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shreddedparchment · 5 years

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Pseudo Princess Pt.15

Jealousy Incarnate

11/09/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 6,639

Warnings: language, angst, pining, fluff, jealousy, confused Peter Parker

A/N: Oh man, I’ve had a WEEK. My pain flared up out of nowhere and then I just couldn’t focus my brain. It was hell to get this chapter out, not because I didn’t want to but I just couldn’t. It rarely happens but I just couldn’t concentrate. Anyway, I hope you like this one. Things are...changing. Let me know what you think! As this story gets so many comments, I cannot reply to all of them but I DO read them all. I will try and respond to some of them. I love y’all so much. You mean the world to me. If you happen to reblog, thanks for helping me spread my work! xoxo

TAGS ARE CLOSED FOR THIS STORY!

You didn’t know you could be this angry. This hurt. This…jealous?

The festering boil that Maggie’s constant mention had brought, you thought, had been done away with.

True to his word, Steve did everything in his power to show you that it was you and only you.

As you’d begun your descent through the castle's pretty dark oak hallways, warm wooden walls lined with portraits and colorful tapestries, you’d almost made up your mind to pull him aside and just give in.

Love him as you were meant to. As you’ve been wanting to do.

You've been feeling less and less apprehensive with his Majesty and you’re just about ready to welcome him back into your bed.

Back into your life, properly. As your husband.

You still need to tell him about the baby too. Another month gone and you still haven’t told him, and your belly is just starting to swell.

You reach down and give it a quick caress over your dress, fingers tracing the delicate and ornate embroidery of the firm black bodice. The orange silk shirt underneath with it’s ruffled and off the shoulder neckline keep you cool in the last heatwave of autumn before true winter comes. Does it snow here? You aren’t sure.

The gray skirt is light weight, flowing around you like a gossamer cloud with only the faintest hints of black thunder within.

Around your neck you’re wearing your locket. Carefully you reach up to fix it as you head for the garden, where you know his Majesty will be.

He goes every day to walk the space, wondering if today will be the day you come down, or so he says.

You’ve tried to catch glimpse of him in the weeks past and you do see him wandering around in the afternoons.

Today you’re sure is the day to forgive him. Truly forgive him. For everything. Today, you and his Majesty can start all over again. Today is the day that your new life begins.

Turning into the garden, your feet stutter as you watch his Majesty walk towards the hedge and flower maze entrance, his wide shoulders relaxed. He has his hands held behind his back, but his face is happy, smiling, not a care in the world it seems.

Not even for you.

Despite his proclamations of coming down here to wait for you, there he goes, walking side by side with a blonde woman who stands taller and firmer than you will ever be. Her body even through the luxurious diamond blue gown she’s wearing is clearly fit and able.

You’re no slouch but her body is ridiculous. Carefully crafted protection. You shouldn’t compare. You shouldn’t do it, but your body is swelling. Your breasts are already growing larger. The fatty places, already soft and jiggly are thickening more.

She reaches out to grab his Majesty’s bicep and gives it a squeeze as she laughs, and he laughs with her.

He’s laughing with her!

You’re not expecting the tightness in your chest at the sight of him smiling and laughing with someone else. Not pulling away when she touches him the way he’d done so many times with you.

You can still remember trying to reach for his hand on your wedding day and he’d quickly pulled his hand out of reach.

You see red and huff. Fed up.

He turns to talk to her but then as you step back, your movement seems to catch his eye.

Quickly as you can, while his smiling eyes are taking a split second to recognize you, you turn and hurry back towards the castle, moving around the garden gate and out of sight, a flurry of voile skirt following in your wake.

You hear him before you see him, heart pounding with betrayal.

Suddenly he’s on you, his hand around your wrist as you turn to look at him, confusion and hurt in your eyes.

“Y/N…” He says in thick desperation that forms a lump in your throat. “You came.”

He smiles. And you hate him all over again.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Come with me.” Nat urges you, moving to pull you up from bed.

“Nat, I’m not even dressed yet.” You complain, moving towards the basin in the corner of your room where you’ve taken to running every morning. Sometimes after midday as well.

This baby is not making your pregnancy easy.

Nat sees where you’re headed and her excitement fades as her brow furrows instead.

“You okay?” She releases your hand and instead wraps an arm around your lower back.

“I’m fine.” You chuckle, pushing her arm away.

She and grandmother have been fussing over you since she arrived, watching your every move, every pain, every dizzy spell.

“Just a bit sick to my stomach. Nothing out of the ordinary.” You assure her and stop by your table instead to pick at your breakfast.

You stare at the jam in agony, wishing you could take a bite of the strawberry delicacy that his Majesty had sent up for you two mornings ago. It was better than the last and you wish you could eat it, but the baby does not like it and so, it sits there. Ignored.

You eat only a bit of bread. Then carefully raise the cup of wormwood and mint tea, suggested by grandmother for its calming properties.

Scrunching your nose, you sip it, and relish when your stomach settles a little. The taste is not exactly your favorite, but you’ll gladly sacrifice your taste buds to stop being sick every five minutes.

“Are you sure? I can fetch Grandmother.” Nat offers, adopting the name you’ve been calling the old woman since she arrived.

“I’m sure. I’ll feel better when I can eat. I’m hungry but at the same time, I cannot stand to look at food.” You sigh, missing your jams and jellies.

“Well, let’s get you dressed.” She hurries over to your wardrobe to look at your dresses and opts for something simple.

A white gown made of flowing light fabric. It kind of looks like cotton but not quite. It’s minimal compared to the other gowns you’ve worn around the castle. Just white. No design. Only a simple ruffle around the neck to accent your bust.

“Why?” You plead without whining.

“Because I have something to show you. Something that you must see. No exceptions. I also have something for you when we get down there.” She offers ominously.

“Down where?” You ask, moving to her as she throws your dress over the back of the opposite chair at your table then holds her hands out and waits for you to stand still to strip you.

“You’ll see.” She’s grinning like a cat, and you’re suddenly terrified.

It turns out to be the garden that Nat wants to take you to.

Fresh air is just what you need, and you find that your stomach settles completely once you’re out in the open space.

“This was a good idea.” You smile, feeling at ease and better than you’ve felt since you got back.

Of course, his Majesty is always on your mind. He’s the whole reason you’ve come back.

He’s the last piece of your puzzle. The reason you don’t sleep soundly.

And yet, he’s your husband. How can someone that’s already yours drive you this mad?

“I’m glad you think so.” Nat smiles beside you, her arm wrapped around yours as she leads you down the familiar path.

The gardens are alive with the end of the season. Dragonflies glisten with pearlescent wings, birds and bees fill the air, whizzing by in the comforting breeze. The sun pimples your skin as you soak it up and your hand subconsciously moves over your still normal tummy, excited to give your baby healthy sunshine.

The air is fragrant. The endless flowers, which you now notice have been left to grow wild, paint the garden in vibrant colors.

He listened. You can’t help but think. Because you’d told his Majesty that your only criticism with the beautiful space is that everything was too well kept. Too structured.

Now the gardens have begun to resemble the wildflowers you’d napped in on rolling green hills back in Malibia.

This garden…most of it anyway, makes you feel like you’re home.

You make to turn to the left, away from Margaret’s pavilion which his Majesty had banned you from using—the only spot in this lovely place that makes you feel like an intruder still…unwelcome—but Nat pulls you to a stop and turns towards the right.

“Let’s go this way. We never go this way.” She insists, forcing her manipulation to sound like genuine pleading. You can see right through her though.

“Because there isn’t anything over there, except a place that I’m not allowed to go.” You sigh and move once more towards the left, pulling your arm from Nat's when she doesn’t move.

You get three steps before there’s a deep sigh. “Wait!”

Stopping, you turn to look at the wily Goddess and she rolls her eyes, reaching into her dress pocket to pull out a thick piece of parchment.

“What’s that?” You wonder, suddenly nervous because you know very well what it is.

“I wanted to see your face when you see it, but I suppose I should just do it his way. Here.” She offers the parchment to you looking disappointed.

“His way?” You repeat, confuse and moving back towards her.

Taking the folded piece, you open it up and stare down at his Majesty's familiar hand.

My Darling,

He begins, and your heart beats crazy.

I understand why you cannot see me. Rather, why you won’t see me. I have done nothing but make you feel as if you do not belong here. Such is my crime.

You frown, hating the reminder.

I didn’t know what you would come to mean to me. How could I when you came out of nowhere and struck me down like a bolt of lightning? I want you to know that I wholeheartedly regret the things I said…and did. You didn’t deserve them. I was a fool. I wish I could take them back. All of them.

Especially our wedding night. My heart is raw knowing that I hurt you that way. I love you. I can’t believe I…

From this day forth, I will do everything in my power to make sure that you know just how much you mean to me.

You’re chewing your lip furiously, anxious and somehow grateful for the words he’s written but only time will tell how well he can keep that promise.

This is your home, sweetheart. You’re my one and only from now until our dying day. Forgive me for making you feel as if you had to compete with someone else.

The funny thing is, you can see the intent behind his words even though he only half means them.

You can tell that he means them in the sense that you are his future. He loves you as his current wife. The woman who will be the mother of his children though, he doesn’t know that yet.

In that sense, he means it, but he also meant every word about Margaret. He loved her to death and when she died, he fell apart. He ceased to function.

She had a part of him that you can never touch. Not in the same way and you feel slightly sad that he feels he must bury that down to make you happy.

He should make you happy just as you want to make him happy, but that doesn’t mean you like the way he’s going about it. You’d much rather he be open with you, no matter how painful hearing about Margaret might be.

Maybe so long as he doesn’t compare you, then you’ll be okay?

I hope this small gesture will prove to you that I mean what I say. I’ve instructed Nat to take you.

You’ve been walking down the pathway towards the opening with the pavilion and suddenly it springs out of the greenery.

You gasp, completely thrown by the fact that Margaret’s red daisies are gone and in their place are what must be hundreds and hundreds of pale pink and peach peonies.

They rustle in the breeze, wafting sweet fragrance towards you threatening to knock you off your feet with how much you want to swoon.

With shallow breath, a gasp of air you hadn’t realized you’d been depriving yourself of, you look back down at the letter.

For the one that I crushed. I am the biggest moron in the twelve Kingdoms.

I love you, Y/N. Believe me or not, it does not change the fact that it’s true. Never forget that I am waiting.

I will wait forever if I must, patiently. Longingly. Desperately waiting for you to love me and this time I will gladly let you.

Yours forever,

His Majesty King Steve G. Rogers

You don’t know what to do. You want to cry because you’re so happy, but you also want to laugh because this letter is everything you’ve wanted him to tell you. You’re angry because it isn’t in person, but you have only yourself to blame for that.

You begged him to stay away and you do still want him to keep his distance. But you wish you could look into his eyes and see if he means these things he’s writing.

“Y/N?” Nat checks, peeking around a small hedge. “You okay?”

