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lilxberry · 3 years

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I Watched You Die} 6 - Natasha Romanoff

Synopsis;

Someone from Natashas’ past makes the most of unsuspected arrivals and begins to cause issues, not only for her, just everyone they come into contact with. HYDRA uses them as a simple puppet and Natasha believes that maybe, just maybe, she could get them back to her in the way she remembers.

Warnings: Language. Fighting. Terrible writing (this chapter was terrible.)

Words: 3,123

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader (female reader) (super soldier reader) (HYDRA reader)

(A/N: There’s some time jumps that aren’t stated but it’s still relatively easy to follow in that sense. Also, this chapter is more so a filler but nonetheless is related to the story.)

(A/N 2: Strucker and interactions with him are in German and a small interaction with Wanda is in Slovak as a substitute for Sokovian. There is some Russian in this but it’s quite easy to distinguish between the languages’ used.)

< Chapter 5 Chapter 7 >

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Her head throbbed and her neck was stiff and pained from its lolled position it had been in hours on end. Even with her head tilted forward and down towards the hard floor beneath her, the light felt harsh against her eyes, a stinging, burning sensation appearing each time she cracks an eye open.

“Ah, I hope you slept well, Miss Romanoff.”

The familiarity in the voice caused Natasha to tense and she willed her eyes to open and remain as such. Raising her head, her eyes automatically lock on to the figure before her in which everyone believed was dead.

“How are you here?”

The man chuckled and began to take steps towards the tied up red head, his hands folded together behind his back, a smug look etched into his features. “It is quite incredible the technology we have within this day and age, yes?”

Her features twisted up into a sneer, glaring at the one of the few notorious HYDRA leaders they, the Avengers, had come to face. “Why can’t people just stay dead?”

Strucker rounded her body leaving her to look at the room they held her within; bland in colour but crowded with technology. “I believe you’re also not referring to only me now, are you?” He clicks his tongue. “Yes, Y/N. Our best asset yet. The twins were exceptional, yes and the winter soldier was successful until recent years, but Y/N is our best creation.”

His German accent is thick as the words pass into her ears and registers his words, but his next sentence as he leans down to whisper right beside her head makes her blood run cold. “Finding her on the brink of death was undoubtfully wonderful, on our part at least.”

The man chuckled as he straightened himself back out, standing to his full height before rounding her seated position once more to stand before her. “How are our previous assets, anyways? The updates Ghost gives are quite minimal in unnecessary data.”

Silence. Strucker tsked at her lack of response and spun on heel, taking one, two, three steps forward before coming to a standstill. “I suppose you’d like to know why we have you hear,” he called over his shoulder to her. When he was met with silence once more, he continued.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers have certainly been a right ganz schlimmer, a large spanner in our works. We run smoothly when you and your little friends keep out of our business. Perfectly running machinery. So, we’re simply removing the issue with our operation. You.” (Fucking pain.)

Slow and intimidating were his steps as he little by little made his way over towards a board of panels which, much like every other piece of technology was surrounded by people in off-white lab coats. His fingers danced over the multiple of buttons that littered the deck of the panel.

“You may not think so yourself but, we believe you are the strongest of your little band of heroes. No, not physically. Mentally? Yes. We also believe, if we break you, the rest of the team will surely follow in crumbling down.”

His eyes linger on one spot in particular on the panel, his finger hovering over it. “Now you’re also wondering why I’m electing to tell you all this. The answer is simple, really.” He pushes down on a button, resulting in the chair that Natasha is strapped to, to recline backwards, much like a chair in a barbers’, before laying her flat.

“You’re stuck here.”

Natashas’ head looks from left to right in a frantic manner as Strucker steps away from the lengthy panel of buttons and stalks towards her, his boots quietly squeaking against the cold, smooth floor of the room.

Above her is some form of machinery she could best describe as terrifying in appearance, harsh glinting metal and a mass of wires. Movement to both her left and right signify to her that people are beginning to close in on her and surround her. Panic rises in her body further as someone steps closer to her head holding what she believed was a mouth guard; something she’ll be biting down on.

She shakes her head in a desperate attempt to avoid the object but with no such luck. Someone had violently grasped her jaw in a bruising grip and forced the guard into her mouth. Strucker leans over her laying form and the evil grin on his face is purely sickening.

“Have you ever felt 450 volts of electricity surged through your body before? No? Oh, don’t worry. IT should be over before you know it.” He pulls back, making Natasha follow his with her eyes. Her protests are muffled by the guard in her mouth. “But, please, be mindful when it comes to the convulsions that follow. You wouldn’t like to break a bone, surely.”

Strucker walks towards yet another panel, this time with AMP and voltage gages along with other gages she couldn’t quite make out from her position. He places his hand atop a dial and nods his head once to one of the many people scuttling around the room. She feels something be attached to each temple and it reminds her strongly of the old school, brutal electroshock therapy that doctors used to dole out.

“Shall we move this along and see how long it takes until you break?”

Natasha spots your body stood stiff and squared near the door at the foot of the room, features lacking any show of emotion. Her eyes widened, and she desperately hoped that her eyes asked what she couldn’t.

‘Help me.’

Your being, unmoving and unchanged, is the last thing she sees before searing hot pain shots through her body. She bites down on the guard and releases and ear-piercing scream around it as her whole-body tenses and her back arches up, fists clenched tightly, and toes curled.

Her body falls limp for a short moment before the process repeats, over and over. Like an unending, destructive cycle.

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The team had tirelessly put in every effort to find the missing ex-assassin. When Natasha had taken too long to return to the others, Clint did what was asked of him. He waited until the end of the following day when she had left before telling the others.

With no sightings and no communication from the Avenger, they were at a lost.

4 days had passed, coming close to 5, with no such luck in finding Natasha. Every member of the close-knit team had put in hours and hours on end into locating her; everything had been fruitless. The team had chewed out the archer for not mentioning anything sooner than he had but he had argued that he valued his word and believed Natsha would be fine, that she could look after herself.

They couldn’t argue with him on that.

“I’ve got nothing. We haven’t found shit and it’s been what? 4 days since anyone had last seen her?”

Their hopes in finding her were dwindling quickly, its rate in decrease sped up after the three-day mark. Stark groaned and leant back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly between his pointer finger and thumb.

“Honestly, I blame Fury for making us use phones that I can’t hack. We’d find her a lot fucking faster if I could just get into it.”

“Language,” Steve muttered before releasing a lengthy sigh. As he went to open his mouth to respond, Tony perked up, this time looking extremely more optimistic than previous.

“HOLY SHIT!” He spun his chair to face the computer on the desk and began to rapid begin typing. The others watched him with scepticism before slowly moving to crowd the billionaire.

“You wanna explain to the class, Stark?”

“You know how I never listen to Fury?” He heard a collective of hums in agreement before continuing. “Well, when I was encrypting the phones we all use, I may have purposefully left out my location cloaking software.”

“So, you’re saying you can ping her location and you failed to mention this?!” Wanda exclaimed.

“One, ouch. Don’t scream in my ear like a damn banshee, Matilda. Two, I forgot. It’s not like we actually use it.”

The team watched in anticipation as Tonys’ fingers continued to rapidly tap at the keyboard. Moments pass by with bated breaths before a small red dot appears on a map that pops up. They stare at the bright red dot in a prolonged silence before Steve straightens out with a hardened face.

“Let’s move.”

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“I don’t understand. Why San Fransico?”

The statement from Sam was what each of them wanted to voice but none did. Each step through the city was following that damn pinged location. The day before it had been in Washington, the day before that was Oklahoma.

They could be tracking a ghost trail for all they knew, certainly with how quickly the location seemed to switch between states so quickly.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. Update.”

“Location has remained the same. The Railway Museum is just one block away, sir.”

Tony rolls his shoulders before turning to look towards those who walk with him. He and Steve share a look, already knowing that this is more than likely a trap or mislead.

“Only a few of us will enter. Everyone else is going to surround the building, cover each possible exit. Buck, I want you with me, Sam and Wanda. Clint, you think you can take to a nearby building keep an eye on the roof and the main entrance?”

Clint nodded as Steve doled out orders for the group to follow. With the archers’ non-verbal confirmation, the captain continued.

“Thor, I want you to take the West side of the building with Banner. Pietro, you take East. Stark, I want you to take the back with Vision.” Everyone nods followed by them splitting off in the direction of the respective positions.

Dressed as civilians was helpful with entering the museum; they turned no heads when entering the building. The four inside had separated themselves, hoping to search the interior in record time rather than they be grouped up together.

The comms the team had donned before splitting ways crackled before Tony’s voice sounded through into each team members’ ear. “I’ve had F.R.I.D.A.Y. put the location on each of your phones, make it easier for you guys to know if you’re closing in.”

Simultaneously, Steve, Sam, Wanda and Bucky pull out their smartphones and allow the screen to open up correctly, a simple map of the interior showing a blinking red dot in the centre of the building.

The small team inside opposed to those outside slowly close in to the centre of the museum, covering all sides.

Adrenaline begins to heighten as they inch their way closer and closer. Emotions are running high and minds are swirling with possibilities and before they knew it, they surround the exhibit at the very middle of the building.

A large group being led by some guide moves on with their tour and reveals a lone person still stood there; hood up and phone in hand. Steve glances down at the phone in his own hand and sure enough, the dot hasn’t moved.

This is what they’ve been chasing.

With their head down, both Sam and Bucky who face their front can’t identify who holds the phone, Natashas’ phone.

Between the four, a look was shared and with a nod of their head in the figure’s direction, they begin to slowly close in once more. Wanda, Sam and Bucky slow to a stop, only a short distance away as Steve continues to stalk closer and with a few more steps, he’s stood behind the figure.

He reaches an arm out and clamps his hand down on their shoulder which begins to shake slightly as the person laughs quietly. The person slowly raises their head with a shit eating grin on their face and both Sam and Bucky tense, their jaws clenching, teeth grinding.

Wanda freezes up along with them as the figure slowly turns to face Steve; easily catching a glimpse herself.

“At ease, солдат,” your voice rasps. (Soldier.)

You hand moves quickly to clamp on to the blondes’ wrist and before he could react, you bring your head forward in a quick, whip-like motion, slamming it into his nose; a satisfying crunch is heard and blood already beginning to trickle out.

Twisting his arm, you land a hard kick to his ribs and send him back, him falling to the floor with quite the thud, even sliding across the floor a good foot or two. The others had quickly reacted, Sam and Bucky charging over towards you.

You alternate between the two as they dole out a choreographed offensive; punches, kicks, full body hits. The two had been going a solid minute and had done zero damage, even with Steve standing himself back up on to his feet and charging at you himself.

Wanda had dealt with the screaming and panicked public from the first sign of retaliation, giving firm orders to leave the building and to get a safe distance.

The second the first of the civilians exited the building in a rushed and yelling fashion, the team was on high alert.

“Someone talk to us,” Clint crackled through the comms, his sights down the length of the arrow he already has notched and ready to release.

“It’s Y/N.” Just that simple statement made the whole team know exactly what was currently going down. “They had Natashas’ phone. HYDRA put us on a wild goose chase.”

The grunts from Steve, Sam and Bucky brought Wanda’s head back into the fight at hand. The three were being easily overpowered by just yourself and she’s unsure how to proceed. With quick thinking, she uses her powers to push her teammates aside and away from you, the swirl of red like mist dancing around her fingers.

Your attention snaps from the three that had been thrown away from you to the little witch who stood off to the side. You roll your shoulders and smirk before stomping your way over to her aggressively.

You feel your movements slowly become restricted and it’s harder and harder to move forward. Wanda, with a struggle, brings to down to your knees before you could reach her and all you could do it look up at her with a devious smirk.

Tongue peeking out between your lips, you wet them and trail your eyes up and down the length of her body and the action makes her sick to your stomach. “Som ohromená, princezná.” (I’m impressed, princess.)

She takes step towards you, slow, precise, and what she hoped was menacing. “Where’s Natasha?” she spat between her teeth.

You chuckle darkly and shake her head, noticing how she lacked to remember to keep her distance. “You’re in no position to ask questions, little witch.” With perseverance, your left arm shoots forward, grasping her wrist much like you had done with the caps. Shocked, the moment forces Wanda to lose concertation and drops her magical hold on you.

You swipe at the opportunity and raise to your full height, towering over the Sokovian and delivering a hard right hook to the girl, knocking her unconscious the moment your fist made contact with her jaw.

Turning, you look at the trio of men who look at an unconscious Wanda by your feet with wide and worried eyes. You smirk once more as you pull Natasha’s phone from your pocket and wave it slightly before tossing it in their direction. “Keep it. I’m done with it.”

You take small steps backwards away from the four before turning tail and running, closer and closer to the back entrance.

“She’s heading to you guys at the back,” Steve rushes out, struggling to come to a stand and give chase.

“Understood, capsicle.” Tony and Vison both prepare themselves for your arrival, to burst through the doors and go into combat just like the four inside had done. But they waited and waited and waited. Nothing. “Uh, no sign of her. Anyone got eyes on the slippery bastard?” Stark reaches out to the others.

Sam and Bucky left Americas’ sweetheart and Scarlet Witch with the intentions of cheeking the inside of the building, running around the whole of the museum as the team converse.

“Nothing here.”

“Nope.”

“No clue.”

“Nada.”

“Zilch.”

The team’s response came in like clockwork and the entire team felt baffled. Where did you disappear to?

“So, she just evaporated? What the fuck? Are you sure no one has eyes on her?”

“Look,” Steve started. “As much as I want to find them and get some answers, we gotta focus on Wanda. She’s down.” He was kneeling beside her unconscious form and like a lightbulb being lit from a switch, Pietro was right beside his sister on the opposite side of Steve, absolute panic and concern shifting through his eyes.

Steve hears a sigh through the comms followed by Banners’ voice. “Let’s get back. It’s clear they’ve disappeared somehow, and we should focus on Maximoff right now.”

Steve shakes his head and moves to stand, Pietro already holding his twin in his arms. “Let’s go, team.”

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“Wie ich sehe, können wir ihr Telefon nicht länger als Ablenkung für sie benutzen,” Strucker spoke as his back was turned to you, hands folded behind his back, looking at the painting hung on the wall with disinterest. (I see we can no longer use her phone as a distraction for them.)

“Sie werden sie nicht finden können, auch wenn wir sie nicht mehr auf Gänsejagd führen, Sir,” you respond, you own hands folded behind your back. Your eyes are trained on his form as he slowly turns to face you, casually rounded the desk to stand before you. (They won't be able to find her even if we no longer lead them on such wild goose chases', sir.)

“Hoffentlich nicht, Soldat. Es liegt an Ihnen, wenn sie sie finden.” His eyes look you up and down subtly, scrutinising you before turning away from you and striding over towards his desk. “Es ist jetzt zu heiß für dich, Ghost. Zu viele Leute werden dich nach deinem kleinen öffentlichen Stunt erkennen. Du sollst in der Einrichtung bleiben. Sie bewachen Romanoff und begleiten sie zum und vom Labor. Verstanden?” (They better not, soldier. It will be on your head if they are to find her.) (There's too much heat on you now, Ghost. Too many people will recognise you after your little public stunt. You are to stay within the facility. You will guard Romanoff and escort her to and from the lab. Understood?)

“Verstanden.” (Understood.)

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THIS WAS SO BAD LMAO

I just needed a filler honestly so, this will do for the time being

If you want to be added to the taglist lemme know

Anywho, I hope you enjoy

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

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Marvel taglist:

@thanossexual @iwazoomingouttahere @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

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‘I Watched You Die’ taglist:

@diaryoflife @username23345 @drpepperobsessed @fayhar @d14n4ol @srtamercurio @gabbygabbie @lostandsearching @afuckingshituniverse @thea13sworld @nelouath8 @navs-bhat @pistachiomilk3 @peggycarter-steverogers @b-5by5 @trikruismybitch @anxiousgoldengirl @when-wolves-howl @whitelotus00 @anxiousgoldengirl @daniescady @unexpected-character @lgtftchan @mitch-cabello1097 @wlwfanfictionss @gottacamz

(Those whose @ is in bold, I could not tag unfortunately.)

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deceitfuldevil · 3 years

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Snap Out of It!

Pietro Maximoff X Reader

Summary: You grew up with the Maximoff twins, even agreed to be experimented on at HYDRA with them. You and Pietro were clearly falling for each other the older you got, but HYDRA sent you away and told the Maximoff’s you were dead. So what happens when you show up at the Avengers compound with no memory of your past?

Warnings: a little bit of angst I think?? Mentions of bombs, HYDRA experiments, some fluff and kissing ;)

Word Count: 3.69K

You were born during the start of a terrible war in your home country, and about two months later your parents introduced you to a new set of twins who lived just a few doors down from you. Of course you don’t actually remember meeting them, but your earliest memories were all filled with the Maximoff twins. You practically grew up right alongside them, you three did everything together. Birthdays, playdates, dinner when your parents weren’t home, all of it. It was also nice to grow up alongside others who were your age, especially when your country was at such a low place; it was a good distraction.

You were 10 years old when your apartment complex was bombed, your father had just walked in the door coming home from work. He and your mom fell into the hole in the floor immediately, that was the last time you ever saw them. You sat curled up in a ball in the far left corner of what used to be your kitchen. Frozen with fear and trauma for two days, until you were rescued. You were brought down to a large police van, the doors were opened for you and you saw two other children huddled together under a blanket, both of them immediately turned to see you and screamed with joy. It was your best friends, the Maximoffs. You ran into the van and hugged them immediately, all of you breaking down into tears. You sat in the back of the van together and chatted about the bombing. The main question on your mind was “are there any survivors?” but as it turned out, not only were you and the Maximoff twins the only children that survived. You three ended up being the three lone survivors of the entire apartment complex. Newspapers printed out articles on “the miracle trio” for weeks to come.

From that day on you three jumped from homeless shelter to homeless shelter, never once being allowed to stay in once place for too long. You even agreed to volunteer for HYDRA’s experiments with Wanda and Pietro when you were all 17. You tried to stay in communication with your friends but HYDRA made that near impossible with their constant experiments and isolations. The time you did get to spend with the Maximoffs was cherished, especially your time with Pietro. You two were definitely drawn to each other as you grew into your mid teens, but you never truly allowed anything serious to happen in fear of how Wanda might react.

About a year into your experiments at HYDRA, you gained healing like abilities along with some telepathy as well. After learning and controlling these powers you were excited for when you got to see Wanda and Pietro next to see what powers they had gained. But you never got the chance. HYDRA saw more use in you than petty armed fights, and shipped you off to god knows where and gave you the improved and experimental “super-soldier” serum. HYDRA informed Wanda and Pietro that the experiments became too much for you, that you were weak and had passed on. Pietro cried for days on end, and Wanda could hear him every night from her neighboring cell. Thinking you were dead killed his spirit, his soul. He never even got to tell you how he really felt. That you were so much more than just a fling to him. Meanwhile you trained for months on end and every week and were forced to have shock therapy to erase your past memories. HYDRA was making you into nothing more than a weapon, a shell of a person. After a few successful missions, that's all you were good for. So if you weren’t out on business, you were put under cryo-sleep. This went on for years.

It wasn't until 3 weeks after the battle of Sokovia when Sam had been questioning Wanda and Pietro about their time with HYDRA, he was able to locate another one of their secret human experiment facilities. Steve was hoping they’d make a break in that missing persons case of his but to no avail. However, they did find one abandoned soldier in cryo-freeze. You.

Now, of course it took months of isolation and small bits of normal human activity and interaction to erase what HYDRA had brainwashed you into. After about 4 1/2 months Tony decided it was time to move you into the new compound, but kept you restricted to your room. Others were allowed to visit you if they’d like, it was encouraged really. Get you the human interaction you needed.

Three days and no visits later, which you didn’t mind. It was nice being isolated somewhere with TV service.

Clint walked over to the kitchen island where Wanda and Pietro were having a conversation over a snack.

“Either of you meet the newest recruit yet? I hear she’s still in isolation.”

“There’s a... new recruit?” Pietro said, his accent thick as he spoke with a questioning tone.

“Yeah, Y/N something. Found her in cryo-freeze at that HYDRA base we raided a few months ago.”

Wanda froze, immediately looking to her brother who looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Pietro... it can’t be her. You remember how she died in trials” Wanda tried to reason with her still love stricken brother after all these years.

“That’s what they told us, what if they lied? It wouldn’t be the first time.”

She just shook her head “it’s impossible, do you even think she’d still remember you?” Wanda inquired.

“There’s only one way to find out!” Pietro said, speeding off leaving a trail of blue streaks behind him.

He busted through the lab doors and stood about 5 feet from Tony, breathless. “What’s her name? Her full name.”

“Okay speedy, next time knock, yeah? And half of our team here is “her’s” so I haven’t the slightest clue who you’re talking about.” Tony spoke calmly, but frustrated that Pietro bursted in out of nowhere.

“The new recruit, Y/N.”

Tony looked over to the quick man and quirked a brow at him

“Well you’ve already got half her name down. She’s Y/N L/N, an ex HYDRA super soldier. You should go visit her actually, she just moved into the compound a few days ago. No ones even visited her y—“

“Where is she staying? what room is she in?” He asked, cutting Tony off.

“Floor 2, room 315... you know it’s impolite to cut off your—“ but before Tony could finish, Pietro had sped off again.

You sat into your room watching an old sitcom from the 2000s you felt drawn to. But before you could invest yourself any further there was a knock at your door. Something you weren’t used to. You hesitantly spoke, “come in” you said sitting up in your bed, fixing your hair a little in the process.

A silver haired man slowly walked in, he had broad shoulders and a toned body. He was attractive, no doubt. But he almost looked familiar to you. Why?

“Hello dragâ” he spoke with a Eastern Europe accent, but one not one you could exactly pinpoint. But you recognized the foreign word he spoke

“Hello... domnule. How do you know Russian... and why have you come to visit?” You questioned, swinging your legs over the side of your bed. The man at your door, he looked sad now. His face fell, but you didn’t understand why.

“You don’t remember me?” He walked closer to you, as you stood up from your bed.

“Well I don’t remember much after HYDRA brainwashed the hell out of me” you said with a slight chuckle, but he still looked disappointed.

“But maybe if you tell me your name and why I should remember you” you said with a smirk, stepping closer to the handsome man that stood in front of you.

“Can I show you instead?” He said, stepping so close that now your chests were touching. You enjoyed the human interaction but with your past training, this still left you on edge.

“Show me?” You questioned, but he took this rather as the go-ahead and snaked a hand around your waist and leaned down, placing a soft kiss on your lips. You wanted to melt into his touch but it was all too soon, and you didn’t even know his name. You pulled away abruptly and slapped him. Backing away as you sat back down on your bed and stared at your hands.

“Please leave.” You said just as quietly as you said when you allowed him to come in. When you looked up, the mysterious man was gone; your door left a crack open.

No one visited you for five more days after that. It was early into the evening and you sat alone in your room reading a book. There was a knock at your door but you didn’t answer it. The last time you agreed to let someone in they violated your boundaries. But regardless your door was still opened, but a new person you had yet to meet walked through.

She stood a bit taller than you and had long red hair, a kind smile and warm eyes.

“I hope I am not intruding.” She said, with the same accent as the man who invaded on your days before. Which again, put you on edge.

“Who are you?” You said, keeping your eyes on your book— desperately avoiding eye contact.

“Wanda Maximoff, but you can just call me Wanda.” She said sweetly

“Oh how sweet of you” you said dryly, still bitter over your last encounter with someone in the avengers compound.

“All you remember is pain” she said in an as-a-matter-of-fact kind of way. “But that’s not all you know, you just need to remember.” You now dared to look up at her. She was still at the door, keeping her distance from you.

“And how am I supposed to remember what you think I know?” You asked, and she took a step closer to your bed.

