#i saw speakers of some of the other languages she spoke saying her accent was good so this is on purpose lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alwaysmarveling · 3 years

Text

Socks

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: toxic relationships, small mentions of death, gaslighting, fighting, and miscarriage

Word Count: 4k (literally exactly 4k, I’m kinda proud)

A/N: Based on the song “1 Step Forward, 3 Steps Back” by Olivia Rodrigo as suggested by @vancityfire13, I hope this meets all your hopes and expectations <3 also technically this is my first prompt from someone who’s not me??!

You met Wanda at the library. Your legs crossed, eyebrows scrunched, and bottom lip caught between your teeth, you’d settled in the familiar corner of the library's world languages section. That area was always quiet, which you’d found out after many trips to the library as a kid. When the occasional patron did wander through, perusing the shelves, sometimes they brought family or friends, weaving together sounds and syllables that had to be from another language. It was the only sound you’d tolerate while you were immersed in your reading. Well, to be fully honest, you loved it, wondering what the hushed voices were saying, what stories they were telling. So Wanda’s English was a jarring wake-up call.

“I like your socks.” Her eyes flashed to your ankles, leaving you wondering if she was more drawn to the sky blue color or the characters covering it.

You’d noticed the brunette walking the aisles about ten minutes ago. Unlike most, she ran her fingers along the worn spines, seeming only half-interested in what the titles read.

“Thanks.” Your voice was cold, unwelcoming. She gave you a terse nod before heading off, her footsteps silent against the worn carpet. You thought she was gone.

A week later, you were back at your spot. You’d finally finished the work you’d been putting off for weeks, just about to reward yourself with a reread of Little Women, a book you’d read an uncountable number of times since you were a child. She was an unwelcome interruption.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but-”

“I was looking for a book for my brother. His name is Pietro. Was Pietro. There was a Sokovian fairytale he always loved. Begged my mother to read it to us every night. He could recite it by memory by the time he was five, knew every word. I thought I did too.” Your eyes traced down the curve of her spine. Your mother would have scolded you for standing so poorly.

“I’m sorry for your loss” was all you said, your lips forming a tight line when you finished.

“I couldn’t- I can’t remember the title.”

“I can try to help you find it?” You weren’t sure why you offered, maybe the lost look in her eyes, the growing strength of her accent as she talked, or the way her fingers traced her empty palms. No one should leave a library empty-handed.

“Do you speak Sokovian?” The corners of her eyes creased as you shook your head.

“I suppose you won’t be much help then, will you?” Her words held no bite, only the sadness of a stranger who was trying to hold herself together, her emotions threatening to unravel her at the weakened seams. You matched her facial expression out of sympathy, but she was gone before you had a chance to apologize.

“Do you like Disney?” she had asked you. Her eyes were back on your ankles. You were wearing the same socks as when the two of you first met. You were milliseconds away from answering, your tongue already against the roof of your mouth, ready to shut down the conversation immediately afterward. But then you noticed the way her hands fidgeted in her lap, her fingers always moving, almost like they were dancing. You sighed. You should be nicer; she’d really done nothing wrong.

“It’s alright.” Your shoulders raised and dropped, your answer purposefully vague. “Did you manage to find the book?” The darkening of her eyes was enough to tell you that, no, she hadn’t found it. “What’s the main character’s name?” Her gaze followed you as you pulled out your laptop.

“Boleslav,” she answered finally. Her gaze was timid, unsure. Why were you helping her? You’d been so closed off before.

“Do you know any major points of the story? The names of the other characters?” Before she could answer, you eyed the pillow that sat next to you. She took a seat.

The two of you poured over Google, eventually finding the story and its location in the library. But by that point, you were too wrapped up in your findings on the Internet to get up. Too wrapped up in each other.

---

Wanda insisted she make it up to you, for finding the book for her.

“For helping me find my brother,” she insisted, pulling you out of the library. If she was anyone else, you would have responded by saying that she could make it up to you by leaving you alone with your books, but she wasn’t anyone else. So you let her tug you out of the building, Mirabelle, the librarian, giving you a wink upon seeing you leaving the building with someone else, soft smiles gracing your faces.

You thought she would’ve brought you to coffee, but it seemed you hadn’t yet developed the ability to understand her. She brought you to the city, a small store on the corner. Socks lined the walls, the different colors and patterns flooding your vision.

“Your Disney ones looked old.” You half-nodded as you scanned the store, your hand going limp in hers. You remembered learning about rods and cones in class ages ago, not quite remembering what each one did but remembering that one of them was involved in seeing colors. Those—whatever they were called—must’ve been on overdrive.

You picked one pair for her, and she, one for you. You wore those socks constantly, slipping them over your feet the second they were out of the wash. You never told Wanda about it, but you didn’t have to; her eyes fell to your ankles every time she saw you, a small smile on her face. You didn’t know if you did it for her reaction or simply because you loved them. Maybe it was both.

---

Wanda drew you into her world. Some might have used the word “yanked” given how quickly your relationship moved. But that made it sound involuntary, as if she’d forced you to move in with her when she’d asked you exactly eight months after your first date. And if you’d known she had powers when you first met her, you might’ve agreed. Maybe she’d entranced you and now you were stuck with her, even if you didn’t really want to be.

But the truth was that you did, you wanted to be with her every second you could. And though magic never left her hands when she was with you, even her name was magic, the way those two syllables rang beautifully in the air as she formally introduced herself for the first time. She spoke English when she talked to you, but you swore that whatever left her mouth was a language of her own, so elegant, sweet, and charming in a way that no English speaker could replicate.

But, one night, her words twisted into daggers, punctuated syllables sharpening into dangerous ends, the beginning of each sentence like a handle she grabbed and used to hurt you further, twist until it was lodged as deeply into your chest as it could go.

You weren’t sure what you did to make it happen. Maybe it was just a bad night. She was drunk, after all, home from some party with the Avengers that you hadn’t gone to. The two of you had talked it over before, though, both agreeing that it was too soon in your relationship to attend anything where it’d be publicly released, which was why you were confused about why she was cursing you out for abandoning her, not being there when you needed her.

You promised that you’d be sure to go next time. Wanda just turned around, dismissing you without another word. You weren’t sure what was worse, the silence or her words. She somehow missed the tears that streamed down your face.

The next day, she knocked on your door. This time, she was the one in tears, the rate at which they fell only increasing when she saw how puffy your eyes were.

“I- I’m sorry,” she bumbled, the sounds tumbling out of her mouth like a barrel coming down the Niagara Falls. She couldn’t have stopped them if she tried. You watched her struggle through an apology, something about her insecurities being magnified as she saw all the other couples around her seemingly happy. She just wanted that. And even though her speech was much more clumsy than the usual effortless diction you were used to hearing from her, you allowed her words to draw you in, provide you shelter from the horrors you’d experienced yesterday, when your heart raced and blood rushed your ears and your palms were so sweaty you couldn’t get a grip on anything. You allowed her arms to draw you in, make you feel safe. You allowed her to bring you home.

---

Wanda saw a side of you that no one had ever seen before. Scratch that, Wanda saw all of you. Where others would’ve looked away or missed the true meaning of your words, she dug deeper. You lived your whole life with a mask on, swapping one out for another to appease those around you. Wanda took them all off.

But she didn’t force them off; she made you want to take them off. You were the one who peeled them off one by one, the experience being extremely unnerving every time you revealed that much more of yourself to her, but you always found yourself relieved at the end. Because she accepted you, she loved you.

Right?

---

You called her once, during a mission. It was something the two of you had been doing ever since you started dating. You would ask how she was doing, make sure she was okay, and she’d do the same for you. Of course, when her missions were off-the-grid you didn’t call, but if the two of you were allowed to stay in contact, she insisted that you guys do so.

“I have to make sure my love is okay,” she’d murmured, just before she left for her first mission since the two of you started your relationship. She was holding you in her arms as the two of you swayed back and forth. Your feet were bare for once, the cold kitchen tile underfoot grounding the both of you. Neither of you had wanted to let go; your hands were clasped firmly together around her waist, and hers rested on top of yours. But eventually, the incessant honking from Tony became too much, and the two of you reluctantly moved apart.

“I’ll call you the second I can, yeah? And make sure you call me in the morning when you wake up.”

“I will,” you nodded as Wanda’s hand came up to brush against your cheek.

But somehow she’d forgotten about your agreement, and nothing but annoyance filled your ear, the phone pressed up against it.

“Y/N, I really don’t have time for this right now.” You sucked in a breath, her tone an instant reminder of that night she’d yelled at you. But that was so long ago. And you hadn’t done anything; there wasn’t a party you’d missed since then, not a moment since then that you’d let her feel alone. Or was there?

“I- I’m sorry,” you stuttered. “Should I call you back later?” All you got was a sigh, doubt and panic filling your chest in the momentary silence.

“We’ll see. Goodbye, milaya.” There was barely a pause in between her voice and the disconnect tone. You weren’t sure if the pet name was sincere or a habit leftover from the good times.

Were you still in the good times?

What went wrong?

Where did you go wrong?

She came back from the mission, and all was well again. She spun you around and around, her melodious giggles filling your ears and causing the corners of your mouth to lift. But you couldn’t help your brows from cinching inwards, wondering where this Wanda had been when you’d called. Was it just another fluke, or maybe something you’d imagined?

“I love you, printsessa, so, so much,” Wanda whispered. You loved the way her smooth voice filled your ears, made you feel whole again. Maybe it was the kitchen? Was that the place she felt safe, the place where she felt like she could love you fully? Maybe that’s why she seemed so closed off during the mission. When you didn’t respond, too lost in thought, she spoke up again.

“Detka, d’you know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me? I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Her eyes sparkled. No red mist emerged from her fingertips, but you swore Wanda’s essence was magic in and of itself. How could you ever deny her?

You surrendered.

“I love you too. More than anything in the world.”

---

The next day, Wanda woke you up with excitement filling her voice, insisting that you come with her to the compound to pick up some of the things she’d left behind.

“I want to show you off,” she’d laughed as she rolled you over.

“We’ve already met, babe. They love me, you’ve said so yourself,” you groaned. She shook her head as she corralled you into the bathroom.

“You haven’t met all of them! Now c’mon, let’s go!” You agreed, and she was right, there were lots of new people there.

“You must be Y/N, right?” You nodded as you shook the man’s hand.

“I’m Clint. I’ve heard, um, lots about you. And your socks.” The two of you laughed at his joke, but something about his chuckle was off. His smile never quite reached his eyes. Wanda whisked you off too soon for you to figure out why though, bringing you over to a rather large man. No, god, he’s a god. Thor, he said. His name is Thor.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you’d responded.

“The love of my life,” Wanda sighed, her voice wispy and dreamy. The god’s eyebrows had raised at that.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you then, Y/N. I didn’t know Wanda was so fortunate as to have a love so strong.” Sometimes you had to remind yourself of that too. “You are very lucky, my friend.” Am I?

You exchanged jokes with Natasha, learned of some of Bruce and Tony’s new projects, listened to stories of Thor’s childhood adventures on Asgard; the night went well. Until it didn’t.

You were yanked into a mostly empty room, the door quickly shut behind you. Was that a flash of red you’d seen in the corner of your eye?

“What did you do?” someone hissed. The voice was familiar, but by this point, you weren’t sure if it filled you with dread or joy when you heard it. Was that part of the excitement of your relationship, trying to figure out the complexities of it all, trying to predict which version of your lover you’d get this time?

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I didn’t do anything, Wanda, I swear!”

“Then why is Clint telling me to break up with you? What did you say to him?” Your head shook, your whole body shook. This was news to you.

“I didn’t say anything. Please, Wan-”

“How am I supposed to believe that, Y/N? Do you really think he’d just make that up out of nowhere?” You tried to find the words, the ones you should say, the ones she’d want you to say. You had nothing. The witch’s anger grew, her hands slamming down on her sides. “God, Y/N! It’s like sometimes I don’t even know who you are!”

But wait, that was how you felt. Wasn’t it? Or had you dreamed that up too? What had you done?

“Wanda, I promise I didn’t do anything. I’ve been friendly to him all night.”

“So you expect me to believe he’s lying, then.” Your eyes fell to her chest, its rise and fall rapid but deep, going up and down several times before she spoke again. “Y/N, he named his child after my brother. Why would he lie to me?” You could do nothing, say nothing to fix this. You weren’t sure exactly what you did, but you’d messed up. Again.

“Maybe he’s right, then.” Her hand ran through her hair, the brown locks that you loved to twist around your own fingers, play with as she laid in your lap, a show playing in the background. You missed those times.

But weren’t you just doing that last night?

You weren’t sure. It seemed like so long ago.

---

Weeks, months, even a year passed. Wanda had apologized for that night at the compound. She’d also apologized for the countless number of other times the two of you had fought since then. But it was okay, you’d thought, because for all those arguments was an equal number of moments where the two of you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe, slow-danced at 3 AM, used your hairbrushes as microphones to sing concerts for your millions of fans. At least, you thought it was an equal number. Did number matter anyway?

Wanda went from being your girlfriend, to being your fiancé, to being your wife. Like Thor had said, you were “very lucky.” You are very lucky. Because right now, you’re looking down at the stick in your hand, and there are two lines, not one. The two of you had done something so many couldn’t; that was a huge blessing. And now you had to tell Wanda.

Finding the box was harder than you thought, but the other part was much easier. All you had to do was go to the store Wanda had taken you to all that time ago, the small store on the corner. And when the brunette lifted open the lid to find a pair of socks so tiny they could only be for one thing, one person, one baby, she knew. She was ecstatic. You were relieved.

Four weeks. Four weeks later from that day was the worst day of your life. Just as quickly as the baby had come, it had gone. He or she was gone. Was it your fault? The doctor had been quick to shut those thoughts down, insisting that there were many factors that could’ve caused the miscarriage, but you certainly weren’t one of them.

But Wanda didn’t talk to you for a whole week, spending the nights in the guest bedroom to avoid you. It was the longest the two of you had gone without speaking. That had to mean something, right?

It did. It meant that it shouldn’t have been a surprise when you came home from work the following Monday to find half of the things missing. All of her things.

The box was still there, though; you saw it out of the corner of your eye. It sat on top of a cabinet, the two socks poking out of the top.

The two of you had fallen in love with those tiny socks faster than you’d fallen in love with each other. They held so much love, so much promise. But now they were empty, devoid of anything they might’ve held just hours before. They were nothing more than a painful reminder of what could have been, what should have been. Meanwhile, your own socks were still on, the same ones Wanda had given to you on your first date. You weren’t sure you could take them off if you tried. Was that a reminder too? Did it have significance?

The ticking of the clock suddenly caught your attention. You had been standing at the doorway for thirty minutes, but what were you supposed to do? Were you supposed to go somewhere? Where would you go? Wanda was gone, not leaving any clue as to where she could’ve run off to, and you were alone.

When was the last time you’d been truly alone?

Didn’t you use to like being alone?

You grabbed your keys. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, but whatever it was, you wouldn’t find it here.

You push open the door, always the one on the right. Walk twenty or so steps through the entrance, turn left. Take another left, then walk-

It was different. Completely different. The shelves weren’t the same color, metal had been swapped for wood, the carpet was new; what had happened?

“Y/N, sweetie, is that you?” Mirabelle’s voice. At least she was still here. You turned to face her, taking in her wrinkled face, the tortoiseshell glasses that had been perched on her nose since you met her as a child. “Oh my goodness, it is! We haven’t seen you in ages. We were all so worried.”

“Wha- what happened to the library?” Her kind smile flipped, her lips separated with their corners turning downwards.

“We got a renovation at the end of last year, honey. Didn’t you see it on the news?”

“Right,” you nodded, swallowing again, trying to push down the lump that had been growing in your throat for over an hour. “Um, where’s the world languages section?”

“Upstairs, love. Take two rights and you’ll see it. Enjoy your visit, okay?” You nodded again, pressing your lips into a wavering smile that Mirabelle accepted.

You found the section easily enough, pushing yourself into one of the beanbags that crowded the floor. It was quiet—you supposed not many people came to the library on a late Tuesday afternoon—but something was missing.

No, that wasn’t it. Nothing was missing. Everything had changed, and you couldn’t settle yourself no matter how hard you tried. You couldn’t recognize the white walls or the large windows that surrounded you. You couldn’t recognize the book in your shaking hands; the title read “Little Women,” but it lacked the comfort and familiarity it once brought you. You couldn’t recognize the artwork that hung on the walls, the large signs suspended from the ceiling.

You caught a reflection in the shiny metal of a book cart that lay several feet away from you.

You couldn’t recognize yourself.

When you finally left the library, Mirabelle frowned as she watched you exit the doors, not stopping to check out a book like you always did. No one should ever leave a library empty-handed. You’d forgotten that too.

---

She came back less than a week later, her cheeks tear-stained and her eyes rimmed with red as she stumbled her way through an apology.

“It was a mistake, detka, I promise. I made such an awful mistake, and I’ll never forgive myself. I won’t blame you if you don’t forgive me either.” You stared at her, neither your eyes nor your mouth moving as you tried to take in what she was saying, tried to come up with an adequate response.

Which had changed more, the library or you?

“Please, you’re the only thing that matters in my life. I can’t lose you.” The melody of her once-full voice was broken, the chords fragmented and notes falling out of tune. It was as broken as you’d felt for the past few days. Maybe she understood. But you couldn’t think anymore because you were suddenly in her arms again, her tears soaking your shirt as she sobbed.

The library had been renovated, its modernity and welcoming environment being a major improvement to the once somewhat dilapidated building. You had slipped, your feet wrapped in the socks Wanda had given you as you stumbled down the dark, crooked hallway of your life, trying desperately to get a hand on the wall, grab a solid footing.

You had two options: save yourself or fall.

“Please, Y/N, please. Promise you’ll stay.”

You fell backwards, your head being the first to slam into the floor.

“Of course I’ll stay, Wan. I’d never leave you.”

You weren’t sure if you’d ever get up. After all, changed or not, what’s a library without its books? Who are you without her?

-----

🏷 : @007giu

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff #avengers x reader #marvel #mcu #I wrote something #alwaysmarveling

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imagine-it-to-be-true · 3 years

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Fix You - Caius Volturi x FemOC Three Shot: Part 1

Hey guys! Thanks so much for reading. Hope you like the one shot. I do take requests! Please have a look at my list of characters, and the rules. Feel free to reach out.

Notes about the One Shot:

Summary: As Caius walked around the streets of Volterra, he came across a girl being assaulted and badly injured. He couldn't explain the pull he had towards her, but all he knew was that he needed to save her. Caius Volturi x Fem!OC. Mentions of blood, injury and death. Nothing too gruesome though. Also posted on my Fanfiction page.

Word count: 2679

Firstly, I don’t own Twilight, the Volturi, or the image used.

I sincerely apologize for my Italian and Greek phrases; I don’t speak a word of the languages and was at the mercy of Google Translate.

Caius’ wife Athenodora does not exist.

Also, imagine him how you want but I much preferred his appearance in New Moon, so that’s how I described him.

~ Enjoy :)

Cloud cover in Volterra was a rare sight. Most days the sun shone brightly, making the town not particularly an ideal place for vampires. Yet here they were, the powerful three, the ancient kings who were tasked with up-keeping and enforcing secrecy of the vampire world, in a town where they remained inside the walls of the Volturi Castle. Caius often wondered why the coven chose to remain there, and not move to a less sunny place. A lack of opportunities for outings meant that he was falling intellectually behind. One need not look further than his clothes, not to mention his mentality to see he was not one for modernity. Not that he cared. Humans and their achievements were so minuscule in his eyes. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the opportunity to venture out into the town, feel the cool breeze on cloudy days like today and observe the lesser kind. It was remarkable for him how the world changed since his childhood in Ancient Greece, yet the scape of Volterra harked back to it with its old buildings.

Caius was lonely. He was angry and cruel; many would even say sadistic. But no, the last part was not true. After over 3000 years of living alone, never aging, never moving forward, being forced to hide himself, and never seizing to hunger, it’s no surprise that one would become angry. But he was not a sadist. He did not enjoy the pain of others. He fed only when he could no longer contain his thirst, not over-indulging himself. But he understood the need for justice, and was not tolerant when punishment was due. This was often mistaken for sadism.

Volterra was extra busy lately due to an overwhelming influx in tourism. One could no longer walk in peace. The pushing and shoving of the crowded streets became too much for Caius. He looked around him, and noticed a less busy street to his right. The more he followed, the less people were there. He kept going until he was left alone, in peace, and stopped, and leaned his back against the wall, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. And that is when he heard it.

From his right, came a feminine scream. It snapped Caius out of his thoughts. It sounded desperate, and then quieted down before he heard the female’s voice again, yelling in English with an American accent, “PLEASE! Somebody help me!” In one swift motion, Caius pushed himself from the wall and walked towards the pleas. He rounded a corner and between two buildings, there was a thin, dark alleyway. It was there that he found the source of the commotion.

A tall, heavy-built balding man had a significantly smaller female pinned up against the wall with his body. His left hand grasped her around the neck, while the other clutched a gun to her head. Caius spoke Italian - one of the many languages he’s mastered - so he understood plainly the filth coming out of the lowlife’s mouth as he barked at the poor girl. She, however, was clueless and sobbing, begging him to leave her.

In the split moment that he observed the scene, Caius’ eyes landed on the female. She was small, about 5”2, looked to be in her early twenties and very slim. Her hair was golden blonde, long and fell in thick, luscious curls down her back. She did not appear to be wearing much makeup, yet her eyebrows were naturally prominent and neat, and her lips were full, petal pink in colour. But it was her eyes which Caius noticed immediately. They were large and the most captivating colour: a mix of emerald and sapphire. It was as if staring into the waters of a deep, stormy ocean. However, when they met his eyes, they were full of terror. She quieted her struggle and looked at him, as if calmed by his presence, mentally begging him to save her.

Typically, Caius did not give two thoughts about humans. Yet this time was different. The girl before him stirred something inside of his frozen ancient heart. His eyes shifted from the girl and landed on the lowlife.

“Togli le mani da lei, feccia.” (Get your hands off her, Scum.) he snarled.

The man jumped in surprise and turned towards Caius. When he saw him, the lowlife sneered. Compared to him, Caius did not look all that threatening. He was tall and well-built, but thinner than the scum. His fashion choices didn’t help either. His near-white blonde hair combed to perfection and pushed behind his ears. He wore a blood-red dress shirt, paired with a black blazer and black dress pants, topped off with a silky red scarf. He looked like an escaped runway model, not a man that could do damage.

The man Caius addressed continued sneering and chuckling.

“Cosa hai intenzione di fare al riguardo, bel ragazzo?” (What are you going to do about it, pretty boy?)

Caius took a large step forward and retorted, “Strapparti la testa e bere il tuo sangue è divertente?” (Does ripping your head off and drinking your blood sound like fun?)

The man raised his eyebrows in surprise at the viciousness, but still obviously not taking the situation seriously. He laughed and turned back to the girl.

“Vedi, bella ragazza? Sta cercando di mettersi in mostra per te. Ma è solo un ragazzo. Lascia che ti mostri cosa fanno gli uomini.” (You see, pretty girl? He's trying to show off for you. But he's just a boy. Let me show you what men do.)

Before Caius had a chance to comprehend or react, within a fraction of a second, the gun pressed against the girl’s temple was lowered. The scum aimed it at her stomach and shot twice. She screamed in pain, and dropped to the ground, gasping.

Caius took a second longer than normal to realize what had just unfolded. The man had the gun pointed at him now. He aimed at his chest and fired. When Caius was hit, he did nothing but stand there. Then came the second shot and to the scum’s surprise, he did not drop. A smirk began to form on the vampire’s face, before he simply said, “Avresti dovuto scappare quando ne avevi la possibilità.” (You should have ran when you had the chance.)

As the man continued pointlessly shooting at Caius, the vampire closed the distance between them in less than a second. He grasped the man’s neck with his right hand and pressed him up against the wall, lifting him up with one arm. The man squirmed and groaned, futilely attempting to free himself. Caius didn’t enjoy hurting people. But this time was different. He snapped the man’s neck and threw him down, like discarded trash. He took a breath and turned to the girl on the ground.

She was no longer making sounds nor moving, but lay there motionless, face down on the ground. Caius could see a large red spot in her stomach area, with blood seeping through the thin fabric of her white summer dress, her blonde curls hanging like closed curtains over her face. Caius leaned down, extending a hand to gently move them aside. He pushed the curls behind her ear, running his knuckles down her soft cheek. Those beautiful storm eyes were closed.

“Can you hear me?” He whispered to her, but she did not stir.

Caius felt a deep pain in the pit of his stomach, and a pressure rising up to his throat. He felt anger, rage, but most prominently sorrow. He had this feeling like he never wanted anything more in his life than for her to look at him and say she was alright. The situation was not made easier by the fact that her deliciously smelling blood was pooling more and more.

Quickly, he reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out his iPhone. Alec had gifted it to him the year before, and this was the first time he’d use it. He couldn’t figure out the damned thing; books and scripts were more useful anyway. With some effort, he found the number he was looking for in his contacts and dialled it. The ringing seemed to go on for ages, until finally…

“Dr. Carlisle Cullen speaking.”

“Cullen. You are speaking to Caius.” He barked into the phone. A silence followed before Carlisle hesitantly responded, a hint of fear in his voice at what the Volturi king might want.

“Lord Caius. I was not expecting you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am with a human. She was shot with a gun in her stomach twice. There is a significant amount of blood. She is not responding to me. Her eyes are closed and she is not moving. What shall I do?” He spoke in a hard, fact-based tone.

“Well Caius, it sounds like she might be dead…” before Carlisle could finish his thought, Caius cut him off.

“You are foolish to think that I would waste my precious time calling you to hear something so unacceptable. Tell me how to fix her!”