You turn to her and nod, smiling lightly as tears glisten between your lashes but do not fall.

“I…Why couldn’t he be like this from the start?” You sigh, looking down at your letter and then looking up at the peonies standing in pleasing contrast against the dark stone of the little build.

Nat sighs. “I think he wanted to.”

You look at her, not believing her one bit. “But…”

“I think that’s exactly what made him mean. Steve has always been one for commitment. For duty and honor and marrying you was not exactly his choice. I’m not saying that he isn’t glad he did it, but the council pushed him to marry quickly. Before he was ready to let go of Maggie.

“I don’t think he was expecting to like you as much as he did. To love you. Truly love you and also still love her. They made promises to each other when they thought that they had forever and then forever was gone. But he still made those promises and ever a man of his word, he tried to keep himself from giving in to you.” Nat smiles at you, reaching over to rub your back.

“So, what you’re saying is that he was purposefully cruel because he was in love with me and didn’t want to be?” You repeat for her.

Nat’s smile turns apologetic and you sigh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I don’t know if I can forgive him, Nat. I have had no experience in love. I was a virgin when we married. I…Thor was my first kiss. My first real one that wasn’t taken by force.” Some of the men of your village were disgusting and only a knife to the throat could deter them. “It should have been Steve. His hands should have been soft and gentle. Instead, he held me down and…”

“He knows that you need time.” Nat assures you. “But do you think you can forgive him eventually? Enough to be with him? To be his wife again?”

You lapse into silence, staring at the romantic gesture before you and notice inside the gazebo a small table has been set up with teas, biscuits, and jams.

Your heart swells, fluttering in your chest as you huff a small breath of delight.

Now that you’ve been outside for a while, you realize how hungry you are and your stomach growls loudly.

“Is he trying to overfeed me?” Your heart grows wary. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

You turn to Nat who shakes her head. “Of course not. No one but Grandmother and I know and we’re not telling anyone until you’re ready. But Y/N, you can’t keep this to yourself for long. The council will usurp Steve if he doesn’t produce an heir. You have just under five months left to announce your pregnancy and have a doctor examine you to ascertain the validity of your pregnancy.”

“I know.” You move towards the pavilion, taking in the tall steeple roof that you just now realize ends in a point made of glass. It gives view to the sky. “I just didn’t want him to love me for the baby.”

“He’s already in love with you.” Nat promises. “Baby or not. He wants you.”

“Will he be happy?” You wonder. “Truly happy? Will he regret that it isn’t with Maggie that he’s building a family? Will he love my baby as much as he would have loved hers?”

Your mouth runs on, asking the questions only your heart knows. Afraid of being second to a memory. Afraid to hear him say those words again, “Maggie wouldn’t-Maggie would-Maggie did-Maggie, Maggie, Maggie”.

“Y/N…” Nat begins.

“It’s stupid to be jealous of her. I know that.” You sit in the small padded seat and reach over to lather jam on a biscuit and take a nice big bite.

No nausea.

“When you’re ready, ask him. And I’m sure he will tell you exactly how he feels about you and your baby. His baby, Y/N.” She reminds you.

You nod. “Our baby.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s just a peek. That’s all Steve wants. Just a quick look.

He knows you came down here because Peter came to tell him.

Peter who has been moping around Steve instead of being with you and Nat as he usually is because you’ve instructed him to stay away too.

He’s right beside him now, walking silently the way the kid does.

His mouth is a different story.

“What did I do? Do you think I offended her Majesty in some way?” Peter asks, gesturing his chest over his pale green tunic. “I understand why she doesn’t want to speak with you or having you around. You were a huge ass to her. But me?”

Steve turns to glare at him, frowning as he turns back towards the smaller hidden pathway that leads to your pavilion.

“What? I didn’t do anything to make her angry.” Peter reiterates.

“No.” Steve sighs. “She might just need some space. Talk about women’s problems with Nat.”

Or tell her about things that you’d done with Thor that you didn’t want to say around Peter?

Even though Thor had assured him that he hadn’t lain with you, Steve wonders.

“You’re sure she never asked about him?” Steve questions your guard and Peter frowns at him this time.

“Why do you keep asking me?”

“I just want to be sure.” He explains. “They spent a lot of time together.”

“Your Majesty, Steve…if she wasn’t in love with you, she wouldn’t be pushing you away right now. She has to really care about you to be pissed enough to give you the cold shoulder. If she were talking to you like normal, then I think you’d have reason to worry.

“If she stops getting angry, then it means she doesn’t care.” Peter nods. “She never asked about Thor. Not to me.”

Steve stares at the kid—at twenty-two he’s not really a kid anymore but to Steve he’ll always be that massively strong little twerp that stole his shield—and realizes that he’s right.

You’re angry. Which means that you still care. Steve smiles and walks on, shifting into a semi-crouch as they get closer to a small opening in the hedge that is hidden behind a well-placed tree.

“Why are we here?” Peter asks, whispering because Steve’s crouching makes everything feel sneaky.

“I just want to see if she likes it.” Steve stops behind the tree, peeking out towards the pavilion.

All of Margaret’s red daisies are one, replaced by large, fragrant, and beautiful peonies in peach and pink shades.

His heart gives a small ache at the absence of the flower he’s associated with Maggie for almost twenty years, but then he sees you, sitting in the pavilion, smiling from ear to ear.

You’re a vision in white. No…more like a cream, with a pale green ribbon around your waist. The ruffles on your neckline accentuate your breasts and Steve’s heart gives a small ache. He wants to have you in his arms again.

Beneath him, beside him, inside you as one but properly this time. Showing you just how much he should have been worshipping your precious body from day one.

You laugh lightly, chuckling at something Nat has said then reach out to grab a biscuit and smear some jam on it.

You take a bite and the sticky pulp smears against your pretty lips.

Steve swallows hard, then his mouth falls open as he gapes at you while you lick your lips clean. Had your mouth always been so tempting?

He’d been fighting himself so hard that he had never given himself a chance to really look at you and appreciate the small details of your body. Now it’s all he sees. The way your hands elegantly curl around a tart. The gentle way you throw your head back and laugh as Nat serves your tea.

He grins when you slouch and then as if you’re remembering you shouldn’t be slouching, you suddenly sit up straight and he can see you chastising yourself silently for the slip.

He’d give anything to move to you and rub your back, assure you that you can slouch and lay back if you want to. Convention is only for when the public can see you. At least in these instances. Tiny things like this…you should be comfortable in your home.

Suddenly, he realizes that you are. Forgetting to sit up straight, laughing in the pavilion, surrounded by the flower and its fragrance that has permanently seeped into your skin and hair. You are completely at ease in this spot and he feels a pain in his gut that moves up along his ribs and into his chest carving out splinters because this should have always been yours.

He made you feel unwelcome…how can he ever make it up to you?

“Steve…?” Peter whispers, and Steve’s head inches to turn to him but when he doesn’t Steve takes the nod as assent to continue. “Do you really love her?”

For a moment, Steve can only stare at you and ask himself that same question. You lay your elbow on the back of the bench and lean your head into your hand as you take a bite once more, staring at Nat as she animatedly recounts some tale.

Your hair falls around your face, the small smile that stretches your lips is angelic. Perfection. Why did he have to wake up to your true charms so late? Why couldn’t he have given in sooner?

“I do.” He confesses.

“Because if you don’t—and you’re just using her so that you can get your heir and keep your crown-” Peter begins.

Steve rounds to look at him so quickly that Peter takes a step back, hands twitching at his side, ready to web his way out of the garden if Steve tries anything.

“There was only one time that I used her. One time. And it was to save Morgana from marrying me. I think I’ve loved Y/N from the moment I saw her standing in my throne room…in that blue dress…looking excited and terrified. And heartbroken when I told her that she could never make me happy.” Steve sighs. “Now she’s the only one who can.”

He looks at you but you’re rising, eyes brimming with recognition and excitement.

Although he can’t hear you, he sees you open your mouth in an exclamation of delight. Calling to someone out of sight.

You raise your skirts and hurry down the steps of the pavilion and hurry towards the hedge path.

Lumbering out of it comes Thor, blonde hair flowing behind him as he rushes to meet you.

The two of you collide and he can hear Thor’s laugh, booming around the space and filling it with his deep chortle. He can’t hear yours, but he can see it in your face as Thor lifts you and turns you around slowly.

Without hesitation, he leans in and kisses your lips. A quick peck that might be in friendship but the both of you shut your eyes and Steve must look away as his chest is cracked open. He wraps his hand around the backside of the tree he’s hiding behind, fingers crumbling away at the bark as he curls his hand around it in a fist.

He tears his eyes back up to the two of you, forcing himself to watch.

All that affection…over a month…

“What did I do?” Steve wonders, trying to see it all through new eyes how he pushed you and neglected you and refused to give you love.

Thor’s got his hands on either side of your waist and he’s looking down at you as if he’s examining your body and Steve hates him again. And himself. Mostly himself.

Thor steps aside and from the path comes a smaller body, thinner, long straight brown hair flying behind her as she races to embrace you.

Morgana.

Tony and Pepper follow a few steps behind but stand back to allow you and your sister to reunite.

“Steve?” Peter checks with worry in his voice. “You okay?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Your Majesty?”

“No.” Steve admits. “I’m not. I have work to do.”

Without another word, Steve pushes past him and heads back up to the castle to finish what he’d started in his office.

If he’s going to win you back, he’s going to have to really try.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re at a loss for words, arms clinging to the teen girl because her own hug is so very tight.

With wide eyes you look up at Tony and Pepper who stand there smiling at you fondly.

You can’t say what you’d like because Thor is here so instead you carefully tuck Morgana’s brown hair behind her ear and coax her head up to look at you.

“Mara…” You coo, happy to meet your sister at last. “I’m so glad you’re finally home.”

“I’ve been home.” She says, half laughing and it’s only now that you realize how distinguished she sounds. How much of a princess she really and truly is as opposed to you… “On the way here, I was telling Thor that I’d only seen you a few times a year so when you offered to take my place as King Rogers’s bride, I was so full of love and gratitude. I can never explain the complexities of how I feel to finally have you in my life once again. Thank you.”

She’s letting it all out, spilling everything in so few words. Telling you that she’s grateful that father found you and that you agreed to marry his Majesty. She’s telling you that she accepts you as her sister and that she understands that where you come from is a secret and she is going to do everything in her power to keep it for you.

You smile at her, hoping it’s with fondness that you do so.

“Tell me everything.” She suddenly gushes, and then slides to stand beside you. “Can I stay with you for a few weeks? Will Steve mind?”

Even Morgana calls him by his first name?

You nod. “You can stay. I’m sure he won’t mind. You’re my precious sister. I dare him to try.”

Morgana laughs, wrapping her arm around yours and leading you back up to the pavilion where Pepper, Tony, and Nat follow.

The next few weeks are full of time spent with your family.

