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natsaffection · 1 day ago

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Redline. Pt 4 | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!Racing!Driver! Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), sexual tension, intentional crash

Word count: 10,3k

A/N: Okay…just 2 more chapters to go! Today, we’re focusing more on the dynamics between everyone. Aaand..don’t come at me for the ending!🧎🏻‍♀️

Part 3

The heat from the track still lingered in the air as you walked beside your father, the gravel crunching under your boots with every slow step. Neither of you spoke at first. The pit lane was behind you now, the silence stretching between you, heavy with everything unspoken.

Your hands were shoved deep into your fire suit pockets, your pulse still uneven from the confrontation with Natasha, her words, her touch, her smirk still lingering like a brand on your skin. You glanced at your father, jaw tight. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, his gaze stayed on the track ahead, the smooth asphalt, the sharp curves, the very place that had nearly taken you away from him once. “I wanted to see you race.”

Your chest tightened. “Dad-”

“Your test race was good.”

That stopped you. Your brows furrowed slightly, your steps faltering. Of all the things you expected, that wasn’t it. You turned to him, your voice careful. “You think so?”

His lips pressed together, his expression unreadable, Romanoff-like in his control. Then, after a moment, he nodded. “Very good.” The words should have made you feel proud. But there was something else beneath them. Something heavier. Something hesitant.

Your stomach twisted. “But?” His sigh was slow. Controlled. Measured. “But I still have doubts.”

The honesty stung more than it should have. You swallowed, looking back at the track, your fingers curling inside your pockets. “You don’t think I should be here.” It wasn’t a question. Because you already knew the answer.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his jaw before finally looking at you. “It’s not about what I think, Y/n. It’s about what this does to you.”

Your throat tightened. “I can handle it.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes studying you, seeing through you like he always did. “Can you?” The words hit deeper than you wanted them to. Because even after everything, even after clawing your way back, after surviving the rehab, after proving to the world that you were still here, there was still that one small part of you that wasn’t sure.

You blinked hard, looking away before he could see it. “Mom doesn’t think I can, does she?” His jaw tensed. That was all the confirmation you needed. “She hates it.” The words sat between you, heavy and unmoving. You exhaled sharply, your fingers flexing at your sides. “Of course, she does.”

He sighed. “Y/n-”

“No, I get it.” Your voice came out flat, bitter. “She spent a year watching me relearn how to fucking walk. She spent a year seeing me break down because I couldn’t even lift my own body weight anymore. She was there when the doctors told me that my career was over.” You swallowed hard, the memory of it clawing at the back of your mind. “So yeah. I get it.”

Your father sighed, stopping in his steps. You followed suit, keeping your gaze locked on the track ahead, refusing to let him see the way your hands were shaking. “She was scared.” His voice was softer now, edged with something tired. “She still is.”

“So are you.” He didn’t deny it. That said enough. Another long silence stretched between you, the weight of everything unspoken pressing hard against your ribs. Then, his voice changed. “Romanoff.”

You blinked, turning toward him. “What about her?” His gaze was unreadable again, calculating. “She’s difficult.” You huffed out a humorless laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jacket. “Is she treating you right?” The question made your breath hitch. Not because it was strange. But because it was the first time he had acknowledged Natasha at all.

You looked away, exhaling slowly. “She’s…” You hesitated. Because how the hell were you supposed to explain Natasha? The woman who pushed you to your limits. The woman who made you want to scream and fight and prove her wrong every second you were on the track. The woman who, despite everything, had kept you here. “She’s tough.”

“Tough isn’t the same as fair.”

You clenched your jaw, voice quiet. “She’s fair enough.” Your father hummed slightly, unconvinced. Then, he exhaled, looking at you for a long moment before finally nodding. “Be careful with her.”

Something in your chest tightened. Because he wasn’t talking about racing anymore. You knew that. And so did he. Looking back at the track, at the curve ahead, the stretch of asphalt that had nearly ended you once. Then, you exhaled, forcing the tension in your shoulders to ease. “I will.”

——

The moment the call came, you didn’t hesitate. You were in Natasha’s office within seconds. Not a second early. Not a second late. You weren’t going to give her another reason to tear into you.

The confrontation from the track still burned in your mind, the fire in her eyes, the way she had dragged you out of the car, ripped into you with the kind of rage only Natasha Romanoff could wield. You had pushed back. But she had pushed harder. And now? Now, you weren’t about to give her another excuse to throw you around like a chess piece.