“Okay, I’m not sure if she can be. But let’s try. I need you to put the phone on speaker.”

“What is that?! Talk quickly Cullen, her bleeding has not seized!”

“Okay, Caius, you see the small picture of a loudspeaker on your phone? Push it.”

Caius did as he was told. “Now what?”

“Put the phone down on the ground. I need you to turn her on her back. GENTLY! Don’t forget you’re a lot stronger than her.”

Caius gently pushed the girl’s shoulders and was able to turn her on her back, grabbing her head so it did not hit the concrete. It was then that the significance of the wound became apparent, as did the scent of her blood. It became nearly too much for the vampire. He was close to damning it all and indulging in her sweet taste. But then he looked at her perfect face. How he longed to see those beautiful eyes again.

In a struggling voice, he spoke, “Alright, it is done.”

“Now, take your index and middle finger and push both to her neck, under her chin, on the side of her throat. You should feel her heartbeat if she’s alive.”

Caius did as he was told, but initially could feel nothing. After a few failed attempts, he hung his head. Just as he was about to remove his fingers, he felt it. So faint and tiny, but it was there.

“I feel it! It is very faint! But I feel it.”

Carlisle waited a moment before speaking. “Can you describe the wounds to me? Where are they specifically?”

“They are both in the same place. One is at the base of her ribs to the left, and the second is just under it.”

Carlisle sighed and softly spoke, “Caius. She’s not going to make it. She’s on her last few breaths now, and we can prolong her suffering, but we can’t-“.

“No!” Caius cut him off, “She will not die. There must be something to be done!”

“Well… you could always change her.”

Caius let out a breath. He would not wish his own endless existence on anyone. Not to mention the unbelievably excruciating pain of the process. After 3000 years, there was one thing he remembered with vivid accuracy: his own change. But at the same time, he was in a panic. He was not sure what it was, but the thought of her dying was destroying him inside.

He swallowed and spoke in a gentler voice to Carlisle, “Is there any way to manage her pain during the change?”

“Morphine. It needs to be injected before the venom. Give it 5 minutes to take effect and then change her.”

“Thank you,” Caius whispered before hanging up.

He immediately gathered the woman into his arms, lifting her up with ease, and began running back to the castle. He made it in a matter of minutes, storming through the doors of the great gathering hall, where Aro and Marcus were speaking to Jane. Immediately, all eyes were on Caius and the little bundle in his arms.

“Brother,” greeted Aro with his child-like smile, “you came home with takeout, I see,” he cackled.

“No! Do not approach me now brother. I wish to change her, and so it will be. No one comes near her!” Caius exclaimed. His two fellow kings looked at each other, befuddled. “Jane,” Caius turned to her, “find me a shot of morphine immediately and bring it to my chambers.” With this, he stormed out of the hall.

Aro, with a confused look on his face, took a step to follow, only to be held back by Marcus. “He cannot just bring some random off the street and claim her as his own!” He exclaimed, but Marcus shook his head and smiled.

“I felt their bond. He has bound himself to her. Neither might realize this yet, but they are mated. She is his now.”

———

Caius rushed her to his room. He gently placed her on his bed, which he hadn’t used in years for obvious reasons. As he laid her down, the girl began to gain consciousness. She began feeling the pain of her injuries. Tears started fall down her cheeks and she softly, weakly moaned in pain.

Caius sat down next to her, brushing her tears away with his thumb, gently pushing her hair back away from her face.

“Shh, it’s alright. Breathe.” She seemed to respond to this by attempting to open her eyes, yet not having enough energy to do so. Caius was dying inside, seeing her suffer. He couldn’t explain why. This was the first time in 3000 that he cared so deeply about the well-being of anyone, let alone a weak human.

“Breathe for me. That’s it. You’re alright.” He whispered. She tried, but couldn’t. She attempted to say something along the lines of “I don’t want to die,” but was only emitting squeaks.

“Shhh, don’t talk. He’s gone, I’ve got you. There is not a place in the world safer than here with me.”

Just then, Jane burst through Caius’ doors with a large syringe filled with clear liquid. She quickly handed it to Caius and stepped back, lingering. Caius turned to her and harshly barked, “Leave!” She bowed and turned on her heels, heading out the door.

The girl had opened her eyes briefly and saw the large syringe. This frightened her, and she attempted to cower away. Caius returned his attention to her.

“Shhhh. Don’t be afraid. This will help you stop hurting. I will fix this. I will fix you,” As he spoke those words, a tear formed in his own eyes and rolled down his cheek. He was about to change her. Was it really fixing her, or was he selfishly wishing she would fix him? Give him companionship he so longed for? He didn’t care. He took the syringe and injected the morphine into her quickly, being as gentle as he could. Then, he waited. He needed her to stop crying. This would indicate the pain was gone and the morphine had taken effect. He held her hand, whispering sweet nothings to her. When she began quieting, he gently asked her.

“What is your name, omorfiá mou?” (My beauty), the last part in his native Greek.

She gasped and whispered, “Andromeda.”

Caius smiled and thought about how fitting the name was. The pain was gone now. He turned to her and brushed her hair out of her face.

“Close your eyes, my beauty.” He gently brushed her hair back away from her neck. Leaning down, he brushed his lips on her ear, whispering “do not be afraid. You will live forever. You are mine now, and I will never let anything hurt you again.”

With that, he sunk his teeth into her soft skin, and the journey to her transformation began.

#twilight #new moon #eclipse #breaking dawn #volturi #caius #caius volturi #one shot #hurt comfort #romance #caius volturi imagine #vampire

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operation-619 · 4 years

Note

What if the reader is an alien that has the same power as superman and stronger than Homelander? The reader works at the Vought and doesn't know the corruption in it until Butcher told the truth. Homelander acts soft on her when they see each other, and Homelander was still confused about his feelings and put his ego shit first. I kinda wanna see Homelander battling the reader when she was trying to protect Ryan and Butcher while Maeve hasn’t arrived yet. She will make him bleed.

Even the strongest man Bleeds.

Edited 17-01-21

Homelander x Alien! Reader

Warning: mentions of blood, language, mentions of death and murder. Violence read at your own risk.

Bold italics- inner dialogue, Bold- the past.

WC - 3.1k

Masterlist

“The compound V is what makes them, supes. It’s not real and the golden boy, your Homelander, is the most corrupt motherfucker I have ever met. We need your help (Y/N). Please?” his voice was hoarse, the stress in his words were leaking onto his face. She could see the worry on his face, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe the men in front of her.

“You’re lying to me. Billy Butcher, you have a lot of nerve coming here, you and your gang are mortal enemies to Homelander right now. It’s not safe.” The muscular black man scoffed at her statement and leaned back against the seat. He seemed relaxed but his eyes constantly sweeping the place told (Y/N) otherwise.

“I swear, come back with me and I will show you everything. Please?” his eyes crinkled at the sides as he pulled his face into what looked like a poor attempt at a pleading face. (Y/N)’s mouth was just forming the word ‘NO’ when the man called Mother’s Milk chuckled and leaned forward.

He whispered, “he doesn’t ever say please,” and stood up from the booth and walked out of the café. Her mind was racing, weighing the pros and cons of her current situation. She considered whether or not they were just baiting her into a trap, but she was confident that she could make her way out of it. But it isn’t everyday that two men come waltzing into her favourite café, sit themselves down like they own the place and cough up a semi-convincing story about the corruption at Vought.

“Fuck it,” she whispered under her breathe, “fine I’ll come, it’s good to go out your comfort zone once in a while.” The smile on her face made Billy look at her with confusion painted on his rugged features. She stood, and gestured Butcher to show her the way, “just so you know, I don’t believe you at all.”

(Y/N) replayed her past movement in her head carefully over and over again, and yet she still could not believe how naïve she truly was. But here she is sat in a car that smells like Old Spice, waiting for Frenchie to get the speakers ready. She threw her head back against the headrest and released a shaky breath; everything she believed and knew had been a lie to her. Including John. ‘Oh dear god John, what have you done?’ Her thoughts were getting too loud, they were screaming at her asking how she could’ve been so stupid to not know.

‘How could you not know?’

‘It was right in front of your face you idiot’

‘Your really are a cunt!’

(Y/N) squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples, the stress of all the sudden information was taking a toll on the woman. Whimpering under her breath, she opened the car door and inhaled the cold air. Closing the car door, she leaned against it and watched as the group of friends conversed amongst themselves. The plan was to set off the sonic device and John to go over and destroy the source, and when he does Billy and Becca will drive and get Ryan. She still didn’t know why she was needed, (Y/N) was still processing the information she was given 48 hours ago.

“Okay, 15 minutes and everything will be all set,” the French accent let her know who was talking, but she wasn’t paying that much attention when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck arise.

“Get in the cars!” she whispered harshly, her arms waving about ushering the people back into the cars. (Y/N)’s breath shallowed once everyone was in their respected cars, she creeped forward and looked upwards, watching as the uncovered Nazi zoomed by. She vividly remembered the moment she had met that woman. (Y/N) never trusted that woman, something about the way her heart leaped when an opportunity to hurt someone arose. (Y/N) also didn’t like the way John was towards her, all bark, and no bite- vulnerable.

(Y/N) had never seen John so vulnerable around anyone except her.

The metallic taste in the air is what told (Y/N) that Stormfront had just flown by, the hair on the back of her neck relaxed and so did her posture. Walking over to Butcher, she waited until he rolled down his window before she spoke; “She’s seen the leaked news, my guess is she is going back to Vaught to see what caused that, fiasco.” She heard another window come down, not doubt Frenchie and the others.

“Was she alone?” without turning around she nodded. (Y/N)’s tongue ran across the bottom of her teeth before she turned around and faced the two cars, the cars holding the people that brought the truth to her naïve and simplistic eyes. “What exactly am I doing here? Because, you have the weapons, metaphorical and physical to defeat them. So please, tell me why I am here?” her eye followed the movements of the human bodies getting out of the cars. She could see the look on Becca’s face, and she didn’t like it.

“We’re gonna use ya.” Her (E/C) eyes shot towards MM, he stood there tall and domineering, with his hands on his hips. “Starlight, or Annie told us how soft Homelander is on you. And if things go south, you are our pawn.” (Y/N)’s hearts faltered.

“You humans are so pathetic. I mean, I am old. Older than all of you put together, so I have seen shit that no one can imagine. But the one thing that never changes is the utter stupidity of you homo-sapiens, the selfishness and carnage that I have experienced puts my species to shame.” (Y/N) paced back and forth, her anger evident as black veins started to appear under her (E/C) eyes.

“(Y/N). Please, MM didn’t mean it like that,”

“I did. I did mean it exactly how I said it Becca,” (Y/N) stalked the movement of the vigilante group. Her hearing was being drowned by the loudness of her beating hearts. She watched as Becca stepped forwards and stopped right in front of her.

“My son, who was conceived in the most- my son is in there. I don’t know if you have had children before. But I am not going anywhere until I have my boy in my arms. So please, help me.” (Y/N) flinched when she felt warm hands placed onto her cold shoulders, echoes of her past resonating inside her head. She now understood the look on Becca’s face, the look of a mother- a childless mother that no longer understands their purpose in life. Because she was one.

“Okay, but I want this on my terms.”

The little boy was screaming when (Y/N) landed behind John, crying for his mommy to wake up. She looked around, seeing the two women laying lifeless. She was too late to save them. The metallic taste in the air was getting stronger the closer she walked towards the pandemonium. The woman that confided in her mere moments ago, now lay with blood flowing out the cut in her neck. She watched as Butcher tried to stop the bleeding his white hands now crimson. His whole body covered in blood, soaking him to his soul.

Turning her head, (Y/N) saw John knelt next to Stormfront or what is left of her. The burnt woman mumbling in what sounded like German. “Ryan- ‘her attention went from the barbequed supe to John, ‘did you do this?”

“He didn’t mean to John,” she watched his whole-body flinch at the sound of her voice, she was happy to see his face finally, to get some sort of justification. But the feeling that shot through her body was the complete opposite, the look in his eyes reminded her of herself, and she didn’t like it.

“What are you doing here, I thought you left?” he surged forward and cupped her face, (Y/N) placed her hand on his chest and the other on his hand. She closed her eyes and inhaled her John deeply. “(Y/N), you have no idea, I. I don’t understand.” The beating of his heart grounded her for a moment, everything around them disappeared for a moment as the two of them were caught in their own bubble. But (Y/N) knew the bubble had to be popped. And she had the sharpest needle to do it with.

“John, what happened on the plane.” She was met with silence, the hands gripped her face harder, but her eyes still remained closed. “You left them all to die, didn’t you?”

“I did not leave them to die, I tried to save them. You know this (Y/N), why are you asking me this.” His mouth was talking but his heart told her the truth. Releasing a soft sigh, (Y/N) stepped back from John and finally opened her eyes. The bubble burst when his blue eyes met pitch black, her pupils had flooded the white out leaving a demonic presence behind, the black veins appeared all over her body pulsing violently.

“I know everything John, you have been lying to me. I trusted you, and you know that.” He started to mutter words that didn’t make sense to her, his hands anchored in his hair. (Y/N) watched as the great Homelander fell apart right in front of her, Earths favourite and mightiest hero crumbled under the pressure of words.

“Now let them go John. Please?” when his blue eyes met hers, the look rivalled hell itself. His jaw twitched, tongue pocking out to lick his bottom lip. He never broke eye contact with her, his eyes tracked her like predator to prey. (Y/N) moved cautiously, never turning her back to John. Once she was stationed in front of Butcher and the kid, she placed her right arm out and behind her. (Y/N)’s ears were ringing, the power surging through her was immense and yet she felt weak. Weak, it wasn’t a word her species spoke, and she never heard of such a word until she came to earth. Vulnerable, weak, powerless, helpless, defenceless, and fragile; all these words are now part of her vocabulary, and she was feeling every single one of them as she looked at the man she had come to love.

(Y/N) had given him not just one but both of her hearts. He was the first person that offered her his hand when the rest of this new world beat her down with their harsh words, he taught her how the ways of her new life, he was her new life. (Y/N) may have been a celestial being, but she knew when something wasn’t right. At first, she thought John was just trapping her, the distance – although not physical – was fluctuating between then constantly; first John welcomed her with open arms, then he kept her at arms-length when they got too close and then the cycle repeated.

But through all the shit he had put her through, she was still there for him. until now.

“We are going to leave, and you will never trouble them again.” Her vision was sharp as she watched the wrecked man in front of her chose the option she hoped he wouldn’t.

“You know I can’t do that, he’s my son.” And with that he charged towards them, eyes red with hunger and rage. His path changed when he felt a fist connect with his cheek, sending him flying into a tree. His world spun, staggering up onto his feet he made eye contact with the shell of the woman he loves. Her black eyes reminded him of a starless night, an abyss that was forbidden to travel.

Something cold dripped onto his lip, and out of instinct his tongue licked it away, he thought nothing of it until the unfamiliar taste of blood slithered its way down his throat. His naked hand came up and delicately touched his nose, he hissed in pain when his calloused hand touch it, retracting his hand he look in bewilderment at the blood sat there taunting him on his hand.

“You broke my nose,” his voice was meagre but loud enough for her to hear the vulnerability in it.

She turned to Butcher and the child hurriedly telling them , “get away from here, quickly,” and before she could turn back around, she was pinned to the muddy floor. Her face caked in the mixture of blood and dirt; she could feel John’s breath on her neck. Without a second thought she flung her head back and used the distraction to spin around and wrap her hand around the heroes throat. (Y/N) paid no mind to the thoughts pounding in her head, she wasn’t about to let them stop her from – whatever she thought she was doing.

“(Y/N) … (Y/N). please.” the air around them froze, she wanted answers but standing here with her hand around the nations saviour’s throat was not the way she needed to get them. “You lied to me John, the one person who promised to never lie to me. You betrayed my trust.” She threw him to the ground.

“You had me working for monsters. They never helped people!” the wind started to pick up around them, her (Y/H/C) hair danced ferociously around her face, a face that was covered in black veins pulsating in rage. (Y/N)’s head snapped to the right when she heard a twig snap, her vision was met with Butcher and the kid watching her in astonishment and fear. The kid was hiding behind Butcher, just his head poking out watching (Y/N) beat up his father. And god did he look like John.

(Y/N)’s body moved before she could even realise what was happening, her left hand came up to stop the blow coming her way and then she knelt down, using John’s momentum against him, she throw him over her shoulder. But the outcome wasn’t in her favour as he managed to land on his feet. And then he was charging at her. Punches were thrown and bodied flung everywhere, (Y/N) couldn’t bring herself to kill John, but it felt good to hurt him.

“He’s my son (Y/N). He needs me!” his words were met with a foot to his chest.

“No one need you John, not after what you did,” her elbow jabbed into his stomach, causing his arms to release her waist, she looked at his body lying pathetically on the forest floor. Americas strongest man, the embodiment of patriotism and pride had fallen to his knees.

“(Y/N), you have and always will need me’, his blue eye sparkled with malicious intent, ‘no one wanted a freak roaming our home, but because I stood by your side, they welcomed you. But the moment I’m gone. You will be nothing. But a monster to the people you love so much.” Blood came flying out of his mouth as he spat his words at her. His armour had crumbled and all he had left was his words.

“Stop” the alien smiled at the hero on his knees, her eyes only moved off his body when she felt a presence next to her. John started to get up, but (Y/N) swiftly moved forward, wrapping her arm around his neck, and gripping his hair with her free hand. She forced him to stay down, on his knees.

Maeve came into sight, moving cautiously like she was afraid he would brake from his bond. She stopped when she was right in front of the disgraced hero.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” (Y/N) could feel John shaking in her grip. The two looked at each other in silence for a while, their eye contact unbreakable. (Y/N) spared a glance at Butcher, who was still stood in the same place.

“You’re going to let them go,” the man in question scoffed but immediately fell silent when (Y/N) tightened her grip on his hair. He cleared his throat, moving subtlety before answering the Queen.

“And if I don’t?” his ego spoke louder than the words coming out of his mouth, he was confident that everything was going his way. Both Maeve and (Y/N) knew that. But the moment Maeve held up the recording of the plane (Y/N) could physically feel The Homelander admitting defeat. The cries of the passengers echoed through her head, along with the bullshit lie the man in her arms fed her. ‘there was nothing we could do, the terrorist had too much control I tried to save them (Y/N). I tried.’

“You’re going to stop hunting Starlight, you’re going to leave me and Elena alone. Or I release this.” there was no room for argument, and he knew that. But he had to open his mouth. “If you do that, I’ll destroy everything and everyone.” (Y/N)’s grip tightened, she dragged his head backward and brought her lips to his bloody ear. Her voice was cold, no hint of vulnerability, no hint of emotion.

She could feel his bones quaking under her arm as she tightened her hold on the man she had come to love. The man that made everything feel less painful, the man that she called a true friend. But standing here in the middle of a forest with two dead women, a sobbing child and a emotionless man; she realised that what her people said about the human race was true. And John had proven that to her. It took everything in (Y/N) not to simply break his neck but she wanted him to hurt.

She wanted him to bleed.

So, she looked up at Maeve and signalled her to get the two boys out of here, she wanted to be alone with him. she willed herself to calm down, she knew she wasn’t in the right headframe to talk to John because if she did so now, his head would be lying two feet way from his body. So, she whispered to the man calmly, hearts no longer racing with hatred or fear. She let the venom in her voice speak for itself as she whispered to Homelander. But she let man she loved hear the pain in her voice, because the man she was holding was not her John, her John had died the moment Butcher and Mother’s Milk sat down across from her in the café. However, (Y/N) had comfort as she let the ten simple words leave her mouth, because she knows that no matter how much Compound V is pumping through his body. Even the Strongest man bleeds.

“If you do that Homelander, I will make you bleed.”

|=|=|

Hello beautiful people, I hope you enjoyed my little piece, feel free to leave comments about what you liked and didn’t like, I’m okay with a bit of constructive criticism I believe it will help me get better, and if you want anything else.

#homelander x reader #homelander #the boys #violence #angst #blood #queen maeve #alien reader #extraterestrial #the boys x reader

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hellsenthero · 4 years

Text

Indistinct | Chapter 5

Written by: hellsenthero

Bucky X FemReader

As a shapeshifter you’ve done some heavy spy work, jobs that no one else is capable of. It’s what you’re used to but it’s no longer where you’re needed for. Now after years of working solo SHIELD has assigned you as part of the Avengers and it’s there that you’ll face your most difficult times. But maybe with the help of a certain dark haired, blue eyed super soldier that you have a history with, things won’t be so bad...right?

Main Masterlist

Warnings/Themes: Violence, language, fluff, angst. (2.6K Words)

**********

Since joining the avengers Y/N had been on a few missions. Nothing too big and nothing that required more than two partners. If the shapeshifter’s mind had been more focused on it then she’d be insulted that she wasn’t getting bigger missions, but just like the Winter Soldier her mind was on other matters.

Sitting in her room Y/N flicked through movies on her television in search of something suitable for both her and Bucky.

“Hey doll,” Bucky greeted as he walked into Y/N’s room, a tray of drinks and snacks in hand.

Doll. It was a pet name that had just slipped out of Bucky’s mouth one day. While it was said completely by accident neither Bucky nor Y/N found an issue with it. And after seeing the just barely visible shy glance Y/N had shared with him the first time he said it Bucky made a vow to keep using the pet name.

To tease her. Bucky told himself. To tease her like friends do.

“Hey,” Y/N greeted back as she shifted over in her bed in order to make room for Bucky. Though recently she’d noticed the soldier, no matter how much space he was given, would always sit in a way that left them touching.

Not that Y/N minded.

“Find a movie yet?” Bucky asked as he got into bed.

“No,” Y/N huffed. The woman passed the remote to Bucky, a silent command for him to pick the movie.

“Right, let’s do this then.” He said, clicking on the first movie he saw, which happened to be Brooklyn.

“You picked that for the title.” Y/N said as she reached for her drink.

“No,” Bucky denied, unwilling to tell the shifter that he had absolutely picked the movie because of its link to his home.

“Sure,” Y/N answered with a roll of her eyes which were still all white and still as beautiful as ever to Bucky. “Whatever you say, Brooklyn boy.”

Slowly through the movie Y/N and Bucky drifted closer together. Bucky’s arm curled around Y/N before she curled into his chest, her head on his shoulder and mouth inches away from the man’s neck. I’m cold, she told him before focusing back on the movie. It was a lie, and both of them knew it. Bucky could feel the girls hot breath against the crook of his neck, tickling him with pleasure. Their legs intertwined as they realized they craved more contact from the other.

Soon enough the movie was forgotten about and all they could do was focus on each other.

“What are we doing, Bucky?” Y/N asked as she looked up at the soldier. Back in her days as his trainer at Hydra never would Y/N have thought that she’d be in this type of scenario with Bucky.

“I don’t know, doll.” Bucky admitted. His metal hand came to brush against Y/N’s cheek in a soft caress. His touch leaving behind goose bumps across her skin.

“Do you like it?” Y/N asked with bated breath. Bucky gazed down at her, rolling on the bed so Y/N was beneath him. Propped up on his arms, Bucky made sure to keep his weight off the woman as he looked her over.

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt butterflies like this.

“Yes,” he answered truthfully, “do you?” He asked, praying Y/N had the same answer as him.

“Yes,” Y/N whispered. Gazing at Bucky’s baby blue eyes the shifter tilted her head up just as Bucky lowered his. A breath apart they leaned in and-

And FRIDAY’s voice cackles through the speaker in Y/N’s room, demanding they suit up for a mission before the two can even touch lips. With a groan Bucky pulls back, cheeks flushed he goes back to his spot at Y/N’s side. All’s silent between the two before Bucky finally speaks up.

“We’ll talk about this later?” He asks as he gets off of Y/N’s bed and makes his way out of her room.

“Just talk?” Y/N asks with a coy smile as she follows after the soldier. Bucky shakes his head, his lips tilted up in a small smile.

“Not if I have any say about it, doll.”

The debrief for the mission happens once everyone is suited up and in the quinjet. Steve stands in the middle of the floor, hands crossed over his chest and he stares at his team.

“I know this is a surprise mission, but we couldn’t wait on this. A Hydra base was just discovered along the Russian and Ukranian border. We believe they have a large group of civilians,” Steve paused, his head lowering for a moment as a sigh left his lips, “children, about twenty of them. We believe they’ve been taken for experimentation.” Everyone’s breath caught in their throats at Steve’s words, their eyes wide with equal parts shock and disgust.

“That’s fucked up.” Sam breathed from where he sat. Everyone nodded their heads and Steve for once didn’t bother correcting the man on his foul language.

Bucky had lost some of his colour at Steve’s words, his mind working at an anxious speed as he thought about all the horrors he went through at Hydra and how those horrors were now being reigned down upon innocent children. Y/N slipped her hand into Bucky’s own from where she sat to his left, her fingers tracing the metal plates in a soothing manner as she saw the man’s panic and anxiety. No one else seemed to notice the shared touch between Bucky and Y/N and the two were all the more thankful for it.

“We’re going in teams of two to search the base and take out anyone you come across. Once the agents are all down only then do you get the kids out and on this jet and Tony’s.” Everyone nodded along but remained silent, the air thick with tension. “Nat and I are going to take the East side, Sam and Tony in the sky, Y/N and Bucky take West.” Again the jet remained silent.

Landing at the base came all too soon for Bucky, but the soldier put aside his worries in order to focus on the mission. Y/N could see the wall come up in his mind as they stepped off the jet, protecting him from whatever horrors he might see inside, whatever memories it might drudge up. They shared a look, brief and silent yet it held so much weight, so many unspoken words between them and they knew... if they stuck together, they’d make it out on the other side of this mission.

It didn’t take long upon entering the base for the team to realize how out-manned they were. Hydra agents filled the underground halls, taking up every empty space available.

