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#but then he opens his mouth and speak in le american and it's like
lovebittenbyevans · 26 days
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Stranger | Part 4
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Summary: There was just something about him. You could see yourself talking to Harry about anything. It started off as a conversation until you two seriously got to spend time together
Pairing: Harry Styles x Female Reader
Warnings: slow burn, one cursed word
Author note: This is the last part of this mini-series. I want to thank those who leave feedback and enjoy reading this series. I appreciated it!
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Part 4
Six weeks later
Work has been killing you like crazy. Your boss would not stop calling you nonstop. Sometimes you wish you could go into your boss office and just tell her off.
Your phone rang as you were typing one last email on your computer. The phone rang twice before you answered it. “Hello? This is y/n speaking.”
“Babygirl.” That British accent was recognizable.
Sometimes his voice sounded American as well. “Hi, Harry. What can I do for you?”
“Are you free soon?” He asked.
You stop typing on your computer for a second. “Uh…” You pause for a moment. “Maybe why?” You wanted to hear what he had to say.
He let out a breath and said. “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me? I’ll cook.”
You were shocked for a moment. It sounds like he was asking you out on a date. “Um…” You checked your calendar on your computer and noticed which days you were free this month. “Tonight can work.” You eventually told him.
“Great.” Harry cleared his throat. “I’ll send you the address and see you soon.” You both said goodbyes and hung up.
You went back to doing your boss assignment just for a few more hours. You wanted to get out of here. You were kind of annoyed by your co-workers coming into your office everyday asking questions.
A few hours later, you knock on the front door of Harry's house. You can’t believe how big his house looks. You barely pay attention to the houses and apartments in New York.
When he opened the door, you smiled at him. “Hi.” It takes you a minute to notice the gray khaki slacks and short sleeve shirt he was wearing.
“Hey.” He steps aside letting you come inside. “Come in, love.” You walked inside his house and took your blue nikes sneakers off.
Harry takes your red jacket from you and goes to hang it up in his coat closet. “What are you making?” You asked him, looking around his house.
“I figured I would make creamy sausage rigatoni with spinach.” He made his way to the kitchen while taking two plates out of the cabinet.
You walked to the kitchen and sat down on the chair stool. The smell of the food hit your nose. “I love pasta so it smells good. What do you have to drink?”
He hummed. “Let’s see.” He opened the refrigerator and grabbed three bottles of alcohol. “I have Chateau Le Pin, Pinot Noir and Sauvignon Blanc.”
You lifted a brow. “Oh? Someone is getting fancy.”
He chuckles as he places the three bottles on the counter. “I try to be as entertaining as possible.” He reaches into the cabinet and retrieves two empty wine glasses, setting them on the counter.
“I’ll try the Pinot noir.” You tell him.
Harry returned to check on the food on the stove after pouring the alcohol into the empty wine cup. When you take a sip of the drink, you notice it tastes sweet and bitter. “This isn’t bad. It has a sweet, harsh flavor to it.”
“Good, that’s one of my favorite drinks sometimes.” He says, giving you a plate of food.
You looked at the food with a smile on your face. “This looks delicious.” Harry took a seat next to you leaving a little space between you two. “I hope it’s good.” He commented.
As you started to eat, Harry began telling you stories from being on tour and his favorite restaurant around the world. You enjoy listening to him talk.
“How often do you go back to London?” You take a sip of your wine.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin while pushing his plate away from him. “I try to go every two months when I’m free.”
You nod listening to him. “Would you rather be here or London?” You were curious.
“Um, I like both but I would say London.” He answered.
After finishing your food, you got up from the chair stool and headed straight to the kitchen sink. You drop the plate into the sink and follow Harry into the living room. You sat down on the couch leaving space so he could sit.
“I wanted to ask you something.” He takes another sip of his wine before placing the glass cup on his coffee table.
You move a little bit on the couch making yourself feel comfortable. “What is it?” You placed your drink on the coffee table after finishing your last drink.
“Have you–” He paused for a moment, feeling a bit nervous. You waited for him to finish his thought. “Uh, have you ever wondered what it would be like if we were together?”
Bold as fuck
You didn’t expect that question at all coming from him. You rub your neck in a distracting way. “Um…Uh.” You were trying to find the words to talk about this.
His eyes were on you. “Look, I know it’s probably scary to think about.” You let out a nervous laugh. “Harry, your lifestyle is way more different than mine.”
“I know that but–” You cut him off while meeting his gaze. “We wouldn’t work. I mean I don’t want that baggage of you in the media and I have to worry about who you are with everyday, especially women.”
The truth hurts but he understood where you were going with this and realized you were correct. He didn’t want you out of his life either.
“I would never cheat.” He said honestly.
You laughed a little loud. “Ah, you say that now. I wouldn’t want to risk it.” You didn’t realize he moved closer to you. “What about baby steps?” For some reason your heart was beating fast.
“Baby steps?” You bite your lips as he leans in closer toward you. “We don’t have to rush.” His thumb brushes against your lips.
“Um…” You started to feel more nervous and your heart kept beating faster. “How about we see where the days take us?” You let out the breath you were holding.
He cupped your cheek with his hand. “I’m fine with that, my love.” You immediately blush as he pressed his lips against yours.
Both of you wanted to test it out together when the time is right even though the both of you have no idea where the days, months or years between you and Harry will lead you.
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10k words already of the moon knight fic! 🤩🤩 Would it be possible to see a sneak peek?? Your writing is amazing! <3
I know it's been fun to achieve a bit of flow while writing again !!
I've parked doing the final edits and everything for now while I finish Off the Record part 2 but it feels good to have poured it out of my mind.
Thank you for your sweet words 💜 I'd love to share a sneak peek!
Below the cut: CW for violence and death ~
After a flurry of limbs and fists, Marc managed to take the man down to his knees and slot behind him to lock an arm around his neck.
“What are you doing here, you piece of dog shit?!” He growled.
Your heart stopped in your chest. You felt like you’d been dunked underwater with how the world around you took on a thick, surreal, hard-to-breath quality. Maybe you were in shock and your hearing wasn’t working. Or your brain wasn’t working.
Because that wasn’t Marc’s voice.
It was American, like Marc, but less… standard. More Boston. More north-east, like a New Yorker or-
“TELL ME!” He bellowed in the attacker’s ear. The man opened his mouth to speak, to breathe, however the crook of an elbow against his windpipe would not allow it. Instead, he yanked up his sleeve to reveal a scale crudely scarred against his skin, as if it had been carved there in some sick branding a while ago.
The man in charge scoffed and whispered something you couldn’t understand.
"Rezaría por tu alma pero a los dioses no les importa."
As your attacker lost consciousness, the person in control finally looked up and locked eyes with you.
“Who are you?” You demanded hoarsely.
This new man, this submerged altar, looked at you with something severe in his gaze. He dropped his sneer for a mere second, looking over you with a flash of understanding, and then was stoic again. With his arm still around the now-unconscious attacker’s neck, he met your eye and said:
“I’m the guy who finishes the job.”
He tightened and twisted his arm, and the attacker was dead before his body hit the floor.
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lindsaywesker · 10 months
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Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to Too Much Information Tuesday.
Most breakups are announced on Monday.
A group of pandas is known as an embarrassment.
It is healthier to sleep in the nude than with clothes on.
19% of Americans think they're in the top 1% of earners.
60% of the alcohol in America is drunk by 10% of the people.
A mouth and a vagina are made of the same type of skin cells.
Dostoevsky wrote ‘The Gambler’ to pay off his gambling debts.
It takes an average of 17 months and 26 days to get over an ex.
People are more likely to lie in the afternoon than in the morning.
Music is one of the few activities in life that utilizes the entire brain.
Bob Marley was buried with his Les Paul guitar, a bible and some weed.
A recent scientific study concluded that there are too many scientific studies.
Cannabis can double a woman's chance of having a mind-blowing orgasm.
Oysters, avocado, chocolate, and bananas are all known to increase sex drive.
On average, a man's sex drive peaks at the age of 18, for women it's in their 30s.
The chocolatey filling between the wafers in a KitKat is made out of recycled KitKats.
The original London Bridge is now in Arizona. It was dismantled and relocated in 1968.
According to a study, a woman is more responsive to romance when her stomach is full.
If a man pees on a pregnancy test and it comes up positive, he may have testicular cancer.
Sex is the safest tranquilizer in the world, it is ten times more effective than Valium.
Replacement eyelids can be made from foreskins. (Which means you could be winking at me with me!)
Homosexual behaviour has been found in over 1,500 species. Homophobia is found in only one.
When women run, their breasts bounce in a figure-8 pattern, moving side-to-side as well as up and down.
Oxford University's Future Of Humanity Institute puts the chances of humans becoming extinct by 2100 at 19%.
The most popular song played at funerals in the UK is Monty Python's 'Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life'.
Animators on DreamWorks’ film ‘Prince Of Egypt’ that performed poorly were sent to work on ‘Shrek’ as punishment.
A study of sexual libidos found women who slept for an extra hour were 14% more likely to want to have sex the next day.
September 26th is the most common day for babies to be born because so many people conceive over the Christmas holiday.
In 2012, a missing woman on vacation in Iceland was found when it was discovered that she was in the search party looking for herself.
Sleeping next to someone you love not only reduces depression, but it also helps you to live longer and makes you fall asleep faster.
Blackcurrant was banned in the US for much of the 20th Century. One researcher estimates only 0.1% of Americans have ever eaten one.
A study found that before finding the man of her dreams, the average woman will experience four disaster dates and two heartbreaks.
Natalie Portman is not only an Oscar-winning actress but also a polyglot, able to speak English, Hebrew, French, German, Japanese and Spanish.
Some Thai prostitutes apply sedatives to their nipples, knocking out unsuspecting men who suck them and can then be robbed whilst they're asleep.
In order to lose 63 pounds for his role in ‘The Machinist’, Christian Bale's daily diet consisted of one can of tuna and/or one apple per day, black coffee and water.
The ancient Greek philosopher Diogenes would masturbate in public. He defended his action by saying, ‘If only it were as easy to banish hunger by rubbing my belly’.
Hydrogen sulfide, the gas responsible for the bad smell in farts, can potentially prevent serious health conditions like heart attacks, strokes, cancer and dementia.
The Seán O'Casey bridge in Dublin was designed to swing open to allow ships to pass through. It stayed closed for four years after the operator lost the remote control.
A recent study about the aesthetic preferences of men and women, with regards to the scrotum, has found that it was barely possible to identify a “beautiful” scrotum; we must instead speak of “the least ugly”.
Judy Sheindlin, the host of 'Judge Judy,' earned an astounding $47 million per year. She had a unique way of negotiating her salary with the CBS TV Distribution President. Every three years, she presented her pay request.
Genghis Khan killed so many people that the earth began to cool. 40 million people were wiped off the planet, vast areas of farmland were reclaimed by the forests and carbon levels dropped significantly.
Frank Sinatra was an avid supporter of civil rights. He was a generous financial supporter of Martin Luther King Jr. and was recruited by him to join the civil rights marches in the south. He would go on to receive a lifetime award from the NAACP.
Okay, that’s enough information for one day. Have a tremendous and tumultuous Tuesday! I love you all.
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Ok but I'm over here thinking about that one time Klaus talked in an American accent and how that was the first time he sounded like an actual douchebag.
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ashintheairlikesnow · 2 years
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Quite at Home in Hell
For @whumptober2021 day six & day 21:  blood-matted hair & hunger
CW: Vampirism, blood drinking, noncon touch, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper, biting, captivity, dehumanizing language
Vampire Chris AU Masterlist | Follows directly from this piece
Thanks to @boxboysandotherwhump for helping me with the German & @alittlewhump for helping with the French!
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1918, the Western Front of WWI
The prisoners are held in a small, hastily constructed sort of barracks far too close to the front lines.
Gefrieter Erich Eeten knows why, of course. The hope is that his own people will hesitate before they blast this bit of dirt apart, that they will be concerned enough about killing their fellow soldiers that they’ll give up a few key moments of pause to the French, the Americans, and the British. Give them the advantage in a firefight.
They want to shield themselves with the bodies of the men in this tent, unwashed and dirty, who are exhausted from a day spent digging trenches for their enemies to hide in. 
He can’t exactly blame the Allied powers for it. 
It’s a brilliant bit of strategy, if less and less effective as men on both sides become so battle-hardened that they cease to care about their own lives, let alone each other. Still. He’d almost rather be at one of the true POW camps further away from the front lines, where the Red Cross at least comes to check on their treatment.
Here, so close to the front, there is no one keeping watch on what happens to them at all… and the longer the war draws on, the more viciously they kill each other, the more the prisoners kept here too far for oversight feel like they are teetering at the edge of some terrible invisible cliff. 
There’s a stiff breeze outside the tent, whipping the heavy, waterproofed canvas edges. They’re flapping a little, making a sound that Erich will one day hear in his nightmares. The cold sneaks in through the slight space between tent and ground, and the men in here are huddled together for warmth, sharing the meager blankets they are given. 
At least, though, their captors are officially the French. 
Say what you will about the blasted frogs, they never deny their prisoners a nip of strong cognac to help hold off the cold. The Americans, on the other hand, seem to be laboring under an enforced lack of good liquor, not just for prisoners but for their own soldiers, too. That seems a worse crime than nearly any other, in circumstances like this. To force a man to be a cruel killer without even a nip or three to soothe his conscience… to Erich, it sounds like brutality.
There’s a bit of a scuffle outside the tent, and the prisoners look up. Erich is at the back, leaning back against the rough frame of a cot he sleeps on at night, cards in his hands wrapped in strips of bandage cloth just for warmth. What happened to his gloves, he’s no idea. Probably one of the Allies took them for a souvenir.
The canvas wraps work well enough.
“Au garde-à-vous, prisonniers! Sur vos pieds!” Erich knows the voice - it’s the main guard of the tent they sleep in, a man named Alain who looks entirely too old for war. Here he is, anyway, all moustache and silvering hair, pulling open the entrance of the tent, moving the flap aside. 
Erich glances left and then right, meeting the eyes of his fellow prisoners, and the half-dozen of them that share this single small tent push heavily to their feet, shifting apart as much as the tent will allow, hands behind their back. 
His stomach dips, a low drumbeat of dread alongside his heart. Something tells him this isn’t a social call he wants to be part of. 
He’s even more certain when a tall, thin American steps into the entrance, nearly silhouetted by the dim, barely-there light behind them. Their hair is long, in a loose plait with parts undone, and their eyes gleam, briefly seeming to glow in the dark. Erich is reminded of his mother’s cat, who would stalk mice at night and whose eyes did just the same when light hit them.
He feels very… mouselike.
They wear a medic’s uniform, but it’s a little tattered. There are unrepaired bullet holes through the heavy woolen tunic, and they move with grace and disdain for how heavy wet wool must be, how itchy and uncomfortable. As if it simply doesn’t matter to them.
Because, of course, it doesn’t. The damn thing is a walking corpse, baring fangs in a grisly smile.
“Hello, soldiers,” They say, in a voice that isn’t quite a purr. “You all look a fright.”
“Verdammte Blutsauger,” Lukas Müller mutters to his right. 
Erich hates the bloodsuckers. Everyone does. They come with the Americans, monsters brought from the shadows as a kind of secret weapon. Erich has never seen vampires out in the open before - back home, they are creatures of hiding. They live in cellars and basements and houses with the windows painted in thick matte black. They sweep along the streets at night, a risk for anyone who stays out too late.
But they’re not part of anything. 
Here, they’re death itself, demons quite at home in hell.
 Oh, sure, the Americans claim they use them only for bringing the injured back to safety - and some of them, he’s sure, are kept to that purpose. Some kind of ability to deny the truth of them, if there are enough seen doing only what the official story claims.
Erich, though, has seen one dispatching wounded German soldiers one by one left behind in a field, killing them before they can be recovered by their own people. He’s seen one with fangs buried in the throat of a man who would otherwise have lived. They’re listed as medics, but those things are what keeps the Germans on their own side of the battle lines after dark, and everyone knows it. 
His own side brings canisters of poison gas. The Americans respond with an army laced around its edges in abominations the gas can’t touch.
The vampire sighs, faintly disappointed. “No good morning for me from my audience?”
Erich speaks the best English out of them all - his grandmother was English, taught it to his father in the cradle, who taught it to him. It’s made him more or less the spokesman for his small group of prisoners, and for the larger group when they are moved and briefly allowed to interact with the others. He clears his throat, stepping forward slightly. Lukas and Vilhelm, on his other side, nudge him just a little with their shoulders. It’s meant to be support, he supposes. 
He feels like he’s being pushed onto a target painted on the floor, one invisible only to him. 
“Good morning,” Erich says, voice flat, letting his accent roll far more heavily off his tongue than it needs to, turning good into gut. It’s always good to let the enemy believe you know less than you really do, so he pretends that English comes with difficulty and not ease. “Should you not turn to ash?”
Their eyebrows raise just slightly, not quite in amusement, and they give a brittle little laugh. “First off, Fritz, that’s a myth. Secondly, it’s not even morning. Probably close to evening now, honestly.” 
Erich rolls his eyes. Lukas mutters something under his breath next to him, but the slight creaking of their boots seems to cover it too much to be understandable. Erich sighs, heavily. “Then why did you have us say to you good morning, Blutsauger?” 
“Because it’s funny that you don’t know what time it is, of course. All right, who here is Fritz, who is Hans, and who am I just going to call Kraut?” 
“No one here is named Hans and no one is Fritz, fangs.” Erich tips his chin down slightly, a lock of greasy brown hair falling into his eyes. “May you drown in holy water.”
He spits at the vampire’s feet.
He feels a pang of regret when the vampire turns to look at Alain, the French guard and points back at Erich, cheerful. “I want that one. He’s rude.”
“Das ist pech,” Lukas whispers.
When Alain simply stares at them blankly - and Erich knows Alain speaks English, they’ve spoken before in a tongue they had in common when neither spoke the other’s mother-tongue -  the vampire groans. They don’t seem to know Alain is pretending not to understand them. “Fine. Let’s try this again. Je veux cet homme, s'il vous plaît.”
Alain’s expression tightens a little. He nods, and he won’t look Erich in the eyes as he draws the entrance open a little wider. “Emmenez-le alors.”
“Merci beaucoup,” The vampire says, giving a little bow. Erich backs up, but there isn’t anywhere to go, and none of them is armed. Besides, any resistance is met with removal of meals, with being denied the smallest comforts that make this bearable. With the possibility of all of them being handed over to a vampire, not just one.
This war had been civilized, in some ways, before the Americans brought their monsters.
It’s not actually true, but in this moment it comforts him to pretend it, to have a place to put his furious disgust as the vampire’s thin, long fingers close around his arm and yank him forwards with inhuman strength. They’re clicking their tongue against the top of their mouth in a strange animal way. Erich thinks again of his mother’s cat, making just that sound watching birds outside the windows.
“May your hands be pressed into the holy cross,” Erich snaps as he’s forced out into the freezing humid air outside the tent. There are others walking around - a war camp is never less than controlled chaos, no matter the time of day - but none of them will look at him. No one acknowledges him, although they’ve all seen this before. They know what’s going to happen here. 
“Je déteste ça,” Alain mutters.
A bell is rung, clanging in a discordant note, and soldiers move into the POW tents. Erich is led towards a pole in the center of the ring of prisoner tents, something that a half-century ago might still have been a flogging post, a punishment for mutinous men. 
“Crosses don’t really harm us,” The vampire says, careless and casual. “Very little does, actually. I’m a big fan of garlic, for instance. Silver, though…” They hum, dragging a fingernail over Erich’s wrist. “That hurts.”
He jerks his hand back and free, only to have the vampire laugh, bright and brilliant, and grab him again, spinning him around until they’re behind him, chest pressed to his back, using that demon strength to twist his arms up his back until his bones creak and ache, forcing him forwards towards the pole. 
“I hope you have silver shoved down your throat,” Erich manages, but his heart is pounding in fear as the vampire grabs his hair and jerks his head to the side, forcing his cheek against the rough-hewn wood. Splinters bite into his skin and he grunts as his arms are moved, forced to encircle the pole. His wrists are tied with rope, leaving him looking a little ridiculous, as if he decided today to go for a hug. 
Another rope goes around his shoulders, keeping him in this awkwardly pressed position. He tries to kick back, pulling viciously, but then his ankles come next. The rope goes from them to small metal hooks driven hard into the ground, keeping his legs more than shoulder-width apart. He can’t kick, or even balance himself. He must rely entirely on the pole he’s tied to in order to stay upright. 
“I’m going to enjoy you,” The vampire murmurs. 
Behind Erich, the sounds of a crowd gathering begin. Soft mumbles, exhalations of surprise and disgust. He closes his eyes against the rush of heat he feels - more rage than tears - knowing the prisoners are being brought out to witness this, to be shown what could happen to them next.
It does an excellent job of making them grateful for every day it’s not.
The French commander of the POW camp is barking a running list of commands to his men, but Erich doesn’t speak enough French to clearly understand them. Someone comes close by behind him, and he jolts as there’s a clap to his back. There’s a laugh behind him, not the vampire but someone else.
He manages to see from the corner of his eyes. A different American, of course. Comfortable enough with the vampire to get this close to them. 
“Isn’t this a sorry sight,” The American says, and laughs. “What’s the prize for, fangs?”
The vampire lifts their hand, gently brushing Erich’s hair from his eyes. He spits in their face, this time, and is gratified by a flash of very real anger that briefly overtakes their constant amusement. They slowly wipe the spit away, then clean their hand - sort of - on Erich’s uniform. 
It’s so dirty they’re probably even less clean after that than they were before.
“Reported a desertion. Now I get fresh food.” They lean down, meeting Erich’s furious hazel eyes. “I’m so hungry, Fritz. All the time. Imagine being surrounded by schnitzel and cabbage as far as the eye can see, and you’re not supposed to eat your fill. Imagine how empty you would feel.”
“Fick dich.” 
“What, you won’t even curse at me in English anymore?” The vampire pouts, lower lip sticking out. He hates them more than he’s hated anyone during this godforsaken war. “Come on, you have to understand how hard this is for me, right?”
Erich ignores them, jerks his wrists again, trying to yank himself free of the ropes through sheer force. His back already is aching from being slightly bent forward, his thigh muscles stretched. He does the only thing he can think of - he slowly, with effort, drags his face along the wood and manages to turn away, and look the other direction. 
“Well, fine. I suppose you’ll be mad at me for acting like you all eat schnitzel and cabbage, too,” The vampire says behind him. He doesn’t dignify them with an answer. He fixes his eyes, instead, on a point in the dark roiling clouds in the sky, above the remaining trees. 
“The prisoners are well-positioned to witness,” A French officer states, speaking with a light, dancing accent but without the difficulty and hesitancy some of the regular infantry have. “You may feed when ready, Private Saathoff.”
That gets Erich’s attention. “Saathoff?”
“That’s right.” The vampire laughs, stepping up behind him. Their fingers move through the hair that curls, grown a little too long, over the back of his neck. He shudders with disgust at the intimacy of it. Their mouth moves close to his ear, but there is no heat of breath. Only the brush of lips. “Ich bin Deustcher, genau wie du.” 
“Nothing like me,” Erich grinds out with his teeth gritted together so hard his jaw is already aching. He presses his forehead into the rough wooden pole and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath. 
If he’s going to die…
“Vater unser im Himmel,” he begins, halting. He hasn’t seen the inside of a church since he was fourteen, and that was twelve years ago now. Still, the words to the Lord’s Prayer come easily, more muscle memory than thought. “Geheiligt werde dein Name. Dein Reich komme, Dein Wille geschehe, wie im Himmel so auf Erden-”
“Zu jeder anderen Zeit hätte ich dich als Haustier behalten.” They use his hair to jerk his head back, and their fangs jam into his neck with a flash of sudden agony.
It’s a white-hot pain that races down his spine to the very tips of his toes, and Erich screams, the sound strangled and thin but still echoing, bouncing off of trees and tents and back into his mind, crashing like the shells that slam into the earth. 
Lukas jerks forwards as if to run to help him and is pushed back by one of the French soldiers, their expression set in a grim line. They have to twist Lukas’s arms behind his back to hold him as he shouts, angrily, that this isn’t fair, it’s against the laws of conduct. 
There’s laughter, at that, from their captors. 
The other prisoners grumble and shift uncomfortably, look at anything but Erich whenever they can, but they can’t escape the sound of his horror, of his pain. 
There’s no pulse of the much-spoken-of venom. There’s no numbness to drift in, there’s no fog to cloud out his awareness of what is happening to him. Every muscle of Erich’s body is tensed tight enough to snap the bones they wrap around, the veins standing out in his throat as if giving them a roadmap of where the food can be found.
He didn’t know vampires could choose not to use the venom.
He didn’t know they could make it feel like this.
When his scream dies, he can’t get enough breath to make another. All he can do is let out high-pitched, thin whimpers and cries. Spots dance before his eyes. Beneath the sound of his heart pounding in a sudden panic to push more blood faster to replace what is being lost, he can feel - can hear - a low rumbling sound against his back.
Erich has heard the rumors that vampires purr, and now he knows they aren’t rumors at all.
He can feel it right through his back, just barely. It’s a vibration that would be pleasant if it didn’t seem to be somehow making everything hurt even worse, waking up his nerves the way the venom is supposed to deaden them. Their hands are closed around his ribs, pressing the tips of their fingers rhythmically against them, as if playing a piano, as if he is dough to be kneaded, as if he isn’t human at all.
