slightly against the cold.

It's you, but also a different you, one shaped by time and distance.

She stops just beyond your immediate circle, her heart pounding furiously within her chest. Yet, before her lips part to speak your name, something–shift, an intuition–makes you pivot sharply towards her.

Your eyes blink slowly in surprise and then they quickly flick to her left ring finger.

It's bare.

Your mouth drops open, then shuts again, clearly struggling to comprehend the sight of Wanda standing only a few feet away.

“The woman from the coffee shop... she said you were married?”

“That's Agatha,” Wanda responds, tears welling in her eyes.

“But she mentioned the owner–”

“I sold the cafe to her a year ago. I'm in the process of setting up a restaurant. I... I've been assisting at the cafe while she's on her honeymoon,” Wanda explains with a faint laugh.

“I thought–” Your voice breaks off, and the overwhelming urge to pull her into an embrace nearly overpowers you. Yet, there's a question, one that burns with urgency, that you need to clarify.

Any more confusion could devastate what's left of your heart.

“Are you with someone else?”

Wanda releases a noise, somewhere between a chuckle and a choked cry, and then she's rushing into your arms, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that's tear-streaked, snotty, a little gross, yet absolutely perfect.

Because kissing Wanda Maximoff could never be anything other than perfect. You hesitantly deepen the kiss, and suddenly, it's like a dam breaking. The cold metal and concrete around you are replaced by the warmth of her body pressed against yours. A faint scent of her shampoo wafts over, one that you recognize from days long past.

Your fingers, almost of their own accord, find their way to her face, tracing the contours you once knew so well, feeling the dampness of her tears. The intensity of the kiss shifts with each moment–at times tender, at times desperate, like a language only the two of you understand.

Breaking the kiss, she pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, her own filled with a level of intensity that nearly takes your breath away.

“I'm not with anyone,” she says, her words tumbling out between gasping breaths. “There hasn't been anyone else for the last two years. It's only ever been you–”

“Me too,” you whisper against her lips before diving back into another kiss. This kiss is different, less desperate, but it’s as if this single kiss is mending the broken threads of the past, sealing the promise that you two will never let go again.

But eventually, you have to let go and let her breathe. Pulling back just a hair, you rest your forehead against Wanda's. “God, I've missed you,” you murmur, eyes still closed, half-afraid that this might just vanish if you dare to look.

Wanda gives a watery chuckle, “You have no idea.”

“I'm sorry I'm a year late,” you utter, tears suddenly spilling over before you can rein them in. The thought that Wanda might have really been the one that got married, that you could have truly lost her, crashes over you.

Wanda gently strokes your cheek with her thumb, her eyes soft and understanding. “Even if you're always late,” she murmurs, her lips tantalizingly close to yours, “I'll always wait for you.”

Holding Wanda close, you feel an overwhelming desire to ask her to marry you again. But this time, you won't rush it. After all, there’s two years of new things to learn about each other. And you want to cherish everything–the way her eyes light up when she laughs, the warmth of her hand in yours, and the quiet moments shared over morning coffee.

You want to learn from your past, not rush into the future. You're ready to enjoy each day, to let your relationship grow and strengthen naturally. You're willing to be patient, because you know that the journey is just as important as the destination.

Wanda raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye as she waves the photograph slightly. “You really just dropped off this photo and planned to leave? Wishing me happiness like that?”

You nod, sniffling, “It meant everything to me. I thought... I thought if I couldn't be with you, at least I could hope you found happiness.”

Wanda's expression softens, her fingers tracing the lines of your palm before squeezing your hand reassuringly. “So, you were just gonna let me go, thinking I had moved on?” She laughs softly, though there's a tremble in her voice.

You swallow, the tightness in your throat making it hard to speak. “A lot can happen in two years, Wanda,” you say, meeting her gaze squarely. “More than anything, I wanted you to be happy... whether that was with me or someone else.”

She tilts her head, her eyes searching yours for a moment. “Two years,” she muses, as if contemplating the weight of every day, every hour that had passed between you two. Wanda takes your hand, squeezing it gently. "Let's not lose any more time," she whispers, intertwining her fingers with yours.

You eventually miss the train that you’re supposed to take.

But it doesn’t matter.