“I don’t think, I see. I can see inside your head, they did unspeakable things to you. Made you carry out violent missions that still haunt your dreams. You’ve forgotten what you know, your life before them...” Wanda paused, your eyes welled up gently with tears but you refused to let them fall. But she noticed.

“I think I can help you, if you’d let me” she took another step towards you, waiting for your reaction. But you stayed silent, fighting with yourself internally.

“We used to be friends, you know. You, my brother and I. He came to visit you a few days ago, and he knows what he did was wrong. He just missed you terribly. We have similar pasts. I want to help you, but if you don’t want my help. That is okay too. Regardless of what you choose, I still want to be your friend.”

You took a deep breath and stood up out of your bed. “How will you do it?” You asked, wanting nothing more than to feel normal again.

“A little bit of my magic, a little bit of love, and a lot of stories.” She smiled sweetly, taking your hand in hers. “I’ll be right back, okay?” You nodded quickly as Wanda left your room. You sat back down on your bed and racked your head wondering what you were about to learn about yourself. Wanda came back in with a fairly large box labeled “amintiri” which you knew meant “memories” in Romanian.

“Is everyone here Russian like me?” You questioned, giving Wanda a laugh “no, just my brother and I. Coincidentally, the only two who have visited you since you moved here.” You frowned slightly at her comment

“Why has no one else come to visit me?”

Wanda sighed “no one else knows you like my brother and I do. All they know is what you have done in your past, and that scares them.” She took the lid off the box she brought in and picked up a stack of photos that were tied together with a rubber band.

“But lucky for you, Pietro and I know more.” She said with a smile

“Pietro?” You said, quirking your head to the side a bit.

“He is my twin brother, the one who visited you last week. You two have... a history of sorts together. But we’ll get into that later.”

So with that, for some reason, you felt that everything was going to be okay.

And okay it was. Wanda showed you hundreds of pictures everyday and told the story behind every picture she pulled. Although you didn’t remember any of the memories she retold, it was still nice to hear what your life was like before HYDRA.

A week and a half later, she used her powers on you. At the time you remembered nothing, but later that night when she was showing you more pictures you pulled one picture out of the box. It was three little kids, all surrounding a brown chest that seemed to be filled with various sitcoms on VHS tape.

“This was on your 9th birthday, your father had bought a chest full of old American sitcoms. Not only did you love comedy but our family saw it as a great way to practice your English. Your favorite was The Dick Van Dyke Show.” You immediately recalled with great memory as you picked up the picture. Wanda jumped with joy and hugged you.

“You remembered!!” You nodded happily and hugged her back. “I remembered...” you said back quietly, almost in shock of yourself.

From then on memories came back to you not only easier but also a lot quicker. Soon enough, you remembered everything HYDRA had tried to erase out of your head. Even your feelings for Pietro. But you kept those memories to yourself, afraid that he would hate you after your first encounter with him when you came to the compound.

The last step Wanda had for you in what she called “Becoming You Again Project” was to have dinner with the rest of the compound, and finally be properly introduced to them.

So a dinner you all had. It was casual, but still felt formal as everyone greeted you so politely. Of course Wanda kept them all updated on your status. Even though they hadn’t met you yet, with her seal of approval they all trusted you now.

The last person to greet you was a face you could never forget now. Pietro Maximoff.

“Y/n... I know you’ve met a thousand times before, but I’d like you to meet my brother, Pietro.” Wanda said, elbowing her brother to stop staring at you and shake your hand. You felt weak at the knees under his gaze, was this how he’s always made you feel?

Pietro bowed down before you like you were some kind of princess and kissed your hand sweetly.

“Hello again, dragoste mia“ you felt hot under his touch and knew you were turning a beet red. You nodded quickly and smiled at him. He looked up and winked at you, walking to his seat. Which almost dreadfully, was directly across from yours.

After that you all sat down for dinner, Pepper had made a nice pasta dish for everyone. You ate quietly as everyone went around and told you stories of all kinds. Of past missions together, of personal life stories, and so much more. Truly it was a very enjoyable time. You loved getting to know everyone more than the files you were left in your room to “get to know the avenger” as Tony called it.

The night was almost perfect, if you hadn’t felt the gaze of a very familiar Sokovian man on you all night. He never even spoke, not that he had many stories to tell that you weren’t there for. The more stories that were told, the more you tuned them out and fell victim to his gaze.

But when the room fell quiet and you realized everyone's eyes were on you, you snapped out of whatever trance Pietro held you captive in and laughed nervously.

“I’m sorry, what did I miss? My mind was... somewhere else.” A few others laughed awkwardly, it was no doubt that everyone else noticed the constant looks you and Pietro were sharing. Tony stood up abruptly taking it upon himself to avoid the awkward silence.

“It was nothing important, Y/n. Anyways I believe this dinner was long overdue and very welcomed. We will be seeing you at training tomorrow?” Tony asked, starting to clear up his place.

“She can start on Monday, Tony. Let the kid have the weekend before she officially becomes an avenger, yeah?” Steve said, also standing up. Tony looked back at you and said “Captain's orders kid, see you Monday.” He said walking off, plate in hand. The others followed suit as you said your thank you’s for the warm welcome and goodnights to everyone.

Even if you didn’t make the dinner, you insisted on cleaning up. It was a nice way for you to feel helpful and to debrief after the dinner. Wanda left you alone and you cleaned the dishes happily while F.R.I.D.A.Y played some tunes for you.

“Mind if I lend you a hand, printsessa?” You heard a thick accent call out. You turned around to see none other than Pietro standing at the kitchen island with a smirk on his face.

“You’re not afraid of me?” You asked in a playful tone, although you weren’t entirely joking.

“Hardly, you could choke the life out of me and I’d say thank you.” He said, cheekiness radiating in his voice. You only laughed at his comment shaking your head.

“But just so you know, I used to do the choking in this relationship.” He said, daring to step closer to you. Your legs felt like jelly but you challenged him.

“Oh did you now? It’s a shame I don’t remember that.” You said teasingly

“But you remember other things? You remember me? Us? What we were?” His tone remained challenging, but his words were serious. You flirty front dropped at this, a small fear that he didn’t feel the same now coming back to eat you alive. You didn’t answer, rather turning back around to finish off the last of the dishes.

“You do remember me, and the times we shared together... no?” He said, carefully coming beside you.

“How could I forget? Of all the memories I was able to recall, those were the best” you said half-heartedly... not meaning to sound so bitter.

“But surely you’ve moved on...” you said quietly, staring at the dish you scrubbed aggressively in your hand.

“Oh dragâ mea” he said, taking a risk and placing one of his hands at the side of your face, gently forcing you to look at him.

“I never believed them when they told us you had failed your trials and passed on. I knew you were stronger than that, and the memories of what we had, kept me strong enough to escape from those bastards. I always had hope that you were still out there.”

You smiled brightly and tears brimmed your eyes, only this time you weren’t afraid to let them fall.

“I never stopped loving you, Y/n. Even when I thought you were dead.” And there went your tears, falling down your face as you turned to fully face Pietro as you wrapped your soapy hands around his neck.

“I love you too Pietro, the memories I have with you are the best ones I’ve remembered since I came back.”

He laughed lightly and brought his forehead to yours “so glad to hear you finally snapped out it, my love.”

“How could I have been so blind? I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you when you first visited me.” You admitted shyly

“It’s okay, I waited so patiently for years. A few more weeks wasn’t going to kill me” you laughed as your noses touched. His breath was fanning over your face and you didn’t dare break your eyes away from his.

“If you can promise not to slap me... we could always try that kiss again?” He said slyly, but you only sighed happily.

“I promise.” And that was all he needed. Pietro closed the small space between the two of you and pressed his soft lips to yours. The moment was nothing but pure bliss as you inhaled his sweet scent.

You pulled away somewhat reluctantly and smiled up at the man in front of you.

“Does that mean we’re together again?” He asked kindly

“Oh yeah, and good luck getting rid of me this time speedy.” You joked, tangling your fingers in the ends of his hair at the back of his neck.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, dragosté” he said, leaning down and bringing you in for a much more passionate kiss.

—

A/N

Ahhh hi everyone!! I truly haven't gotten this many imagines out in years and it feels so good. I turned on “The Greatest Showman” and five minutes later was struck with inspiration and somehow came up with this, which is actually kind of based off the song “Snap Out of It” by the Arctic Monkeys. I’ve been so obsessed with Pietro Maximoff/Arron Taylor Johnson lately, honestly it's ridiculous. Anyways I really hope you all enjoyed this imagine and remember, feedback is always welcomed and requests are encouraged!

Much Love,

—Skyler

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extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years

Text

heiress - 3

pairing: bucky barnes x oc!reader

a/n: this is part three of a four part series based on a song lyrics sent to me by an amazing anon with a reader based on my favourite oc brought to you by me listening to turning page from sleeping at last so i decided to add a quote. hope you enjoy xx

“letters strewn across your bedroom floor. such beautiful words but you can’t remember who they’re for“

“if i had only felt the warmth within your touch. if i had only seen how you smile when you blush or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough i would have known what i was living for all along”

previous chapter

She entered her past as she stepped into the right wing room. She remembered this room, she remembered it way to well from the shelves on the walls and the book cabinets to the burning smell it still somehow held even after all these years. Her eyes gazed from side to side until they turned purple and ghosts of her memories started to take form. Her eyes widened as she stepped back, trying to run away from the room until two hands grabbed her arms into place forcing her towards the chair where he was, long hair hitting his jaw, strapped like a wild animal. She struggled against the two men, trying to free herself from their hold, yet it didn’t budge, they kept holding her into place as if she was being punished.

- Wipe him again. - one of the men in a lab coat said in a thick Russian accent as the chair lowered down towards an electric head lock. His screams inundated her mind like daggers. Her breath quickened as she started to move her arms to try and get freed for them, to try and help them.

- STOP! PLEASE! - she yelled out, begged as she continued to try and free herself from the two men holding her arms until she fell on her knees. An agony filled scream passed through her lips, overpowering his own screams as a wave of white glow expanded from her to the corners of the room.

- Y/N! - her head was tucked into her legs as someone held her shoulders. Her breathe came out into fast, short paced puffs as he lifted her head to see Bucky standing in front of her holding her arms. What scared her wasn’t him but what surrounded her as she looked around to see everything that laid across the room was gone, the walls itself interrupting from being walls into being made of white glow, her eyes completely white.

- Get away from me. - she pushed away from Bucky, unsure of what she had done, unsure of what she had seen. - I don’t wanna hurt you, I don’t wanna hurt you again.

- Look at me. - he ignored her pushing him away, walking up to her again and lowering himself down to her level. His blue eyes met her completely white ones as he wondered what to do. He didn’t know what to do. - Breathe, okay?

- Okay. - she felt the air enter and exit her lungs slowly as she stared into his blue eyes, so calm.

- GET AWAY FROM HER! - a red glow pushed him away from Y/N to reveal Wanda and Sam who had come to her rescue the moment they heard her scream. She rushed from the door to her friend, holding her hands in hers while Sam went to check on Bucky. - What’s wrong? What did he do? I can’t read his mind.

- He didn’t do anything. I ... I lost control. - Y/N looked down at her hands and at the room which was slowly returning to its normality, with the objects slowly returning. - I don’t know what happened. I walked in and ... it just exploded.

- Guys, we found it. - Monica spoke over the intercom. Y/N’s eyes lingered over to where Wanda had effortlessly thrown Bucky too, an apologetic look, yet she couldn’t understand his look. It was curious almost too curious as if he was looking for clues in her face. Wanda protectively draped her arm over her back, pushing her away from the room which was still haunted by a white-like glow.

She knew that memory, the one she had been stuck in. It was a much too familiar memory of several times she had been punished by watching them ... by watching them hurt him. Madame B was many things but she was a smart woman, a smart woman who carefully plucked out every fear her girls had and used them against them if any stepped the line. Bucky had been one fear too easy to spot, having seen Y/N step up to a guard who had harmed him even after the much taller man had thrown her to a ground. It was a haunted memory for her. - they would always hold her and make her watch as they hurt him. She still remembered his screaming, blood curdling, pain filled screams. Seeing it again, being in that room and have him come to her was just too much.

Yelena and the rest of the team had been left in the dark about everything that had happened. It was best that way; she did not need more people worrying about things she should’ve already figured out. However, Agatha was right and that she knew. Whatever the soul stone had given her was easily uncontrollable if she was in a messy state. If someone had answers it had to be Agatha yet she had learned that dealing with her was a monkey’s paw.

Bucky on the other hand couldn’t stop looking at her. The more he did, the less foggy the memories became from the very time he had seen her to the last time he did. All he could fixate however was on a broken promise he had made her the last time he had seen her. I will find you, I promise. Such pretty words, such a beautiful promise, almost worthy of being in a poem but the truth is, he hadn’t been looking for her. He had memories of her in patches, memories of what he had felt for her and now she was there. He wondered if she remembered him, if she knew who he was. If she remembered ... maybe she didn’t. After all HYDRA and the Red Room had a particular talent at destroying memories with a swift ability. He watched as she listened to Monica explain what they had found and what not, her hair escaping the grip of her ponytail held up by a red piece of fabric tied in a small bow.

- Promise me you’ll remember I love you. - his own ghost voice melodised into his hearing along with the sound of rain against window panes. It wasn’t raining and he wasn’t speaking. - Because they’ll make me forget and you have to remember. You have to remember so you can remind me.

- You won’t forget it. - he could hear her voice as he looked at her but Y/N wasn’t even looking at him. He wondered when she had told him that, he wondered if he had reassured her, he wondered if she remembered when he had told him that. There was so much he still didn’t know but it came in waves, it came in waves explaining what it was. Wanda, however, was staring at him, head slightly cocked to the side in a menacing manner. He looked at the Sokovian woman, trying to read her but he couldn’t. Her mood was a simple as someone keeping her eye on him.

The small plane landed just outside the hex; Yelena jumping from the harbour onto the wilderness the first, followed by Alexei and Monica who were excited enough to study the new notebook but Y/N lingered behind. Flashes of what had just happened rushing through her mind as she stared at the blank wall of the small plane and then back to her hands which were trembling.

- Matter manipulation is messy, isn’t it, dear? - a voice shook her from her own mind. Looking around there was no one but her. She put her hand over her holster, ready to shoot at nowhere.

- What are you doing? - she turned around to see Wanda approaching the jet, having broken apart from the group to check on Y/N. - We need to talk. It’s about Bucky.

- What about Bucky? - she climbed out of the jet to met Wanda.

- I can’t read him anymore. - she sighed. - Did you maybe by accident expanded your “shield” to him too?

- This is not Twilight, Wanda. I cannot expand whatever it is I have.

- Well, I don’t trust him. - she shrugged. - What happened in the Red Room?

- Oh, it was nothing. - she lied, it was something but she did not want to worry Wanda. She didn’t want to worry anyone, she just wanted to get into the hex and go to sleep and that’s just what she did.

She forwent the meeting, last thing she needed was to hear about the Winter Soldier. If there was someone who knew more about the Winter Soldier than the person himself was her and that knowledge was tainted with memories that she wished to relieve yet forget. Laying against her bed she starred at the white ceiling of her bedroom, raising her fingers to play around with the white mist that surrounded them at her will. Element manipulation, that’s what she did. That’s what her file said, that’s what SWORD told her yet element manipulation wouldn’t have made a full room’s objects disappear. Whatever it was, whatever HYDRA and her father had put in her she didn’t know. She always seemed to be the last to know of things that concerned her. Bringing her hand down, she rolled in bed to lay on her side, watching her door with sleepy eyes, hoping she could go to sleep. Of course the universe had different plans as once she felt herself waver between to conscious and unconscious world, she heard a knock against her door. Groaning, she got up from the warmth of her bed and padded towards the door, opening it to slightly to see Bucky standing there.

- Sergeant Barnes, everything okay? - she leaned against the side of her door, staring him up and down.

- Yes, I just wanted to give back the letters Monica Rambeau gave to me. I assume you and your team will be able to decode them better than me ... I guess. - he handed her the stack of letters worn out by time and his own hands. Her eyes moved up from the letters to his eyes, looking for any type of game he could be playing with her. - I guess with you being Pierce’s daughter and all ... maybe he commented with you.

- Ah ... - she forced a smile upon her lips as she took the letters. - You know, I haven’t spoken with my father since I was 10.

- I didn’t me ...

- He didn’t really try to reach out to me either. - she interrupted him. - The only person he has reached out while in prison has been Fury. I don’t even think he would know what I look like.

- I didn’t mean to offend you.

- You didn’t. - she sighed, hand pushing her own hair back. - I wish I could apologise better for what he did to you but I really wouldn’t know how I’d do it.

- I wouldn’t want you to apologise.

- You don’t even know how many apologies I actually owe you. - she looked down to her feet before looking at him. - ... because of my father, I mean.

- Well... if anything there helps. - he put his hands on his pockets. - Or if you know who they’re for ... let me know.

She stood against her door as he left right after that sentence, watching him disappear in the long hallway probably to return to his bedroom. It didn’t really matter, really, she told herself. Yet part of her knew Bucky was much more observant than she could ever be so if there was nothing she could find in those letters. Nevertheless, the most curious side of her nature only wanted to know what is, so she did. She sat down in her bed and grabbed the first letter, pushing it from the envelope onto the comforter. She recognised his handwriting, a bit more messy, probably rushed in ran out ink. He probably had stole one of the sign in sheets old pens which barely worked.

Y/N faltered, refusing to focus on his writing, on his words to her. She knew they were dated after she had ran away from the Red Room and she didn’t want to read his words to her after she had abandoned him. It was too much yet the more her eyes read the date, the more courage she got. Might as well get her heart broken and move on with her life.

Dear Daisy,

today I remembered you and it is probably silly to be writing it down mostly because I don’t expect you to ever read it but if I write it down at least I can remember you again if they make me forget. I remembered the first time I ever saw you yet mentioning it now feels weird as I don’t even know if you knew I had seen you. You had a black bodysuit I am almost certain and black ballerina shoes dancing up to some monotonous music with your hair pushed back with some old red fabric in a small bow. It just came to me staring at that piano myself, maybe as long as that piano exists I won’t forget you yet I don’t know if it will hurt less to remember you or to forget you. All I know is, the moment they send me out I will find you. I promise I will find you.

Well, the two of them were good at broken promises, she thought to herself. Maybe he had reminded himself to find her and chose not to after assessing her actions, maybe he didn’t even remember she existed or what her voice was. She hoped the later was true. She wouldn’t know what to say, what to do if he remembered her. Years ago she used to picture it in her naive mind; running to him, hugging and kissing like in a picture perfect rom com. Now she just wouldn’t know what to say other than beg on her knees for his forgiveness. Not that she deserved it. At least she had that in common with her father, both owed James Barnes an apology which could never be accepted.

Y/N shoved whatever was left of those letters under her bed, hoping to bury them in the same place she buried all her worries. What use was going back to the past? It hadn’t been kind to her then, it wouldn’t be kind now so there was really no use in dwelling in what could’ve been. In what she could’ve been. Childish whims. She let her thoughts simmer, lull her into sleep until she was back into that place, that room which had made her into what she was now. She looked down, dressed in the issued black shirt and leggings, small gun in hand. She looked to the side, Madam B. standing near her in her impecable blue suit with a wood board under her arm.

- It’s just this one and you are gonna win. - she gave her a smile but it wasn’t warm, it was cold, too cold. - Just shot the target, darling.

- What if I fail? - she looked at the person tied to the chair, bag over the head.

- You can’t fail. - the assistant pulled the bag from over the target to reveal Bucky. She took a step behind, faltering as her grip loosened over the gun she was holding. - Shoot him.

- I can’t.

- Shoot him.

- I can’t ... I won’t.

- Fine, then I’ll do it. - she grabbed the gun from her and rose it up to Bucky’s head. She tried to run, to try and put herself in front of her but she was stuck, she was stuck ... and then bang.

She rose from her bed in terror, sweating, breathes coming in and out as fast as they could as she looked around to see the walls of her bedroom. She was safe, she was safe, she was not there. He was safe. Looking down at her hands, the shivering had become and this time it bothered her. She looked weak, frail ... just like her father had described her before, like SWORD and HYDRA described her. Y/N jumped off her bed, running away from her bed to try and find the bathroom or the kitchen ... somewhere she could wash her shivering hands, somewhere she could drown her face in cold water just somewhere. She rushed through the kitchen doors and to the sink, turning on the water before putting her hands under the running water.

- Y/N? Are you okay? - she had rushed so fast into the kitchen she hadn’t even noticed someone else was already there. She turned her head from the sink to look at Bucky but what she saw made her put her hand in front her mouth. He was there, long hair ... with a wound shot on his forehead. She turned her head back to sink, watching her reflection in the sink, her eyes glowing white. - Y/N?

She looked over her should back to him, that look ... what he looked like was gone. He had short hair, healthy skin, no wounds but she had seen it, she had seen it. Bucky noticed the discomfort in her face, taking a step back once he noticed his arm was on full display along with its scars. Sometimes he forgot about how he looked, about how he could freak people out.

- Sergeant Barnes, I’m so sorry ... I didn’t mean to scare you.

- Are you okay? - he wanted to reach out to her, be comforting but he barely looked like a comforting man. - You look shaken up.

- Yeah, I just ... bad dream really. Quite childish.

- It’s not childish. I get them all my time, my therapist say it’s normal.

- I have no reason to have them. - she leaned against the counter. - Why are you here? Midnight snack?

- Just had to think about some stuff and Sam snores. - he joked around, smiling once he saw her lip curl slightly upwards. - I have a question for you. You read those letters, right?

- One of them. Why?

- Do you think she might have loved me?

- Pardon?

- I will reword it. Did you love me?

taglist: @lookiamtrying

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candy-and-writing · 4 years

Text

Siren Song

This is my entry for @mermaidxatxheart challenge #jamies500writingchallenge with the AU Siren/Sailor. I decided to kind of put a twist on it, so I hope it still fits!!!

Summary: You are a Siren. Your voice is an aphrodisiac that lures people into a spell. The only way they can break your spell is if they sleep with you. Steve accidentally hears you singing after a mission.

Warnings: dub-con, smut, drugging, gags, restraints, fingering, oral sex, Steve waiting too long for the woman he loves

A/n: Feedback is welcomed and appreciated! I was a dumbass and waited until the day before this was due to write this, so if there are any error, please let me know :)

I am NOT responsible for your media content consumption. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and/or dark themes. By reading this work you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party app or website; if you are seeing this work anywhere other than tumblr and archiveofourown, it has been reposted without my permission.

"What's your status, Siren?" Tony's voice came through your earpiece. You finished flattening out the line of your dress, taking a sip of your champagne before you answered.

"So far, so good. I have eyes on the target, let me finish my drink and I can engage—"

"No!" Steve spat in your ear, making you flinch. "Y/n, do not engage, do you understand?"

You scoffed. If Steve didn't want you to engage, then what was the point of you being here? At this point, you weren't even batting any eyelashes at anybody—under strict orders from your Captain not to.

"Come on, Sailor," you purred. "I can help. Let me do my job."

"You use your power on me again, I'm gonna quarantine you," Steve growled. You chuckled at his threat.

"Then what exactly is the reason I'm here, Captain?" you asked, taking another sip of the overtly expensive drink you held. "You want the target incapacitated, I can incapacitate him for you. It'll be easy."

"Incapacitated, not oogling over you."

"You got a problem with my powers, Sailor?"

You heard Steve sigh. "You know that I don't. I got a problem with the men here, especially the man we're trying to catch. He doesn't have a good rep with pretty dames like you, I'm trying to keep you safe."

"You think I'm pretty?" You feigned surprise, bringing your hand to your chest to mimic shock.