As if he’s nothing but a field mouse that found his way into the wrong house, and the vampire is the housecat who has waited too long for a living toy to torment.
There is no prayer, in pain like this. There is no thought beyond the body’s fight for survival and the mind wanting to flee from it, if surviving means this feeling will not end. There is nothing but the feeling of his blood being pulled forcefully out of his body, nothing but his nerves screaming to escape it, nothing but the bite of the ropes that ensure he can do no more than jerk in his bonds and choke on his agony.
It feels like forever - and like a moment - when their fangs pull free, their cool rough tongue lapping at the wounds to close them, purring against his ear with contentment. Their fingers knead into his skin a little bit longer, drawing the moment out as he slumps against the wooden pole he’s tied to. He’s only standing because of the ropes.
Pain rolls through him, breaking against the edges of his body from the inside, like the smaller waves after a storm falling onto a beach already strewn with debris. He slumps. His own breath is a rasping wheeze, taking far more effort than it should.
Nein, Erich, Erich stirb nicht…” Lukas’s voice comes from somewhere so far away, filtering through the noise in Erich’s mind slowly. He can’t even begin to form a response. His mouth won’t answer his commands. It only hangs open, panting, pulling in the chilly air over his tongue. He starts to shiver as the breeze hits the cold sweat in his hair and on his neck, cuts through his uniform somehow.
He doesn’t have enough blood left to warm himself.
Their tongue licks up his neck behind his ear, matting his own blood into his hair there, sticky and hot. It starts to cool and dry immediately in the cold air. Erich’s stomach twists.
“Oh, he won’t die,” The vampire coos, petting through his hair slowly. Their nails scratch at his scalp. “Not today.” Their mouth presses back against his ear. “Thanks for the meal, Erich. And for being so entertaining. Maybe I’ll find you after the war. I’ll buy you a beer… and some schnitzel.”
They push themself away from him, turning away to wipe a bit of blood from the corners of their mouth, and walk with a jaunty step through an opening that appears in the ring of watching prisoners, whose eyes follow them with apprehension and no small amount of fear. 
When Alain comes up to untie him, Erich simply collapses into the Frenchman’s arms as soon as he’s free of the ropes. Lukas is allowed to move up to stand at his other side, putting Erich’s limp left arm around his shoulders, while Alain supports his right. Erich lets his head fall into Lukas’s shoulder, hitching his breath as he forces down a sob. 
“Wh… why do you let them do this?” He asks, his English slurred with the exhaustion that means he is dragged with his boots carving paths through the mud back towards the tent. 
Alain is silent until Erich is dropped onto his cot, the hard frame digging into Erich’s back right through the thin mattress. He glances over his shoulder, the three of them alone in here for the moment, and then looks back. 
“It is believed that this is how we will win,” He says, and pats Erich’s hand. “My apologies. I do not believe in the monsters, but I am not the one to run this war.”
“None of us are,” Erich says, weakly. He closes his eyes. “We are only the ones who must fight in it.”
There’s a pause, and Alain’s exhale is audible in the quiet tent. “I will ensure you are given extra meat rations tonight, and I will find you some schnapps. Essaye de dormir, maintenant, si tu peux,” he says with soft regret lacing his voice. Then there is a shuffle of footsteps, and he’s gone.
Lukas shifts and sits with his back to the cot, in the same position Erich was in before. He swallows, picking up the abandoned cards from the game they’d been playing, looking over Erich’s hand. “You’d have won, you know, on the next hand,” He says in German, before he reaches out to grab the others’ cards and reshuffle the deck.
“Do I still get my… my winnings?” Erich can barely move his lips to speak. He’s so tired. So, so tired. He can feel his hands starting to shake, now that it’s over, the trembling moving slowly up his limbs, stuttering his breathing. 
“My share of the liquor? Not on your life.” Lukas pauses, and then his tone gentles as he looks Erich over again. “You know what... of course you can. You’ll need warmth. What did the bloodsucker say to you, anyway? I couldn’t hear.”
Erich thinks about the promise to find him after the war, about the way they spoke into his ear as if he were little more than a toy top to be spun at their command. In another time, I’d keep you for a pet, they had whispered, before they bit down. 
He shakes his head, slowly. “Lies,” He answers, and feels the softer-edged darkness of sleep begin to take him.
“Lies?” 
“I hope… I hope they were lies.”
For the moment, at least, he is too exhausted by the present to feel terror for the future.
-
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“It Takes Two to Win a Race.” Chapter II
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Verse: Falcon And The Winter Soldier / Captain America And The Winter Soldier / Captain America: Civil War/ Marvel Alternate Universe
Characters/Pairings: Baron Zemo/ Reader, Baron Zemo/ Female Reader, John Walker
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 8971
Warnings/Tags: Drinking, smut, m/f, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, drunk sex, Google translated translations, Walker is an asshole and just keeps getting worse.
Summary: Baron Helmut Zemo, world renowned racer and your sworn enemy on the track. You two have been going at it for years now, but now you two must join forces to fight back against John Walker, a new up and coming racer who is proving to beat both of you. Will you two survive the other or meet your demise on the track?
Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32606833/chapters/81176392?view_adult=true
This is a mess. An absolute, blazing mess that sits before you in the middle of your workshop. The chassis was dented all to Hell, a new one having to be rebuilt and delivered to fix your custom car. The engine had parts missing that were left at the crash sight when it was towed away. One car to your name, and it was fucked up. Maybe you should have taken Stark’s sponsorship and invested in a backup. Sitting on the cement floor of the workshop, screwdriver in hand as you pry out bits and pieces of parts from the engine, taking note of the parts and working on the budget you had set out for this year's series of races, you dreaded the moment you’d see the total cost. This repair would take a nice chunk, but you still had money left over after to make sure your car was at its best. That was the thing about working with your car, it was just you and this beast of metal and speed, working as one to reach the end of the line. The screwdriver is set down at your side when you struggled too long on getting the broken interconnecting rod that links the turbine from the compressor, a sigh following as you sit back. A slow sense of dread fills you as you look at the broken parts scattering the ground, the missing parts on your list, and the purple paint that still streaks the busted carbon fiber chassis. 
Working with Zemo was a dangerous game, which you recognized even before you shook on the arrangement he had proposed. He was wicked on the course, predictable at times but at others a ticking time bomb of what his next move may be. He was dangerous, but that is what made him damn good. He took far more risk than you usually would when it came to advancement in the race. Where you held back, he pushed forward. No wonder the man infuriated you. But this plan was the only thing you had to get things back to normal, back to the way they were where you hated Zemo with a passion and fought tooth and nail to stay better than him. You would never admit it, but without your rival, what fun was the race? See, it's not only the thrill of the chase between the driver and death, inching closer and closer with each hairpin turn and the risk of the other driver's moves. No, it’s also the thrill of having someone who wants to win just as bad as you, who is just as good and will do anything to try and progress further than you. It sets a standard, something to surpass, something to stay on level ground with when you catch yourself falling. Zemo was your equal, no matter how much you hated him. And equals like you two don’t have room for a third party to jump in and surpass. The game isn’t any fun when someone fucks with the rules. He had a point when it came to beating Walker down, especially since the man was already fighting you both with molotov cocktails and rocket fire in the form of playing dirty on the track. He was bringing a war to a battle just to see if he could come out on top. Despite everything telling you to stay away from Zemo and not get involved in this scheme, that it could end badly for one or both of you, you couldn’t stand the idea of having Walker walk all over you like some doormat. You couldn’t let him walk in as if he owned the place and could rule as he pleased. 
He needed a reality check. 
Your form pops and cracks as you stand, stiff from sitting on the solid ground and stretching to relieve your body of the tension. Everything felt so wrong, and you knew you had to make it right...But was this the right way to do it? “Jesus, you sound like that rice cereal with the little elves. You know, snap, crackle, and pop?” You laugh lightly when your friend comes into the workshop, food in hand and dressed down from the usual luxury attire he wore when visiting. No suit and tie in sight, just the oil stained wife beater you had seen him in when pursuing your education in the states as he worked tirelessly on his little toys as you liked to call them. He sets the bag down, the scent of the food causing your stomach to growl and pinch with a hint of pain. Have you really forgotten to eat today? You hadn’t noticed. “Got your favorite. Do you know how hard it is to find a restaurant that speaks English? I had to have Friday translate for me.”
“Maybe you should take a new hobby and learn the French language.” You retorted with a grin, the man shaking his head as he sets everything out. “Maybe I want you as my teacher, but you’re always busy with driving around in your fast little car and getting famous for fighting a Sokovian asshole.” 
“And you’re too busy tinkering away with your toys in your little workshop in New York. Truly Tony, don’t tell me you actually want me as your teacher when your toys can teach you for me.” You pause as he rolled his eyes, watching the man for a brief moment as he turned to unwrap his burger. “Speaking of said Sokovian connard, he came to the bar I was at last night.” The man paused mid bite on the thick patty before speaking with his mouth full. “Okay, spill, what did he want?”
“Well originally I thought he was going to cuss me and try to blame me for the failure to complete the race yesterday, but he showed me something. You know the young man who won the race yesterday, corriger? John Walker?” 
“Yeah, I know the guy. Races for the American McLaren team and came straight from F3 to F1. What’d he do?” 
He raises a brow when you sigh, taking a seat beside him on the desk he had set the food down on and stealing the dish he had brought you. “Zemo showed me proof that Walker hit his car and sent him flying into mine. And I believe he did it on purpose.” You explain, taking a bite of the food your companion got for you. You pause for a moment to chew before returning to your theory. “On my way to the car bay, he smirked at me, and it wasn’t a “I won” smirk- well, it kinda was, but it was rather a “I did this to you” kind of smirk. Not necessarily an evil one but one that showed he knew exactly what he had done and was proud of it. Pride in an unfair act.”
“And no flags were thrown up?” 
“Non, not a one. As our friend the Baron said,” you cringe at the term friend, “the ones watching the race possibly couldn’t tell if he had done such on purpose or by accident. I believe him about such. And I suppose that brings me to what I’m about to say next.” You take a breath, gaze conflicted and downcast to your food as you speak. “The Baron offered a temporary truce of our rivalry to take down this John Walker, thus allowing us to return to what we do best after Walker is taken down.” He listened intently before his nose scrunched at the idea of such. You two working together? Ha! That’d never work! “And you said yes to this crazy idea? What the Hell are you thinking, (first name)?” Your hands shoot up in defense, gaze rising to meet his own. “I know, I know! It’s a crazy idea, but you know as well as I do that if Zemo and I want things back to normal, back to the rivalry, we have to do this together so Walker is met with further resistance. If I could avoid it and deal with this American scum, no offense, then I would.” 
“Some taken, but I get it. I just wonder if you two will go back to the way things are after all of this. Who knows, maybe you’ll become that dreaded word you hate to associate with him in any capacity-”
“Ne t'avise pas de le dire, Anthony.”
“Friendssss.” He draws it out, causing you to roll your eyes at his antics and slap his arm with the back of your grimey hand. He pretended to show a hurt expression before chuckling when another slap came, this time to his chest. “Oh hush, we will never be friends.” 
“I guess time will tell.” A shrug followed as Stark finished the last bite of his burger, crumbling the wrapper and lining up the shot with the waste bin in the corner. “He shoots,” the paper lands in the bin, his arms going up in the air. “He scores!”
“Stop goofing around, ma amie. I asked for your help with this and now I need it.”
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Three weeks have passed, and the Germany race is upon you. The Nürburgring, a beast of a track that many racers to this day in Formula 1 fear like a plague sweeping the track. Your mind has been racing as you pieced your car back together and got it ready for racing. What happens if something wasn’t installed in the engine right? What if you didn’t get the intake vents lined up just right? You were a perfectionist with your car, and you know deep down that it was ready for race day but it made your head sing with pain as a migraine sets in. That wasn’t the only thing that made it throb and bring you to lean against the chassis of your car. Zemo’s deal, it worried you sick. But you didn’t have time to think about it much today. You couldn’t dwell on it. You had a race to win. 
Your eyes flick up at the speakers, listening to the message. It was press conference time. You take your seat where your name tag and flag set, giving a nod of acknowledgement to the crowd of reporters sitting and waiting to open up questioning. To your left, Walker seats himself with a boyish, charming smile that didn’t quite meet those dark eyes. He looked your way, hand held out to you. “Hey, I hate that we didn’t get to meet earlier on. I’m John Walker.” You glance at his hand before looking back up at him. He played a good game, acting innocent like the boy scout he tried to be. You wouldn’t fall for his games, but you shook his hand briefly. “(First name) (Last name).” He grinned. “Oh, I know who you are. I’ve been watching you race for years now! I hate that you crashed a couple weeks ago, would have loved to have been standing on that podium with you.” 
“Oui, such a shame that was. But today is a new day, Mr. Walker.” Your gaze flickered to your right, startled by your rival taking his seat and looking directly at the pair of you. The Baron never sat beside you, even going as far as to request a seat change from the press conference coordinators. Some learned to keep you two separate, others knew it would incur drama, and drama made money. 
“Alright everyone, please take your seats and the conference will begin in one moment!” 
“Say, did you get your car all fixed up? Must have cost a pretty penny since you don’t have any sponsors.” Walker continued on, this time his gaze looking at the reporters as he gave a brief wave to the ones he recognized from the states. “Oui.” He gave a huff of a laugh. “Not much of a talker, are you?” You wanted to bite back, to say something and throw hands with this man, but you would be escorted out and disqualified in a snap. “Non.” A leg bumped yours under the table and you glance at Zemo who met your gaze briefly. Those dark brown eyes questioned if you were okay, a silent question that only you understood. The slightest nod was sent his way before looking at the reporters who got things settled and ready. 
“Questions are now open-” The announcer was startled with the amount of questions directed in the direction of you three, clearing his throat as he nodded to your little trio at the table. Mr. Walker!” He gestured to the reporter, watching him stand and adjust his microphone and camera. “Mr. Walker, this question is open to the three of you. Under allegations from the previous race at The Circuit Paul Ricard, many are wondering if you had caused the accident involving Zemo and (Last name). How do you feel about these accusations?” The man had the audacity to laugh and throw that boyish smile to the camera, rubbing at his face. “Look, that was not supposed to happen once so ever. As many of my fellow racers can attest, one wrong slip of the hand on your wheel and your car will eventually go off track. I got nervous, twitched, and just so happened to bump the Baron’s car into Ms. (Last name)’s car. I feel terrible, I truly do, but it could have happened to anyone with any driver. So I refute these accusations and continue to say this is an accident.” 
“And you, Baron, Ms. (Last name). How do you feel about the accusations?” The reporter gestured his question to you two now. “I respect your opinion, Mr. Walker,” Zemo began, the man smiling and sending a nod his way. “But I call, as the Americans say, bullshit.” His smile fell, darkened gaze questioning the man on what the Hell he was going on about. The reporters erupted in questioning, trying to get the attention of the two racers who stare each other down around you. You lean back a bit for them to have a better view-line, One of the American reporters calling your name. You use this moment to break the tension. “Oui?” 
“Do you believe you stand a chance as a woman against these two leading men now that John  Walker is starting to gain points and nearing your total?” You blink at his question before taking a deep breath, holding it to calm your throbbing head, and releasing it slowly. “Oui, I do. I believe I can keep up just as well as any racer. Take my racing career with Zemo. I have kept up with his old extrémité arrière.” The French reporters in the room resound in a fit of chuckles, bringing a smile to your face. “And against Walker?” You meet his gaze as he stares at you expectantly for an answer, forcing that smile he tried to use on you earlier. “I believe I stand quite a good chance, but que le meilleur coureur gagne.” You shrug, listening as the smaller drivers get asked their questions. The whole time there are eyes burning into the left side of your head, waiting until the racers are dismissed. Walker watches you as you walk out, watching the way Zemo comes up in tow as you make your way to the car bay. Something was up, and he could feel that there were clearly doubts in your mind about the accident in France. He would just have to deal with you later. “(First name), wait!” Zemo followed you into the bay, slowing from his jog to keep up with you to a stop near the desk holding your notes about the race and your vehicle. “I haven’t had a chance to talk with you in person since the bar.” He paused, looking into those eyes of yours that gaze at him curiously. “Are you ready for this, fräulein?” 
“Aussi prêt que possible, Baron.” You busy yourself with inspecting your car for any last minute changes, the man watching you as you inspect and work. “Good, good. And we are still a go, yes?” 
“Oui, we are still, as you said, a go.” He grinned at you, gaze flickering down your back as he looked over your uniform. Of course he had noticed you in all aspects before, talent and skill being the top, but never had he been this close like the night at the bar and now to really see you. Maybe after all of this, even with the rivalry, you could be friends, dare he say anything more than such. “You’re staring.” You quip, breaking him from his trance to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of color lingered on your cheeks. He coughed, trying to clear away the embarrassment lingering in his form. Why was he getting embarrassed? “Just thinking about what will be left behind when I pass you on the track, mein liebe.” Your eye roll doesn’t go unnoticed, the man relaxing due to how calm you are around him. No biting his head off, no anger, just chill. You stand and give a playful shove to his shoulder, smiling at the Sokovian. “In your dreams, Sokovian. Now, get the fuck out of my car bay.” He smiled to himself as he walked away, mind now clouded by the smile that lingered on your lips. He liked when you smiled, and he had to make sure this plan worked. 
The race was gearing up to start, the same process as before coming into play. Car, balaclava, wheel. You take your moment to breathe, today your speed has placed you in second, just as the plan entailed. Zemo took the first position. He glanced your way, sending a nod in your direction, only to smirk beneath the balaclava when you flip him off like usual. The rivalry was still on, no matter what he would still have that after dealing with Walker. Still have you in one sense or another. Your glance focused in on the man across the way in the pole position opposite of you, his eyes locked on the two of you before meeting your gaze. There he stares you down, even as his helmet slipped on. The visor was flipped down at the one minute warning, eliminating the final clarifying view of his gaze. It was clear he was cautious of you, maybe even lingering with hate. 
“Fahrer! Starten...sie ihre....Motoren!
That familiar purr settles into your chest, spreading through your body like a dam breaking and flooding the valley below. It stirs up the motivation to win once more, removing any doubt from your mind as you rev your engine. Zemo was right, Walker had to be stopped. With this attitude about racing, playing his little mind games and wrecking racers, he’d get someone killed just for first place. You couldn’t allow that...but you also couldn’t allow the rivalry you have established with Zemo to be broken because of someone else. There was too much there to be lost. Your fingers tighten around the wheel, licking your lips beneath the helmet as you prepare yourself for takeoff. The lights start counting down the race. Five seconds away, one green and two red lights. You watch them count down until the bottom lines of red are fully lit, then they flash off. You’re off, following Zemo right on the tail of his car as you start into the track. This track was a beast, your mind racing as it remembers every nook and cranny of it. Seventy three corners, eleven danger points, hair pin turns, all on a 12.8 mile long course that was deadly in the onset of any weather and people who get careless with their moves. Lucky enough, the sky was only overcast. No rain, little wind to interfere with the aerodynamics and mobility of the chassis, just the perfect chill in the air to remind you where you were in this moment. You take your turns with ease, avoiding the group of cars that began to follow suit on the track behind your own. Your eyes remained locked in on every shift to your side, Walker keeping close by within each turn and danger point you went through. 
As you drive, Walker gets up past you within one of the speed trap areas, the stretch of road allowing him to be up beside Zemo and leave you on the back of their tires. Zemo had a plan, you believed in this plan… but had he just been toying with you to get closer to Walker? Doubt clouded your mind, even as you sped up in an attempt to join the boys directly in the front. Perhaps you shouldn’t have followed this plan, even as you get through the first twenty five laps, then the next twenty five. Each turn brought your tyres closer to Walkers who eyed you cautiously from time to time, as if silently daring you to pull a move like he did. Maybe you’d be caught and black flagged. Hell, that would make his fucking day if that happened. As he watched you, he had failed to notice on the wider strip of the track how Zemo began to drift further and further ahead. Then he was side tracked, Zemo slowing abruptly and stealing the attention of the young American driver. “What the Hell!?” He yelled over the roar of multiple motors, watching your car join Zemo’s side and the original speed be resumed. Now you sat beside Zemo on the track, pedal to the floorboard as you two kept your lead and basically walled Walker in. Each time he tried to drift around, one of you would shift your car just enough to keep him locked in. A grin met your lips as you drove, the energy of the race taking a whole new shift as you got closer and closer to the last lap with your rival right at your side. Tips of the chassis lined up perfectly, rear aerodynamic fins aligned like a well oiled machine. You two were in perfect sync as you put Zemo’s plan into action. Create a wall of impenetrable magnitude. If Walker tried anything, all three of you would go down. If he tried to get around, he would be blocked. There was no getting out from behind you two. 
The checkered flag waved in the quickly approaching distance, your gaze for a moment looking at your rival. The blur of purple was steady, lined with yours like that of an air jet's flight coordination. Perfectly straight, and running at full throttle like you are. As your cars pass the finish line, debate begins to rise. It was too close in the end to call, at least not right away. You slow, allowing the purple beast to pass by and enter the pit before you, a silent gesture of courtesy to the man you worked with. He sent a small nod your way when he watched you get out of your car, helmet removed along with his balaclava and revealing the joyful grin resting on his lips. Anyone else would mistaken it for cockiness, but the look in his eyes said it all. You two did it, you beat Walker in the race! He must be furious! A breath is held on your end, helmet and the fabric covering your face discarded as you turn your gaze away from the arriving racers and the man you drove along with. You were locked in on that score board, curiosity eating at you for who may have won the race. You were neck in neck with the man, the smallest push forward could earn either of you the points for the day. No names shown yet, and you anxiously leaned on the hot surface of the carbon fiber vehicle as you waited. Each noise around you from the slow dwindle of engines to low, fading purrs to the pit crews of your respective teams surrounding you, your rival, and the newcomer were drowned out by the pounding of your heart as it flooded your ear drums. It felt like hours passed as you kept your gaze locked on, ignoring the happy clamour of your crew, the clasp of hands on your shoulder and pats on your back, even down to the ruffling of your hair in glee. Then it flashed up. 
1st: (First initial). (Last name) 
1st: H. Zemo 
2nd: J. Walker
The press goes crazy over the news, each respective country reporting their amazement over the finishing results.
“Ein fehlerfreier, aber überraschender Sieg für Baron Helmut Zemo, der mit (First name) (Last name) gleichauf den ersten Platz belegt!”
“Victoire pour la championne de France (First name) (Last name) alors qu'elle rejoint le Baron Helmut Zemo dans une rare égalité!”
“In a remarkable and truly unprecedented event in The Nürburgring F1 race! Baron Helmet Zemo and (First name) (Last name) tied in a photo finish for first place, a rare occurrence that has set back American racer John Walker from the potential for first place!”
Your breath comes out shaky, slowly slipping out as reality hits you like a wrecking ball to a brick wall. The air leaves your lungs as a happy noise rings out from your lips, joining your crew in the celebration as they hug and surround you. You placed first. Zemo placed first. Curiosity met you, your gaze looking to the man who celebrated with his own crew before allowing himself a chance to settle his gaze on you in turn. There he sent a wink, a silent congratulations that made you shake your head at his antics before refocusing on the celebration. You would be standing with the man in first place on that podium, both sharing the victory wreath and spraying champagne all over the crowd of fans and your respective pit crews who were basking in the glory just as much as you two were. You couldn’t help the glee bubbling up in your form, even as you make your way not too far from your rival. For a second, just a split second, you let the rivalry go and let your smile be seen in accompaniment with his gleeful grin, shoulders bumping when you’re positioned at the podium by the F1 management crew. Press swarm to the area like flies to a summer barbecue, wanting to catch a glimpse of the rivals standing together, being on the podium and sharing first place. “Not so bad working with my, as you put it earlier, old extrémité arrière, hm?” He questioned as you two stood together, the closeness you two were forced into for the photographers far more comfortable than it would have been under any other circumstances. He blamed the feelings he had at this moment on the victory over Walker, over the rest of the racers, not even thinking that perhaps this was beyond the fact that he won but that you, his favorite rival, won alongside him. “Non, not the worst.” You joked lightly, forcing a serious face for the cameras when they began to picture you two side by side on the first place stand. He accepted the bottle of champagne before you could, holding it out. “You may have the honor, (First name).” Your fingers brush his own as you grasp the bottle with him, popping the cork and sending the bubbly to decorate the crowd. Flash after flash met you as you stood alongside Zemo and basked in the glory of the win. “How about drinks to celebrate? Even as rivals, I believe a drink wouldn’t hurt.” He whispered the question, causing your gaze to lock on his own in brief surprise. Was he serious!? “I um..Oui, sure. Meet you in town?” He nods, gaze seeming to glimmer ever so brighter as he takes his leave. Even when you separate to get cleaned of the alcohol and switch to “civilian clothing”, your smile doesn’t falter. Maybe it would be good for you to drink the night away with company that didn’t seem as bad as you once had thought before. 