Shoot, kick, doge, punch, grab, shoot, dodge. It truly was like the sea monster Hydra took its name after, with each agent Y/N and Bucky took down two more took their place.

Sweat dripped down Y/N’s face, dripping into her mouth the acid like taste took over the iron tang from her bloody lip. She didn’t know how long the fight had been going on for but with the heavy exhaustion weighing her down she knew it’d been a while. Bucky fought at her side, his metal fist gleaming in the light like a freshly sharpened blade. Each hit with it took down another against and still more were coming at them.

“We need to retreat,” Steve’s voice came through Y/N’s comms system. The shifter had only had eyes on the Captain for a short second at landing before she’d lost sight of him and Nat in the throng of Hydra agents. “Everyone get back on the jet, now.” He ordered. Neither Bucky nor Y/N wasted any time upon hearing Steve’s order. Both agents turned and with loaded guns and fists flying, made their way out of the base and back to the jet.

They were the last to arrive, injured and panting the jet door closed after them just in time before the bullets began hitting the jet. It was almost comical, the small pings that sounded as the bullets hit the exterior of the jet. One after another like gravol hitting a car as it drove along a dirt road the bullets hit them. Tony was on this jet rather than the other, allowing the computer system to fly it rather his own hands he opted for the jet that housed the rest of his team.

“Tony get us out of here!” Sam growled out.

“I can’t.” Tony breathed out.

“What do you mean, I can’t?” Sam fired back.

It was then that everything went silent. The pinging of bullets coming to a sudden halt, the only sound in the jet to be heard was the team’s heavy breathing. It was almost peaceful, save for the threat that hung about them like a guillotine blade. Y/N stepped closer to Bucky, the soldier doing the same. He was just reaching out to her when a thickly accented male voice spoke through the jets speakers.

“Good day, Avengers,” the man’s voice came out like a purr, as though the team was a mistress he’d had the pleasure of seducing, “we’ve taken over your ship, but of course, you’ve already come to realize this by now. You know what we want. Give us the Winter Soldier.” Slowly, all eyes turned to Bucky. The soldier hung his head low, knowing that with the situation they were in they had no other option but to follow Hydra’s orders. However, it seemed Steve had known exactly what Bucky was thinking, for he shook his head, his stare locked on his friend.

“You’re not handing yourself over Bucky.” The soldier looked up, his own head shaking, a silent disagreement with the Captain. “Bucky-” Steve started before he was cut off by the thickly accented voice coming through the jets speakers again.

“If being stranded here isn’t enough incentive to hand over the Winter Soldier then perhaps I might sweeten the pot.” Chills crawled up Y/N’s spine, her sweat and blood suddenly chilling on her skin at the man’s threat.

Tony was the first to see it as he stood at the front of the jet. It was his choked off gasp that caught the others attention, bringing them all forward until they were all looking out of the jets glass shield.

“No,” Bucky gasped, his breath catching in his throat as he stared forward. He was shaking, trembling at the sight before him. They were all shaking.

Walking into the open field before them was a line of agents, each with a gun in one hand and a struggling child in another. They stopped in a long line before the jet and the Avengers were left facing all twenty children, each with tears pouring down their cheeks and a gun to their heads.

“You know what we want,” the man spoke again to the team though he directed his next words to the soldier and only the soldier, “you can make this end, Soldat. Just come with us and the others can leave, no violence, no bloodshed. You can even have the kids.” He purred. “Don’t and well…” the man paused and Bucky sucked in a rattling breath, “...these kids’ blood will be on your hands and your hands alone, Soldat. You have thirty seconds to step out of the jet before we start killing.” Y/N looked over to Bucky, who’s hands shook at his sides, his head bent forward as he stared at the jet’s dark floor, away from the childrens crying forms.

Y/N knew what he was going to do, she knew the soldier would sacrifice himself in order to keep these children and his team safe. It’s what they all would have done. It’s what Y/N would have done, and so, it’s what she did do.

“Sit down, Bucky.” She spoke softly as Bucky went to the back of the jet, his hand reaching for the button that would lower the door for him to step out. Bucky shook his head as he stood before her, taking a step closer to Y/N as she shook her head at him.

“Y/N, this is our only option, they want me. I have to go.”

“I know,” Y/N answered, her hands coming to rest on Bucky’s biceps, “they want the Winter Soldier, and they’ll get the Winter Soldier. But they aren’t getting you.” Bucky’s head tilted to the side in question, not understanding the woman’s words until suddenly it hit him head on. He’s eyes grew wide in horror as he stepped towards her, his hands grasping onto her own.

“Y/N, no, you can’t.” Y/N gave a soft smile back as she looked at Bucky, her eyes roaming over him, her hands reaching for his face in order to trace the lines of his skin, building up the memory of him in her mind.

She prayed that the memory of him would be enough to keep her warm at night until the end of her time.

“I hurt you in Hydra,” she began. Tears welled up behind her eyes as she looked at Bucky. “I hurt you and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t regret that. There’s days that I wish I’d never met you, that I think how better off you’d be without me in your life,” Bucky shook his head frantically at the woman’s words, tears of his own spilling down his cheeks just like Y/N’s, “but I’ve come to realize that this was all meant to be, that we were meant to be,” Y/N stepped further into Bucky, forcing him to take a step back, and another and another until he was pressed against the jets wall, “you’ve done your time, Bucky. You’ve fought your battles and you’ve come out the other side,” Y/N’s hands slipped down from Bucky’s face, her hands reaching for his own, “it’s my time to go to battle now Bucky, for us.” Y/N pressed her lips to Bucky’s in a desperate kiss. Tears slipped down their cheeks as they shared a last moment of love. Their first kiss, and their last.

It was when Y/N had pulled away from their kiss, that Bucky realized what the woman had done.

The snap of the cuffs around his wrists and the metal beam along the jet’s wall rang out in the silence between them. And as Y/N stepped back Bucky was filled with a nauseating horror. He shook his head, pulling at the cuffs that held him he looked to the shifter, his gaze pleading with her to let him go.

She didn’t. She looked to the team, a last goodbye in her gaze.

“Take care of each other.” Bucky shook his head, small please and no’s spilling from his lips, all intertwined with her name.

“Y/N, please, don’t do this, please…”

“I love you Bucky.” Y/N’s said softly. It was her final goodbye before she shifted and Bucky was left staring at a carbon copy of himself.

“Y/N, please, don’t…” he begged. But it was too late.

With the press of a button Y/N stepped off the quinjet and handed herself over to Hydra.

----------

Want to be added to this series? Just send in an ask!

Tag List: @fangirl3247 @bestofbucky @broco8 @awesomelittlebabydragon @strangersstranger @beware-my-thorns

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unchartedthelostlegacy · 3 years

Text

surprise

I know that jealousy’s a perfect waste of time, crooned Dessa from the speakers.

Truth be told, Nadine didn’t know how she could still hear it from the other room, what with two sentient Premier League jerseys masquerading as her cousins Matthew and David proceeding to destroy the apartment in their new cleats.

“Lekker!” shouted one or the other now, as the ball hurtled out of Nadine’s bedroom and she heard a thud from within. The boys clack-clack-clacked out into the living room as the ball hit the table’s corner. Nadine, on the couch, flicked at it with her paperback, knocking it away.

But left to my devices...

“Tie your shoe, Matthew,” Nadine called, turning a page. David giggled as he caught the ball on his sweat-drizzled forehead, his brother ducking to lace the studded Adidas boot. Not an indoor soccer shoe, let alone an indoor shoe--but the smile on each boy’s face when they ripped into their presents had been enough to convince her to let it slide.

...I’ve spent far too long wasting mine...

The taller, quiet boy on the same couch piped up. “That song is sad, Nadi.”

“When did you learn English?”

Boitumelo smiled at her, secretively. As usual he had stolen someone’s baby, and the child’s bubbling laughter in his arms was another reason Nadine wondered why she could still hear the music.

Some children loved cats or dogs, but Boitumelo’s favorite animal was babies. He wanted to be a pediatrician when he grew up, and everyone whose baby started to cry at the braai would soon find him at their side miraculously calming it. He was the baby whisperer, and instead of needing to be looked after like the others, he had volunteered to help Nadine with the child-avalanche while most of her aunts went to the movies.

“How long has it been?” Nadine put her book on the table, chuckling. “Stand up, let me see how you’ve grown.”

“Nooo,” Boitumelo said, but he did anyway, cradling the baby in his left arm. Nadine held his shoulders, scrutinizing him like a diamond.

The effect was that Matthew and David paused their natural disaster. They flanked him, standing on tip-toes. A laugh tumbled out of Nadine as she let go. “Not a contest, ja! I see you two every week, ‘course he’ll grow faster!”

The child knocked on his chest lightly with the hand that wasn’t supporting an infant. “It’s because I am Motswana,” he said with a serene smugness.

“Hey!” Matthew punched his shoulder “You can’t even speak Tswana!”

“Don’t hit him,” Nadine said sharply. “You want those cleats locked up in my safe?”

Matthew pouted, and Boitumelo merely secured the baby, indifferent.

David hugged him.

Maybe they should be together more after all, Nadine thought. Maybe I’m a bad influence on these ones.

“C’mere, Matthew. Help me make lunch.”

“Aww, no!”

Nadine gave him a stern look as she walked to the small kitchenette. She could at least keep an eye on the other kids over the counter, and set their plates out on it when they were done. Matthew followed, cleats making sad clack-clacks on the tile.

He preferred this punishment to losing them, but not by a lot.

“We don’t hit our family,” Nadine murmured as he sorted the rice beside her. She’d set the lamb, the tomatoes, the onions on the counter and began working on them with the knife. “Not even if we’re jealous.”

“I can do that,” Matthew said. He was pointing at the meat.

“Can you do it safely?”

“Nadi! I do it at our house!”

Nadine chuckled. “You might--” and then stopped, frozen, because someone had knocked on the door.

To the boys, this was perfectly ordinary. Knocks happened to doors. But Nadine wasn’t expecting anyone, and her first thought was the Desert .5 in the safe. The next was the fact that the kids were all closer to the door.

“I will answer,” Boitumelo said in Tswana, flashing a smile at Matthew, who wrinkled his nose.

“Boys, I will,” Nadine said, washing her hands at breakneck speed, snatching the hand-towel and moving around the counter. “Boitu, sit down, the baby--

But the boy smiled that same smile at her as he slid open the lock and tugged it open, and English--CNN-newscaster English, for crying out loud--poured from his lips. “Hello, how can I help you?”

Nadine held her breath as she walked quickly, heart pounding, and her hand was just brushing the safe when another voice answered Boitumelo in the same language. With an accent.

A very familiar accent.

“I’m...sorry, I must have the wrong house.”

What...the hell...are you doing here, Frazer?

The sight of the beautiful Indian-Australian and her red sweater and faded skinnies put David and Matthew into a competing orbit. They crowded around the front door behind Boitumelo, David ducking under the baby to look at her. Nadine paced out from beside the door and murmured as she kissed the top of all three heads, “I told you not to talk to strangers, ja?”

“’Stranger’,” Chloe said, eyes narrowing as she shook her head, “Nice to see you too, ‘stranger’.”

“Is she selling us something?” David asked, confused, and Nadine cracked into chortles, causing Chloe to blink in confusion.

“She is your friend, Nadi? You are very pretty, miss. My name is Boitumelo,” said the baby-whisperer, again in English. “This is David and Matthew, and I am looking after Lavi,” he nodded once toward the child in his arms. Boitumelo was proud of his charges. Lavi was looking at Chloe with possibly the widest eyes of all the boys, but it was close.

“Oh nice to meet you! I’m Chloe. Funny of you not to introduce me, Nadine. Stop being grumpy, I know you want a hug.”

Nadine shook her head as she stepped back, and the boys followed her lead, eyes glued to the woman who stepped inside and wrapped their grown-up in an embrace.

“You’re either late,” Nadine muttered, raising her arms to hug Chloe back after a moment, “Or you show up unannounced.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“You wanted to be a selfish--”

“Careful, children present,” Chloe said brightly. Nadine shook her head again, releasing her treasure hunting partner a bit reluctantly in spite of herself.

But Matthew and David--English proficiency be damned, they spoke FIFA--grabbed and energetically shook her hand, insisted on showing their moves off, knocked over the basket of garlic freestyling with the ball, somehow got it on top of the fridge. Having curled up on the couch, Chloe gamely tried to fight her laughter. Nadine set a can of Castle lager from the fridge on the table in front of her and went back to the kitchenette.

Where she found Boitumelo finishing sorting the abandoned rice, the baby esconced in the high chair by the counter.

“Nadi, I want to travel with you and meet people too,” he said softly in Tswana.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so. No, you’re staying here and getting good in school.”

“But, when I am older,” he said. “You meet all sorts of people, don’t you? I want to go to America like you did.”

“Yes,” Nadine sighed. “I want you to go there too. But only if you want to, because you can study here too, Boitu.”

God, she hated thinking of Boitumelo’s future already. He was older than the soccer hellions, but no, was he going to be off to university that soon? Where had the time gone?

Lavi whined, and Nadine opened his little hand to give him a slice of tomato to hold. He squished it immediately and brought it up to his face.

“Why did you do that?” Boitumelo was laughing at her.

“Ja, this is how he develops fine motor control,” Nadine said, returning to chopping. “I’ll boil him an egg and chop it up for him too. He needs the omega-3s.”

It didn’t occur to her that they had switched back to English until she saw Chloe had snuck in behind them--the woman did have talent in that regard--and was leaning on the fridge, beerless.

“What a well-behaved child,” Chloe remarked.

“Please forgive her,” Nadine muttered with a groan.

“Oh I--I didn’t mean--Nadine what--for God’s sake, what did I say this time?”

Boitumelo was laughing as he rolled up his charge’s sleeves, and Nadine finished dropping the ingredients into the pot.

Chloe said, defensively, “I just never saw a boy help with cooking like that. Honestly.”

Boitumelo, for once, was speechless. He met Nadine’s eyes as her lip curled; it wasn’t that Chloe meant to offend. She was just...well...Nadine didn’t know all of what Chloe was yet, other than beautiful and impulsive and courageous and deeply lucky to compensate for it all. Blunt. Maybe that was the word. Both the opposite of sharp, and capable of impact, in good and bad ways.

“Nate didn’t even make you dinner?” Nadine flashed her a grin as she patted Boitumelo’s shoulder.

The effect on Chloe was instant, as in, the moment it took Nadine to press a couple of buttons on the rice cooker, Chloe’s whole face had turned red. Her perfect rows of teeth--how she hadn’t lost any when Nadine had given her a fist-shaped parting gift during their big fight in India, only God knew--were visible in a line.

“I’m sorry, Boitumelo,” she said with a swallow. “I didn’t mean that. It looks like I said something...wrong.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” the boy was marveling at her. “It is just normal in our family. Maybe it wasn’t like that in yours.”

Oh.

This was why Nadine couldn’t stay angry at Chloe long. It was less guilt and more that her heart went out to Chloe, as she brushed back past the woman to the sink muttering, “Go on, have a sit and drink.”

“In front of the children,” Chloe said pointedly.

Nadine scoffed “Think you can handle a lager.”

“Let me do something.”

Because Chloe had been an only child, and she had lost her father, and Nadine wasn’t sure if he had helped cook.

#chlodine #nadine ross #snippet #uncharted: the lost legacy #chloe frazer #angst #jealousy #romance

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kuramirocket · 3 years

Text

A few months ago, I answered a knock at my door. My neighbor, James, launched into a complaint. "That silver Honda is parked in front, and we have a friend coming over who wants to park there," he said. He was referencing the car belonging to Ana, a family friend who I hired days before to help with childcare for my toddler.

Ana appeared behind me to see what was going on. James looked at Ana and then at me, and despite Ana being only a few feet away, he nodded at Ana and spoke as if she wasn't there. "Cleaning crew?" he asked me. My head snapped back in shock.

My eyes darted to Ana to see if she'd heard, and somehow it seemed she hadn't. I stammered, unsure of what to say. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. She wasn't holding a mop or dusting rag or anything that would indicate she was cleaning. After a moment of gaping, I closed the distance between Ana and me and put my arm around her. "James," I said, looking at Ana, rather than at him, "this is Ana. She just started coming to the house to babysit Hadley while I write." I squeezed Ana's shoulder. "Ana is a long time family friend. She used to be my husband's grandparents' caregiver years ago before they died, and we've stayed in touch," I said.

In that moment, I felt angry and panicked at how James treated Ana. Ana, one of the few people who was able to comfort me when my brother died. When so many people I saw in passing gave me pitying looks or, worse, pretended like nothing happened, she hugged me and said the kindest, most loving things. Ana, who inspires me every day with her her compassion and her strength. James dismissed her like she didn't matter. And for what?

I didn't know what to do with those feelings. So, I didn't respond to them. Instead, I calmly continued, "With the pandemic, it's just been the three of us but once we'd been vaccinated, I was desperate for some help, and there's no one I would have trusted more with our daughter. We're so grateful that Ana agreed to help us."

While Ana rushed out to move her car, James left without apologizing. She hadn't heard his "cleaning crew" comment, but I still found myself getting angrier and angrier, both at James and myself. I should have asked James why he assumed Ana was my housekeeper. She held no cleaning supplies. We wore similar outfits.

There was no reason to think she was anyone but a friend visiting, or a family member. My mom's side of my family is Mexican. The thing that was different about Ana and me is that she is visibly Mexican American, and I am not, a fact that has afforded me many privileges in life but also has been a source of conflicting and isolating feelings. When I was young, growing up with a white father who most certainly was racist—and who I am now estranged from—I felt confused about how I looked. Did my light skin make me white and not Mexican? Why would he call people with the same ethnicity or heritage as my grandma and my mom— his wife at the time—racial slurs but not me?

Generally, when people say or do racist things in front of me, they think it's okay. When it is racism from white people, I suspect it is because, in a way, I look like them, so they think I am one of them. But I'm not.

When people joke about or make fun of an immigrant's thick accent in front of me, I think of the way it's difficult for people to understand my grandma. Never mind that the people who are mocking a Spanish speaker tend to only speak one language. Meanwhile, my grandma is fluent in Spanish and English, and even used to be a French translator as well.

When I hear others make judgments about the laziness of immigrants or act as though people who come to this country don't deserve to be here, I recall my grandfather telling me about how he worked tirelessly as an engineer to earn respect and professional opportunities in the United States. A former employer paid him less than what his skills were worth, but my grandpa didn't get angry. He told me he was grateful that the man took advantage of him because without that happening my grandpa wouldn't have had the chance to work and access other opportunities.

Even my siblings, who were born to the same mother and father, have been treated differently than I have.

Nikki Barthelmess

I too like my siblings smile and turn the other cheek when confronted with this kind of treatment. Once, directly after I told someone that my mother was a first generation American and my grandparents are Mexican, they asked if I was the first person in my family to go to college. I felt angry and embarrassed. But I didn't snap at this woman and tell her she was being racist. I merely let her know that I, in fact, am not the first person on my Mexican side of the family to graduate from college, and then I excused myself from the conversation as fast as I could. I was angry that this woman had the audacity to make such ignorant and offensive comments, but I was also angry at myself

Racism is not something new to me. I have grappled with my own privilege and my responsibility to correct people for ignorant thinking. It has certainly informed my work as a writer.

I wondered then if I had done the right thing by letting this woman off the hook. Regardless, I generally experience racist comments or microaggressions after I tell someone about my heritage. I don't have to exist in a world that often judges me as less than, but my family does.

When James insulted Ana, he insulted me, and he insulted everyone in my family and with our heritage. I should have been ready to say something. To do something. Anything other than keeping quiet. But I wasn't ready.

If my uncle, who has the same skin color as Ana, came by to visit, would James assume he was our gardener? If my aunt were to stop by, would James ask if she was the housekeeper? There is nothing wrong with being a housekeeper. I've had many jobs before becoming an author and working as a maid at a hotel was one of them. It's thinking someone must be a housekeeper based on the color of their skin that infuriates me. The next time Ana came over, I told her about the racist comment that she hadn't heard James say and apologized. I told her I was going to confront him the next time I saw him. But Ana pleaded with me not to. "Please don't, Nikki," she said. "You still have to be neighbors with him."

My stomach sank. I failed to act when I should have. I fumbled with words. I tried to move things along, to keep the peace. My feelings are complicated by the fact that it is clear Ana wouldn't have wanted me to confront James for what he said, in that moment or after. But still, I wish there was a better way, a right way, to handle something like that. To fix what happened. To make it right.

As a writer of young adult fiction, the characters I write deal with complicated questions about racism, identity, and how they can change their world for the better. And they figure things out. Maybe not perfectly, because life isn't perfect. But they face challenges head on, and they emerge on the other side stronger for it.

So, the next time I find myself faced with the kind of circumstance I experienced with Ana and James, I hope I rise to the challenge.

Nikki Barthelmess is the author of Everything Within and In Between, The Quiet You Carry, and Quiet No More. Nikki found solace in books and writing. A former journalist, Nikki lives in Santa Barbara with her family and advocates for the rights of foster youth. You can follow her on Twitter @nikkigrey_.

#🇲🇽#racism #mexican #mexican american #hispanic #latina #latinx #books #mexican authors

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fireflyhwufanficwriter · 4 years

Text

My thoughts on Dr. Stone’s S02E03 (“Call from the Dead”)

My thoughts after watching Season Two, Episode Three:

01. Taiju and Yuzuriha have different types of shoes – that’s a nice detail 😊

02. Leave it to Yuzuriha the arts and crafts club member to notice a detail like the dirt around the grave being different!

03. Day after day… I wasn’t expecting them to visit the grave THAT often. I like that they used the same phrase (“mainichi mainichi”) as last time – in Season One, Senku used it to describe Kohaku’s dedication to her sister, and now in Season Two, Nikki used it to describe Taiju and Yuzuriha’s dedication to their friend 😊

04. I liked Kohaku and Ginro’s excitement at hearing Taiju’s voice. This is the first time they’ve heard an outsider who they knew right away wasn’t an enemy! (Well, second time for Kohaku, since Senku saved her the day they met.)

05. The next time I’m on the phone with somebody, I’m going to imagine the same huge arc of electricity that Kaseki did 😁

06. Senku was so emotional – eyes shining with tears, smiling as he listened to Taiju – and then it all went away because he had to remind his friend that HE was Senku 😆

07. Just like how Gen is the stand in for the audience (modern timers, but generally clueless compared to Senku), Kokuyou and Ruri are the stand-ins for how incredible the phone must seem to Ishigami Village 😁 Come to think of it, Kokuyou’s had that role since last season – he’s far away enough from the main cast that he doesn’t know all of their adventures (and that distance makes him like the “normal” villagers), but close enough that he gets to share his thoughts and theories. It was through his eyes that we saw the big impacts that bottling and furnaces had on Ishigami Village 😊

08. I know it was short, but I like how Senku greeted Yuzuriha separately. They haven’t had that much screentime together since the anime began, but I like how Senku and Yuzuriha have their own friendship, instead of Taiju being their go-between or something like that.

09. “He’s been screaming all day.” All day? Have they been there longer than just the few minutes we’ve seen?

10. Kohaku noticed the defensive reason for why they had to speed things up! 😊 And I liked her observation about Senku and Taiju 😊

11. It’s could be easy to just write Taiju off as a loud blockhead, but it’s scenes like his allowing Tsukasa to hit him in Season One and his question about bloodshed in Season Two that really show you the kind of admirable, pacifistic guy he is 😊

12. “Gen will be back tomorrow or so.” Okay, so we have an estimate of how far the two kingdoms/empires are from each other. I’m glad they mentioned this!

13. Magma and Chrome’s loud conversation really shows how much anime can improve upon manga. When you’re just reading, you do know characters are talking and being loud, but when you’re watching anime, it drives home the fact that they’re being SO LOUD and that they need to SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP! Poor Gen… 😆

14. Thank you for finally saying Ukyo’s name, Gen 😆 Anime only folks get important information, and manga readers can sigh in relief that another character’s name has been revealed 😁

15. I’m with Magma. Chrome’s so selfish, worrying about his own life like that! 😡 Not like Magma, who’s strong and noble and self-sacrificing and only thinks of others and their safety 😁

16. You have to feel sorry for Gen… he’s trying to get the two of them to just SHUT UP 😆

17. I doubt Magma was seriously thinking that Chrome would go along with that plan, so he must have been joking… and the fact that we have Magma JOKING around with main characters after being the main antagonist in the middle part of Season One… they’re really pals now, aren’t they? 😲😊

18. Chrome’s battery has 15V… how much is that compared to an AAA battery for a remote control? I'll look it up later 😁

19. I’m a modern era person and it would have never occurred to me to use a wire to connect two ends of a battery and throw it into the grass to start a fire. Either Senku told him that battery stuff fairly recently and it was stuck Chrome’s mind because he was in charge of the heating team, or he’s just that much of a genius that nobody explained that to him but he intuited it anyway… or I’m just that stupid 😆

20. It’s expected that Chrome would sacrifice himself, but Magma… very impressive character development 😁 (I mean, I’m a manga reader, so I knew this was going to happen, but still 😁)

21. Gen’s eyes are blue? I never noticed until this episode.

22. Poor Gen… first, in Season One, he had to run like the wind from the shed of science to the Cave of Miracles while he was SEVERELY injured, and he had to do it as fast as possible to help Senku stay safe, and he was the only one who could do it… and now, he has to run like the wind while dealing with the knowledge and guilt that two of his comrades sacrificed himself for him, and he has to do it as fast as possible to be able to start his extremely important deception mission, and he’s the only one who can do it.

23. Gen really needs to get Kaseki to build him some kind of cable car system or a limousine so that he can travel in style between the two kingdoms/empires instead of exhausting himself all the time running back and forth 😲 Or at least a bicycle!