You knocked once and firm, “Come in.” came through the heavy wood. Stepping inside, you braced yourself for another heated lecture, another round of Natasha pushing you to the brink. Instead, you stopped. Your brows furrowed as your eyes landed on the sleek leather couch, where a row of carefully curated outfits lay waiting. Dresses. Suits. Something in between. Sleek. Expensive. And entirely unexpected.

Natasha stood behind her desk, arms crossed, watching you like she was waiting for a reaction. You exhaled, tilting your head. “Are we throwing a fashion show now?”

She didn’t blink. “Try them on.”

It wasn’t a request. Your lips parted slightly, but before you could ask, her expression hardened, not angry, not quite daring, just expecting. So, you swallowed down the million questions burning at the tip of your tongue and moved toward the outfits. You weren’t stupid. You did what you were told.

The first outfit was too stiff. The second? Too formal. The third? Too boring. But the fourth? That one was perfect. Sleek black fabric hugged your form in all the right ways, polished, sharp, clean. It wasn’t a suit. It wasn’t a dress. It was somewhere in between. Powerful. Something that made you feel like you could stand next to anyone and not be overshadowed. You turned toward the mirror, adjusting the sleeves slightly before stepping back into the office.

Natasha was still at her desk, eyes scanning through a document. But the second she looked up, she stood. Green eyes flickered over you, sharp and unreadable, the weight of her gaze making your skin prickle.

“Can I touch you?”

Your breath caught slightly at the way she said it.. low, direct, careful. Your fingers twitched at your side. You nodded once. “Yeah.”

She stepped closer, movements effortless, controlled. One hand lifted, fingers barely grazing the fabric at your shoulder, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle. Then, she tugged the hem slightly, adjusting the fit. Her touch was warm, steady. Not rough like before. Not burning with frustration or anger. Just precise. Her fingers brushed along the edge of your sleeve, lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

You swallowed, voice quieter than intended. “What’s this about?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she turned, walked back to her desk, slipped her pen into place with slow precision, then met your gaze again. “We’re leaving in an hour.”

Your stomach twisted. “Leaving?”

“Family dinner.”

The words settled heavily between you. You blinked, processing, feeling your pulse tick up slightly. The Romanoffs?? Everyone knew them. They weren’t just a wealthy family, they were a dynasty, a legacy built on power, wealth, and absolute control. And now, you were about to walk into their world. Natasha watched your reaction closely, smirk deepening slightly. “You know them.”

It wasn’t a question. You hesitated, keeping your voice careful. “Everyone does.”

Her head tilted slightly, amusement flickering across her face. “Are you a fangirl?”

Your jaw locked. “No.”

Her smirk widened, slow and knowing. “Hesitation says otherwise.” You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to keep steady. “Should I be worried?” Natasha considered that for a moment, then smiled. “That depends.”

You swallowed, hating the way she always made you feel like she had all the cards, like she had been three steps ahead of you since the moment you walked in. She picked up her phone, already moving toward the door, already in control of the next move. Then, just before stepping out, she glanced back at you, something dangerously amused in her eyes.

“Don’t be late.” she murmured. “Wouldn’t want Mommy to think you don’t belong.” Your breath hitched. She saw it and she loved it. Then, she was gone. Leaving you standing there, pulse hammering in your ears, knowing full well that this wasn’t just dinner.

The car ride was tense, but not in the usual way. This wasn’t the quiet before a storm, the steady focus before a race. This was heavier and charged with something deeper, something unspoken.

You sat in the back of one of Natasha’s luxury cars, the engine purring smoothly as it cut through the night. The interior smelled of leather and something distinctly hers. She sat beside you, legs crossed, posture straight, eyes fixed on her phone, the soft glow illuminating her features. She hadn’t spoken much since leaving the city, only issuing short, clipped commands to the driver.

Across from you, Yelena was the only one who seemed completely unbothered. She stretched out in her seat, arms folded behind her head, feet casually propped up against the console like this was just another errand. But it wasn’t. You were on your way to meet the Romanoffs. Not just Natasha. Not just Yelena. The whole dynasty.

Their empire stretched across industries that mattered. Finance. Defense. Technology. Racing. There wasn’t a single major sector that didn’t have a Romanoff signature buried somewhere in its foundation. And Natasha? She wasn’t just part of it. She was born into it.

You exhaled slowly, fingers twitching against your knee. Yelena caught the movement instantly, smirking. “Nervous?”

You met her gaze, forcing a casual shrug. “A little..”