As you begin to peel away the racing suit, the flame resistant material bunching at your waist and revealing the open expanses of your back, the simplistic bra strap over the back the only material seen, you fail to hear the seething man enter your car bay. “Do you know what you just did, Ms. (Last name)? Who you fucked with?” Walker puts his hands on your shoulders, spinning you around to face him, his face inches away from yours. “You went and fucked with the wrong man. You could have just accepted your loss, licked your wounds, and we would have been just fine. But oh no, you had to go and fuck with my winning streak with that Sokovian piece of shit.” He huffed when you shove him back, gaze narrowed and arms crossing over your bra covered chest out of annoyance. You could care less what he saw. “I don’t see why you’re so mad, Mr. Walker. You got a taste of your own medicine after that stunt you pulled back in France. You and I both know that was no accident.” 
“You know what? Yeah, I did that. But I see you are working with Zemo now, which is also a big no-no in Formula 1. Seems we’re both sinners of the race. The greed of it.” His tone was a hushed, harsh whisper. There was no need to alert anyone that he was in your private quarters harassing you. “I’m nothing like you.” Your tone came out in a hiss, his downturned lips curving up into a grin at your response. “Oh sweetheart, I beg to differ.” He chuckled at the narrowed gaze he was met with. “You and your Sokovian boy toy need to back off. Let this happen like it should or you’ll not like what happens next.”
“And just what do you think you’ll do, John? Because all I’m hearing right now is a lot of talking with no proof of any big execution.” Your lazy grin and scoff of annoyance at his presence left him to raise his hands in mock defeat, hands coming to rest on your shoulders once more with a harsh grip that made your body tense and hold you there. He leaned in, even as you tried to lean away, his lips moving in close near your ear. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” His tone alone makes your body betray you, the calm, cool, and collected front slipping as a shiver ran up your spine at his warning. And with that, he leaves you to get dressed for the night. 
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Zemo texts you an address for a bar off the beaten path in Cologne, Germany, further than you had anticipated in going from the track but a welcomed change of scenery. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” The words stick with you, even as you drive the main road into the big city, looking for the bar Zemo had invited you to. It was connected to a hotel, a fancy hotel at that, with old architecture and lavish exterior. You could only imagine the interior! A nervous breath is taken as you get out of the car, gaze meeting the man you had just won with. He smiled at you, clothing casual and the air around him feeling far more comforting now than ever. The incident with Walker had left you rattled, sending your nerve endings to buzz and let your body know that you aren’t okay. Even though you felt off, you force a smile to the man who wrapped a friendly arm around your shoulders and led you in to sit at the quiet bar. “So, did I not tell you the plan would work?”
“I just thought it was your cockiness talking, but I will admit, though it physically pains me to do so…” You pause, biting your lip. “Well?” You sigh. “You were right.” The words come out struggled and forced, the man's grin growing at such. “Ah~, I don’t believe I caught that.” “Oh va te faire foutre!” He chuckled at your words, hand raised towards the bartender to get you drinks. “What are you ordering?”
“Shots. We deserve something to toast our victory to, and I don’t believe champagne is your drink of choice.” He offered you one of the smaller glasses, his own raised before him as he locks those bright brown eyes with your own. “Ein Prost! To us, and our victory over John Walker. May that American schwein taste defeat again.” You raise your glass, hoping to drink away any thoughts about Walker's warning and leave it for the next day. Throwing caution to the wind, you decided right then and there that you would finally have fun and disregard the night that you sat across from your rival. Tonight you just wanted to drink. “À la vôtre!” The drink is bitter as it hits your throat and travels down your body, causing a warmth to spread soon after. Kuemmerling, a bitter concoction of herbaceous and bittersweet flavors. A drink of choice for Zemo it seemed because soon after the shots were downed, he ordered another round. 
Shot after shot after shot is taken down until your body is leaning against his own and a joke that is shaky at best from his part sends you into a roar of laughter. He holds you close, laughing right along with you. “So... It’s Barenjar?” He snorts at your piss poor pronunciation of the new liquor joining the mix, shaking his head at you as he looks on with drunken vision. “Nien, nien, Bärenjäger. Say it with me. Bä-”
“Bä-”
“Ren-”
“Ren-”
“Jäger!”
“Mick Jagger?” 
He laughs in defeat, shaking his head as he watched you. So relaxed, so calm. He hasn’t seen you like this before in his life. He’s startled by your sudden movements after downing your last shot for the night, catching you as you try to stand and stumble as your feet betray you. Your body landing against his, his arms slotting themselves around your waist as your drunken gaze catches his own. Those brown eyes of his are hypnotizing, keeping your gaze locked on his own. “I have something to confess, (First name).” He paused to wet his lips, trying to piece the words together in his hazy mind. “I have liked you since the day I met you.” He finally blurts out, fingers moving up to brush away a stray strand of hair that had fallen into your eyes. “You’re infuriating, yet calming. Stubborn and determined. Your smile is lovely and those eyes…” He trails off, leaving your hazy mind questioning what was going to come after, but you hardly have time to think about it as he pressed in closer, face inches from your own. The smell of Bärenjäger and Kuemmerling lingered on his breath as it fanned over your face, those brown eyes searching for something in your own. “Can you feel it, the connection we have? Can you see that we are not just rivals now?” His tone was just barely above a whisper, questioning you with a hint of desperation to his tone. 
“Oui.” 
That was the only answer he needed. His lips are on yours with fever and desperation, hands clinging to your form for dear life after hearing the words that sent him to fully fall into the feeling of you. You were his comfort, the one constant thing in his life. His rival...but right now you were the woman he sloppily kissed at the hotel bar as the bartender tried to catch his attention to tell you that you both were cut off for the night. His hands moved to grip at your thigh and tangle in your hair, abandoning the idea of holding anything back, the liquor giving him courage to make a move on you. He has wanted to do this for years, touch you, feel you, have you there with him in any way he could. He separated only when the threat of security was offered by the bartender, lips kiss swollen and a faint pant falling from them. “Come.” His hand takes hold of yours, leading you along to the lift and up to his room for the night. This hotel that he called home for the time being would serve well for what he had in mind to do to you. He led you inside, not even waiting for the door to close as he captured your lips once more, hands taking your rear in his grasp and hoisting you up so your legs wrapped around him, back pressed up against the closest wall he could find. He held you there, lips separating to begin trailing hungry kisses down the column of your throat and allow his hands to trace along your sides. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel the bare skin there, wanting what he has longed for since the day he met you. A noise fell from your lips as he lazily suckled a mark over your pulse point, your fingers tangling into his dark hair and tugging the locks when his hips grounded against your own. He couldn’t help the fire blooming in his body, needy for the creature that has teased him for all these years, The one he thought he would never have a chance with because of their hate for each other on the track. He needed you, and in your current state, you were willing to accept any touch he offered. He was just Helmut Zemo tonight. Not your rival, not the Baron, just Helmut. And you were his (First name). 
A groan left his lips when you pulled him by his hair away from your neck, hands working to take your shirt up and over your head. Throwing it aside, he looked at you with a gaze of admiration. It was similar to the gaze he gave when looking at the new modifications to his car, taking pride in the beauty of things that drove him to win. He dampens his lips, fingers lazily dragging up the expanses of your back from bottom to top, resting on the clasp of the garment covering your breast. “Darf ich?” Your nod was all he needed, the clasp undone with skilled fingers that knew precision, holding still on your back when your arms rose to take the garment and throw it in an unknown direction to be forgotten about for the time being. He wasted no time with taking one of your breasts in hand, fingers running over the sensitive bud of one while he took the other in his mouth, suckling and lavishing with his tongue. He took his time, drunken yet slowly sobering mind savoring each and every noise that fell from your lips as he toyed with your body. You’re barely into foreplay and he already has your panties soaked, the Baron being a creature that knows exactly what buttons to push to get you going without even knowing your body. He was skilled, that much was for sure in your mind as he switched to the other breast, paying equal attention to each. Those brown eyes of his don’t leave your face for a second, watching every reaction and trying to commit them to memory. If he could only have you tonight, he wanted to remember everything he possibly could. Every detail of your body, everything that drew a hitched breath or a low moan from your lips. Every shaky breath and the way your body would press closer to his greedy mouth and hand. He stored it all away. Maybe he’d wake up the next day and fancy this a pleasant dream...It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten worked up by thinking about you. 
His hand traveled downward, cupping your sex through your pants as his own grinds up against your thigh, straining through the fabric of his pants. He ached for you, for your heated skin to be pressed against his own in a delicious rut of bodies. He traced along the seam, hearing the low whine that fell from your lips as he teased you through the material. “Helmut, stop for a moment.” The man paused all actions, his gaze shifted to a worried state as he met your eyes and spoke with concern. “Are you alright, mein liebling?”
“Oui.” Your fingers trace his jaw, the man's face briefly pressing in against your palm before delivering a soft kiss to the area. A tender gesture that sent butterflies to flutter in your stomach and heart to speed further than the foreplay had already caused. “I just...Take me to the bedroom. Please?” You preferred not being right beside the door where anyone could listen in, where anyone could hold a camera up to the peephole and record the sexual pleasures of the infamous Wildcard and Baron. That would make a top headline, wouldn’t it? He gave a chuckle at your demand, nodding as he kept his grip on you, your legs wrapping just a hint tighter around him as he moved you both to the bedroom. He’s gentle with setting you down, looking down at you when you unwrap your arms and legs from his form. “Scheiße, du bist perfekt.” He slowly worked on the buttons of his shirt, working each plastic piece through the loop with fingers that were known for precision on the course. A shift in his steering, taking hold of the semi-automatic paddle-shifters as he drove, it was all well calculated and that applied on and off the track. His shirt is shrugged off his shoulders, thrown aside before focusing on the belt on his pants. He gets it off with what can only be deemed a darkening gaze, knowing he’s getting closer and closer to having you. You rose to let your hands trail his chest, roaming over the lean muscle that rested there as feather light kisses met his collarbone. A shiver met his spine, shooting up in bliss as he allowed a moment to savor the feeling of you touching his skin. Your skin was so warm, so inviting. He was getting lost in everything. 
Your fingers shift down his torso, trailing his abdomen before looping in the belt loops of his pants to pull him forward, a low growl falling from his lips when you place a kiss above the waistline of his pants. Your movements were confident, unzipping his trousers and tugging them down to reveal the tent hidden behind his underwear. He swallowed thickly as he kicked his pants off, watching your every move as you cup him through the thin fabric, thumb moving to brush over the leaking tip and cause a shaky breath to leave him. “Maus-” A groan leaves his lips when a jerk through the fabric is given, his head falling back briefly. He huffed when you repeated the motion, fingers anxious to wrap around his bare flesh and feel that hot skin in the palm of your hand. But he stops you, hand wrapping around your own and bringing it to his lips once more. “Tonight is not about me, maus.” You’re surprised when the man placed his hand on your chest, lightly pushing you back to lay on the bed as he slowly sank down onto his knees, ”Es geht nur um dich.’ His lips drag slowly across your skin, trailing light kisses and nips along your abdomen and resting at the waist of your pants. He glanced up, a silent question of courtesy offered your way as his fingers loop in the band, asking permission like a proper gentleman. “Go ahead.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, his presence making you feel like you’re floating higher and higher on this ride with him. He gave a tug, your rear lifting and back arching to aid the man as he pulled your pants down and let them fall to join the scattered articles around the room. You’d have to go on a damn scavenger hunt just to find your clothes! But none of that mattered now, not when his hot breath is fanning over your needy core and face nuzzling at your thighs. He placed a kiss to your inner thigh before another followed, then another as he began to trail inward towards your covered core. “Aufgeregt?” He purred in questioning, a low rumble of a chuckle coming from deep within his chest spilling out at the small nod he is met with, loving how he has left you damn near speechless just by being so close. Your hips jump back before he gets a grip on them, his tongue moving over the wet fabric and causing a light whine to spill from your lips. “Helmut, please.” Oh, hearing you speak his name only egged him on further, needing you. He needed to taste you, to feel you. He needed you in every way, and his drunken mind only pushed him on to pull the fabric away from your legs and stare at the glory that is you. So wet, so beautiful. He wasted no more time, bringing your legs to hook over his shoulders and delved into the intoxicating honey pot he had been offered. He started off slowly, a long lap from entrance to clit given before the motion was repeated just to hear the noise that left your lips with each swipe. Zemo was mapping you out, taking note of what areas made your thighs twitch and tense, what areas made your hips jump back at the sensitivity of his touch, and what made those oh so delicious noises spill from your mouth. 
He allows his tongue to focus in on your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves in a rhythm that sends your head to spin and moan after moan to spill from your lips. “Merde!” He smirked against your core when your hand shot down to tangle in his locks, needing stability after he took your clit between his lips and suckled. He repeats the motion, gaze locked on your own and watching the sudden shock of the feeling run through your body. You were so reactive, and just for him. A lazy lick is given to the sensitive bundle of nerves, watching your hips jerk lightly and seeing the tremble that began to settle into your thighs. “Close?” He questioned as if he was questioning about an everyday thing, totally not giving the impression he was getting you close to orgasm just with that sinful tongue and lips of his. O-Oui.” Your tone was shaky, breathy, eyes half lidded and watching his every move on you. “Gut.” A gasp fell from your lips when he sank a digit into your hot, needy core, arching along the way and searching for the sweet spot deep within. He wasn’t like the inexperienced boys who would just jab their fingers into their partner and hope it hits something. No, his fingers curled, probed, dragged and felt for that spot in a way that showed his experience. A second digit is added not too long after the first, probing the flesh within until he hears your moan and finds that spot that drives you to clamp your thighs around his head. A groan left his lips at the rush of slick is met with each probe, massaging that spot within you and only adding to the tension building in your core. Each throb he was met with only spurred him on. He was on a mission to bring you over the edge, and he would do anything to get you off. When his mouth returned to your still sensitive clit, tongue flicking of the bundle and including the occasional suckle while his fingers moved deep within, you were done for. A rough tug is given to his hair as your body convulses, thighs clamping around him and grinding your hips down against his eager tongue. He helps you ride out your orgasm, lapping at your clit until you give a light shove to his head to make him stop. A wicked smile crosses his features as he gives one final suckle, a squeak leaving your lips at the motion and shoving him back as much as your trembling body allows. He can only chuckle at the attempt, fingers removing from your throbbing core. He watched your gaze land on him when you caught sight of the digits, watching the man move his glance to them as if he was inspecting them before a quiet whimper left your lips when they were taken one by one into his mouth. He made it a show, teasing you as he cleaned each digit of your juices in a slow motion. Sinking down to the knuckle before returning and licking at whatever was left. “Tease.” You huffed, chest rising and falling steadily with your hammering heart. “Oh you know you like it.” He retorted, lazily letting his body climb up and over yours on the plush mattress. 
He pushed the final material separating you from him away, throwing the underwear away before letting himself settle in against your body. Zemo wasted no time in wrapping your legs around his waist, lips joining yours as he lined up with you, one hand taking hold of your hip while the other took hold of your hair, tugging it back enough to have access to your neck. As he begins to ease himself within you, his lips attach at a section of your neck, a harsh mark left in his wake as he sinks inch by inch within the lightly pulsing core that he toyed with before. A groan was left against your skin when he was fully settled, grip rough on your hip but movements gentle as he waited for you to adjust. He was no animal, not cruel! He knew that there was a possibility for pain if he moved too soon, and even in his drunken haze he recognized the look in your eyes, the slight twinge of pain from his size alone. The stretch wasn’t unpleasant, no, but it was an intrusion you weren’t quite used to when normally doing this. He lightly placed kisses to sooth you along the mark he left, trailing them up the underside of your chin, going along your jaw before soon connecting with your lips in a soft kiss. Something to distract you until you were ready for him to move. A shift of your hips was given when you tested the feeling of him in you, the moan that left your lips causing a low growl to fall from his own. He lifted his body to loom over yours, hand moving from your hair to cup a breast as he sets a slow, deep and even borderline sensual pace within your core. Slowly out until the tip stayed just barely in before plunging deeply into your warm, wet depths. He huffed with each push of his cock within your core, meeting your moans with a faint groan here or a soft growl there when your walls gripped him just right. He was losing composure with each faint twitch of your walls around him, pace beginning to pick up into a steady rhythm that developed the noise of slick skin hitting skin and the bed beneath to creak ever so slightly with each movement. “Verdammt!” He could tell how your walls began to tighten around him, how each noise leaving your lips grew louder and louder. His poor neighbors, hearing you both so vividly through the walls of the hotel. Yet he didn’t care who heard. As long as they knew that in this moment, you were his to take, that was all that mattered. Zemo moved his thumb to your clit, working the bundle along with the assault he laid on your sensitive spot deep within. Each clamp around him brought his own release to come closer and closer. “Cum for me, maus.” He demanded with a grunt, needing to feel you come undone to reach his own release. His words hit somewhere deep in you, the demand that was laced with a plea driving you to your second orgasm of the night. He groaned as he felt you clamp around him, the sensation alone causing him to remove himself from you and spill onto your stomach with a few quick pumps of his hand along his slick coated member. He pants, taking in the sight of you one final time for the time being. Messy, slickened by your own arousal and sweat. Your hair was messed up, your lips parted and panting. To add the cherry on top, you were coated in his release, a sight for sore eyes while you lay like this. He made you like this, and it swells his drunken ego. 
Slowly he eased down to lay at your side, bringing you in against him with an almost delicate kiss delivered to your temple. Your breathing slowly evened out, head resting against his chest as his fingers trail along your back, drawing imaginary patterns as his mind begins to blank. The alcohol was taking effect, causing him to enter a lull and for his eyes to flutter shut. As you lay there, catching your breath, you watch as he drifts away, a single question beginning to enter your sobering mind. 
“What have I done?”
Tag List: @darksxder | @mymagicsuitcase | @mischief-siriusly-managed | @alindeluce​
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milliedazzledust · 3 years
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Viens, Embrasse moi (Bucky Barnes imagine)
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Request by @husherstan​: One Shot with Bucky Barnes in which he and the reader are spies. Idk if you watched The Man From Uncle - American and Russian spies together to get an intel. They hate each other and have all that sexual tension. Based on the song ,,Les Yeux Noirs" by Pomplamoose (I have no idea what the lyric says) where they dance to prove who is the best.
Words: 4.689 words
A/N: I spent the last couple of days listening to tango, Pomplamoose and the ost of tfatws, I guess I was inspired coz this is super long so be aware. Thank you for that request - I’m really self-conscious about my writing so I’ll hope you’ll it! (ps: the title mean “come and kiss me”)
The mission was simple. Get inside the mansion during a fancy party by some rich man, retrieve valuable informations about Hydra’s whereabouts and get the hell out of there. Steve had decided to pair Bucky and Y/N for this. Two spies with specific skillsets that he knew would get the job done. This is why they had landed in Paris earlier that day.
They had taken a hotel room inside the infamous Le Meurice, courtesy of Tony Stark. He thought it was hilarious to provoke them since he knew they didn’t particularly like each other. That was what everybody thought, except Natasha. She had told Y/N she could see right through their games. The frustration and the tension together were a ticking time bomb that would either lead to one of them dead or both of them in a bed.
They hadn’t talked to each other the whole flight, they were too busy studying the blueprints of the mansion they would infiltrate, rehearsing their role and getting into character to care about annoying one another.   Bucky had ditched the uniform for a white shirt and a black tie. His suit jacket slung over a chair next to the luxurious bathroom where Y/N was getting ready.
“What is taking you so long ?” Bucky complained as he sat on the bed, putting on his cuffs.
He heard the bathroom door opening behind him.
“Gotta look the part if we want to blend in” The woman smirked.
The moment he saw her, he froze. If there was an undeniable truth he would never lie about, it was her haunting beauty. She was breathtaking. She had chosen to wear a provocative dress that night, a dark shade of green falling of her shoulders, putting the tattoo on her back on full display. It was made of silk, so soft Bucky swore he could feel his fingertips aching to run through the material. The high-length skirt sat perfectly on her curves and the Sergeant gulped when his eyes trailed down her leg. The dress was slit to the middle of her thigh. He could almost see the knife strapped around her muscles, hidden just under the satin gown. His gaze finally stopped on her high heels, admiring the whole outfit. She looked feminine yet deadly and had a confident glow, a radiance he could feel across the room. She was captivating.
She sniggered, pleased by his reaction. Like a wolf hunting his prey, she walked up to him without hurry. He was still sitting on the bed, his eyes glued to her body, following her every move. His mouth was dry, no word were enough to describe how mesmerizing he thought she looked. Without breaking their gaze, she started to undo his tie. Making it roll agonizingly slow around his neck, she tossed it on the bed. Bucky felt his heart skip a beat when she opened up the first two buttons of his shirt.  
“That’s better” She whispered, adjusting his collar. He shivered when her fingers grazed his skin and tried to hide it with a cough, but she could see right through him.
“You look …”
“What ?” She coyly cut him, a hint of defiance in her voice. “Sexy ? Ravishing ? Yeah, I know”
She had a glint in her eyes he couldn’t miss. She was enjoying his bewilderment.
“Pick up your jaw off the floor, Barnes. We’ve got work to do”
And with one last cheeky smile, she was on her way out. He shook his head vigorously, swearing under his breath, before grabbing his jacket and following her to their rental car.
Nestled in the woodland, away from the noises of the city, was the mansion. It wall all concrete and tall glass windows. The architecture made it seem a few centuries old and Y/N stopped for a short moment to admire the gigantic house surrounded by trees.
“And here I thought nothing could impress you” Bucky joked as he noticed her interest.
She rolled her eyes in annoyance, letting him lead her to the entrance. Before they could step inside the venue, a man in a grey suit stopped Bucky, putting a hand on his chest to prevent him from coming in. The Sergeant tensed, hoping he hadn’t been recognized. He had told Steve earlier that day that it might be a mistake to send him inside a place filled by Hydra agents. Even with the fresh haircut, somebody that knew the Winter Soldier could have easily recognized him.
“Votre invitation, Monsieur “ (your invite sir)
Bucky didn’t move an inch. He coldly starred back at the man, not understanding a single word of french.
“Il est avec moi” (he’s with me) Y/N quickly answered.
As soon as the man turned to look at her, his whole demeanor changed. With a smirk on his face, he eyes the woman up and down. By the way he licked his lips and he puffed his chest, she could easily guess he liked what he saw. She faintly heard Bucky grunt but ignored it. Seductively, she put a hand on the stranger’s shoulder and brought her face near to his.
“Pour être tout à fait honnête, il n’est pas de très bonne compagnie” (if i’m honest, he’s not very good company) She told him without a trace of an accent.
The man snickered.
“Puis-je demander le nom d’une si belle créature ?” (can I ask the name of such a beautiful creature?)
She smiled, pretending to be pleased to talk to him.
“Eléonore Charbonnier” She introduced herself with a name that wasn’t her own, faking shyness.
“Bienvenue, Madame Charbonnier. C’est un plaisir de vous avoir parmi nous ce soir” (Welcome, Miss Charbonnier. It’s a pleasure to have you tonight) He replied, bringing her hand to his lips before kissing it lightly.
She was playing with her hair, drawing his attention and Bucky didn’t like one bit to just stand there, silent, without a clue of what they were talking about.
“Tout le plaisir est pour moi” (The pleasure is all mine) She attractively responded with a lopsided grin.
She exchanged one last look with the french man and took a step inside. Bucky followed her closely, but not without one last threatening stare toward the stranger.
“That went smoothly” She congratulated herself.
“What ? You flirting with him or him eye-fucking you ?”
She laughed at his irritation.
“Such a potty mouth you have, Sergeant” She joked.
He responded with an unpleasing grunt before offering her his arm as they stepped into what seemed to be a ballroom. The place was enormous with a checkered floor contrasting with the golden walls. Crystal chandeliers spiraled down from the ceiling, illuminating the room while marble pillars surrounded it, carrying a large upstairs balcony. The place was already filled with wealthy people, all potentials investors for Hydra. Bucky glanced around the room, trying to spot the organization’s agents hiding among the guests.
“How are we going to get to the second floor ?” Y/N asked him discreetly.
“We mingle”
She raised an eyebrow.
“That’s your plan ?”
They were aware of the noises and the crowd but even more so of the curious stares in their direction.
“Alright” She shrugged. “Let’s dance”
“No” He quickly replied, which made her smile.
She turned to look at him and playfully tilted her head.
“No as in you can’t dance … or you don’t want to ?” She elatedly riposted.
“Both” He grunted, quickly glancing at anything but her.
He groaned when he saw how amused she was by the situation.
“My, my … and here I thought there was nothing Bucky Barnes couldn’t do”
He took a tentative step toward her, placing his metal hand on the small of her back. They were now inches apart and the attraction between them became a tangible thread in the air before any of them could speak a word.
“Now is not the time to play, doll” He muttered. She didn’t know if it was his tone, his proximity or his hand moving slightly lower, but she felt the premises of desire starting to form in the pit of her stomach.
“Steve should’ve paired me with Sam. At least he’s fun” She provocatively replied.
Her answer had an immediate response. He instantly stepped back, removing his hand from her body. She watched him closely, pleased when he pursed his lips with exasperation.
“You owe me a dance” She added and winked at him.
He gave her a dirty look and she chuckled before looking around the room, trying to think of something to get upstairs without being noticed.
“There’s literally one guard blocking the access” She stated seriously.
“Think you can distract him ?” Bucky asked.
“Consider it done.”
With one last glance, she moved to one of the waiter, grabbing a glass of champagne. Leaving Bucky behind, she took a sip of her beverage, seductively playing with her hair, swaying her hips until she was almost in front of her target. She knew he was already looking at her, she could feel his eyes on her body. Pretending to lose her balance right when he was next to her, she let him catch her in his arms.