Every day you wake up and have breakfast with Morgana, Thor, or Tony and Pepper until they finally have to leave to deal with kingdom business. Morgana stays. So does Thor. And because you’re not ready for anyone to know about the baby yet, you have to make even more adjustments to your day-to-day life.

Before the castle wakes, Grandmother comes to see you. Often, you’re already up, spewing your dinner into its designated basin. Nat isn’t around this early so it’s up to you to take care of yourself.

Grandmother checks your body, measures your stomach which steadily begins to curve outwards. After a month, your bump is finally large enough to notice, but only when you stand naked or when someone comes to feel it.

Nat does this every day and she has to look for it to feel the hard, little pebble that seems to be growing in your belly.

You’re so happy and it’s dimmed by only one thing.

After lunch you take your reading and writing lessons, and as he always does, his Majesty waits to cross into his council chambers as you exit the large library.

He stops, his eyes devouring the sight of you.

Every time he does it, your cheeks burn, and your neck overheats. Every day he looks bit more tortured.

Finally, after the third week of not speaking with him, he sends word with Nat.

“Another one?” You ask, looking across your room at the vases of flowers that he’s sent. There are gifts still unopened on one of your tables by the window.

They’re lovely, and you are grateful, but you’re starting to think that he may be wanting to buy your affections, so you stop opening them and just stare at the slowly growing pile.

“It’s just him telling you that he’ll be walking in the garden if you ever wish to join him. He’s getting desperate.” Nat’s lips curve into a satisfied half smile.

“Why is that funny?” You wonder, staring at the letter before moving over to your window to try and get a good look at the garden but from this side you can’t see much.

“No one has ever made him work this hard.” She tells you. “With Maggie everything was just decided. They were together one day then they were getting married. It all just fell into place.”

You sigh. “I wanted it to be that easy for us.”

“I know. But I’m glad it isn’t. I think it’ll make you both stronger in the end.” She nods.

With a sigh you turn to look at her, watching her fill your bath.

“What about you?” You demand.

“What about me?” She widens her green eyes, shaking her head as she measures your oils.

“When are you going to stop torturing Bucky and marry him?” You bite.

“Oh, no. Not you too.” Nat gripes.

“You know what? I think that’s a valid question.” A deep voice offers.

In your doorway, Bucky stands with his arms crossed over his chest.

“When are you going to marry me? I can’t keep waiting for you, my scarlet rose. I’m an eligible bachelor. I have many women who would love to be Lady Barnes.” He boasts.

“Oh, is that so?” Nat wonders, eyes narrowed to slits. “Well, then I guess you don’t need me then.”

She shrugs.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, your Majesty. I’m going to go fetch you some more hot water.” She turns and moves past Bucky, nudging him with her shoulder as she passes.

Bucky is speechless, staring at you with confusion as to how his gentle teasing went so wrong.

“What-?”

“You’re really going to just let her walk out after that?” You offer.

“Shit.” Bucky gasps, then sprints from the room after Nat. “Natasha!”

You peek out at the garden again, and this time you can see his Majesty’s wide shoulders and golden head as he waves slowly through the hedge maze in the distance, hands behind his back in contemplation.

Suddenly he looks towards your room and he stops to stare, the two of you sharing in this moment of utter pining.

Will you and he ever be as close as Nat and Bucky?

You rub your tummy and bite your lip.