"That—" he paused for a moment before letting out an aggravated breath. "That's not the point and you know it. Just keep your distance for now, when we're ready we'll let you know."

You sighed. "Yeah, that's not happening, Cap. Sorry."

"Y/n—"

You turned off your comms, swaying over to your target, a man named Viktor Yakovich. He was a HYDRA lackie known for sex trafficking and importing drugs in and out of the Harbour. You passed him, fingers dragging along the chest of his iron pressed suit, rolling off his shoulder and when you looked back to meet his eyes, you winked.

The wide-eyed, jaw-dropped expression he wore showed you he was enthralled. He watched as you sauntered to an empty seat at the end of the bar. You ordered a drink, a fancy strawberry vanilla tequila cocktail with a misconstructed french name. You watched the bartender make your drink, pouring different liquids into the mixer. He shook the tin almost violently before he poured the drink into a cocktail glass, adding three small strawberry slices into your glass. You thanked him as he handed it to you and took a hefty sip.

Just as you finished the last of your cocktail, Yakovich stood leaning against the bartop, eyeing you with a level of lust that had chills running down your spine.

"I'll have a double whiskey on the rocks," he said to the bartender, his accent thick, "and another of whatever the lady is having."

"Extra shot of tequila, please," you added. Viktor smirked at you.

"You are quite beautiful," he commented. "What brings you here?"

You made up some story about your father being too sick to attend the luxurious gala himself, so he sent you as his representative. It was a story engraved in your brain, a caring daughter worried about her poor father's health. His liver was failing, you told Yakovich.

Yakovich was quick to give you his sympathies. You thanked him, sipping on your new drink. Gathering your courage, you set your hand on his thigh, rubbing your thumb softly against the fabric of his trousers. You watched his eyes widen, his shoulders raised as his breathing hitched.

"Why don't we go upstairs?" Your voice lowered several octaves. Yakovich grinned, offering you his arm.

Your head pounded as you regained consciousness, groaning. You're vaguely aware of the pain in your body, the heaviness in your legs and how your arms almost felt numb. The dim light above you all too bright as you clenched your eyes shut in protest, grimacing. Your mouth was dry, the corners of your lips ached, and you felt a piece of plastic lodged between your teeth. You tried to bring your hand up, but something was keeping your arms rooted in place. As your mind became clearer, you saw your wrists were tied to the edges of the chair, arms pulled taut at your sides. You were gagged and tied down. Great.

What was the last thing you remembered? Yakovich had taken you to his hotel room above the ballroom. You remembered you had kissed him, he had pushed you against the wall. He moved you to the bed after you felt a sharp prick in your neck and then—and then it went black. The damn bastard had drugged you. But how had he gotten out of your spell? That wasn't supposed to be possible.

"Well, well, well. . . looks like the little dove is awake." The rich Russian accent sounded oddly humorous, which sent a shudder up your spine. Footsteps echoed against the chipped concrete. Yakovich stepped into view, a wicked grin plastered on his face. You frowned at him, tilting your chin up defiantly. He chuckled at you, roughly grabbing your chin. "I know all about you, little dove. You were HYDRA's most powerful weapon, made the Winter Soldier look like child's play. But. . . you defected. How come?"

You shrugged. Mumbled through your gag some jarbled excuse. Really you were just making noise. Yakovich sighed before backhanding you across the cheek, your head snapping to the side with a sharp crack. You bit down on the plastic wedged between your teeth, a yelp getting stuck in your throat.

"Oh, dove. You make such lovely noises. It is such a shame I won't get to hear more. Kill her now."

A knife was at your throat. You held your head up, glaring at Yakovich. There was a crash, shards of glass shattering on the cement floor. Something flew past your head with a deafening whoosh, Steve's shield striking Yakovich square in the chest, sending him flying. The knife had left your throat, Tony blasting the blade out the man's hand as Sam drop kicked him.

Steve was in front of you, reaching to unbuckle the gag behind your head. He threw it to the ground, his hand cupping your cheek.

"Hey, Sailor," you rasped, your voice hoarse.

His thumb brushed over the red marks at the corner of your mouth. "Are you okay?"

"I had it handled," you smirked. Steve chuckled incredulously, dropping his head.

"You're unbelievable," he laughed.

He tore the twine that was wrapped tightly around your wrists. He rubbed the dark red marks, trying to get the blood flowing back in your hands. He whispered something that sounded similar to 'oh, baby', looking at the marks surrounding your wrists.

"Let's get you out of here. Okay?" Steve's hand went under your knees, your arm draping the back of his neck. He carried you out of the warehouse, the quinjet parked a few meters away. Steve sat you on the exam table that came up from the floor. "The others will be here soon, okay? They just gotta take care of Yakovich."

You nodded, swallowing. The pain was starting to set in—your head throbbed in sharp pains, your wrists were burning in piercing pulses. You were so dizzy, your world spun around you until you had to hold onto Steve. He looked at you, concern swimming behind his eyes as his hand covered yours over his bicep.

"I'm fine," you said weakly.

Natasha, Tony, and Sam boarded the quinjet.

"Hey, kiddo," Tony smiled. "How you doing?"

"Never better," you grinned. "Where's Yakovich?"

"Local police are gonna hold him while we get you back to the Compound," Natasha said, "then Tony and I are going to bring him into S.H.I.E.L.D. . . . What happened?"

You shrugged. "I don't know, I-I thought I had him. We were upstairs, I was—um, you know. . .." you scratched the back of your neck. "And then it just went black."

"I thought people couldn't resist your powers?"

"They're not supposed to be able to." You frowned, rubbing the bridge of your nose. There was so much pressure building up in your head, you just wanted to take some aspirin and sleep for a week.

"You gonna need medical?" Sam had his arms crossed, a frown on his face. You shook your head.

"I'll be fine."

"Y/n," Steve said sternly. Natasha went to the front of the jet, pressing buttons and flipping a switch. The ramp pulled up and sealed the entrance as the engine roared to life.

You sighed. "I'm fine, Sailor. Seriously. I just need a hot shower and to get out of this dress."

Steve tried to argue with you. "You might have a concussion."

You reminded Steve about the serum that was coursing through your veins. The same one HYDRA had forced into you, the same one Bucky had coursing through his veins. Except it didn't make you strong like him or Steve. It had done something to your cells, and with a few genetic alterations, HYDRA was able to give you your powers.

And HYDRA wondered why you left.

You let the dress slip off your body, leaving you in a lacy pair of wine red panties and a thigh holster. You discarded the holster, sliding the lace off your legs before stepping into the shower.

The water was warm, soothing your taut muscles. Your shoulders were so tight they felt like concrete. You sighed, leaning your head back into the water stream.

You left the bathroom clad in a towel, your hair damp. Your head felt better than it had when you arrived at the compound. Your wrists were bruising, the dark red marks encircling your wrists turning a violent purple. You had a bruise forming on your cheek, too, from where Yakovich slapped you.

"Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y?" you called.

"Yes, Miss L/n?" the A.I responded.

"Can you play some music for me? My 'Calm' playlist, please?"

"Of course, Miss L/n."

A Lana Del Rey song echoed through your room. You thought it was called 'Love song' but honestly, you couldn't be sure. You hummed along, drying your hair with a separate towel.

In the car, in the car, in the backseat, I'm your baby

We go fast, we go so fast, we don't move

"I believe in a place you take me," you sang, eyes closed, scrunching the water out of your locks. "Make you real proud of your baby."

You stood, grabbing a lavender and cedarwood lotion off your dresser. You sat back down on your bed, bringing your leg up.

"Oh, be my once in a lifetime—" You rub lotion up and down your leg, massaging it in. "Lyin' on your chest in my party dress."

You dropped your towel, moving to your drawer chest. You grabbed a pair of white cotton panties that were a size too small and an old Yankees shirt that was too big. It used to be Steve's, but one day he was doing laundry and the shirt shrunk. You snatched it before he could throw it away.

"Dream a dream, here's a scene." You pulled a pair of green fuzzy socks over your feet. "Touch me anywhere 'cause I'm your baby."

You turned around, running into a solid wall of muscle. You yelped, Steve grabbing your arms to steady you. You looked up at him, frowning.

"Hey, Sailor, whatcha doing?" Steve was silent, staring at you intently. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as they raked up and down your form. "Steve?"

"I've never heard you sing before," he commented, his voice a few octaves lower than you've ever heard it. "Your voice is beautiful."

Your eyes widened, inhaling a sharp breath. You thought you had set F.R.I.D.A.Y up so when you told her to play music it also activated her soundproofing protocol. Tony assured you no one could hear you.

"O-o-o-o-o-kay." You twisted out of Steve's grasp, holding your hands out in front of you. "I think you should go. Go take a cold shower or something, okay?"

"Oh, but, sweetheart. . . you said I could touch you anywhere."

You slowly stepped around him, Steve stalking you with a dark look. Your knees hit the bed and you crashed down, looking up at him in—in what, fear? Anticipation?

Steve hooked his finger under your chin, tilting your head up. He looked down on you, a crooked grin splitting his lips. You swallowed, looking at his smooth, plump lips. You quickly looked up to meet his gaze, his bright blue eyes swallowed in lust. You called out his name, your voice barely above a whisper.

And then his lips were on yours. A small whimper died in your throat, his lips soft as they moved against your own. Your eyes fluttered shut, Steve's grip on your chin tightening. His knees came up to rest on either side of you, straddling you. He pushed you down, leaning down to cup your cheeks as he sucked at your bottom lip. His heated length pressed against your center. When his tongue pressed into your mouth, you pushed against his chest again only to have him press your hands against the mattress.

Heat pooled in your core as you felt the effects of his arousal. It was a lot like secondhand smoking, the way it affected you. Steve was hooked, caught in your trap like a fly in a spider's web.

"Steve. . . Steve, wait." He pulled away, his hot breath hitting your lips, your noses almost touching. "You don't want this—please, snap out it."

"Come on, Siren," Steve smirked. "All that flirting. . . and you didn't see this coming?" His lips met your neck, trailing kisses down the column of your neck. Your lip trembled as he sucked a bruise into your skin, in the juncture between your shoulder and neck.

"Steve, please. You can fight this."

A hand trailed up past the hem of your shirt. "Oh, I don't wanna fight it, sweetheart. Look at you, all dressed up for me in my shirt, pretty as a picture."

His hand palmed your breast. You pushed against his chest, trying desperately to get him off. He nipped at your collarbone, pinching your nipple until you yelped. He shushed you, pushing the shirt over your head and up your arms. He ripped the fabric apart effortlessly, manhandling you to lay across the bed before he grabbed your wrists. Using the shreds of the old shirt he tied you to the bars of your metal bed frame. You were surprised by the amount of panic that fled through you as you pulled against the makeshift restraints, the cloth digging into the bruises around your wrists.

His lips teased your shoulder while he gently played with your breasts. He added the slightest pressure as he squeezed, your breasts fitting perfectly in his hands as you shuddered out a breath.

"Oh."

"That feel good, baby?" Steve mumbled into your neck. You helplessly nodded, whimpering as he rubbed his hard length against you in a rhythm that had your traitorous body moving your hips against him.

You tried to remind yourself that it was the effects of your powers, that both of you were under a spell and this wasn't real. It wasn't intimacy, this wasn't you and Steve so madly in love with each other it drove you insane. It was raw, unadulterated hunger. Nothing more than a spell.

"Steve, please," you whimpered, a particular grind against your core making you gasp. "You know how this is going to end—do you want that?"

"I want you, that's all that matters."

You cried out Steve's name as his lips latched onto your nipple, rolling the other sensitive bud between his fingertips. Steve couldn't mean that—if he wanted this, that meant you couldn't force him out of your spell. He was bewitched until he fucked it out of his system.

Steve's fingertips danced down your torso, hovering over your belly button and stopping at the line of your underwear. He traced the edge of the garments, mouthing at the spot where your neck and shoulder met. His fingers hooked into your waistband and he pulled your panties down your legs, dropping them on the floor. Steve groaned, inhaling your scent.

"Smell so good, baby," he murmured, "bet you taste even better."

Your cheeks flushed. You weren't sure you wanted him to put his mouth on you. It was wrong, Steve wasn't in his right mind. He wasn't thinking straight.

A strangled moan left your lips as Steve plunged two fingers into your slick heat, looking for the spot inside you that could shatter you. That coil inside you was tight, threatening to explode and send you over the edge. You began to babble mindlessly, endless pleas of 'Steve, please' and vulgar curses. You struggled against your restraints, trying desperately to touch him. You wanted to feel him. He pumped his fingers in and out of you slowly, drawing out the stimulation.

Then his lips were on the little bundle of nerves just above your entrance. You squealed, bucking your hips into his face. You thighs clenched around his head, pushing his face impossibly closer to your center. He removed his fingers from your entrance, leaving you feeling desperate and empty. You whimpered at Steve, gasping when his tongue darted into your entrance.

He devastated you with his mouth, his tongue teasing your aching clit again and again until the little bundle of nerves was vibrating. As soon as you felt your release forming, he'd move back down to your entrance, teasing it in and out of there just deep enough to have you begging for more.

"Taste so good, baby." He hummed into your flesh, sending vibrations up through your clit, his hips rutting into the mattress. He pushed the pads of his fingers up, still teasing your bundle of nerves and that was all it took. You cried out, the coil snapping like a taut rubber band, your hips involuntarily jerking as you cried out and struggled against your bonds.

Your entire body was buzzing, your limbs boneless as you panted below him. Steve climbed atop you, fervently pressing his lips to yours. You could taste yourself on him. Licking your lips as he mouthed at your jaw, you closed your eyes. Your brow was sweaty as you tried to catch your breath. Powers or not, you hadn't cum like that in a long time.

When you opened your eyes, his knees were wedged between your thighs, the tip of his cockhead at your entrance. Steve hummed, brushing himself against your wet folds. You dug your teeth into your lower lip, trying desperately not to whimper. Steve leaned down to kiss your cheek before he pushed into you slowly, his thick cock stretching your walls.

Your breath left your lungs, a cry breaking in your throat as Steve groaned into your ear, your silky heat clenching him like a vice. You pulled against your restraints, wincing as pain burned your wrists. He shushed you, nibbling at your shoulder as a means of distraction. When he bottomed out, a growl reverberated through his chest.

"Fuck." Steve's hot breath hit your ear. "You feel so good, Y/n. So tight."

You preened as Steve picked up his pace, easily falling into a hard and fast rhythm. You screamed into his chest, Steve pushing your legs up and effectively folding you in half, the new angle allowing him to hit deeper. You were losing circulation to your hands by how hard you were pulling against the strands of fabric but you didn't care. All you felt was Steve and the way the tip of his cock hit the tip of your cervix.

Your orgasm came out of nowhere—rose so quickly and crashed over you like a tidal wave, sending you reeling. You screamed, seizing up and convulsing around Steve's cock. Steve cursed, feeling you pulsate around him. Black dots invaded your vision as Steve slammed into you harder, faster, and then pulled out suddenly, hot spurts of cum shooting onto your lower stomach. With an animalistic groan, Steve fell to the side.

It took several minutes for either of you to gather your bearings. You were still tied to the bed, breathless and coated in cum when Steve rose, the color in his eyes returning.

"Y/n, I—" Steve faltered. The guilty look in his puppy-dog eyes making your chest flutter.

"Can you just untie me?" you said quietly. "Please?"

"Oh—yeah. Um. . . yeah." He undid the knot, letting you bring your hands down and sit up. He felt his heart skip a beat at the fresh marks around your wrists. He jumped off the bed and for a moment you were worried he was going to run away, but he gently handed you his shirt before pulling his pants over his hips. "Hold on, okay? I'm gonna get you a rag." You watched him disappear into the bathroom. You pulled his shirt over your head, massaging your wrists gently.

Steve came back into the room with a damp rag. He handed it to you, hesitant to sit down as you wiped yourself off. "Y/n, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault." You tossed the rag on the floor, looking down at your wrinkled sheets. "Just—I should have been more careful about singing."

"No—no, don't blame yourself, sweetheart."

"Listen, I'll go to Tony in the morning, tell him what happened." You sighed. "Maybe he can fix F.R.I.D.A.Y's protocol. I'll ask to be removed from missions, too, if that's what you want—"

"No, no. Y/n, I don't want that." Steve groaned. "I'll talk to Tony. I'm the one that invaded your space. I caused this, I'll fix this."

You bit your lip, ringing Steve's shirt in your hands.

"What is it?"

You sighed. "Nothing, it's just. . . I just Siren Song-ed you into sex and—and you're my friend, I don't want this to ruin things."

"It won't ruin things," Steve promised. "I was actually hoping we could. . . maybe go get some—you know, actually, never mind. It was a bad idea."

"Steve," you smirked. "What is it?"

Steve sighed. "Would you want to go get coffee with me? Maybe tomorrow?"

A smile spread across your face. "You wanna get coffee with me?"

"Yeah. I was gonna ask you after the mission, but things went a little. . . sideways."

You breathed out a chuckle. "I'd love to get coffee with you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

Steve let out a sigh of relief. "Good, good. I'll pick you up after the briefing tomorrow? We can go to the coffee shop in town with all the books?"

You smiled. "That sounds great."

"Good." Steve flashed you a toothy grin. "I'm—uh—I'm gonna let you get some sleep, okay? You've had a long day."

You scoffed, slipping your legs under your covers. "Yeah. Goodnight, Sailor."

Steve stood in the threshold, shirtless and sweaty, his hair messy as he peaked past the door. "Goodnight, Siren."

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beware-of-you-98 · 4 years

Note

Do have any sad/angsty headcanons of Emily’s childhood? Like before 15? I love your hc lists, they’re always so good 🥺

i can certainly try!!

(ow i hurt myself really bad with this one)

tw//mention of conversion camps but it’s brief

emily, as we know, had very absent parents (or at least a very absent mother) from a very early age

she’s learned to rely on herself from an early age because of this

like, yeah, she has nannies, but she’s firm on being very independent

(this type of thinking leads to early compartmentalizing, which never ends up being a good thing)

once, emily breaks her arm when she’s four years old and no one noticed for three days because she hid it so well

[her arm still hurts from time to time even now because of this injury]

her mother makes her take ediqute classes to be a prim and proper lady but emily finds ways to skip the classes

she much rather sit alone in the library and read

her favorite stories are the ones where knights rescue princesses

she always imagines herself as the knight, but still as herself because girls can be heroes too!!!

if she wants to fight dragons and carry a sword and rescue pretty princesses, no one can stop her!!!

when she’s six, she begins to sneak out into the woods to play “rescue the princess”

with no friends, she has to use a lot of imagination, but she makes it work

one day, she befriends a raven by feeding him pieces of her lunch that she doesn’t eat

she knows the knights in her storybooks have horses, but she thinks a raven will work fine as her sidekick

she names him mortimer

mortimer gets spooked away when emily first picks up a stick to use as a sword, but once he realizes this weird, tall, featherless bird won’t use the stick on him, he stays

mortimer follows emily around as she stops through the trees, loudly proclaiming that she is “dame prentiss” and that she will slay the dragon to rescue the beautiful princess

mortimer is emily’s only friend, really

when her mother tells emily that they’re going to movie, she honestly has a full blown panic attack because what about mortimer???

he won’t know she left!!!

he won’t understand!!!

what if he’s sad??

what if he thinks she rescued the princess without him???

would he be mad??

he helped too!! mortimer deserved to know!!

she can’t just leave her best friend behind!! surely her mother will understand that, right?

her pleas fall deaf on the ambassador’s ears

emily’s devestated

they move across the world

emily kinda shuts down after the move

she barely talks

she can’t find it in herself to read any more knight stories— they make her too sad

she thinks about mortimer a lot

one day, she thinks she sees him and cries when she realizes the bird is a crow and is definitely not her friend

the ambassador signs her up for piano lessons after that to keep her in the house at all times

after her schooling lessons, emily is forced into the main room with the grand piano

the piano teacher her mother hired is a kind young woman that speaks to emily in a very soft, very friendly voice

she has carmel hair and really pretty hazel eyes and tells emily that her name is miss howard

she looks just like the princesses in emily’s storybooks

miss howard is really patient with emily

sometimes, they don’t even play the piano during emily’s lessons

sometimes they just talk about emily’s day

emily thinks it’s nice—she’s never had anyone to talk to

miss howard listens to emily when she has a bad day

she doesn’t tell her that “a prentiss never shows weakness”

miss howard lets emily cry when she needs to

she lets emily talk about mortimer

she doesn’t call him a stupid bird

miss howard thinks mortimer sounded like the greatest friend [he was]

one day, emily breaks down because her french lesson didn’t go so well and her mother forgot it was her birthday.... again!

when she goes into the main room for piano lessons, miss howard is sitting at the piano with a small cupcake and a candle in the shape of the number 8 sticking from the top

in her hands is a small present that she gives to emily once she’s done singing happy birthday to her

emily bursts into tears because she’s so overwhelmed that miss howard remembered her birthday

she throws her arms around her teacher when she opens her gift— a small crocheted raven that looks exactly like mortimer

emily whispers that she wishes miss howard was her mom instead of the ambassador

the next week, emily has a different piano teacher and never hears from miss howard again

emily moves around a lot during her childhood, and since she’s already lost two friends very near and dear to her, it’s hard for her to let people in

by the time they locate to the western part of the united states, emily is 12 years old

the ambassador puts emily in a private, all girls boarding school

emily gets picked on... a lot

the other girls make fun of her because emily carries around the gift from miss howard everywhere she goes (it brings her comfort)

they make fun of her accent

and the fact that she’s not entirely fluent in english

(she’d honestly like to see any of those mean girls try to attempt to be fluent in russian and french)

she spends most of her time hiding in the school’s library and crying in the bathrooms

she’s hiding in the stalls again after being pushed into the lockers one day when another girl comes in and sits outside the door of emily’s stall

emily recognizes her green socks and cuffed pants— the girl is in her chemistry class (audrey, emily recalls)

audrey is quiet for a long time before saying “those other girls are jerks”

emily’s response is a sniffle and scuffing her shoes against the tile floor

audrey tries again, but her voice is softer

“i really like your bird”

emily timidly sniffles “thank you”

“what’s his name?”

emily pauses

“mortimer”

“i like that name”

audrey begins to sit with emily at lunch

she’ll go out of her way to find emily in the library and sit with her so she’s not alone

they don’t talk at first

emily is very wary of audrey’s intentions and doesn’t trust her

but she doesn’t push her away either because audrey doesn’t make fun of her and she likes mortimer

the day emily decides to fully trust audrey is when audrey stands up for her when she’s getting picked on in the halls

audrey stands between her and the bullies and yells at them about how awful they are because “emily is a great person” and “emily’s so sweet and she doesn’t deserve this shit”

emily wonders if the way her heart flutters is the same way the princesses felt when the knights rescued them in her storybooks

she feels special— no one has ever stood up to her the way audrey did

they become inseparable after that

emily and audrey become roommates later that year

audrey helps emily come out of her shell and teaches her how to stick up for herself

emily tells audrey about moritimer, the real one, and miss howard

audrey listens

she always listens

she’ll hug emily tightly and just hold her in her arms

(emily wonders if it’s normal for her to feel so safe in her best friend’s arms)

(she wonders if it’s normal that her heart skips a beat, her breath catches in her throat when audrey smiles at her)

(she wonders if it’s normal for her to get so excited when audrey holds her hand, even though her hands get clammy)

(she wonders if it’s normal to want to kiss your best friend, even if they’re both girls)

they’re skipping class one day, walking hand in hand down the stream behind the school

audrey is abnormally quiet and emily asks her what’s wrong

audrey won’t tell her for the longest time

she lets go of emily’s hand and leans against a tree, biting nervously at her nails

emily gently grabs her wrists and pulls her hands from her mouth

“hey... you can tell me anything, you know that right?” emily whispers

audrey finally meets emily’s gaze brieflt before she sighs

“...is it bad that i really want to kiss you?”

emily’s heart skips a beat

“no, it’s not”

she pauses briefly before adding softly “you should”

audrey is emily’s first kiss

it’s so soft and so perfect and everything like fairytales describe it as

audrey calls emily her girlfriend and she completely swoons

she hasn’t been so happy in years

she doesn’t know how the ambassador found out

but she’s called to the office one day snd faces her very angry mother

the ambasssador chews into her like emily’s never been before, swearing and red in the face from screaming

the ambassador pulls her out of the school right then and there and tells emily that they’re moving to rome

she refues to let emily see audrey again and has her assistant go pack emily’s belongings while she continues to scream at her in the car

she tells emily that this type of behavior is something she won’t tolerate

she says that if she ever catches emily with another woman like that again, she’ll send her off to a camp

emily never sees audrey again

it’s only when they land in rome that she realizes that the ambassador’s assitant never packed the crocheted mortimer

#criminal minds #criminal minds angst #emily prentiss #oh ow this hurt #emily prentiss and her childhood trauma #help that last sentence actually killed me #i’m in pain oh.....oh.....#:((((((#oh :((((((((((#oh #justice for mortimer the raven #oh i’m so sad #i’m sorry #someone give baby em a hug #emily’s mom is very oc in this bc i don’t think she was this bad in canon #well actually she wasn’t #like she was bad don’t get me wrong but this one..... yikes #very matilda-esque at parts

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im-just-a-random-fandom-girl · 3 years

Text

You know what I want?