“Oh my god ! I’m so sorry !” She apologized.
“Are you alright, Madame ?” He asked her with a thick accent.
“Yes, just a bit dizzy” She answered with an alluring chuckle.
She noticed his hands on her hips, she knew he didn’t let them there to keep her steady. When she looked up at him, she purposely bit her lips and placed a strategic hand on his arm. She saw the man gulp and smiled. It was working.
“You look …” He didn’t finish his sentence but instead put one of his hand way lower than it should have been. If it was anybody else, she would have break every fingers of that hand, but right now, it was exactly the reaction she was hoping for.
She glanced back at Bucky, who was fuming. The guard caught that and tried to turn his head to see what was distracting her, but before he could do that, she kissed him. Slowly, without an ounce of passion and with force she pressed her body against his. Her eyes stayed open, and she watched Bucky taking advantage of the situation by sneaking behind the french man and quickly getting upstairs. Once she was sure he was out of sight, she took a step back. She cleared her throat, smoothing her dress.
“I should go freshen up” She shyly told him, fluttering her lashes.
“There’s a bathroom upstairs” He offered.
She smirked. She knew her plan would work.
“Merci” (thank you) She told him with a fake accent.
She climbed the stairs, pretending to look for something, while the guard resume his position. Bucky was already waiting for her in the hallway, standing against a wall where no one could spot them.
“Did you have to kiss him ?” He inquired, infuriated, as she joined him.
“If I remember correctly, you told me to distract him”
“With your lips ?” He ironically continued.
She chuckled, her fingers fiddling with his jacket. She slowly leaned toward him, her red lips tentatively grazing his cheek.
“Careful, Barnes, one might think you’re jealous” She whispered against his ear.
He rolled his eyes.
“I don’t get jealous, doll”
She smirked, lowering her eyes on his lips.
“You keep telling yourself that”
“I’m just saying …” He kept talking as they walked to their destination. “Stop flirting with every man we come across”
“Is that an order, Sergeant ?” She knew she was on thin ice and she loved every minute of it.
He groaned. He was exasperated and she could see how much it drove him crazy. It had been that way for months now, they were always bickering, ready to bite each others head off.
Walking strategically through the corridor, they knew exactly where they were going. They had studied the place. Behind one of the doors was Hydra secret files on the super soldier serum and their experiment to create more Winter Soldier. The mission was to retrieve those informations to thwart their plan.
They had no trouble finding what they were looking for. From outside, what seemed to be an abandoned storage room was in fact a huge chamber with computer equipments and piles of files. For a second, Y/N thought it was unusual there was no one to guard the place before she silently followed Bucky inside. While he was looking through the papers, she took the flash drive she had hidden in her cleavage and plugged it into a computer. It was a malware designed by Stark to discreetly sneak inside their files, break every firewall and find their secret without leaving a trace.
“Anything interesting ?” She interrogated Bucky while Stark’s program was doing its magic.
He looked up from what he was reading and she visibly saw him gulp and shut the file he had in his hands.
“Nothing that I didn’t know of already”
She eyed him suspiciously.
“Why don’t I believe you ?” She accused him, backing up against a desk.
“Because you're a spy” He answered truthfully. “You don’t trust anyone but yourself”
She hummed.
“And that’s exactly why I know you’re hiding something” She continued, crossing her arms at his reluctancy.
He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. She could see his jaw tightening and his fists clenching. For some reason, he was getting angry at her. She tilted her head, curious at his reaction. Without a word, she raised an arm, opening her hand. It was a silent request to give her the file he was reading, which he eventually did.
She started to read and realized it wasn’t about the Winter Soldier initiative but about the Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes and what had happened to him in details after he fell off a train in 1945. She didn’t go through the end of the first page and shut it before handling back to the man in front of her.
“You’re not reading it ?” He questioned.
“No. If you want to talk about it, you will.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t need to know the details of a procedure you’d rather forget”
He raised an eyebrow, surprised by her actions. He was expecting her to be more curious and try to prey informations out of him, but instead she just stood there and gave him an honest smile.
“Don’t look so flabbergasted, Barnes. I might be a spy but I’m not cruel”
“It’s just … I wasn’t expecting that”
“Expecting what ?” She asked, turning back to the computer.
“…To be given the choice not to talk about it”
She was shook by the force of his sincerity for a moment, but didn’t comment. It was rare for Bucky to share anything this personal with her. They had work quite a lot together, but it was always teasing and bickering. This was different. She could just guess it by the way he was looking back at her. He cared about her and valued her opinions and judging by his gaze, she had just given him a reason to trust her a little more. He suddenly cleared his throat, somehow embarrassed, and she grinned.
“All done” She declared, showing him the flash drive.
“Good. Let’s get out of here”
Just as he said it, an alarm started to ring inside the room. Both of them tensed, suddenly anxious.
“What is that ?” He groaned.
“They know we’re here”
“Shit”
She hid the flash drive in her cleavage before slowly backing against the wall next to their exit.
“So much for being invisible” She muttered under her breath.
Bucky half opened the door, picking outside to see what they would be up against. Armed men were already scattering the hallway, ready to launch the assault. He quickly closed it back, his expression now a mix between worry and annoyance.
“They’re at least six of them waiting for us” He informed her.
She secretly hoped they would avoid a situation like that but seeing as they had no other choice, she mentally prepared herself to give them hell. Bucky watched her with wide eyes when he saw her tearing her dress in half, making room to move freely.
“What the hell are you doing ?!”
“Mingling” She simply answered, repeating what he had told her earlier, before taking the knife attached to her thigh.
Bucky grabbed the handle and glanced back at Y/N one last time before the fight. They shared a knowing look, both of them reassuring the other with a silent nod. As soon as he opened the door, the gunshot started. The music and the people downstairs were a slight contrast to what was happening, the noises were loud enough to cover the sound of bullets shot across the room.
It wasn’t unfamiliar territory for Y/N or Bucky, they were used to fighting. Doing it together was different though. They had discovered they were a pretty good match on a battlefield. It almost felt like a quick pace tango, a choreography only they knew about. Bucky watched her smirk, and she saw him wink. They were about to give them a taste of their talent.
She let the Sergeant go first, knowing his brute force and especially his vibranium arm would most likely knock some of them out. One of them dodged her partner and went right to her. She blocked every of his punches and flipped the knife she had in her hand, stabbing the man in the gut. She rolled upside down, making him fall on the floor, unconscious. Another one tried to take advantage of the situation and decided to kick her. She twirled around, blocking him before hitting his chest with her heel, knocking him out of breath. From the corner of her eyes, she saw two of them going after Bucky. The agents would have had the time to attack, but all it took was a look between the Avengers and Y/N threw her blade at the Sergeant. He grabbed it mid-air and less than thirty seconds later, the men were on the ground, bleeding to death.
She started to make a movement toward her next target when she felt an arm wrapping around her waist. It all happened too fast. All she felt was the bullet touching her shoulder before her body was pushed against a wall and the men were out cold. Normally, she would have resisted but instinctively, she recognized the musky scent of Bucky’s colognes and the cold sensation of his metal hand against her hip. She realized he had shoved her out of the way when one of their opponents had fired, aiming directly at her.
“Are you alright ?” He whispered, making her shudder.
He was so close she could feel his heart beating. He was towering her, shielding her body with his own. The situation was quite ludicrous. They were surrounded by men they had just taken down but none of them seemed to care. She opened her mouth to demand that he release her, but the words never formed. His chest flushed against hers, he was slowly invading her senses. They were both exhausted by the effort, and his staggered breath was enough to send a fire coursing through her body. She risked a peek at his face and swallowed when she saw his blue eyes darkening with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.
“Don’t look at me like that” He spoke with such intensity she shivered.
She licked her dry lips before speaking.
“Like what ?” She teased.
Bending his head, he buried his nose in her neck. She struggled at the proximity, purely a reflex. He answered by pulling her even closer. He looked up at her again, his mouth hovering a few inches from hers. Every nerve ending inside her was screaming for his touch but she didn’t move, simply stared at him. She wasn’t going to kiss him, but there was still a strange satisfaction flowing around them, pleased that they were just as susceptible to the treacherous desire between them. She could see it in his dark crystal-blue eyes, in the thundering beat of his heart and his metal hand, possessively holding her, gently stroking her covered skin.
“You’re bleeding” He said after a while, his gaze falling on her wounded shoulder.
She didn’t even turn to assess the damage and kept her eyes focused on him.
“I’ve had worse” She told him, voice filled with need and desire.
“Y/N…” He warned her.
His human hand crept into her hair. He was inexplicably drawn to her, she was intoxicating. When he traced a path over her cheek with his thumb, she closed her eyes, savoring the moment.
“Fuck” He cursed under his breath.
He kissed her temple, the movement so gentle yet so significantly filled with unsaid feelings. They heard noises, more people coming their way, and just like that their frozen time was up. He took the piece of cloth she had torn apart and wrapped it around her bleeding shoulder quickly before grabbing her hand and leading her toward their escape route.
She followed him without protesting. He led her to a window and both of them jumped. The car wasn’t far and they sprinted to get to it. They could already hear the agents rushing, they had to hurry. Bucky glanced rapidly in Y/N’s direction, making sure she was alright. The blood had started to flow on her arm through her made up bandage of clothing. She simply nodded her head to reassure him. They drove in silence, checking every now and then that no one was following them. Apart from the altercation, the mission was a success. No one had recognized them and they had what they were looking for. Worn out and a bit dizzy from the loss of blood, Y/N let herself relax and yawned. Bucky felt himself breath a little better now that they were out of harm’s way and surprised himself when a smile spread across his face at the sleepy form of his partner.
Later that night, they safely got to their hotel room. Completely tired, Y/N let herself fall on the bed. She watched Bucky from the corner of her eyes heading to the bathroom. He came back with a few items and silently sat next to her. He unfastened the cloth around her arm without looking at her or asking her permission and opened a bottle of alcohol. When he poured it on her injury, she hissed. She tried to push back, a reflex to get away from the pain, but instantly stopped when she felt his cold hand keeping her in place. She glanced down at her shoulder and studied the wound.
“Doesn’t look too bad” She inspected.
“The bullet didn’t do any damage”
“Good” She sighed, falling back on the bed.
She watched him clean it then wrapped it up with gauze. He was methodic, every movements seemed rehearse, like he had done it many times before.
“Thank you, Bucky” She murmured.
She saw the corner of his mouth rising, forming a small grin he was trying to hide. Without a word, he stood up and started to walk around the room. Y/N observed him curiously, wondering what he was doing. She sat back against the headboard of the bed and followed his moves. He stopped next to the door and dimmed the light.
“What are you doing ?” She asked, half amused, half confused.
He held up a finger, silently telling her to wait. He took out his phone and suddenly music filled the room. He discarded his jacket, tossing it in a corner of the room, rolling up his sleeves. That simple action was enough to raise the temperature of her body. He was aware of her hungry gaze on his muscles, following his movement and didn’t miss the way she bit her lips. He slowly walked to the side of the bed, right next to her, raising his metal hand toward her.
“What is this ?” She interrogated him, her voice so small she wasn’t sure he heard.
“You said it yourself, I owe you a dance”
She starred back with doubtful eyes but took his hand nonetheless. He led her to the center of the room and began to slowly sway with her.
“La bohème” She recognized the song.
“You said you loved it”
“Didn’t think you’d remember”
“It might come as a shock, Agent Y/L/N, but I do pay attention” He flirtatiously sniggered.
Her breath caught in her throat when he pulled her closer and sneaked an arm around her waist. Spinning and circles and shuffling his feet to the rhythm, he made her laugh. He surprised himself thinking he wished he could carve that sound into his head and never forget it. They danced together, their body close, and she knew she must have been blushing. It only made his smile grew bigger. He stood looking down at her with a hint of danger in his eyes. There was so much more she saw in him than an experiment and a super soldier, but she would never admit that. For some reason, she wanted to find a flaw in him, something that would level the field between them. Until she realized that with him, all bets were off.
“I’m not sure I like that” She said, hating the note of anxiety in her voice.
“What ? Dancing ?”
“Us not being at each others throat” She sincerely answered. “But I’ll admit, you’re a pretty bad dancer”
She felt the rumble of his chuckle against her body.
“You can still fight me if you’re up for it” He replied, smirking down at her. She smacked his chest and he pretended to be hurt for a second. She rolled her eyes at his antics.
He made her twirl and she felt an adrenaline rush when he drew her close to his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and made a movement to brush her hair away but his hand stopped hers. Instead he carefully laid it on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, what were you saying about my dancing ?” He smirked as he made her spin once again.
“That you had no sense of rhythm” She joked.
He laughed and dropped his head, studying her.
“I like it” He confessed, an answer to what she had admitted earlier.
A surprising sense of comfort suddenly settled in her stomach at his admission.
“This stays between us, Barnes” She warned him.
“Is that a threat ?” He laughed.
“Exactly” She whispered, laying her head against his chest as they continued to move together, too lost in the music to halt. “One word to Steve and you’ll be on the wrong end of my knife”
She felt his smile when he lowered his head to kiss the naked skin on her uninjured shoulder.
“You have my word, Agent Y/L/N” He winked. “And just so you know, I’m a better dancer than you are”
“No you’re not”
“I guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong”
“Is that your way of asking me out ?” She smugly smiled with a hint of seductiveness in her tone.
“Maybe… is it working ?”
“I still haven’t decided if I want to fight you yet”
He grinned, he couldn’t help himself but felt at ease around the dangerous woman. After a while, they stopped moving. Bucky felt her body relaxing and her weight getting more heavy as she started to fall asleep against him. He buried his nose in her hair, closing his eyes to enjoy their moment out of time. When he was certain the woman was asleep, he carried her to the bed. He made sure she was comfortable enough under the covers, taking extra precaution not to touch her wound. Then he sat next to her, already knowing the moment they would get back, he would go to Steve for advices. She would be mad, most likely with a newfound desire to kill him. They would probably fight, but strangely that perspective only made his smile. He was ready to wrestle if it meant they would both win in the end.
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rebelsandtherest · 3 years
Text
Dioscuri
Summary: Having recently taken on the role of guardian to the young New France, Arthur is baffled by the boy’s quiet and solitary personality. In an attempt to draw him out of his shell, Arthur arranges a meeting between his newest colony and his much more exuberant southern neighbor. What results is something he’d never even thought to imagine.
Word Count: 2,546
Warnings: None
Written for day 4 of @historical-hetalia-week 2021
--------------------
1764 Quebec
Arthur Kirkland wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. He'd long known that New France had a representative—someone like him. He'd known for a long time that it was a he, and that his Christian name was Matthieu, or rather Matthew, and that he was still very young. He'd even heard that the boy was half white and half native, though no one could prove it for of course he had no living parents.
It was a story Arthur knew well, for it was virtually identical, down to his brown skin and blue eyes, to that of Arthur's own young charge, British America, called Alfred. Therefore, when Arthur had signed the papers in Paris, shook Francis' hand and taken ownership of the entirety of New France, he'd assumed it would be easy, taking on whatever boy Francis had left along the St. Lawrence. Of course, the French Catholics left there hated their English protestant neighbors and vice versa, but the boy would be easy enough to handle. His story was identical to Alfred's, and so Arthur supposed, in hindsight, he'd begun to imagine Matthew as a carbon copy of Alfred. He was already raising one American hellion, what was one more?
Therefore, he arrived in Quebec utterly unprepared for… this.
"Hello?" Arthur leaned away from his desk, looking to the open door of his study. He'd heard the floorboards creak in the hall, as though under footsteps. It was around this time that his head of house usually came to pester him to go to bed, but Mr. Cooper was nowhere to be seen. "Is someone there?"
A pair of wide blue eyes peaked around the doorframe. No sooner had they met his gaze than did the owner dart behind the door again.
"Matthew?" Arthur called, setting his quill aside. "What is it, dear boy?"
It took a long moment of waiting, and Arthur was about to call out again, but eventually Matthew slid back into view, shuffling forward and coming a bit closer. He moved along the wall and the furniture, keeping one still-chubby hand brushing along the shapes like an anchor.
"Bonsoir," Matthew said, in his timid whispering voice.
"Bonsoir, good evening to you too," Arthur said, turning in his chair fully to face the boy. Matthew's English was progressing but he understood more than he could speak. "You're up late—did you have fun today?" It certainly looked like he had. His knees were muddy and there was a stick in his hair.
Matthew nodded, a stray curl wobbling adorably. It made Arthur's mouth twitch, but he did not smile, for he was concerned about something else:
"Why are you still in breeches? You ought to be getting ready for bed soon, don't you think?" Matthew wilted at that, looking down at his feet as though in shame, and Arthur wished he hadn't said anything. Matthew fell fully mute when criticized. "It's no matter," He said gently, "what did you need, poppet?"
Matthew said something in French, but it was so quiet Arthur couldn't understand him.
"What was that, dear?" Matthew spoke up by a fraction.
"Quand est le dîner?" he asked. Arthur blinked at him.
"When is… when is dinner?" he repeated, eyes flicking to the window. It was utterly black outside, sunset having taken place hours ago. "Matthew, we've already…" the boy's face was so guileless and, yes, now that he was looking for it, hungry. "Matthew, when was the last time you ate?" Matthew seemed pensive for a moment.
"Ce matin," he said, and Arthur fought valiantly not to look too shocked, for he knew it would upset the boy. This was not, unfortunately, the first time this had happened.
"Oh dear. Where's Miss Charlotte?" Matthew shrugged. Arthur sighed. "Come on, then," He stood, and bent down to pick Matthew up. He was far, far, too big to be carried about, but he seemed to dislike most all other forms of physical affection, and so Arthur had indulged him in this one childish thing ever since they'd met. He was the only one in the house who did so. "Come on, then, we'll find you something to eat."
Arthur was a dismal cook, but Matthew was eating up the fruit and porridge with silent appreciation, swinging his legs lightly in his seat and licking huckleberry juice off his lips. Arthur watched him, hoping the boy wouldn't see the worry etched into his guardian's face.
That morning. No food since that morning, and it was closer to midnight now than to suppertime. And here Matthew was, hair unbrushed, still in breeches, apparently having fended for himself for the last seven hours. Matthew's newest nanny, Charlotte, had been inconsolable when she'd seen Arthur carrying the boy downstairs, for apparently she'd been searching for him in vain all afternoon, and was nearly ready to demand a search party be sent out. After beseeching her to stop crying, Arthur had sent her and another maid to do up Matthew's bed and have a nightdress waiting for him; it was long past the boy's bedtime. All other staff had gone to bed already, or were else holed away in some cupboard cutting tomorrow's vegetables or mending clothes. This left Arthur alone with Matthew, which was very much the same as leaving Arthur alone altogether, for the boy had always been incurably quiet, staying mute even when he looked like he desperately needed to say something. And that, really, was the problem.
Arthur had no qualms with caring for quiet children, for he himself had been one eons ago. He certainly did not mind that Matthew tended to amuse himself with his own toys and games rather than needing constant attention from others. However, Matthew's reservations defied all norms, and often bordered on dangerous.
He would miss meals and not mention it for fear of making someone upset. He would hurt himself while playing, and neglect to tell anyone until the blood started showing through his clothes. Once, he'd sprained his ankle so badly it was nearly black with bruises by the time Arthur saw it, but he hadn't said anything because he was waiting for it to heal itself "on its own". No child of the Empire, Arthur had tried to tell him on multiple occasions, needs to suffer in such a way. No child of Arthur's should fear telling him what they need. If Matthew had understood his words, he'd not changed his behavior accordingly. Which only left Arthur to wonder: What on earth did Francis do to this boy?
Becoming Matthew's guardian was not at all what Arthur had prepared for. After the quick arrival and departure (or resignation) of a dozen English nannies who could not keep up with—or merely keep track of—Matthew, Arthur was now hard pressed to come up with a new strategy for breaking through to the boy. Perhaps he would benefit from company his own age, the thought had occurred to him one day. Certainly, there were not a great many children here on the outskirts of Quebec. Perhaps Matthew's shyness was but one symptom of loneliness. And if socializing with other children might help him, how much better, then, to socialize with another young nation?
And so, Arthur had sent a letter to the colonies. Then, he'd packed Matthew up into a ship and sailed him up and out of Quebec and down to Boston. It would be good, he thought, to have Matthew and Alfred meet. Their peoples were about as different as different could be: Catholic versus Protestant, French versus English, newly British and hating it versus longstanding, loving subjects of the crown. The Americans had been clamoring for the land along the St. Lawrence for years, but now that the French were being assimilated into the Empire's holdings, their minds were not so much on settlement as much as conversion and, if that failed, domestic warfare.
But despite all the tension between the colonies, Arthur was hopeful that Alfred and Matthew would get along. They were only children, after all. They likely didn't even fully understand their own nature yet, let alone their own people, for their cultures were still growing just as they themselves were. They were young and lonely, and could provide each other with much-needed company.
And, in the case of Alfred, hopefully provide the other with a new sense of confidence and, God willing, improved skills in the English language.
They made port just before noon. While Matthew and his nanny stayed on the ship, waiting to be transported with their luggage, Arthur left the formalities to the crew and was off the ship in a flash, knowing there would be chaos if he did not say hello to Alfred before introducing him to a crowd of strangers. Arthur was only just in sight of the front of the house when the door cracked open and a small brown body emerged.
"ARTHUR!" screamed Alfred across the courtyard, and Arthur couldn't help it when he smiled. How such a small pair of lungs managed to shout quite so loudly, he did not know. Alfred barreled toward him, running as fast as his small legs would carry him, and Arthur chuckled to see it. He leaned down slightly to catch Alfred right as the child hit him, hoisting him up by the armpits with a groan; Alfred had certainly grown taller and heavier in his absence.
"You were gone forever," Alfred accused, expression serious.
"I was no such thing," Arthur told him, tapping his nose. "You have dirt on your face."
"You were gone forever," Alfred repeated, voice hissing through a missing front tooth—that was new. He crossed his arms over his chest. "And I don't have dirt on my face."
"Yes you do, silly boy, and you'd best clean it off, for there's company coming to join us for dinner." Alfred's mood transformed at this news.
"Really?" He asked, excited, "who?"
"I shall tell you once you get inside and show me you remember how to wash up. Come along," He set the boy down, and Alfred proceeded to spring right back up to the house just as quickly as he'd left. Arthur shook his head. Alfred's nursemaid, who'd come huffing and puffing up the drive after her wayward charge, paused and nodded at Arthur, her forehead sweaty and looking tired.
"Welcome back, my lord," she huffed and curtsied, forcing an exhausted smile, "excuse me, my lord." And she turned and jogged right back up to the house after Alfred.
"It's good to be back," Arthur said, even though she was already too far away to hear him.
The fated meeting had to happen before dinner, and so not only was Arthur's stomach twisting in knots of nervousness, but also hunger as he led Alfred to the drawing room where Harold had been showing Matthew around its many books at artworks.
"Now, tell me what I just said?" Arthur asked patiently, holding Alfred's hand as they paused outside the door.
"To not yell, or hug him, or talk too loud," Alfred parroted back at him, sounding slightly annoyed at being asked to do so. "I wasn't gonna,"
"Going to," Arthur corrected, knee-jerk. "Good. Just introduce yourself like you would anyone else. You can ask him about his people and his colony later, alright? At dinner."
"Alright."
"Good boy," Arthur said, and opened the door. Matthew was across the room, gazing up at one of the wall tapestries, entranced by whatever story Harold was weaving about its imagery. Harold looked over when the door opened, but Matthew's gaze lingered. Alfred was already straining forward, hand itching to slip out of Arthur's to go and say hello.
"Matthew," Arthur called, and at last Matthew looked over to see them. "I'd like you to meet someone—this is Alfred Jones."
Suddenly, Alfred froze mid-stride, and grabbed Arthur's hand hard in his own. Alfred was looking at Matthew, and Matthew was looking at Alfred.
A word slipped out of Alfred's mouth, but it was not English—or French for that matter. It sounded like a question. He was staring straight at Matthew when he said it.
Matthew stared back at Alfred with the widest eyes Arthur had ever seen. Then, after a moment, he yelled something—Arthur hadn't known that Matthew could yell—and then wailed aloud, before promptly bursting into tears.
No sooner did this happen than did Alfred yank his hand out of Arthur's grasp, run toward Matthew, hug him to his chest like a ragdoll, and join him in his weeping.
Utterly gobsmacked, Arthur stood watching in shock and confusion while the boys sobbed and cried over each other. He was equally shocked to see Alfred crying as he was to see Matthew being hugged—and hugging back. He stepped closer cautiously, glancing up at Harold, who looked just as baffled as Arthur.
They were speaking to each other through their sobs, and a few words Arthur recognized as the language Alfred had spoken before Arthur had taught him English. It meant nothing to him, but to the boys whatever they were saying seemed to mean everything in the world. Alfred was wiping at Matthew's face, trying to clear away the tears, while Matthew continued to sob, clutching fistfuls of Alfred's shirt in either fist, ruining the presentable, tucked-away folds. Alfred murmured to the other boy and then pulled him back into a hug, holding him so tightly that Arthur could see his arms straining with the effort.
It was only then, seeing their even brown skin against each other and their small heads side by side that Arthur realized what he'd just seen.
Alfred and Matthew were brothers.