How long will he wait?

~~~~~~~~~~

“Steve?” The blonde woman calls, and rounds the gate, eyes searching for him.

Steve?! She calls him, ‘Steve’?!

You stare at him, this new revelation painful.

His mouth opens and shuts as he finally sees past his own happiness to see the discomfort in your eyes.

“Oh.” The blonde says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you—You must be Y/N.”

You know damn well that she should be calling you by your title, so your heart grows a little colder and you carefully yank your hand out of his Majesty’s grip.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She hurries to his Majesty’s side and curtsies before wrapping her arm around his elbow as his own brow furrows as you inch away.

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady…?” You wait for his Majesty to speak. He should be the one to introduce the two of you.

She gives his arm a squeeze.

“What?” He looks at her and realizes what’s happening. “Oh, right. Forgive me. This is Lady Sharon Carter.”

Then he hesitates.

You fix your eyes on him, wondering what the uncertainty is for.

“Sharon…” He looks at the blond whose angelic smile is soft and controlled but real and her hand is still around his elbow! She’s a true lady. Like Morgana, so put together and controlled. A golden swan before a dulled brown pigeon. “Sharon is Margaret’s cousin. We grew up together.”

Seriously? Another Carter? This is just perfect.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You tell her, speaking quickly. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Sharon, but I don’t feel well.”

You turn and leave them, storm cloud skirts swishing along your ankles.

You’re inside when you hear the hurried steps that then break into a run before that same heated hand is around your wrist again.

“Wait, Y/N…don’t go.” His Majesty pleads.

As you turn to pull your hand free, his Majesty tightens his grip and so it pulls you closer to him so that you’re standing inches away.

“Release me.” You speak sternly.

“Why are you upset? Did I say something?” He suddenly looks deep in thought, replaying the past ten minutes in his head.

“Your Majesty, please, release me.” You beg.

“Your Maj-? Steve, please Y/N. Call me Steve.” He doesn’t release you. “Why are you trying to leave? You came down finally. Does this mean you’re ready to speak to me?”

And he sounds like he’s finally been put out of his misery. He’s so happy that your heart aches because you made him miserable this past month and you hadn’t anticipated that. You’d only wanted a break from everything he’d brought you. Pain. Humiliation. Neglect.

You hadn’t meant to hurt him in the process.

Once more you attempt to pull yourself free, but he suddenly throws his arm around your waist and pulls you flush against his chest.

“Why are you trying to leave me?” He asks, bringing his voice down low and quiet so that you and he are the only two in the hallway, the castle, the world.

“Did you get tired of waiting for me? Did you need company?” You ask of him, wondering if he’ll pick up on the jealousy you’re feeling. The sting of it is unbearable.

Being jealous of Maggie had been one thing. She’s gone. That blonde…Sharon…she’s right there. Clinging to his arm.

He sighs, a small smile tugging at his lips. The heat of his breath warms your lips and your body melts without your permission. He quickly compensates for the lack of resistance and cradles you closer to his body.

“Oh, sweetheart, no.” He smiles a little more, this time it reaches his eyes and they’re so dazzling in their sparkling blue that you nearly forget that you’re upset about the blonde woman with her arms on your husband. “Sharon arrive late last night. She heard that I was in the garden and came to look for me. I wasn’t expecting her.”

He licks his lips, dipping down to wrap his arms, both of them, around your waist better. He stands up straight pulling you along with him so that you’re standing on your toes a bit to compensate for the difference in height.

“I’ve only been waiting for you, pigeon.” He assures you.

Your heart flutters, stomach tumbles, as he scrunches up his nose.

“I’m not sold on the pigeon name.” He suddenly says.

“What?” You gasp, so breathless that it makes him smile a little wider.

“You are not a pigeon.” He explains. “And I’d hate to jinx us and call you a bird only to have you run off on me again.”

“I won’t-”

“I’d rather not risk it.” He sighs and begins to rock his body from side to side, taking yours with it.

“Your Maj-”

“How about pearl? Can you be my pearl?” He shakes his head. “No. You’re full of beauty and elegance. A true Queen. Noble. Royalty. A diamond? Maybe you’re my gem?”

His words sting because they’re all wrong. You’re not a true queen or noble or even remotely royal. You’d be lucky to be on the same level as a pearl. You’re definitely not a gem.

You don’t know what makes you do it. Maybe it’s because you’ve been in such pristine specimens of the upper-class lady in Morgana’s and Nat’s company? And with Sharon here too?

You’re nothing like these women. You’re nothing. No one. A peasant. A commoner.

“I’m not.” You tell him.

“If you don’t like being my gem, we can pick something else.” He says, not understanding.

“I’m no one, your Majesty.” You continue.

“Steve.” He chastises.

“I’m a peasant. Truly.”

He stops rocking.

“Father…King Anthony found me on the side of the road, helping an old woman fetch her purse from a bog. I’m an orphan. I come from nothing and no one. I’m not his true daughter. He wanted to save his daughter and you, and he begged me to do this for him and I agreed…I’m of no consequence.” Your lip trembles, threatening sorrow as you realize that you’ve told him your last secret.

The only one that matters.

He’ll kick you out. You’ll have to go back to Malibia a failure.

“I’m no one.” You repeat.

His face serious, stern, and those blue eyes boring into your own, his arms tighten.

“You’re a Rogers.” He tells you, so certain that your heart skips a beat. “You’re my wife. My Queen. And you’re my flower.”

He smiles slowly, happy at last with his term of endearment.

“And tomorrow, I’ll throw you the wedding feast that you deserved. I’m going to dance with you and make sure everyone knows that you’re mine. Especially Thor.”

You huff a laugh. Your heart soars.

He leans in towards you, licking his lips as he does.

You shut your eyes.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice floats down from behind him.

His Majesty breathes in sharply, angrily, frustrated, but turns to look at Bucky while gently placing you back on the ground.

“I’ll be right there.” His Majesty assures him, apparently exchanging words with a mere glance, then turns back to you.

“You have nothing to worry about with Sharon.” He promises, caressing the side of your head. “We’ll continue this soon?”

He’s genuinely asking you for your permission and you nod, so stunned at the sudden shift that your mind is reeling.

He leans down to kiss your cheek.

“I will send for you, Lady Rogers.” He smirks, then leaves you to stare after him and Bucky, your legs numb.

#king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #medieval au #arranged marriage au #marvel fanfiction #steve x reader #mcu fanfiction #avengers x reader #pseudo princess #pseudo princess pt15 #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #king!steve x y/n #king!steve rogers x y/n

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thewarriorandtheking · 5 years

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I have been wanting to write about Thorin and Kaylea inbetween her visits to Erebor...might make this the first in a series.

For the Tale Teller’s 52 Week Writing Challenge, Prompt 8:

“Why...?”

52 Week Challenge MasterList

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I. EREBOR

Thorin Oakenshield realized he had no idea how long he had been standing in his closet and he still had not picked out anything to wear. He had been going through his shirts absently, thinking about Kaylea Wolf. They had parted on the road seven days ago, he to return to Erebor, she heading south to her homeland. They had just spent months together in Lothlorien and, much as Thorin hated to admit it, he had been blissfully happy there. Time seemed to pass differently in that fair land, he felt as if he had been away for years. He had a glimpse now of what his life with Kaylea would be like, if he could ever persuade her to stay. It had made their parting even harder, every day he woke up expecting her to be there, imagining her scent when he turned over in his bed. But she was gone, and he knew not when she would return.

Thorin grabbed some clothes at random and dressed. Walking into his sitting room he found himself still half-expecting Kaylea to be there. In the mornings she was often sitting at the table drinking her strong Dorsai coffee, her black wolf watching him as he moved around the room. Looking at the empty chairs he knew he could no longer imagine his life without her. The nights were the hardest, images came unbidden to his mind. Her naked body over him illuminated in the firelight, the taste of her sex, the way her golden hair fell over her shoulders, the feel of her nails on his back. The last time it had taken almost a year for the memories to fade and become manageable, before he had stopped waking up in the middle of the night desperate for her. Thorin shook his head, knowing it would not help to think about such things. The Queen was due to return to Erebor today, and with her was his new son.

Though Thorin still wished he could have made Kaylea his queen, he knew marrying Shurri had been the right decision. Kaylea had correctly argued he needed an heir of pure Dwarven blood, and now he had two. There was not much love between him and his wife, but she been the perfect queen in many ways, beautiful and generous and smart; it was not required that they love each other, only that they play their roles. His son had proven to be one of the chief joys of his life, he could not wait to meet his newest child.

The King breathed deeply as he walked the corridors of Erebor, taking in the familiar sights and sounds. The tall stone halls, the hum of the forges, the cool air flowing through the arches, the sounds of commerce from the floor of the Hall of Kings. After so long away, it was good to be home. Gloin and Balin were waiting for him the converted guardroom near the gate he still used as an office. Though his official one was much larger and more impressive, this room had a window, looking out at the vale before the gate illuminated in the morning light.

The two Dwarves bowed to him. “Good morning, your majesty,” Balin said. As usual, he was holding a sheaf of papers, the day’s business for Thorin to review.

“When is the Queen due to arrive?” Thorin asked, really not feeling like looking at a bunch of documents today, but such were the responsibilities of a king.

“Should be here about midday,” Balin replied. “I know you are only two days back from your journey, but it really is time to start going over what has been going on since you left.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “You are right, of course. I will look at them until the Queen gets here, then I want to see my sons.” He took a seat at the desk and Balin and Gloin started going over the contracts and production numbers. Fili came in before an hour had passed, he had been acting as regent while the King was gone and expected to be explaining his decisions to his uncle, but Thorin was mostly silent. It was clear his mind was elsewhere. While Gloin was talking his gaze often wandered out the window, a far-away look in his eyes.

“Are you listening, laddie?” Balin finally demanded.

“Of course,” Thorin scowled at him. Actually, his mind had been engaged in a very pleasant reverie about Kaylea, he had stopped listening some time ago.

“How much are the Men of Rohan paying us for the next two shipments of steel?”

“You expect me to remember that?”

Balin gave him a reproachful look. “Perhaps the King would like a few more days before resuming the business of the realm?”

Thorin glowered at him, then sighed and rubbed his forehead. “A few days is not going to help,” he said heavily. “Maybe a few years.”

Balin shook his head at him. “I wish you would give that woman up, make a new start with Shurri. The two of you are well matched.”

Thorin scoffed. “The fact we are both in love with other people was the only reason she agreed to marry me in the first place.” He stood up. “I am going for a walk. I am in no mood for your paperwork.” Thorin paused next to Balin, leaning into the old Dwarf. “Know this: I will not give her up. Kaylea Wolf will be Queen of Erebor one day, mark my words.”

Fili and Balin glanced at each other as Thorin went out the door. “Is he serious?” Gloin asked.

“Yes, I am afraid he is,” Balin said as he put his papers in order. “The bond between those two runs very deep. Whatever happened on this journey they took together has made it stronger still.”

Gloin made a disapproving noise. “But to make a Human woman the Queen of Erebor! Does he want us to be the laughing stock of the Seven Kingdoms?”

Fili had to smile. “Well, my uncle has always walked his own path, I do not think he gives a copper coin what the other families think.” He looked from Balin to Gloin. “I doubt either of you would dispute Kaylea Wolf would be an amazing queen. His succession is already assured, why not marry his warrior woman?”

“You are as bad as he is!” Gloin muttered, shaking his head.

When he heard the Queen’s carriage was on the road Thorin hurried down to the gate to meet it. His eldest son climbed down almost before it had stopped, running into his father’s waiting arms.

Thorin picked the boy up, hugging him close. “Who are you?” He teased. “You cannot be Thror, you are much too tall!”

“Put me down!” Thror squirmed in his father’s hug, old enough now to be embarrassed.

The King chuckled at the boy, setting him back on the ground. He had only been half-teasing, he could not believe how much the boy had grown in the year he had been gone. Thror had always taken after his mother, but it looked like he would be tall, like all the sons of Durin. Thorin stepped up to give Shurri a hand down from the carriage. She was carrying their new son in her arms, the boy was sleeping peacefully.