24. Since it’ll take Gen at least one day, possibly longer, to reach the shed of science, that means that Taiju and Yuzuriha must have talked to Nikki one or more days after they spoke with Senku. Anime helps with some things (like sound), but it can sure confuse people about the passage of time…

25. Copper swirly! 😊 I like Kaseki’s name for it better than Senku’s name for it 😆

26. Kohaku’s eyes! She’s SO fascinated by how the copper swirly is being used 😁

27. Nikki’s SO hostile 😲 I get that she’s a guard and everything, but she doesn’t really have a reason to be this hostile to Taiju and Yuzuriha, does she? It’s weird O.o Unless maybe she wanted to do something else (hunting/training/etc.) but she was forced to be their guard specifically because she’s a woman and can stick to Taiju AND Yuzuriha like glue? (Like Brienne from Game of Thrones.)

28. Why are her eyebrows a darker shade than her hair? This is sort of like Kokuyou’s weird hair colors, but to a lesser extent.

29. The punches are… she’s really hostile. Maybe it’s just to emphasize how much she changes later on and the episode, but it’s still so weird.

30. Didn’t Senku “die” on a cliff, out in the open? Kohaku was able to see him from (presumably) far away, and all that stuff with the gunpowder and the huge rock… am I remembering it wrong? Was it NOT a cliff after all? Because the rocks around this grave make it look like some kind of natural, concealed fortress!

31. Senku’s Sebastian voice sounds so silly 😆

32. I wish they had done Lilian’s voice differently. Gen’s fake Lilian doesn’t sound like a native English speaker while speaking English. Maybe they’re counting on the people they’re talking to not knowing the difference between foreign language accents… but still, this could have been done better. Maybe the studio just didn’t want to hire a new person to speak just a few lines. Or maybe they did this on purpose so that Nikki could notice something was off with her voice?

33. Yuzuriha being quick on the uptake again! 😁

34. This has to be the most stressful, rushed, and mathematical estimating of CD sales and body measurements ever 😆

35. The video game music was used in such a fun, light way last season (choosing the third mining team member) that hearing it in this scene for this situation sounds so weird 😲

36. That crouching backwards, pointing straight ahead Lilian pose seemed really out of place when the music is this really soft, gentle song 😲

37. I wonder if the stadium they showed us is based on a real stadium in Japan?

38. “Lilian doesn’t exist in this world anymore. Am I right?” Oh, Nikki… 😭

39. Senku’s eyes were shining when he replied to Nikki… I wonder if talking about Lilian reminded him of Byakuya… somebody who was in space with Lilian and also doesn’t exist in this world anymore… 😭

40. I love how Senku doesn’t lose anything or inconvenience himself at ALL by making that promise, since he’s going to protect the glass recording anyway because of Byakuya 😆

41. Okay, after Nikki committed to the plan (welcome, Nikki!), they zoomed out and the grave is seriously surrounded by all those vertical rocks. There is NO WAY this grave is in the same place Senku and Tsukasa last talked. No WAY.

42. I was SO surprised when the episode ended there 😲 That was NOT what I was expecting. This episode felt so short!

43. I still love this ending theme! 😁

44. About the ending theme (“Koe” / “Voice” by Hatena), songs mean a lot more to me when I understand what the lyrics mean, so I went to YouTube hoping to find an English cover or English subtitles or something. I found this video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scv09Dtby-8) by a YouTube channel called AniComet Music, and from 0:12 to 0:34, the lyrics are, “I keep struggling and suffering, but still / I’ll gain strength from the feelings I’ve had for you / It’s a story that will never change / Even though I knew I’d never be a match for him.”

45. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel the song is from Senku’s point-of-view, and both the second and fourth lines could be about Byakuya (especially the fourth line) – in a father/son context, of course – of how he gets strength and inspiration from Byakuya and how he feels his father will always be beyond him and more than him 😭

46. With that said, even though my interpretation is really meaningful to me, it doesn’t really make sense, since “you” and “him” are obviously different people, and when you read more of the lyrics, “you” can’t really be referring to Byakuya. Maybe my interpretation will change when I listen to the song more and read more translations, but this is the first English translation of the ending song that I’ve read, and it really speaks to me 😊

https://firefly-hwufanficwriterrrrr.tumblr.com/MyDrStoneEpisodeMangaThoughts

#dr stone #ishigami senku #dr. stone #oki taiju #ogawa yuzuriha #asagiri gen #hanada nikki #lillian weinberg #ishigami byakuya

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argylemnwrites · 4 years

Text

Fight or Flight - Chapter 8: Regret

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~3500

Rating: R (language only)

Summary: Thirty one hours since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note: Shall we even pretend there is a posting schedule at this point? Oh well, another chapter has arrived. This series follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist. (link can be found via my bio - sorry, Tumblr is once again not putting my posts with links in tag searches)

Drake popped his headphones in, trying not to wake up Bridget as he pulled open a video on his new phone. He was also supposed to be sleeping, at least theoretically. It’s why Riley had gone into the bathroom a couple of hours ago - so that he could turn off the lights and it would be relatively quiet. If he slept now, after all, he would be able to drive through the night. But he’d been wide awake for the past three hours, and at this point, he wasn’t even sure if attempting to sleep was worth it. So he just laid in the dark, his daughter sleeping peacefully next to him. Thank god she wasn’t doing that whole sleep reversal thing she’d been doing last month, where she’d been waking up maybe a dozen times over night. Her being a good sleeper was maybe the one saving grace here.

Today had just been stomach churning since he’d left to go track down a car and supplies. He hadn’t known whether to be grateful or freaked out when he’d returned to the hotel this afternoon, and Riley had a list of things they needed to do typed up on her phone. While he was glad she no longer seemed like she was about to sink into a pit of panic, seeing her planning with this much intensity was just… strange. He couldn’t think of a time she had ever made such a detailed list. She always just adapted to the situation at hand. She never tried to shape the situation herself.

But between what she’d found in her “fugitive research,” and what Hana had told them when she called after the hearing, they were starting to come up with a plan. Hana had told them that Rashad was going to be sworn in as regent tomorrow and that Olivia was technically “investigating” their location at the moment. That as soon as Rashad took on the powers of king-regent, Olivia was going to disclose that Bertrand and Maxwell hadn’t “found” them at Lythikos, so she’d sent Hana to “check” that they hadn’t returned to Valtoria, but that she hadn’t found them there either. They were all repeatedly calling their old phone numbers as well, hoping to make the story believable when Rashad undoubtedly opened an investigation into their disappearance with Bridget.

But all this meant that arrest warrants could be issued as soon as tomorrow morning. The hearing wouldn’t take long, and no one was sure if Rashad would see things as a sign of an attack on all three of them, or if he would correctly deduce that they had made a run for it and willingly left the country with Bridget. Either way, their financial and phone records were likely to be subject to review. And that meant they needed to not be anywhere near Ioannina by the time of the hearing.

The issue was, they wanted to withdraw more cash before the investigation froze their accounts. This meant using the same ATM they’d been using one more time, at 12:01 am when it was a new day and they could withdraw their daily max again without giving anyone a new location to investigate. Then, it would be time to get in the newly-purchased hatchback and drive on to Xanthi, the city they’d chosen as their next stop. Small enough that no one would predict it as their destination, big enough that Riley, a woman of East Asian heritage who only spoke English with a still-persistent New York accent wouldn’t be immediately noticeable. Drake liked that it was past Thessaloniki as well. No one would guess they drove hours further into Greece than a city with an American consulate.

So, in preparation for that drive, Drake needed to be sleeping. Even after several years out of Manhattan, Riley still hated driving, and in all honesty, the thought of her behind the wheel in a country where she couldn’t read the road signs was not reassuring to Drake in the slightest. He wanted to be the one solely responsible for the driving. But that meant he should be napping now. But how was he supposed to sleep at a time like this?

In the past day or so, he’d gone from a very stable existence to literally plotting how to hide out from law enforcement. He’d embezzled money and bribed a used car salesman to look the other way and not require him to register the car for official Greek or Cordonian papers. He’d left the only home he’d ever known, not knowing if he’d ever get to go back. How could anyone sleep after a day like that?

So instead of sleeping, he was watching news coverage of Liam’s speech that he’d given only a few hours earlier. Speculation was rampant as to both why the vote of no confidence was called and as to who the acting regent would be. Who his daughter’s regent would be. Because for the past few hours, the 10 month old sleeping on the mattress next to him had technically been the Queen-Regent of Cordonia.

It was a strange feeling, knowing that going forward, Bridget would be listed as Queen-Regent Bridget in history books, her rule starting today. Liam’s request had kind of always seemed like simple bookkeeping before. Although Liam told the press that Bridget would remain next in line for the throne even if he had children of his own, Drake had always kind of assumed they would readdress the whole situation when Liam actually got married. It had seemed highly likely to him that Bridget would end up just being a temporary placeholder, someone needed to convey stability of the Crown until Liam had a kid or two of his own. And even if she had remained next in line for the throne, Drake never really thought he’d see her take on the title. She was only supposed to rise to that position after Liam’s death.

It was probably something he should have put more thought into, to be honest. But he hadn’t, at least not anywhere near enough. And now there was no great way to undo it. She was the queen-regent now. Abdication for her, as a minor with the title, would be a nightmare at this point. Even if her title was just through the Conclave, the steps that they would have to take to change things now, the support they would need from the assholes who just voted against them and Liam, well… Drake wasn’t counting on that happening any time soon.

He opened up the CBC app to watch another site’s coverage of Liam’s speech, but his phone started buzzing in his hand. The number flashing across the screen had a Cordonian country code, but it wasn’t Olivia or Hana’s burner numbers, which they’d already added to their contact list. This had to be either Liam or Maxwell on a new number. Taking a deep breath, he popped out the headphones and swiped to accept the call.

“Hello?”

There was a brief pause before Liam’s voice came through the speaker. “Hello, Drake.”

Drake didn’t know what to say. It was his turn to speak, but what do you say to someone you’ve known almost your entire life when they lost everything? When you’d let them down? After too many seconds, he finally managed, “So, you… uh, got our new numbers?”

“Yes. Hana and Olivia provided me with them.”

“Right. Well… good. You, uh… you should have our numbers.” Drake ran his hand over his face. He couldn’t be more awkward about this if he tried.

“Indeed,” said Liam, after a beat, “So, how are you all doing?”

“We’re okay, I guess. How are you?”

The pause was longer this time. “It’s been a long couple of days, Drake.”

The weight of that sentence settled over Drake, the guilt he already carried multiplying in that moment. “I’m so sorry, Liam.”

All Liam gave in response was a little hum of acknowledgement, so Drake kept speaking, trying to find some words that would make this better, that would make Liam see how sorry he was.

“We just couldn’t wait around, you know? We didn’t know how things were going to go down, and when Barthelemy started talking about taking Bridget, we couldn’t just risk that, and so we had to do something, right? And I know this leaves you in a tricky spot, but you’ve gotta know, I wish… I don’t know, that we weren’t doing this to you, I guess? But… it’s just fucked up all around, isn’t it?” Drake knew he was rambling, that he'd basically spewed out a whole bunch of garbage, but he just didn’t know what else to do.

“What do you want me to say, Drake? You’re right; the decisions you and Riley made have made things much more complicated for me. Are you looking for me to say that I don’t blame you? That I support this course of action?”

“What else were we supposed to do?” Drake asked. He could hear his voice raising slightly, and he glanced down, checking that he hadn’t woken Bridget, but she was still passed out.

“I told you back when you were trying to have a child that if it ever became too much, to inform me, and we would reserve the proclamation.”

“Are you really trying to tell me that in the middle of everything that was happening yesterday, it would have been a good time to pull you aside and ask to undo all that shit?”

Liam let out a sigh before he answered, “It seems like that would have been preferable to you deciding to commit treason.”

Drake slammed his eyes shut, trying to keep his temper in check. Liam was already dealing with a lot, and he didn’t want to make things worse, but his words were so frustrating right now. “We didn’t even know if you would have the power to undo any of it after that vote.”

“You could have at least waited until we knew the results of that initial hearing. At that point-”

“What if the justice had decided you had no power last night instead of today?” Drake interrupted. He saw Riley coming out of the bathroom and back into their room. She obviously must have heard him on the phone. He just shook his head, trying to reassure her as he kept talking to Liam. “That’s a big fucking gamble to ask of us, Liam.”

“Fine, then some middle-ground or compromise still would have probably been better. You have to know how ill-conceived this scheme you’ve agreed to is, Drake.”

“What would you suggest, then? Sitting around, just waiting to see if we got to keep our kid?”

“Of course not. But if you get arrested and extradited back here, you will absolutely lose custody of your daughter. I would urge you to consider that fact. Additionally, Rashad is not going to be interested in becoming some sort of surrogate parent to Bridget over the next few months.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? That the man you have lined up as my kid’s regent has no interest in caring for her?” Riley mouthed “What?” at him from across the room, but Drake just waved his hand and shook his head again. He’d have to fill her in later.

“My point, Drake, is that Rashad would likely be very amenable to you and Riley staying with Bridget in the role as her caretakers and-”

“Stop. I’m not going to listen to that shit, okay? You know that’s not the same. You fucking know it, Liam.”

There was a rough sigh before Liam spoke again. “Fair enough. But you have to understand that you have put me in an awful position. And I’m just trying to find a way to minimize the damage caused by your selfishness here.”

“How is looking out for my wife and kid selfish?” Bridget squirmed slightly next to him as his voice climbed louder yet again. Riley must have noticed, because she scurried over and tucked her against her chest, muttering soothing words against the top of her head, trying to keep her from waking up.

“Did you think about how fleeing the country would impact anyone? Your citizens in Valtoria who no longer have a regional leader? The people of Cordonia who no longer have an heir to the throne? Your friends who have advocated for you and your family time and time again? No. You just left. You only thought of yourselves. That is the dictionary definition of selfish, Drake.”

“I’m sorry, but my family comes first. This isn’t fucking up for debate.”

“Well, some of us don’t have that luxury.”

Both Drake and Liam were silent for several seconds. Drake took a shaky breath, trying to get his emotions back under control. “Liam. I’m sorry. I really am. I never wanted to do this to you, and I know you are left cleaning up the pieces here, but I am not going to come back just for Bridget to get trapped inside the country and possibly taken from us.”

“Drake, don’t be so-”

“She’s queen-regent now, so no way we don’t get stopped at the border if we came back and tried to leave again, right? In fact, I bet we wouldn’t be allowed outside the palace with her, and that’s if we’re allowed to be alone with her at all-”

“Now you’re just being dramatic-”

“Am I? Because to me, it feels like you want me to come back and hang my hat on the hopes that Rashad needs a couple of nannies. I get the risks we are taking here. But at least we have a shot of staying together as a family this way.”

“Look, I understand that this is upsetting and frustrating. I’m upset and frustrated, too. All I want is to try and create a united front here. If we are fractured and divided, it is worse for everyone in the long run. We all want what’s best for Bridget.”

“You aren’t part of any ‘we’ here. She’s not your kid. You don’t get a say.”

The silence on the other end of the line was awful. Riley climbed onto the bed and leaned up against the headboard. One arm still held Bridget tight to her chest, but her free hand snaked behind him and rubbed soothing circles between his shoulder blades. It just did little to calm him. He didn’t know if more of his anger was directed at Liam, for presuming he had any say here, or at himself, for getting defensive when he was the one who had hurt Liam and put him in this position.

“I have never interfered in any parenting decisions you or Riley have made with regards to Bridget. In fact, I have given you both an unprecedented amount of freedom and control, knowing that it was an unusual situation. But it seems to me like we have nothing further to say to each other at the moment. You are unwilling to discuss the bigger picture here.”

“Liam, don’t-” Drake started, but Liam just kept talking.

“I understand why you’ve taken this course of action. But it is apparent that your priorities are only your daughter, whereas I need to focus on Cordonia as a whole. So, I think at this point we both need to just devote ourselves to those tasks and not worry about each other.”

It was a dismissal. A line in the sand. Whatever inner circle Liam had, Drake was no longer a part of it. He let out a sigh and swallowed roughly. “I am sorry, Liam. I just don’t know what you expect me to do here.”

“I don’t expect anything of you, Drake. You should just do what you feel is best for your family, and I will do what’s needed for our country.”

“Come on, it doesn’t have to be this way. I still want to help-”

“No offense, but a couple of fugitives are not likely to be a great resource to me at this point. This isn’t a punishment, Drake; it’s just the reality. We’ve both made the choices we needed to make, and now we both need to deal with the consequences. I need to remain focused on campaigning to regain my title, and I’m not going to have the time or energy to devote to aiding your run.”

“I’m not asking for your help, dammit. I just want-”

“What do you want, Drake? You don’t get to have this both ways.”

“I want… I want us still to be friends.”

He heard a heavy sigh before Liam spoke again. “Of course we are still friends, Drake. We just are headed in separate directions at this time, it would seem. You now have this number, though. You can reach me if you need to, and I will do the same.”

“Liam, I-”

“I wish you and your family the best; I really do. And if you change your mind, you can come find us in Lythikos.”

Drake closed his eyes. There was no salvaging this. Liam was boxing him out and closing the door. He was pretty sure having Liam screaming at him would have stung less. “Alright, I get it. Good luck with everything, okay?”

“Same to you. I really hope you don’t regret your decisions here and that you all can remain safe.” And with that, Liam ended the call.

Drake placed his phone on the bed and leaned forward, dropping his head into both of his hands. He swallowed several times, trying to break up the lump in his throat. He was very aware that although Riley seemed to be in a better spot than she was the day before, watching him cry over Liam was not going to instill much confidence. No need to make things more unsettled.

After a few moments, he took a deep breath and sat back up. Riley was staring at him, head cocked and eyes full of worry. He just shrugged and shook his head. There wasn’t much to say, really.

“Here,” Riley said, shifting forward and passing Bridget to him.

“I don’t want to wake her,” he muttered, but Riley continued, sliding Bridget into his arms before leaning against his shoulder, her hand slipping along his neck and her fingers threading through his hair.

“She’ll fall asleep in the car,” she said. Drake watched as his daughter blinked up at him, her face scrunched up like she was going to start screaming, but she relaxed and started to drift back to sleep when he pulled her against his chest and tucked his head on top of hers.

He just held her for maybe a minute, not saying anything. Riley was quiet as well, her fingers continuing to trace little patterns across the base of his scalp. Eventually, she tilted her head against his shoulder and whispered, “Do you want to talk about it or not?”

“No,” he breathed out, “not… not now.”

He felt her nodding, and her other hand settled on his knee. “Okay. Thank you, by the way.”

“Walker, it’s-”

“You don’t need to say it’s nothing. And I know you don’t want to talk about it now. So just… thank you.”

Neither of them said anything for a long while. They just sat there, trying to brace themselves for the reality of the next 24 hours. They would officially be under investigation and likely be charged with kidnapping of the queen-regent. This was the point of no return, far more than any decisions they’d made up until this point.

Oddly enough, Drake felt more confident in their plan than he had even before. As upsetting as his talk with Liam was, it had somehow helped him see why Riley was so reluctant to rely on anyone outside their family. Something about hearing Liam discuss the risks they would be facing in Cordonia as if they were nothing. As if living under the same roof as Bridget should be enough. As if they had time to wait for things to unfold. Well, it made it very clear that they saw what could be compromised and what couldn’t very differently.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but eventually Riley sat up next to him. “Did you get any sleep at all?” she asked as he turned his head to look at her.

“No, not really.”

“Well, we better get going then so we can get some coffee before we hit the road.” And with that she slid off the bed and started gathering their few bags of belongings.

She was right. It was time to move on. So he gently clicked Bridget into her new car seat and did one last scan of the room, making sure they weren’t leaving anything they needed behind.

“You ready?” Riley asked.

“Yeah, Riley. Let’s go.”

Permatag: @walkerswhiskeygirl @riley--walker @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5 @mfackenthal @thequeenofcronuts

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @ao719 @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC: @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs @drakesensworld @drake-colt-lover-99

Fight or Flight: @masterofbluff @burnsoslow @bobasheebaby @shz256 @iaminlovewithtrr

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr au #trh au #trr fanfic #trh fanfic #trr au fanfic #trh au fanfic #king liam #choices fanfiction

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sleepywinchester · 4 years

Text

Fool For You Pt. 2 ⏤ Oscar Díaz.

Summary: You are back in your hometown Freeridge to take care of your sister Jasmine and your father after being away for six years. You left Freeridge looking for a better life but in that process you had to let go of someone you loved. But you’re back and things are not the same but they sure feel like it.

Words: 4,038

Warnings: Smut (ish) - Abusive Ex Mentions

A/N: I usually don’t write smutish fics (honestlyyyy i think i suck) but I TRY. On this part things get heated and you guys can see a bit more of their backstory but there’s still so much more to be revealed. 😈

(english is not my first language, might be some typos around)

❤

The continuous loud hard knocks on the window woke you up. Sitting up from the bed you let a loud groan, glaring at your sister on the other side of the window.

“Open the door!” Jasmine shouted.

She watched you stand up from the bed. After what happened last night you didn’t want to talk about it because you are still processing it. But you knew Jasmine and she wouldn’t leave you alone until you two talked. Opening the door she barged in, standing in the middle of the room and taking a hit of her inhalator.

Closing the door you turned to see her in the eye, “¿Que?”

Jasmine’s eyes got wide open, “¡¿Que?! LAST NIGHT I CAUGHT YOU ALMOST BONING SPOOKY AND ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY IS ‘¿QUE?’ BITCH I NEED ALL THE DETAILS. ¿Cuéntamelo todo?”

You rolled your eyes walking by her, “I told you I buried that shit when I left.” Turning on the coffee pot, you turned and she was glaring at you.

“Well it seems like last night he was going to bury his D!” Jasmine shouted.

“JASMINE!” You shouted with wide eyes. “Gosh,” you leaned against the counter.

“In that spot,” she mocked and you rolled your eyes. “Okay fine, I’m being extra but this shit is huge. Like freaking Spooky and my sister? Bitch! Who knew you had it in you?!”

You cocked an eyebrow, “Had it in me? Bitch! I got needs too.”

Jasmine busted on laughter, “Yass Queen! I can’t believe you’re actually my sister!”

Shaking your head you turned and began to pour coffee. “Anyways,” you looked at her over your shoulder, “Oscar and I have a lot of history. We have known each other since we were kids. We were together until-,”

“you left his ass and went to New York City,” she cut you off completely bluntly.

Your head tilted to the left as you shrugged, “Pues si, lo deje. I wanted to leave Freeridge, I wanted so much more than just this hood.”

“And he didn’t?”

“He did,” you sighed and your head dropped. Thoughts of all that could have been rushed through your mind. You and Oscar often talked about a life together out of Freeridge but there was also one major factor in between. Turning around you met her confused eyes, “He couldn’t leave Cesar alone with his mom. She-.” It was so hard to talk about this because his story and yours reflected. “She was a drug addict.”

Instantly Jasmine’s face transitioned into a sadder one. It wasn’t about gossip anymore, this shit was real and it made her think about mom.

“I’m sorry,” you sat next to her, placing the coffee mug on the table and holding her hand. “This shit hits hard for us especially with mom…” Jasmine was holding in her tears. You felt guilty for not being here for her, she was the one dealing with mom being everywhere but her home taking care of her kid. “Perdón por no estar para ti cuando mas me necesitaste. I know you said you got it but you shouldn’t, you should be going around with your friends being as crazy and loud as you want.”

“I mean I still did that…” she smiled softly, “I just didn’t want to spoil what you had with Alex in NYC.”

“Boo,” you slightly fixed her hair, “that shit was already spoiled.”

She frowned, “What do you mean?”

“He hurt me, Jas. In so many ways and the fucked up thing is that I thought it was my fault that I deserved that until one day it got out of control and I said no mas. I remembered who I was and my value.” Your voice broke a little, talking made you think about the awful times. Jasmine holds your hand tightly. Showing you she was there for you. “I was at my lowest point but you called me and…” you smiled, “you saved me, mana.”

“I love you, girl. I’m so sorry,” Jasmine stood up from the seat and hugged you so tightly. Knowing you were unhappy and being mistreated made her mad and sad. But you were safe now and she finally had her sister back.

Hugging her built tears in your eyes, “I love you too.”

She was on her way out when she turned, “I never told you this because it didn’t really make sense but… Santos helped us so much when mom left. They are scary as hell but they take care of their own.”

Your lips created a small thin smile, “How did they help?”

“Groceries and utilities, papi’s check doesn’t cover all of it,” she shrugged. “Anyways, I’ll see ya at school, need to prep dad before leaving.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll do it. You get to school,” you told her. She smiled and walked away.

You got dressed quickly, put on a pencil skirt and paired it with a yellow blouse that had small flowers and went into the house.

“Hola pa’,” you spoke sweetly to your dad sitting on his wheelchair. He wasn’t the same man after being deployed in Afghanistan. Before the war he was the most optimistic man you ever met. He would always have the biggest grin on his face. “¿Te acuerdas cuando me ayudabas con las tareas?” You spoke as you got him ready for his day. “Those were the days and I did not even know it,” you continued. “I miss those days.”

You looked down at him, his eyesight was lost in the background, oblivious of what was happening. A part of you envied that, being able just to be numb to everything happening around.

“Jasmine?” You heard a thick Mexican accent walking inside the house.

“Hola,” you said cheerfully walking out of the bedroom to see Milagros, the woman who used to babysit you so many times as a kid was the same person who took care of your dad.

It took her a couple a seconds to recognize the little girl that had transformed into a woman. Milagros eyes sparkled when she placed the dots together. Instantly she flashed a big grin as she walked forward and wrapped you in her arms.

“¡Muchacha!” she exclaimed, “It’s been so long.”

The way she was reacting to you being home made you grin widely. Hugging her back brought memories of when she would pick you and your sister from school and babysit. Every time your mother would go away, Milagros would always be there for your family. She filled the void of not having a mother at all times.