Oh, Jesus Christ. Arthur quietly raised a hand to his mouth. Brothers. Brothers, of course they were brothers. Twins, even, how had he not seen it? They had the same skin, the same eyes, the same hair, the same smiles, they were the same age—how had he not seen it? They were just so incredibly different, such utter opposites of the other, he had never even considered the possibility. He'd brought them together for that very reason, that Alfred might help draw Matthew out of his shell, that Matthew would offer Alfred the companionship he so desperately needed. And now…
Arthur knelt beside the boys, putting a hand on either of their shoulders, and the two hesitantly drew apart to look tearfully up at Arthur's face. He looked between them, seeing firsthand their mirrored features, down to the swirls in the front of their hair to the single dimple on opposite cheeks. Feeling tears prick at his own eyes, he brushed a finger across Alfred's cheek, Matthew's chin.
"Oh, my boys," he breathed, not sure he was believing what he was seeing. Nearly two centuries, centuries he'd known about them both. Francis had known. Antonio had known. And had anyone even considered the possibility…? Alfred sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, and Matthew's chin was shaking precariously once again. Biting back his own emotion, Arthur put a hand behind either of their heads and silently drew them into a hug. They clung to him, and to each other, and cried.
Dinner would have to wait.
143 notes · View notes
the-acid-pear · 3 years
Text
I did my homework and i did my chores, time to tackle on the third book of this series, Son of Ogre
Chapter 1
Okay but the fuck is Baki planning to do if he stops fighting? That's literally all he has, he's not smart
WOOH THATS A BIT REALISTIC
PREHISTORIC ELEPHANT?!
King just went to have a snack. Also FUCK does that meat look tasty FUCKKK
This baby so cute 🥺
I'm so glad Yuji is doing stupid hilarious shit again it had been a while
Congrats on Baki for that mantis
Chapter 2
Who tf is this kid?
Poor kid lmao, i assume he will meet Baki
Look at my boyyy
HSTSRFAYDF DON'T CALL HIM A MANLET
Imagine Baki actually kills this kid HSJDYSSHCBT
Third comment with a ton of likes is "we do not condone child violence. We do, however, find it hilarious"
Chapter 3
AH SHUT UPPP KIDDO
But i like Baki memeing a round a lil
Chapter 4
🥺🥺 that's so sweet...
HELLOOOO STRYDUM MY GOD YOUR TITS GOT FATTER SIR 😳😳
Yujiro is such a fucking threat to society lmao
I love seeing Baki with his eyes open, he's looking more like his old self
Oh, shadow boxing incoming, alright
Chapter 5
Yuri? 🥺 /j
THE RETURN OF IRON MICHAEL?!
Chapter 6
I love how there's our silly little mains after every cover LUV em <33
Baki just dissociating his ass out and using it on his favor, the king
Why is Baki eating sour prunes aren't those meant to be sweet?
We all salivating
Chapter 7
Love to see there are even more swears there now
I can put my face next to my foot too tho
FAGDRJSEHARD YUJIRO CAN BEAT THE CANCER HOW ICONIC 😍
Also i would LOVE to see Yuji fight an Orca
WHAT?!
I love how everyone in the comments is calling out Rumina for not seeing issue going down to a dark hidden basement with a shirtless man older than him
Chapter 8
"piggy back me" USHSYFLFUDSY
This fight is going to be good
Chapter 9
Imagine Baki dies right here right know against an imaginary mantis lmao
Okay Baki getting damaged makes sense but the WALL?
Baki's dead (GOD IT HAS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I HAVE SAID THAT)
Ffs it's true Baki COULD create himself a stand 😰
Chapter 10
OH FUCK IT'S TRUE
Chapter 11
This fight is so boring i had to take a 6 hour break
Baki just can't win against nature eh
This reminds me of Garland pulling a suplex on that Anaconda
Chapter 12
I can't wait for the main cast to ACTUALLY appear, instead of just, you know, them in the covers
This fight is slow but cool but slow
To fight a mantis you must think like a mantis 😎
Though it's true in this manga you will most likely win if you steal your opponent techniques so
Chapter 13
I MISS IGARI FUCKKK
This is so dumb i luv it
That mantis be swearing lmao
Love it when Baki goes full Yujiro
Chapter 14
TOBA...
Holy fuck do mantis fly?
Secret Chapter?
Is this how Yujiro got born?
Idk girl i would have killed him if i was you
WHAT.
I KNOW THOSE FROGS THEY ARE FROM PUERTO RICO I THINK
I might just be sleepy but this is so confusing
AKSHSKGSKSGSJSG JUST KILL THE BABY IT AINT THAT HARD
Chapter 15
GAIA...
Why is he like this?
Is "he" with us right now?
...gotta admit that IS true...
I love Strydum sksgwhwg
Yujiro really went XD
I don't think my man Arun in the comments is aware how gay what he said is, though maybe I'm wrong
Chapter 16
GOD THESE FUCKING COVERS MAKING ME SO NOSTALGIC, LOOK AT SPEC!
ANIME KENNEDY?!
I can't believe Bush is dead
AN ASIAN BOY HAS JUST KIDNAPPED THE PRESIDENT...
8 of January? My god he's a Capricorn
I'm sorry, what?
LAHQIGWKQFWKSFWIWG 😭😭
I love Baki so much, THIS IS THE KID THAT I MISSED SO MUCH
This explains why Baki was in prison clothes in the anime teaser
Chapter 17
BIG NUMBER
That one mf like 😐
Glad Baki is 18 now at least 😌
Love to see Oliva back
Chapter 18
This page not even bothering to charge the pages anymore
I'm sure there were better ways to go to jail, well, actually, no, but still
Toba used to just chew that off
Baki did that mantis hit you in the head too hard?
I. I watched way too many prison movies and shows. I don't like seeing someone as young and pretty as Baki in such a place. I rlly don't.
Chapter 19
Yanagi baby i miss you...
IRON MICHAEL?!
Mfkhsjsys 😳🥴
Eh got my hopes too high
CHE BAKI PIBE... LA PUTA MADRE NI ACA ME ESCAPO DE MIS COMPATRIOTAS
I hope he swears too i want to see a boludo o pelotudo PLEASE
I mean para pelotudos lo veo a Yujiro todo el tiempo pero igual JSGWKEGWG me pone bien argento ver al Che carajo
Chapter 20
HE SAID BOLUDO SUAHWKWGAKSGSKSGSKGD
I can't take this omfg new fav I'm sorry Doppo but he just said boludo 😭
Pendejo is more used as pibe here but i will let it pass bc idk the lingo in Cuba and he spent some time there so
Why don't i speak like this too ffs? All i do is say eh and call it a day
He's cocky enough to call anybody any age pibe so I'll let that pass too
Por favor no lo hagas che sksgwj
Chapter 21
Che, pibe, it's a good day to die...
Chapter 22
GSHAGSTSG he should have said "no boludo"
I'm falling in love with this boludo myself
That's talented and brutal
OH RIGHT YOU LOSE YOUR BALANCE WHEN YOU DONT HAVE THAT
Chapter 23
Hm that's, cringe
YESSS HE SAID PELOTUDO
OAHWLGWKQFSKSGSJS SIII ROMPELO TODO CHE, ROMPELO TODO POR DECIRTE YANKEE KSGSSJGS
Honestly i too get pissed off when called American or European, though i won't throw shit to Baki, he's some random 18 yo japanese boy, no way he would recognize latinoamerican lingo lmao
King shit Baki boy
Chapter 24
Oh that's why he's called Jun Guevara, that's fair
I like how they are mixing a bit of truth and a bit of lie it's fun at least
Chapter 25
I like how they are drawing nipples now, occasionally
I can't wait for Viêt to complain about propaganda in the comments
OH SHIT
😳 :Y
He's sooo nice 😍
Chapter 26
Only three? You mean the third is... 👁️👁️
HAHA YEAH YUJI-CHAN <3
I can't believe he works for the USA I'm crying and shaking rn
What a progressive manga, the three strongest and most dangerous men and none of them are white 😍
GET HIS ASS BAKI
Chapter 27
Why is this guy sweating sm?
LDYDYSUGFUDT BAKI PLS
I like how the only time Baki was willing to kill a person was when he thought Sikorsky had hurt his girl
Chapter 28
I feel like Ian will die
Man i love how Baki is drawn in this book
Ffs i called it, i have watched way too many prison things to know how shit goes down
I have seen these three before in fanart but I'm curious to see what they can do
Chapter 29
Their faces remind me of Doyle
OH I CANT WAIT TO SEE EM IN THE ANIME
ASSHOLE DON'T CALL ME STUPID 😢💔
I'm gonna struggle to tell em apart but i think I'll manage
Okay I'm not the only one who thinks they look like Doyle, fair
Chapter 30
The mouth vs Yujiro when?
Someone mentioned the have the same vibe as the dudes that worked with Gaia and like 👁️👁️
Chapter 31
Lmao someone in the comments recommended the same thing
These three must be great at sex (sorry)
KSHALDHDKD NEW FAV COMMENT: "go to Japan and look for the word "defeat". That way you won't feel cocky anymore"
Chapter 32
Hehe hello Junnn~
KSHAKDHKWGS
La luna
Chapter 33
LOS TRES...
Okay that's funny, hocico instead of mouth (hocico is used for animal mouths)
I'm so glad i know Spanish
The two things that drive me insane and make me ramble are Doppo's beauty and this stupid argentinian
OSHSKWGSKSG
Chapter 34
Imagine he's doing that illusion thing Dorian did
With his own blood, that's so cool...
Hoho...!
I did that once when i had a terrible nose bleed, didn't go well
Chapter 35
This book is fucking boring NGL
"now that you got no more urine left in you"
AH.
GAHDYR LMAO
Chapter 36
HO THAT TITLE, PLEEEASE I NEED SOMETHING, ANYTHING, TO HAPPEN
HHH he kinda cute...
Oww :(
JDJSJFRGAJ
God piantao is an old word i had never heard it before
AND he took a piss.
LOCO NO SEAS HOMOFÓBICO NINGUNA MINA ACA ES MEJOR QUE ESTE PIBITO TE LO ASEGURO SKSGSKGSJAAGS
Se me cayó un ídolo y yo que le quería dar 😔
ÑSHWQLSGOSGDKW
Let's see if he lied to Baki about just liking eh /j
Chapter 37
I luv Oliva lol
AJSGSKSLAGHS BAKI SNAPPED
I too wonder where the fuck Kozue is
Chapter 38
LSHSLDGSLSGSIEG
He is jealous of what you two have, it's normal, el Che just rejected his love after all ;/
Oliva is a king
OH A HANKERCHIEF I THOUGHT THAT WAS UNDERWEAR SHSGS-
Oh shit Oliva is like 45?! He looked so young
Te fuiste a la mierda, Che, el chabón estaba siendo re bueno con vos
Baki is just dead
Chapter 39
I love how realistic Che's fear is, he's rather smart, though not this time
POOR GUY AJSGSWJW
I didn't realize Che said "what more, it may be a woman!" but to be fair they ARE in jail so
Chapter 40
I'm feeling kinda bad for him ngl
I feel happy for him tho 🥺
Bruh they added one page after the ending of some naked anime girl tf 😐
Chapter 41
These prisoners having fun is kinda sweet
YO INSANE
Bitches be complaining about Maria's looks are just jealous 🥰
Chapter 42
Damn she lorge
He loves fighting naked eh
Only valid person is the one saying Oliva deserves better treatment which tbh true
Chapter 43
Fun fact i wear my jacket like El Che too, unless it's too cold
El che with the hair lose is so cute bro,,,
Something something fingering joke
Sikorski could fold a coin too
I bet the bandana will break
Chapter 44
I would have just fallen on top of him, how is he gonna counter that, eh?
Oh that super fun to know!
Oh the good ol dirty technique, i have seen this one before!
Chapter 45
NOOO MARIA DON'T DO THIS TO HIM
This fight is super cool tho i love these two characters
Chapter 46
They just keep changing the rules i think Itagaki is just flexing at this point
LAAOSFKAGSKAGSKAF???
Baki wants his protagonism back
I'm getting pissed off they keep putting semi naked underaged girls at the end of every chapter 😐
Chapter 47
Bruh just realized, the mouth got so hyped as this new cool villain and they died in their first appearance 😭
His damn bandana...
17 notes · View notes
13atoms · 3 years
Text
Close Protection (Davos x F!Reader)
Chapter 1: An Introduction
Bodyguard AU, post-S2. Davos finds his way out of prison, and straight into trouble. Fortunately he meets a woman who's in even more trouble.
___________________________________________________
The rain hammered down on New York, making the scent of garbage and concrete and people stew in the air, a cocktail of misery which made Davos’ chest ache for the open air and biting cold of K’un-Lun. Life in the mountains had been difficult, survival more challenging at altitude, at the whims of the climate, but at least it had been fucking simple.
Behind him yet another Kung Fu kwoon had slammed their doors closed at the sight of him. He could teach their students discipline, mastery of the craft he had dedicated his entire life to, and instead he had been shunned. Turned away. Davos had expected to shed a few surly words, perhaps give a mild demonstration of the martial arts he had learned as a child, and an easy ticket to his own kung fu studio would be available shortly thereafter.
In the half-dozen establishments he had visited, none of these weak imitations of Shifus had given him a chance to speak.
This watered down version of his entire livelihood, taught to children after school and bored, middle-aged office managers, was an insult. More insulting, he was not even deemed worthy to teach it.
Davos growled with irritation at himself as the rain made him shiver, his body betraying him in its coldness. His hair had grown out in prison, for the months he had been left to rot before his charges were abruptly dropped, and beads of the grimy American rain clung to his dark hair. He ran his hands over his face, wincing at their softness after months without even a spar, ruffling the shaggy mess which had taken root on top of his head.
The beard, too, was irritating. He hadn’t had the chance to shave. A shaggy moustache brushed his top lip and nose, making him look as bedraggled as Danny as he wandered the streets aimlessly.
His cheap rubber shoes slapped against the sidewalk, making smashed glass skid and trash crinkle with each step. Car headlights cast unnatural white-light, skimming across the puddles of the road, their drivers taking it in turns to cut one another off and create meaningless traffic as Davos trudged past them.
He scowled at a taxi driver, the irate man yelling at someone in a black car who had blocked an intersection, spitting with anger as his words were lost to the chaos of the city before they reached their intended recipient. Was this all these people did? All that was beyond K’un-Lun?
In cities across the world, was this man’s meaningless argument being replicated and replayed, night after night? It was enough to make a man give up.
He stared down at the cracked screen of his smartphone, barely functional with a soaked screen, trying to find the next dojo he was looking for. Perhaps they might offer him lodgings, if not work. Surely someonepracticing Kung Fu in this city had a sense of honour.
As he approached the cheaply printed banner outside the building he saw the lights switch off, the heavy doors already firmly closed. Bastards.
Davos stood for a moment, silent, trying to listen for voices inside. Another taxi driver was screaming at a drunken boy for throwing up in his car. A rat skittered across the pavement, searching for its next bin to scavenge through. There was no activity in the dojo.
With a groan of frustration, a kick at the door just substantial enough to bask in the pain of the collision, Davos turned back to the unforgiving city.
New York’s skyline was not high-rises here, none of the grandeur of the city centre which Joy had so nonchalantly enjoyed. This version of the city consisted of three-story buildings and fluorescent signs, shabby facades to concrete buildings which hid a multitude of sins.
A multitude so great that Davos had decided he no longer cared. He slumped on to the curb, his soaked feet perched at the edge of a river of disgusting water which rushed down the tarmac. It was unhygienic, it was uncomfortable, and Davos no longer cared. The slab of cast-concrete curb he sat on was loose, one more piece of this hodgepodge city which was falling into disrepair, wobbling as he shifted his weight on it.
Overhead a helicopter was circling. It seemed to happen endlessly, in this city, always one chase afoot. A huge rat run, filled with eyes and yet powerless to stop the proliferation of vermin throughout the streets.
A stray cat roamed past him, fur plastered to itself and revealing a bony skinniness after years of struggling to survive, a dead rodent in its mouth. The feral creature looked up at Davos lazily, unfearingly.
It walked right past him, on its merry way. He wasn’t even a threat.
*
The crack of your knees against the cheap plywood floor was barely more than a whisper, but you winced at the noise, hoping the honks of irritated taxi drivers and the shouts of pedestrians outside would conceal the indiscretion of your body. You contorted your torso down, out of sight, feet braced and ready to run if you had to.
You cursed yourself for being barefoot. For being unarmed. For choosing such an obvious place to hide. Scrambling out of bed in the wee hours of the morning had left you a little disoriented, and you forced yourself to blink sleep away, tensing your body against the threat in your house.
A heavy footstep crossed the threshold, distinct and deliberate as the hunter got closer and closer to your hiding spot. The living room was a small space, the kitchenette an even smaller corner of it, and the man coming after you looked big. His shadow was fuzzy from the low lighting as he took another taunting step, daring you to move. You stayed as still as you could manage, fingers reaching for the lip beneath your cabinets. Crouching behind the counter, reaching blindly, you muffled a breath of satisfaction as you found a knife concealed beneath the kitchen island.
The handle of it was dismally small, the blade barely any bigger and not even fixed, but it was something. With the steel in your hands, you felt a little bit stronger.
The intruder was rounding the counter deliberately. You felt sure he knew you were there, with nowhere else to hide in this damn place. You had the same training, and you knew he was toying with you. Trying to flush you out.
You unflipped the blade, and waited.
“If you come out now, we can get takeout on the way to prison,” he sing-songed, and you forced yourself not to laugh at the taunt.
You had always liked Agent Byrne, all things considered. He was a little heavy-handed, but he got the job done. But you would certainly never see a prison, if he was the one sent to capture you. You could picture the butt of handgun cradled in his non-shooting hand now, dwarfed by the giant of a man, as he braced to get a clear shot of you.
It was his distinctive move. He liked to fire a single bullet. Usually through the forehead.
It was merciful, in his strange way. He had always liked to take the shot himself, overruling his partner, and for good reason. He was one of the finest assassins the Firm had. Regardless, it would almost be embarrassing, to be taken out on the floor of your own kitchen, armed with only a knife.
An assassin of that skill deserved a much better fight.
As the scuffed nose of his sneaker edged around the kitchen island, you knew you had to give him a hard time. Clutching the knife in one fist, you drove it clean through his foot, leaving the blade there was Bryce screamed in pain and anger. You were out the door before he had time to draw his weapon, ducking as a bullet perforated the drywall above your head.
“Sorry!” you called behind you, another bullet rocketing dangerously close to your arm as you grabbed your go-bag from beside the front door.
Then you paused, hearing your name bellowed by the man as his limping footsteps approached the front door. You felt a little bad for him, wincing at the memory of your own injuries.
Still, it was part of the job. And one of the reasons you had been so desperate to leave.
He screamed your name again, colourful threats and curses spewed after you. You winced at the harsh insults, taking a second to cut the building’s intercom wires and close the door for good measure. Another bullet punctured the door as your keys left the lock, and you bolted.
Without an elevator, the fastest way to street level was the stairs.
You thundered down them, uncaring if your neighbours were woken up at this ridiculously early hour. The city itself could be louder, and the gunshots would have tipped them off that something was wrong. It didn’t matter if you were heard, you had to leave. Fast.
You heard the slam of a door upstairs, one heavy footfall followed by a lighter one, screams of your name. Your heart pounded, grab-bag thumping against your back, as you took the steps faster still. Agent Bryce was limping as he followed you, but he was certainly giving chase. Your gaze was fixed on the ground, one hand ghosting the railings, as you descended stairwell after stairwell, sticking to the outer perimeter where Byrne couldn’t get a clear shot at you.
He was following, slowed down the by agonising wound to his foot, and raging with anger at the escape of a bounty.
Perhaps he had thought you would go down easily, that you wouldn’t be waiting for him. No one left the Agency. You knew it. You had sprung out of your bed when he had snuck into your apartment with a gun in his hand, perhaps hoping if he creeped enough you wouldn’t hear him.
No. You had heard him coming, sensors on the stairs tripping and the man’s heavy tread unable to be disguised even by tiptoeing.
His feet were louder now, slapping against the stairwell, echoing alongside his roars. The whole damn place stank of piss as you inhaled raggedly, lungs heaving as you reached the final stairwell and took it two stairs at a time.
You had no idea what you would do once you were at street level. You couldn’t go to the police. You certainly couldn’t go to your new employer, not at this hour, and not with an assassin on your tail.
When you burst out onto the open street you cursed at the heavy rain, instantly drenching you, ruining your visibility as you looked around wildly for somewhere, anywhere to hide.
Unarmed and unskilled in fighting, you knew you couldn’t take on Bryce. The man was a mountain of muscle, wielding a pistol with enough bullets left to take you out half-a-dozen different ways, faster and stronger than you.
Though perhaps not smarter.
A taxi driver was idling outside the building, and you moved to wrench the back door open, ignoring the driver’s shouts of irritation through a puff of cigarette smoke. You threw yourself into seats, ducking down to hide, ignoring the irritated glare the driver gave you.
“Please, drive. Get me away from here,” you panted, glancing back nervously at the building. The man scoffed, glaring at you in the rearview mirror.
“I’m waiting on a job, lady. Get out.”
“No! Please, it’s dangerous, you don’t understand,” you begged, but you could already see the driver’s uncaring stare, rejection in the premature wrinkles lining his face.
“Out.”
When you ducked down, staring once again at the doors of your apartment building, he sighed. Climbing bodily out the car, leaving his lit cigarette smouldering on the dashboard’s ashtray, the driver opened the taxi door. He attempted to haul you out of the vehicle, and even in your terrified state you were forced to comply. What else could you do?
Out on the cold road again, you stared wide-eyed as the taxi driver slammed his door shut, moving the car up the block and away from you.
As you stood in the middle of the street, dismay sinking agonisingly into your stomach, you found your feet frozen to the ground. The front doors of the building finally slammed open, a sickening grimace spreading across Bryce’s face.
His roars of anger had been terrifying, but that silent smile sent a chill through you like nothing else.
“You’ll pay for this, you bitch.”
He lifted his injured foot, blood seeping through his sneaker and glinting in the streetlight as it mixed with the oily water on the road’s surface. Then, he lifted his gun. Sirens were blaring in the distance, but you knew the cops would be too late. You would be bleeding out on the road, your blood joining the city’s bilge, and Bryce would get a pat on the back for a termination well done.
You hated your voice, your shaking, as you started to beg.
“Please! I’m sorry! I did nothing wrong I… if you knew what they were doing. All the fucked up shit I saw in those files, they’re not the good guys! The Firm… they’re –”
At the mention of your ex-employer’s name, a gunshot ricochet through the night, skidding off the road.
It was a warning shot. Agent Bryce would never miss otherwise.
Your head ached, pre-emptively, at the thought of the bullet which would smash through your skull and separate the tissue in your frontal lobe as soon as the assassin stopped having his fun.
“Shut up, you traitor bitch,” he growled, and it gave you some measure of satisfaction to see the pumice red crawling up his face, the shaking and the frustration building in him “I know what you did!”
He spat as he yelled, his voice echoing around the streets even louder than the pounding of the rain and the whine of distant cars. You noticed the taxi which had kicked you out creep around the corner, and tried to push down a sense of irritation at the man’s cowardice.
You turned back to Bryce, wondering how to stall for time. And if stalling for time would even help. The sirens seemed to have gotten further away – maybe your neighbours hadn’t even bothered to call the cops.
“I did what was right!”
Your voice shook, body trembling in the rain, grab-bag limp on your back as the barrel of the Agent’s handgun stared you down from the sidewalk. You tried not to jolt at the whisper of movement behind you, unable to break Bryce’s stare. To give him the window of non-judgement he could use to kill you.
This was good. You knew that Agents should never get personally involved. Should never let emotion cloud their operations. Clearly, he felt very emotional about this particular job.
“You have no idea what’s right, you disloyal –”
Your jaw dropped, the gun clattered to the ground, and Bryce crumpled.
Behind him stood a soaked man, significantly smaller than Bryce, a concrete slab in his hands. You stared wide-eyed at the attacker, watching as he crouched smoothly to inspect his victim, sprawled unnaturally on the ground. The gunman’s head was split open, and you didn’t need to get any closer to realise that he was dead.
“You…” your voice came out strained as you looked at the man who had saved you, the piece of concrete curb he had wielded smashing as it dropped to the ground.
Both of you seemed as surprised as each other, your jaw hanging open while the stranger’s was clenched painfully tight.
“You needed help,” he offered, stunned.
You nodded.
“Thank you.”
The pair of you startled, your standoff interrupted, as wailing sirens seemed to get closer.
“We should go,” you declared, watching as the stranger nodded his head firmly, glancing at the entrance to the street.
You took off, bare feet protesting against roughness of the ground, surprised to hear the slap of rubber on tarmac as the stranger followed you.
“Where to?” he asked, wide-eyed as he took one last glance as Bryce, bleeding out in the taxi lane.
“Not sure,” you admitted, “away from here.”
In truth, you hadn’t expected your sudden accomplice to stick around. He kept up, following you as you avoided glass and obstacles on the ground, mere inches from your side.
“That works for me.”
__________________________________________-
A/N: This is due to be chapter 1 of 8. The fic is still being written, so let me know what you think! I'm hoping to get a chapter out every few days, as I write them.
This one requires a little cheesy-trope-tolerance, but it'll be worth it.