You’re already home.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #agatha harkness #peter parker #daisy johnson #marvel

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champmorado · 2 months

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chug & sparky are literally so cute waugh,,,,, who wants to be the private niblet to my corn colonel

#this is a sparkchug blog now #disney planes #planes fandom #planes fire and rescue #chug planes #planes chug #sparky planes #planes sparky #sparkchug

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fight4me · 2 years

Note

Okay I'm curious, I know you've got a few character headcanons like for Blade and Maru, but how about Dusty? :P

Unfortunately I unloaded most of my Dusty stuff on @ask-dusty-boy. But these are freshly baked headcannons. (Hopefully not half baked.)

He can't flirt. And he's mostly oblivious to the fact that he can't flirt.

He crushed pretty hard on Ishauni for a few years after the WATGR. They both knew it was never gonna work out. (Maybe in a different lifetime, in a different world.) Whoa. Not sure where we just went but I'm back :') Nowadays they don't see each other much, due to both of their crazy schedules, but they are friends. And, Dusty's still pretty much one of her biggest fans.

He's good in front of the public for one reason: Dottie. Dottie saw the best in him and sought to bring it out. She helped him go over possible phrases for TV interviews. She had him go over it until his pauses, 'umms' and 'buts' were minimum. And like, when in doubt just smile into the camera Dusty.

Has house plants. The little green shrub-y leafy kinds.

Is able to prepare food. I say 'prepare' and not 'cook'. It's food. It's edible *most of the time* and sometimes burnt, man.

Likes both dogs AND cats. (As do I, Dusty.) He is neutral on the cat person/dog person thing. He's basically Switzerland.

He's still close to El Chu and is actually really close to Rochelle as well. El Chu is like a brother and Rochelle is like a sister to him.

Hugs. He's the king of side hugs. He side hugs his fellow racers, those he's fairly close to. Full hugs are reserved for those he's closest to, being Skipper, Sparky, Dottie, Chug. He's hugged most of the team at some point. Save for Blade. Blade is still too intimidating. Of course he got hugs form all of the smokejumpers. And there was that one time Dipper almost suffocated him by giving him a bear hug, but he lives to tell the tale.

One more I almost forgot. He's definitely a redhead. I know that's a lot of folks' headcannon around the fandom, but like Yes. I agree. 🙂

I should spend a little more time trying to write Dusty. I feel like these are "awkward headcannons" XD. But anyways, they were fun.

#Asks #Dusty crophopper #Dusty headcannons #Ishauni planes #Dottie planes #el chupacabra #Rochelle planes #Skipper #Sparky #Chug #Blade Ranger #lil dipper

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ijustlovefiction · 1 year

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Everytime when I'm going on walk and looking on my town, I think about Propwash Junction

#cars #cars fandom #planes #cars universe #planes fire and rescue #disney #disney planes #pixar #I LIVE IN PROPWASH JUNCTION #NOW I NEED FIND PEOPLE WHO LOOK LIKE DUSTY CHUG DOTTIE SKIP AND SPARKY #dusty crophopper #dottie #chug #planes dusty #planes chug #planes dottie

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b33zlebubz · 4 months

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RECKLESS ABANDON--------

CHAPTER FIVE - adding fuel to the fire

TASK FORCE 141 X READER (PLATONIC)

PREV CHAPTER || MASTERLIST || AO3 LINK || NEXT CHAPTER

TAGS: gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, slow burn found family, PTSD, trauma bonding, kidnapping, reader is a foster kid in high school, family drama, blood, violence, guns

"After your life falls apart at the seams very early on, you work hard to keep the small amount of peace you still have. Foster care is rough, work is draining, school is a drag...but you eventually find yourself in a good place. All of that quickly goes to waste, however, when your family's unfinished business finally finds its way back to you."

There's a new guy whenever you walk up to the plane. You're never one for people, especially this early in the morning—and you dread conversation as you rub your sore eye and begrudgingly approach.

There wasn’t anything about him that immediately screamed good or bad. He was taller than Price and the aviator sunglasses he's wearing glint against the sun, his arms elbow deep in the engine of the small airplane you are likely about to board. He's in a thick coat despite the warm weather and his laugh was far too loud for your very sleep-deprived brain.

Nikolai. The pilot. Price had mentioned him off-handedly days ago.

You're not sure what to make of him, at first. He's talking with Price whenever you approach, a hand over your brow as you squint against the pink glow of the rising sun that beams over the busy runway. It's warmer out now, and you regret your choice of a hoodie as the sun reaches the dark fabric. Considering where you're going, though, you're pretty sure that won't be a problem for very long.