“Estas igualita,” you grinned.

She grinned so much her eyes were difficult to find. Cupping your cheeks with her hands she placed a kiss on your forehead. “Estas hermosisima, mija.”

You shook your head, “Not as beautiful as you.”

Milagros laughed and gave you another kiss, “¿Cuando volviste chamaca?”

“Hace tres días,” you told her, “volví y I’m already working at the school teaching.”

“Siempre quisiste ser una teacher,” she grinned, “me da mucha alegría que estés de vuelta. We missed you so much.”

You kissed her forehead, “I missed you too. Take care of my pa’ por favor.”

“Pos claro,” she said glancing at your dad, “I have a full day planned.”

You chuckled and grabbed your bag saying goodbye at the same time you strolled out of the house. Couple of kids rode their bicycles by your house, all of them laughing.

As you walked down the street the events of last night appeared in your mind. The thought of that prophet trying to do something made you so nervous. But instead of drowning in your own thoughts, you decided to raise your chin and focus on other things. This was Freeridge and shit like that happened all the time.

Looking around you noticed a Santo sitting by his porch, he looked at you as he took a drag of his cigarette. Changing your eyesight to another house, another Santo catches your eye. Soon enough you noticed a good amount of Santos outside which was really rare at that time in the morning.

The sound of a car made your head turn, another Santo.

“Oscar…” you said under your breath continuing the path to school.

You had no time left to go and talk to him but it was definitely in your to do list. He had almost the entire Santo gang on subtle escort duty, all of them around the neighborhood from your house to the school.

That day you saw Cesar and his friends at school talking and mostly scheming, they seemed troubled about something.

Is he in the gang too? You asked yourself.

That wouldn’t be a surprise if he was a Santo, it was his family’s legacy to be part of that gang. Learning from the past events you left right at four after the bell rings. Once again a couple Santos were spread around the block. You smirked, shaking your head as you strolled. You wanted to be upset and even mad at him for taking what happened that night to the extreme but there was no way you could be mad at him for making sure you got home safe.

You thought that after a couple days the subtle escorts would stop but they never did. Couple weeks passed and The Santos were like clock work, always out and watching. Oscar hasn’t been seen around that much, it’s like after that night he got into a business or something. You’d lie if you say you didn’t want to see him because you did but your pride got the best of you and pulled you away from walking by his house and looking for him yourself.

When the colmado came to sight the thought of a couple things crossed your mind and you went with it. Going in Selena Quintanilla sounded on the speakers, the viejita was dancing to the cumbia behind the counter as she restocked the cigarettes. She looked at you and engaged you to dance with her. Shaking your head you said no but gifted her a smile.

“Vamos, vamos,” she walked out of the back, continuing to dance.

You chuckled and slowly following her moves, somewhere else this would be such an unusual thing. In this hood even though everyone was going through their own bullshit, they still put it aside to laugh and have fun.

Bidi Bidi Bom Bom rhythm was so contagious that La Abuelita did the infamous washing machine dance. “Come on, mija!” Her smile brought light to the store. You couldn’t leave her hanging and started to do the dance yourself. Dancing to this song brought you memories of your mother teaching these moves to you and Jasmine. You moved your hips in circular motions to the rhythm of the song.

“Se emociona, ya no razona, no lo puedo controlar,” you sang with her.

You haven’t been or felt this carefree in years, this moment filled you with joy.

“Bidi bidi bom bom,” she sang, “mijo baila con ella!”

Turning to see who she was talking to, your sight locked with Oscar’s brown sparkling eyes. You slowly stopped dancing, his grin didn’t show any of his white pearls but his eyes were so bright.

“Hey,” you fixed your hair, catching your breath.

“Muy bonita. ¿Que no, Spooky?” La viejita told him.

Oscar looked you up and down, nodding to the lady. “She is.”

She softly patted your hands a couple times, “I haven’t had that much fun in a while. Thank you, mija.”

You chuckled, “Neither have I.”

“Spooky?” She said his name walking by him, “She knows how to dance and she’s not wearing a ring. Ándale,” Her whisper was everything but a whisper which you thought was hilarious. The old lady patted his arm softly as she continued to the back of the store.

The two laughed at what she told Oscar. He had both hands inside his pockets as he reached closer to you. Seeing him made you realize you actually missed him after not bumping into him for weeks.

“What up?” He looked you in the eye.

You shrugged, grabbing a basket, “Nothing much. You?”

“Igual,” he also took a basket.

Oscar and you walked side by side around the corner store both picking similar items. This would be a perfect moment to ask him about the cholo security you felt you had as you walked on the block but you didn’t want to ruin what was going on.

“You still got moves,” he said as he got a corona from the fridge. He glanced at you, asking if you wanted one with his eyes. You nodded and he grabbed it and placed it on your basket. “La batidora siempre me volvió loco.”

You chuckled, “Everything makes you crazy, Oscar.”

Oscar smirked at your words, he grabbed a handful of limes that were right next to you. Pouring a couple of those limes in your basket as well. His chest was pressed against you, “Everything you do makes me crazy.” His whisper turned on all your senses throughout your body.

You grabbed hot sauce, looking back at him to see if he wanted any. Understanding his small nod you grabbed a second one and handled it to him.

“Any plans tonight?” He asked, grabbing nopales and placing them inside his basket. You grabbed the sweet potatoes next to them and added them to your haul.

“Aside from grading quizzes and maybe unpacking,” you turned to him, “nada.”

“You still got all those boxes laying around?” You shrugged guilty of being a procrastinator. The click of his tongue was followed by a soft chuckle. “Wanna go to a party?”

You cocked an eyebrow, “Santos party?” He nodded. “I don’t know... Don’t wanna get behind on grading those quizzes.”

“It’s all good,” he told you. Deep down he knew you weren’t the biggest fan of being around his gang and he didn’t judge for that.

The two paid and walked out of the corner store, you were holding your bags with both hands. The sunset was in full effect, pastels of pink and blue painting the sky. Oscar gazed at you as your eyes were lost in the beauty of the colors.

Licking your bottom lip, your eyes met with his. “Thanks for the protection.”

He looked away flashing a grin, “You noticed…”

“Your crew is really hard to miss,” you smiled. “Thank you.”

Oscar shrugged, “Just making sure you’re safe.”

Without asking for consent, you tiptoed your way to his cheek and placed a kiss on it. “I know,” you said, turning around and walking away. You looked over your shoulder when you felt his eyes on you. “Te veo, fool.”

“Nos vemos, fool,” he said watching you walk.

The corner store was a couple houses away from your place. You couldn’t see it but Oscar put his bags inside the car and leaned against the hood of his car. Lighting a cigarette he watched you stroll to your house and got in safely.

/ / /

Your skin felt refreshed after taking a shower and washing your hair. Only wearing a towel wrapped around your body, you began to look for something to wear.

“Where are my freaking t-shirts?” you roamed around the boxes on the floor.

There were too many unopened boxes to find the one that had your sleeping t-shirts in them. Meanwhile the ones that were open had everything but you work blouses. The Harley Davison’s ones you’ve been using have become dirty. Your eyes roamed around the floor and found Oscar’s black flannel lying by one of the boxes. You sighed walking towards it and picking it from the floor. Your finger tips instantly feeling the softness of the material. Taking a quick sniff you noticed Oscar’s scent on it and better yet, it wasn’t dirty.

“What the hell,” you shrugged, putting it on.

You could smell him on the shirt, God how much you loved his scent. Wearing his shirt made you feel close to him even though he wasn’t there with you.

Grabbing a Corona from your fridge, you took a sip from it and began to unpack. You’ve been procrastinating about it for almost weeks now but tonight was the night all of these boxes were going to be empty.

You were drinking the last of your beer when the knock on the door made you look over your shoulder and pause on the sixth box. ‘It’s probably Jasmine’ you thought, not worrying to stand up.

“It’s open, Jas!” You shouted, turning your focus back to the box of old pictures.

“Not Jasmine,” Oscar's deep voice filled the room.

Looking over your shoulder, you saw him standing by your door with one 40’s on both hands. You stood up quickly noticing how Oscar fully scanned your body. Seeing you wearing his shirt turned him on. How the shirt covered enough to see most of your thighs and legs. It helped that you didn’t buttoned the flannel all the way through, giving him a good sight of your cleavage. He couldn’t help but roam his eyes, admiring every inch of you.

Oscar cleared his throat, licking his lips before speaking. “You said you were going to be here unpacking and grading papers…” He paused, his eyes were lost on you. “Uh-,” he shook his head, “I just wanted to pass by and maybe help.”

Your eyebrows rose, “You want to help me unpack?”

“Yep,” he spat.

“Don’t you have a party going on?”

He shrugged with no worry, “Me vale. I can go if you want.”

You shook your head obviously not wanting him to leave, slowly licking your lower lip as you walked towards him. He took a deep breath once you were in front of him. You smirked, grabbing one of the 40’s, “You can stay and help. I’m actually opening the old picture box.”

He watched you turn and sit on the middle of your bed. Oscar having a seat by the edge of it. You handled him your beer for him to open and watched him twist open his.

“I was wondering where my flannel ended up,” he teased, grabbing the box next to him and opening it.

“I actually didn’t see it until today. Needed clean clothes and,” you looked down at the flannel, “this was clean enough.”

Oscar chuckled softly as he started to take out old photo albums.

“I can give it back if you want…” you teased.

He glanced at you over his shoulder, “Keep it, te queda mejor a ti.”

You smiled at his response, looking down to the photos laying in your lap. There were a couple of you with baby Jasmine in her crib. Your abuelita always got you guys the biggest and colorful bows.

Oscar looked back at the album on his hand, brushing through the pages he found an old picture of the two of you in High School. “Mira,” he said.

You got slightly up and looked over his shoulder. Oscar clenched his jaw and his breathing began to get heavy as he felt you so close to him.

Flashing a grin you chuckled looking at your younger self sitting on his lap both with big wide smiles. “This was the first day we missed school to go to the beach.”

Oscar nodded with a small smile, “Si.”

“Todo era mas fácil,” you let out a sigh.

Looking at him, Oscar continued to look at the picture with nostalgia. You wished to be able to listen to his thoughts. Once again you were unsure if you should do what you felt. Kneeling next to him, you rested your chin on top of his shoulder.

“You remember what happened that day?” you said softly.

Oscar looked over his shoulder locking his brown eyes with yours. “Como olvidarlo.”

You smirked, “We didn’t know what the fuck we were doing.”

He clicked his tongue, “We still enjoyed it though.”

“Hell yes,” out of habit your lips touched his skin for a second before placing your chin back on his shoulder glancing down to the picture.

Oscar froze, his sight going down to your lips as he licked his and looked up back to your eyes. Being that close to each other was the only approval both needed to do what both were craving. He pressed his lips with yours, his right hand grabbing the back of your neck as he kissed you with passion. Your body followed your instincts and got on top of him. His fingers roamed inside your hair as his lips moved in sync with yours.

The taste of his tongue is warm and lemon from the beer. He moaned when you bit his lower lip, listening to his moan turn you on even more. Your hands were holding the back of his neck. You could feel his hardness between your legs as you slowly moved your hips.

His hands went under the flannel shirt you were wearing, gripping on your thighs and his fingertips finally finding the thin waistband of your panties. You stood up for a second, eyes locked with his as he slid them off your body.

You wanted to tease him, you wanted him to build up the level of him wanting you. Slowly you began to undo your buttons, Oscar growing impatient.

“Don’t tease, mami,” his voice was so deep and his accent so thick it made your skin tingle. He reached a hand over to you but you stood back, clicking your tongue as you moved your index finger left and right.

“Paciencia, Oscar,” you said softly.

Oscar smirked looking down at his lap before looking up to watch flannel drop to the floor, his hand reaching your nalgas and gripping tightly, pulling you forward. Looking down to your hip, he realized the black ink still on it. “Todavía lo tienes?” Oscar’s eyes linked with yours.

You looked down to the small cross tattoo on your hip. Turning so slightly you gave him a better look of it. Oscar’s hand touched it, reminiscing of when you first got it. That night was one neither was able to erase.

“Damn,” he caressed it, “that was the night we-,”

You cut his words with another passionate kiss. He ignored his thoughts or what he wanted to say and continued tasting your lips. Oscar turned you over, laying you flat on the bed. You looked down at him, biting your lower lip watching him take his clothes off. His strong arms flexed as he crawled on top of you leaving trails of kisses all over your body, moans escaping with every kiss he left. Your lower back arched while your eyes shut to the sensation.

“Mírame,” he said, kissing right under your belly button.

Biting your lip, your eyes locked with his, “I-,” you moaned when his hands cupped your breast.

“Use your words, mi amor,” he said against your delicate skin.

His tongue danced in a way only Oscar fucking Diaz could make it dance. He knew all your spots and how to work them. Your hands gripped the sheets of your bed tightly as you bit your lips holding the loud moans that wanted to escape your inside.

“I can feel you holding your moans out,” Oscar told you, his look full of lust and hunger for you. “Let it out, bebe. Let it all out.”

“Fuck!” you let out a loud moan as he continued to eat you. In a matter of seconds he built you up back again. With every second, you could reach the stars more and more, until there was a full explosion. “Oscar!”

He kissed his way up to your lips, “Así me gusta.”

“Me llevaste a las estrellas,” you kissed him.

“Si?” He arched an eyebrow, his hand on your hip. Oscar kissed first kissed your chest, then kissed the left side of your collar bone. He left a trail of wet kisses all the way up your neck. He kissed your earlobe, you could hear his steady breathing.

“Tonight I’ll take you to the whole damn galaxy,” he whispered in your ear.

______________________________________________________________

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justanotherblonde23 · 3 years

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The Silvertongue and the Professor - Chapter 2

Author’s Note: Hello my internet buddies! Here’s the next installment of my Loki story. I was on vacation for a week, so it took me an extra little bit to put this up, but I think it’ll be worth it. Igna and Loki finally meet! Please let me know what you think. Your feedback is super helpful to me and gives me a chance to know if you all like where the story is going. Enjoy, friends!

Warnings: Maybe some language, definitely some violence

Chapter One Chapter Three

The God of Mischief looked up as he heard the door open and close. His eyes tracked the woman that entered. Well, this was different. The woman walked towards him; there was no fear in her eyes, no wariness. It looked as if she was almost...excited? She stopped in front of his cell, sizing him up. Loki did the same to her.

This woman was obviously mortal that he could be sure of. She had a petite build, with extremely pale skin; he thought she might even be as pale as he was. Her hair was, well, strange, to say the least. It was pink. He had never witnessed anyone of the Midgardian realm with pink hair before. He assumed that it must be some sort of enchantment to make it thus. Her hair was long, hitting just above her elbows in soft curls. That pale skin was covered in tattoos, all different, and yet all somehow seemed to meld together, turning her into a piece of living art. Her face was beautiful with her large deep grey eyes, the color of the sea before a raging storm. Those eyes were following his every move, taking in all he did. She had a button nose, plump lips, and high cheekbones. Her expression was serene yet intense. His eyes roved over the rest of her body, feminine curves encased in a grey professional dress, topped off with red heels that added about three inches to her petite frame. His eyes stopped midthigh; she was armed. He could at least see the slight shape of a gun, maybe a knife as well. My, my, he mused, this one is feisty. This should be at least mildly enjoyable. His eyes bored into hers, the vivid green meeting her stormy grey. He quirked a brow, waiting for her to begin.

“Loki of Asgard, God of Mischief and Lies,” the woman began.

Loki tilted his head as he listened to her words; she was speaking to him in Swedish, remarkably similar to his native tongue. She spoke like a native Swedish speaker, yet something was off. He couldn’t quite put words to it, maybe something in the accent, which confused him greatly. Perhaps she had learned it at a young age but was from elsewhere?

“Where are you from, mortal?” he queried with a sly smile.

“Sigtuna and Igna is fine; it’s a little more specific than calling me mortal,” the woman replied.

“Ah, Sigtuna, Sweden’s very first town from the last age of the Vikings, how fitting that they send you here to me. You speak like a native, but your accent is ever so slightly off. Where are you truly from?” he pressed.

“I was born and raised in Sigtuna, as I have said. I may sound different than the others, but I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been able to hear myself speak since I was five, or anyone else for that matter.”

The God of Mischief paused, he had heard rumors of such a thing, but it was a Midgardian ailment, not one of Asgard. He wondered what it was like, living in the silence. It occurred to him to ask, but he didn’t want to seem too interested in the woman standing before him. He would refrain from his line of questioning; there was a reason that she was here, after all.

“Interesting,” he murmured, studying her face. “Well, Igna, I suppose Fury has sent you here for some reason or another; best get on with it.”

Igna walked closer to him, stopping only a foot or so away, still watchful as ever.

“You let them catch you; you let them put you in this cage. It’s all too easy, far too easy. Three against one? Even with the enhanced strength of Captain America and the Ironman suit, you still could have easily won without breaking so much as a sweat. I’ve read about your kind, the Aesir; you possess far many more abilities than humanity. We used to worship you as gods, yet you are still flesh and blood as I see you standing here. Made of sturdier stock, of course, but still flesh and blood. I wonder why you let them take you, why you allowed them to throw you into a cage not designed for you. And I think you’re going to tell me.”

Mischief sparkled in his eyes as she talked. He was only killing time talking with her, staving off boredom until it was time for him to go.

“Clever girl, you see things that the others have missed. You do not underestimate me, and I wonder why. Did they send you from the lab to take a look at their newest experiment? Did they pluck you from an office to manipulate my mind? What good can you do here, mortal? At what do they think you can best me, Igna?” he hissed.

“I know more about you than anyone on this planet. I specialize in all things of the Aesir; I am a scholar that shares my knowledge with others. I do not simply see you, Silvertongue; I observe where others miss. There is a reason you chose to be here on this ship, and you are the reason that I chose to be here. As long as you are here, as I am I,” Igna replied.

“And what happens when I depart this ship, as you say I shall?”

“Then I will do everything in my power to find you once more. If you’re here, you’re up to no good. Not that I won’t be the first to admit your actions intrigue me. Have you come to rule humanity? To force us all on our knees?”

Loki smiled, almost like she was his prey, “Precisely, darling. I have come to give you the gift of subjugation. I will eliminate your needless wars, your manipulations of each other, your senseless slaughter in the name of freedom. I shall bring you all together, regardless of race, religion, or creed, and rule you. You, Doctor Andersson, will kneel before me, just as everyone else. Your mind isn’t too hard to skim, you know. I will admit that your mind is stronger than the others, but it can still be read.”

He smacked the glass close to her face, causing her to startle a bit.

“Oh, how I’ll enjoy seeing you kneel in front of me to watch you break and crumble. And once you’re broken, you shall come to me. You will come; you and I both know you will.”

“I think you may be mistaken; I have no desire to kneel, to submit, not to you, not to anyone. Enjoy the thought, though.”

A dark chuckle reverberated in his chest, oh how truly wrong she was.

“ Your defiance is amusing, my dear, but it’ll pass. In the end, there is no escaping me, you’ll see.”

Igna nodded, her eyes brightening as something flew into her mind.

“Well, I do believe I have all I need at present. I know who’s coming for you, and I know it’s soon. You’re simply wasting the clock with me. As such, I’ll be going now and see if we can’t modify and improve security around here. I’m sure Agent Barton will be here soon enough. Possibly with reinforcements too? Yes, I thought as much. It’s been a pleasure to encounter you in the flesh, truly.”

As she turned and began to walk away, a voice, an actual voice, something that she had not experienced since childhood, reverberated in her mind, filling her with icy foreboding.

“Do not fret, Igna Andersson; this will be far from our last encounter. You have my word.”

Loki watched her stop short as the words filled her mind. He saw the shiver run down her spine; he could practically feel her emotions coming off of her in waves. He would come for her; she was far too interesting to slip through his fingers. As she began to walk away, the ship shook. Igna grabbed onto the railing, attempting not to fall as the world moved around her. She turned back, catching the Prince’s eye, he smiled wickedly.

“Don’t worry, darling; I’ll be coming for you.”

The professor pulled herself forward, up the stairs, and out the door. She barreled into Steve, who caught her before she could bounce right off of him. He stooped down a bit, getting her eye contact.

“Ma’am, I’ve got to go suit up; something isn’t right here. I have to see where I can help. I don’t feel right leaving you here, though.”

She nodded, understanding his predicament.

“Captain, go, I’ll be fine; I know how to handle myself. I’ll make my way up and see where I can help, as well.”

Steve squeezed her arm gratefully before running off to do his part. Igna paused for a moment; she knew what her part was, for now. She kicked off her heels, abandoning them next to her purse; she needed to be fully able to run if necessary. Her gun came out of her holster, securely in her hands as she walked back into the room containing the god. She stood steady, careful of her step as everything shook. She looked around, scanning the area for any threats while she made her way down the stairs towards Loki. He was still in the cell, smiling delightedly, fully aware of the chaos and havoc that was happening around them.

She warily watched him; she knew someone would be here for him at any moment. Something moved in the corner of her eye, but before she could fully react, a hand shot out over her mouth, and a powerful arm snaked its way behind her arms, pulling her tight. The gun fell from her hands; the more she struggled, the harder the hold became. Fuck, she was trapped.

Loki smiled mischievously while he put a finger to his lips, motioning for her to hush. She watched as men clothed in SHIELD defensive armor made their way into the room. Her eyes widened as the God of Mischief duplicated himself, strolling out of the cage, leaving a part of himself still in there. Then it dawned on her whose ice-cold fingers were solidly clamped over her lips. It was the god himself, or at least a piece of the god. Fuck magic, fuck the spells he had woven so precisely to make all of this fall into place. This would not end well. She felt herself being backed into a corner, the world shimmering ever so slightly around her. It was transparent but felt different; there was clearly magic surrounding her. She could see out; everything was somewhat hazy, though she realized there was a distinct possibility that others were unable to see her.

Igna could do nothing but watch in horror as Thor was deceived by Loki’s apparition, effectively trapping him inside of the glass cell. Her horror overflowed as the scepter the Trickster wielded made its way through Agent Coulson, impaling him. She fought harder against her captor, utter despair rushing over her in waves as the man fell, blood making a steady stream down his mouth. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that he would not survive that wound. She was sure the scepter was woven with dark magic, dooming the one that was unfortunate enough to be at the receiving end of that weapon. Even as he gave his last hurrah by blowing Loki through the wall with that huge gun-like contraption, she knew it was the end. There were men littered around the floor, dead. Thor was blown out of the helicarrier in a prison not designed for him. Everywhere she looked, the professor saw death and destruction. Her legs began to buckle, but the presence behind her forced her to remain standing against her will.

Before she had a moment to register it, she was partially carried, partially dragged through the ship. Her bare feet repeatedly stumbled, leaving her to be dragged on her knees. She could feel the burning pain from each scrape as she was pulled along and then hoisted back up again. She kicked, bit, screamed, and struggled with everything in her, but it was no use. The god that had her in his clutches was far stronger than her mortal self. She was destined to lose this game before it had even started. As they reached the deck, Igna tried harder to fight back, struggling against his hold. He gripped her harder, those freezing hands digging into her skin. She turned with her shoulder, trying to regain some type of control, but it was as if Loki could see what she would do before she did it. He yanked her arm in the other direction, she could feel the shoulder dislocate, and her bones crack in half like a twig. She let out a scream of utter agony as the edges of her vision became fuzzy. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was Tony Stark suited up with his mask off, looking in her direction in a complete panic as she lost consciousness and was hauled onto the waiting quinjet.

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whitewitchdani · 4 years

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Laters, Baby: Chapter 12

Read Chapter 11 Here

Word Count: 1780

Pairing: Winchester!Sister x Reader

Warnings: angst, language, description of injury, mention of a serial killer

A/N: Sorry I’ve been MIA y’all. I had to go back to work and it sucked. lol. Here’s chapter 12! Let me know what you think and if you’d like to be tagged. :)

Laters, Baby Masterlist

“Simple salt and burn my ass. Did Bobby do any research on this house before he gave us this case?” You complained as you sat at the motel table doing research while Dean cleaned his gun on the bed and Sam had just finished showering.

“Why, what’s up?” asked Sam as he approached you from behind drying his hair.

“This house was the site of a serial killing. A victim of the BTK killer was killed here, oh my god.”

“No way. Really?” Sam asked as he looked at the laptop over your shoulder.

“BTK? What the hell is that?” asked Dean as he slid a magazine into place.

“Seriously Dean? He’s one of the most famous serial killers in history; he killed at least 10 people. I learned about him in one of my classes at Stanford. BTK stands for bind, torture, kill. Guy still gives me the skeeves,” you shuddered.

“Shit really? And this is a victims house?” Dean asked as he walked toward the motel table.

“Yeah checks out. And the way the people have been being attacked lines up with the way the girl was attacked and killed,” answered Sam.

“So is it the victim or BTK?” Dean asked as he walked around the table and sat down, leaning back to reach the fridge and grab a round of beers for everyone.

“Well Rader, BTK, died in prison. So there’s no reason for him to be tied to that house. I’d say it’s definitely our girl,” you replied as you accepted the beer from Dean.

“This is going to be an interesting case,” Sam said with a sigh as he took the beer from Dean and sat down. “Haven’t had a good ghost hunt in a while.”

“It says here she’s buried in the town cemetery. So, Dean, you wanna go dig her up while Sam and I go to the house?” you asked as you shut the laptop.

“Why do I always get the dirty jobs?”

“You lied to Sam and me for over 25 years; I don’t want to hear you complain about anything I ask you to do for a very, very long time,” you batted your eyes at your eldest brother.

He nodded his head at you, “Touché, kid. Touché.”

------------ Later at the house, you and Sam made sure the place was empty. The previous occupants had fled after the last attack, leaving the home vacant. It was silent in the small house, until the ring of Sam’s phone caused both of you to jump.