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wonder-kid-pugh · 4 years
Text
No Matter What - (Jessie Fleming x reader)
In honour of of Jessie making her (20 second) debut (fuck sake Chelsea) I decided to write this. Now I started it yesterday and it's slightly rushed but I hope you enjoy it!!!
17 years ago
"Don't go too far now Y/n!" My mom shouts as I run into the park. "I won't!" I call back as I keep running. I kick my ball in front of me and chase after it. I start messing around with the ball trying to do tricks. Maybe falling over the ball ever once in a while. I scoop the ball up and try to do some kickie uppies. But I only get to 3 before I kick the ball too hard and sends it flying off to the right through a bush.
I let out a sigh before jogging over to the bush the ball went through. I look to see the ball went through the bush. I push myself through the bush and look around the trail that was hidden behind the bush. I smile as I see a girl standing there with my ball.
I run up to her, "Hey! You found my ball!" She looks up at me and nods while holding out the ball to me. I smile as I take the ball and hold it under my arm, "My name is Y/n. What's yours?" She shifts awkwardly as she mumbles, "Jessie". I tilt my head at her as I scrunch my face at her, "What are you doing back here by yourself?"
She looks down at her shoes as she digs her foot into the dirt, "I was just exploring and I don't really have any friends". I smile at her, "I'll be your friend". She looks up at me, "Really?" I give her a big toothy smile, "No matter what". She smiles while I hold out my ball, "Well do you want to play soccer with me?"
She gives me a small smile and nods, "Okay". I grin as I grab her hand and pull her back towards the park, "Great! Let's go play!"
8 years ago
"Hey Y/n" Jessie smiles as she opens the door to me. But I can't find it in me to smile back as I bite my lip, "Hey Jess. Can we talk?" She frowns as she sees me, "Is everything okay?"
I sigh as I run my hand through my hair, "Can...can we sit down?" She nods as she walks over to the bench at the front of her house as we sit down. She doesn't say anything as she looks at me worried while I sit with my arms on my knees and my head in my hands. Cupping my hands over my nose and mouth I take a deep breath.
She's waiting for me to speak but I can't. Because if I say it out loud it makes it real and I can't take it back after. No matter how much I wish I could change it. "Y/n what is it? Your starting to scare me?" She eventually asks, "what's wrong?"
I can feel her eyes piercing the side of my skull but I don't look knowing it's going to be a hundred times worst if I look at her. I stare at a leaf on the ground as it tumbles past me in the wind, "We're moving away Jess". When she doesn't say anything I chance it and look at her as I see her stare at me in shock with her mouth open in disbelief, "What?" "We're leaving Jess" I breathe out my voice barely above a whisper.
She shakes her head at me as she sits up closer for me, "Is this another one of your dumb pranks? This isn't funny Y/n!" I let out a bitter chuckle as I look away from her, "I wish this was a joke Jess. I really wish it was".
She lets out a shaky breath, "Where?" I run both my hands through my hair as I scratch the back of my head in frustration, "California". Her head whips around at me and I could see the heartbreak on her face. "Dad got offered another job and he wants to be closer to help Grans and Gramps. He's already accepted the job" I explain not being able to bare the silence between us.
"How long until..." She can't even finish her question. Just like how she can't even look at me right now. I play with my fingers as I hunch back over my knees, "2 weeks..."
There's another silence neither of us knowing what to say. What do you say when your best friend has just told you your moving away and you won't be able to see each other.
"Well we'll...we'll get through it. I can come visit you. And we can call and text. And-and we'll see each other at camp. It'll all be fine" Jessie reassuringly. But I don't know who she's trying to convince. Me or herself.
I let out another sigh rubbing my eyes, "Jess....I can't". She furrows her eyebrows at me, "What do you mean you can't?" I bite the inside of my cheek as I look at her who seems to have a permanent frown on her face. I do anything to see her smile right now but I know I have to tell her now or else it would make things so much worst later on.
"Jess I talked with my parents and...we decided that the best thing for me to do is to swap to the American team" I say slowly as if it would soften the blow. But it does anything but, "What?" I go to grab her hand, "Jess you have to understand". But she pulls her hand away from me angrily, "Understand what? That your leaving!" I sigh, "Jess I can't be flying out for every camp". She stands up from the bench as she glares at me, "So your just going to leave me behind? We promised we would make our debut for the national team together!"
I try to reach out for her, "Jess please I wish there was another way but there isn't". "Just stay!" She tells me. "I can't Jess I'm sorry". But she steps away from me narrowing her eyes at me, "So your just going to give up on our dream. Give up on us!" My eyes start to water as I look at her, "Jessie please your my best friend. I wish there was another way but there isn't".
But she isn't having it and instead glares at me, "My best friend would never leave me like this!". I can feel my heart break as I see the girl I so desperately like look at me with so much hatred and anger as she spits out words at me like they're poison in her mouth, "I never want to see you again!"
Nothing could stop the tears flowing down my face as I watch her run into her house slamming the door behind her. I sniffle and wait for a little while hoping that she would come back but I know she wasn't. With a heavy sigh and I turn and walk back to my house.
And she kept her word as that was the last time I saw her before I was on a plane to America heartbroken.
7 years ago
I smile as the final whistle blows signalling the end of the match. I watch as the Canadian players surround her patting her on the back for a job well done. At 15 years old and she already had her debut for the Canadian national team.
The debut we were supposed to make together
I stay for another few minutes before I start to grab my stuff to leave. I just about made it out when someone speaks behind me, "You could stay you know?" I turn and shrug, "I don't want to ruin her big day". Elysse frowns at me, "She misses you, you know. A lot". I give her a small smile, "I miss her a lot too. She seems to be doing just fine".
But she still sighs, "Why won't you tell her your here? She'll want to see you!" The last words she spoke to me ring on my ears as I shake my head, "Like I said I don't want to ruin her big day. She should be happy". "Why did you come then?" She asks.
I sigh as I run my hand through my hair, "Because no matter what I will always care about her. Even if she doesn't want me too".
Present day
I smile in the back of the empty stadium as Jessie celebrates with her new teammates as she holds the community shield which she won from her first match with the team. When I look over at the Man City side I can see Janine already looking at me. Already knowing I was there as she knew I was coming to the match today.
She looks at me and I already know what she wants me to do but I shake my head. I look back over at the Chelsea side one last time before I walk back into the stadium like I wasn't even there.
I had just made it to the carpark when someone shouts my name, "Y/n wait!" My breath hitches as I stop in my tracks as I realise who is behind me. I can hear the clitter clatter of her boots against the stone as she stops behind me. I finally will myself to turn around to see her freckled face and rosy cheeks.
She stares at me lips parted but I can't tell how she's feeling as we both just stand there staring at each other. Until I eventually give her a small smile. "Hey Jess" I breathe out. "Hi Y/n" she whispers. I can't help but look her up and down. It's been years since I've seen her this close up. Sure I've seen her on TV and at matches but we haven't spoken since the day I told her I was leaving.
She was still all decked out in her Chelsea gear. Somehow looking even better than she did all those years ago. It was like the wind was knocked out of me as I meet her dazzling brown orbs which study me as she looks me up and dowm.
"How did you know I was here?" I ask. She looks down and plays with the card in her hand, "I found the flowers you left in my locker. And I knew it was you when I saw this". She holds up the small card that I had sent to her locker along with the flowers. I hadn't signed the card but I knew I didn't need to because of what I wrote.
I always knew you were going to be something great. Congrats on your first very professional game. I'll always be supporting you.
No matter what
I just nod. Honestly I was hoping I would have been gone by the time she saw the card. I just wanted to let her know that someone was supporting her. I knew her family couldn't be here because of the pandemic. And there was no way I was missing her first ever professional club game.
"How...how are you doing Y/n?" She asks fidgeting a bit. I just nod and shrug, "Good. Taking it day by day. Playing soccer the usual". Jess nods quickly before sighing, "Why did you come?" I bite my lip as I sigh. I knew the question was coming and it's been the same even since we were young. But I'm not sure how she would take the truth. So I shrug, "Couldn't miss your Chelsea debut". I could see her roll her to eyes.
"I played like 20 seconds"
I chuckled, "Still played didn't you?" She shakes her lips before staring at me again. "But why?" She presses. I purse my lips and tilt my head at her. She sighs as she closes her eyes and looks at the ceiling before looking back at me, "Why? Why after all these years? After me ignoring you for leaving? Why would you still come and support me?"
I sigh as shove my hands in my pockets and look her straight in the eye, "Because nothing could make me stop caring about you Jessie Fleming. No matter what".
She scoffs, "If you really cared that much you would have stayed". I frown as we're back to this, "Jess it wasn't that simple. I couldn't have stayed with Canada. Travelling back and forth for camps, it wouldn't of worked out". Jess glares at me, "You could have made it work! If it was the other way around, I would have done everything to make it work! Instead you gave up and left me!"
I couldn't take it anymore as I snap at the girl, "I didn't want to leave!" She stares at me shocked. Never in our entire lives have I ever blown up at the girl like this. I barely ever raised my voice at her.
Until now that is
I sigh letting my shoulder slump as I look at the girl, "You weren't the only one who lost someone. Yes you lost your best friend. But I lost my person. The girl who I was in love with since forever". Her mouth drops as she lets out a small gasp at my confession. So I decide to keep going, "I was there for your first cap with the national team. I was there for your first game with UCLA. When you win bronze in Rio. I was there for all of it. Because I'll always care about you Jessie Fleming even when you don't want me too".
Her eyes well up with tears as she sniffs, "I didn't know you were there for any of it". I shrug, "You weren't supposed to". She walks forward so we're now standing closer to each other within arm's reach as she looks up at me, "I'm so sorry Y/n. I was so mad that you were leaving that I didn't think of how you felt. I was just mad because..."
She sighs closing her eyes but I brush a hair behind her ear, "Jessie?" She sighs finally meeting my eyes, "Because I was in love with you too. And I didn't want you to leave". My mouth drops as I watch her fidget on the spot. "Was?" I breathe out as I feel my heart stop briefly.
She looks up at me shyly, "I still am". I can see her glance down at my lips and I waste no time as I cup her cheek and lean down and kiss her. She slowly returns the kiss as she wraps her arms around my neck. The kiss was better than I ever imagined it. My mind was a whirl as I try to comprehend that I'm actually kissing the girl I've liked ever since I was young.
When we finally break apart I lean my forehead against hers as we both breathe heavy. "I've wanted to do that for a long time" I whisper as a small smile spreads across her face. She nudges my nose with her own as she smiles at me, "I love you". I smile as I give her a quick kiss back.
"I love you too. No matter what"
178 notes · View notes
birdhaslostit · 3 years
Text
🎁🎄❄️What the Lupin Gang would do for Christmas!❄️🎄🎁
Helloooooooo Lupin fans! You may or may not remember me as that one chick who made that Halloween headcanon post a few months back, as well as the Jigen’s bangs post. I’m back with a Christmas post!!!
Please note: Personally, I really only celebrate Christmas in a non-Jesus-y way. (Which is how I’m also writing this post, because let’s be honest, do you really think Lupin is going to confession and shit? Absolutely not.) It’s purely out of habit because I was raised Catholic, but I practice witchcraft now. My family doesn’t know that though. Because of this, I considered also making posts for other winter holidays, so I could include Lupin fans that don’t celebrate Christmas. But I didn’t want to accidentally mess it up, or write something inaccurate about a holiday that I don’t celebrate. It felt disingenuous to make a Hanukkah post because I’m not Jewish and it doesn’t seem like my place, and I didn’t want to do a Yule one either, because no two people celebrate it the same way. So, I strongly encourage others to add their respective winter festivities to this post if they want to! We’re all about inclusivity here.
Without further ado:
🎁LUPIN:
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I don’t feel like it needs saying, but this man goes bonkers for Christmas.
He flip-flops his choice of red or green jacket by the year. But it always comes with an equally garish Christmas-themed tie, just to make explicitly clear that this is The Christmas Jacket for the year, as opposed to the standard red/green jacket.
The hideout(s) are always decorated to the GILLS inside. It’s an odd mix of older classy decorations he’s inherited from his family, and absolutely horrendously tacky ones he’s bought himself. 
Picture real branch garlands, wrapped tastefully around gilded candelabras that have been passed down through several generations. And then one of those singing, dancing stuffed animals from Walmart that plays “Jingle Bell Rock” when you squeeze its paw, right next to it.
Christmas-themed heists? You know it, baby. But he won’t steal anything on Christmas Eve or Christmas. It just isn’t in the spirit of the season, in his opinion. But he’ll leave a little something-something with his calling cards during the rest of December. A candy cane, a sprig of mistletoe, a bough of holly, etc.
Lupin despises eggnog. He loves any other Christmas drink, just not eggnog. He’s too grossed out by the idea of drinking eggs with alcohol- some things just shouldn’t be mixed.
Will not allow anyone to mention the truth about Santa Claus in his presence. Yeah, he knows, but that’s not the point. It just feels like bad luck to say it out loud. The harder Jigen tries to debate with him that Santa isn’t real, the harder he digs in his heels that “of course he is you absolute Scrooge, how dare you! If you don’t believe, you don’t receive.”
Favorite Christmas Songs: Anything peppy! 
Wonderful Christmastime by Paul McCartney
Step Into Christmas by Elton John
Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree by Brenda Lee
We Need a Little Christmas by Percy Faith and his Orchestra
A Holly Jolly Christmas by Burl Ives
All I Want For Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey
Santa Claus’ Party by Les Baxter
Favorite Christmas Drinks: Literally anything except eggnog.
Favorite Christmas Foods: Anything obscenely sugary. Especially gingerbread men and other decorated pastries.
Favorite Christmas Activities: Loves to ice skate and make gingerbread houses! But his houses usually look fairly pathetic, no matter how hard he tries.
Favorite Christmas Movie(s): 
The Grinch (Jim Carrey version)
Home Alone
Scrooged
Christmas Gifts: The king of gag gifts, but he also gives surprisingly thoughtful presents too. He’s the kind of guy that would get a person something they mentioned once offhandedly that they really liked, and he’d go back and get it for them.
🎅JIGEN:
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Lupin always wants to decorate the hideout(s) the second Halloween ends, but it never happens. With Jigen being the only American in the gang, he always puts a stop to it in order to preserve the quickly-disappearing border between Thanksgiving and Christmas.
What can I say, dude loves his Thanksgiving excuse to eat like shit and do nothing for a day. Even if it is a fucked-up holiday, historically speaking.
But once the Thanksgiving meal is over, he gives Lupin the okay to go crazy. He’s pretty stoked about Christmas too, but too full of turkey to contribute, so he just watches Lupin hang up Christmas lights everywhere while he lays on the couch and digests.
Jigen likes Christmas a lot, but like, in a normal person kind of way. Nowhere near Lupin’s insane level. He’s surprisingly open about his enthusiasm too. The average person would think he doesn’t really care about Christmas much (or anything else really), but to the gang, Christmastime is the most openly excited they’ve ever seen him.
One year’s Christmas-themed heist involved Jigen dressing up as a mall Santa as a part of the plan. The gang powdered his beard, gave him a pillow for his stomach, and sent him on his way. Everything went surprisingly smoothly, and he actually did pretty well with the kids. At first they were a little intimidated, and Jigen was kind of nervous- but he gave them all candy canes and they changed their minds pretty quickly.
Jigen enjoyed it a lot, actually... to the point that he may have potentially started volunteering to be the local mall Santa. Every year during December, he leaves for a day or two on “business.” Nobody in the gang can prove it though, and trust me, they’ve tried.
Favorite Christmas Songs: The classics and the chill ones, with a few rock ones thrown in for a little kick.
Mele Kalikimaka by Bing Crosby
Sleigh Bells by Gene Autry
(There’s No Place Like) Home For The Holidays by Perry Como
Jingle Bells by Frank Sinatra
Caroling, Caroling by Nat King Cole
Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow by Dean Martin
Silver Bells by Dean Martin
Happy Holiday by Bing Crosby
Run Rudolph Run by Chuck Berry
Merry Christmas Baby by Bruce Springsteen (Sang this once after too much eggnog and will never live it down)
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen by the Barenaked Ladies (He’s not into all the Jesus-y stuff, but it’s pretty catchy.)
Favorite Christmas Drinks: Jigen is ALL. ABOUT. THAT. NOG. He’ll make his cup a little stronger than everyone else’s.
Favorite Christmas Foods: He really likes candy canes, especially the mini ones. He’ll keep a few in his pocket with his cigs, and switch between them depending on his mood. Out of habit, it’ll usually dangle out of his mouth like a cigarette would.
Favorite Christmas Activities: Watching Christmas movies and laughing at Lupin’s shitty gingerbread houses.
Favorite Christmas Movies: 
Anything that’s on at the moment, really. He likes to lounge by the TV, and he’s not picky. 
He has a soft spot for A Charlie Brown Christmas though.
A Christmas Story, solely because of the BB gun.
Scrooged, because Bill Murray’s hilarious.
Christmas Gifts: Something practical and useful that the person never realized they needed until they opened the box.
☃️GOEMON:
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Goemon wasn’t originally a huge fan of Christmas. Shocking, I know.
He now enjoys some aspects of it, and tolerates others. He likes the idea of giving heartfelt gifts and spending time with loved ones as a tradition, but dislikes the cheesy commercial aspect of Christmas.
He already enjoys the snow and walking through the forest, so the gang usually commissions him to pick a tree for them and cut it down with Zantetsuken. (If they’re somewhere where that’s an option.)
Unbeknownst to the rest of the gang, he will always replant the tree he cut down, and he will wrap something cozy around the bottom of the sapling to keep it safe. Yes, this was directly inspired by A Charlie Brown Christmas. No, he will not admit to this.
Favorite Christmas Songs: The instrumentals, and a few he’d rather die than admit to liking.
The Nutcracker March from The Nutcracker
Waltz of the Flowers from The Nutcracker
Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy from The Nutcracker
Christmas Time Is Here (Instrumental) by the Vince Guaraldi Trio
Greensleeves by the Vince Guaraldi Trio
Last Christmas by Wham! (He likes the storyline and the romantic aspect of it.)
Do They Know It’s Christmas? by Band Aid (He likes that it was for a good cause, even if it has its flaws.)
Happy Xmas (War Is Over) by John Lennon and Yoko Ono (Again, flawed, but he enjoys the intended message of peace. Also, represents Japan on the side with Yoko Ono.)
White Winter Hymnal by Fleet Foxes
Favorite Christmas Drinks: Surprisingly fond of hot cocoa. Heavy on the whipped cream and marshmallows. 
Favorite Christmas Foods: Doesn’t really like eating gingerbread men, but enjoys decorating them. They’re always pristine, like something you’d get in a bakery.
Favorite Christmas Activities: See above. Also enjoys going out in the snow, and making ice sculptures with Zantetsuken.
Favorite Christmas Movies: Refuses to admit he likes any of these.
Any of the classic Rankin Bass claymation specials.
Any other animated ones for kids. Has a soft spot for A Charlie Brown Christmas and The Polar Express.
A few of those cheesy Hallmark ones.
Christmas Gifts: Something small and sentimental he saw while walking by a store that reminded him of the person he’s giving it to. Nothing extravagant, but thoughtful nonetheless.
⛸FUJIKO:
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Fujiko decorates the tree. Period. Lupin cannot be trusted to do this on his own. Goemon picks the tree, Lupin and Jigen put it in the stand, and from there, it’s all Fujiko. The ornaments, lights, and tree skirt are all perfectly color/theme coordinated, and arranged like a pristine store display. 
She also has a few ornaments that she bought for each specific member of the gang. Lupin’s is a monkey (he was not pleased, but he’s whipped for her, so he let her keep it). Jigen’s is a carved wooden pistol. Goemon’s is porcelain, with hand-painted sakura blossoms on it. She bought one for Zenigata too as a joke one year- a tiny bowl of ramen noodles.
Her ornament? The star on top of the tree, because she’s the star of the show, baby. It’s actually a snowflake, made of the finest crystal she could steal.
Favorite Christmas Songs: Pop music and Motown’s finest.
Underneath The Tree by Kelly Clarkson
All I Want For Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey
Santa Tell Me by Ariana Grande
This Christmas by Donny Hathaway
What Christmas Means To Me by Stevie Wonder
Sleigh Ride by The Ronettes 
Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree by Brenda Lee
Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) by Darlene Love
A Marshmallow World by Darlene Love
I Like A Sleighride (Jingle Bells) by Peggy Lee
Favorite Christmas Drinks: Hot chocolate and mulled wine.
Favorite Christmas Foods: Loves baking and eating gingerbread men. She lets Goemon decorate them with her. Hers have lots of candy and sprinkles on them, while his are just icing.
Favorite Christmas Activities: Along with baking, ice skating! She’s the best at it out of the whole group. None of the guys are particularly good at it, but she makes them go with her at least once regardless.
Favorite Christmas Movies:
Hallmark ones, solely to make fun of them.
Babes In Toyland, but only the 1986 one, because it has Keanu Reeves in it, and “I don’t care if I’m your girlfriend, Lupin. In this house, we support Keanu Reeves.”
Christmas Gifts: Something expensive/extravagant that will make the person think of her every time they use it.
🎄ZENIGATA:
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Zenigata is the second biggest Christmas enthusiast, just behind Lupin.
He doesn’t get to settle down and decorate anything really, since he’s always running after the gang, but he does lots of other little things to celebrate instead. Like getting hot chocolate instead of coffee, tuning the squad car radio to the Christmas station, getting an air freshener that smells like gingerbread, and wearing a festive scarf and gloves with his trench coat to keep out the cold.
In years past, Zenigata still had to work on Christmas Eve/Christmas, even if Lupin wasn’t out stealing anything. Lupin found out and thought that was a little harsh of ICPO, so he came up with a plan. 
Each year he sends a calling card to the station with the conditions that only Zenigata can come to investigate. Zenigata does some research, shows up to the location on Christmas Eve, and every year, nothing’s there except for a neatly wrapped present from Lupin. 
Zenigata keeps the present as “evidence,” goes back to the station, and they give him Christmas off to go investigate on his own, in case Lupin tries anything else. Lupin never does, but the station doesn’t know that. Bada bing, bada boom, Lupin just got Zenigata a vacation.
Zenigata never catches on, bless his heart.
Favorite Christmas Songs: Ones he can sing/hum along to in the squad car.
The Man With All The Toys by The Beach Boys
Celebrate Me Home by Kenny Loggins
Feliz Navidad by José Feliciano (Does Zenigata understand Spanish? Absolutely not. Does he get the point and think it’s festive? Darn right.)
A Holly Jolly Christmas by Burl Ives
Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer by Dean Martin
Winter Wonderland by the Eurythmics
Silver Bells by Dean Martin
Happy Holiday/The Holiday Season by Andy Williams
Santa Claus Is Comin’ To Town by Gene Autry
December by Earth, Wind, and Fire (Let him have this okay, it’s a good song and he gets made fun of for liking it by the rest of ICPO)
Skating by the Vince Guaraldi Trio
Favorite Christmas Drinks: Hot cocoa and eggnog, but not strong eggnog like Jigen’s.
Favorite Christmas Foods: Anything, really. It’s something besides cup noodles, so he’s grateful. Lupin’s gift always includes lots of various Christmas goodies because of this.
Favorite Christmas Activities: Zenigata enjoys the snow in theory, but doesn’t handle the cold well. So he likes to watch the snow from his window while he listens to Christmas music in his squad car and sips his hot cocoa.
Favorite Christmas Movies: He doesn’t really have a lot of time to sit down a watch a movie, with how hard he works. But he remembers a few from when he was younger, and he really likes those. His favorite is Frosty the Snowman.
Christmas Gifts: Something inexpensive because ICPO vastly underpays this poor man, and he’s always embarrassed because of that, but it’s always something super sweet and heartfelt.
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MERRY CHRISTMAS! And for those who don’t celebrate it, HAPPY HOLIDAYS! <3
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Crockett Marcel x reader D’accord (Oneshot)
Written by: @anotheronechicagobog​
Warnings: Mature themes, America has HORRENDOUS gun laws, seriously as a Canadian I get second hand anxiety about your gun laws/judicial system (even though Canada’s is far from perfect)/healthcare system, April is not written well here but I’m gonna do a nice fic for her soon, pardon my French (literally, quite a bit of this fic is in French with translations)
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You’d been surprised to find another Francophone in Chicago. After you’d moved there from Quebec, you weren’t expecting much. Only a couple of “Oui, oui,” and “hon, hon, hon”’s from some unintentionally insulting Americans. So when, during your fifth shift, you swore in your native tongue “merde!” you’d been pleasantly surprised when Crockett had responded without missing a beat.
You’d shown him French-Canadian food, he’d shown you Cajun food, and you had each gained a confidant at med. And you’d both needed it. You were in a new country with very different social customs and laws, and April had kissed him while Choi was deployed leaving him a magnet for gossip. You’d both just needed someone to talk to, and speaking French with each other was just an added comfort.
“What did Doris say this time?”
“I don’t care that people are talking about me, I really don’t. Gossip is just part of hospital life and that’s fine, but I am so tired of being glared at and avoided. People aren’t even bothering to get to know me. I am just so tired about having to fight for a basic level of confidence in my colleagues for something that I didn’t even do! She kissed me, she just walked up and kissed me, how is this my fault?”
“I’m sorry Cherie.”
“I know. How was your day?”
“Anderson pretended to shoot at me again.”
“Seriously? You should report him to HR.”
“I don’t know, I don’t want to be overreacting.”