Domestic Stucky. In Westview. Hear me out.

(First of all, Endg*me can go fuck itself. Steve’s whole thing? Never happened. Forget about it. Wipe if from your mind. We’re rewriting that shit.)

(Also, this isn’t a fic even though I know it starts out looking like one lol. This is just stream of consciousness thoughts. I would put way more effort into actual writing)

The weeks after the final snap were hard.

Bucky was back, and it felt like every weight that had been dragging Steve down for the past 5 years was lifted. He was mentally and physically exhausted, but his soulmate, his best friend, was at his side again, pulling him into a warm hug, tight and breathtaking.

It was still hard; Steve was a very different man than he had been 5 years ago, but Bucky was calm and understanding. There was still much to mourn for, too. Tony and Nat were gone. Any sense of stability that had been established during those 5 years was immediately destroyed, and Steve was sure it would take many more years to try to fix the damage.

And Wanda. When Wanda was snapped back into existence, her grief was palpable. What had been 5 terrible years for him had been 5 minutes of bliss for her, relief that she wouldn’t have to try to live in a world without Vision. Steve knew the feeling. Even though he didn’t quite understand Wanda and Vision’s relationship (he was a robot?), he can’t really judge because he’s been pining after his childhood best friend for the better part of a century and still hasn’t managed to do anything about it.

To be brought back to life was the worst trick you could play on Wanda. Her sense of peace was snatched away from her and she was throttled back into a world that had nothing in it for her. Everyone she loved was dead. Her powers still deemed her a threat, even if she had played a crucial role in the fight against Thanos.

Steve wanted to be selfish and just run away with Bucky, but he couldn’t leave Wanda, who had become the little sister he never had.

He worried about her. Even as those who had been snapped away started to come to terms with the fact that 5 years had passed, Wanda wandered around, just a shell of her former self. Sometimes she fell into fits of rage and despair, using her powers to smash everything in her room at the compound or snapping at anyone who tried to distract her. Most of the time she was just blank.

Just a month after the return from the blip, Wanda strolls into the kitchen and announces that she’s going to S.W.O.R.D. headquarters. Steve’s head snaps up. Her eyes are hard and determined, and Steve belatedly realizes that every muscle in her body is tense as she readies herself to fight anyone who tries to stop her. Sam is the first to speak up.

“Okay, kid,” he breathes out nonchalantly, “you need anyone to go with you?” Sam is good like that. Always knowing what to say to make someone feel comfortable and cared about, but not coddled.

“No,” Wanda grits out. A breath, and then, softer, “thank you.”

Glancing around to see if anyone else had any objections, Wanda walks out of the compound.

Steve lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was still holding, but the room is still tense. He whips around to Bucky, eyes wide with concern.

Before he can even say anything, Bucky reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t worry. Come on, we’ll watch out for her.”

So, with a tight smile, Steve stands up and lets Bucky lead the two of them out.

It’s not until they are halfway down the street in an inconspicuous car, trailing a little ways behind Wanda’s red sedan that it occurs to Steve to ask what they’re doing.

“We’re just going to follow her to make sure she’s alright, pal. S.W.O.R.D. has Vision’s body, and it’s not a good idea for her to be alone, even if she thinks it’s best.”

“She’ll be mad if she realizes what we’re doing.”

“Good thing one of us is a reformed Russian spy,” he smirks.

Steve’s heart skips a beat at that familiar face, one that he hadn’t thought he’d ever see again, and blushes, ducking his head. If Bucky notices, he doesn’t say. They carry on in a comfortable silence.

As they pull into the S.W.O.R.D. parking lot, Steve watches Wanda march into the headquarters. He turns to Bucky, "Are we going to follow her in?"

"You can't, that's for sure." Steve scowls. "It's not entirely your fault, pal, but you're don't exactly blend in easily. But I'll go in to keep an eye on her if you want me to."

Steve considers the offer for the moment. As much as he wanted to watch out for Wanda, he knew that if she found out, it would hurt her more. She would think that he didn't trust her, and that he was following her to make sure that she didn't lose control of her powers and hurt people. He didn't want to make her feel more ostracized than she already was.

"No, we'll just wait," he says, shaking his head. His eyes never leave the entrance to S.W.O.R.D. headquarters.

The wait for Wanda feels excruciatingly long. Steve doesn't trust that S.W.O.R.D. is any better than S.H.I.E.L.D., and he honestly has no idea what they've been doing with Vision's body for the last 5 years. A renewed sense of guilt washes over him. If he had tried to fight S.W.O.R.D. harder for Vision's body, Wanda wouldn't be here, fighting through her grief to see him one last time. After the snap, Steve didn't feel like he could waste his dwindling energy scrutinizing S.W.O.R.D's every move, but he now wishes he had. He could have spared her this pain.

Sensing the anxiety bubbling up within him, Bucky reaches out, pulling Steve's hand into his own. "It's not your fault, Steve," he reminds him gently. Steve squeezes his hand in response.

Wanda walks out of S.W.O.R.D. headquarters 20 minutes later. She seems drained and tired, but her expression reveals nothing. They wait again before following her out of the lot.

When she turns right, away from the direction of the compound where he assumed she would return, Steve frowns. "Where is she going? The compound's the other way."

Bucky shrugs. "I guess we'll see."

Steve has no idea where they are until he sees a sign declaring "Welcome to New Jersey!" not far down the highway.

"What the hell is she going to Jersey for?" Bucky gasps, pulling a loud laugh from Steve's chest. It's absurd and ridiculous, but it reminds Steve of when they were kids in Brooklyn, shitting on the Yankees and the state's annoying accent, among the plethora of other abhorrent traits about New Jersey. Bucky starts laughing with him, shaking his head.

They finally arrive in a small, run-down town called Westview. Steve can't imagine why Wanda would come here.

Her red sedan comes to a stop in front of an empty plot of land, and she steps out, clutching a folded piece of paper to her chest.

"Oh, Christ... Shit," Bucky mutters. Steve is about to ask what he's thinking when he finally sees Wanda's walls crumble.

Her shoulders shake with the force of her sobs, and she falls to her knees with a cry of desperation. A red orb of her twists around her body and Steve shoves the door to the car open, desperate to get to Wanda.

"Steve!" he hears Bucky cry out behind him, and it's the last thing he hears before Wanda's powers implode around her, and his vision is blotted with red.

Remember! Wanda made all of her characters in the hex as similar to their actual lives as possible to ease her control of them! SO, it's only natural that her powers would pick up on the fact that Steve and Bucky are very obviously pining for each other and put them in a loving relationship while they are in the hex. Since they are both under Wanda's control, their storyline would happen mostly independently from what we see in WandaVision. I wouldn't have there be any smut (since I'm not talented enough or comfortable writing it myself) so there wouldn't be any non-con or any serious dub-con while they are in the hex. The idea is that both of them want everything that they are made to do (be partners, hold hands, kiss, do other couple-y stuff), but they are concerned because they think the other would feel disgusted and not want it.

There unfortunately were not any gay characters on TV in the 50s and 60s, so I would write these two "episodes" with loose ties to other sitcoms from those decades and do some research into how gay couples lived during these time periods. Basically, reimagine my own 50s and 60s sitcoms with realistic portrayals of a gay couple.

For the other decades, I would then base their relationship off of those actually depicted in sitcoms from that time.

It should be noted that, while I have actually watch a lot of old sitcoms, I haven't watched many of the ones I mention. If I every decide to write this, I would do a lot more research on these shows (and watch some episodes!)

70's - I would likely draw from Barney Miller, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, and Soap.

80's - Roseanne is pretty iconic, but I would be a little hesitant to write it after all of the controversy a couple years ago. Love, Sidney may also work, but I don't know enough about the show.

90's - Will & Grace, of course! I don't know anything about Northern Exposure, but the little bit of research I've done suggests that also may be a source of inspiration.

2000 through early 2010s - It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and Modern Family. (I loved The War At Home, but it doesn't really fit)

When Wanda releases everyone from the hex, Bucky and Steve had some serious miscommunication issues and angst. Both feeling exceedingly guilty about their actions, despite the fact that they had no control over them. They got a taste for what domestic life would be like together, and they are frustrated that they enjoyed it since they believe the other one did not. When Wanda explains that her powers gave everyone jobs, relationships and roles in society that were equally comparable to those they had in real life, Bucky and Steve both realize that the hex would not have put them in a relationship if it wasn't what the other also wanted. Yay! They make-up (and make-out, lol).

I seriously want to write this, but I really don't have the confidence that I will be able to execute it as I imagine it. If someone wants to work on it with me (be it we both write it or you just want to offer some brainstorming help/story guidance), I would be thrilled! Just so long as there isn't any pressure to get it done in a time crunch. I just want this writing experience to be fun! Also, if you are interested, I swear I’m a better writer than what was just exhibited, but I really only spent an hour or so on it, so it’s obviously not my best work.

Anyway, if you have any thoughts, suggestions, advice etc or just want to scream about WandaVision and/or Stucky, please feel free to PM me or stop by my inbox. It would make my day :)

#sara says stuff #my writing #wandavision #stucky

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neutron-stars-collision · 4 years

Text

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 7 - New York State of Mind

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Summary: Your first mission goes wrong and you have to face the consequences. While at the same time trying not to lose your sanity around Neil.

Warnings: Cursing.

Author’s Notes: Back to extremely long chapters! This one was a but more tricky to write due to action scenes but hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think

One could expect that after such an unexpected prelude to the meeting, you would both have difficulties staying in the roles. But surprisingly, it worked to your advantage. From the moment you stepped inside Benny’s, you were eager to do anything else but act. Your head was still a mess, and you were grateful for the distraction. Neil had to smooth his hair (thanks to you) and made sure not to touch you. You hoped that your slightly smeared lipstick would not raise any suspicious glances. In summary, it seemed as though the kiss gave you an upper hand even though you were not sure about the cost. That was until you realised what kind of person your target for the evening was.

Steiner was a rather short man with a grey buzzcut, and a permanent snarl etched on his face. He was constantly supervised by two burly, muscular bodyguards who looked like retired WWE fighters. You were pretty sure that if you were to face them, it would be the end. And Neil with his brains but insignificant physical strength would not be much better. So you said a silent prayer and sat next to your business partner at the table, facing Steiner.

The weapons dealer has led the conversation, asking you both about the most intricate details of your business and the deals you have made with the top players in the nuclear arena. He was very prepared. At first, the conversation flowed smoothly with Neil explaining your roles and what kind of enterprise you have led. But soon, the little advantage you had started to wane. Another question thrown your way made you focus your attention on the moment:

“So, this deal you have struck with Russians and Koreans” he spoke with a thick Austrian accent that reminded you of cartoon villains “How threatening is it to the US government?” he stared at you with a steel-like glare.

You shifted nervously on the seat before trying to put on your best neutral face:

“Quite threatening, I’d say” you smirked “But we’re not allowed to discuss any details for the sake of our clients. I’m sure a man like you would understand” you bated your eyelashes, hoping to use your charm.

He eyed you somewhat sleazily, and you instantly regretted the decision

“What miss Sloane means is that we can’t disclose more than we’ve already told you” your partner spoke with his deep British accent, and you stole a glance at him.

He looked tense; you could tell that he also sensed your failure.

“I need to know how the piece we’re discussing here can fit in with all this” Steiner interjected “I’ve got some big names in the weapons industry after it and wouldn’t want to anger them by selling it to somebody else” he shrugged “I have to admit that I don’t believe a word of what you’re trying to sell me” he smiled but it was more like a cruel sneer.

You felt a spike of anxiety. Watching Steiner turn towards his bodyguards, you knew that you were losing. Impulsively you reached out for Neil’s knee and squeezed it under the table. If it was not for the increasing panic, you would have noticed that he shuddered when you touched him. His eyes met yours, and you did your best to share the worry you felt. He understood, nodded, and grabbed your hand before addressing Steiner:

“If you don’t want to sell the piece to us, it’s your loss really”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the bodyguards ushering people out of the room. Fuck. You quickly reached for the clutch bag in your lap. Soon it was just the five of you left in the bar.

“Who do you work for?” the Austrian got up and leaned on the table “MI6? FBI? Huh?” his cold gaze somehow got even icier.

That was it. You have royally fucked it, so to speak. Clutching Neil’s hand, you leaped up from your seat and trained your eyes on the bodyguards. Their hands were ready on the guns.

“Do you really think that top intelligence organisations would be interested in this?” Neil clung to his charm as one does to a lifeline “You’re making a very stupid decision right now. I just want you to think about that for a moment”

“I’m done thinking”

Steiner turned towards the henchmen again. Neil met your gaze with a serious expression and pushed you behind him, reaching for the gun hidden underneath the jacket.

“Kill them both. They’re spies” the Austrian barked out the order at his bodyguards.

At his words, all hell broke loose. All four of you reached for the guns, with fingers ready on the triggers. The bodyguard was quickest, and before you could react, you were pushed to the ground by Neil. The gunshot rang in the quiet room, and you looked around fervently to see who has been hit. Your eyes fell on your partner, who has doubled over with a pained expression. You saw a small crimson stain spread through the white of his shirt on the side of the torso. Your eyes widened with realisation. You have been stood in the exact spot before Neil shielded you. Another salve of gunshots echoed with bullets raining down. Neil kept his post, but you could tell that he was suffering. You jumped back on your feet and aimed the gun at the bodyguard closest to you. You fired and watched as the bullet hit him square in the the chest. He fell dead. Steiner was not expecting that. He stared at you with a panicked expression before being dragged out of the room by the only henchman left. You breathed out. That was probably your only chance at escape.

“Are you okay?” Neil’s worried voice and his hand on your shoulder threw you out of the stupor.

“It’s not me who has been shot” you glanced at the spreading bloody stain on his side and frowned “We should leave before they come back”

“Right” he squeezed your shoulder before reaching down to take your hand in his.

You stared at him surprised, but before you could ask, he led you out of the bar and into the street. Outside you stopped to look at him, searching for any signs of pain. He met your gaze with uncertainty. You briefly wondered if things between you have changed for the worse irrevocably.

“Are you alright?” you finally asked, echoing him from only minutes prior.

“Of course” he attempted a sly grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes “Never been better” the hand that was still holding yours tightened the hold “We should go”

Reluctantly, you let him lead you back to the hotel. After a few minutes of awkward silence, you could not help but point out:

“You shouldn’t have shielded me back there. I can shoot well” you glared but refused to meet his eye.

Your joined hands were like a harsh reminder of what happened tonight. You felt his thumb brush over your knuckles and inhaled sharply.

“I know you can, but I didn’t want you to be shot” his raw tone surprised you “And please don’t ask why because I’m not sure I could explain”

You stopped in your tracks to stare at him. He dropped your hand. This evening can’t get harder, can it?

“Neil…” you started, unsure of what you wanted to say.

“Please not now” he was looking at you with fondness “We’ll talk, but first we need to get back to the hotel” he moved too fast and flinched from pain.

In an instant, you were at his side, brushing away the lapel to look at the state of his shirt. It was slick from blood, and it started to seep through the jacket as well. That was all you needed to pick up your pace and withhold any questions. When you got to the hotel, it became clear that you would need to create a distraction to get through the lobby. Stopping just a few paces away from the door, you turned to him.

“I’ve got an idea, but I’m not sure you’ll like it” you announced, feeling panic even at the thought itself.

“Fire away” his face was quite pale “I’m sure it’s brilliant”

You took a deep breath before blurting out the terrible plan that somehow formed in your head:

“Just embrace me so that your wound is obscured by my dress. If you wrap your arms around my waist, they’ll think we’re just… too cosy and won’t ask questions” you were pretty sure you will regret it soon enough.

Neil stared at you, clearly considering it, before asking:

“Are you sure that’s okay?” he stepped a bit closer as if trying to assess your level of sanity.

“Yeah” you shrugged and met his gaze “It was my idea after all”

After another few seconds of scrutiny, he smiled lightly and pulled you closer by placing his hands on your waist. The touch was too familiar. You shivered at the contact, immediately cursing yourself for coming up with the plan. But there was no time to suffer, so you just wrapped your arm around his neck and started toying with the hair ends at the nape of his neck. Hugging each other like that, you walked into the hotel lobby. There, naturally, only to be more believable, you allowed yourself to rest your head on Neil’s shoulder. Breathing in his scent, you felt his hands brush over your back and stomach. He leaned down to place a small kiss on your temple, and you felt your cheeks grow warmer. That moment was doing nothing to help clear your head. It was, in fact, the worst idea that you ever came up with.

No-one stopped you on the way to the lift, where once the door shut, you quickly entangled yourself from Neil and took a step away. Now your dress too was stained with blood. You did not dare look at him until you were absolutely forced to. You felt his gaze burning into the side of your head and roaming over your figure.

“Sorry about the dress” he said finally, just as you disembarked the lift.

“Don’t worry about it” you managed a small smile and met his gaze.

You stared at each for a short while, but this time you both were cautious. You felt strange, only now fully realising what happened tonight. Everything, beginning with the kiss, was like a fevered dream. Somewhere on the verge of your consciousness, you remembered that you killed a man tonight. But you knew that the reality of the situation will only dawn on you later. Now all you cared about was Neil and his shirt soaked with blood. Sobering up, you took his hand and started leading him down the corridor. Then you both went into his room, and you let go of his hand, desperately trying to control the situation.

“Shouldn’t we call for the emergency team?”

But before you managed to finish the question, your eyes widened. Neil just stripped his jacket, followed by the tie and shirt. The clothes landed on a pile on the floor, and he met your astounded look with a smirk:

“Why are you so shocked? It’s not like you’ve not seen me like this before” he winked, enjoying your startled state.

“Do you always have to be such an arse?” you focused on glaring at him to avoid looking at anything else.

“Only for you, my dear” with that he disappeared into the bathroom.

Right… maybe things are not quite so different.

You gave yourself a mental slap to the face before following Neil. He was looking at the gunshot wound in the mirror as you tentatively approached him. It looked rather bad with a significant blood loss. Pushing away the rising concern, you took one of the spare towels, dipped it in water, and begun to clean the wound. You surprised him with your actions, and he visibly tensed when the cloth touched the wound. Briefly, you wondered whether it was because of you or from the pain.

Once all of the dried blood was removed from the area, it was clear that the bullet was still inside. It has most certainly missed any vital organs, and that was good news. You took a step back to assess his state and was met with a very intense look from Neil. You had a feeling that if it was not for the gravity of the situation, you would not be able to stop yourself from making another mistake. But now was certainly not the time.

“We really should call for a doctor” your voice was weirdly hoarse “Someone needs to take out the bullet”

“There’s no need, I’ve done it before” you watched with horror as he reached for a pair of tweezers.

Slapping his hand away, you glared:

“Neil”

“What? You don’t have to look while I do it” he shrugged and once again tried to pick at the wound with the metal instrument.

You grabbed his wrist in a tight grip and met his gaze with defiance.

“Even if you’ll somehow manage to extract the bullet, someone should see it” you hated how close to pleading you were “You could get an infection”

For the first time, he seemed speechless, thinking hard about the next counterargument. Then, as his eyes lit up with the well-known smug smile on his lips, you knew what was coming.

“You must really care about my well-being” he mused, looking way too pleased.

“Yes. I do” you replied seriously “So please, stop this alpha male self-reliance bullshit, and let me get help” you let go of his wrist and looked into his eyes, not hiding the annoyance and worry you felt.

He searched your eyes for a moment before nodding.

“Thank you” you whispered.

Before you could leave the bathroom to dial the number, Neil quickly grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed your knuckles while looking into your eyes with fondness and admiration. It was too much too soon. You drew your hand away and left the room without looking behind.

*** The emergency team just had to know your exact location, mission code, and an answer to the set secret question, which was a way of assuring your identity. They registered your call and promised to arrive within fifteen minutes.

You were not ready to face Neil again, so you just changed into comfortable clothes, discarding the bloodied dress in the bathroom corner. You felt impossibly tired, with a pounding headache and aching body. Just as you considered collapsing onto the bed and falling asleep in an instant, you heard a knock on the connecting doors. You sighed and called out:

“Come in”

The door creaked, and you could see Neil’s silhouette leaning on the wooden frame.

“They should come soon” you announced, feeling the awkwardness settle between you.

It was only fair, you thought. At some point, you both had to understand what happened, and surely it would mean that things would be somewhat different.

“Sorry about earlier. I know I can be annoying sometimes” you turned to look at him at the admission.

“Yeah, you really can” you frowned, and he smiled at the sight.

You observed each other in silence. You were grateful that he kept his distance so you could keep your sanity intact for the moment.

“I wish I understood why the mission failed” he mused out loud “I would’ve sworn we had him figured out”

“Not everyone falls victim to your charm, Neil” you glanced up at him with a tired smile.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the knock echoing from his room interrupted him. He seemed hesitant so you just nodded. He took one last look at you before leaving to open the door.

Once it was clear that it was the emergency team that arrived, you made an effort to show up and have a look at them. It was a small group consisting of one woman and three men, all familiar with Neil and rather indifferent towards you. Nothing new then. After they made sure you were perfectly fine and you have logged in the mission into the system, it was made clear that you were no longer needed.

Perhaps it was for the better. You managed to steal one last glance at Neil through the bathroom door left cracked open. His wound was being stitched, and he looked a bit worse for wear. But he was alive, and that was what mattered. With that knowledge, you quietly retired to your own room and locked the door.

Sighing, you finally got into the bed and tried to relax. Soon enough, the images from the bar began flashing before your eyes. You always expected your first kill to be harsh, but the events of the day made it worse. You just hoped for a little rest during the night. And no nightmares.

*** A journey back to Boston could be summed up with one word – awkward. The emergency team took you back in their minivan, which meant spending 4 hours in silence or risking small talk. You preferred to stay quiet and look out through the window, worried that the conversation with strangers could prove to be difficult. Even talking to Neil seemed like a hard achievement at the moment. Apart from exchanging a rather stiff ‘good morning’ upon meeting, you did not speak with each other at all. And it did hurt. The only consolation were the few looks you stole from him when everyone else seemed distracted.

By the time you arrived at the HQs, the prospect of the post-mission briefing with TP seemed almost exciting. You followed Neil to the conference room, where the boss was already waiting for you. You watched as him and Neil embraced and smiled at the sight.