“Do not wake him,” she told the King as she placed the baby in his arms. Thorin smiled down at the tiny boy, feeling a deep and immediate love for him that almost overwhelmed him.

“He has your eyes,” Shurri said quietly. “I think he is going to be very like you.” She glanced up at him, her violet eyes smiling. “He will be a great king one day, we must give him a name worthy of his destiny.”

Thorin met her gaze, finding himself surprised that something so beautiful and perfect could come from two people who really did not like each other very much. He rocked the baby gently, holding him tight against his body, he felt so warm in his arms.

“We will call him Durin.”

II. DORSAI

Kaylea Wolf woke to the feel of warm breath on her arm. Hector was standing beside the bed, regarding her expectantly with his yellow eyes. She must have drifted off. Rolling on her back, she reached out to find only empty space beside her. She had been dreaming of Thorin, her mind was filled with his rich, earthy scent, the feel of his body against hers. Then the reality set in that he was light years away, and she did not know when she would see him again.

She got up and let her wolf out, then went through the motions of showering and getting dressed, trying to keep her mind off the emptiness that threatened to consume her. Tomorrow she would be on a carrier to the Dubari front, she reviewed the recent troop movements and blockade positions of the cruisers in her mind. But it was not long before Thorin was once again intruding on her thoughts. Every time she closed her eyes he was there. His soft smile and sensuous hair, his lips on her skin, the feel of him between her legs, his soft beard against her neck. The first time she left him it had been hard, this time it was worse. The months they had spent together had cemented the bond between them, now without him she felt lonelier than she had ever been.

Kaylea made her way down to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. She had brought her tablet, but found herself too distracted read dispatches from the front. She left her device in the kitchen and let herself out the side door, onto the wide, stone balcony. The Tor was enveloped in a heavy, drifting fog this morning, occasionally it would lift enough to glimpse the water in the fjord below. Kaylea could hear the waves on the rocks, the distant cries of seabirds. She inhaled the steam from her cup, feeling it sharpen her awareness. It was a measure of the wealth of House Graham that they could afford to put boosterspice in their coffee, giving it the aroma of cinnamon, and the extra energy that came from the spice. Thorin had developed a taste for it in their time together. Kaylea knew her coffee was probably the reason he continued to grow younger, since he was hypersensitive to the effects of the spice, but she secretly hoped it would help him live a couple hundred more years.

Thinking about Thorin took her thoughts back to Erebor, she fingered the chain he had given her, wondering what he was doing now. Probably driving Balin crazy. Shurri should be back from the Grey Mountains by now, with the new prince. Kaylea heard the door open behind her, Kensie’s step on the stone. She realized she was playing with the ring Thorin had given her and quickly dropped the chain into the neck of her shirt.

“Credit for your thoughts?” Her brother asked as he came up beside her, sipping at his coffee.

Kaylea shook her head. “Just thinking about the Dubari.”

“No, you’re not,” Kensie said matter-of-factly, studying his sister. “Try again.”

“Alright,” Kaylea replied with a smile. Her brother knew her too well, she had to tell him some part of the truth. “Just wishing I could have stayed longer in Middle Earth.”

“Why….?”

Kaylea was silent for a long time, Kensie drank his coffee and waited. He had never seen his sister like this, she seemed lost. The last time she came back from Middle Earth it was clear she had left her heart behind. She would not speak about it, but she had come back with that chain and different braids in her hair. Kensie knew she had good reasons to stay silent, so he had not pushed her, but that did not mean he wasn’t curious. Kaylea usually avoided romantic entanglements, who had changed that? What had happened this time while she was gone?

“There is going to be a war there soon. One that will decide the fate of the land,” Kaylea said finally. She took a deep breath. “I remember you telling me once that Catherine is the great love of your life. How did you know?”

“You are not answering my question,” Kensie said. He was quiet for a moment. “Alright, I’ll play. The answer is I didn’t know, not in those terms. I knew I couldn’t live without her, I knew when I was with her I couldn’t stop smiling and when she was gone it was like ripping myself in half.” He looked sideways at Kaylea. “Sound like anyone you know?”

Kaylea shrugged. “No, just something I was thinking about,” she lied.

Kensie smiled and stepped closer, he put his arm around his sister’s shoulders, pulling her against him. “You know I can keep your secrets. Anytime you want to talk, I am here.”

“I’ll remember that, the next time I have something to talk about.” She turned to face her brother. “Time to get back to work.”

Kensie chuckled. He hooked a finger under the spectacular mithril chain she was wearing. “A gift like this is not lightly given,” he said. “I can see it is Dwarven work, which makes me doubly curious. I know it was not some lord of the Woodland Realm who gave you this. Was it some prince of Dale? Or a Ranger from the North? And what token do you wear on it?” Kaylea’s face was unreadable, but Kensie had seen a flicker of reaction when he made a reference to Dwarves. Interesting. He drained his cup, waiting for his sister to speak, but she remained silent. With a wry smile he turned to go back into the keep, then leaned close to whisper in her ear. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

This takes place after the events in The Warrior and The King - Book II. Read it on AO3 or FanFiction, links on my homepage.

@fizzyxcustard @sdavid09 @theelvenvalkyrie

#tale teller's 52 week writing challenge #thorin and oc #fanfiction #true love #tolkien fanfic #writing challenge #writers on tumblr #the hobbit

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gymwrites · 6 years

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Second Thoughts: A Fan Sequel to First Times

[Author’s note: Happy Christmas everyone! Yes, ST still lives and it’s crazy people in the fandom still read it. I have the ending almost set in my head, and will keep writing until it’s done. I’ve also gone back and re-written past chapters, to make it better. Thanks Jenkenlee wherever you are for kickstarting this. You can read her First Times here.]

This chapter was written to The Kiss, by Mervyn Warren]

Links to: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 (Part I), Chapter 5 (Part II), Chapter 6 (Part I), Chapter 6 (Part II), Chapter 6 (Part III), Chapter 7, Chapter 8 (Part I), Chapter 8 (Part II)

Chapter 7: Like This

“Seda, I’m going to kill you.”

“Alka - ”

“But after the all-around final. For Russia’s sake.”

“Aren’t you overreacting just a little?”

“Overreacting? What were you thinking?!”

“…”

“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Just tell me what happened first, and afterwards if you so choose you may end my life.”

“Unbelievable.“

“Did you two…? Well. You know.”

“I swear to God, Tutkhalyan - ”

“Something happened didn’t it? Didn’t it, Alka?”

“I’m going to count to three.”

“What?”

“Start running.”

“Can’t we just talk - “

“One.”

-----

“The two of you are so adorable together. I can’t believe it actually worked!”

“You’re not even hiding the fact that you set us up.”

“Simone gets credit too. And why would we hide it? It was genius, if I say so myself.”

“Right.”

“Wait. Why that look? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“You missed the first half of training, Als. That’s sacrilege for you. Spill.”

“Don’t you have other, more important things to worry about? Like, oh I don’t know, an Olympic beam final. Which you’re going to be amazing in, by the way.“

“I’m not letting you out of this apartment until you tell me everything.”

“Laurie, it’s like I told you - “

“Either tell me everything now, or I wake Simone up from her nap. And you know what she’s like when you come between her and nap time.”

“Okay. Okay!”

“Well?”

“It was the freaking Titanic.”

“Oh my god. Steamy, forbidden sex in an abandoned transportation vehicle?”

“No! I mean smash-into-iceberg, people-screaming-everywhere, all out Titanic disaster.”

“But... I don’t understand. I thought she still loved you.”

-----

“Do you still love me?”

The second thought racing through Aliya Mustafina’s mind is whether it’s possible to re-bottle the startled silence she had sent ricocheting into the air. Fear had frozen her at first. But then the silence… It loudly announced to the world how her heart still drummed to Raisman’s every breath. The girl need only ask, and it would crumple like paper in the palm of her hand.

“You can’t say it. But you do.” Aly sounds weak with relief. And dangerously hopeful. Her face slowly lights up, and she tightens her grip on Aliya’s hand.

The Russian curses inwardly. Not even the musical whirring of a nearby icecream truck, nor the high octane shouts of a dozen excited kids clamoring after it, can mask her stunned speechlessness. The question she had hoped would never surface was now glaringly out in the open. Worse still, it demanded a response she wasn’t ready to give. Admit to the truth, then what? Why risk reopening wounds that were just beginning to heal?

“Asking me another thing, Raisman. Please,” she eventually pleads quietly. To her dismay, Aly fixes her searing gaze even more intently on her.

“You love me,” the girl murmurs, in a wondrous haze. “I see it. No, I feel it.” Aly’s words grow steadier, like she’s suddenly found clarity amidst an overwhelming deluge of emotions.

The midday sun blazes relentlessly down on them. But it’s not what’s causing the feverish wave Aliya feels engulfing her entire body. Her heartbeat, now a battering ram against her ribs, insists she let go of the stubborn, rational need to protect herself from what might hurt her - or be really, really good for her.

Perhaps sensing the lowering of Aliya’s barriers, Aly leans forward, close enough that their brows almost touch. Gentle determination dances in her eyes, deep pools of amber that leave no doubt as to where this moment is headed. Those impossibly beautiful eyes, Aliya frets to herself, are going to be the end of her. They have always been.

Aliya isn’t sure if Aly actually spoke her name; just before their lips touch, it’s more like she breathes it, the way an artist breathes color onto a canvas of dreary greys, blacks and charcoals.

It’s a slow, careful kiss at first - for about a heartbeat.

Then comes the rush of painfully, wonderfully sweet sensations. The delicious scent of her that wraps around Aliya, filling her lungs with each quickening breath. The affection with which her fingers trace the line of Aliya’s cheekbone. The way she pulls Aliya closer with an insistent, passionate longing. Soon enough, everything gets lost in a wild sea of desperation. Soon enough, Aliya finds herself kissing Aly back with a ferocity that takes them both by surprise.

She has never wanted anyone or anything more.

In a single kiss, Aly Raisman gives her something infinitely precious - a deep knowing that life is found in the melding together of our deepest desire with our greatest fear. But it takes from her, too. It takes her very breath, suspending her existence the way gravity suspends the planets in their orbit. It would take her sanity too, if this kiss, this feeling that she could chase the wind and catch it, were to ever end…

And there was no doubt when the Games were over, it would end.

The dire thought jerks Aliya up short. She hastily pulls away from the kiss, lips swollen and head dizzy. Heart beating madly, Aliya abruptly averts her gaze towards the ocean, where the crest of a large wave is receding. Aly’s eyes widen in worry, but she says nothing.

Another salty breeze whips past, grazing Aliya’s skin and eliciting a shiver. She draws her knees close to her chest, as if the action might contain the uncertainty now flooding through her.

If her breaking away had surprised Aly, it doesn’t show.

After only a brief hesitation, the American calls Aliya’s name again. When Aliya doesn’t answer, she reaches out to cup Aliya’s cheek, tenderly tilting her face to meet her gaze, and speaks to her in a soft, but strong voice.

“I know you’re scared. I am too.”

Aliya closes her eyes. “Da. We should being scared. We should not doing this.” Even as she savors the warmth of Aly’s touch, she's steeling herself against the idea that it could ever amount to anything more than a stolen moment on a beach in Rio, far away from the reality waiting for them back at the Olympic Village.

“Being scared doesn’t stop us from training every day of our lives on equipment that could literally kill us,” Aly protests. “And it definitely doesn’t stop us from loving what we do. How is this is any different?”

“Aly. You are knowing how.” Aliya gives her a look, but at the same time can't keep a corner of her mouth from pulling up into a near smile. Persistence looks good on her.

Aly drops her hands in resigned defeat. “I can’t help it. You have me. I’m completely, totally, and utterly yours.”

Aliya’s stomach does a wild lurch. “What if someone else is more good for you?”

“There is no one else, Aliya.”

“You cannot knowing that.”

“I do know. You’d think that after all these years…” The fierceness in Aly's voice fades, and she chokes up a little. “I’m not making the same mistake of letting you go again. You’re my one. Where else am I going to find a Russian gymnast who gets me like you do, who drives me crazy like you do?” Lowering her lashes, she adds quietly, “Sometimes, you say my name, and the next thing I know the whole world goes up in flames.”

For a moment, Aliya can’t speak. “Other gymnast can doing this for you,” she eventually counters feebly.

Aly draws back sharply, as if stung. A shadow of doubt flits across her face. “No. What are you talking about?”

Memories of her earlier exchange with Eythora leap to the front of Aliya’s mind. The girl’s bold pursuit of Aly had left an indelible, if unpleasant, impression on her. It wasn’t easily forgotten.