Price raises an eyebrow at the backpack of stuff and the new clothes on your back, and you pretend not to notice how you can see the gears turning in his head as you turn to the new person in the group. If he’s mad at the obvious evidence that you snuck out, he’s good at hiding it.

Nikolai beams as he sees you walk up and laughs as he ruffles the hair on your head and exclaims in a thick Russian accent: "Look at you, all grown up now! Haven't seen you since you were just a wee thing in Sparky's arms!"

That name again.

"Sparky?" you question, looking at Price as you bat away the hand on your head.

"Your dad," the captain clarifies, patting your arm. "Liked his fire, from what I hear."

"That's one way to put it," Nikolai adds, chuckling. "Your old man lit a whole cartel base aflame, once upon a time. Burned the whole thing to the ground. Was only a bit older than you when he did it, too."

The lighter from the shoebox in your room suddenly feels a bit heavier in your pocket, and you fidget with it as you're soon ushered onto the small plane. You shove your backpack up top and take a random seat on the end. Soap and Ghost follow after you, and the shorter sergeant visibly hesitates when Price holds a hand up, stopping him from sitting down in the seat directly behind the cockpit.

"Kid," he says, cocking his head at the seat. "You sit here."

Soap speaks up, "Aye—"

"Save it, Soap."

You can almost feel Soap's stare burning into the back of your neck as you hesitantly take what must be his usual seat. Ghost chuckles somewhere behind you as Soap strides further back into the plane instead to share a seat with him instead. After that, you watch Price duck out of the plane again for a few minutes, have a very animated talk with Gaz outside, before both him and the sergeant filter in as well.

Gaz sits down in the seat across the aisle from you, letting out a breath that sounds relieved as he lets his head fall back against the seat.

"Captain chew you out for helping me?"

His lips curl into something that is half-grimace, half-smile, "A little."

That piques your interest. "Then what'd he say?"

"'Just asked if anyone saw us."

"Did anyone see us?"

"No."

"Good," you turn your gaze to the window, shifting in your seat to accommodate for the sore bruises on your upper back. "Nobody knows I ate shit on the fire escape, then."

He snorts, shaking his head.

Soon after, you're up in the air.

With nothing to do but stare out the window and clench the armrests whenever the plane vibrates and shifts, you take to people-watching.

You feel almost comically out of place, watching everyone else go about everything like this was all just another day. They're all in fatigues aside from Nikolai, camo pants and T-shirts with respect for Ghost—who seems to throw the idea of uniform out the window. Nikolai and Price talk in front of you, though you can't hear what they say through the wall and the rumbling of the engine. You hear the Lieutenant and Soap behind you accompanied with the sound of scribbling. Ghost speaks in a low voice every so often to tell Soap the nose is crooked or you drew one of the eyes lower than the other, followed by a quiet curse from Soap and a few seconds of loud erasing. Occasionally, his boot brushes against the back of your heel, and every time it does you swear you could kill him.

Gaz offers you a few snacks, muttering something along the lines of Russian base food is somehow worse than the shit they give you at American D-Facs, before he is sound asleep twenty minutes into the plane ride. His lean arms are folded over his chest and his cap is tucked over his eyes, casting shadows over his dark face. You're not sure why he sat with you—but you figure maybe it's the same reason he took you to your house last night. Pity.

Before any of this, you would have resented him for it, but instead you find yourself wondering what you might be able to do to return the favor. You’ll have to corner Price and ask him for advice or his favorite color the next time you get the chance. He might get a kick out of a friendship bracelet…or something. You’re not entirely sure what your thought process was behind grabbing colored yarn out of your drawers whenever you were packing, but you figure you mine-as-well put it to use.

Not like you had anything else to do.

Not wanting to dwell in your thoughts too much, you take to inspecting the lighter in your pocket. It's old and rusted; you doubt you've touched it since tossing it in the box with the rest of your dad's things years ago. The hinges of the cap take some effort to pry open through the dirt crusted onto it, but it still works, and you take the time to thumb off all the gunk. Rubbing the crust off the bottom, you come to realize there's something scratched into the metal. Your brow furrows in confusion whenever a name stares back at you.