“It’s good to see you both back… almost intact” the Protagonist warily eyed Neil’s side “How are you?”

“Oh it’s nothing” Neil waved his hand dismissively before looking at you pointedly “If it wasn’t for someone’s panic, I wouldn’t even need the doctor’s help”

You glared and tried to control your emotions, not to make a scene in front of someone else. But TP just chuckled, eyeing you both with interest.

“You should thank Y/N for potentially saving your ass” he joked, and you smiled, glad someone stood up for you.

“Yeah exactly, I never got a thank you” feeling braver, you approached them and joined the small circle in the centre of the room.

“In which case, apologies m’lady” Neil took a step towards you and took your hand in his “And thank you” he kissed the back of your hand, all the while maintaining eye contact.

You blushed and quickly took a step back.

“No worries” you looked back at the Protagonist warily, but he only grinned. It did seem like he was used to moments like that involving his colleague. The thought made you feel strange, and you were not sure if it was due to jealousy or something else.

“Okay, tell me what happened with Steiner”

You all sat down at the table, and Neil began to summarise the mission:

“We contacted Raul, who helped us set up the meeting with Steiner. The pretext was that we’re dealing with nuclear weapons and are intrigued by his newest offer. We prepared our roles rather well, I think” he glanced at you as though trying to ascertain what you remembered from the day.

You looked down, suddenly overwhelmed with the images and feelings. The flirting, the persisting touch on your knee, the way he looked at you just before the kiss. You swallowed hard and tried to compose yourself as Neil continued the story.

“The beginning of the meeting went well, but then he started getting suspicious, and nothing was working on him. Once he started giving signs to his bodyguards, we knew that the mission has been compromised so we prepared for the showdown. I got shot in the side before Y/N took out one of the minions. Steiner then left with the other one, and we evacuated” he finished and took a sip from the glass of water.

You stared at him, wondering why he omitted the detail about the bullet being meant for you. But he only acknowledged your gaze with a curt nod. Clearly now was not the time for important conversations. TPs voice brought you out of the thoughts:

“Do you think he has been warned?”

“Maybe” you spoke up, and they both looked at you “But to me, it seemed more like he was scared of disappointing a client to whom he promised the piece” you tried to remember the exact things said “He definitely mentioned something about powerful people being after the plutonium and that he doesn’t want to anger them”

“Good point” Neil nodded “I wish we could have gotten a name out of him”

“I have a few candidates” the Protagonist’s dark gaze stared into space with confidence “But it’s too early to share their names” he smiled apologetically.

Neil sighed and commented:

“It’s always too early for you to share anything” he glared at his friend.

“I know, and as usual, I’m sorry” you observed them both with interest “Soon you’ll know why I’m keeping all those secrets from you”

“I fucking hope so because I’m getting tired of all those half-truths” Neil’s gaze grew darker, and you wanted to reach out and take his hand.

Instead, you only stared as he got up and started pacing the room.

“What’s next in store then?” he asked after a short tense silence.

Before TP could answer, an agent burst into the room:

“I’m sorry boss, but Neil, you’re needed in the field” he looked panicked.

“Right now?” Neil’s gaze quickly flitted between all of you present in the room.

“Yes, it’s urgent” with that the agent left the room.

Then you watched curiously as Neil and the Protagonist exchanged a short conversation without speaking out loud. Then TP focused on the laptop screen with his back turned, while Neil approached you:

“I’m sorry about this” he looked into your eyes earnestly.

Once again, he meant everything, and you nodded. There was not much point in being angry at the universe, was there?

“It’s okay. We’ll talk when you’re back” gently, you reached out to brush away a stray strand that was falling into his eyes “Just be safe out there and… come back to me” you forced a small smile, tracing the sharp outline of his jaw.

Even though you were acutely aware of not being alone in the room, for once you did not care. Things were far from clear between you, but now there was no time to focus on all that you did not understand.

“Always” Neil beamed back “Wouldn’t want you to suffer life without me for too long” he smirked.

You lightly smacked him in the chest, not hiding the feelings that could be seen in your eyes. Neil understood; you were sure of that. A sharp knock on the door interrupted the moment, and he sighed.

“I’ll text you” he squeezed your hand for goodbye and left the room without a further word.

Does he even have my number?, you wondered before remembering about TPs presence in the room. He was watching you quietly with a small smile on his face. His expression made you braver.

“You know something you haven’t told us” you mused out loud “About me and him” you added.

He shrugged while still looking at you with an amused gleam in his eyes.

“I only know that while Neil can be an annoying piece of shit sometimes, you do like him. Despite yourself” he chuckled at your horrified expression “Now, why don’t we have a little something to eat while we talk?”

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion #gifs not mine

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eryiss · 3 years

Text

Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Matrue [Guns, Violence, Unnamed Character Deaths]

Prompt: Savage, Deadly

Summary: Perhaps having an affair with Russian spy in the middle of the cold war wasn't a good idea, particularly when Freed worked for the American Secret Service. But it was fine, America and Russia were never going to actually fight. Killing those they saw as traitors, however, was apparently a different story.

Notes: This is the forth Fraxus Week submission, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. This story has gunshots, death and description of blood, so be careful if those might affect you. If that's not something you worry about, I hope you enjoy it.

Links: Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

A War to Be Ridiculed

Year: 1963

Location: Moscow, Russia

When their affair had started, Freed had been paranoid. He'd picked up the habit of looking over his shoulder, trying to see if another American agent might have discovered his behaviour and was trailing him to get evidence against him. At the time, the paranoia had seemed justified: an American secret service operative sleeping with a Russian secret service operative in the middle of an international stalemate between nuclear superpowers was hardly something that would be celebrated.

The paranoia had died out fairly quickly. Now Freed's main concern was how he'd spin his meeting in the quaint little café as a business expense.

Russian pasties were divine, but pricey.

His bosses would have a fit if they knew what he was doing. Hell: half of America would brand him a traitor if they knew he'd even thought about Laxus in that way. But America seemed to throw a fit over anything for the past few years. A Russian so much as coughing unexpectedly seemed to be enough provocation for an international incident.

Ridiculous, the lot of them. Freed was just thankful that he'd found a way to profit from them.

"What can I get for you, sir?" A waiter asked.

"Just a tea," Freed requested, leaning back in his chair. His Russian was perfect both in accent and in syntax. "I'm waiting for a guest; I expect we'll be eating when he arrives. He'll have a coffee when he gets here."

"Of course."

The man left, and Freed spared a glance towards the door. He had gotten there early, he knew that, but he was starting to get impatient. His job – when he chose to do it – was a stressful one. It was what he had signed up for, of course, and the thrill of it was truly exhilarating. But sometimes the pressure of it all got on top of him, and he had come to grown fond of these meetings in their infrequency.

It was a twisted situation, he supposed. He was sent to Russia on a two-year undercover operation, trying to uncover all information that the enemy forces had on their attack plans. For the first few months, Freed had been diligent in his actions, only to find that Russia had as much on them as they had on Russia. Nothing.

Propaganda was a fascinating thing. Everyone back home seemed to think the bombs would be dropping any moment. They wouldn't. Both sides were shit-scared of doing anything.

Once Freed had discovered this, he had reported back to his commanders and had been told to remain there for the rest of the mission and continue gathering intel. Three more months of gaining the respect and trust of Russian diplomats and governmental workers had led to nothing of interest. Both countries were entirely focused on their defensive measures in case the other country attacked, so nobody had any intention on actually attacking. It was a big, boring stalemate that would never actually come to blows.

It was getting rather tedious, and then Laxus came along. A thrilling, beautiful enemy with stunningly blue eyes and a sense of menace and distrust that drove Freed wild.

Their meeting had been a setup, it was obvious. Freed's rise in Russian society had been suspicious, and so the Russian government had wanted to better understand him and the threat he posed. Freed's alias had been a businessman wanting to help the government and in return get investments, Laxus' alias was that of a rich man wanting to invest money and get a return. Freed had known what Laxus was doing, and Laxus had known what Freed was doing.

Still, pretending he was in the dark about Laxus' true intentions was fun. They both spun lies, tried to catch the other out, and there was the constant reminder that they both had weapons concealed, and the person who slipped up first would end up dead where he stood.

The thrill was brilliant.

Their third meeting had been where Laxus had taken things further. He'd worn a suit so snug nothing could be hidden if you were determined to see it. Freed had gotten chills from the sight of it, and he couldn't remember if he was more excited by the curve of the man's ass or the outline of his gun against his chest. Laxus was silently proposing advancement in their roleplay: increase the danger and increase the pleasure.

Freed almost thought it might be an interrogation tactic, a way for Freed to spill his guts once sated. After their night together it was clear Laxus saw the war in the same way Freed did. Pointless, without risk, and something that should be mocked. He wanted Freed; he didn't want information.

You went submissive if you wanted intel. That night, Laxus had been anything but.

And so, their affair had begun. At first it was just sex, with the occasional meeting of their businessman and investor character to keep up their charade. Then, as time went on and they got more comfortable, their meetings became more public, and their facades dropped slightly. They could only meet once a month or so – they had to do their jobs, of course – but it was the most fun Freed had had in years.

Eventually, the quaint little bell above the door rang, and Freed looked to see the object of his affections walking in. Say what you want about Russia; they knew how to breed a handsome man. Broad shoulders, stern features, trim waists, and large thighs. What more could a man ask for?

Freed watched as Laxus spoke to the host of the café, before being guided to sit opposite him. Freed stood and shook his hand as if they were colleagues, and they underwent their normal childishly competitive hand squeezing ritual. Laxus relented first this time, taking a seat at the table after Freed motioned for him to do so. The host left them alone, and it took a moment for Laxus to break the silence.

"So," Laxus rumbled in his beautifully accented, deep voice. "You've not been murdered."

"I'm afraid so," Freed smirked. "Nor you, it seems. We should congratulate ourselves."

"We should," Laxus agreed, mirroring Freed's expression. "How so?"

"I'm sure we're both creative enough to think of something," Freed purred as he saw the waiter approaching with their drinks.

Under the cover of the tablecloth, he brought his foot to slowly glide against Laxus' calf. He raised it higher as the man placed the two drinks on the table and asked if they wanted anything else. Freed allowed Laxus to answer, putting pressure on the part of his thigh his foot found rested at. Laxus didn't stammer or blush at the action – he was a professional, after all – but Freed knew he was just a little bit more tense. He spoke calmly and dismissed the waiter, glaring at Freed once he was gone.

"You wanna get us caught?" He growled.

"If we got caught, it would be entirely your fault," Freed hummed. "Keeping a straight face is rather standard for what we do."

"I'll get you back for it," Laxus promised.

"I certainly hope so."

Freed raised his teacup to his lips, then halted.

He sniffed as subtly as he could, then slowly brought the teacup back down to the saucer.

Arsenic.

Someone wanted to poison him.

Instincts took over, and a list of questions needed to be answered. Who wanted to kill him? Who in the café was behind the attempt? Who outside of the café might be involved? Who had noticed he hadn't actually drunk anything? Where was the quickest way to safety? How quickly could he leave the country without anyone noticing? Was this anything to do with Laxus? Had Laxus been an informant, or was he in as much danger as Freed was?

As he watched Laxus raise his own drink to his lips, Freed quickly took a chance on the latter question. Before the drink could touch his lips, Freed pressed his foot firmly against Laxus'. The flirtatious teasing was now overpowered by strength, and Laxus paused. Freed glanced to the drink with only his eyes, then gave Laxus a meaningful look.

Laxus sniffed his own drink, then brought it back to the table without drinking.

Fuck. This was a setup for them both.

They had to assume everyone around them was involved. Freed had absently noticed how there was nobody younger than twenty in the café despite families milling around the square. He'd been placed at a table in the centre of the room as well, secluded and in the centre of attention. Likely everyone was an agent of some kind, and they all had been watching them from the moment he arrived. This was manageable.

"You must tell me about your sister's birthday," Laxus said, as if the revelation hadn't happened. "She's turning twelve, correct?"

Twelve. There were twelve agents in the room. That was passable, given some luck. But they needed to know the situation outside of the café as well.

"She is," Freed nodded, leaning back in his chair, casually glancing out of the window. He caught a glimpse of something reflective from atop the town hall, and sighed. "Her cousin is getting rather angry about it, apparently her mother couldn't afford the gift she wanted, and so they've been fighting. But you know how young girls are, always sniping at one another."

"I suppose so," Laxus agreed, body tensing slightly. "I don't know how I'd deal with them. I'd want to just leave the situation behind me, but sometimes even doing that means you'll get caught in the crossfire."

They agreed then. They couldn't just walk out.

"It is rather an impossible situation," Freed chuckled, idly toying with the teaspoon as if uncaring. "Sometimes it feels like you can't escape family, doesn't it?"

"Well I don't see any of my family here," Laxus laughed. He didn't recognise any agents.

"Nor do I," Freed agreed. "Thank heavens for small mercies."

They could be facing either Russian or American forces. They had to assume that, as they'd set up their assassination attempts when the two were meeting up, either side had come to know about the situation and saw them both as too big of a risk. Whoever wanted them dead, it would end up with them both on a most wanted list. This was bad.

Conversation without drinking could only last them so long. Eventually, any agents in the café would know their attempt had been discovered, and they'd act. No doubt they'd be armed to the teeth. A bloodbath was inevitable, they just needed to be smart, and they'd survive it.

"The food here is divine," Laxus commented, picking up his menu again. "The last time I ate here, I nearly congratulated the chef."

"Perhaps this time you will."

They'd be leaving through the kitchen then. The sniper was positioned so that he could shoot through the window, so probably they'd not be prepared for any kind of escape, certainly not one through the back alleys. So long as they could fight their way to the back, they should be able to outrun them and get somewhere safer. If even for a few moments, it was better than being in the jaws of their trap.

Just as Freed was about to continue the conversation, he caught something in the reflection of the window. A man tucked around the corner of the café's counter was looking directly at them both, hand scratching at his thigh where a gun most likely was hidden. Damn.

They hadn't finished a plan, and they were suspicious. But it was avoidable.

Freed, very slowly, wrapped a hand around his teacup and brought it up. Laxus watched, face unmoving but arms tensing. Freed tried to make his movements look loose and uncaring as he brought the teacup to his lips. He tipped it upwards, clenching his lips shut as tight as they could be. The hot tea bumped against his lips and stung – either from the arsenic of just the heat of the drink – and he swallowed as if drinking. He could only hope that had sated them.

"Good?" Laxus asked, voice a little stilted.

"Enough," Freed dismissed. "I do wish I'd ordered something a little stronger. Though I suppose it's a little early in the day for that." He casually looked over his shoulder to the clock, to see it was eleven fifty-eight. Perfect. "To think, in two minutes it would have been perfectly fine."

"It's a bastard, for sure," Laxus grinned, gently tapping his knuckle against the table in a sign of acknowledgement.

When the clock struck twelve, they'd go.

What followed was a tense minute and a half, where they attempted to fill the silence with general conversation. Neither man touched their drinks, but it seemed Freed pretending to drink his tea had been enough to convince them that their plan was working. They talked about nothing, though their eyes darted from place to place to make sure they wouldn't be attacked before they could move. The seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity.

Eventually, the bells of the grandfather clock rung, and they both spurted into movements.

They stood, chairs flying back as they reached for their weapons. Freed felt the wind of a bullet passing past him as he shunted himself to the left, and the back cushion of the chair exploded into feathers and dust. Nobody in the café screamed nor jolted; they'd been expecting it, meaning they were all agents sent to kill them. Good, no civilians made things simple.

Freed shot the man opposite him in the chest, a little to the left of his heart. The man staggered back, dropping his own gun as the sound filled the room. Freed quickly emptied another bullet into the man's skull. One down.

Laxus grabbed Freed's shoulders and shoved him back, banging him into a table. Freed watched slightly dazed as Laxus raised his own gun and emptied some shells into an elderly man and a young woman, who had been acting as a father and daughter. The man lurched back, falling against the window that had now been splattered in blood. The woman, who had been shot in the side rather than anywhere vital, tried to rush forward. She was holding a steak knife rather than a gun, and Freed quickly picked up a serving tray and struck her in the neck with it. He did so multiple times, before she stumbled to the ground, where Freed kicked her in the head enough times to knock her out. Either that or kill her.

Nine left.

When the window shattered again from another shot from the sniper's gun, both Freed and Laxus took refuse behind the counter. Wood splintered above them, and they could hear the sound of the other agents getting closer. Gunshots were near constant, blocking off their route to the kitchen and back entrance.

A lull in the shooting came, and Freed rose above the counter with his own gun in hand. He had expected that, with the number of agents involved, they wouldn't be as well trained as Freed and Laxus, and as such had to reload at the same time. Freed quickly shot the nearest agent, a woman in her fifties who was quickly spinning the barrel of her pistol. Freed's bullet landed between her eyes, and she staggered her final movements before falling to the ground in a lifeless pile.

Laxus, in an attempt to save bullets, picked up a sharp knife that had been put aside for cleaning, and threw it through the air. It struck a nearby agent in the cheek, and he stumbled back and grabbed at the deep, bleeding gash in his jaw. Not dead, nor incapacitated, but distracted.

Another agent shoved the bleeding man forward to get a better shot at Laxus and Freed, but Laxus acted faster. This time he did use his gun, and Freed almost winced as he saw the bullet slam into his face, eyeball exploding as the man screamed in pain. He fell to the ground, crumpling up and screaming as he rolled around the floor. Freed might have felt sorry for him, but he was an assassin, so mercy was the last thing on his mind.

An explosion of glass shattered behind Freed, and he winced as glass cut into his cheek. He grabbed Laxus' shoulder and dragged him down again.

There were seven agents unharmed and two badly injured. Feasibly they could kill them all, but it was a miracle they hadn't been hurt yet and their luck would run out. They had limited bullets available, and their impromptu weapons would progressively get less and less effective. They needed to leave and run, because if they didn't then logic dictated they would be killed. The kitchen staff seemed to have fled, so they were clearly not agents, meaning they had a clear escape route. They just needed to get across to the other side of the café without being killed.

"You go first," Laxus demanded. "I'll cover."

Freed nodded, and waited for another lull in the fighting. Knowing he needed to trust Laxus, he ran across the empty café without protection, ducking down to avoid the bullets flying towards him. He heard yelling and Laxus shooting, and hoped that Laxus was the cause rather than the victim. As he ran, he picked up the eyeball-less man's gun.

Once he was ducked behind the kitchen door, he tucked the agent's gun into his belt for later use and brandished his own gun. It was his turn to provide cover for Laxus, and he started by shooting at a woman with a pistol. She yelled and clutched her shoulder, though screamed when a bullet hit her forehead.

Freed shot as best he could as Laxus ran across the room and towards the kitchen. Freed only stopped when Laxus was inside, and the door had been slammed shut. Freed went to run, but Laxus placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What?"

"They'll pursue," Laxus grunted, moving a cabinet against the door.

"Yes, that's why we're running," Freed hissed.

"We need 'em dead. It's safer."

Rather than arguing, Freed decided that Laxus was right. They might not be top agents, but anyone left alive was a hazard to them. Three of them were completely unharmed and could track them. They needed to take any advantage they could get. Freed thought for a moment, before an idea hit him.

It took him a few seconds of routing through the kitchen to find what he needed: a gas canister for the kitchen's oven, and a blowtorch for their deserts. It was nasty and cheap, but it was a bomb. He removed his tie and quickly wrapped it around the handle of the blowtorch, holding down the trigger so that the flame would be constantly ignited. He then placed the gas canister against the barricaded door, which was being banged against by the other agents.

"The torch powerful enough?" Laxus asked.

"In time, it will be," Freed nodded, resting the lit blowtorch against the metal canister. "We need to go."

They did. They ran through the winding back alleys, utilising their maze-like qualities as best they could. They couldn't be sure who was following them and how close they were, so their paces didn't waver, and their determination kept firm. Freed felt his body aching but couldn't stop, not when stopping might mean their lives were over.

Faster than expected, they reached the edge of Moskva River. They couldn't see any bridges to cross it, and running along the river to find one was practically advertising their location. Going back into the alleys wasn't a possibility, and as such they could only do one thing. They climbed the barricade and jumped in.

The water was freeing cold, and it took Freed a moment for his muscles to acclimatise. He brought himself to the surface and saw Laxus had done the same. If nothing else, the quick submersion in the water had washed most of the blood off them both. They both began to swim to the other side of the river, Freed silently plotting how they'd hide now that they were both soaking wet. No plans came to mind, and Freed found himself hoping that Laxus had an idea.

"Boat," Laxus rasped, and nodded his head. "Look like yer struggling."

Freed didn't question the demand, and his practices swimming gave way to thrashing and panicking. He put on a façade of dread, deciding to yell when he knew the boat was getting closer. Laxus wrapped his arms around him as if trying and failing to save him. The two men in the boat noticed, and were rediverting their trajectory immediately.

When the boat was close, they climbed aboard it. The men peppered them with questions, asking what had happened and if they were alright. It took them a moment to see the injuries the two men had sustained, and their weapons.

Freed raised his gun and pointed it at them. It wouldn't work, but he felt like they didn't know that.

"We're going to need your boat I'm afraid," He demanded. Laxus raised his own weapon.

"And yer clothes," Laxus added; always thinking ahead. Two men in drenched suits might be somewhat conspicuous as they traversed the waterways. Two men in fishing apparel would be less so. "Quickly."

The men, fools that they were, took the threat at face value. With stumbling hands they began to strip and hand over their clothes. Within moments, Freed and Laxus looked like any fishermen that you might see on a river, and they'd given the poor men their suits in an act of mercy. They looked absurd and cold, of course, but it was better than finding themselves naked in the streets. Not once did Laxus or Freed remove their guns from their targets.

"You will tell the authorities you were drunk, fell into the river by mistake, and that you're incredibly sorry for causing a ruckus," Freed demanded, voice icy.

"And if you mention us, we'll kill ya," Laxus threatened.

Just as one of the men went to argue, an ear-splitting explosion shook the city. A plume of smoke burst upwards behind them, and the men watched in horror and fear. Freed and Laxus didn't react, and instead nudged their guns forward and looked at the men with feral grins as screams and shouting filled the city.

---

Year: 1970 Location: UNKNOWN

Freed woke to the sound of grunting, and the now familiar sound of an axe meeting wood. He padded to the window of the small cabin, opened it, and looked down to watch as Laxus split the firewood. The man really was a sight to behold; unbridled masculinity in all of its glory. His muscles flexed and the axe splintered the wood spectacularly, and even now Freed felt a twisted thrill at the knowledge of what that man could do when called upon.

He bathed himself in the cold tin bath, and dressed quickly. He attached his gun to his belt and walked to their shared kitchen. He placed a kettle over the fire and began boiling it, walking outside and into the forest where they now called home.

The gun was pointless, in reality. They were nowhere near either of their home countries, where no doubt they had been touted as traitors and been deemed as instant kill targets. They weren't on the same damn continent, but Freed had learned his lesson about becoming complacent. It didn't matter that they were tucked away in a Scandinavian Forest, with only a small town of people knowing of their existence; he would remain armed as to best protect himself and his lover.

Also, the gun was useful in killing the dear.

Laxus grinned at him as he approached, placing the axe down and running a hand over his sweat drenched face. Freed was undeterred, kissing the man he called husband slowly and smoothly. Laxus wrapped an arm around his waist and grinned.

"Sleepin' in again, huh?" Laxus teased, still speaking his mother-tongue in his beautifully harsh accent. "Because it was your turn to cut wood today, I think."

"It was," Freed agreed. "And yet you seem to be doing it."

"Maybe I'll find a way to make you do it."

"Maybe you'll have to."

Both men smirked, tight hand's grasped tighter, and Laxus pulled Freed into a brutally incredible kiss, one he greedily returned.