“He is pretending to have a gun and waving it at you on a daily basis because he knows that you are from a country with decent gun laws. What about the day he comes in with a real gun? And loaded? What if he actually shoots you? You need to report him, Cher.”
“Okay, I will. At the end of the day.”
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You sat at Molly’s away from the main group, shunned by your colleagues. “It was just a joke, Y/N, can’t you take a joke?” But it didn’t feel like a joke. Not to you. You already felt like you should be wearing a kevlar vest on a regular basis; you didn’t need to be made fun of for your very real fear. You were busy moping when someone plopped down in the stool beside you. “Mon journée a sucé. Dites-moi que le vôtre était meilleur.” (My day sucked. Tell me yours was better)
“Voyez-vous la foule de gens qui me regardent et qui parlent de moi là-bas?” (Do you see the crowd of people looking at me and talking about me there)
“Zut. J'espérais vraiment que ça irait mieux.” (Damn. I was really hoping it would get better)
“Moi aussi.” (Me too)
“The hell are you two speaking? Swedish?”
“... It’s French, Hermann.”
“If you say so Y/N... You guys want another round?”
“Yes, please, kind sir.” Trying to make a joke with the man everyone said had a heart of gold and a belly full of laughs at all times.
“Well, okay then. French people are weird.” Both you and Crockett sucked in a breath. Explaining was always the hardest part. “We are not French people. Crockett is Cajun, and I am French-Canadian.”
“Okay, I don’t know what Cajun is, but isn’t French-Canadian just a Canadian who speaks French?”
“Mon Dieu.” (My God)
“Sacre bleu (Damn it), Hermann. No, a French-Canadian is not just a Canadian who speaks French, and unless you want to start a war in a country you don’t even live in, I advise you to refrain from speaking in that manner again. And just for the record, a Cajun person is someone descended from Acadia settlers in Nova Scotia who left for Louisianna to flee the British.”
“... Okay. I’m sorry I asked.” You just held your breath as Crockett swore under his breath. You opened your eyes, grabbed your glass over bourbon and downed it. “Je sais que je viens juste d'arriver, mais je veux déjà partir.” (I know I just arrived, but I already want to leave)
“Allons-y alors.” (Let’s go then) Marcel threw cash down on the bar before you could argue and helped you put your coat on. “Avez-vous déjà mangé des tapas? J'ai entendu dire qu'il y avait un super endroit à quelques pâtés de maisons d'ici.” (Have you ever eaten tapas? Heard there is a great place a few blocks from here)
“Montrez le chemin.” (Lead the way)
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There was a new hot button topic of gossip the next day at MED. You and Marcel. Of course, no one was that cordial. ‘He couldn’t have a nurse so he went for an intern?’, ‘What, she thought being an intern is too difficult so she’s hooking up with a doc so she doesn’t fail?’. None of anything they were saying was true. First of all, April kissed and then rejected him all while she was dating someone else, second, he wasn’t even your attending. You did your ED rotation before he got here. You were on your pediatrics rotation, and kicking ass at it. Third, he didn’t know anyone here besides you thanks to April, so who exactly was he gonna say ‘give her a pass for me’ to? You just rolled your eyes and continued working. At the end of the day, that was what would speak for you. 
You hadn’t been very close to April, or anyone in the ED really, they’d all had their own drama going on the entire time you were there, so you just faded into the background. But now, April was making an effort to talk to you. You would have found it odd, had it not been at the time the rumours were really flying, and if you hadn’t seen the burning question behind her eyes. She was jealous. She damn well wouldn’t admit it, but she was. And you were angry at her, and at least you were grown up enough to admit that. She had hurt Crockett. Damaged his work relationships and reputation before he’d even started. So you acted like you enjoyed her company. You talked about literally anything that wasn’t Crockett Marcel. You watched as her questioning eyes grew more and more desperate. If she was going to come to you acting like a jealous girlfriend she should have had the decency to be honest. But she wasn’t. And Crockett was paying the price. So you tortured her a bit. It wasn’t that bad, honestly. Plus, what made her think she had any right to know about relationships you may or may not be in? But her feelings did become noticeable. To the other nurses, doctors, interns. Suddenly everyone was aware that she had kissed Crockett, and that Ethan wasn’t the only doctor she had feelings for. You felt bad for Crockett, he’d gotten sucked into a wormhole before he even knew his feet were leaving the ground. The same thing could be said for Dr. Choi’s fist. 
You pushed back the curtain and marched over to Crockett who was too busy arguing with Maggie to notice you at first. “Have you gotten a CT done yet?”
“Oh- Dr. Y/L/N. Uh, let me check. Uh... Here.” Maggie handed you and a skeptical Will the tablet with Crockett’s head CT already loaded. The black and white image should have comforted you. It looked good, no injuries or anomalies. But you kept looking, you kept gripping the tablet no matter how much your knuckles, and fingers, and wrists were starting to hurt. “Cher?” You slowly looked up, Maggie and Halstead had left the room at some point. “You seein’ something Halstead didn’t?”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t have the voice to. Instead, you regarded his face intently. Choi had only gotten in a single punch, thankfully, so there was only bruising around his right eye. You moved to stand in front of him, standing in between his legs which were dangling off the side of the bed. “Cher?” The bruise was already purple, the section around the forehead turning black. Your lips pressed into a firm line. After setting the tablet on the end table you gently took Crockett’s face in your hands. Ignoring the rest of him, you gently drifted your fingers around the bruising. Your stomach sunk the more you looked at it. It wasn’t inflamed, there wasn’t any bleeding, his CT was clear. But you just couldn’t shake the weight in your gut. You didn’t even know what you were looking for. But you kept looking. “Cher.” No inflammation. “Cher.” No bleeding. “Cher.” Clear CT. “Cher.” Keep looking. “Cher.” Crockett delicately grabbed your wrist, finally grabbing your attention, bringing more than the bruise on his eye into your focus. “I’m okay, Cher.” His eyes were boring into yours, pleading for you to listen to him. He moved his hand from your wrist up overtop of your hand before intertwining your fingers together and leaning his face into your clasped hands at the side of his face.
“D’accord?” (Okay?)
“D’accord.” (Okay) He smiled gingerly. Still looking at you with soft eyes that made you melt he opened his mouth, you could tell that words in his native language were on the tip of his tongue, when the curtains in the room were pushed back suddenly. April stood, tall, strong, and with a look of utter betrayal on her face. No one in the room said anything, no one in the room breathed. Slowly, as if she were avoided a cornered coyote, April backed out of the room, her chest starting to shake, her eyes watering. Soon you were left alone in the room, your hand still wrapped in Crockett’s. Now in full view of the entire ED staff and gossip mill.
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weirdestbooks · 3 years
Text
Secret States Chapter 7
An Uncomfortable Conversation
Panama POV
Spanish Empire is an asshole. If that's surprise to anyone, they obviously don't know any history from a country colonized by the Spanish Empire. And he colonized a lot of countries. Spanish Empire, my asshole of a father, having other children wasn't a surprise. I don't see how it would be.
And unfortunately, hearing about Florida being abused by Spanish Empire wasn't surprising. Spanish Empire hurt a lot of his children. He loved power, and the gold our lands had, and along with his hatred for our native people, it was a perfect recipe for his colonies to be hurt by him.
"Hola todos." (Hello everyone) Florida said as he walked over to us, his snake, Algodón, wrapped around his arm.
"Hola. ¿Porqué tienes un serpiente?" (Hello. Why do you have a snake?) I asked Florida. This seemed like something Australia would do, not an American state.
"¿Y es venenoso?" (And is it venomous?) Honduras added on, looking at the snake with slight fear in his eyes.
"Sí!" (Yes) Florida responded.
"¿Que? ¿Porqué trajiste un serpiente venenoso a una junta? ¿No tienes miedo que lastimé alguien?" (What? Why would you bring a venomous snake to the meeting? Aren't you afraid of hurting someone?) Nicaragua asked.
"No. El esta bien. Lo tuve por muchos años y no ha lastimado nadie." (No, he's fine. I've had him for years and he hasn't hurt anyone.) Florida said, before giving us a confused look, "¿No que tienen junglas en sus países? ¿Porqué les dan miedo un serpiente?" (Don't most of you have jungles in your countries? Why are you afraid of a snake?)
"Bueno, sí, pero no buscamos criaturas venenosas." (I mean, we do, but we don't actively seek out venomous creatures.) Peru said.
"Guau, eres aburriendo." (Wow. You're boring then.) Florida said. I began laughing at Florida's blunt statement toward Peru, who looked offended.
"¡Florida! Compórtate bien!" (Florida! Be nice!) Louisiana said, smacking Florida on the backs of the head.
"Ay. No me tenías qué pegar." (Ow. You didn't have to hit me.) Florida muttered back. Rico rolled his eyes.
"Este es una familia tan violenta." (This is such a violent family.) He muttered, smiling.
"We make up America Rico. Did you expect us not to be?" Guam said walking up next to him.
"Esperaba que lo estuvieras. Eres un activó militar importante o lo qué sea." (I expected you to be. You're a major military asset or whatever.) Rico said.
"Yeah. Don't really know what you said, but I know it had something to do with the military. But Sam does a lot of stuff for the military to, so it's not just me, you son ba bi tsi." Guam told him. Mariana smacked her twins head.
"Guåhan! Be nice!" She said. I guess Mariana was the nicer twin out of the two of them. Guam rubbed her head.
"Rico, you're right. People in this family are violent." Guam said. Rico began laughing as Mariana rolled her eyes.
"Hu guaiya hao lokkue'." Mariana muttered with a smile. I didn't know what language Mariana and Guam were speaking, but they seemed to prefer it to Spanish, and seemed to not understand Spanish. Did they forget it? Or did they just not learn it to annoy Spanish Empire?
"So, what are we bonding over? The general fact that our shared dad is a troud chi?" Louisiana said.
"Sí, obviamente. Yo solo llegue para maldecir al Imperio Español y enseñar el mundo el verdadero poder del Florida Man." (Yes, obviously. I came here to cuss out Spanish Empire and unleash the true power of Florida Man on the world) Florida said, smiling.
"Esto es mi consejo. No lo hagas." (Here's my advice. Don't.) Puerto Rico responded.
"Rico! You're harshing my mellow man!" Florida said. Rico raised an eyebrow as he gave Florida a weird look.
"Why the fuck would you say that." He said.
"You sound like Cali when they were in their surfer phase." Mariana said.
"What do you mean were?" Guam asked. Mariana snorted and looked over to California.
"Good point."
"Como quiera, quieres ayudarme hacerle una broma a Cuba. Estamos en el medio de un 'Guerra de Bromas' en este momento." (Anyway, want to help me prank Cuba. We're in the middle a prank war right now.) Puerto Rico said, turning back to us.
"Siempre lo eres." (You always are.) Florida muttered again, pulling out a jar of spaghetti sauce.
"Yo no empezará una 'Guerra de Bromas' con Cuba." (I would rather not start a prank war with Cuba.) El Salvador said.
"¡Voy hacer lo!" (I will!) Dominican Republic said, smiling.
"Por supuesto que tú lo vas a hacer. Yo recuerdo cuando todos éramos colonias. Ustedes islas les encantaban haciendo bromas entre ustedes." (Of course you will. I remember when we were all still colonies. You islands loved pranking each other.) Chile remarked.
"Era mas una competencia para ver quien era le mejor isla. En el Caribe al menos. Habría sido todos los territorios insulares españoles, pero tengo mucho miedo a Guam." (It was more of a competition to see who the best island was. In the Caribbean at least. It would be all of the Spanish island territories, but I'm very afraid of Guam.) Rico said.
"Thanks Rico. Can we switch back to English though. My Spanish isn't that good." Guam said.
"Why not?" Costa Rica asked. Guam smirked and Mariana sighed.
"Guåhan didn't bother remembering how to speak Spanish after she became an American territory. It's her way of getting back at Spanish Empire." Mariana explained.
"Yet somehow she remembers the curse words." Louisiana muttered. Florida laughed as he covered his snake with spaghetti sauce. I wanted to ask what he was going, but I was afraid of the answer.
"That's Guam for you!" He said smiling.
"Florida what the fuck are you doing?" Argentina asked.
"Relax. No one will get hurt. I just have to get back at Cuba for pranking me." Florida said.
"How are you not concerned by your, our brother covering a snake in spaghetti sauce?" Guatemala asked. The American state shrugged.
"We've learned it best not to question him and just get him some form of supervision. Or Ohio." Mariana said. Florida laughed. I heard a commotion coming from where Mexico and her children were sitting and looked over in that direction. Wait.
"Mexico had children. Does that mean we're, like, aunts and uncle?" I asked the states.
"Oh shit. I hadn't though of that." Venezuela muttered. Guam shrugged, while Rico furrowed his eyebrows.
"I think they said they weren't going to consider anyone who is technically a child of Spanish Empire as being related to them, mainly just because that means we," Mariana said, gesturing to the other American state, "Would be their aunts/uncles, and they though that was weird because we're also their siblings."
"I'm doing the same thing with France. After than pitin sold me, I wanted nothing to do with her as her sœr. That kind of relationship is over. And I don't really want to form any kind of relationship with her until she shows me she is truly sorry for what she did to me." Louisiana explained.
"You like disowning people." Columbia remarked. Florida laughed again.
"Our dad, America, that is, literally disowned his entire family during his revolution. It's a family trait." Florida told us smiling.
"You're not going to disown us, or refuse to accept us as family, are you?" Ecuador asked, rubbing the back of his head.
"Åhe'." Guam said. Ecuador blinked.
"Umm, is that a yes or a no?" Bolivia asked.
"It's a no." Mariana explained. There was suddenly yelling, and I looked over to see California and Texas arguing.
"Ugh. Ignore those two. They like picking fights Popá and Del will take care of it." Louisiana said, pinching the bridge of her nose. I watched as America and Delaware calmed down the two fighting states before turning back to the group.
"Any other questions?" Rico asked. Paraguay raised her arm.
"Is America good to you? I mean I know he punched Spanish Empire-"
"And earned my respect." Argentina cut her off. Argentina did hate Spanish Empire, but honestly, most of us did.
"Shut up Argentina. Anyway, you guys don't get hurt by him, right?" She finished.
"Don't worry. Padre doesn't hurt us. He's not like Spanish Empire." Florida said.
"Well that's good. It's be very bad if you went from one bad situation to another." Uruguay said. Mariana rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, America rushed out of the room.
"Oh fuck. What's happening now?" Guam muttered.
———————————————————————— America POV
I turned and looked at my family after my kids went to reunite with their biological families. And whatever you would consider Netherlands and Sweden to be to Delaware and New York. My family had to have a lot of questions.
This wasn't a conversation I ever wanted to have. How could I explain everything, all the hurt and pain they and others caused to my children, the secrets, me hiding my real personality, my insomnia, and everything else I kept secret. Those were all problems I have to deal with on my own. They shouldn't have to worry about me. They'll just baby me. I have to take care of my children and myself. They shouldn't have to.
And what if I messed it up? What if they hated me because I kept it all a secret? What if they hated my real personality, the smart, anxious, self-doubting, and self-hating person I was? I acted like I was stupid, and had an incredibly large ego because that's what everyone expected of me. And when I act like how they expect me to, they don't look any further into me.
I wanted to tell my family, but many of my children made it clear they didn't like that idea. And I couldn't just tell the countries about the children that wanted other countries to know they were alive because they would figure out I had more children.
I had to keep them secret. It's what they wanted. But what if my family didn't see it that way?
My children mentioned a crisis in the 1860s to the countries. I didn't want to bring up my civil war. That was a horrible period of time that I hated mentioning. I knew Uncle England would keep my civil war a secret as well. He knows how horrible they are.
"E hōʻoki i ka noʻonoʻo ʻana i nā mea e Pāpā.  Inā mālama nui lākou iā ʻoe, e ʻae lākou iā ʻoe inā he aha.  Nānā ʻole i ka hoʻopunipuni o ke kanaka āu i hōʻike ai iā lākou.  E noho i lalo, e kamaʻilio me kou ʻohana, a hōʻike iā lākou i ka United States maoli o ʻAmelika. " (Stop overthinking things Dad. If they truly care about you, they'll accept you no matter what. Regardless of how fake the personality you presented to them was. Now sit down, talk to your family, and show them the real United States of America.) Hawaii said, putting a hand on my shoulder.
"Maopopo iaʻu ʻo Hawaiʻi.  ʻO ia wale nō ... " (I know Hawaii. It's just...) I started, trailing off and taking a slightly shaky breath. I looked over at my family, who were looking confused and curious. Probably about me and Hawaii's conversation. But the staring just made me more anxious.
"E hoʻolaki wau iā ia!  E inaina mai lākou iaʻu a i ʻole ... a i ʻole ... a i ʻole ... kekahi mea.  Ua hūnā wau iā lākou.  ʻAʻole wale ʻoe a me kou mau kaikaina, akā ʻo koʻu ʻano, koʻu ʻeha, a me nā mea hou aku.  Manaʻo lākou ua ʻike lākou iaʻu, ʻaʻole naʻe.  He aha inā e inaina lākou i ka ʻoiaʻiʻo iaʻu? " (I'm going to screw it up! They're going to hate me or...or...or...something. I kept so much secret from them. Not just you and your siblings, but my personality, my pain, and so much more. They think they know me, but they don't. What if they hate the real me?) I spewed out to Hawaii, who smiled.
"A laila ʻaʻole pono ʻoe e mālama iā lākou ma ke ʻano he ʻohana.  Inā hōʻeha ka pili ʻana iā lākou, ʻaʻole pono ʻoe e mālama iā lākou a puni.  Hana i ka mea maikaʻi loa nāu e Pāpā.  ʻO wau pū kekahi me ʻoe i nā ala a pau. " (Then you don't have to keep them as your family. If being related to them hurts you, you don't have to keep them around. Do what's best for you Dad. I'll be with you all the way.) Hawaii said.
"Mahelo e Hawaii." (Thank you Hawaii.) I responded. I mentally prepared myself for the questioning before looking over to my family. I raised an eyebrow.
"You can ask questions you know." I said. Australia immediately stood up.
"Why didn't your states want us to know about them?" He asked. I sighed. That was a complicated question. All the states were different, and it was hard to put them all in one category. I ended up shrugging.
"I don't know. My kids all have their own, widely different, reasons. I do know that a main part that convinced my kids to keep themselves secret was them." I said, pointing towards Uncle England, Canada, and Dad.
"I...I...I'm sorry." Canada said. I wish Canada would stop blaming himself for the War of 1812. The only people at fault were me and Dad. We just dragged Canada into it.
"1812 wasn't your fault. Besides, I burnt down your capital first." I told him. Canada got himself mixed up into my messes way too much. He didn't need to blame himself for the messes.
"That still didn't stop me from helping burn down your capital. Or stop me from stabbing you." Canada muttered.
"You stabbed Ame?" Maman and Australia asked. Australia sat back down in his chair and put his head in his hands.
I winced, thinking back to that memory, of the White House burning, D being stuck in the building, and the flames burning my skin. I pushed those memories aside. It's not something I wanted to think about, especially after what happened earlier this year.
"I'm fine now. We were both really upset with each other. Besides, I tried to kill both Dad and Uncle England during my Revolution, so it's not like it's the first time this family's tried to kill each other." I told them, think back to Breed's Hill when I broke Uncle England's jaw with a musket.
Uncle England flinched and held his jaw, so he was probably thinking back to the same memory. Dad's eyes held a lot of pain in them. While I may have un disowned my family, none of us have tried to talk about any of the pain caused by my Revolution. We haven't worked out anything on forgiving each other for specific things we did to each other. We agreed to put the Revolution aside, but we never tried to fix their pain caused by it.
We probably should. As soon as I brought up the Revolution, the air became awkward. Maman, New Zealand, Uncle North, and Australia all looked uncomfortable, as they weren't a part of the family during my Revolution.
My family and I needed to forgive each other for my Revolution. For everything we did to each other. For everything that caused it. For all the pain caused by it. I wanted to forgive them. But there was just so much that happened between us.
Dad is my oldest enemy for a reason. And I didn't see how we could fix that kind of damage to our relationship. We ignored it. I should've know that was going to come back and bite me in the ass. I made the same mistake before, and had a civil war because of it.
Kicking the can down the road doesn't help anyone. Especially when said can is full of explosives.
"How about we move on to anther topic. Does anyone else have any questions?" Hawaii asked, trying to diffuse any tensions. Thank god for Hawaii. She, along with all of my other children who help me take care of their siblings are amazing.
"You know over 300 languages." Uncle England said.
"It's not as great as it sounds. I mean its cool and all, but it also making talking out loud incredibly annoying." I said. Aussie groaned, while the rest of my family looked increasingly confused.
"I know, right? Ugh, if there's ever a reason for me to get an official language, it would be just to make talking out loud less of a chore." Australia complained.
"Wait, why is talking out loud hard for you? You know a lot of languages wouldn't it be easy?" New Zealand asked.
"Because talking out loud is multitasking for us. We have to think about what we want to say while simultaneously having to focus on speaking whatever language we want to speak." I explained. Our family looked at me and Australia in shock.
"Seriously?" Uncle North asked. Australia nodded.
"Yeah. If we don't focus on speaking English, well, there's no guarantee that we'll speak English. We don't have a default language, so in order to speak one language constantly, we have to focus on speaking it." Australia continued to explain.
"But how does that work?" Maman asked.
"Well, if I stop focusing on making sure I speak English. ऐसा ही होता है। En die taal verander met elke sin. A vorbi este mult mai ușor pentru mine în acest fel. あなたは本当に混乱しているように見えます。To'hta." (This is what happens. And the language changes with every sentence. Talking is so much easier for me this way. You look really confused. Hold on.) I said, before focusing back on speaking English.
"Ame?" Uncle Wales asked after a couple of seconds. I was slightly annoyed, but understood that this was the first time they saw this, and they were most likely confused.
"Calm down it just takes a minute." Hawaii said.
"It's doesn't take that long. It's just the mentally preparing myself to multitask speaking. Which is very hard. Have you ever tried to give a presentation while focusing on something else? It's hard, and that's what talking out loud is like for me and Aussie." I said, "Anything else?"
Please don't bring up the 1860s. Please don't bring up the 1860s. Please don't bring up the 1860s. Please don't-
"Why don't you get a lot of sleep?" Maman asked. I furrowed my brows.
"Have you ever met an American?" I blurted out, before covering my mouth. Hawaii began laughing.
"Pāpā! ʻAʻole hiki iā ʻoe ke ʻōlelo wale. ʻIke wau ʻaʻole e hiamoe nā ʻAmelika, akā ʻaʻole ia he manaʻo he kolohe ʻoe. " (Dad! You can't just say that. I know Americans never sleep, but that doesn't mean you should be rude.) Hawaii said to me between laughs.
"Pehea ʻoe e ʻaʻa ai e ʻōlelo aku i kou makuakāne pēlā. Maopopo iaʻu maopopo ka mea aʻu e hana nei. " (How dare you speak to your father that way. I obviously know what I'm doing.) I joked back with her. Hawaii did enjoy chewing people out as a joke, or seriously, when her siblings were being agents of chaos.
"E inoa i hoʻokahi manawa." (Name one time.) Hawaii said back with a smile.
"Um, we don't speak that language, and I still want an answer to the question. And what do you mean by have you ever met an American?" Uncle Ireland asked.
"E kala mai iaʻu." (I'm sorry) Hawaii began. "It's Hawaiian. It's my first language, so I prefer it to English. Not that there's anything wrong with English-"
"I can give you a list of things wrong with English." I commented, smiling at Hawaii. I'm glad she decide to stay with me. It makes me more comfortable and this conversation less awkward for me. Hawaii rolled her eyes at me.
"Fair enough." She said. I then turned to Uncle Ireland to answer his question.
"It's a joke that Americans don't sleep because most Americans have horrible sleep schedules, since, you know, sleep is an option, but work is not." I explained.
"Sleep is not an option!" Maman said.
"Yes it is. You don't need sleep." I said back. I never slept a lot and I was perfectly fine. Sure I sometimes passed out from exhaustion and had memory and attention problems because of it, but it wasn't that bad.
"Yes you do!" Uncle England protested.
"I'm fine without it. Besides, I got an hour of sleep, like, three days ago, so I'm fine." I told them. I don't know why they were overreacting. This has been my sleep schedule since World War Two. I sleep for an hour or two every four days or so. It was fine. They didn't need to baby me. I was fine.
"That's not healthy Ame. You need more sleep than that." New Zealand said. No I didn't. I was fine. Sleep is optional. I didn't need anyone's help. I didn't need to be babied. I was fine. I was fine. I was fine.
"I've had this sleep schedule for a while now. I'm fine." I insisted. I didn't need anyone to baby me. I was fine. "Any other questions?"
"Stop being stubborn and give her a chance!" I heard Texas say from where he was over by Mexico. I looked over to where he was. I saw Texas had his hands on Cali's shoulders and was looking them in the eyes. I hope he and Cali weren't arguing again.
"Ame?" Canada asked, tapping me on the shoulder.
"Sorry. Just hoping Cali and Texas don't start another fight. Anyway, are there any other questions? Ones that preferably don't revolve around my sleep schedule." I asked.
"Ame getting that much sleep isn't healthy! There are a lot of negative things that come out of sleep deprivation!" Uncle England insisted. Why couldn't they just drop this topic. I was fine. I was fine. I was fine.