RILEY

"The kid's a fucking liability is what they are." Soap's hushed voice catches your attention, and you shove the lighter back in your pocket, listening in a little closer, "Just another loose end to carry around."

You take a breath, shifting your gaze to watch the ocean out the window. Suddenly, you really miss your phone. Some loud, angry music would really be great right now.

"Price has his reasons, and you have your orders. Best not question them."

"'Bet they're lying about not knowing the codes…" Soap huffs, ignoring Ghost's comment. "Just so that we'll protect their sorry ass."

For the first time in your presence, Ghost actually sounds like he might be irritated, "Wouldn't blame 'em if they were, mate."

"They're gonna flip the whole mission tits-up," Soap replies, shifting in his seat behind you to whisper quieter to his Lieutenant. "We're harboring some dead guy's kid—who has zero training and zero experience, might I add—around a fuckin' warzone for no reason. What if Graves, or someone worse, gets 'em and spills our guts? What if they die?"

"Sounds like you need a little more faith in your Captain."

Soap scoffs, "Didn't take you as a dickrider, LT."

"Shut up, Soap, fucking hell…"

After that, they fall silent. You bite back the frustration that bubbles in your chest, filing it back in your brain with everything else from this week to think about later, when you were alone with a pillow to punch.

The plane ride is nearly a full day, and by the end of it you feel like you left half your brain in Texas and the other half in the Atlantic. Waking up way earlier than necessary to break into your foster home definitely didn't help, either. Sleep is fleeting, but when you do happen to catch a few naps, Ghost’s blood-stained mask still fills your brain. This time, Soap's voice echoes around it.

Gaz is the one to stir you awake whenever you all land. It's dark when you open your eyes save for the dim plane lights, and quiet other than the tired shuffling and grumbling of the others gathering their things. Outside, it's freezing, dark, and snowing—and for a moment it feels like you might still be dreaming.

You pause in the parking lot you find yourself in to look up at the heavy snowflakes that flutter around the otherwise silent landscape. Your breath fogs up into the air above you and the cold makes your ears and nose sting. Spending the last few years on the lower regions of the west coast, snow was a concept that had slipped your mind until now. You remember, vaguely, a time where your father would chase you around a yard—throwing snowballs at you as you laughed and attacked him—and you swallow thickly. You're not sure if the sudden thought is a dream you had once, or perhaps a really distant memory, but it's comforting just the same.

Price lags behind the others, noticing how your footsteps pause behind him. He eyes you, for a while; and watches your bruised eye close against the gentle snow and your fists clench and unclench repeatedly.

“Kid.”

You turn to face him, looking dazed. “Hm?”

“You alright?”

He holds your gaze, his eyes heavy with concern. The question isn’t fleeting. He expects an honest answer this time.

Your mouth opens to say the same response you’ve been saying for days to ward off curious people. You hesitate, however, when scenes from the past week flash through your mind and your mouth snaps shut again. Skull mask. Rifles. Pity. Fluorescent lights. Tactical gear and a scar across the cheek.

You let out a breath that shudders slightly and you shake your head.

“Just…” Your voice sounds hoarse. You look away, gesturing vaguely to the plane as if that answered Price’s question at all. “Tired, I guess. Couldn't sleep. Soap was talking shit.”

Price’s brow pinches. “Soap was what?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head and pad through the snow to catch up with him. “Gaz isn’t in trouble, is he?”

Price sighs and it fogs out into the cold. He shakes his head and fishes around his pockets before pulling out a cigar and a lighter. You watch as he presses it to his lips and lights it, the glow lighting up his face in the dark. The bags under his eyes are deeper than they usually are.

"No," he exhales. "Far from it."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

Price chuckles.

"He only would've gotten in trouble if he did something stupid," he says. "What he did wasn't stupid, it was insubordinate. He had a plan and he executed it well…despite how he did it without permission."

"Does he usually do that?"

"Do what?"

"Things without permission."

"No," Price says again and exhales more smoke. "None of them do. Not unless the situation is dire."

A beat passes as you both walk and he smokes. It's silent aside from the rest of 141 talking and walking a little ways in front of you, haloed against the yellow streetlights of the base before you. Funny, it looks almost identical to the one in Texas—but bigger. Liminal. Colder, in more ways than one.