#Fraxus Week #Fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Fairy Tail #Fanfic #Writing #One Shot #1960's AU #Cold War AU #Word Count 4.1k

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comfy-whumpee · 3 years

Text

Dark Jax: New Home

A sequel to @ashintheairlikesnow’s The Job, featuring her Antoni and Chris, used with permission and love.

TW: character processing another’s death, slavery/BBU references, romantic whump/emotional abuse dialogue.

Jax’s taglist: @lonesome--hunter, @iaminamoodymoodtoday, @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektricwhump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @burtlederp, @rosesareviolentlyread

The man who killed Savvie lives in a modest, slightly run-down house in the deep countryside. Smaller, easier to clean, but possibly dusty. He pulls the black, nondescript car into a gravel driveway. Jax waits for him to get out, or to tell Jax to do so. He doesn’t.

Instead, he motions with a hand for Jax to turn his head to the window. Jax does so. There’s a pause.

“I am going to take your collar off,” the man tells him softly, words heavy with Russian accent. “My brother will not react well to it.”

Brother. There’s going to be another person. Someone who doesn’t like collars. That’s a good sign that he might not have one. Back to the ankle tag, probably.

“Yes, sir.”

He doesn’t know what the man does, but after a quiet click, the collar comes away, lock apparently disabled. Jax holds still as the man lifts it clear of scarred skin, a light band with deeper marks where shock collar contacts used to rest. It feels cold, to have his neck bare. Exposed, like at any moment he’ll be screamed at for trying to escape again.

But Savvie is dead, he remembers, for the hundredth time. He belongs to this man, now.

The man gets out of the car, gesturing for Jax to do the same. Stiffly unfolding himself from the car, Jax feels the rush of exhaustion. He hasn’t slept for almost a full day, and he never sleeps well. She’s always right beside him, hands crawling about, and her hair a cloying weight. Plus, she’s a blanket hog.

Was. She’s dead.

Jax looks up to see two people outside instead of one. Somehow, in those few seconds of distraction, an entire man has appeared and seemingly thrown himself into Antoni’s arms. It’s a blue-haired, gangly figure, pale and thin compared to his brother. This must be the other one.

Jax stands, closing the door behind him, in time to hear the older man say, “This is Jax. Jax, this is my brother.”

The blue-haired man – or boy, Jax isn’t sure how old he is, with big green eyes that make him look eerily childlike – gives Jax a thorough once-over, expression openly perplexed. “Why is he…not dead?”

“He is like us,” the older man replies softly.

Us. Jax has no idea what that means, except that empathy sometimes makes them nicer.

The brother pulls away from the hug to consider him again, eyes bright and curious, head cocked to one side. Jax feels his body setting into stone, submitting to the scrutiny. It’s starting to make sense now. The older man is the provider and protector, who has acquired Jax with force in order to care for his family. The family member in question is…clearly very, very interested in his new companion.

Jax has been this before. It makes sense, he supposes. If you’re killing someone, you might as well steal their stuff.

He stays still, eyes low, and waits for the hands to come out towards him. He doesn’t flinch when one does, thrust into his eyeline - but it stops before touching, fingers together and straight, palm open towards him. “Hi,” the brother declares. His spare hand taps restlessly against his leg, maybe impatient with the new intruder in his life.

Jax glances up, but the big green eyes shift effortlessly away from his. He can’t read anything but sincerity on the brother’s expression, so he meets the other hand with his own calloused mess, and tentatively moves them up.

The brother takes over eagerly: up, down, part. Confident. But touch doesn’t linger this time; he lets go promptly and lets his arm drop back to his side. Another good sign.

“He, he doesn’t look like one of us,” the brother remarks, though his voice is not accusing.

Jax stares at the ground, head low. Of course he doesn’t. He’s wearing nice tailored clothes, still in the trousers of his black tuxedo and immaculately shined shoes. His hair is – or was, before Savvie grabbed it – a perfectly styled side part with volume only a painstakingly-applied product can create. He’s wearing a wedding ring, platinum, and has two earrings and a lip stud in platinum too.

He doesn’t look anything like a captive, and hearing it acknowledged makes him feel vaguely sick, but only vaguely.

The man who killed Savvie doesn’t reply, except to turn his brother’s shoulder gently towards the house. He takes the cue and disappears back inside. He moves with a nostalgic fluidity, energy moving through and around him like the world is made of electric charge.

Jax can’t feel that buzz anymore. He looks to the man as he steps up beside him.

“You do not have to keep the ring, If you do not want,” the man tells him.

His tone and expression are neutral, but there’s clearly a preferred outcome here. Jax knows what it’ll look like if he refuses; knows what it’ll look like if he obeys, too. When she finds him, she’ll ask why he isn’t wearing it. How could he let them take it from him? But the man wants him to take it off, like the collar. So Jax slides it from his finger, and then puts it into his trouser pocket.

The man only nods. No approval or disapproval; that’s fine. He’ll find out later, when it’s time to eat, or bedtime, or it’ll be saved up for after-dinner entertainment. “I am sorry about my brother’s not understanding. You are like us. I killed the man who kept me. I killed the man who kept Chris. I will kill anyone who tries to take you back to life like that.”

There are always threats like this. Anyone who tries to take him away, they will die. If he tries to escape, his family die. It’s all so familiar. Jax drags his voice back up from the emptiness of his chest to let it into the air. “Yes, sir.”

Something softens in the man’s eyes. It looks like sympathy. Pity, perhaps. “Not sir. No more sirs.”

Wrong, he did something wrong, it was wrong and he’s going to pay for it. Later, more for later, for an evening argument that escalates into her screaming and then him screaming and she’s—

She’s dead. He keeps forgetting that she’s dead.

It doesn’t feel real.

Focus, shit, focus. New house, new terrifying man, new overeager charge. New owners. He needs to know his role here, what he’s meant to be to avoid pain. The man hasn’t mentioned his family yet, but it’s always his family at risk, when he puts a foot wrong. He has to protect them. He has to be everything they want.

“What should I call him, sir?”

“You call him Chris. I am Antoni. We do not own you, Jax.”

He seems to mean it. He honestly does. Jax can read sincerity from sweet-voiced lies, from teasing evasions and twisting deflections, and Antoni really seems to believe he does not own the man he has stolen.

Savvie wouldn’t have said it that way either. She said you’re mine, you belong with me, you can’t survive without me, there’s nobody else who will love you like I do.

But she’s dead. Isaac is dead. There’s only Antoni to fear, and Chris to – obey.

“Yes, Antoni.”

“Hm.” Again, there’s a feeling of being doubted. Antoni looks much more closely and more wisely than Savvie ever could. But there are no comments, and no punishments, not yet. Instead, Antoni turns with a gesture, and Jax follows him into his new home.

#whump #bbu #romantic whumper #intimate whump #slavery whump #enslavement #dissociated #conditioning #trauma #abuse tw #death #grief #dark jax #caregiver or whumper #collar #jax

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squishneedsahero · 3 years

Text

Sour Lemonade

It’s Who I Am Part 3

Word Count: 2320

How would The Falcon and The Winter Soldier have played out if you, the younger daughter of Howard Stark got involved? You had been kidnapped by HYDRA at a young age, your mind taken from you as they forced you to work towards creating new weapons for them and when HYDRA had fallen you had gotten free with your scattered memories for you to slowly piece together.

After you all had left the prison where Zemo was being held, you and Sam unintentionally follow Bucky into this garage with a ton of old fancy cars in it. It is at this time that Sam turns to him and asks, "wait- where are we?"

Bucky avoids the question by bringing up Zemo once again, "we need to get Zemo out, he's our best chance to figure-"

"We aren't breaking Zemo out of prison." Sam responds bluntly.

There is a split second pause and then Bucky begins, "can I give you a hypothetical? Let me run you through a hypothetical." From there he runs the both of you through this scenario of how easy it would be to break Zemo out, with the ease he goes through this scenario you're pretty sure he has already done this without asking you or Sam.

Your theory was proven correct mere moments later when Zemo walks in and removes his hat. Sam and Bucky begin to argue from there and Zemo asks, "if I could-"

"NO!" Sam and Bucky shout simultaneously.

Zemo quietly nods his head and says, "apologize" under his breath.

From there Bucky talks Sam into it and Sam decides to go along with it as Zemo is already out and he might as well keep an eye on things.

Once they finish talking you look at Bucky and just say, "this is stupid." Then you turn and look at Zemo for a moment before going back to looking at Bucky, "so, how are going to do this?"

"We will go to Madripoor." From there Bucky and Zemo run you and Sam through what the plan is going to be as far as it is that they know what to do.

Before either you or Sam has the chance to ask how you'd get there, the four of you are already on your way to the airport. From there you all board a private jet, learn that Zemo is a Barron and has a butler.

It is once you all are in your seats that Zemo actually turns to you. "Y/n Stark? How unexpected... you still struggling with your memory?"

You look at him, then look at Sam and Bucky, before deciding to ignore him and the fact that he is trying to provoke you. From there he moves on to instead harass Bucky about the names he has in his journal, which Bucky chokes him over before taking his notebook back. This starts an entire conversation on Marvin Gaye and how he is one of the greatest musical artists of all time.

It takes a good few hours of flying to get to Madripoor, during this time Zemo tries another couple times to get you to talk to him... but he's careful since both Sam and Bucky are there and will do who knows what to him if he messes with you. He finally stops when you tell him to, "either stop being a coward and get out whatever is on his mind or to fuck off." He knew quite a lot about you, that much was obvious, but that was why you had gone to him, because he knows about HYDRA. Despite knowing a lot about you, your attitude towards him seemed to surprise him quite a bit. You took note of this, knowing he was prodding and probing to see how it is you would react, knowing that it couldn't mean anything good for you if he was interested in you.

You all leave the plane, Sam getting a nice suit to wear and they somehow talk you into the fact that to pull this off you'll need to wear a dress. You weren't necessarily happy about the idea, dresses, especially more revealing dresses were not your thing, as you preferred to keep to yourself and stay covered nearly from head to toe, to the point that the idea of a morph suit had crossed your mind more than once. When you stepped off the plane in your heels and dress you're thankful that at least it's dark and that it will make the many scars that covered your body less obvious. Sure, your scars from your time with HYDRA might not be as noticeable as a prosthetic arm but they were deep and hadn't healed well, leaving them obvious against the rest of your skin.

"I look like a pimp," Sam comments as the four of you walk.

"Only an American would think a well dressed black man looks like a pimp," Zemo says then once again explains who it is that Sam is supposed to be pretending to be. Then Zemo was himself, and Bucky pretending to once again be the Winter Soldier. Then you. You had been given what seemed to be the only obvious role for a woman, at least when it came to men and sleazy places like Madripoor, you got to be the stupid girl hanging on the Smiling Tiger's arm. At least it's just Sam you tell yourself, not Zemo and definitely not Bucky, not that you had anything against Bucky but due to him and you having some shared time with HYDRA you weren't really comfortable with him. Probably because he would have been the one they sent to take you and fake your death, the reason you'd had such a panic attack at the feeling of his cold metal hand over your mouth back in that warehouse.

The four of you get out of the car, and your act begins. Your arm naturally links with Sam's as you walk into the bar together, your grip is a bit tight and Sam notices but he knows you've been through a lot even if you haven't a clue what exactly it is that happened to you. He gives your hand a slight, reassuring, squeeze, you look at him and offer a slight smile, squeezing his hand in return before loosening the death grip you had on him.

Zemo knows exactly where it is he is heading, going right up to the bartender and asks to see Selby. The man behind the bar somewhat ignores Zemo to instead as Sam if he wanted his usual. Sam only nods, not wanting to use his voice and risk revealing that he had an American accent. You watch in disgust as the man dissects a snake right there on the counter and adds something from its innards into the shot glass before handing it to Sam.

"Ah, Smiling Tiger, your favorite."

"Yep," Sam says, barely getting the word out, but he pushes through and takes the shot.

All you can do to help him is offer another gentle squeeze to his hand. You hadn't let go of his hand since you had entered the place and something about it seemed to be helping you stay calm despite the crowd and the volume of the place.

Zemo asks once again about Selby, then as some guy is about to jump him he says, "Soldier, attack," of course it is said in Russian but you understand it.

It is with ease that Bucky flips that invisible switch, turning on the Winter Soldier and quickly downing the man before being told to stop. In those few seconds you heart reaches your throat and you feel your knees begin to buckle under your weight. Sam feels you begin to shake next to him and puts an arm around your waist to steady you. Surprisingly this helps pull you back into the moment. Your legs still feel weak but you lean your head on Sam's shoulder and try to ground yourself, you don't even think about it as your arm finds its way to go around his shoulders. By the time the fight is over with you truly are hanging on Sam's arm like the eye candy part you're supposed to be playing.

You don't think too much about it, focusing more on the current threats than the one thing making you feel safe. You're still holding onto him when you reach the room Selby is in and Zemo begins speaking to her. The both of you let Zemo do the talking, he offers Bucky and the code words to control the winter soldier in exchange for information on who is manufacturing the super soldier serum.

"Where can we find him?" Zemo asks, Selby about the scientist who is making the serum.

"Oh, Zemo, the bread crumbs you can have for free-" The woman gets interrupted by the ringing of Sam's phone. "Answer it. On speaker," she says, leaving no option for Sam but to answer his phone.

He tries to answer it and play it cool, you can hear the woman on the other end and she isn't making it easy on Sam to stay in disguise, obviously trying to talk about something important to the both of them. Next thing you know the conversation comes to an end as the woman yells at what is most likely some kids before saying, "sorry Sam I got to go."

The phone clicks as it hangs up, and Selby just asks, "Sam? Who is Sam?" The next moment there is a ton of shouting, a gunshot, and then for you things go dark.

When you come too you're lying on a couch in an extremely nice house. You can hear voices off in an adjacent room but you don't make any move to get up. Instead you lie there, trying to gather your thoughts in your scrambled mind. Something had happened. There was a familiar feeling of a cold sweat over your body and you feel nauseous. You try and focus on the conversation with Selby, where it had gone south and what had happened.

The memory was on the tip of your tongue but you couldn't get a solid grasp on it, you grab at it and keep digging. There had been yelling then the gunshot. Selby fell to the floor, dead. You take a deep breath as you remember letting go of Sam. You had let go of him and Zemo had shouted something in Russian. That was when things went dark. Zemo knew a key word. The words that HYDRA had used to control you.

You slowly sit up and look at your hands, they were covered in blood, you didn't know who but Zemo had activated something inside of you, causing you to kill someone. Anger swelled within you, Zemo had used you. He had broken into your mind with a single word and caused you to attack. Your heart feels as though it will explode as you stand up and without warning enter then next room.

You notice Sam and Bucky, but not Sharon. Your eyes lock onto Zemo and in less than a second you're across the room, your hand on his throat as you push him against the wall. "What do you know?" The anger in your voice is clear, an anger you couldn't remember seeing in yourself before.

"So now you'll speak to me?" Zemo taunts you and you slightly lessen the pressure on his neck only to be able to slam his head back into the wall behind him with more force.

"I said tell me what you know and what the hell you did to me back there." You can feel the eyes of Sam and Bucky on you, Sam is standing behind you now but you just hold out your other hand in warning. If he wants you to stand down it will mean knocking you out. You aren't taking no for an answer Zemo will give you answers.

As you stare Zemo down its as though he's staring down the barrel of a gun. He knows that he'd hit a spot with you by doing what he had, he wasn't scared of death, but your look did make him feel some fear. You weren't a killer. "You were the one HYDRA used to torture people. A brilliant mind they got completely under their control by only giving you parts of your memories as you needed them. You were their top scientist from the time they took you, you did terrible things, gave many people long and drawn out deaths when they wouldn't do what HYDRA wanted. You used innocent people as test subjects for your weapons, you killed just as many people as he did," he nods towards Bucky, "but at least he made their deaths quick and relatively painless."

You continue to stare him down, slowly you released your grip on his neck and stepped back. Turning to Sam you ask, "where's the bathroom," Sam looks at Sharon, causing you to notice her for the first time, and Sharon gives you directions to the bathroom.

You go on your own to the bathroom, taking your time with washing your hands and then slowly sliding to the floor and sitting with your back to the door. Zemo was right. He knew exactly who you were and could probably name every single terrible thing which you had done and who your victims were. You grip your forehead as you make yourself remember what Zemo had said in Russian, what word he had used to activate your kill switch.

"Лимонад." That was what he said. It was a simple word, a word that meant Lemonade. You begin to say the word out loud to yourself, starting in a whisper as you repeat again and again, "Лимонад. Лимонад. Лимонад."

You can feel your anxiety rise as you do this to yourself, but you can't make yourself stop once you've started. As you sit there, as you repeat that code word, glimpses of your past, your time at HYDRA and even some memories before that, when you were young and would try to play with Tony. You lost track of time as you sat there, bringing your own memories back, with the taste of sour sour lemonade on your lips.

14 notes · View notes

thejudgingtrash · 4 years

Note

hello mel i Love You

HELLO DIL I LOVE YOU EVEN MORE!!!

You had me SCREAMING! Criminal genius/Detective Annabeth is my new hyper fixation, I fucking swear T_T

My brain went OVERBOARD with this! It’s super long! Please enjoy!!

(I’ve withheld this story due to the current political climate and I still feel sorta a way. But if reading about the p*lice triggers you or makes you feel uncomfortable, I wholeheartedly understand if you want to skip this one. Also... the story has some... a little bit of heat in it. Not much, it’s SFW. But it’s there <.<)

And: law enforcement, medical and science side of the pjo fandom, I doubt that this will make any sense :D

Also thanks again Torie @percyheartsannabeth for being an amazing beta!!

The Golden Age (WC: 9,5k)

“Absolutely not,” Detective Annabeth Chase crossed her arms and shook violently her head. The blonde curls nearly escaped her bun. Her partner Detective Luke Castellan was surprised. He had never seen Annabeth reject a direct command.

“We need his statement, Chase,” said Sergeant Charles Beckendorf. “It’s his M.O. The drugs, the paintings. Either he’s operating from prison again or someone’s copying him. We need to put a stop to this nonsense once and for all!”

“Even so, we’re busy with the robberies in Chelsea.” Annabeth didn’t want to pick this case up again. The case that made her famous, the case that changed her life forever. For the worse.

“Stoll will take over that with his younger brother. Chase, you don’t have a choice. You will talk to Perseus Jackson. That’s an order,” Captain Dougenis commanded. He had the final say. Luke nodded, Annabeth did nothing.

“Don’t you think we haven’t tried to get him to cooperate earlier? He said he only wants to talk to you. The person that put him behind bars,” Beckendorf explained.

Fuck Annabeth thought. She did not want to face Perseus Jackson again. She wanted to forget him and move on. The looks from her two superiors said that they would deny her wish. Jackson was a cunning manipulator. She knew how he worked and what he was. A criminal. A thief. A criminal.

“When will I speak with him?” she sighed. A battle that was lost quickly.

“In two days. Should give you enough time to study the case files,” Dougenis said.

Off to a great start. The sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway muffled as the prisoner was placed into the interview room two days later. He sat down and the cuffs fell from his hands. He rubbed his wrists. A little bit of freedom regained. Orange was a hideous color, but he actually managed to make it look good on him.

He and Annabeth were separated by the thin layer of the one-way-mirror. His sea green eyes scanned the plain fake wall in front of him. They tried to find her as he knew he was being watched. The piercing stare actually caught her eye directly. Annabeth sighed. He couldn’t hear her, but a smirk found its way onto his lips regardless. He knew her.

“You’ll be fine in there?” asked Luke who would stay outside of the interview room. He had been a part in arresting that monster. The condition that Jackson gave them was that he wanted to speak with Annabeth – alone. Annabeth nodded. Then she stepped into the small room. Tension laid in the air.

Four years had passed since he had been locked up. Perseus looked good. His hair was grayer, the beard had been trimmed recently. He looked like he exercised on a regular basis. Annabeth’s eyes spent two seconds engraving the picture of his brown biceps into her memory.

“Perseus Jackson, 38, born in New York City, arrested due to art theft and extortion. Twelve years. You’ve managed roughly a third so far.” Despite her marvelous work, they never were able to charge him for drug trafficking directly. The witnesses had remained silent. Annabeth took a seat in front of him.

“Annabeth, you know me,” Perseus pouted. A contrast to his deep voice. “Call me Percy,” he winked.

Her neck felt hot. “It’s Detective Chase for you!” she hissed. Amusement sparked through his eyes.

“Okay, Detective Chase.” How was he able to make her name sound so… dirty? So profligate?

“The woman that I have to thank for my new cozy home needs my help now all of a sudden. The tables have turned. I like that.” And Annabeth did not like one bit how his mocking tone sent shivers down her spine. The way his tongue flicked. The urge of standing up and fleeing the room was prominent, but she was a professional and had a job to do:

Make Perseus Jackson sing.

“I need information.” Annabeth’s mouth was pressed to a thin line.

“Straight to the point, Detective, huh?” The attractive man leaned forward. “And what information do I supposedly have?”

“Your family never stopped your business,” Annabeth spat. Perseus shrugged and his fingers tapped on the desk. An annoying habit.

“Someone is operating with the same methods as you. Art gets stolen and drugs follow the leads. Either you’re behind it or someone else has been recruited to fill your place. We need to find that someone.” She opened the case files and showed him pictures of missing paintings and locations as well as new collecting points for drugs on a map.

“Oh?” Jackson made and tilted his head. He faked interest and glanced lazily over the pictures.

“I’m pretty sure that I don’t have the time in my precious little cell to run all of the things that you’ve been accusing me of. Everything comes at a price, Detective,” he then smiled.

Sea green met light gray. Annabeth swallowed. Memories came back.

ii.

Two years. Annabeth had spent two years on that fucking case and barely made any progress. The smuggling of paintings to cover up or be used as payment for drug operations just didn’t make any sense. Her partner Luke got undercover into the business as a small middle man, but the rules were different for women. Sexism ruled yet once again. Detective work had narrowed the window down and came to one person: Perseus Jackson. He was invisible. He was a phantom. He had been swallowed by mother earth, never to be seen again.

He was part of the Greek syndicate that ruled with an iron fist over the East Coast. Not even the Italians, Chinese, Egyptians or Russians had that much power. Chrýseon Genos. The Golden Age. A fitting name for a bunch of pieces of shit that found joy in ruining people’s lives and making New York unsafe each and every single day. Everything was coded and followed the basic principles of Greek mythology. After Konstantinos Olympianidikis, otherwise known as Kronos, died in the 1970s due to a raging war with his own brothers, his three sons split the legacy and entire empire into three sections:

Adrian Olympianidikis. Hades. Racketeering and money laundering.

Petros Olympianidikis. Poseidon. Theft and drug trafficking.

Zacharias Olympianidikis. Zeus. Prostitution and human trafficking.

All these crimes were tied to the Golden Age and the police forces couldn’t do anything. Witnesses vanished or remained silent. The little evidence they had left was either compromised or disappeared. Everyone in the Golden Age had their little specialty. Everyone passed missions and power onto the next family member in the hierarchy. So did Petros aka Poseidon do the same thing with his sons. One of those sons was Paris. His youngest. The only pieces of information that Annabeth had of him were a 17-year-old picture that showed Paris shoplifting with some of his cousins and a diploma that showed that he had studied art history. A picture of him as a boy and proof that he had a college degree. Wow. Compelling evidence.

Annabeth took one final look of the teenage boy. The picture had been taken in the year 2000 hence the quality of the security camera of Macy’s being complete shit. Despite seeing a long mop on his head and awfully baggy clothes there was next to nothing that was useful for Annabeth in the year 2017. Hell. Who knew what Jackson looked like now as a grown man? The probability of him running around like in the early 2000s was next to none.