Sam grabbed it and looked at the caller ID, “It’s Dean.” Flipping it open, he put it on speaker and answered. “Hey Dean, did you find the grave?”

You both heard heavy breathing on the other end of the line, “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“You’re 30, Dean,” Sam rolled his eyes, “Did you burn the bones?”

“Yes I burned the bones,” he replied out of breath. “I just finished filling in the grave.”

“Alright, Sam and I will sweep the house one last time so just get back here.”

“Super.” Dean rasped out before he hung up.

Sam flipped the phone closed and turned to face you, “Well, you take upstairs and I’ll take downstairs?”

“Meet back at the front door and then we can get the hell out of here in time to hit the bar.”

Sam rolled his eyes with a smile as you ran up the stairs. You looked through the bedrooms and, finding nothing, began to trudge back down the stairs. As you hit the second step on the staircase, you felt two hands in the small of your back and before you could react, they gave you a hard shove. With a scream, you tumbled down the stairs and landed at the bottom with a thump.

Sam came scrambling around the corner to the base of the stairs to see you groaning at the bottom. “Y/N!” He rushed to your side and breathed a sigh of relief to see you were still conscious. “Are you alright?”

“Just peachy, Sam. Not like I just fell down a damn flight of stairs or anything.” You rolled your eyes at your twin. Attempting to stand, you hissed and grimaced as you put weight on your right hand, “Ah! Son of a bitch! Goddammit I think I broke my wrist.”

Your brother grabbed your wrist to examine it and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the front door slamming open. You both turned expecting another ghostly encounter, only to see your older brother strut in waving his gun around.

Dean walked in and cleared the room before looking at his siblings on the floor, “I heard Y/N scream, what happened?”

Sam helped you stand as you answered, “Well, either our girl’s tied here some other way, or there’s something else in this house. Something pushed me down those stairs and now my goddamn wrist is broken.”

“I burned those bones, there’s no way that ghost is still here.”

“Then what else could be here?” Sam crossed his arms in frustration.

“Well I didn’t throw myself down the stairs. Something is here,” you groaned as you held your wrist and leaned on Sam to stay upright.

“Good observation, Winchester.”

All three of you turned to follow a British accent towards the staircase finding a tall, blonde man standing in the middle of them. As your eyes met his, he flashed his blue eyes onyx causing every Winchester in the room to let out a collective sigh.

“Seriously? I’m gonna kill Bobby. Simple salt and burn my ass,” you repeated your sentiment from earlier in the evening.

“Don’t blame your surly hunter friend, Winchester. Before I arrived it WAS just the spirit here.” The demon began to descend the stairs as he spoke, “No I’m here for a different reason all together.”

“What could you possibly want?” you yelled.

“You, Miss Winchester. You see, our Father has issued a bounty on you. Any demon that brings you back to him alive will be rewarded greatly, and I intend to be that demon.” His thin lips curled into a sickly smile.

“Like hell.” Dean fired the shotgun into the demon’s chest, causing him to fly backwards. “Time to go.” He grabbed your good wrist and pulled you through the front door, Sam pulling up the rear.

Suddenly, Sam got thrown by a force into the lawn.

“Sam!” you yelled. You and Dean turned to look back and saw the demon in the doorway.

Your brother put an arm protectively in front of you, “You aren’t taking her to Lucifer. Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged.” The demon smiled, “Just give me the girl and no one gets hurt. For once no one gives a rat’s ass about the infamous Winchester brothers, just their whore sister who miraculously is the soulmate to the devil.”

“Hey!” You yelled at him. “Just because you’re a demon doesn’t give you license to be a dick.”

“No one talks to my sister like that.” Dean lifted the shotgun once more but with a wave of his hand, the demon flicked it out of his hands. With another wave, Dean was thrown away from you.

“Dean!” He and Sam were groaning in a heap on the lawn, leaving you alone with the demon on the sidewalk. You turned your attention to him, “I’m not going with you.”

“My dear, I don’t think you’ll have a choice. See, I’m a demon and you’re an injured, female hunter. Not exactly much of a fight,” he smirked. In a flash, he backhanded you across the face.

Your face turned to the side with the force. You looked at him wide eyed as you wiped the blood from the corner of your mouth, realizing he had a bit of a point. But you’d be damned if you went down without a fight. Bringing your leg up behind you, you grabbed Ruby’s demon knife out of your boot. You leaned forward and slashed, making contact with his arm.

“AH! You bitch! You’re lucky Lucifer wants you or I’d kill you right here.”

“Not if I kill you first you black eyed bastard.”

Fighting with your non-dominant hand was difficult, but you held your own. The demon got a few licks in, but he was no match for the knife. Dean yelled from the lawn, causing the demon to look away from you just long enough to make your move. With one swing, you brought your left hand around and plunged the demon knife into his chest, causing him to spark orange inside his vessel as he died.

The vessel collapsed on the ground as your brothers rose from it, making their way over to you. You bent over and pulled the knife from the man’s chest, the blade still smoking.

Sam got to you first, “You alright?” He grabbed your face to check the split lip and saw a bruise forming on your cheek.

“I’m fine Sam. I just need Bobby to set this stupid thing and I’ll be good as new.”

“Friggin’ demons man.” Dean growled as he made his way to the driver’s side of the Impala.

“My sentiments exactly. But Dean, Lucifer issued a bounty for me. Attacks like this are only going to get worse,” you slid into the backseat with your twin, him tending to your injuries.

“I know, kid. We’ll figure something out.”

Dean threw the car into drive and headed back to Sioux Falls. With a yelp from you, Sam set your wrist and wrapped it in a bandage from the first aid kit. You gave him a look of contempt as he did so since you A. weren’t expecting it and B. expected Bobby to do it when you got back.

“You better not have fucked that up, or I’ll re-break it on your jaw,” you smirked at your brother.

“Ha-Ha. You know it’s right; I wanted to get it set before it started to heal wrong.” He sighed, “What are you thinking Y/N/N? I can see your wheels turning.”

You sighed in return, “That I should just go to Lucifer like I planned. You and Dean are gonna get hurt soon and I don’t wanna risk it.” You replied to him lowly so Dean wouldn’t hear; he was pissed enough.

“You know that isn’t an option.”

“I know but-”

The screech of the impact of metal on metal interrupted you as another vehicle rammed into the passenger side of the Impala. The car flipped twice before landing right-side up on the side of the road, leaving all of the Winchester’s inside unconscious.

Read Chapter 13 Here

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phykios · 4 years

Text

the marble king, part 8 [read on ao3] [rated M for adult situations]

Percy wakes to the feeling of a blonde curl in his mouth, and though the taste is unpleasant, he still smiles.

Spitting it out of his mouth, he turns on his side to better face his wife, and grasps at her, but not before pausing to rub at her glowing belly. "Good morning, my love," he says, voice still rough with sleep.

Softly, serenely, she flutters her eyes open, revealing the stunning stormcloud which he so adores. "Good morning, my husband," Annabeth replies, her returning smile, while small, still bright enough to light up the entire North on its own, the Bifrost distilled in her joy.

Though he has just woken up, he feels a bit restless, but the threat of the freezing air outside of the warm blankets stops him from rising from his bed. Additionally, Annabeth has slung her arm around his side and pulled him close, and he cannot bear to be parted from her. Oh, how he loves the feeling of his wife laying next to him.

The blankets securely wrapped around him, he turns further into her, leaning over and kissing her, long and hard and deep as possible.

"Darling," she murmurs against his lips, "you know I am already with child, yes? You cannot make me pregnant again at the moment."

"Oh, I am aware," he says, caressing the swell of her stomach. "I can imagine a hundred reasons to kiss you," he kisses her lips, "to touch you," he traces the bones of her clavicle, enjoying as she shivers in response, "to make love to you, that have nothing to do with making children."

She giggles, a sweet, chiming bell, a sound which puts him in mind of the carefree girl she was never able to be, but one that he dreamed they have created together.

Out of the warmth, he reaches up his hand, brushing her hair out of her face. Normally covered, as is appropriate of a woman wed, her hair lies wild against her pillow. He strokes the soft locks and imagines their child, their little girl, all blonde curls and brilliance.

"What is on your mind, phykios ?" Anja asks.

"You," he says. "Our child. Our life. How happy I am, and how much I love you, how much I love this."

"Even in the frozen wasteland of Svealand?" she teases, her lips curling.

"Even here," he promises. "Anywhere you are, that is where I wish to be."

However, rather than reward him with another kiss, as is her wont, she frowns. "Do you smell that?"

"It is merely the fire," he comments, though when he casts a glance towards the hearth, he sees that it is cold and empty. How strange; typically one of the servants will come in and make it up each morning before they awake.

He strains his ears, attempting to catch the subtle sounds of the house as it wakes up around them. The floor creaks, the walls shift, and everything feels foggy, as though their bed has somehow sailed out into the morning sea. It all seems so close, closer than it should be, closed off in his own world with Anja.

And what is that blasted scratching?

He awoke with a start, sitting up just in time to see the blaze of the fire going up.

The maid, a woman a few years younger than him with bright, bright hair, jumped as he moved, startled.

She murmured something that he did not quite understand, but recognized as an apology. "It is alright," he said as best he could manage, the syllables of Swedish not fitting so well inside of his mouth. Alejandra had laughed at his accent the other day, but at least she was kind enough to attempt to teach him some of this strange northern tongue so he could not be so abominably rude. Annabeth--Ana Zab--Anja Elisab--whoever--had either been unable or unwilling to spare the time to assist him, and nor had her father. Alejandra was then the only other person in the manor with whom he shared a language.

He had thought it to be a trio of Latin speakers; himself, Lord Magnus' wife Doña Alejandra, and her brother, the similarly named Don Alejandro, who had both studied Latin as youths, and if their Latin failed them, Spanish itself was not so different from Italian that the two could not understand each other when spoken slowly. Percy had been terribly embarrassed that it had taken him near on six weeks in the household to put together the fact that Alejandra and Alejandro were, in fact, the same person, a Norse demigod with shapeshifting powers that could rival even Franko's. As she had explained it to him, at times she lived as a woman, and at others he lived as a man, but still remained the same person within, and Magnus not only knew, but considered it no significant difficulty. For Percy, who had seen a cow with the tail of a fish, this was not so strange.

The maid scurried away, leaving the fire to try its best to warm the frigid room.

It was freezing. It was always freezing here.

Percy, a man of the warm middle sea, was decidedly not pleased by this constant chill.

His room was well appointed, the best guest room in the manor--a Swedish monarch, Kristoffer av Bayern , himself had once slept here, as Fredrik had told him. A servant came in to tend the fire, another came in to clean. It was, short of a god's palace, perhaps the most luxurious place he had ever rested his head. Fredrik and Magnus graciously provided him with warm clothing, finer than anything he'd left behind in Constantinople. Despite the winter, food was plentiful, and he joined the noble family for every meal.

One would argue that, as an honored guest in a noble household, his every comfort seen to, surely that would have made for a happier time than trekking through the Labyrinth, or facing a Cyclops, or holding the sky, no? And yet, he was not sure if he'd ever been more miserable in his life.

He was cold and lonely and cold. He dressed as warmly as he could, in several more layers than anyone else, and still he shivered. Fredrik spoke Greek, but he had much to attend to around the manor, and spent the bulk of his free time reacquainting his daughter with the goings-on and politics of the North.

At least Annabeth was settling in well. It was hard to deny how well she fit the bitter climate. She looked beautiful against the snow and the dark wood, wrapped in fine furs. Her cheeks flushed in the cold, her blonde curls sneaking out below caps and shawls, her pale skin glowing in the warm firelight, all lovely.

She no longer resembled the legendary Theotokos, but she seemed happier than she had been in months.

Dressed in lovely garments, rich fabrics of green and red and blue, she walked through the halls of her family with her head held high, as though it were her very own palace. She was a noble lady, come home after a long, torturous absence. A princess.

It suited her.

Annabeth would have made a wonderful lady of the house--shoring up the family and all that. The marital politics of aristocrats somewhat escaped him, but it seemed the sort of thing that they would do, marrying your beautiful, intelligent cousin in order to keep your lands and titles more firmly within the family.

He knew that Magnus loved his wife, and that marrying a foreign woman had caused some local controversy, even without the general knowledge of Alejandra's alternate days as Alejandro. She had told him herself, too, that just as Percy and Annabeth had gone on a great many adventures together, so had Magnus and his partner, along that rainbow bridge that Percy could only barely see. But when he saw the cousins together, so alike in their appearance, so clearly happy to be reunited, Percy could not help but wonder if Magnus regretted his marriage at all.

Percy almost felt guilty to think of it, and not only because Alejandra was his only true friend he had here. He would never dream of disrupting their marriage. But he did not know how anyone, presented with the missed opportunity of Annabeth, could not regret his choices.

Lukas had died for that regret.

He wondered what his own regret would be, once he left this place, once he left Annabeth.

Shivering as he left his very comfortable bed, he decided to take one of the rugs with him, keeping it wrapped around him as he got dressed for the day as he did each day, feeling foolish with every layer he added. His daily routines were sparse, spending his days puttering round the manor, alternately avoiding and being avoided by the denizens of the house. He could not even go down to the lake and sit by the water, as it was simply far too cold. At the very least, none of the family had made a move to have him removed; on the contrary, he'd been informed that, in the winter, such a trip could prove to be fatal. But one day Spring would return, and he would not stay in the best guest bedroom of Annabeth's cousin's house forever.

He shuddered again as he stepped into the hall. Malaka , but he hated it here. But Annabeth was here, and he found he did not wish to be anywhere else.

It had been well over two months by now, and Percy at least knew his way to the dining hall, where the mid-day meal was served each day. As he set off, he tried to time his shivers to only when he was alone, when no other member of the household, born and bred in this bitter, bitter cold, could judge the strange foreign man who had, perhaps, outstayed his welcome.

Annabeth and Magnus were already seated at the table when he arrived, and she cast him a smile as he entered and sat down beside her. He nodded, smiling in return, feeling warm from the inside out.

Then the cousins resumed their conversation, which was quite beyond his comprehension.

Frowning, Percy took some salted fish onto his plate, and ate in silence, as he had no other option.

Alejandro arrived a few minutes after Percy, a man today, judging by his clothing and his own statement. At the very least, he had the good manners to speak to Percy over his bread.

"You are of the Eastern rites, yes?" he was saying. "Soon you shall experience a proper Catholic Christmas."

"It is much too early for Christmas, is it not?" Percy asked, frowning. Had he missed the turning of the year already? He had not thought he was so unaware of the passage of time that he had missed December entirely.

Annabeth and Magnus both frowned at them as though they spoke in secret code, as Annabeth's Latin was less than passable, and Magnus' nonexistent. Given that everyone around Percy was constantly speaking a tongue he could not understand, he did not find himself with much sympathy to spare.

"St. Lucy's feast is but three days away," Alejandra said, "and then the Christmas month shall begin."

At Percy's confused expression, he laughed; it was not exactly kind, but Percy had come to learn that the relentless teasing was how Alejandro demonstrated friendship.

He turned to Magnus, perhaps translating for his husband, and Annabeth responded in Swedish, her face contemplative. Then Alejandro said something presumably quite amusing, for they all burst into peals of laughter. Annabeth's laugh was musical, as always, bright and sparkling as a bell.

He wished he knew what the joke had been.

Shoving a slice of bread in his mouth, he prayed that it would hide the disappointment on his face from being cut out again.

"Anja," Alejandro explained, "had mentioned that the last time she had been present for St. Lucy's day, she had dressed up as the saint herself--I then volunteered to assume the role of a small, blonde girl, if no other one could be located in time."

Percy smiled, partly in thanks, but it was not the same. He had no idea what St. Lucy's day was supposed to involve, nor why Annabeth had costumed herself so, nor how it was somehow already time for Christmas--and he was not about to ask his present company.

After the meal, he and Alejandro went down to the manor's stables, as they often did. "You know," he said, as they walked across the frozen ground, "I have a half-brother who is a horse."

"I as well," Percy replied. "Two, actually, I believe."

Small talk for demigods was always something of a unique experience, and this cross-pantheon relation-building was particularly interesting. Loki could also cause earthquakes, as Percy discovered. He was glad he had found a kindred spirit, even all the way up here.

The horses were quite nice, but Percy was distracted somewhat by a group of young stablehands who simultaneously politely ignored them, while hanging on their every word and gesture from around the corners.

"What game do you think they are playing?" asked Percy absently, though whether to the horses or to Alejandro, he was not sure.

"They are watching you, my friend," Alejandro said. "They are all desperate for a glimpse, for a juicy slice of gossip to share with their friends."

Percy made a face. "Whatever for? I am not that interesting."

Laughing, Alejandro clapped him on the shoulder. "Oh, you've arrived from far away, and that is plenty interesting on its own. When I arrived with Magnus, I was stared at and gawked over for months, and no one believed I was the heir to a fallen empire."

It took Percy several moments to fully understand the extent of Alejandro's implication.

"Do people truly believe that I have some claim to the throne of Constantinople?" Such a fantasy was--laughable, at very best. "Everyone thinks so?"

"No, not everyone," Alejandro grinned. "I know perfectly well that, son of a god or not, the heir apparent of an empire could not have escaped half as well as you did." Then he paused, looking Percy up and down in a manner that felt not entirely unlike an appraisal. "But merely a minor prince, well..." Alejandro trailed off, raising an eyebrow in question.

Ruthlessly he quashed the bubbling, hysterical laughter that threatened its way up from his stomach. Someone as cunning and well-traveled as Alejandro, someone who'd spent so much time with him, thought him to be a porphyrogenitus? "That's ridiculous," he said, for it was one of the silliest things he had ever heard.

Alejandro's face fell. "No, do not say such things," he complained. "I so wanted to be right. Magnus had insisted you were merely a boring old nobleman, and I would hate to lose the bet."

Percy swallowed, suddenly overcome with anxiety over what Annabeth may have told her family about him. They knew he was a demigod of the Hellenes, of course, but perhaps she had obscured certain facts about his mortal life.

No, not perhaps. Anja Elisabet Fredriksdotter, whose family had played host to the king of Sweden in their ancient manor, she could not imply that her traveling companion was only a fisherman turned foot soldier in a failed army. What might that say about her, or her reputation?

"Well, I would hate to cause marital strife by proving anyone correct," he said with a painful smile, holding his tongue. Surely, if Annabeth had chosen not to share such information, she had had a reason, and he would not make her out to be a liar, not to her own family.

Eventually, he was able to get a straight answer regarding the Christmas season. The western Christians celebrated the birth of their god much, much earlier than those in the East, and in the cold, dark winters of Svealand, they had an additional holiday, that of the festival of light, held on December 13th, the Feast of St. Lucy that had been discussed earlier.

Alejandra stood next to her husband, smiling wistfully at the stream of little girls who walked past, garlands and candles on their heads. Percy could imagine, in his mind's eye, a little Annabeth leading the procession, blonde curls and steel eyes, so smart, so determined to seek the life that she wanted for herself. One day, perhaps sooner rather than later, her own daughter might join in the parade--another little blonde girl. A perfect child.

And Percy wanted...

No. No, he would not think on that. Already he was a shameful secret of his hostess. What would she think of him, if she knew that he dreamt of fathering her children? He could not risk her ire; should she order him to leave, he had nowhere else to go.

The lights streamed on past him, and Percy wished desperately for spring.

Christmas proved to be unremarkable, though the illicit Yule, celebrated in highest secrecy by Annabeth's family, was far more intimate. This holiday honored Odin, a godly king of the same rank and power and a little of the same personality as Zeus, but who apparently got on considerably better with Magnus and Alejandra than the lord of Olympus had with any of his mortal nieces and nephews.

He spent very little time with Annabeth these days, save for a few hours on the solstice, where they had sat together in an alcove, out of the way of the rest of the house, and did not discuss the winter council of the gods.

Neither did Percy have much taste for a Saturnalia, after the war.

Then the Epiphany was upon them, and the year had turned anew.

Percy began to spend some serious thought to what he might do when the spring came, as it inevitably would, when he could leave this place without fear of freezing from too long spent out of doors. He hoped by then, he would have learned how to cope with the knowledge that, once he departed, he would never again see Annabeth.

He had never broached the subject of payment for his services to her--he did not wish for a reward, as every moment by her side a gift. Keeping her safe had been an honor, not a chore. Yet he would need at least a little money to book passage on a ship, or to purchase a horse and some supplies. Perhaps he could speed up his departure by performing some manual labor for a local townsperson.

Percy had just begun to muster the courage to bring it up to Alejandra, hoping that she would be able to provide him some direction, when he received a summons, not from Lord Magnus, but from his uncle.

Sir Fredrik had called him to his study to discuss something that evening, and Percy prayed that he did not look too nervous. Perhaps the rumors of his birth had reached the lord of the household, and they wished to discuss the business of transferring a power which Percy did not possess. Or perhaps the truth of the circumstances of his station had finally come out, and Lord Magnus had chosen to send him away from their home. He was not certain which he would have preferred.

“Ah, Percy, come in!” said Fredrik, ushering him into the room. “Do sit down. Something to drink?”

“Oh,” he said, sliding into the chair which had been positioned in front of Fredrik’s desk. “No, thank you.” But the man had already sent along orders with a servant. What bizarre concoction would it be this time, Percy wondered. The soup made from rose flowers? The thin, foul-smelling ale which tasted of rotten bread?

While Percy waited at Fredrik’s leisure, the man in question continued to putter about his office, shuffling papers and muttering to himself in Swedish. He waited for so long, he began to wonder if Fredrik had forgotten him entirely, until a manservant reentered with two steaming mugs of… something. Percy attempted to thank the man as he handed him his drink, only to receive a rather condescending look from the corner of the man’s eye.

Cowed, he sipped his drink, preparing himself for the worst.

Yet--oh, what a pleasant surprise! The drink was hot, but sweet, with a splash of spices and a softness which hid the bitterness of the alcohol that ran through it. The sharp smell reminded him of the trees which surrounded the manor, fruit on a cold winter’s morning.

“Pardon me,” he said, “but what is this beverage?”

“That, my boy, is a cider,” Fredrik replied, settling down at his desk. “I take it you prefer this to ale, yes?”

Indeed. Rather than answer, he took another deep, deep drink, letting it warm him all the way to the tips of his toes.

“Now, then,” said Fredrik. “There are several things I wish to discuss with you.”

Percy straightened. “Yes, sir.”

Tapping his fingers against his desk, he peered at Percy over the rim of his glasses. “Over the past few months I have had the opportunity to observe you and your character, and you seem to me to be a good, upstanding young man. Now, I must be truthful; I recognize that we have perhaps, ahem, sped things up quite a bit more than one usually would in situations such as these, but as time is of the essence, I shall be brief, and speak plainly: would you, Perseus, be amenable,” he asked, “to marrying my daughter?”

Uh.

Oh.

Well.

“I… beg your pardon?”

Nonplussed, Fredrik rearranged several papers. “I have previously discussed it with her, and she has agreed to the proposition. She was quite insistent that we consulted you before any decision was made, of course.”

It seemed that the cold had frozen all of his mental faculties, bringing his thoughts to a grinding, stuttering halt.

Percy had come up against a wide, wide range of peculiar situations in his short life. He had been stared down by gods, monsters, and all manner of supernatural entities, most of which wished him fatal injury. He had been accused of, among other things, stealing the most powerful weapon in history, then a mere four years later, had been offered the gods’ rarest, most precious gift. He had witnessed, firsthand, the passing of an age and the end of the greatest empire known to man.

Absolutely none of it had prepared him for this moment.

“I…” He did not even know where to begin with such a request. “I… think, sir, there may be some confusion.”

“Nonsense,” Fredrik scoffed, reminding Percy eerily of his daughter. “What confusion could there be?”

What confusion? What of the fact that Percy was entirely unfit to be anyone’s husband, let alone Annabeth’s? “I am aware,” he said, slowly, “that some people have… perhaps loftier impressions of myself and my station than what may be accurate. Whatever you may have heard, unfortunately, I carry no blood claim to the Palaiologoi .”

Fredrik blinked, taken aback. “I had not heard such a rumor,” he said. “I do apologize if anyone has treated you strangely due to such misinformation.”

“I carry no claim to any sort of titles at all, truly,” Percy said, pressing the truth of the matter. “I am no prince nor royal bastard, no lord nor duke, but merely a fisherman and a foot soldier of the allagion .”

“And a son of Poseidon,” Fredrik added. “Lords and dukes can only dream of a peerage such as yours, my boy.”

As flattering as that was, Percy felt it was somewhat beyond the point. “What I mean to say, sir, is that there is not much I could offer your daughter by way of marriage.” Naught but his heart, a devotion and passion equal to the power of a thousand suns, but such things were immaterial, and not usually considered in terms of a marriage contract. “I have no titles nor lands, no family--I haven’t even a lira to my name.”

“You need not concern yourself with the finances,” Fredrik said. “Anja herself possesses a considerable dowry--one or two tracts of land granted to her by my late brother which can be cultivated or exchanged as the two of you see fit.”

“I--be that as it may,” he stammered, floundering for some sort of purchase in this odd dream into which he had entered, “it was my understanding that Annabeth did not, precisely, wish to be married.” He kept the “ to me ” quiet, unsaid.

Not only had she certainly not been the greatest devotee of Hera, patroness of marriage, but the only time she had ever brought the topic up in conversation had been in reference to making herself Empress. Why on Earth would she agree to such a contract with Percy?

Fredrik sighed, removing his glasses and placing them on his desk. “How much has Anja spoken of our relationship?”

“Only the broadest strokes,” he said, a trifle embarrassed. He did not wish to divulge the deepest secrets of her unhappy childhood to the man responsible for much of it.

“Tell me, Perseus,” said Fredrik. “Do you have any children yourself?”

“No, sir,” Percy said, unsure of the direction of this conversation. “Not to my knowledge.”