"I feel useless," you say, suddenly, and it's like now that you’ve started your mouth won’t stop running. "I don't have the codes and I can barely break into my own house never mind keep up with any of you guys. I can't do anything, and I hate it. If I'm going to stick around here…I want to be useful, somehow."

Price’s eyebrows raise slightly. In the five days you've spent living on base, Price thinks that might be the first time he's heard you complain—never mind say more than a few clipped sentences to him.

"You weren't supposed to get tangled up in this," Price insists. "So, it's our job to fix it. Not yours."

"I want to, though." You insist, “If I can’t help, I’m a liability.”

"No," Price shakes his head with finality. "No. You’re not, and you won't. Because then you'll end up like him, and that's the last thing any of us want."

You shoot Price a look; one that's somewhere between helpless, shocked, and frustrated. A million things to say cycle through your mind but you can't find the energy to pinpoint which you want to articulate first. So, you bite your tongue as he finishes his cigar and flicks it off in the snow somewhere. The ember dies immediately, and he sets a hand on your shoulder.

"C'mon," he says, softer now, as he picks up the pace. "Let's catch up with the others. Get you some sleep."

You're being brushed off. It stings, but it's a familiar kind of hurt this time. One you've grown up with and one you can manage. One that, pared with the soothing hand on your back and Price's confession that some people here do care what happens to you—is a nearly fatal blow that finally leaves you, for once, without a final word to put in.

A sigh leaves you as you find that you’re too tired to remain angry. Subconsciously, you lean into the hand on your back as you drag your feet towards the base. The rest of the walk is comfortingly silent, and snow falls silently around you as you watch the ice at your feet.

If you listened close enough, you could hear each individual snowflake hit the white ground, and for the first time in years you feel like you might've found something that feels slightly like home.

@brokenpieces-72 @warenai @pertinentpostmortem @kaoyamamegami @hayleybarnesx @scuftryo @0alk0msan @synthe4u @stunkbiggu @karurururu @nostalgialeech

#kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #call of duty #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty x reader #call of duty reader insert #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john price x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader

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cameronspecial · 8 months

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Before The Last Petal Falls (Part 1)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Talks about sex and drugs.

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: Coming home is supposed to be a happy occasion, but it's hard to be happy with your ex-boyfriend lurking around the corner.

A/N: This is a sequel series to Thorn In My Side, Rose in My Hand series.

Masterlist

Going back home is the last thing Y/N wants to do right now. The Outer Banks is full of memories from a heartbreak she does not want to remember. However, she is no match for the force known as Cassie and Marvin, and that is how she finds herself on a plane back to North Carolina. For the past five years, Y/N has done everything in her power to not step foot on the island again and now, it is all for nothing. “Please fasten your seat belts, we are preparing for landing,” the pilot’s voice stirs Y/N from her slumber. She can’t believe this is actually happening right now. The elderly lady beside her smiles at her, “First time going to North Carolina?” “Uh, no. I actually grew up there, in the Outer Banks, but I haven’t been back since I left. It feels a little weird,” she answers honestly.

“Ahh, so you were running from something.”

“Yeah, I was. But it looks like I can’t anymore. I just hope that something isn’t there anymore.”

The plane lands and Y/N gets her bags from the carousel. She waits for Mason in the pick-up area, running towards him when she spots his car. Mason crushes Y/N in a hug, “It’s so good to see you back on American soil. This is long overdue.” Y/N pats his back while returning the hug. “Yeah, yeah. It’s good to be home. Did Lace get Sparky here okay?” Mason picks her suitcase up and packs it into his trunk, “Yep, he’s probably being a little energy ball in our living room as we speak.” They both laugh at the joke and then hop into the car. “So how’s your internship at the architectural firm? Is it different from the one in Toronto?” she asks her brother, bringing her hand to the locket around her neck. Heading back to the Outer Bank is causing her to be anxious and playing with the locket calms her down. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Mason that she still wears the necklace and is playing with it.

“It’s going well. Most buildings that people look into getting built here are a different style than in Toronto. OBX wants beach boxes, while Toronto has a wide range of styles. It’s really fascinating watching how my boss’ designs still match to look different from one another.”

“That’s cool. I like the name beach box. It sounds fun. Like a giant sandbox. And are you enjoying it?”

“Yeah, I really am. Although, I do want to see if I can get an internship in an Asian country afterwards. They have a different style that’s interesting. How is the bookstore coming along?”