She let out a short laugh. “If you screw up, they might not let you leave.”

Your stomach dipped. Natasha didn’t react, not outwardly. But the corners of her lips twitched slightly, like she was holding back amusement. Yelena grinned, clearly enjoying herself, but before she could respond, Natasha finally spoke. “Enough.”

Yelena rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath, but didn’t push further. The car continued its smooth ascent, winding up the private road leading to the estate. The further you drove, the more surreal it became. The Romanoff property was massive, gated, guarded, the kind of wealth that didn’t just sit pretty but protected itself. Pristine landscaping stretched for miles, leading up to the mansion itself. A fortress of glass and steel, sleek and modern, an architectural masterpiece.

When the car pulled up to the entrance, the doors were already open. Natasha moved first, stepping out smoothly, slipping her phone into her pocket as she approached the woman waiting at the entrance. Melina. Natasha’s mother.

You had seen pictures of her before, but seeing her in person was different. She was graceful, poised, elegant, but there was something colder beneath it. Something sharp. A woman who had built herself into something untouchable. She spoke to Natasha first, her voice low, unreadable. Then, her gaze flickered to you.

For a second, she said nothing. Just studied you. Her eyes swept over you like she was calculating something, measuring. Then, a smile. Melina’s lips curved slightly, gaze sharp but not unkind. “Ah. So you’re the one who’s been giving my daughter so much trouble.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Natasha exhaled quietly, a breath through her nose. Not quite a sigh. Not quite amusement. Before you could scramble for a response, another voice cut in “Ah! There she is!”

You barely had time to react before a broad, shouldered man emerged from the house, grinning widely. Alexei. Natasha and Yelena’s father. You recognized him instantly, not just from pictures, but from history. A legend in his time. Ex-Racer. A force in the business world. A man who had built part of the Romanoff empire with nothing but sheer, stubborn will.

And yet, this was not the intimidating powerhouse you expected. Because the man was smiling. A full, wide, beaming smile. Like he had been waiting all day to meet you. He stepped forward without hesitation, eyes gleaming. “So! You’re the one who thinks she can handle my Natasha!”

Natasha’s exhale was louder this time. Melina took a long sip of her wine. Yelena, standing beside you, was grinning like a damn idiot. You scrambled for words. “I..uh-”

Alexei clapped a massive hand against your shoulder, nearly making you stumble forward. “She is small, but she looks tough! I like her!” You blinked. Natasha muttered something in Russian under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. Melina sighed, already turning toward the dining room. “Come, before Alexei scares her off.”

The dining table was massive, stretching across the length of the room, its polished surface reflecting the warm glow of the chandeliers above. The entire setting felt surreal, like stepping into a world you weren’t meant to belong to, but here you were.

Seated between Natasha and Yelena, you could feel the weight of the Romanoff name pressing in from all sides. Melina sat at the head of the table, poised, watching. Across from you, Alexei cut into his steak with the ease of a man who had nothing to prove.

“So,” Alexei started, taking a massive bite, speaking around it like it was just another casual topic, “the championship race is coming up. You’re up against Walker, yes?”

You swallowed, gripping your fork a little tighter. “Yeah.”

Melina sipped her wine, tilting her head slightly. “Dreykov will be watching closely.” Natasha didn’t even look up. “Let him.”

Yelena smirked, leaning on her elbow. “I heard Walker’s already pissed about the competition.”

Alexei snorted. “Good! He should be worried.” Then, his sharp eyes flicked toward you. “Do you think you can beat him?”

The table went silent. Your pulse ticked up. Everyone was watching you. You met Alexei’s gaze head-on, steady, unwavering. “I know I can.”

Silence stretched, thick and expectant. Then, Alexei grinned. “Good answer.”

Natasha, beside you, didn’t react. But you felt her shift slightly. Like she had just gotten her answer too. Melina set her wine down with quiet precision. “You do realize this race isn’t just about you.”

Your jaw tightened. “I know.” She studied you, expression unreadable. “Do you?”

Alexei leaned forward, voice dropping just slightly. “If you win, Dreykov loses control of the narrative. If you lose? He buries you.”

Natasha didn’t hesitate. “She’s not losing.”

Melina remained still, unreadable. “You’re in a unique position, Y/n. Most drivers only fight for themselves. You? You’re carrying a legacy that isn’t even yours.” Your fingers curled around your napkin. “Then I’ll make it mine.”