I didn't need anyone's help. I was fine on my own. I could handle myself. Just because I acted a little immature, or didn't seem like a good father figure doesn't mean I couldn't handle myself. I was fine. I didn't need to be babied.
My family didn't need to worry about me. I was fine. I was fine. I was fine. They were just going to hate me if they found out about my sleep schedule or the Civil War or the Trail of Tears. I couldn't accept their help. I made it this far on my own. I was fine. I was fine. I was fine.
"TEX YOU SON OF A BITCH!" I heard Cali yell. Oh thank god those two started a fight when they did. Now I can avoid this conversation about my sleep schedule. Well, they're probably going to bring it up again. Maybe Ohio and Michigan can start a fight. Then I'll have to leave.
"WE HAVE THE SAME MOM! SHE'S RIGHT THERE!" Texas yelled back. Cali began speaking to Mexico, which I couldn't hear very well.
"You need to stop cussing out Tex. You guys are reaching 'Hio v Michi or York v Mass levels of arguments." Delaware said, obviously having overheard the beginnings of an argument between Texas and Cali. But Cali can yell very loudly, so I'd be surprised if he didn't.
I nodded in agreement with his statement. Those two had been reaching Ohio v Michigan levels of conflict, which I thought was impossible.
"Del's right. You two need to stop fighting over any small thing you can disagree over." I spoke up, feeling my family's eyes on me. It made me nervous. What if they thought I was horrible parent and tried to take my children away?
"Oh come on Pa. We ain't that bad. You've seen 'Hio and Michi. How can we be that bad?" Texas protested. I don't know that either, but you been getting close to it, so obviously something must be happening.
"I dealt with the Toledo War firsthand. I know how bad 'Hio and Michi can be. Michi wasn't even alive when the Toledo War happened." I told him.
"Yeah, so how are we that bad?" Cali asked.
"Four fights in less than an hour. That's more than 'Hio and Michi on a bad day. They can keep it under two." I told them. Ohio and Michigan may not like each other, but at least they know when it isn't the time or place to fight.
"That's because we have a group of states-"
"The Midwest"
"Yes the Midwest. Anyway they're in charge of keepin' those two apart." Texas finished after the being interrupted by New York. Fair enough, but they can still not fight on their own when they realize it isn't the time or place.
"Fair enough, but if you guys don't stop turning every conversation into an argument, we'll have to do the same for you." I told them. Texas rolled his eyes.
"Alright Pa we get it." He said before turning back to Mexico. I sighed.
"Alright if you don't want to talk about your sleep schedule, then tell us this. What happened in the 1860s that none of your kids want to talk about?" Uncle North asked. My breath hitched. I began to feel my panic growing as I thought back to that horrible, horrible war.
Shiloh. Antietam. Gettysburg. Fredericksburg. Vicksburg. The Wilderness. Secession. The Confederate States of America.
My Civil War.
"I have to go!" I said before running out of the meeting room. I ran to the bathroom and locked myself into a stall and my breathing quickened. I couldn't talk about the Civil War. The would judge the south. They would hate me.
So many horrible things happened. I just wanted to forget all of the pain Confederacy wrecked across my land, against my people. I began crying as I thought back to all the pain caused by the Civil War.
I couldn't tell them. I couldn't tell my family. The Civil War was a burden carried by the states and I. No one else.
I couldn't accept help from my family. I was fine on my own.
I was fine.
8 notes · View notes
parisianprinceling · 3 years
Note
Vincent/MC, 20
You’re the only thing I know like the back of my hand.
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***French translations at the end because I used more French here than usual***
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He was frustrated.
No.
He was livid.
The board of directors weren’t compromising. They hadn’t been since he’d gotten out of prison, but the past week had been a living hell as he pitched idea after idea and they could do nothing else but provide snide remarks, quietly mocking him as they turned their heads to whisper with one another, their laughs giving away their petty conversation topic.
It drained him of every last ounce of patience he had in him.
He had known that he would be treated differently when he returned, but he hadn’t anticipated the absolute lack of respect from those that used to crawl over one another to receive his approval. The whispers he could deal with; the fleeting glances, the rushing off mid conversation, even the outright avoidance, he understood. But if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was being disregarded as a joke, having his dignity stripped from him like he was on a pedestal, being tested for their entertainment after years of keeping them under his own heel.
He was humiliated.
He couldn’t entirely blame them for their behavior. It was only natural for them to seek to demean the same man who once controlled their fates, but it made it entirely impossible to run the business properly, and that would have repercussions on everyone if they didn’t let up soon enough.
He had been reduced to working almost every hour of the day, trying as hard as he could to ensure that the business wouldn’t fail while the board and everyone else was having their fun with him. It wasn’t something he had worried about before, but lately he couldn’t bear the thought of having to cut workers, especially not in the atmosphere after the flood.
Much to the chagrin of the American currently cohabiting in his penthouse, this meant he spent long nights at the office, sleeping at his desk and receiving a change of suits from Eugene in the mornings, who he often sent home early when he was certain his work wouldn’t be completed until late.
He tried his best to come home, not wanting to abandon her on her own after they had barely found a way to be together in the first place, but he knew she understood how important this work was to him. How hard he had to work to get back on top.
Fortunately though, this was one of the days where he could come home early, even if just to spend a little time with her.
Or so he thought.
In reality, he got home an hour earlier than she usually returned, and while waiting for her, had managed to fall asleep rather uncomfortably on the couch, his long legs cramped into a position that would at least stop him from tumbling onto the floor.
When she arrived home an hour later, she laughed softly at the sight before turning to hang up her coat and bag by the door.
She made her way over to him on sock-padded feet, hoping that she wouldn’t wake him as she pulled the blanket off the back of the couch (an addition to the penthouse that she’d insisted on after one too many nights of her feet getting cold while reading on the couch) and gently draped it over his sleeping form, grateful he had already removed his waistcoat and jacket so that he wouldn’t be complaining about wrinkles when he woke up.
She leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead and was about to pull away until she noticed how his brow was furrowed in his sleep. She frowned and gently lowered herself onto her knees to level her face to his as she studied it, realizing that he was struggling with whatever dream he was currently having.
It wasn’t the first time she had seen these nightmares. Every few months, he’d wake in a sweat, mumbling profusely in French, apologizing for something, desperate to receive a response he’d never get again. It always took a few minutes to bring him back to reality from his state of fervor, and when she finally did, he would cling onto her like he had nothing else in the world, whispering in French, begging her to never leave, to never let them part over a few bad words and the bitter taste of alcohol. It broke her heart, but she knew it was part of the territory that came with loving him, so she always did her best to comfort him and to hold him in her arms as long as he needed her to, whispering soothing things back to him in French, knowing that sometimes, only his mother tongue would be any good at soothing him.
He didn’t seem to be in that state yet, but she could tell that as his slumber continued, his nightmare was only getting worse as his furrowed brow turned into soft mumbles, cries for something to stop as his face contorted into pain.
Quickly, but gently, she reached forward to cup his face, her thumb brushing against his cheekbone, trying to pry him from the sleep that was plaguing him.
“Vincent, mon cœur, please. Wake up.”
He let out a soft plea that cracked her heart in two as she watched him struggle to get out of his own head.
“Non… non… j’suis désolé… laissez-moi le voir… j’ai besoin de parler avec lui...” (1)
He sounded terrified.
She caught the formality slipping from his tone, the words melding together in the conversational way her friends would often speak to each other, but never him. His guard was down, and she got the notion that this is the way he would have sounded among people he felt comfortable with, once upon a time.
She continued to gently stroke his cheek, leaning in to brush her nose against his softly, hoping that something would be able to ease him out of this trauma.
He sighed softly in his sleep, and she could tell that he was aware of her presence. He started to come to ever so slowly as his mumbles quieted down, and his brow relaxed, but the exhausted, miserable expression never left his face, even as he slowly opened his eyes to watch her.
He couldn’t respond at first, his brain still lagging behind, reliving the images of those days he never wanted to see again. She could see that his eyes were still focused elsewhere, even though his peridot gaze never left her face.
She sighed softly and leaned forward, resting her forehead against his while never breaking his gaze.
“Vincent… tu es ici. Avec moi. Reviens, mon amour.” (2)
She spoke softly, taking the care to pronounce his name with the soft, lilting accent it was given in.
He was silent for a while longer, trying to keep the silence for as long as possible as he allowed himself to leave his own head, his eyes coming back into focus, and realizing that the fuzzy image ahead of him, touching him, comforting him, was his fiancée.
He took a deep breath before trusting his voice enough to speak.
“J’y suis… j’y… je suis… ici…” (3)
He was out of his nightmare, but his voice still shook, somewhat hoarse from the lack of energy he had in him to give his own words.
His eyes weren’t wide open, but she could see that there was a shine to them signifying more than just a reflection of the light. She continued to stroke his cheek softly with the pad of her thumb to try and keep him from disconnecting from their word again. She let him continue to breathe for a minute, giving him as long as he needed to come back down to earth before she continued.
“Tu n'es pas seul. J’y suis avec toi. Ça va…” (4)
He nodded softly before closing his eyes again, taking a deep breath, and opening them again, mostly grounded.
His eyes scanned her face softly before he sighed, relieved that she, at least, was still here with him. He slowly raised a hand up to cover hers on his cheek. Turning his head ever so slightly, he pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand, watching her sincerely.
“Je te remercie, ma chérie.” (5)
He tried for a smile, but was only capable of a soft look, still competing with the scenes of suffering within his head that never seemed to disappear.
She smiled softly at him, reassuring that he needed to make no effort right now of consoling her. That she was there for him and him alone. Her hands found their way into his hair, gently combing back into position from where it had fallen in his nap.
“Same dream?” She asked softly, planting a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.
He sighed and closed his eyes, his brow furrowing once more as he once again remembered the dream he was having, this time by choice.
“Not... the same. But they’re all similar. Different retellings of the same events, playing over and over when they get the chance.”
He opened his eyes again and scanned her face before slowly pushing himself up into a seated position, letting his own hands take over for hers, working to straighten out his hair from it’s tousled state. She joined him after a moment, sitting in the space he had made between his two legs to allow them to sit as close as possible to each other, unhindered by their own limbs.
Her arms found their way around his neck as his settled around her waist. Her head fell perfectly into place at the crook of his neck, and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head before his chin rested against her hair. He let his eyes close again as he reveled in their moment of peacefulness.
She had learned early on in their relationship that there was nothing that helped him more after his fits than just holding her tight in his arms, letting himself be reminded that he was not alone, that he had something, someone he could grasp onto now, instead of letting himself fall further into that abyss of grief.
He felt one of her hands lazily twirling the strands of hair at the back of his neck, a habit she often unknowingly exercised when they were together. He knew it was nonchalant to her, that it was just a silly habit of keeping her hands busy, but to him it was one of the most reassuring things in the world, especially in moments like this.
He had never expected this level of domesticity between the two of them. After everything they’d been through, the best he had hoped for was oddly timed meetings and an ever present tension that neither of the two ever planned on acting on. But she had proved him wrong, like she had again and again, but this time, she had proved him wrong in the best way.
He didn’t know where he would have been without her. Their experiences over the past couple of years had certainly shaped him, for better and for worse, and he couldn’t imagine trying to face the challenges he now faced without her at his side. She kept him sane. She kept him safe.
This silly American journalist that had saved the entire city, partly from his own form of destruction, had turned around and saved him too.
He was broken from his thoughts as he felt her breath tickle softly against his neck as she spoke up once more.
“You haven’t dreamt like that in a while. What brought it back today?”
She shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to let her see his face again instead of hiding it away.
He didn’t have the courage to tell her that part of the reason that his nightmares had started to quiet was because of her presence beside him.
He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowing in frustration.
“The board has me working nonstop. Ever since I returned to the office they seem to have a personal vendetta against me and aren’t letting me continue my work in peace.” He shook his head softly, feeling himself get more worked up at the thought of his present situation. “It’s bad enough that they make those bloody impossible demands just to ridicule me in front of the entire company, but now they’ve started stealing my personal time at home with you and Este-”
He froze for a moment, feeling his eyes go wide as a pair of soft lips pressed softly to his brow, over the place where a nearly invisible scar from a long time ago sat, sectioning his eyebrow into two.
She stayed there for a moment, letting her lips linger before pulling back with a gentle smile, resting her forehead against his once more.
He was used to her throwing him off his rhythm, whether it be ruining his masterplan to control Paris, or straddling him on a bench at three in the morning after being carried home in his arms because she fainted, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for her to surprise him.
But this action, this tiny little kiss, signified so much more than that to him. Her kissing the only physical reminder he had of the incident, the only scratch he had gotten when others had received so much worse, made him connect all the dots together in his head, and he momentarily forgot about all his troubles at work.
He wanted to pull her into his arms and never let go. To tell her all the pent-up words inside his head; the paranoia that one day she might grow tired of him, the overwhelming love for her that swelled up so much at times that he thought his heart might burst, and most of all, the crushing fear he lived with that reminded him that one day, she might be taken from him too, and he didn’t know if he would ever be able to recover from that a second time.
He closed his eyes and swallowed tightly, carefully considering his words so that they might not tumble out frantically and so that he might be able to fight off the tears from rolling down his cheeks that were currently building up within his eyes.
“J’ai peur… j’ai peur de te perdre… juste comme je l’ai perdu…” (6)
His eyes opened again and gazed into hers. His walls down. His fear displayed for her to see. There were no innuendos, no games to protect him in this moment. Not in her presence. He wanted her to see everything. To give himself bare to her that she might accept him with open arms.
“Je ne sais pas ce que je ferais si je te perdais… Je ne pourrais pas supporter de perdre quelqu’un d’autre comme toi… donc s’il te plaît... ne me quitte pas…” (7)
He looked at her with the wide, shining green eyes of a broken man. More open and sincere than she’d ever seen him be. She felt her own eyes welling up with tears at the thought, knowing that she, too, could never bear to lose him, and at the knowledge of how he truly felt about her. She never wanted to see him suffering again.
She nodded softly and pulled him just to gently rest her forehead against his, not trying to kiss him or insinuate any other type of affection, just reassuring him that she was here, and that she would do everything in her power to ensure that he would never be alone again.
“Je ne vais nulle part, mon cœur, pas sans toi.” (8)
---------------------------------------------------
French Translations 
“No… no… I’m sorry… Let me see him… I need to speak with him…”
“Vincent, you are here. With me. Come back, my love.”
“I’m here… I… I’m… here.”
“You aren’t alone. I’m here with you. It’s alright…”
“I thank you, my dear.”
“I’m afraid… I’m afraid of losing you.. Just like I lost him…”
“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you… I couldn’t bear losing someone else like you… so please… don’t leave me.”
“I’m not going anywhere, my love, not without you.”
---------------------------------------------------
This was a fun one to write! I was thinking about Paul’s anniversary ever since @lostaurum ‘s post, and I wanted to incorporate that here, so I hope you enjoyed!
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Text
Matsuda’s Gift Exchange
From: @s-w-o-l-o
To: @memekami
Prompt: Matsuda organizing a gift exchange 
Word count: 1982 
“No.”
Touta Matsuda blinked. “What?”
Shuichi Aizawa’s eyes never left his monitor. “You heard me, Matsuda.” 
Matusda frowned. Not surprised, but I didn’t expect such a short response. 
“Come onnn, Aizawa, this can raise the morale of the team!” 
“No.” Aizawa’s perpetually stern expression was unchanged. 
“It’s festive.”
Aizawa frowned. “Since when do you celebrate Christmas?” 
Matsuda shrugged his shoulders. “Since I saw online this thing the American’s call…dirty Santa?”
Aizawa’s typing stopped. “Is this a porn thing?”
Matsuda’s face reddened. “N-no! It’s a gift exchange. 
Aizawa paused what he was doing to finally give Matsuda a sideways glance. “What kind of gifts?”
Matsuda gave another hapless shrug. “Anything really! It’s really fun, everyone gets a gift, then we sit around and each chooses one randomly.”
Aizawa exhaled slowly. “I’ve barely got the time or money to buy my kids gifts, much less one for you guys.” 
“It’s nothing big! Maybe two to four hundred yen?” 
Aizawa frowned. “You really want to do this? Why?”
Matsuda let out a sigh, leaning back to his chair. “I don’t know sir…We’ve all just been working our asses off. More So lately than in the last five years, and…” He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper, though they were the only two in the room. “The team needs this after what happened to the Chief.” 
Silence fell between the two as suddenly they tried everything in their power to avoid eye contact. It had only been a handful of weeks since Soichiro Yagami’s sudden passing following the team’s raid on the hideout of the terrorist only known as “Mello” and his allies from the American mafia. Father of fellow member Light Yagami, Soichiro commanded the respect of his subordinates- not only respect for his position but also for his character. The man had embodied honor, and his absence was felt heavily by the whole team. 
Aizawa shook his head. “Look…” He turned to Matsuda. “If you can get everyone- everyone- on board with this, and you set up a place and time.” He couldn’t believe he was saying this. “Then I’ll agree to this gift exchange of yours.” 
Matsuda was stunned. “Thank you sir!” He moved to hug Aizawa but was hastily pushed back into his chair. “Glad to see you’re feeling the Christmas spirit!” Matsuda gave him a wink. 
Aizawa tried to fight his grinning, jamming a thumb towards the door. “Its getting late, get home, you moron.” 
______________________________________________________________________________
With glee Matsuda closed before him. Aizawa was always going to be the most difficult to convince. With him on my side, the others should go along easily! As if by fate, at the end of the hall Matsuda spotted his colleagues Hideki Ide and Kanzo Mogi, chatting with each other. 
“Ide! Mogi!” Matsuda shouted, sprinting down the hallway, waving the two down. He could already tell Ide had a disgusted look on his face, while Mogi stared with the same unreadable expression as always. 
“Stop running in the halls, Matsuda, we’ve been over this.” Ide chided. “The floor below us is going to complain again.” 
“Sorry! I just had to talk to both of you before you went home.”
Ide grimaced. “What is it?” 
Matsuda gulped. Ide was never one to hide his distaste for him- even all the way back to five years ago when they first started working together, and since Ide had rejoined the investigation…nothing much had changed. Observing the man’s already annoyed expression, Matsuda knew he was already on the losing end of the ensuing discussion. Taking a deep breath, he began his pitch with renewed confidence. 
“We’ve been through alot these last few months, wouldn’t you two agree?” Ide and Mogi gave each other confused sideways glances, and nodded slowly. 
“I was just talking with Aizawa, and I thought it was a great idea for us to have a gift exchange!”
Ide raised an eyebrow. “A what exchange?” 
“A gift exchange! For Christmas!”
Ide put a hand over his face. “Ridiculous…” He halfway muttered. 
Matsuda pursed his lips. “Aizawa thought it was a good idea-”
“He probably said that to appease you,” Ide’s hand slipped away to reveal disappointed features. “We don’t have the time.” “The time? We’ve been chasing Kira for five years! A night to ourselves wouldn’t hurt!” 
Ide gritted his teeth. “It’s pointless!”
“It’s not!” Matsuda gave Mogi and imploring look. For once, the giant seemed flustered, looking back and forth between the glaring Ide and Matsuda. Finally, he raised a hand to speak. 
“It’s a nice gesture, Matsuda, but Ide’s right. With the chief gone, the work has increased for all of us, and with Mello now to contend with, every night must be devoted in finding him.” Mogi spoke with a calmness, and Matsuda could tell from his eyes that he was speaking truthfully, and not just to brush him off. 
Matsuda stared sadly at his feet. “I guess you’re right..” He put a hand in his pocket and crossed his fingers tightly. Mogi gave Ide a disapproving look and an elbow jab in the ribs. Ide cursed him under his breath and looked back to Matsuda. 
“Hey, stop moping.” Ide drew a deep breath. “What would this gift exchange entail?” 
Matsuda beamed. “We would each draw a name, get a small gift we think that person would like, and then get all together at a restaurant or someone’s home to exchange!” He looked earnestly at both of them. 
Mogi looked to Ide. “It’s harmless, really.”
Ide opened his mouth to object but received another glare from Mogi. From the disapproval of him and the eagerness of Matsuda, Ide finally caved. Rubbing his temples, he simply gave a slow nod.
“Yes!” Matsuda took them both by surprise by wrapping an arm about both and embracing the two. “You’ve made my day.”
“What’s this?” The three froze in place at the voice of none other than Light Yagami coming from behind them. Ide practically threw Matsuda to the floor trying to get him off as the three tried to regain their composure in Light’s presence. 
“N-nothing!” Ide’s voice cracked. He and Mogi gave each other a nervous glance. Any interaction with Light outside of official investigation work was a rarity, and even after five years the team truly never knew how to react to his presence. Light for his part gave the same smile he ever did. Matsuda always thought Light’s smile, though it looked friendly, always had a certain chilling nature about it. Despite his smile, his eyes were always intense- he almost looked to be dissecting any person he looked upon.
“Hey Mogi,” Ide gave him a quick pat on the back. “Thanks for the offer to drive me home!” He gave a completely unsubtle head to the stairway exiting the hall and Mogi was quick to pick up on his hints.
“Of course! You’re very welcome.” Mogi gave an unconvincing performance. The two gave their goodbyes and quickly departed, leaving Matsuda alone with Light. The latter turned and gave Matuda that same lifeless look he had given his subordinate a thousand times before. He stayed quiet, almost daring Matsuda to speak first. 
“Ah…Light, what luck.” Matsuda played with his hands. “I was just hoping I’d run into you before you went home.”
Light’s smile endured. “Yes, Matsuda? I haven’t long, so make it brief.”
Matsuda’s words fumbled. “I was talking it over with the others, and I had an idea for a team building- yes! A team building activity!” 
Light cocked his head. “What would this activity be?” 
“A gift exchange! I saw online how the Americans do it! We still have time before Christmas!”
Light blinked. “What?” 
“I think the Americans call it dirty Santa…or White Christmas…or…something with an elephant?” Matsuda’s mind was starting to wander. 
“Stop, stop.” Light raised a hand. “A gift exchange? Why would we partake in such a thing?” 
“Well you see, I know the whole team has been down since…” Matsuda took a deep breath. “Since your father’s passing. I believe something like this can-”
“Stop.” Light didn’t have to raise a hand this time, as Matsuda choked on his last words. “Who has expressed any such feeling since his death?”
Matsuda raised an eyebrow. How could he talk so nonchalant about his own dead father?
“No one, Light, I just have a knack for feeling this sort of thing. I think we would all enjoy a little distraction from everything that’s been going on, and I know your father would want us to-.”
“Now I want you to just stop talking entirely.” Straighten his tie. “I find it offensive that you dare to even assume what my father would want when you barely knew the man, and then you try to explain to me, his son, how he would feel.” Matsuda felt dead inside, but he knew Light had only just begun. “You also insult my father by implying he would condone this frivolous garbage, and not only is it pointless, but it distracts from our goal.” He seemed to loom over Matsuda as he spoke these next words. “Now, if you want to spend all of your time planning ridiculous social events, I can easily have you transferred to a more…blithe department.” 
Kira, kill me now. Just so I wouldn’t have to be here any longer. Matsuda gave a weak nod.
“My apologies, Light, I spoke out of turn and without regard. I won’t let such distractions interfere with my work again.” 
Light placed a hand on his shoulder. The grip was harder than Light was letting on. “Thank you, Matsuda, I’m glad you understand.” After an eternity, he released his hand. “Now if you excuse me, I must be heading home.” 
______________________________________________________________________________
Days later, Matsuda’s mood hadn’t improved in the slightest. He avoided Light as much as he could, and even the other three sensed that something had gone down between the two. Where Matsuda would usually hang around the investigation headquarters to chat with the team, now he was leaving as quickly as possible. All to avoid another unpleasant encounter with Light. 
A week after the confrontation, Matsuda noted that Aizawa and the others had packed their things and had left before him.
Weird. 
As he made his way onto the parking lot, in the ebbing sunlight he spotted three figures huddled around his convertible. He quickly realized as he drew closer that it was Aizawa, Mogi, and Ide. 
“You guys…?” 
Aizawa turned to him. “Matsuda!” He raised out a hand, clutching a small, wrapped box. 
Matsuda’s eyes widened as he realized what he held, and he noticed that the others held identical gifts as well. 
Aizawa noticed his confused glances. “We thought about it, and we decided your idea was a good one after all.”
“But Light-”
“What Light doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Mogi spoke.
Ide sighed. “Now do you have your gift or not? Our reservations are in half an hour.”
Matsuda couldn’t believe it. “Reservations!?”
Aizawa smiled. “Yeah, Mogi here got us a table at that fancy ramen place, Ichiraku.”
“That’s incredible!” Matsuda was beaming. “My gift has been in the car for weeks, I was actually going to throw it out tonight.”
“Well, good thing you didn’t!” Aizawa laughed. “Now, you’re driving.”
“Ah hell, Matsuda is a terrible driver!” Ide complained. 
“Stop complaining and get in, Ide,” Mogi gave him a slap on the back of neck.
“Thanks for this guys” Matsuda said as he got into the car. “I really…” Aizawa noticed the heaviness that overcame him.
“Don’t sweat it, Matsuda, just drive. I’m starving!”
Matsuda smiled. Soon the four were on their way “Hey guys! I almost forgot, I burned a CD of some Christmas music. There’s a really good one on here, its called…What I want- No! All I want for Christmas!”
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