“A little stressful right now to be honest. Juggling my book edits and what I need to change or add so that the building is up to code and now being here. It’s all just a little too much. At least, I have a name Bookkeeper. It’s gonna confuse people who actually know what that career is but I think it’s funny.”

“It is a good name. It’s very punny.”

“Ugh, that was so bad.”

———

One of the worst places to be is her childhood bedroom. The countless days they spent cuddling on the bed haunts her. The love they expressed physically all over the room is practically engrained in her brain. She had never been able to feel that way again. She unpacks her clothes into her closet and goes to check on Sparky downstairs. He was left down there because she didn’t want him sitting on her suitcase like he did when she was packing her bags in London. He has gotten bigger and he has a little bit of an attachment issue. He doesn’t like being very far from his Mommy for very long. Y/N’s heart drops to the pit of her stomach when she sees the open front door and bolts out of it in hopes of catching her dog before he gets too far.

She follows his barks like a trail of breadcrumbs to the sidewalk. If her heart wasn’t already giving her problems, it certainly is now. The sight before her is one she never thought she would see again. Rafe Cameron is kneeling down and petting Sparky. Beside him is a beautiful woman in a sundress. Her long black hair cascades down her shoulders and her brown almond-shaped eyes show such warmth behind them. Her makeup is done to absolute perfection. Y/N slowly approaches the trio without hesitation. She doesn’t want to go near Rafe, but seeing as it doesn’t look like Sparky is nowhere near going home, she had to go get him.

“Hey Sparky, long time no see. It’s good to see you again, Bubba. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for ya. You’ve gotten so big,” she hears him greet. As she approaches, she accidentally steps on a stick and the crack alerts the others to her presence. “Hey,” she awkwardly begins. “I’m just here for my dog.” Rafe nods and stands up, moving to wrap his hand around the woman’s waist. “Uh, yeah. I remember a time when he used to be my dog too.” Sensing the tension, his companion introduces herself, “Hi, I’m Blythe Katsumi. I’m Rafe’s fiancée.” Blythe sticks her hand out for Y/N to shake, which she does. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N. Rafe’s- uh…this is Sparky.”

“It’s okay. I know you were his high school girlfriend. He told me about you.”

“Right. And he didn’t tell me about you.”

Rafe rolls his eyes and huffs, “Yeah, well it’s not like we were doing a lot of talking in the last five years. What are you doing here, Y/L/N?”

“You mean besides looking for my dog, in front of my house? The better question is what are you doing here Rafe?”

“I have every right to be here because unlike you, I’ve been coming back home.”

Before Y/N can retort, Blythe stops the conversation from going any further. “Well, it was lovely meeting you, but we need to go. We have to get some stuff ready for the engagement party.” Blythe waves goodbye and takes Rafe’s hand to walk away. This draws Y/N attention to Blythe's left hand with the giant diamond engagement ring. This causes a stabbing feeling to shoot through Y/N’s heart. Her hand shoots up to her locket and she begins to rub it for some comfort. This action doesn’t go unnoticed by Rafe as he catches it from the corner of his eye.

———

Everyone has their own vices. Cheating. Gambling. Alcohol. Lying. Rafe’s is drugs. There was a period of time in his life when weed was not the outlet he turned to when in need of getting out of his own head. That one blissful year he had with her was his escape instead. But after the breakup, weed was the only thing that made him forget about her. Eventually, he became numb to the weed and he needed something stronger, so Barry introduced him to cocaine. Mason didn’t know that Rafe had stepped it up in the drug department because if Mason knew, he would’ve found some way to get Rafe to stop. And Rafe didn’t want to, he needed to escape the feeling of being consumed by her.

Before today, Rafe had managed to go a month without thinking about her at all. It was his highest record in the past five years they had been apart. There was no bookstore he walked by with a girl quite similar to her standing at the window. No hard kombucha in Mason’s fridge to indicate that she had been there. No caramel ice cream at the parlour that she would beg him to buy. It was like the universe was giving him a break from being haunted by Y/N. It seems the universe is done with giving him that gift because as he drives to Barry’s house, he is drowning in thoughts of her. He loved seeing Sparky, of course, but why did she have to come back? He couldn’t get the smell of her hibiscus body wash out of his mind. The sweet but gentle tropical scent she wore contradicted the foggy and rainy place she had moved to. Her hair is held back in a claw clip he used to play with whenever she would leave them around.