Frowning, thoughtful, Fredrik held Percy in place with his keen eyes, so like his daughter’s. “While I love my sons, I would be remiss if I did not confess my numerous sins regarding the health and well-being of my first child. When the lady Athena gifted me with Anja, I had just returned from my stay at an English monastery, where I had been consulting with several of the monks there. I was a young man, not so much older than yourself, and in a similar financial predicament. My brother did not approve of my scholastic desires, and so provided me with little assistance. My union with Mary was, in part, an attempt to provide Anja with certain things she had never known before: namely, a mother, someone to whom she could turn whilst I was otherwise occupied. Unfortunately, as you well know, that is not how she saw it. And so, in my negligence and ignorance, what I thought was the right choice for her was merely the impetus she finally required in order to make an attempt for freedom.”

Somehow, Percy could not imagine Fredrik as a young man, so weighed down by years and years of regret and sorrow.

“I never imagined I would see her again; my Anja. I had presumed that she was lost to me forever, and then, once word of the defeat of Constantinople had reached us… Well, I had resigned myself to the fact of her death. It was a near inevitability. And then, you presented me with a miracle: Anja returned to me, and with forgiveness in her heart.” Then he smiled, and the years seemed to fade from his face. “I love my daughter, and I swore I would never do anything to lose her goodwill ever again. Unfortunately, as you and I well know, though she certainly would be able to live well and peacefully on her own, it can be rather difficult for an unmarried woman to make a name for herself. It can be done, and it has, but the presence of a husband can grease certain wheels, give her access to social circles in which I know she shall thrive. And there are other things to consider as well.” Shuffling the papers on his desk, he pulled one forth, squinting at it. “My wife has informed me that several young men in Uppsala have expressed their interest in marriage with Anja. The politics are long and tedious, so I shall not bore you with them, but you and I can both agree that she deserves to be more than a bargaining chip in a bloody conflict.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, for what else could he say? Percy would give her the world, if she but asked him to.

“I intend to remove her from the conflict entirely,” Fredrik went on. “And for that, we have agreed, there is no one better suited to the position than you: a friend and ally, and someone who will not press her to do anything which she does not want for herself.”

Even seated, his hackles rose at the thought.

As he fought valiantly to keep hold of his father’s legendary temper, Fredrik must have mistaken his silence for reluctance. “This arrangement is not agreeable to you?” he asked, concerned.

“Oh--no, sir, not at all--it is very agreeable, yes,” he rushed to assure him. How could he possibly explain that the man had just offered him his wildest, most precious dream, wrapped sweetly in a perfect little package? Every inch of him screamed to accept it. “I merely… do not know what to say.”

He wanted to say yes. Oh, how he wanted . He wished to wake up to her hair in his mouth, to her blinding smile in his bed, to take her in his arms and demonstrate the extent of his affection and passion for her. He wished for her every waking moment, every hour and minute of her presence, even if just to bask in the simple fact that he shared it with her. A lifetime with Annabeth, spent in the frozen North of Svealand--a better reward than anything any god had ever offered him.

“I…”

Yet, he faltered.

“If… if possible, sir, I should like to speak to Annabeth before any arrangements are finalized.”

Frowning lightly, Fredrik nodded. “I understand, though I do urge you not to linger too long on this decision. There are more things here at stake than perhaps you or I realize.”

If he had not spent so much of his adolescence as a demigod, he thought, such a vaguely ominous warning would have caused some concern. But it could not bother him now.

“I will speak with her today or tomorrow, sir.” Percy promised, though it was all he could do not to accept his offer right at this moment, to run from this room, find her, and kiss her. “As soon as possible. I merely wish to discuss with her directly regarding her expectations.”

At that, Fredrik grinned a little, humor peeking out from behind his stern exterior. “Good man,” he said. “With that attitude, I am certain you will go far as a husband.”

In something of a daze, Percy wandered his way back to his sleeping quarters, his thoughts racing faster than Apollo’s chariot, turning every word of his conversation with Fredrik over in his mind, digging for any possible double-meanings. And yet, the meaning seemed perfectly clear: Annabeth and her father had discussed her prospects, and had come to the conclusion that marrying Percy was the proper course of action.

In his experience, such a boon never came without a price. It was something Annabeth herself had told him, once upon a time: there was no such offer so duplicitous as a free meal.

When he entered his room, he found the subject of his contemplations waiting on him there. “So,” Annabeth said, keen eyes piercing straight through to the heart of him, “I take it my father spoke with you?”

Wonderful; he did not need to catch her up to the situation at hand. “I did,” he said, an inexplicable irritation surging through him. “Though perhaps ‘ambushed’ may be a better term for it.”

She pursed her lips, but said nothing.

He knew, in his soul, that he should not speak to her like this, that he was more than capable of carrying out such a conversation with logic and reason--but month after month of freezing weather, strange food, and being stared at like an animal cage had taken its toll, and he found his patience had worn a bit thin. “Had I realized you were so keen on marriage,” he said, “I would have endeavored to bring you home sooner. Your father tells me there are several gentlemen all vying for your hand.”

“My step-mother’s doing, no doubt,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Were it my decision, I would not be in this predicament, I assure you.”

As he had suspected. “Well, then I suppose I should be grateful that, if you ever deigned to marry, I would be amongst the preferred candidates.”

Her mouth twisted, no doubt a clever retort just about to trip off the tongue, but, clenching her jaw, she wrangled it in. “I know it is in our nature to quarrel with each other,” she said, “but I would have your cooperation in this. If you agree, we shall be married; if you do not, we shall not. Surely it is within our power to make it so simple?”

There were many, many things he wished to say to her, beginning with how he did not appreciate being put on the spot in that manner, and ending with how marrying her would be the greatest achievement of his lifetime, but, curse of the demigods, his mind raced far ahead of his mouth, and all that came out was a statement only tangentially related. “I am not a farmer,” he blurted.

She raised her brows. “Beg pardon?”

“I--” he rubbed a hand over his face, attempting to pluck the words from the typhoon of his thoughts and feelings, “you know that I am only a foot soldier, yes? A foot soldier and a fisherman. Yes, I can claim the mantle of a hero, but what good does that do beyond the confines of the agoge ? What could I possibly bring to the table? I do not know how to work the land, or manage assets, or--or be a husband.” And therein lay the truth, that he could not be the type of husband she would deserve. He could be a friend, an ally, and a traveling companion, and there their paths would branch off, leading them down two very different destinies.

No matter how fervently he desired otherwise.

Annabeth let out a breath. There was raw, naked pity on her face, as though she had not considered he could feel this way. “You will not have to do any farming yourself,” she said, slowly. “There are people we could hire, help that we could bring in to manage all the things that we have no knowledge of. We could sell the land and use the money for something else entirely. And as for being a husband,” she bit her lip, shaking her head minutely, “you have been the most stalwart, steadfast friend a person could ever have. I imagine that a husband would require much the same qualities.”

That much was true, yes. Percy had experienced for himself two very different kinds of husbands, the ill-tempered and devoted, the creature of harsh words and the man of warmth and comfort, the monster of Percy’s childhood and his mother’s second husband. He thought of Paul, his easy understanding and his willingness to believe the wild yarn his wife had spun for him. To be a man like that, Percy felt that was a task he could manage, yet there were other things Paul had provided his wife… things that Percy did not know if Annabeth wanted from him.

Swallowing, she tilted her chin up. Her eyes were glassy, shining in the candlelight. “I know this must not be what you had envisioned,” she said, speaking slowly as though she were choosing every word after much deliberation, “but there is… of the options provided, there is no one else to whom I would rather be married. I know you would treat me kindly, would be my friend and confidante; what more could any wife wish for?”

Ah. Now he understood.

“Very well.” Percy held out his hand to her. “I formally accept your proposal.”

Percy was her tether to freedom. Presented with the inevitability of marriage, Annabeth had chosen the least undesirable path, a man who would, at the very least, not forcibly tie her to the hearth and home.

Well, if that was the only service he was to provide for her, then provide it he could.

With only a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand, and they shook on it.

***

Several weeks later, they were married.

Percy had volunteered his services as best man to several of his fellow soldiers in Constantinople; it felt very strange to be on the other side of the festivities. Still, the ceremony itself was quite similar to the ones he had witnessed before. Considerably less icons, however. Given how the Eastern Romans had fought tooth and nail for their icons, to be married without them felt nearly like a betrayal, even though he put no stock in such things.

Notice of their wedding had been posted on the church door of the little town nearby, in order to give people time enough to find reasons to object, should there be any. “Sometimes,” Alejandra had explained, “a man or a woman will have a number of wedded partners in a number of different towns; this gives a jilted lover the chance to come forward and name the philanderer publicly. Usually, though, it is to confirm that the two who are to be wedded are not so close in blood.”

Percy cast a thought to his convoluted family tree, and decided not to think on it further.

He had nearly laughed, though, when the priest had asked him if there were any sins he wished to confess before he was wed. His sins against the church were varied and extensive, as were Annabeth’s; in all ways, save the most obvious, one could say that the two of them lived in sin together. He could not truly tell, but he thought he may have seen her suppress a smile out of the corner of his eye.

She looked lovely that day--as she did all on days--but on her wedding day, she had arrived in a royal blue dress that made his heart pound and his palms sweat, nearly the same darkness as the shawl he had gifted her, dark against her pale skin. Her hair had grown much longer since her ill-fated cut, and had been cleaned and maintained by her maid, looking even softer and more golden than it usually did, falling down over her shoulders, a garland placed on her head.

There, in front of the gathered assembly, he vowed to honor, obey, have and hold until death, and slid a ring onto her finger. The priest conferred unto him a kiss of peace, and bade him to do the same to his wife. To Percy’s credit, he restrained himself from pulling her into his arms, and merely placed the absolute chastest of kisses on her lips. After the appropriate amount of time, Annabeth pulled back, her face a pristine mask, and Percy prayed that he had the same amount of composure.

The celebratory feast, unfortunately, would prove to be much more difficult.

Alejandro, merry on spiced wine and in his volunteer function as best man, had corralled the guests into a little wedding game which came from Anglia. The cooks had made enough buns and spice cakes to feed a small army, and, in a fit of insanity, the assembled party decided to stack them on top of each other, creating a sizable tower of buns, nearly as tall as Annabeth. “There we are, lovebirds!” he crowed in Spanish, as he was too inebriated for Latin, slinging his arm around Percy’s neck. “Here are the rules: you must kiss one another over the tower, and if it does not fall, your union will certainly be blessed!”

The crowd, having finished their construction, took up the call, cheering them on, Alejandro physically dragging Percy up out of his seat, and pushing him towards the tower. Magnus was doing much the same to Annabeth, steering her to the other side.

“Alejandro, I--I cannot--”

But whatever excuse he tried to invent was lost over the approving jeers and cheers of their audience. Though he could not understand their words, he knew precisely what was required of him here.

Across the tower, Annabeth was flushed, with drink or embarrassment or cold, he could not tell, but she looked on him with expectant eyes, and he knew she was smart enough to have come to the same conclusion. To refuse to take part in this little game would be foolhardy, at best.

Up close, the tower of baked goods was not nearly so tall as it had seemed, and it was easy for him to lean down without disturbing the construction of food. On her side, Annabeth had closed her eyes, her lips parted, waiting for his to fall on her.

By his count, this was now their third kiss. Perhaps it was to be their last. He would savor it then, he told himself, commit to memory the softness of her lips and the redness of her cheeks, her long, golden eyelashes resting against her skin.

A great, raucous cheer went up from the crowd, and they pulled apart, greeting their audience with bashful smiles.

Percy turned, ready to apologize to Annabeth for all of this. But he held his tongue when he saw the bright smile on her face. He knew her fake and forced smiles, this was not it. She was happy. And he could pretend, at least for a moment, that it was because of him, and not because of the clever situation she’s managed to get herself into.

Eventually, the celebration ended, and they had to retire to bed. Percy had started down the hallway to retire to the guest quarters, until Annabeth had looked at him oddly, and he was suddenly reminded--of course, they were now married. They would be sharing a bed from now on.

The very thought sent a shiver down his spine.

They had shared beds before, hundreds of times. On this journey alone, they had shared the bed of many an inn, simply to save money. For some reason, this time felt different.

Annabeth’s room was not so different to his own; a little larger, perhaps. Fredrik, Magnus, and Alejandro saw them off, Fredrik embracing his daughter and kissing her forehead. He whispered something to her in Swedish, and she nodded into his chest, sweetly. Then he looked at Percy, gave him a solemn nod, and departed.

Now they were alone.

The fire in the hearth had already been lit--and had been for a while, judging by the size and heat of the flame. That must have been why Percy suddenly felt hot beneath all his clothing.

“Well,” he said, wandering to the other side of the bed. The room had no echo; it made it feel smaller, somehow. “I imagine that was not how you had envisioned your wedding, yes?”

She did not respond.

The heat of the room was bordering on suffocating. How odd, since he had only ever known the climate to be perpetually frozen. To alleviate this, he removed the outermost layer of his clothing. “Certainly it is not what I thought mine would be. In truth,” Percy said, filling the silence with his babble, “I had not thought that I would ever marry. Not because I detested the very idea, mind you,” he rushed to confirm, “but, you know how few of us reach the marriageable age in our line of work. It always felt like some sort of far-off dream to me. Yet, here we are! How amusing, yes?”

Still nothing.

He turned to her, then yelped. “Oh, forgive me! I had not realized--”

“It is fine, Percy,” she said, lowly. “We are married now; it is no sin to look at me undressed.”

While he was not looking, she had shed her clothes as well, folding her dress neatly for someone to claim later. Her underclothes were white, made of thick, sturdy material, perfect for cold, winter days.

“Still,” he said. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You have not.” From behind, he watched her shoulders rise and fall as she sighed. “When I thought of my wedding,” she said, after a moment’s silence, “I did not think it would have so many Catholics.”

Percy laughed, a sound startled right out of his chest. “I as well!”

She chortled, too, causing the fabric of her dress to ripple. “If you must know,” then she turned to him, her hands deftly winding her hair into a braid, “I used to dream about being married in the ways of the shieldmaidens.”

Sense memory, he remembered the feel of her stiff, bloody hair in his hands, gently twisting it this way and that. His fingers twitched. “What,” he coughed, “what did the ways of the shieldmaidens entail?”

He wondered for a moment, given the story she had told him of Katya and Clarice, if that was what she had meant by the ways of shieldmaidens, and if she had dreamed of that, when she had not dreamed of Lukas instead.

“Sacrifices, ritual baths--what one might expect from a wedding.” She tied the end of her hair off with a length of leather cord, the braid coming to rest over her shoulder, the tip of it tickling the neckline of her dress. “When the bride and the groom met in ceremony, they would exchange their weapons with one another.”

He nearly laughed, it seemed so in line with all that he had learned about the northern raiders. "Quite befitting a warrior’s culture," he mused.

Nodding, she stepped closer towards the bed, though she made no move to lie down upon it, instead leaning against a bedpost. “The groom would present the sword of his ancestors which he had unearthed from the family tomb; in turn, the bride would gift him a weapon as well.” Weakly, she attempted a smile, though it looked to be more of a grimace to Percy’s eyes. “My father once told me that he had gifted my mother a weapon such as this. Unfortunately, she was not so familiar with the custom, and so would not accept it.”

Her lips turned downwards, her whole posture sagging with a muted sorrow.

Oh, why not. “We both have our own ancestral weapons,” he said. “If you are amenable, we could exchange them now.”

She flicked her eyes up to him.

“It is no trouble for me.” If it would make her smile, he would take Anaklusmos and toss it into the hearth itself. Lending her his sword for a while was nothing.

She studied him, her lips thin as they pressed against each other. “You truly would not mind?” she asked. “I know it is a silly tradition.”

Rather than answer, he pulled his sword from his belt. The magical item, when not in use, took the form of a key, for ease of portability. Whispering its name, a powerful summons, it grew into the long, leaf-bladed xiphos his father had gifted him, and he held it out to her, hilt-first.

“Anja Elisabet Fredriksdotter,” he said, these strange syllables finally at home on his tongue, “I offer you my sword.” He did not know if the words were correct, but he prayed that they would suffice.

Across the bed, her large, grey eyes shone in the firelight. Her mouth quivered with furiously checked emotion, and she had to turn to hide her face, snatching something out of the bundle of clothing she had discarded. When she turned back, she had not regained her composure--not one bit. “Perseus thalassinos ,” she murmured, holding out her knife towards him, hilt-first, just as she had so many months ago, in the middle of nowhere with dead men at their feet, the highest act of trust she could muster. “I offer you my sword.”

Over the bed, they exchanged their weapons.

Taking the bronze knife in his hand, he felt different, somehow. He felt as though he had passed through a door of some kind, had crossed over into a newer, stranger world, and yet, he felt no danger, for he had a partner at his side, one who would see him through all senses of conflict.

Brandishing his weapon, Annabeth took one look at it, then promptly burst into tears.

Percy dropped the knife. It clattered against the cold stones, forgotten. “Annabeth,” he asked, rushing to her side, “Annabeth, what is wrong?”

Drawing in a shuddering breath, she shook her head, her whole body trembling as a tree caught in a mighty storm. Fearful that she would accidentally hurt herself, he plucked the sword from her grasp, tossing it carelessly aside, and gently wrapped his hands around her upper arms.

“Annabeth, what is it?”

She grasped him in return. Her grip was always strong, and now her fingers dug into his muscles, squeezing him tight. “I--” she sobbed, “I--” Her chest was seized with hysterical breaths, her eyes shut tightly. “This is--I--it was not supposed to be like this,” she gasped. Tears flowed freely from beneath her eyelids, glittering like crystals in the firelight.

“I know,” he breathed. “I know, and I am sorry.” Sorry that she was stuck with the likes of him. She could have had her pick of the world--lords and emperors and whoever else--and somehow, she had the misfortune of being tied to him.

“No, it is not--” she wept. “Silena, we had al-always spoken of--and you have been so kind and--and understanding, but I--we--and I dragged you halfw-way across the world, but I know you h-hate it here--”

“I do not hate it here,” he protested, even though it was true.

“I had thought m-my wedding would be held at the camp.” Were he not listening so intently, he would not have heard her words, warbled and warped as they were by her heaving sobs. “On the b-beaches of Troia , and my m-mother would be there, but she is gone , and camp is gone, and--I--I just--”

“I am here,” he murmured, squeezing her shoulders. “Oh, Annabeth, I am here.”

She opened her eyes, grey storm clouds glinting with lightning.

“It is alright,” he told her. He understood her feelings well; not a day had gone by without a thought to the whereabouts of their friends, of their family. But here they were, together, and that was all that mattered. “You are not alone,” he swore . “I will stick by you, I promise.”

With a trembling sigh, she threw her arms around him. He pressed her close, his arms coming up to circle her torso, holding her to his chest. “I am sorry,” she gasped, “I am so sorry.”

“It is alright,” he said, a hand coming up to the bottom of her neck to better support her. “You do yourself no disservice.”

“N-no, it is not--” she shuddered, a localized earthquake within his arms. “The marriage,” she said, “it is not--not legal unless we--we--”

He knew precisely what she was going to say, and though his heart surged at the idea--and he was certain she could feel it, pressed so close to him as she was--his mind, thankfully, was in control for the time being. “Absolutely not,” he said. “Not tonight.”

That seemed to shock her out of her panic. She stilled in his arms, her wails subsiding.

Poor thing, she must have been so worried that whoever she married would attempt to force her to fulfill the marriage contract. Once again, he cursed the whole damnable institution; he knew so often that women had so little say in matters of the flesh. Well, Percy was not like other men, and he would not take something which she was not prepared to give. He would not do that to any woman, let alone one whom he loved so deeply.

She pulled back. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. “It is our wedding night,” she said, dumbly.

“Yes,” Percy agreed, “but we do not have to do anything that you do not want to do.”

“But it is our wedding night,” she insisted.

“I know.”

“Our marriage is not legal if we do not.”

“I understand.”

“But…” she blinked, casting about for her words. “But…”

“We can claim that the festivities left us too exhausted to do naught but sleep,” Percy said. “Or we can claim that we consummated the marriage anyway. Surely your father will not check your sheets for blood.”

Dumbfounded, she gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing around nothing. Percy had grown to rather enjoy rendering her speechless, though this time around, it left something of a bad taste in his mouth.

“I do not think we should do anything tonight,” he said. “To take advantage of you… of anyone this way, would be a most unforgivable sin.”

He had thought she would agree. Surely he had assuaged her worries.

Instead, her eyes narrowed. “On the contrary,” she said, her voice still thick with tears. “I believe we should consummate the marriage tonight.”

“Annabeth--”

“You think I am too weak to fulfill the marital contract.”

“Of course not,” he scoffed.

“Then there is no reason to delay,” she said. “And, moreover, I…”

Trailing off, her cheeks filled with blood. Percy’s heart throbbed in his chest, deafening.

“I… I want it,” she said, a whisper on a breeze.

Helpless, he could only watch as her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“Do you… do you not?”

Beneath his vision, he could just barely see her bosom as it moved in time with her breathing. Oh, Anja, he wanted nothing more in the world than you at this moment!

She shuttered her eyes closed again, as though she were in pain. “I am sorry,” she repeated--for what, though, he could not imagine. “But I am afraid that… that if we do not… then some would see our union as--as invalid.”

The bubble of fantasy burst, and reality set in.

Of course. Politics and power-broking. To save herself, she would give herself to him. To protect her, he had to let this happen.

It was the easiest choice he ever made.

Bending his neck, he leaned down, and he kissed her.

As a flower in the dawn, she opened herself to him.

Her mouth was warm against his, her lips soft. Through the fabric of her dress, he could feel every muscle as she pressed up against him, could feel her breath hitch as he laid her down on the bed, as his hands pushed the hemline of her nightclothes up her thighs.

It felt as though every choice he had ever made, every path he had ever taken and every one he had ever shunned, had led to this moment, to Annabeth, panting and hot beneath him. Percy had been lucky enough to be the paramour of goddesses, disciple and student both, and now he had a chance to demonstrate what he had learned. If she were to be tied to him in this way, if this were his only chance to show her how he truly felt, then tonight, he vowed, he would make it worth her while.

She tasted just as sweet as he had dreamt she would. Her cries of passion, more beautiful than any music he had ever known.

And when he entered her, her scrunched face and wrinkled nose relaxing into slack pleasure, he held himself still, gazing on it, committing every single detail to his deepest, most sacred memory.

They moved together. Over and over again, they moved together, her legs slowly traveling up the backs of his thighs, ticklish and feathery. “Percy,” she gasped, one of his hands coming up to cup her breast, the other hard at work at the apex of her thighs. “Percy!”

“Anja,” he murmured into her neck. “Anja.”

With a wail, she tossed her head back, her braid loose and messy against the pillows, her legs tightening about his waist.

He could not stop himself even if he wanted to. And he did not want to.

Close behind, he followed her over the edge, hissing through his teeth as they took the plunge together.

It could have been days until Percy came back to his senses, days spent in the Elysium of Annabeth’s embrace. Her heartbeat was as ragged as his, and they beat in twain, a call and an answer.

Then she shifted beneath him. “Percy.”

“Oh.” He untangled himself from her, his limbs suddenly so awkward and gangly, pulling himself out and away, then lay down next to her, his hot, sweaty skin suddenly freezing in the cold air.

And there it was. Something of a lifelong dream, fulfilled.

Now if only he could discover why he felt so empty.

After a while, Annabeth threw back the sheets, and got out of bed. Percy tried not to linger too much on her bare form, even as he marveled how she was able to withstand the cold without so much as a protective shift. Then she bent over, picking something up from the floor, and Percy, only a mortal man, he could not resist.

Gods above, she was truly the most stunning creature ever to walk this earth. Every inch of her seemed to be perfectly crafted to send him into a frenzy of passion. So intent was he on taking in the whole beautiful picture that he nearly missed the trickle of something down the inside of her legs, belatedly realizing what it was.

He had to physically tear himself away, flopping himself back down on the sheets, to put that thought to bed. Demonic harpies , he chanted to himself. Stymphalian birdsong. Lord Dionysus in a pankration . Anything which would stop his baser instincts from manifesting themselves.

So focused on his own body was he, he did not notice what Annabeth was doing until it was much too late. “Annabeth,” he gasped, “what--”

But she had already used her knife to cut her hand, letting dark blood drip onto the white sheets. “There,” she said. “Now no one will have cause for doubt.”

He moved to leave the bed himself. “Let me see your hand--”

“It is fine,” she stopped him, already wrapping it up in a length of cloth she had ripped from her underclothes. “It shall cease to bleed by morning.”

“I am sorry,” he said, though he was not certain which sin required her forgiveness. “I did not mean to…” To what? Break her heart? Plant his seed? Fall in love? He had not meant to do any of these things, yet still, they had been done, and could not be undone. But, there was one thing for which he could apologize. “I am sorry that you must bear this burden,” he said. “It is not fair to you.”

“As I said,” Annabeth replied, slipping back beneath the covers, turning away from him. “It is fine. Good night, Perseus.”

Then silence reigned in the bedroom.

Percy could not fall asleep for a long, long time.

#my fic #the marble king #percabeth #pjo #the rivalry ends here #darkmagyk #another doozy

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deputyrhiannonhale · 4 years

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Nodus Tollens Chap 3

(ooc) here is the third installment of my story! Same general tags apply, especially canon-game violence and strong language.

chapter 1 chapter 2

tagging: @ja-crispea @dieguzguz @f0xyboxes @shelliechen @returnofthepd3 @deputy-janai @deputyjessicaquinn @xbaebsae @veinereastath @sharky-broshaw @shallow-gravy @ec-10 @hopecountygazette @ramadiiiisme

Rhi was on an ATV flying down the road putting as much distance as she could between herself and the Holland Valley. She was well aware that if John wants her there, he’s definitely got a way to get her there. Tom was nice enough to tell her the way off Dutch’s island, but said he would rather stay back and make sure Dutch stays covered. Rhi thanked him for his help and made her departure.