“Thorsdottir.” Then, as if Aly looks confused because she doesn’t recognize the name, rather than because she doesn’t understand why Aliya is even bringing her up, the Russian hurriedly clarifies, “Eythora Thorsdottir. She say she will fighting for you.”

The astonishment on Aly's face intermingles with a flash of hurt.

Perhaps Aliya mentions it because some part of her believes the unselfish thing to do is help open Aly’s mind to the possibility of finding happiness with someone else. Or perhaps she secretly wanted to test how Aly would react. Much as Aliya hates to admit it, the Dutch girl was probably capable of uprooting to go study at an American college if it meant being closer to Aly. Her English was more than good enough. It wasn't uncommon for western Europeans to spend their collegiate years in the States.

She had options that weren’t open to Aliya.

“You’re not making any sense,” Aly says shakily. “Did she say something to you?” But before Aliya can respond, Aly bites her lower lip, and shakes her head to silence her. “No. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to talk about her. No one else matters here. No one, except you and me.” She looks resolutely out at the sparkling blue-green ocean, as if avoiding eye contact will make the Russian drop the matter.

Aliya directs a troubled stare at her. “We cannot being more than friends, Aly.”

“Friends?” A mix of consternation and disbelief comes through in the raised inflection of the girl's response. “We can never be just friends. I know that. You know that.”

“Why not?” Aliya raises her own voice to match Aly’s.

“You can’t. Not with someone you’ve never stopped being in love with. And who you know loves you just as much, even if they can’t say it.” Aly folds her arms stubbornly, daring Aliya to find fault with her statement.

“It is you who saying we are friends, Raisman!”

“I know. At the time, I thought it made sense, that we could still be in each other’s lives without being... more.” Aly's shoulders slump. Her eyes glisten with sorrow. “But look at us, Aliya. We’re terrible at being friends.”

Aliya resists the temptation to shoot back that one of them is terrible at it, even though deep down she knows Aly is right. The day she can look at Aly and not want her would never dawn, not in a million years. Still, didn't they owe it to their sanity to at least pretend to try?

“What we are now, if not this?” she demands, voice slightly strained.

To her surprise, Aly snatches Aliya's hand from her lap, bringing it swiftly to her chest. “We’re this,” she determines fiercely. "This... this thing that lets us feel what the other person is feeling, like we’re one and the same, but not.”

Aliya’s heart does a violent flip as Aly presses her hand emphatically, willing her to feel the full import of her words.

“Whatever this is, that makes chocolate taste like so much more than just cocoa butter, and milk, and way too much sugar. Whatever it is that makes me smile like an idiot every time I hear a Russian song. That makes waking up every goddamn day actually matter.”

They lock eyes. For one heart-rending instant, Aliya feels like she might just surrender herself to the glaring truth that they had always been, and could only ever be, absolutely mad about each other. That there was no possibility of them ever being apart again. And yet...

“This, like we are four years ago?” The Russian instantly regrets the accusatory tone that bleeds into her retort. She registers the hurt that flickers across the American’s face. She feels a stab of anguish as Aly lets her hand drop.

“Aly," Aliya quickly stammers, "I not meaning…” As she struggles to unbound the tight knot of emotions holed up in her chest, Aliya curses the English language. Things were already too complicated as they were. “I only mean we have doing the same before. And we know how it will be ending,” she explains, brokenly and not very well.

Aly’s eyes darken as Aliya’s words eventually sink in. Another silence that seems to drag on for an eternity follows. It fills Aliya with guilt. She hadn’t meant to resurrect past ghosts. She really had forgiven Aly for everything - if indeed there had been anything to forgive.

At last, the girl offers a faint smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Of course. You’re right. What was I thinking?”

The defeat in her voice and posture cut Aliya to her core. Even though Aly barely moves a muscle, Aliya unmistakably senses her retreat. She fights the urge to throw her arms around Aly again to keep her from slipping away.

“Aly. You and me - ”

Aly cuts her off quietly. “No, I know. You, in Russia. Me, in the United States. It didn’t work then, and it won’t work now.”

Recognizing the raising of a wall when she sees one, Aliya shuts her mouth. A gloominess descends on them both at an alarming speed.

“We should probably be getting back, anyway.” The forced easiness in that statement puts Aliya on edge. She watches silently as Aly gathers up her clothes, methodically rolling them up so they fit snugly into her small backpack. The girl lifts her towel up by the corners, flapping it several times in the wind to dust off the sand. Then she wraps it around her waist, before checking the time on her phone. “The bus will be there in about ten minutes. We should go now.”

Aliya glumly nods her agreement. She stands and reaches for the red dress she'd thrown down on the towel.

“Aliya?”

The Russian's pulse quickens. She looks up, heart in her throat. “Da?”

“Maybe you should try being nicer to the driver this time. So he’s not so scared of you and shaken up.” Aly throws her a half-hearted grin. “I actually want to make it back to the all-around final in one piece,” the girl jokes, not even trying to land it with any sort of conviction.

Oh. A proper retort eludes Aliya, so she just answers with her own weak grin. “I try.”

The American extends one last lingering look, before she turns to start walking.

A sudden urgency rises inside Aliya's chest. Ya tebya lyublyu, Aly. Stay here on this beach with me. Don't go. Don't you ever leave me again.

“Aly. Wait.”

Aly spins promptly back around to face Aliya. Her expression makes it plain that she’s afraid to hope, but wants more than anything for Aliya to give her a reason to. Aliya hesitates.

“I - I am sorry,” she finally manages falteringly. She sees disappointment etch itself into the taut lines around Aly’s face. Sorry, Aliya rages at herself. What an utterly useless phrase that articulates exactly none of the convoluted, soul-shaking emotion she feels for this girl. If only things were different. If only she and Aly weren't born in places so far apart. But then, she wouldn't be who she is, and Aly wouldn't be who she is... and they might never have found their missing pieces in each other.

“I’m sorry too,” Aly whispers, with the sadness of someone who’s finally resigned themselves to the end of the road. “But... better to have loved and lost, right?”

It’s a familiar phrase, even in English, but Aliya can’t quite pinpoint from where.

As she watches Aly trudge slowly up the sand towards the busy avenue, she remembers: in Yegoryevsk, in the warmth of her family living room.

It was something her grandmother always used to say to her, when she was still an impressionable, impulsive child. ‘Lucse ljubit i poterjat, cem sovsem ne ljubit,’ she would whisper comfortingly, as she held a distraught ten-year-old Aliya in her slender arms the day a boy she had a silly crush on moved to St. Petersburg with his diplomat mother.

Better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.

For the first time in her life, Aliya experiences what it’s like to doubt the wisdom of her beloved babushka.

-----

We drifted apart clouds on different winds long we fought to hold our misty grips but in the end we were again clouds on different winds.

- Atticus

#raistafina #ST #christmas update #fanfic #second thoughts

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years

Note

Lord!!!' I am so in love with The Gateway!!! Thank you for this AU. It is so magnificent. I cannot wait for the next installment. Thank you. This blog is my jam. You all rock!

anonymous asked:

I am eagerly waiting for The Getaway! I love it!

anonymous asked:

Loved the latest Getaway. Those crazy kids.

diversemediums asked:

Could we get another installment of The Getaway please?

anonymous asked:

Any plans to continue The Getaway?

Wrapping her large scarf around her neck, Claire waited in the draughty bus station walking from end to end as she tried to decipher the local routes. Hungry and cold, it’d been just over two days of heavy travelling and the extended journey was beginning to take its toll on poor Claire.

“Ma’am...madam?” Calling out, the conductor waved his hands in front of Claire’s face as she shuddered and focused her energy back onto the poor man who was trying to give her advice.

“S-sorry, what did you say?” she returned, blinking the haze away as she rubbed her hands together in the frigid station.

“The next bus, miss, it’s ready to leave in five minutes from stand two, alright?”

Nodding her head, she glanced the length of the building, her chest constricting as she faced the prospect of finally reaching her intended destination. The whole way here she’d been convinced of her decision, certain that Jamie’s presence would fix the fear that had taken root deep in her bones the moment her suspicions had been realised.

But now, being so close to fulfilling that desire, Claire wondered if she was putting too much pressure on poor Jamie.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the kind gentleman as he tipped his hat and turned on his heel in the opposite direction.

Walking towards the waiting bus, Claire clenched her hands together, trying desperately to warm her frozen digits.

Sitting on the cheap plastic flip-down seats, Claire settled herself, pulling her full rucksack from her shoulders and resting it at her feet. There would be another bus along in thirty minutes, and she’d rather give herself that extra time to settle the uncertainty that was now bubbling inside her belly than set off in such a state.

“Ye look fair fashed, wean…” came a small voice to her left as Claire twisted her head to look at her mystery friend.

Sat on the bench beside her, an older lady sat, her knitting abandoned in her lap as she bent her head to the side, appraising Claire with a kind look in her eyes.

“Ye love him, aye?”

Shocked, Claire jumped a little as the words hit her.

Forced into a corner, there was nothing to say but an honest reply.

“...yes, and I’m about to ruin his life,” she almost choked out, her throat pulsing in time with her pounding heart.

There it was. The facts in black and white.

It wasn’t that she didn’t think Jamie would stand by her, that he wouldn’t do all he could to be her rock --hers and the baby’s.

But the crux of the matter was just that, whatever his plans for the future, she was about the stride into his life and tear them all down.

True enough, they were both responsible for what had happened. But Jamie had been a gentleman. He would have waited. He had forced her to actively contemplate what they’d been committing themselves to and she had thrown caution to the wind.

“I can see the cogs turning, lassie,” the lady broke in, snapping Claire from her maudlin thoughts. “And afore ye dig yer own grave and cover yerself over in the dirt, let me tell ye something…”

Raising her brows, Claire turned herself fully to face her new friend and relaxed her tense shoulders, thankful for the distraction.

“It isne just yers to take on, ken?”

Wetting her lips with her tongue, Claire blinked slowly before speaking. “H-how? Do you...is it obvious?” she stuttered, assuming the lady had guessed her predicament just from the look of her.

“I’m a mother, wee one…and yer rubbing your belly unconsciously, my dear.” Winking, she smiled pleasantly as she picked one stray knitting needle from a bag filled with wool and looped the long scarf-like material around the fresh metal.

“It was an accident, I’ve only just finished my exams.”

“--and ye dinna want an abortion?” The woman asked, playing devil's advocate with Claire’s emotions as she watched the horror play out on her face.

“No...no, I...that was never. No.” Claire returned, absolute certainty lacing her strong words. “She’s a part of me now, I couldn’t do it. Even if he sent me away.”

“Go to him, darling girl. Yer brave, I can see it in yer face. You are here, and ye didna spring it on him over the phone. Whatever ye feel inside,” she continued, standing as she repacked her small wool bag, brushing her short gray hair behind her ears, “going to him is the right thing. I believe in ye.”

Brushing passed Claire, she handed her a small piece of paper with a number written on it in beautiful cursive script.

“I had my son at seventeen, out of wedlock. My husband, the man who fathered my son, he was devastated that I hadna thought he would step up. We were married soon after and not a day goes by that I dinna think how much easier it would ha’ been had I just allowed him to bear some of the burden from the beginning. Trust me, dearie, I ken.”

Tapping her nose, she rested her bag over her arm and shuffled off in the direction of the exit, leaving Claire alone once more.

Folding the tiny strip of note paper, Claire slid it into her jeans pocket just as the next bus pulled into the bay and opened its doors.

Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulled the last of her change and picked up her rucksack. Taking a deep breath she stepped onto the bus and paid her fare before sitting in the closest seat, her knee jiggling up and down as the engine idled, the constant whirring keeping her grounded.

Finally, the doors slammed shut and the driver reversed, the bus leaving the safety of Inverness behind.

Taking her book from the side pocket, Claire busied herself, hardly paying attention to the beautiful scenery as they began to pass along the length of Loch Ness.

It would be nearly an hour before she arrived in central Beauly, and then she’d have to find her own way to Lallybroch.

The kind man in the bus station had assured her the big Fraser house wasn’t too far from the main stop in the middle of the small village. But until she got closer, she decided not to add another worry to her ever expanding list.

It was nearly midday by the time the little passenger bus reached Claire’s intended destination, and the driver had to purposefully stop to remind her that she had arrived.