And the thing that had really caused him to spiral is her hand still holding the locket he had given her for their first Christmas as a couple. Has she been wearing it for the past five years? Had she worn it while she let other men make her feel good, but nowhere near as good as he can make her feel? Would she wear it when she told them she loved them? But most importantly, how dare she come back to what is now only his island and wear it as if she cared for him? She hasn’t been back in years or talked to him; she doesn’t get to pretend like she’s thought about him. It is driving him crazy and he needed something to stop him from going too deep down this rabbit hole.

Barry hears Rafe’s motorbike and is waiting outside for him. “Well, well, well, look who came back from the dead. Thought you went sober on me for a second there, country club. What can I get you for you?”

“However much you got. I got a feeling that I’m gonna be needing it more often.”

He knew he would need whatever he got his hands on to help him forget about her because if he didn’t then he would remember. And it would probably kill him to remember just how his heart almost leapt out of his chest when he saw Y/N Y/L/N right before his eyes.

———

When they broke up, Mason told both of them that he would not be used as a source to find out more about the other. He said it was for his own sanity in not wanting to be caught in the middle of his sister and best friend, but it was also in hopes that it would cause discourse between the two that would lead to their reunification. So it made sense that Mason would keep an engagement from her. But she still needed more information that she would give Mason no other choice but to give her. “How long have they been together, Mace?” Mason closes his eyes in a silent prayer that he isn’t about to have this painful conversation with his sister. He lifts his head from his laptop and turns towards her, “A year and a month. They’ve known each other for a year and a half.”

“How long have they been engaged?”

“Four months.”

“Did you help him propose?”

“He didn’t ask.”

“How come you didn’t tell me?”

At this, Mason can hear the sadness in his sister’s voice. He knew no matter how much she says she is over Rafe, it isn’t true. It’s why she still wears his locket after all. He knew she needed to know though.

“You know I don’t want to get in between you two. Also, I just didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to tell you something that would hurt you so much. I love you and I want to protect you from that pain.”

“Yeah, I get that. It just would’ve hurt less if it came from you,” she whispers, not knowing what else to ask or add to the conversation. She turns around and goes to her room, where she finds Sparky waiting for her. He gives her a pouty look, asking how come he couldn’t go with his Daddy. She sits down on her bed beside him and places his head on her lap, “I’m sorry, Bubba. But I did what I had to do. Breaking up with him was necessary. I mean I set him free and look at him now, he is getting married.” It hurt. It hurt that he was okay with marrying Blythe before he turned twenty-five. He wanted to speed up his life plan two years earlier just for Blythe. How come he was willing to do that for Blythe but not for Y/N? Was Blythe really that much better than her?

Doing what any other girl would do, Y/N resolves to some internet sleuthing. It wasn’t that hard to find Blythe’s Instagram. She has a public account and Mason is following her. She has an impressive 500K followers; probably because she is the heiress to a popular Japanese hotel chain. All her posts have her makeup done to perfection and her clothes are all designer. One of her saved reels is of her and Rafe partying on New Year's Eve. At least Blythe can keep up with Rafe on that level. Y/N moves her search to Google and finds Blythe’s Wikipedia page. She was born in New York and raised there. She attended UNC for fashion. From multiple tabloid pictures, she can tell that the party scene is one Blythe frequent but she is also a sweet girl. In one picture, she is giving her jacket to a homeless person along with some money when she is returning home from a party. She helps out at soup kitchens and takes children out on shopping sprees. Y/N supposes that Blythe could just be doing it for the media attention, but the look in Blythe’s eyes tells her it isn’t true.

After finding out possibly everything she could find out about Blythe, Y/N turns all of her electronic devices off to stop her from spiralling on social media anymore. She heads over to her bookshelf in need of a bookish escape. Her eyes glance over the different titles until her eyes find one particular book she had not thought about it in a while. She pulls the book off the shelf and opens it up to the title page with the inscription on it. The copy of The Lightning Thief that Rafe had annotated sits before her. She had left it here when she went to university because it felt too hard to bring with her. It held too much meaning. As she sits down on her window sill, she begins to read the book with a special focus on the inscriptions. She reads for hours, allowing herself to feel every bit of emotion that passes through her. God, it hurts to be back home.

Taglist: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @gillybear17 @f4ll-for-you

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