“And?” Annabeth asked Luke as he returned from a meeting in the syndicate.

“Poseidon is willing to speak to you,” her blond colleague nodded. The scar under his eye had proved his loyalty. A near fight for life and death. The other person had remained in the hospital for a while but was fine and dandy by now according to Luke.

“Okay.”

“Only you. Not anyone else. I’ll drive you.” Annabeth nodded.

The townhouse in the Meatpacking District did not look much like most of the houses in the area. The real luxury laid within. The house was filled with two kinds of people: security guards and young models. Annabeth felt uncomfortable and underdressed as she was following a young girl’s lead. Barely a woman. Not only did Poseidon enjoy his life at the fullest, no, he was also rich as fuck. Young women served drinks and cooked in the kitchen. Bikinis, shorts and cocktail dresses so short that they nearly gave Annabeth whiplash. A young thing named Lacy brought Annabeth to the garden where a mini pool party was going on at its fullest.

Despite being in his 80s, Poseidon looked good. He looked young and was full of life. He looked like he was in his solid early 50s. The hair and the bushy beard were so white that it seemed to have been dyed. The tanned skin was healthy. A friendly face. The only indication of his age were the neck and his hands. Had Annabeth been into older men, she had to admit that she wouldn’t have said no to Poseidon from the visuals alone.

Poseidon enjoyed his book and the giggling girls in the background as Lacy caught his attention with the new arrival. “Ah!” he said, and his eyes twinkled as he put the sunglasses away. Girls were swimming in the pool or playing volleyball, music was blasting, and food was served.

“Detective Chase!” Poseidon stood up and shook her hand. A firm grip. He spoke with a soft Greek accent.

“What can I do for you?” he asked friendly.

“More like how can you help me speak to one of your sons?” Annabeth smiled.

Poseidon laughed. “Which one? I have many.”

Yes, you do you horny bastard the blonde thought. Poseidon had twelve sons in total. Or twelve sons that he publicly claimed. All by different mothers of course. All of them had joined the family business and most have paid the price with their lives.

Proteus. Triton. Khrysomallos. Pegasus. Arion. Polyphemus. Bellerophon. Theseus. Orion. Sciron. Chrysaor. Paris. More than half of them were dead, less than half of them were alive. Tryfon aka Triton, the son Poseidon had when he was 19, had been killed by his cousin Iraklis also known as Hercules in 1974. Orion had been twelve when he had been shot in the street by Antonios and Phoebe aka the twins Apollon and Artemis in 1986. Assassinated by his own cousins. The trend of getting killed by your own family members was fairly present in the Golden Age.

“The youngest,” Annabeth answered which made Poseidon laugh.

“Ah, my boy Paris. What did he do?” Curiosity swung in the words of the old man that referred to his son in his codename.

“Sorry, confidential,” Annabeth deflected and pouted.

“Of course, of course. Ah the police. Friend and helper. As you can see-” Poseidon pointed to the precious gardens. “My son isn’t here.”

Annabeth nodded. “Well, if you happen to see him, tell him to give me a call.”

She gave him her card. Poseidon studied it. “Of course, I will Miss Chase.” Another friendly smile.

The blonde nodded and then left. The smile of the old man vanished for a split second only to appear as one of his young helpers gave him one of the many burner phones of the house.

“Thank you, Drew!” he said before pressing a number into the small device.

“Yes?” asked the tired voice of a man on the other side.

“Can you explain to me why a certain Detective Chase from the NYPD came to my home to talk about you?” The old man sounded cold and amused at the same time.

“What?” Now he was wide awake.

“I thought the woman would introduce herself as your fiancé! Something that would actually make me proud,” complained the old man and nodded to another young thing that handed him a drink.

“I will take care of it.”

“Yes, you will.”

The line was dead.

And Annabeth continued to work for another two weeks without any other results. Her shift came to an end but at least the desk was clean. She didn’t drown in mountains of paperwork like Castellan did.

“See you tomorrow!” said Connor Stoll as she crossed ways with him in the hallway.

“See you!” Her mood had reached its lowest so far. It was time to visit her best friend since childhood and his bar The Grove. As soon as Annabeth stepped out of the police department, it started to rain.

“Great.” Her steps got faster.

Fortunately for her, The Grove was within walking distance. The pouring sky distracted Annabeth so much that she didn’t realize neither a black Lexus parking around the corner nor the footsteps that had been following her. The leather jacket and the blonde curls were wet but nothing that would worry bartender and owner Grover Underwood all too much. He had seen her in fairly worse states.

“What can I do for you, Annabeth? An Old Fashioned like usual?” His friend nodded.

“Have you eaten something?” The dark-skinned man knew Annabeth and her habits. Overworking herself and forgetting to eat lunch were her favorite deadly combinations.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind something to snack on,” she confessed.

Grover only shook his head but gave her a glass full of pretzel sticks. A delicious Old Fashioned stood on the counter a few moments later. The door behind her opened and closed.

“What can I do for you, sir?” asked Grover and looked to the door.

“Whiskey. Double.” A rich baritone. Pleasant to the ears.

Annabeth heard the squeaking of the barstool next to her. She turned her head to the right and nearly fell to the ground. A man sat next to her that was a younger copy of Poseidon. Paris Olympianikidis also known as Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon. The man she had been searching for since forever randomly decided to appear. Her talk with Poseidon must have sparked something and Annabeth hated the stupid rule about women not being in the family business unless they had been born into it even more. Precious time that could have been used for undercover operations had been wasted.

Perseus looked… good. Good didn’t even describe it. His salt and pepper hair had the same streaks in the beard. He had a chiseled face with a straight nose. Wrinkles around the eyes showed that he loved to laugh and smile. He seemed to enjoy his regular exercise; the way his shirt shifted whenever he moved a muscle made it seem like it was about to tear apart. His skin was of a rich brown, and his lips were curled into a devilish smirk. The sea green eyes were a direct copy of his father’s. He had won the genetic lottery. He had nothing in common with the shoplifting boy from the year 2000.

“A little bird told me you were looking for me,” he winked.

Why did her chest feel so heavy? Why weren’t her lungs functioning normally?

Percy had to admit. His father had been right. Annabeth Chase was his type. Her body had a beautiful shape from what he had observed in the past few days. A firm ass that did Pilates on a regular basis in a class not far from her shithole of an apartment. A heart shaped face and a slight tooth gap that made her look only more adorable. Blonde princess curls that seemed to be fairly taken care of with expensive products. But her eyes… an interesting gray that told him one thing: she had a flaming spirit that was blessed with intelligence. Or was it cursed by its burden?

“Your father,” she commented.

The whiskey was served, and Percy took a swig. He was pleased.

“Do you mind?” the handsome man asked as he grabbed a smoke. Annabeth turned to Grover who ignored the antics of the new customer. The bartender placed an ashtray in front of him instead. What in the fuck is going on?

“I usually don’t smoke,” he confessed and lit the cigarette regardless. Annabeth pulled a face. Where was the logic in that?

“And you do now because…?” The interest was honest.

“I only smoke when I’m having a good drink-” He raised the glass to Grover who nodded and appreciated the compliment. “And am sitting next to a beautiful woman,” Perseus winked.

Annabeth didn’t know whether she wanted to blush or strangle him. She was 29 and acted like an insecure school girl for fucks sake! She nearly laughed.

“So, I have the honor of finally meeting you, Annabeth.” The way he said her name. So smoky and dark. He belonged in prison for that.

“It’s Detective Chase for you!” she hissed. The criminal next to her only raised an eyebrow.

“Bossy. Kinky. I like it,” he smirked and enjoyed the redness of her face as he pulled from the cigarette and blew the smoke.

Grover in the corner tried to hide his laughter with a cough. Annabeth turned to her best friend with a murderous rage. “Annabeth and kinky. Yeah right.”

“Grover, shut up!” she commanded. Jackson next to her was more than just amused.

“Now I’m interested.” He tapped some of the ashes off.

“You really want to know the details of her love life?” Grover asked.

“Oh, I definitely bite,” Percy smiled. Yes please. Annabeth wanted to smack herself.

“Could we come to the more pressing matters?” the woman groaned.

“Sure,” Jackson shrugged.

He lifted his drink, she lifted hers. They met in the middle and both felt a spark immediately.

“I need information.” Chase cutting the chase.

Percy smiled. “Everything comes at a price.”

The fact that Annabeth had spent another hour next to him and had let him pay for all of her drinks made her stomach churn in hindsight. He even insisted on paying for the Uber that picked her up.

As Annabeth returned to her apartment, she started searching through it high and low in her semi drunken state. The stupid Greek syndicate had to have bugged her. Her already chaotic apartment was even more disheveled. At least she would be forced to properly clean up once the weekend hit. The worst part was that she found absolutely nothing.

What’s worse? Being wrong or being crazy?

iii.

“I’m pretty sure you got the wrong person,” Percy said and grabbed the glass of water in front of him. The interview room looked sad. “I know nothing.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve got the right person,” Annabeth retorted and leaned forward. Her hand grabbed the edge table so tightly that the vessels nearly popped. He had to give her something.

“You’re the key. You were the blueprint and now someone’s running off with your legacy. And you’re more than okay with that?!”

“Mmhh,” Percy made. As if he had seen the most delicious thing in his life. The fact that he didn’t lick his lips was a wonder. Annabeth’s eyes followed his gaze right into her cleavage. Two buttons of her blouse that had been left open. Boys will be boys.

“Are you fucking serious, Jackson?” she spat.

The prisoner leaned backwards into his chair with a grin that quickly vanished. “It stinks in here,” he sighed.

Annabeth halted her movement. Her eyes widened in shock.

“No,” she whispered.

His beautiful sea green eyes told her one thing. Yes.

iv.

“Is this really necessary?” Annabeth questioned Beckendorf’s decision behind his back.

A visit to an art gallery. Perseus Jackson decided to become visible to the public eye all of a sudden and started to work as an art collector and conservator. He had meetings with clients, he had visitors in his studio and seemed to actually use his degree for something. Whether it was for the good or not was a matter of perspective. The criminal went to the gym daily; he even bought his own fucking groceries. Observing him had been nerve wrecking. Especially since probably he knew that he was being watched and therefore enjoyed every second of Annabeth’s annoyance. The detective felt like a true voyeur. He hadn’t done anything suspicious unless being a little piece of shit counted. Jackson didn’t separate his waste for an instance. Prick.

When Luke told her that Jackson had planned the opening of a gallery and proposed that they should go, the blonde almost laughed. A public event where no invitation was needed. A ballsy move. It seemed like Jackson really gave no fucks. Unfortunately, Beckendorf caught wind of it and now she was forced to go.

“I’m afraid so,” Luke said as he rubbed his temples. He really wasn’t in the mood for a fight with Annabeth. She was an opponent that just maimed you with arguments.

“What’s going on, Annabeth?” her colleague asked. “You wanted to find Jackson the entire time. You’ve worked for years on this and now you’re basically backpedaling. This is so not you.”

For better or for worse, Annabeth didn’t talk about Luke with her meeting with Jackson at The Grove. Something told her that she should hold onto the information.

“I don’t know. Just a bad feeling I guess,” she confessed. Annabeth didn’t know what would happen once Jackson was aware of her presence. And he would definitely see her.

“You’re not alone.” Luke patted her shoulder. “Grace, Beauregard and hell even that di Angelo informant guy said they would be present. Jackson must have pulled a big gig if even the Italians are interested in his shitty joint. Nothing will happen to you.”

I’m not so sure about that, Annabeth thought, but the only thing she did was nod.

A month had passed, and the day of the gallery opening was finally there. Annabeth stood in front of the building where soft string music could be heard from the outside and guests flooded in. Annabeth saw how undercover cop Jason Grace entered. He quickly glanced in her direction but turned around. Annabeth understood; he was a valuable asset who could not let his cover get blown over.

The blue dress that she wore hugged her curves tightly and the high heels that she chose made the detective regret every life decision that led up to that exact moment. Her soles would be burning the next day and it wasn’t like in the movies. An attempt to run in those things would be a one-way ticket to the ER. The wire in the dress didn’t make the discomfort any better.

“Chase, everything's fine?” asked Beckendorf in her ear. Of course, she had been bugged.

“Yes, everything is good. I’m moving,” she said.

Annabeth mingled with the crowd and entered. The blonde actually stood in awe and registered all the modern pieces. Pop art, minimal art, abstract expressionism, all sorts of different post-modern works that fought for space but harmonized wonderfully together in the rooms. How the fuck was that criminal scum be able to display works from Andy Warhol, Helen Frankenthaler or Jackson Pollock?

They had to be either stolen, bought for a large sum, rented, which was not the style of the Greek syndicate or, something that was Jackson’s supposed specialty, be forged. A waiter offered her champagne which she politely declined. As much as Annabeth would love to cloud her mind, she could not afford it on that evening. She had to look out for Jackson. The blonde made her first round at a slow speed.

“Can you see him yet?”

“No, not yet. Oh, there he is! With Chiara Benvenuti!” A known mafia bride. Chiara was surrounded by her bodyguards like always as she pointed towards a picture.

“Good,” Beckendorf breathed into her ear. “Perhaps we can finally raid this place.”

The painting was an abstract piece with lots of red elements. Blood that was spilled on the dance floor. Something fitting for a coldhearted villain.

“Of course, painting it was a task, but I thoroughly enjoyed it,” Annabeth heard Jackson say. The way Benvenuti laughed made her rage. Jackson joining her, didn’t make it any better. The fact that Benvenuti stared at his tanned chest as he had left some of the buttons of his shirt open, pissed the detective even more off.

Jackson’s sea green eyes shifted to the right and caught her staring at him. A pleased expression rested on his face and the smile could almost be considered to be honest. Embarrassed, Annabeth turned around and immediately left the corner. Fuck that mission. Fuck everything. Fuck that man in particular and the uneasy feeling that rested inside her heart. She saw Luke mingling with two people in black suits, they looked like they would fit the description of some of the Golden Age’s lackeys. Luke was irritated but there was no time for explanation. Annabeth needed alcohol, she needed it badly.

“Chase, what’s going on dammit?” hissed Beckendorf as he heard her frantic steps. She was glad he was unable to see her in that pathetic state.

“Nothing,” Annabeth lied. “Don’t want to blow cover.”

Fortunately, another waitress was making her rounds and Annabeth grabbed a glass which she nearly inhaled. She was wandering through the gallery and tried to figure out her next steps. Too little, too late.

“You left me waiting. Good evening, Detective.”

Annabeth almost let the glass fall as she heard his deep voice behind her and felt his large hand around her waist. A scent of musk and fresh sea breeze crawled into her nose. The grip wasn’t extremely tight, but it was clear that Perseus Jackson had no intention of letting her go.

“Fuck!” hissed Beckendorf into her ear. It was too early to storm the place. They had nothing in their hands against Jackson.

“You have quite the collection,” Annabeth complimented him.

“Thank you, love.” She punished him with a sour look that made his grin only widen.

“Interested in buying?”

“If it’s real perhaps.”

“Oh, my dear Annabeth, everything is real.” The warmth of his hand spread throughout her entire body. Her glass was empty, and he gave it to one of the lackeys.

“Mister Olympianidikis,” the boy nodded and ran off with it immediately. Oh, the power of someone in the higher hierarchical position of a crime syndicate.

Jackson accompanied her through the gallery and showed her his favorite pieces.

Annabeth could picture Beckendorf walking up and down in the small van, nearly losing his shit at the man babbling about oil colors or frameworks that he or other painters used. Jackson was hindering them on purpose. Something was going on.

“There’s something I want to show you. Follow me.” He took her hand and walked to a hidden niche. Jason Grace who stood in the corner and spoke to a woman eyed them with suspicion.

A white door was there with the words Emergency Exit engraved on it. A cold and naked hallway was in front of them. Lights were off and the moon was the only orb that illuminated the place. They were alone.

“And what are you supposed to show-” Jackson cut her off. With a brutal kiss.

A spark that set the entire place in flames. Annabeth did the one thing she was not supposed to: not use her intelligence. Her arms automatically wrapped themselves around his neck as she fiercely kissed him back. Their lips fought a battle against their lungs, and they dived into each other again and again. Taste. That was all they thought.

Percy pulled away from Annabeth. She was beautiful. Her citric smell was divine. The delicate updo was no more. The lipstick was smeared. Her lips trembled and there was something else written in her eyes. Lust. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. A wild look was on his face. He kissed her again. He held her close to his body and pressed her against the wall.

Annabeth felt how one of his hands slid underneath the dress. Did Annabeth exchange the boy shorts for a thong in the last minute? Yes, she did. Did she regret that decision? No, she did not. But his hands had a different goal in mind. The yanking made her shriek into his mouth. A solid welcome for his tongue. The wire underneath her dress was no more. Only then did he place his tight grip on her ass.

Oh, two can play this game Annabeth thought and grabbed the wire that stuck out of his collar.

“Guess that no one’s listening in on us anymore,” Percy commentated.

“It seems like it,” Annabeth agreed. A calm before the storm. A storm that broke loose as they kissed each other again. Percy’s lips wandered.

“Who told you to waltz in this place with this fucking dress?” He claimed her neck with kisses. His beard tickled her. “You look perfect!”

Annabeth wished she could retaliate the compliment. Percy looked fairly handsome in the beige suit, but her brain was short circuiting and only focused on not moaning too loudly and enjoying the feeling of being pressed against him. The probability of her colleagues rushing in that compromising situation was way too high.

Percy broke the kiss off for good. He made a move towards the staircase. A foot was set to the lower step. “Come with me!” His hands reached out for her.

Annabeth was panting. Heart or sanity who would win? Annabeth made one decision that would seal her fate forever. She took his hand and the unlikely pair fled out of the building.

As soon as they opened the backdoor, Annabeth heard a frantic scream for her name. There was no turning back now. A black car was waiting for them in the hidden alley. It looked like Castellan didn’t do his homework properly and had received the wrong plans of the building to study.

Percy held the door open for her and she slipped into the limousine. Percy followed. “Leo!” he barked. The vehicle moved with screeching tires and drove through a garage which led to a tunnel that Annabeth had never seen. She stopped paying attention to it as Percy claimed her lips yet again.

The car ride was a blurry memory. They entered another garage which was when the car stopped. “We’ve arrived,” announced the chauffeur.

Percy nodded to the front and then exited the car. He reached out for Annabeth and helped her out of the car. “Where are we?” she asked as they entered an elevator.

Percy pressed a key card against the board. “My home.”

There was no time left for sightseeing. They immediately entered the bedroom. His jacket was tossed aside, her dress slid to the floor. Both of them fell to the bed. Both of them never wanted to leave the bed.

Annabeth woke up to the wonderful smell of coffee. Her eyes fluttered and the memories hit her. The wonderful night she had shared with a wanted criminal. Her naked body was wrapped in satin sheets. The blonde sat up. Her pale body was sore and ached but in the best way. She didn’t remember the last time she had sex with anyone; work had been way too busy. She didn’t want to remember. What Perseus Jackson did to her would be fairly impossible to top.

Said Perseus Jackson entered the bedroom in nothing but sweatpants and two mugs. Oh yes, he did enjoy his daily workouts. “Morning,” he smiled.

“Morning,” she replied and thanked him for the cup. A delicious aroma took over the room. Annabeth took a sip.

“Mmhh,” she delightfully sighed. Two pumps of hazelnut and heavy cream, just the way she liked it.

“Yes, I did do my homework,” he laughed and drank his tea. “You aren’t the only people that study others. Was seeing me work out at least fun?”

“Shut up, Jackson,” Annabeth blushed. He laughed.

The cop finished her cup and Percy put it on a nightstand. “And what do you want to do now?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Something’s coming to my mind.” His light eyes darkened, and he cupped her face. Annabeth pushed the blanket aside, revealing her perfect self.

“That insatiable?” she laughed but didn’t receive an answer as she felt his lips on hers again. Her hand went on to grasp his black curls.

“Very,” he said as his hands roamed over her very naked body.

Putting the blue dress on again felt wrong. Percy wouldn’t have minded for Annabeth to stay the entire day at his apartment, but he knew she had a point when she said that her colleagues would searchthe entire city for her. Turning brick by brick if they must.

“I honestly can’t come up with a good excuse for my boss. You didn’t think this through.” Annabeth wandered through the modern apartment. It was bathed in light and had window fronts that showed her the entirety of Manhattan and the green of the Central Park. A dream apartment. The Golden Age had money, no doubt in that.

“Well… I actually have an idea,” Percy started. Annabeth turned to him with one cocked eyebrow and her hands on her hips.

“That sounds like I won’t like it,” she predicted.

He opened a cabinet and showed her the bottle.

“Are you fucking serious?!”

“Well as you’ve said. I didn’t think it through,” he shrugged with a goofy grin. It made him look adorable. Stop Annabeth. No time for that. Percy grabbed a cloth as well.

“Let’s just say that I never had the honor of being treated that way,” Annabeth muttered. But she agreed with him. It would make the lies that were about to come out of her mouth easier.

Percy kissed Annabeth one last time and brushed a lock out of her beautiful face. “Sweet dreams, Annabeth,” he wished her.

Then he pressed the drenched cloth over her nose and mouth. Her eyes rolled back, and she was embraced by darkness. Annabeth slumped down but Percy caught her.

Four hours later, Luke Castellan and Jason Grace made their way to Annabeth’s apartment, looking for possible clues. Both of them were fucking pissed. At Jackson, at Annabeth, at the entire fucking operation. The police force was frantically looking for her. They got Paris Olympianidikis for kidnapping at least. If they would catch him.

Luke had a key to Annabeth’s apartment because they were close friends. Annabeth had actually defied orders, nearly ruined a mission and drove him to the hospital as his wife gave birth three years ago. He had to find her. Not to make it even, but to know that his friend was safe.

“Look for anything useful,” Luke commanded. Jason nodded.

Luke entered the living room and Jason worked through the bathroom which was followed by the bedroom. He nearly slipped to the floor.

And there she was, sleeping like a princess.

“Annabeth?! Annabeth! Luke, she’s here!”

The next thing Annabeth remembered was waking up in the hospital. She knew that everyone was pissed at her. But Castellan had defended her for the stupid act of following a criminal to nowhere. Jason had seen where they left, and Annabeth thought the Sergeant could hear important information. Who would have guessed that the wiring would be cut off?

Examinations. DNA samples were taken to get a hold of Jackson. Questions. So many questions. A knock. Yet another person that wanted to annoy her. “Yes?” Annabeth sighed.

“Annabeth,” Beckendorf entered the hospital room. Annabeth felt patronized but of course her hands were tied. She refused to speak with her boss about a certain criminal. She covered up the truth and enjoyed living her life in lies. The young detective had no family who anyone could call. That made Beckendorf extremely worried about her.

The tall man took a seat next to her bed. “I’m not here to tear you apart, pretty sure Captain Dougenis had the pleasure.” Yes, he had. “I want to hear from you what happened.”

The blonde retold her vision of events. “I don’t know,” she sighed. “It was a trap. I can’t remember how I ended up in my apartment.” Annabeth spoke a little truth in her web of lies.

“The way our connection cut off as soon as you left the exhibition… I thought it was static. Then you were gone.” Oh no, he heard us making out Annabeth thought. She tried to suppress the panic that was bubbling up in her and was glad that Percy had discarded the wires. The technicians at the police department would have immediately figured out that there had been no static. She remembered almost everything. The staircases. The car. The apartment. The way he felt between her legs. The way she straddled him. The way he grabbed her throat. The pleasures and the cries.

Beckendorf looked deeply into her eyes. He knew that she had something to hide but was wise enough not to ask. The old man was one of the few people that blindly trusted her instincts in the department.

“Okay,” was all that he said. “I’m trusting your judgement.” She nodded. He was a kind soul.