Her hazel eyes were now searching the sides of the road for any dangers, animal or otherwise when she spotted another person on their knees in front of a cult member. She pulled out her gun, firing a warning shot before skidding to a stop nearby. Gunshots whizzed by near her head and she cursed as she tumbled off the ATV and she hid behind the tree, taking deep breaths. A warning shot was the wrong method to use, she realized now, it’s becoming glaringly obvious that she is going to have to shoot to kill everytime and that epiphany caused Rhi to sigh heavily.

Rhi peeked around the trunk in time to see the woman she was trying to save sweep the legs of the cult woman out from under her and she crashed to the ground hard. Rhi took the moment to run over and finish her off with a single shot to her head. Rhi then doubled over, she really hadn’t been prepared for this kind of buffoonery when she transferred here from Billings. She hadn’t even had to use a weapon until she got here.

“I can see you’re working through an existential thing, but could you give me a hand here?” The lady on the ground inquired, rolling onto her side to reveal her hands were bound. Rhi let out a surprised noise, brushing her brown hair from her face.

“Fuck, I am so sorry!” She exclaimed while moving to kneel beside her and deftly untie her wrists, the woman laughed good naturedly.

“It’s ok...it’s an odd situation here.” She conceded while rubbing her wrists and standing up and taking the rifle off of the cult woman. “She ain’t gonna need this anymore.”

“Odd is an fucking understatment.” Rhi agreed, searching the body for handgun ammo, and cursing when she found none, and the woman laughed again, nodding.

“Oh, if you’re needing any assistance, that Boshaw fellow is close by. When he found out what was going on he started laughing like a crazy man.” Rhi looked up from her knelt place on the ground, hazel eyes wide and her heart rate sped up when she heard Boshaw. As in Sharky Boshaw? Rhi knew she would probably have to face him again eventually, but she was caught off guard that it would be so soon. “Grabbed a propane tank and ran towards the Moonflower Trailer Park...what? You ok? Looks like you just saw a ghost.” The woman asked, and Rhi half nodded, waving her hand dismissively.

“I’m great...just...stunned.” She partially lied, standing to her full height and brushing off her knees, and gave the lady a weary smile. “The trailer park you say. Right up that road there?” Rhi asked, thumbing over her shoulder at the dirt road off to the left, and she nodded affirmation. Rhi groaned inwardly, how would seeing Sharky again after all these years be?

Rhi sighed, as she dismounted her ATV, looking at the trailer park in front of her, placing her hands on her hips. She was not ready to go in here, meeting Sharky again after so many years was sure to be...eventful, to say the least.

After their first and only interaction when she was 16, Sharky actually helped mold her future, not that he knows that. But little rebellious Rhi meeting someone who actually was a badass and witnessed what kind of trouble it gets, made her realize that not all attention is great.

It's when she really started looking up to Earl and the profession he is in, and guided her to be on this side of the law.

Dust came up in little puffs as she walked deeper into the abandoned park, hearing Sharky up on top of one of the trailers, she came to a stop near it, looking him over, her hands still resting on her hips. She chewed on her bottom lip, before making an exasperated noise, looking up at the sky in an aggravated manner and climbing up the nearby ladder.

"Hey, get the fuck outta here, Johnny-law. I know my fuckin’ rights." Is what Sharky greeted Rhi with once she stood to her full height on the trailers roof. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, before stepping towards him, he still sounded the same. Maybe a little more gruffness in his voice from what she guessed was years of smoking.

"Oh, so you know that setting fire to things with a flamethrower is still technically illegal?" Rhi asked, sarcastically, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, shifting her weight to her right leg, tilting her head back to look at Sharky in the eyes. She was surprised to see that there was no recognition in his blue eyes for her, she was just another cop to him at this point.

She shouldn't be surprised, though, as she didn't have that much of an impact on his life as a whole as he had hers.

"Hey, I come out here and I'm not botherin' nobody." He swept his arm in a gesture over the trailer park grounds, pointing at different speakers set up. "I play some of the best music and just let loose here. In a pants free, consequence free environment." Rhi blinked at the speakers as he spoke, before her eyes travelled back to him and trailed down to see he was definitely still wearing pants and she couldn't help but laugh slightly.

"Uh, Sharky-" He gave her a confused look, and she tilted her head in question and then it dawned on her. He wants to know how she knows his name already.

"I know, ya wanna know why I'm still wearin' pants. No one knows what the next few minutes hold." He stated, moving over to some pedals he has mounted on the roof. Ok, so maybe he didn't catch that she called him Sharky. "By the way, my name is Charlemagne Victor Boshaw but if you require a little brevity in your day to day life you can just call me-"

"Sharky, I know." Rhi finished for him and this time he gave her a more suspicious look and she folded her arms over her chest. Why does the fact he doesn't remember her nettle her so much?

"How in the fuck do ya know that? Don't think I've ever seen ya around here, little girl." Rhi's nostrils flared slightly at the way he said "little girl" it sounded so much like when they were all in the police station all those years ago. So condescending, almost like he could never take her seriously.

Rhi made a "tch" sound, clucking her tongue, her jaw setting in her rising anger and she looked at him out of the corner of her eye and in a deadpan voice, responded:

"Man, fuck you." And with that, it was as if a light bulb lit up blindingly in a dark room. Sharky's blue eyes widened and his mouth fell slightly agape as she watched it slowly come to him who she was.

"No fuckin' way. Bitty Rhi?" It was Rhi's turn to give him a confused look, only Hurk Jr ever called her that. Does that mean he talked to Sharky about her off and on throughout the years? "Should have fuckin' known, of course you'd become a cop. You've been a snitch from the beginning." Rhi's anger exploded at that accusation, she never got over that he always thought she was spying on him and Hurk that day.

"Silencio fucker. I never ratted on you two that day. I had just rolled into town. Besides, who do you think convinced Earl to let you go?" They were both snarling at each either, but Sharky was the one to back down, his anger reducing to surprise.

"That was you?" His voice was a lot softer than she had ever heard, and she nodded, her eyes looking away from him and back to him quickly as if to say "uh, yeah". The two stared at each other in silence, sizing each other up, before Sharky finally scoffed and folded his arms over his chest. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re a cop now.” It was Rhi’s turn to scoff and she turned her face to the sky, shaking her tiny fists in frustration.

“Of fucking course a hillbilly ass like yourself wouldn’t fucking change. Outsiders are the devil.” She ended her sentence mimicking his accent, while simultaneously walking back to the ladder to gingerly climb down, still mouthing. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to help me kick this cults ass, but you know what...nevermind.” She called, walking backwards away from the trailers, throwing her hands up in the air before looking back up to where he had been to point at him. Rhi became surprised when she saw that he was following her down the ladder, and her arm dropped back to her side. “Why are you following me?” Her anger had deflated to confusion.

“I can’t have ya runnin’ around like a crazy woman, Dep. Ya might hurt someone...or yourself.” Sharky teased, and Rhi’s eyes narrowed at him, before her index finger came up to poke him in the chest.

“I’ll have you know I can take care of myself.” She promised and he chuckled, holding up his hands in a defeated manner.

“No doubt, Munchkin, but still you’ll need someone to show ya around.” Sharky pointed out and Rhi considered it. He did have a point, sure she had spent a few summers here, but she hadn’t gone everywhere during that time. Her hazel eyes looked him up and down before she scoffed again, giving him a small but sardonic smirk.

“Fine. But I’m driving, Charlemagne.” She mocked, causing him to grimace as she turned and walked back to where she parked the ATV.

“Hey!” Rhi shouted over her shoulder as she and Sharky were taking a break and stretching, they had saved numerous people along the road, and Rhi needed a breather. Sharky made a noise as he dropped a cigarette butt and snuffed it out with the toe of his shoe. “Hurk Jr around, I haven’t seen him in ages.” Sharky turned to face her, about to answer when he saw the orange glow of the sunset catching Rhi’s face just right as she ran her fingers through her hair trying to brush out tangles, and his mouth fell agape instead.

“Uh…” Was all Sharky managed to get out and Rhi looked over at him, her right eyebrow raised, and then she turned to look behind her to see what had Sharky so enraptured, but there was nothing. She had begun to get nervous, thinking it was a bear, but it was literally just a drop off to the Henbane River below. She shrugged and looked back at him.

“Sharkster...ya alright?” Rhi stepped towards him, snapping her fingers in his face, and it broke the trance and he shook his head to clear it.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m great. Hurk is stayin’ at his dad’s up in the Whitetail Mountains.” He answered, motioning in the direction of the mountains and Rhi gave him a quizzical look before nodding, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Right…” She turned to go back to the ATV, but turned back to Sharky after a couple of steps. “You sure you’re ok. You looked weird-” Her words were cut off when he walked into her, she stumbled back but his hand shot, grabbing her elbow to steady her, pulling her against him, and she blushed. “Didn’t realize you were right up my ass, Charlemagne.” She tried to sound teasing, but it came out rather defensively, and she broke free from his hold, taking a few steps back from him, her tone catching him off guard.

"Didn't think ya were gonna turn on me either." His tone however did come out his intended way of just being playful. He wasn't sure how to take Rhi, sometimes she seemed rather friendly, but then it was like she realized she was being open and a wall slammed down behind her eyes, blocking everyone from her innermost thoughts. They had spent nearly a whole day together now, and everytime he thinks they are getting friendly, Rhi pushes him back an arms length away again.

Rhi’s eyes studied him suspiciously, had what he said been a tease or was it being passive aggressive about their past again? Sharky then gave her a soft almost puppy innocent smile and Rhi’s eyes widened, a slight blush tinted her pale cheeks, and her defenses melted away. She wanted to slap herself, because, sure, when she was 16 she had found him attractive enough on their first sighting, but that was the rebellious part of her...right? That part of her that was like ‘oh, Step-Ass would absolutely hate you bringing someone like him home’.

Rhi shook her head slightly to clear it before giving Sharky a smile small in return. “Sorry, I guess I’m embarrassed I nearly fell down…” She lied, laughing nervously, before climbing back onto the quad, and patting the area behind her, and Sharky quickly joined her.

“Hey, Dep, ya know who I’d bet would be happy to see ya?” Sharky asked, leaning down to speak into Rhi’s ear as she sped down the road, and a small shiver ran down her spine as his facial hair tickled her earlobe.

“Who’s that Sharky?” She replied, turning her head towards him slightly to make sure he heard her. She was just hoping her talking while driving this fast didn’t have her eating bugs.

“My auntie.” Of course! Addie! Rhi had missed her so much and hadn’t really visited much two years ago while she had been recovering, she just talked to her on the phone more than anything...having been so preoccupied with John. Feeling her anger rising again, she cleared her throat.

“Abso-fucking-lutely! Let’s go see Addie!”

Slowing to a stop close to the Drubman Marina, Rhi vacated the quad after she was sure Sharky was off, she sighed. Of course the cult was here too, she thought to herself as she ran her fingers through her hair in a very frustrated manner. She was just beginning to walk up the slight incline to gain the higher ground when her radio beeped. She froze, it was nighttime now, so the noise seemed like it resounded loudly. She grabbed it quickly, nearly dropping it in her hurry, she juggled it for a couple of beats before finally getting a good grasp on it.

“Deputy...I hope I didn’t wake you.” John again, and Rhi cursed lowly, rolling her eyes, and giving Sharky a motion of hanging herself and he chuckled.

“Not at all, asshole, Sharky here has been keeping me company.” Rhi knew that would ruffle John’s peacock feathers. “The hell do you want? Y’know, since this is Faith’s region afterall…” Rhi pointed out, smirking to herself, and she heard John scoff bitterly.

“Ah yes, Charlemagne. Not sure he is going to be the best fit for you my dear.” Rhi blinked, confused by that answer and she shot Sharky a quick look, but he seemed to not be paying full attention to the conversation at hand, his face cast upwards looking at the stars.

“Oh? And you are?” She asked, turning her back to Sharky and walking back towards the quad, not wanting him to overhear anymore.

“Do you remember that night before you left for Billings?” Rhi’s jaw muscles bunched and flexed, her free hand clenching into a tight fist. Of course she did.

“The night that it was clear you were hiding something from me but I was too stupid to acknowledge it?” She hissed through her teeth, and John was quiet for a few beats.

“Yes, that night.” John agreed and Rhi stared down at the radio as if she couldn’t believe he just brushed off what she said.

What she didn’t realize was, on John’s end, he had placed the radio on his forehead. He hated that he had to lie to her back then, it had been at Joseph’s request that John reach out to her, being certain Rhi needed to be brought into their loving family. He had gotten close to her during the handful of months she was there, and before he knew it, Rhi was leaving Hope County altogether.

“We watched the stars that night.” He continued, standing out on one of his balconies, looking up at the stars, he couldn’t help but think about that night. Rhi’s mind flashed back to her and John sitting on the waters edge, as she pointed out the different constellations, John leaned close to her, one arm draped around her shoulders. How could this be the same person, he acted so different back then. She sighed, looking up at the stars too.

“We did…” Her tone was soft as she remembered it all. “What happened to you…?” It was a bitter question, rhetorical because she was sure he wouldn’t answer such a question, to him, he was probably always the same him. To her, he was two faced.

“You thought I was a perfect fit back then.” His voice was back to being cocky and she growled, she hated that he could switch on a dime like that. “I’m at my home, if you want me to prove how perfect of a fit I am.” The sultry tone of his suggestion caused a hot feeling to run to her core, and Rhi’s face turned blood red at her body’s reaction. Unsure of how to even respond to such a statement, she let out a shaky laugh.

“Oh, John.” Came the weakest comeback she’s ever done in her life, and she knew she had to do better. “I’m not that easy, you’ll have to work for it.” She tried to sound as seductive as she could, not being used to flirting, especially like this, before replacing the radio onto her belt.

“Watch your back then, Deputy.” It was a warning that should have scared her, yet it had sent an inexplicable thrill through her entire body, and she smirked, she was ready for him and whatever he sent her way.

#far cry 5 #far cry 5 oc #rhiannon hale #far cry 5 john seed #john seed #john x rhi #Sharky Boshaw #sharky x rhi #nodus tollens #hope county #hope county montana #far cry 5 fan fic #far cry 5 fanfiction #adelaide drubman

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mxsmwndr · 5 years

Text

Talk Fast

Pairing: Newt x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and the girls have a sleepover. Of course you talk about the usual things; drama, grades, and boys. When the topic of you and Newt's relationship is brought up, you're flustered, and maybe say some things that you'd rather have him not hear.

Terms: (Y/n) is Your Name

Warnings: Minor language and fluff? Possible second hand embarrassment... tiny bits of angst as well

A/N: This actually has nothing to do with the song, but it's requested by @technolilly. Sorry this is so late! The holidays are a mess at my house, and I've rewritten a lot of this! Enjoy!! (I hope your ok that I made the reader fem!, I can make a male or unspecified one. Just let let know!)

Disclaimer: I don't own you, Newt, the boys, or the girls.

"I'm gonna run to the restroom," you mumbled in excuse for yourself from the girls you were previously hanging out with.

Teresa and Brenda exchanged a look, their eyes seeming to talk for their mouths, and acted the second you left Brenda's room. Brenda by running to the door to keep watch for you, and Teresa by getting her phone out and dialing Newt's number.

"Hello?" He asked from the other line rather groggily, even though he knew full well who he was talking to.

"You like (Y/n), right?" Teresa asked, not bothering to greet him back. There wasn't time.

"Uh... sure? I thought you already kne--"

"Just checking. But she likes you too, so I need you to stay on the phone for a little bit."

"What?"

"You don't believe me, right? So stay on the phone and I'll prove it to you. Just keep quiet."

"Um..."

Brenda hurried back to her spot on the floor, shooting a variety of abstract hand signals to Teresa, just before to walked in. Teresa's eyes widened for a second, but she soon relaxed, knowing she could play it off easily.

"I'm back," You stated, reentering the colorfully decorated room you previously left.

"I gotta go. Text me if you still can't find them.... Okay. Yep.... Talk to you soon. Bye." Teresa said, hanging up her phone. She set it behind her, and looked at Brenda. Then you. "Hey." She said.

"Who was that?" You asked.

"... Thomas! He forgot his keys in my house." Teresa explained. "Again." She added when she saw the confused look on your face. Brenda gave her a look that said 'nice save'. Teresa responded with a small glare, as if trying to get her to slim it.

"So..." Brenda said, an attempt to fill the tensing silence.

"Let's talk about you and Newt." Teresa said.

You furrowed your eyebrows, "Okay... wait. Why?"

Teresa shrugged. "You're still not dating him." She said, like it was obvious.

You snorted, it was. "So? I'm not going to. He doesn't like me."

Brenda raised her eyebrows, "I wouldn't be so sure about that." She mumbled, earning a slap from Teresa. Brenda winced, and Teresa giggled in apology.

"Hmm?" You asked.

"Nothing!" Teresa snapped while laughing. "Let's do something! Let's... play a game!" She insisted, nodding her head quickly.

"Um... okay?" You said.

Not gonna lie, your friends can get shady. Like, real shady.

"What kind of game?" You finally asked. If you were being completely honest, you were scared to ask. They had a plan, it was obvious. But for what? You didn't know.

Teresa pressed her lips together, thinking, but it didn't take long for her eyes to light up, signaling the idea that popped into her head. "Oh!" She said, "Truth or dare!"

"Don't even think about it." You shot the idea down.

Brenda's shoulders sank, and she frowned, "Oh, come on, (Y/n)! Please?!"

You closed your eyes and shook your head firmly, "taking a stand" as your lit teacher would call it.

"Fine." Brenda mocked, and crossed her arms across her chest harshly, pouting. Suddenly she jumped up, and her eyes went wide.

You fell backwards, startled. Brenda and Teresa laughed loudly in response, but you sat up and glared.

At least until you started laughing too.

"Ok, that was fun," you said, trying to take a deep breath in an effort to calm down. "But what were you going to say?"

Brenda's eyebrows furrowed as she thought for a moment, but soon returned to their normal pointed 'bitch position'--as she calls it. "Um.... Oh! It was that you should totally ask Newt out." She said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he felt the same.

"No!" Teresa shouted in protest . "He has to ask her out! That's how it works! The man asks the--"

"It's the shuckin' 21st century!!" Brenda screamed, then rolled around in a fit of laughter alongside Teresa.

You watched your two friends, confused as to why they're laughing. "Are you two... like, high or something?" You asked.

The girls' laughter was cut off sharply. They stared at you, wide eyed, until they started laughing again.

"Just do it!" Teresa yelled playfully.

"Please?" Brenda added, pouting her lip, alongside her attempt at puppy dog eyes.

"Why?" You asked.

"Because--"

You cut Teresa off, "No, no, no. I mean, what good will it for me?"

"Um..." Teresa thought for a moment. "You'll get to date Newt?"

You rolled your eyes, "Yeah, right. Because I'll suddenly gather all my courage and go up to him and be like, 'hey, did you know I'm madly in love with you? 'Cause I am!'." You said sarcastically, with a forced laugh at the end.

Teresa gave you a look of sympathy, which Brenda couldn't catch for some reason. "Exactly!" She chirped. Once again, Teresa hit her left leg. Brenda frowned, but knew better than to speak again.

"But (Y/n), he does love you." Teresa spoke up.

You laughed bitterly, "No, he doesn't!" You said with a shake of your head. Your eyes followed the ground.

"Yes he does! Why can't you just trust me on this one?! I'd never lie to you about this!"

You stayed silent.

"And if you don't believe me, pretend I'm Newt. Talk to me." Teresa urged. "Like you would to him." She mumbled.

You sighed, suddenly feeling guilty for your minor outbreak. "Fine. But how will this help?"

"Talking helps." Teresa said softly. "Now, pretend I'm Newt. How has your day been?" She said, asking the second part with a somehow perfect British accent.

You shrugged, "Fine. Actually..." You were cut off by a giggle escaping your lips. "Today, Thomas..." You laughed again. Teresa's face lightened up at your smile. "Fell down the stairs, a-and Minho tripped over him, but Gally was right there, so he tried to do some cool trick to get over them, but ended up face planting as well, and--" You tried to rush through your story without laughing anymore, but this time you were cut off by Brenda. She cackled loudly, and clapped her hands together, throwing her head back in joy.

"Well, I'm sorry I missed it." Teresa said with a massive grin spreading across her face, still keeping the accent. "But I'm glad your day went well. What'd you get on the chem test?"

You winced, "Retake." You said, making Teresa laugh. "Yeah, me too. We can study together. Oh! That reminds me... Minho said you needed to tell me something?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, until Brenda's awkward winks made you catch on.

"Oh! Yeah! Uh... I like you." You said, looking into Teresa's eyes. "A lot, actually. And it's fine if you don't feel the same, but I just... I've heard some things and I wanted you to know. Y'know, incase life somehow turns into a fanfiction."

Teresa looked surprised for a second, which you assumed was because you actually obliged for once. But she soon broke into a huge grin, and dropped her 'lovey-dovey Newt look'.

You smiled as well, "What's... so funny?" You asked, your eyes rushing to Brenda's, in hopes of getting in on the secret joke.

Brenda smirked, giving you nothing, so you turned back to Teresa. "What's..."

Teresa pulled her phone from behind her, and slid it towards you, face up.

You leaned over to look at it, and your eyes widened. Newt was on the phone.

Newt. Was. On. Speaker. On. Teresa's. Phone.

Bloody hell, this was heavy.

The betrayal hit you hard. You cursed under your breath, and looked to Teresa with wild eyes that said 'why'd you do that?'. Your face was already heating up.

Teresa smiled, "Hey, Newt?" She called, leaning over a bit.

Shuffling followed from the speakers on the phone, which quickened your heartrate, but soon Newt's voice was heard.

"Yes?" He asked.

"Was there something you wanted to say?" Your heart throbbed, and you could already hear the pride in Teresa's voice.

"Uh... I think?"

"I believe it was a 'thank you', right?"

"For what, may I ask?"

Teresa rolled her eyes, "I gave you proof." She simply said.

Your cheeks heated even more. "Um, what?" You asked, at the same time as Newt did. (Which did not help your embarrassment.)

Teresa whipped around to look at you. She seemed surprised, as if for a minute she forgot you were sitting there. "Oh! Well... you see...."

"We had this plan." Brenda added, trying to help her friend out.

"But it feel apart, so I choose to improvise." Teresa said.

You frowned, and glared at her for at least the fourth time tonight. You had to bite your tounge, too, because you knew that once you opened your mouth you wouldn't be able to shut up. It was decided to be a better idea if you'd just slim it for now and focus on trying to contain the blush on your face. You could yell at her later.

"So here we are now!" Teresa cheered happily, she hasn't just ruined your relationship with Newt.

"Uh... T?" Brenda hesitantly asked, while she watched your next move.

"Yeah?" Teresa said, and stopped her happy rambles.

"I don't think she's too happy about this."

"What do you mean? Of course she is! She's got the guy! She--" Teresa cut herself off.

"No, I-I don't think that's it." Brenda murmured. "Newt?"

"Still here," Newt answered from the phone. You face palmed, just wishing that this day would end soon. Well, that it would end for you. Of course, it was probably already around 9:00 at night, so lots of people were in bed reading a book by now.

"Are you going to talk to (Y/n) yet?" She asked sweetly.

"And say what?"

"Maybe a confession of your undying love for her?" Brenda asked. Teresa opened her mouth, but Brenda beat her to it.

Newt chuckled lightly, and you'd be lying if you didn't say it hurt your heart a bit. "Um... I-A... are you sure? I mean... what if she doesn't feel the same? She--"

"She's right here." Teresa said. "Did you not hear anything she said?"

"No...."

Newt's laughter followed. "I'm just kidding. I did hear her, but I'm still not sure--"

"Shut up. She feels the same, so now all you have to do is come over and kiss her!" Brenda gushed excitedly.

"Kiss the girl!" Teresa sang happily.

Newt laughed again, "As much as I wish I could, I'm kind of grounded at the moment." He said. "However, (Y/n), are you listening?"

You slowly pulled your face out of your hands, and nodded your head slightly, until you realized Newt couldn't see you. "Y-yeah." You said.

"Good, because you should really meet me at Noodles for lunch on Wednesday... as long as you'd want to, that is." He said.

You looked at Teresa and Brenda, confused, and turned out Newt's nervous rambling about how 'you don't have to if you don't want to'. Teresa nodded to you eagerly, with a wide grin spread across her face, while Brenda smiled, and shot you with finger guns. You mirrored their expressions, and looked down to the phone. Suddenly, the blush on your cheeks lightened, and you didn't want the day to end.

"Yes." You answered. "Yes, that would be wonderful."

"Perfect. See you Monday, luv. 'Night." He said.

You bit your lip in attempt to stop the goofy smile on your face to spread even more. "Goodnight."

The phone hung up, and Teresa looked at you expectantly. "Does someone owe me an apology?" She asked, while Brenda squealed with glee.

She actually squealed.

You rolled your eyes, and chucked a pillow at Teresa, instead of making some sort of sassy remark to her. Teresa giggled, and hit Brenda instead of you. Soon, the three of you were having a pillow fight war, and your worst night ever turned into the best night ever, all thanks to your shady friends who couldn't keep a secret to save their lives.

"I am so telling Thomas about this tomorrow." Teresa said, winking to you.

You hummed to yourself happily, "Sure." You said, not really paying any attention to your friend, and rolling over to face the wall. "Whatever you say."

#tmr newt #request #tmr #the maze runner #modern!newt #modern!au #tmr brenda #tmr teresa #james dashner #newt #newt x reader #newt x reader tmr #tmr x reader #fluff #angst #tmr newt x reader #newt fanfic #talk fast

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