Thanking him, she slung her backpack over her shoulders once more and typed in the address to google maps on her phone.

The automated voice read out the directions in her computerised voice as Claire wandered slowly along the main road before turning off when instructed. Her battery was low, but with any luck, she’d have her bearings before it completely died on her.

As it was, luck was on her side and just as the phone beeped to signal its near demise, Claire saw the large sign for ‘Broch Tuarach; Lallybroch’ pinned to a small hand-built wall.

Holding tightly to the straps of her bag, Claire began the meandering walk up the long drive, the sound of her feet crunching against the smattering of gravel keeping her on task.

As the familiar arch came into view, she slowed her pace, her eyes darting here and there as if anyone of the Fraser’s might suddenly appear before she’d had chance to solidify her thoughts and prepare herself.

“Pull yourself together, Beauchamp,” she chastised herself, her words floating off into the surrounding trees as she passed under the arch, “you can do this.”

Clattering rang out from the kitchen, the sound of dishes being washed coming from the open windows as Claire stood in front of the large wooden door. She could hear Ellen humming, the light airy song drifting through the air as she finally knocked, her mouth dry as a bone.

Waiting for someone to open up and let her in seemed to take an age, and by the time the door had begun to open, Claire had all but zoned out.

Ellen’s eyes grew wide as she saw her best friends daughter huddled on her stoop, a large bag filled to the brim hanging from her right shoulder.

Claire looked bedraggled.

Before Ellen could muster the words to ask how she’d travelled here from Oxford, Claire and dropped her rucksack and launched herself into her arms, clinging tight as she buried her face into Ellen’s neck.

“Och, Claire lassie...wha--” she began as she rubbed her hands over Claire’s back. It was as she pulled her off the step and into the main hallway that she felt it, the slight protrusion of Claire’s belly against hers. A sure sign of the babe that grew beneath her almost-daughter’s skin.

“Oh...my…” she muttered, the air leaving her lungs in a massive gust as she swayed Claire from side to side, taking in the unspoken truth of what had actually possessed Claire to make her way to their little home.

Claire said nothing.

Certain that Ellen knew exactly what was going on, she simply accepted human contact for the first time in a while, basking in the closeness she so desperately craved.

“Is he at school?” Claire whispered, her words muffled in Ellen’s woolen jumper.

“Aye, my dear. He is. Dinna fash though,” Ellen replied, her heart breaking for poor Claire; who’d obviously endured so much on her own, “I’ll make ye some willow-bark tea and run ye a bath, how does that suit?”

Stepping away, Ellen held onto Claire by the shoulders with one hand and let her other rest gently against her tear splattered face, her eyes soft and warm.

“I s-should have called, I should have--” Claire began, the words falling from her lips so quickly that Ellen almost didn’t catch the underlying meaning.

“Nay, Claire,” she broke in as she realised why Claire was werriting, “ye did the right thing. Yer alright. This is your home, a leannan, always.”

Nodding, Claire hiccuped and swallowed the last of her apologies, her heart finally calming as Ellen walked her into the sitting room and removed her coat for her.

“Now, do ye want to talk?” Ellen asked, a soft kindness in her voice as she sat next to Claire, holding her cool hands between her warm ones and rubbing her fingers gently.

“I do,” Claire replied, a tiny burst of life fluttering in her stomach as the first feelings of joy began to flow through her veins.

‘I’m going to be a mother.’ She thought, the image of a tiny baby with Jamie’s vibrant red locks appearing before her very eyes just as the feeling subsided and she shook her head.

“But I want to tell Jamie first...please.”

A small smile tugged at Ellen’s lips as she clenched Claire’s hands between her own.

“O’ course, Claire. But I have to ask,” Ellen finished, a glint of happiness sparking behind her eyes, “my darling girl, have ye told yer mam and da that yer here wi’ us?”

Letting her eyes fall to her lap, Claire shook her head. “No, but I can phone them now. It wasn’t that I was a coward, Auntie Ellen, I promise,” she pleaded, her words clear now as let all the anguish leave her system, fatigue taking root in her bones, “but you must understand-- I needed Jamie to hear it from me first.”

Chuckling, Ellen plucked the landline handset from its charging spot and passed the device to Claire.

“That I do, Claire. But now ye must tell them. And all o’ it, ye ken?”

Nodding, Claire began to key in the number of her father’s mobile, her sweaty fingers slipping on the plastic keypad as it started to ring out.

“I’ll be right here,” Ellen whispered, as she crept out of the large sitting room, closing the door behind her until it sat nearly level with the frame.

Taking a deep breath, Ellen listened only for a moment to ensure Claire had reached Henry and Julia before returning to the kitchen for the tea.

Looking out of the window, she gazed down the drive as the clouds began to lower, a soft pattering of rain falling and speckling the clean windows.

“Grandma Ellen,” she muttered, her fingers rapping against the marble countertop, her eyes watering at the prospect. “A wee bit young, weans,” she continued, a grin spreading across her mouth as she pictured Claire holding an infant as she paced in front of the fireplace in the lounge. A stunning image to be sure. “A bit young, aye. But no less perfect.”

Waiting for the kettle to finish its whistling, Ellen poured the boiling water into two cups before straining the decoction of willow-bark through the small infuser, swishing it around in each mug and watching as the faint traces of purple and brown swirled in the heated liquid.

Looking up at the ceiling, Ellen closed her eyes for just a moment and placed her palms together, an almost silent prayer falling from her lips as the family scene disappeared from her subconscious.

“Dear Lord,” she began, unaware of Claire as she peeked into the large kitchen, her eyes fixed on Ellen, “take care of them. Of Jamie, Claire and baby.”

Leaning her head against the wood, Claire smiled at Ellen’s words, the depth of the Fraser matriarch’s feelings for her warming her blood as she stepped backwards and returned to the sitting room.

This journey, she reasoned, would not be an easy one. But with the support of Jamie’s parents --and her own-- she was certain they would all prosper.

Secure in the knowledge that she had Ellen’s blessing, Claire tucked her legs under the throw on the sofa and closed her eyes, the effect of forty-eight hours on the road finally catching up to her as she dozed off.

“Sleep well, beautiful Claire,” Ellen sing-songed, pulling the blanket around her shoulders as she snuck back into the room and kissed her god-daughter on the forehead lightly, “dream sweet dreams, Sorcha…our fair English rose.”

#Anonymous #;Mod MBD #The Getaway #Teenage Jamie and Claire AU #teenage pregnancy

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nicknchris09 · 7 years

Text

Once In A Lifetime Chapter 68 Off Roading

Melissa's POV

One the way home, I couldn't keep my hands off Seth. I was kissing his neck and moving my hands up and down his chest. Seth tried to keep his composer. "Baby, I know you are feeling quite...frisky. But I need to focus on the road."

"Am I making it difficult?" I grinned.

"Uh, yeah." He seemed slightly annoyed.

I just smiled as I kept kissing his neck and moved my hand farther south. I got to the inside of his thigh and rubbed it close his groin. His breathing hitched. I then asked with a smirk, "Do you really want me to stop?"

"No." He breathed.

I went back to kissing and sucking his neck. I wanted to kiss him but I couldn't at that moment as he did have to be able to see the road. I moved my hand to his groin and rubbed him through the pants. "Jesus, baby." He was turned on.

I moved my lips to his ear and whispered, "Please, hurry. I want you inside me."

I noticed him getting more excited. I saw him looking around and I got confused. "What are you doing?"

"Finding us somewhere. I cannot wait any longer and it just dawned on me, your mother is at the house." He said.

"Oh, yeah." It slipped my mind too. It was one thing to go at it at night as long as we kept it down. But to disappear in the midday, she would know what was up. I knew Seth wasn't okay with that. Then I asked, "What about not having any condoms?"

"Fuck!" He seemed to forget that part. "We could stop at the store but I really don't want to. I just want you, right now."

I could tell he was all hot and bothered. I smiled. "Well, we could go afterwards and get the morning after pill."

Seth briefly looked at me and grinned. "God, I love you woman."

I smiled as I loved when he was like this. Not long afterwards, we got to a remote location. Seth went off road. I got a little nervous. "Seth, your car isn't made for this. I don't want to get stuck."

"We will be fine." I could tell he wasn't thinking clearly. Or with the right head at this point. He only had one thing on the mind. He finally pulled off where he knew we wouldn't be seen and parked the car. Instantly, he moved to me and kissed me, roughly. God, he was so turned on. He moved a hand up me to my breast and started to massage it through the shirt. I moaned in his lips. He broke the kiss as he was breathing heavily. He said, almost breathless, "Get out."

He pulled away from me and moved out of the car. I quickly got out as well. We moved to the front of the car and I looked around. This wasn't like Seth to do this. But I just smiled as I loved this. I looked back at him as we met in front of the car and said, "You really are in the mood."

He grabbed my arm, pulled me close to him and quickly picked me up. He sat me on the hood of his car roughly and started to attack my lips again. I was shocked by his demeanor but quickly got into it. He pulled away and breathed, "I can't wait much longer, love. You drive me insane."

I just smiled and we kissed again. He moved his hands to my jeans and undid my button. He pulled away as he quickly pulled off my pants and underwear. He then undid his pants and slightly pulled them down. He put his arms around me and kissed me again. He pulled me to the edge of the hood. Just then, I felt him enter me. I moaned out. I was so turned on. I needed to feel him. He quickly moved inside me. I moaned against his lips. I broke the kiss and breathed, "Fuck, Seth. Harder."

He did just that. I was moaning as it felt wonderful. Seth moaned out as well. I knew he was close. He started to pump faster and I was moaning loudly. Seth quickly took my lips as we didn't know how alone we really were. I felt my orgasm build. Just then I tore my lips away as it surged through my body and I moaned loudly. He kept pumping as it made my orgasm last longer. I didn't think it would end. Then I heard him grunt as he came. He pumped long enough to release all of him inside me. He finally stopped as we breathed heavily. He moved away from me as he straightened himself up. I quickly got my clothes on and as I was pulling up my pants, Seth asked, "How the fuck do you get me to do these crazy things?"

I laughed. "This one was on you, Seth. You decided to take us here to fuck."

He grinned. "But you wouldn't keep your hands off of me in the car. You knew I wouldn't be able to contain myself long."

"Do not pin this one on me." I said with a smirk.

"You, woman, are something else. You got me doing crazy shit. First a hand-job in the doctor's office and then this." He said.

"Well, I got you to loosen up. That is a good thing." I smiled at him.

He looked at me and laughed. "Alright, let's go home."

"We have to stop at a drug store, first." I reminded him.

"Right." He only said.

We got in the car and Seth started to drive. He was moving quite fast on the terrain which again, made me nervous. "Seth, please take your time. Your car is not made for terrain like this."

"It will be fine." He only said.

"Just listen to me, I know this stuff. I grew up off roading. Just slow down a little bit." I begged.

"I said, it will be fine." He seemed annoyed.

I just shut up as I knew I was getting no where. Then I felt us hit a hole and we stopped moving. Seth said, seemingly a little embarrassed, "Um, I think we are stuck."

"Damn it, Seth. I told you to take it easy." I was now annoyed. He just rolled his eyes and tried to floor it. I quickly said, "Don't do that, Seth. You are going to fuck up your car." He didn't listen, he kept doing it, trying to get unstuck. "Seth, I said, stop."

"I know what I am doing, Lissa." He said, now getting angry.

"Do you?" I asked, annoyed. "I know what the fuck I am talking about, you are going to fuck up your car." He kept doing it and I threw my hands up. "Fine, fuck it up." He kept at this for a few more minutes, then there was a loud noise in his engine and heard a hissing noise coming from the engine. "God, damn it, Seth. I told you. Now you blew your gasket."

"How do you know what I just did. I don't even know what I did." He was angry.

I just huffed and said, annoyed, "Pop your hood."

He did and I got out of the car. I lifted it and looked at the engine. I stepped back as Seth moved over to me. I said, pissed, "I told you, you blew a gasket."

"How the fuck do you know?" He asked, angrily.

"I know cars, Seth. More then you. I know what a blown gasket looks like." I said, angrily.

I moved over to the side of his car and leaned against it. "I'm going to call a tow truck." Seth sounded defeated.

"And call your sister to get us." I almost yelled at him.

He just nodded. I think he saw I was angry that he didn't listen to me and started to back off as he knew he fucked up. He walked away as he pulled out his cell phone. I sighed as I was pissed. But now I knew we would get questions why we were out there. Seth would be embarrassed by that. A small smile appeared on my face as I knew I would get a kick out of the questions we would be asked and Seth struggling to answer. I decided I would not answer as it would be the perfect revenge for him not listening to me. He dug himself into this hole, I'll just let him dig himself out.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Seth's POV