“Take the next week off. You need the rest.” Beckendorf stood up.

Percy saw how her delicate fingers grabbed the folder and closed it. The shiny object fell into his vision.

“I like your ring.” His sea green eyes shot up to her face. He saw a slight blush on her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she nearly whispered and played with the small white band.

“Someone very important gave it to me a long time ago. Someone dear to my heart.”

He blinked twice. She blinked twice.

A devilish smirk rested on his face.

vi.

Their affair lasted an entire year. The fact that it came to an end was saddening. But it was predictable. Star-crossed lovers from two entirely different universes that weren’t meant to be. Otherwise the balance of both of their worlds would crash, burn, and fall.

Annabeth had insight into the police work and Percy had insight into the Golden Age. That was the sole reason they barely saw each other in a work related context. They actually managed to live a fairly happy life outside of the working hours. They went on secret dates, they visited museums after they had been closed and reopened only for the powerful son of Poseidon, they watched movies together, they even flew out to visit his Hawaiian mother Sally who adored Annabeth. And the sex was amazing. A welcoming bonus. Both felt happiness for the very first time. Both felt love for the very first time.

The secret studio in his art gallery was one of the few places where they could be free.

“And here’s the Mona Lisa,” Percy grabbed the painting out of the box. He showed Annabeth some of his latest pieces that were part of his collection or creations. Real paintings and forged ones.

“Wow, that looks so real. An incredible copy.” Annabeth had visited France in her college days.

“The thing that’s hanging in the Louvre?” he winked.

“Tell me you’re joking.” The corners of his lips pointing up was all she got.

Annabeth laid next to him a week later. They were inside of her shitty apartment. Percy had surprised her because of course he could cook as well. To the question “Is there something you can’t do?” Percy only answered, “Change a tire and board planes because I hate heights.”

He might have been joking, he might have been serious. Annabeth did not care. She had returned from yet another demanding shift. This time her task force had hunted down one of Zeus’ kids. Aristidis also known as Ares. Despite being in his late 40s he was an annoying little piece of shit. The fat fuck tried to sell child slaves on the dark web and barely managed to escape them.

As Annabeth had entered her apartment, she was greeted by the delicious smell of parmesan that melted over fresh pasta. Seeing houseman Percy cook was not only a picture for the gods but something she could get used to. Annabeth placed her bag on the sofa and ran to the kitchen to greet Percy with a kiss. A passionate kiss.

“Aren’t-” kiss. “You-” kiss. “Hungry?” he asked between their kisses.

“Well, I think we can eat later.”

“Grover is right, you’re a terrible liar when it comes to food,” he joked. The Grove was another spot for them together. Once the customers left, the three would sit together and joke. Mostly at Annabeth’s expense.

Annabeth pouted and then kissed him again. The only thing that broke her silence was her stomach grumbling.

Percy broke off from her with a roaring laughter. “Eat first. Then we can come to the more fun activities.”

Annabeth pouted but Percy unfortunately had a point.

Now she was fighting against falling asleep as she laid on his chest and he played with her hair. He inhaled her smell. Raindrops were racing on the window as gravity pulled them down. The shower on the outside calmed them. “There’s a good reason why you never found me. Why no one found me,” Percy started.

Her tiredness was gone. Curiosity won. “The fact that my father uses me as his master forger is abundantly clear, right?”

Annabeth nodded. They didn’t talk much about his business ventures in the Golden Age, but she had pieced large chunks of the puzzle together.

“I want to leave my family,” he confessed.

“What?” That came as a surprise to Annabeth. Percy seemed fairly content with his life in the family business. He joked about it and enjoyed the high standards of life that came with the fruits. Then again, Annabeth had seen the dark shadows that followed the Golden Age everywhere they went. Blood, bodies, chaos, destruction.

“A rule that my father engraved into my brain was to be invisible. Live like there’s no tomorrow, but don’t forget to clean the remains of yesterday. The day me and my cousin Ethan were caught shoplifting seventeen years ago changed me. It changed us all. We were so naive, and felt so invincible. For normal parents that would have been a tirade and grounding. Our parents think differently. For Ethan, whose idea it was to begin with, it cost him his eye.”

Annabeth’s eyes widened. The cruelty of parents. The fact that the Golden Age had no problem with hunting their own down was still sickening to her.

“It didn’t matter. Four months in and he had been shot by the Russians, the Bratva. Nearly started an entire fucking war,” he sighed.

“Percy, that’s horrible.” Annabeth tried to see if there was any emotion left in his eyes. There was none. His eyes were dull from the wars he had seen. Percy was blind and used to the cruelty of the survival of the fittest.

“Annabeth, I’ve witnessed my first murder as a thirteen-year-old. At least I haven’t pulled the trigger myself yet. Not in a deadly way.” He stared at the white ceiling.

Her heart broke for the boy that lost his honest smile. “That doesn’t make it any better.”

“No, it doesn’t. It really doesn’t.” Percy hugged her tightly. “I want to be free. Die as a free man. Live in the sunlight and not in the shadows. Not in fear of getting gunned down by a crazy family member. My father spoke with my uncles. They gave me an impossible task. Once I solve it, I’m a free man.”

“Who are you? John Wick?” she joked. She wasn’t in the mood for cracking stupid jokes, but she had to uplift the situation or else the mental image of Percy losing his innocence as a child would forever haunt her.

“That guy is amazing; I’m not going to lie.” Percy managed to crack a crooked smile.

“And the task?”

Percy sighed. He wouldn’t have minded a smoke. “It stinks in here, the three of them had said. ”He turned to Annabeth. “There’s a rat.”

A rat? she thought. “Someone that betrays my family. They mix up our business and create chaos from within as if they want us to implode. I have to find and either obtain or eliminate them.”

Someone that betrayed the Golden Age? Whoever they were, they were crazy and suicidal.

“And what do you want to do once you’re free?”

“Move to Hawaii. Be reunited with my mother again. Find a woman,” he looked at her and grinned. “Marry her, pop out a kid or three. Be an artist.”

Silence. Annabeth was speechless. “I wouldn’t mind seeing that and being a part of that,” she whispered.

Percy only kissed her.

Another month later. The fact that Percy disappeared around her birthday upset her, but that was life. He had been in Los Angeles for a gig. Which gig exactly she did not ask. Was it a legal gig? Highly debatable. It had something to do with the rat. That was all that he told her.

A small package got sent to her and she was curious to see what it was. No sender. Carefully she opened it. A small ring box was in there. Tiffany’s & Co.

A card was attached to the box. Happy Birthday, Princess – P.

“Oh no…” Annabeth opened the little box. The ring had a small silver band that was covered in small diamonds. Her jaw dropped. The ring was beautiful. And it was meant to be for her?

Annabeth put it on. It sat perfectly on her ring finger. Annabeth looked at the box again. It had a code on it. The detective grabbed her phone and searched for the ring.

“WHAT THE-”

Perseus had spent fifteen thousand dollars for that little piece of jewelry.

“No…” she cried. How could he have spent so much money on her?

Annabeth ran into her bathroom and shoved a loose tile aside. She used that little space to hide something. That something was the burner phone that Percy had given her so that they could always stay in contact. Annabeth called him.

“And?” he asked.

“PERSEUS JACKSON!” she yelled.

“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND?!”

“Why? Don’t you like the ring?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I love it. We have to talk about the price.” Her left hand already played with the beautiful ring.

“Why? Do you want a more expensive one? Let me know which one, I’ll buy it,” he stated.

“What?! No! You’ve spent way too much on that ring! I can’t accept this!”

Percy laughed. “You can and you will. It is my gift for you. Happy birthday, Annabeth.”

Annabeth wanted to scream. Denying his gift felt so wrong, but it was the right choice she made.

“Once you’re here we’re going to have a talk. We have to return this!”

Annabeth could practically hear how he shook his head. “You’re going to like the ring and you’re going to keep it.”

“Fine,” she huffed. Annabeth accepted her fate and waited until the days of solitude would be over. Until she was reunited with her Percy again.

The year had passed. Then it happened. The day Paris Olympianidikis would fall.

vii.

“Cooperate with me, Jackson,” Annabeth sounded soft. He merely raised an eyebrow.

“Cooperate and we can make a deal. Better conditions in prison, a reduced sentence perhaps and-”

“I want out,” he boldly stated.

Annabeth stared at him blankly. “Pardon me?”

“You said cooperate and we can make a deal. That’s my end of the line.” Jackson leaned back into his chair again.

Annabeth was speechless. He had beaten her with her own game. She closed her eyes for a second before focusing on him again. Don’t let him get the best out of you.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He smirked as he loved to hear that answer. Then she remembered what he had said.

“You said it stinks in here?” she repeated. Annabeth eyed him suspiciously.

“Yes, Detective,” he truthfully answered.

“What does it smell like?”

“Colors, Detective.”

“Why?”

“You should be able to see it for yourself.” He scratched his temples.

viii.

They got him. They didn’t get him with drugs or anything else that would give him a long sentence. But they got him with one of his forges. The good old Al Capone method. If you don’t get him with the big guns, try to stick to the petty crimes. Criminals get sloppy. Especially criminals that do way too much in too many places. The meeting was over, and everyone cheered. Everyone but Annabeth.

“Shouldn’t you be happy? Hell, Annabeth. You’ve spent more than three years on this case.” asked Travis Stoll.

“It’s just…unbelievable. The fact that everything comes to an end. Goal completed and all,” she smiled sadly.

Annabeth dreaded her seeing Percy again. He was waiting in her apartment and probably preparing food for them. The sight of her apartment complex made her heart sink. Where once was joy, ruled depression.

“Annabeth, what happened?” Percy ran to the door as he saw her in her desolate state. The door closed and she told him what would happen in the next sixteen hours.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried. Percy just held her and hugged her tightly as the tears blinded her. He fought his own tears that threatened to rise. Their future, destroyed.

“It was bound to end like this,” he said. Sadness rested in his voice. But also, tranquility.

“No.” Annabeth shook her head and buried her face into his strong chest.

“Whatever happens. I’ll be fine. Most of the prisons and the judges are smeared.” He kissed her head.

“Of course, they are,” she laughed darkly. Knowing that he wouldn’t be subjected to fights in prison didn’t do much to calm her down. She’d rather have him next to her.

“Annabeth. I want you to arrest me.”

“No. Never.” She violently shook her head again and slapped his shoulder.

“I mean I’m already used to your cuffs, now’s the chance to make it official,” he grinned.

“Percy! Now is not the time to joke about our sex life.” They shared a laugh anyway.

“I have another wish. Move on, Annabeth. Live life to the fullest,” he whispered.

“Everything but that.” She refused to move on. How could she?

“Find an idiot, marry him, have kids and live happily with him. Do that for me. Please,” he continued.

“I want you to be that idiot,” she pressed and looked deep into his eyes. “I don’t care how long it’ll take. I’ll wait for you.”

He kissed her. Don’t do this Annabeth. Don’t give me hope he thought.

The unlikely couple hugged each other tightly as they went to bed. One last time. It didn’t come to Annabeth as a surprise to find his side of the bed cold and empty. His side. His side was no more, it was only her side.

Perseus spent the night and morning hours in the art gallery. He had one final piece to finish. He drank and smoked and cursed. The bottle of cheap whiskey nearly fell to the ground, but he managed to catch it.

The oil painting was a self-portrait. An anchor to the last few moments of his life as a free man that hid in the shadows.

The task force broke into his gallery. He had a cigarette in his mouth and put the paintbrush down as his lover approached him. He had a sarcastic smile on his lips which vanished as he registered the pain in her eyes.

“Perseus Jackson, you are under arrest,” spoke Annabeth with a commanding tone.

She put him into cuffs and read him his rights. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court... A glance at the painting he had been working on ever since he left the apartment.

Annabeth knew immediately that it was them. Percy in the painting hugged her but their faces had been cut off. She saw the birthmarks on her back and the accuracy of how he portrayed his hands on her hip. Percy’s final act of love to her for all of them to see. Unfortunately, all of them were blind to it. All of them but Annabeth.

The moment she was at home she ran to the bathroom and emptied her stomach. Gush after gush came out of her. Her mouth felt sour and dry, the teeth hurt and had an ugly yellow color, the tears that blinded her ran towards her nose. “What have I done?” she cried and looked at her pathetic self in the bathroom mirror.

Judgement day came eight painful months later. The judge slammed the hammer and sealed his fate.

Twelve years. Twelve years was the sentence. Perseus lost his coolness for one second. Annabeth’s heart broke in two. Poseidon who sat on the other side of the room looked like he wanted to shoot the judge right then and here and Annabeth would have gladly joined him.

They were robbed of twelve years together. Percy was put into handcuffs. His sea green eyes searched through the ranks until they found her gray ones. He blinked twice. I love you. She blinked twice. I love you too. The police officers around her almost cheered.

They complimented her for the worst decision of her life. An act that had destroyed her life. Her lover was gone. And a free rat was still out there.

The trail of memories stopped. Annabeth knew that Luke was restless behind the one-way-mirror. The talk had stretched into eternity and gave little information to the hidden detective, but so much to Annabeth. Percy had been right. He was roaming freely in prison. He was able to talk with his family day in and day out. And most importantly. He knew of operations. And he knew of his own operations the best.

Finally. There was movement in the gallery. Whoever was decided to continue the work of Percy Jackson was stupid enough to revisit the place where it all began. The rat would be caught in a trap.

“NYPD PUT YOUR - no.” Annabeth had the gun pointed at him. But she couldn’t believe it. The rat. The rat that had cost her four years of their life.

“I’m sorry, Annabeth,” he sadly smiled. Then he pointed his gun at her.

A shot.

Annabeth had closed her eyes. The bullet didn’t hit her. It had hit him as Luke Castellan had fired a warning shot into the abdomen. The detectives moved to him.

“Call an ambulance!” yelled Annabeth to the cops that flooded the place. He laughed on the floor as he bled.

Jason Grace. Secret son of Zacharias Olympianidikis also known as Zeus. He not only wanted to act in revenge as Percy’s brother Sciron had killed his older sister Thalia. He wanted to spite him and take over his businesses as well. The money and the gold. The cars and fame. In his twisted mind he was able to run the syndicate and destroy it at the same time. It was over.

Annabeth saw as the ambulance drove off. Percy scratching his temples as an indication for the glasses and his talk about colors to point to the gallery would be his ticket to freedom. Hopefully.

ix.

It was the first time that Percy had seen the sun as a free man again. He left prison with the clothes he entered. The deal with the district attorney went smoothly although the old man would have rather wrung the half-Greek’s neck.

A black car drove up to the prison. Two people exited the car.

“Mom? Dad?”

Sally and Poseidon hugged their free son tightly.

“You are stupid!” cried Sally. “Both of you!”

Father and son winced. That was Sally Jackson for them.

Quitting her job had been freeing. She had made the decision about half a year ago. Annabeth wanted to see something new. Experience something new. She was on the way to the small airport. The day was sunny and warm. A new day to start a new chapter in her life.

Annabeth arrived. “You can stop hiding, we aren’t being followed,” she laughed.

Percy yawned in the backseat. “I was sleeping,” he excused himself.

“Of course, you were.” She rolled her eyes and smiled into his reflection in the rearview mirror.

Her colleagues were upset, especially Luke, but it had to be. She had to quit for her own sanity. Beckendorf would check up on her and then see who she was with and connect the dots. But he would be wise enough not to contact her, not to rat her out. He would be happy about the fact that she had found love.

They would live with Sally and her little family for a while before they would buy their own house. The private jet that Zeus had given them would bring them to Hawaii undetected. A small sorry as the son of Zeus had caused a lot of trouble in the family. At least Jason was still alive.

Annabeth stopped the car and turned to Percy.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” she grinned. A delicate kiss was shared.

A golden age was truly upon them.

The End

Ummm... I... I think this might be a poppin feature fic? I have still many ideas and many things could be fleshed out...? Help?

BUT THANK YOU AGAIN FOR THE SUGGESTION DIL OMFG ILY!

All Cookout Fics

Cute/Cursed Cookout Writing Prompts

#pjo #Percy Jackson #annabeth chase #mel's little cookout #percabeth #percabeth fanfiction #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson and the olympians #tw: police #tw: violence #mel writes #the golden age

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dorminchu · 3 years

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Insult to Injury: The Director’s Cut — Chapter 01 [PREVIEW]

Note: Please view on the main blog page for an optimal reading experience. :D Chapter One is about 95% revised to my liking. Here is a somewhat lengthier preview whilst work begins on 02 & 03.

June crawled by. Currently the MSF were in the process of dealing with a new influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs) from the surrounding prefectures and villages, all of whom had to be tested and separated from those not stricken with disease—as this did not necessarily mean they weren’t carrying others. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the start of the year.

The atmosphere within the hospital was not improving. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients. Allegedly there had been several attacks on neighbouring villages; a sign of impatience at the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force Sécurité/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of Kerberos, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.

Their project coordinator called them all in for the sake of reviewing protocol in the event of an attack, starting to seem like more of a possibility. Criticism of the government’s method in handling the situation was discouraged during their meetings with the project coordinator. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, she presumed they were either too naïve or willing to look the other way.

The only exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Francis Karner; a stoic older man with thinning hair and glasses. He and Madeleine had cooperated a handful of times at the behest of the Medical Coordinator. Madeleine had found nothing wrong with his conduct. A diligent worker, he acknowledged her judgement fairly but did not overextend his gratitude. Outside of his work he was straight-laced and private. Whenever they had a break, he would often disappear frequently on calls. He’d been coming back tenser as of late and apologised to Madeleine.

“I was supposed to be sent home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.” He did not sit down. “It’s madness. We’ve already waited until things are too severe to think of bringing in a proper security detail—who the hell does the project coordinator think we’re fooling?” Madeleine ignored him. “Dr Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me you’ve been involved in volunteer work for a while.”

“Five years, as of March.”

“Perhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.”

“Well, it’s fortunate that I was not selected for my personal opinion.”

Karner chuckled. “You’ll go far.”

Madeleine had no interest in pursuing this topic any further. “Who were you speaking to?” Francis didn’t answer immediately. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But you leave often enough and it appears to be taking a toll on you.”

“Just my wife. This past month has been no easier on her. But I find that it can help somewhat, just talking to someone outside of this element.” Madeleine nodded. Francis paused. “I’ve never seen you contact anyone outside of your unit.” Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she particularly wish to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect as she could in the clinic back home, and Francis seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response.

“I’m living with a friend. We graduated from college together.”

“And you keep in touch while you are abroad?”

“He tends to lead his own life while I am away.”

“That’s a great deal to ask of someone.” Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. This was not a man that emoted often; now the thin mouth was set, and the eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. “Few women your age would devote themselves to a thankless vocation. Not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you want to settle down.”

Madeleine’s smile did not touch her eyes. She hadn’t even mentioned the nature of her relationship to Arnaud. “We have an understanding, that’s all. Besides, I don’t bother him about his social life.”

Karner shook his head. In a few minutes the break subsided and they were back to work as usual. By the end of the day, Madeleine resolved to let him dig his own grave without further interference.

The next few days blurred together in her recollection. Karner made no attempt to converse with her. Madeleine found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unit’s personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a total lack of progress.

She left the window to her hotel room cracked most nights, afraid to open it completely. Alone with her own mind and the recorder. The conversations now circled back readily to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from insurrection.

It was just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. A month and a half from now she would be on a flight back to Paris. Her mind refused to settle in either direction.

Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Francis Karner. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, but as Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:

“…I’ve been saying it for weeks, and they dismiss me every time. These wounds are the result of prolonged exposure from chemicals. We’ve seen evidence of IDPs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the PMCs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the project coordinator refuses to bring this up? We’re putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we don’t know if we need—and even so, it won’t be ready for another week. There’s not enough time to justify keeping silent….”

Madeleine closed the window carefully. She’d never been one to intrude on family matters.

⁂

When Madeleine exited her room the next morning, she found the project coordinator waiting for her in the hallway, along with the head of security from Kerberos and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.

The vaccines had arrived earlier than anticipated. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if all had been accounted for and subsequently realised it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of the FSP the losses were minimal. Several doctors, including Herrmann, had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. A few others, including Dr Karner, had been less fortunate.

Now there was additional pressure from the doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining vaccines would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack to the government, but as an interception of an attack by local terrorists.

“Dr Swann.” The head of security, Lucifer Safin, gave Madeleine pause. His accent and complexion would presume a Czech or Russian background but he could have come from a variety of surrounding countries. The MSF on staff commonly referred to him by surname; perhaps Lucifer was simply an alias. What set him apart was his face. Gruesomely scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw, though the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. In spite of the weather, she had never seen him without gloves. “I understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr Karner?”

His manner wasn’t explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-water—met only with your reflection.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, “but that was nearly five days ago.”

“You were instructed to monitor him during that period by the Medical Coordinator?”

“That’s correct.”

Safin glanced at the project coordinator. “I’ll speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

Safin nodded. They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct. He had a rifle strapped to him. Madeleine tried to avoid concentrating on it. Her attention went to the window. She had not locked it.

“Dr Swann.” The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, it was more as if his very face were made of porcelain and had suffered a nasty blow, then glued together again. “What was the extent of your relationship to Dr Karner?”

“I did not work with him often. We talked once or twice but that was all. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit. From what I could tell, he never made an effort to befriend anyone.”

“You were asked to monitor Dr Karner. Why?”

“I was requested to do so on behalf of the Medical Coordinator. There were concerns that Dr Karner was somehow unqualified to continue his work. In observing him, I had no reason to suspect he was unfit for the position psychologically.” Safin said nothing. “The only issue I could see worth disqualifying him for, was that Karner and the project coordinator had very differing views on protocol.”

“He spoke to you about his views?”

“He expressed to me once, in confidence, that he did not understand the project coordinator’s hesitance to bring in a security detail.” Safin’s attention on her was razor-sharp, unwavering. She’d said too much. “He also told me he’d elected to continue volunteering here past his contract duration, just to ensure the operation was successful. That was my only conversation with him outside of a work-related context. You would be better off asking the other doctors about this.”

“We have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de L’independence. At around one in the morning, Dr Karner exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. Then, a minute later, you were at your window.”

“Oh, yes. I have been forgetting to close it. With so many longer days, it can be difficult to remember these things.”

“Your room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.”

“I was reviewing my notes from that day’s session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me from my work, so I closed the window.”

“Do you commonly review your notes in the early hours of the morning with an unlocked window?”

“I just wanted some quiet. And I leave the windows open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh as well as humidity.”

Safin’s expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. This was not a man you wanted to be on opposing sides with. Madeleine kept the apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.

“Look. Without information about Dr Karner’s lifestyle outside MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. I was assigned to survey him. He showed no signs of dereliction in his work, and to my knowledge kept his personal views separate from his duties. Whatever he said to me during outside hours was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor privately.”

Safin held her gaze. She did not dare avert her face. Then he said: “The project coordinator is waiting for you downstairs. Thank you for your time.”

The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Team was cut down from four members to three. Another inconsequential day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That night Madeleine laid back on her bed and watched the shadows on the ceiling stretch over peeling paint, slowly overtaken by daybreak.

When she’d first arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. As long as you are here, you are just Dr Swann the psychologist consultant. Your father is many miles away and he won’t contact you. No one else of importance will come for you in a place like this.

With a guy like Safin around, she was safer than she would have been with the FSPs alone.

Safer, but no longer invisible.

#fanfic #fanfiction #upcoming projects #no time to die #technically this takes place a year after skyfall though #madeleine swann #lyutsifer safin #slow build #crime drama #still can't believe he's actually named lucifer and I have to work with this... somehow #at least he isn't named nacho that would be unsalvagable #the part of karner will be played by uh... gene hackmann I guess?#been thinking about The Conversation man what a nice film #good ost too

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