After some time, my sister showed up first. She parked close to us. She had an SUV, so it took to the terrain better then my car did. I was not looking forward to the questions that would be asked. But this was my fault. Lissa tried to tell me but I was being a pain and not listening. And now we were stuck and my car was broke down cause I had to act like I knew what I was doing. I had no clue. I never went off roading with my car or in any vehicle and Lissa has gone off roading more times then I knew. She grew up doing stuff like this. I didn't. So, now we were stuck and broke down and I knew my sister asked us why we were there. Rachael got out of her car and walked over to us. She asked, "What the hell happened?"

Lissa said, annoyed, "Ass, here, got us stuck then revved up his engine to get us unstuck and blew a gasket."

"How do you know he blew a gasket?" She asked Lissa.

"I just know." Lissa seemed annoyed with the question.

Then Rachael asked us, "Why are you out here?"

I got uncomfortable and I looked over at Lissa. She was smiling. She didn't say anything, just smiled. I knew she was going to force me to answer it. "We went site seeing." I knew it was a bad lie.

"Oh, site seeing, huh?" Rachael smirked. "What were you two really doing out here?"

I looked at Lissa and she just kept smiling. "Are you going to help?" I asked, angrily.

"Nope." She smirked. "You did this, asshole. Get yourself out of it."

"Not liked you complained when we first got out here." I quickly retorted.

"And if you would have listened to me, we wouldn't be in this mess!" Lissa yelled at me.

I rolled my eyes as she was pissing me off. Rachael then asked, smiling, "Really, you came out here to have sex and got yourself stuck."

"We didn't say that." I quickly protested.

"No, but I can read between the lines." She laughed.

I huffed. Lissa was laughing at this point. She was enjoying this. I was embarrassed and she knew it. "God, you women are ruthless."

"Maybe if you were able to keep it in your pants, you wouldn't be here." Rachael chimed.

I groaned. Lissa said, "No, if he would have listened to his wife when she tried to instruct him how to handle the terrain, he wouldn't be here. Or when I told him not to rev up him engine."

Rachael smiled. "When are you going to learn to listen to her about stuff like this?"

"Thank you." Lissa chimed in.

I just huffed. "Is now the time to gang up on me?" The girls laughed now. Just then the tow truck showed up. I breathed, "Thank god."

As soon as the car was loaded in on the truck, Lissa and I got into Rachael's SUV. I sat up front with Rachael as Lissa sat behind us. We drove a little bit and Rachael said with a smile, "Dad is going to love this."

"Don't you dare." I quickly said. Lissa laughed behind us. Then I looked back at her and asked, "You really want her to tell my dad that we got stuck going out in a remote area to have sex?"

Lissa shrugged. "You know I don't care, Seth."

Rachael then said, "I knew it! You two just couldn't have sex at home."

"My mom is there. Seth isn't too keen on having sex during the day while she is home, cause she will know what we are up to." Lissa told her.

"You two are something else." She said with a smile.

Then Lissa asked, "Speaking of, can we stop at a drug store?"

"Uh, yeah but why?" Rachael asked her.

I looked back at Lissa and she was smirking. "I need to get the morning after pill."

"Wait, I thought you got fixed?" She asked me.

I got flushed and said, softly, "We don't know if I am sterile yet. Won't know for another couple days."

"Yeah, we were just coming back from his doctor's appointment when we decided to make a pit stop. He had to give a sample so they could check his sperm count." Lissa sounded a little too happy about the last part.

"Oh, god. That is funny." Rachael laughed.

"What makes it better, he couldn't get into on his own. So I had to come back there and help him." Lissa told her.

I looked back at Lissa and eyed her. She just smirked. She was definitely getting me back for not listening to her. Rachael asked, "How you manage to do that?"

"I snuck back there. I got a text from Seth saying he couldn't go through with it, so I got back there and helped him out." She was loving this.

I just groaned. Rachael laughed. "Oh, this is great."

"Would you two stop embarrassing me?" I groaned out.

"Nah, baby. Payback is a bitch." Lissa cracked.

Then Rachael said, "But to answer you, yeah, I can stop. I kinda think you two have enough kids as it is."

"Yeah, I don't want another oops." Lissa said.

I smiled and said, "Oh, come on, baby. Wouldn't another one be fun."

"Shut up, Seth!" She almost yelled at me.

I laughed. I knew another one would be crazy but I had to take a jab at her to make her react. And boy did it work. After a trip to the drug store, we made our way home. I wasn't too thrilled about trying to explain why we were where we were. I knew questions would rise.

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#seth macfarlane fanfiction #seth macfarlane #seth fanfic #macfarlane #fanfic

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dahsyi · 4 years

Text

i wrote a short story for my creative writing class

Life-Sized Mirror

I watched as she shivered to the sight of me holding the knife towards her. Anne was wearing an all-black outfit today, with her favorite black choker bracelet on her right wrist. “This shows that metal, rocker gal side of me,” was her usual justification when I rolled my eyes to her same option of accessories despite the other fancy bangles I bought for her.

We were alone that night, in the bedroom. Our bedroom, to be exact. I ignored her trembling self at the corner of the bed as my eyes trailed across the room. About a year ago, the whole room vibes herself- the fairy lights hanging around our bed posts (not before I claimed it’s too childish of her to have ridiculous fancy lights to sleep), the life-sized mirror standing next to the left side of the bed, the petite-sized laptop, just like her, with an assemblage of stickers of her interests on the cover and Anne’s go-to casual American show, Friends displayed on-screen. I rarely saw her watching it these days, she seemed a bit too caught up with her work lately. That’s for the best too. Ross annoyed the hell out of me with his dinosaurs and lame-ass self. And a bunch of adults hanging around a coffee shop in the midday? Not a good example for a growing, developing teen adult like her.

You know what else went extinct apart from Ross’ dinosaurs? The ancient carving of Anne’s sweet, warm intoxicating smile. In the early years of knowing her, that smile was the additional organ of her anatomy. She was the typical girl-next-door, a bit shy but very friendly and enjoys the company of people. After we have been together for quite some time that she preferred times with me alone.

I glanced over her as her fearful eyes striked through mine. There was never a time that our eyes didn’t meet each other, except for the times she was too absorbed within her interests that she totally ignored me, and I would whisper words to her to remind herself that I needed attention, too.

“I don’t wanna die today..” all of a sudden the sentence came out as if it’s one of her remaining last breaths.

I re-adjusted the knife as it gets slippery on my sweating left palm. It must be done today. I had to end her today. She suffered enough. She had nothing to appreciate, not even her life. She was average in everything she does despite the talents she was being told she possessed. Physical traits? Mediocre. Yes, she dressed up nicely but the most she did was just to distract people from focusing her actual physical self. At least it did not work on me.

“Don’t do this,” her voice cracked through her lips. “How will Ma and Ayah cope when I’m gone?” I smirked as I heard the mentioned names.

“Aren’t they the same people, ought to be called your own parents, who ruined your childhood? And those separated Eid celebrations? Should I remind you how much conflict there is? For fuck’s sake, it’s supposed to be a joyful day for everyone. No one else knows how you cry your eyes out, deciding who needs you most.”

First day of Eid, 2019. Anne told Ayah about Ma’s worsened health condition. He’s concerned, as usual. That constant smile that he wore on his face managed to hide his actual emotions from most people, but her of course. Well that was how the majority of this family operates anyway. They rarely expressed their feelings, far to actually sit down and talk about it.

“Losing her appetite. Not getting out of bed for days. Mama fell down too. Right in front of my eyes. I was too surprised, I even had to help her get up because she was unable to move herself. She overworks herself, you know her well.” Anne mumbled. Ayah nodded in agreement.

“Was she okay though for you to spend the Eid with me?” he asked.

Anne went silent, before continuing, “Well, we rarely got the chance to meet. Yet I got so much things to share to you.”

The emotional connection Anne had with her dad was undeniable compared to her mother. Unlike Ayah, they didn’t have much of heart-to-heart sessions. After all, Ma kept herself busy, having to single-handedly raise Anne on her own throughout the years.

“Yet you didn’t call me. You replied to my text a week after, if you had the sense to actually read them.” Ayah said as he laughed coldly.

Well, that was partly me to be blamed. Anne got too immersed in her work that she had been neglecting calls and messages from her beloved ones. Pardon, ours. Somehow I indirectly instilled the negative thoughts and endless list of what-ifs for her to return the calls which leads to her procrastinating being in-contact with her parents, let alone her closest friends.

Anne awkwardly grinned when her phone suddenly chimed. It was her aunt texting. ‘Ma’s warded.’ Anne’s heart dropped.

“Should I tell Ayah?” she whispered to me when Ayah wasn’t looking.

“You know how Ma is. She’s not fond of people sympathising her, let alone her ex-husband. And what do you expect from Ayah? He’s going to be super worried and he might even show up in the ward.” I answered blankly.

But being the hard-headed person she was, she blatantly told Ayah about Ma’s condition. And guess what? Of course Ma exploded in madness. I was the one to receive that hurtful and full of hatred (probably the only thing she ever dedicated her expressions on) message Ma sent, but Anne deleted it, which I thought to keep herself sane. I was surprised she still had them the moment she saw Ayah’s disappointed but understanding eyes.

I got too caught up with the flashbacks that I didn’t realize Anne’s right hand had reached for the knife. Her scream filled the entire room as she flung it away. Shit, I cursed as my eyes darted across the nightstand to find anything, really, that could gut the soul out of her.

“Trust me on this, I can stop the ache.” I said, grinning as my sight fell on the shiny metal piece laid on its own on the nightstand. Lately it had been our new companion every night. I wonder where Anne hid the rest of blades, probably inside the drawers. “I was there by your side the entire time, and I know what you went through.” I continued.

My left hand reached for the blade, with struggle this time. Wow, she’s getting stronger. I know scrolling those Reddit posts from her supportive ‘friends’ did her no good.

“Stop struggling, Anne.” I went furious. “This is what has been lingering in your mind for the past few weeks, isn’t it? You know I can’t do this alone.”

“They help me see what’s beneath all these. Somehow I know despite how the world sucks, it’s built beautifully,” she sobbed.

“I don’t see you admiring the beauty of life in the nights you play with this ‘knight in shining armour’.” Ironically, the armour wasn’t going to shield or protect her tonight.

I picked up the blade and instantly skimmed it through her wrist. Trickles of blood appeared, and every drop of them was like infused adrenaline rushing through my soul. I was quite surprised the bracelet remained intact after the fast cut.

Anne winced in pain, which made me even more excited. I sliced her thin skin repeatedly like how a mistress swipes her sugar daddy’s credit card. More blood gushed through the wounds, seeping through her black shirt but remained invisible due to the deep dark colour, transparent blood.

“One…” Oh, this counting trick again.

“You know you’re not going to reach fifteen today. Not today.” I taunted.

“You know the rules. Let me finish counting. Then you do whatever the hell you want with us.” I didn’t know why I agreed to that rule in the first place, but a promise was a promise I guess. “Make it quick then.”

“Two.” It was a childhood trick she taught herself back then. It was her Tylenol for her stage-fright moments, or when she was about to do crazy things. “Three.” Like how she explored Kuala Lumpur in the middle of the night, walking, just her and her best friend. I remembered how free she felt that night. How her soul reached out to the silence of the city. She really let her guard down during the moment, she didn’t really care about the suspicious old man that seemingly to sneak around them wherever corner they slipped. Or the shady street clubs with drunkards scattering. All that she knew, she fed on that enthusiasm. It was her nutrition.

“Eight.” Hell, it was already eight? Hahaha I better not let myself missed the count again. Funny how easy she came up with this count alternative, it was from Troye’s Heaven song.

‘So I’m counting to fifteen’ was the specific sentence. Troye said it helped him when he’s coming out about his sexuality. Anne, was very heavily influenced by music. It beat her passion for the Arts. The music itself, the culture, the live crowd being in the same place letting themselves go to the beat of the drums. Oh we lived for the moments. Good Vibes was the first music event that she experienced music as something more than just an arrangement of words and tempo and rhythms, or metal rock was more meaningful than merely a long-haired dude screaming trash on the mic accompanied by heavy, fast-paced drum beats that drives the heart insane.

“Fourteen.” And at that instant, the exact sentence by Slipknot came across our minds.

‘You cannot kill what you didn’t create.’

“Fifteen.”

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