Silence. Natasha finally looked at you. Really looked. Like she wasn’t expecting that answer. Like she might have just decided something. Like she saw something shift in you, something she wasn’t sure was there before.

The weight of her gaze settled deep, assessing, considering, then she leaned back, just slightly, the tension in her shoulders easing. And she smirked. Not just amusement. Not just approval. Something more. Something like certainty. Like she was finally seeing what she needed to see.

As the meal continued, you found yourself answering Alexei’s now more benign questions, he asked about your hometown, clearly trying to be friendly. It was awkward, but well-meaning. In return, you posed a timid question or two of your own, asking Melina how long they had owned the estate. Her answer involved a brief, fascinating tale of an old friend from the KGB days. With each exchange, the initial fear in your chest uncoiled a bit more.

Natasha eventually rejoined the conversation, albeit in a mild way. When you complimented the stew, saying it was delicious, she interjected quietly, “It’s Melina’s special recipe. We had it a lot when I was young.”

You glanced over, surprised to hear Natasha offer personal information so easily. Her lips twitched in a faint semblance of a smile, perhaps at a memory. Melina tilted her head, giving Natasha a fond look. “Natasha used to help me chop vegetables for it.” she added.

To your astonishment, Natasha didn’t scowl or roll her eyes. Instead, she let out a small huff that might have been a very reluctant laugh. “Only because you made me.” she protested under her breath, but there was no real heat in it. The tension that had clouded her features had ebbed away, replaced by something almost approachable.

You witnessed this shift with quiet amazement. The dinner that had begun with your stomach in knots was slowly turning into something you never expected: an insight into Natasha’s world, into a family that was far more complex than the intimidating facade they projected.

They aren’t all like Natasha. In fact, Natasha herself wasn’t even always like the stone-cold version of her you had seen out in the field, not here, not with her parents tempering her.

Melina caught your eye once more and gave you a nod paired with that small, reassuring smile. It silently said, you’re doing fine. In that moment, you felt a rush of gratitude and something almost like belonging. You straightened up a bit, no longer curled in on yourself, and even dared to genuinely smile back.

Finally, as plates emptied and the evening air settled coolly around you, the dinner came to a close. Alexei pushed back his chair, satiated and in high spirits from the meal and conversation. Melina began stacking a couple of plates, and you automatically stood. “Oh, let me help with that.” you offered, ever polite, eager to show you weren’t just a burden.

Melina shoed you away gently. “Nonsense, you’re our guest!” she insisted, but her tone was kind. Natasha stood as well, collecting the remaining glasses with efficient movements. “I’ll help.” she said, giving you a brief nod, not quite warm, but not cold either. Something more neutral. Maybe even respectful.

Alexei chortled. “I’ll escort our guest to the sitting room.” He looped an arm (carefully) around your shoulder to guide you out, treating you now like a comrade rather than a suspect.

As you left the dining room, you glanced back over your shoulder. At the end of the table, Natasha and Melina stood quietly stacking dishes, mother and daughter in a rare moment of stillness. Melina leaned in, saying something low to Natasha. You couldn’t hear the words, but you saw Natasha roll her eyes, and then smile. An actual smile. Small, fleeting, but real.

Melina chuckled softly in response, bumping her shoulder affectionately against Natasha’s. The sight stayed with you: Natasha Romanoff, so cold and fierce in the field, standing there allowing herself a moment of lightness with her mother.

You turned forward again as Alexei led you down the hall, a multitude of new impressions swirling in your mind. I was wrong about them, you thought with a mixture of relief and wonder. The Romanoffs aren’t an unbreakable wall of ice; they’re a family, with warmth sparking in unexpected places.

The drive back to Natasha’s track was silent, the weight of the evening pressing down on you like a storm cloud. The Romanoff estate faded into the night behind you, the dark road ahead stretching endlessly. Eight days. Eight days until the first real race, the one that would determine your starting position for the championship. The thought settled uneasily in your chest, coiling like a slow-burning fire.

Yelena hummed along to some song playing softly on the radio, seemingly unbothered by the tension lingering in the air. Natasha sat in the passenger seat, silent as ever, fingers scrolling across her phone, but you knew she wasn’t distracted. She never was. She was thinking, calculating, already planning your next move before you even took your next breath.

The faint glow of the track’s floodlights appeared in the distance, growing brighter as the car pulled into the lot. The closer you got, the heavier your limbs felt. The test race still lingered in your muscles, your body stiff with the memory of every sharp turn, every acceleration, every mistake. The second the car came to a stop, you reached for the door handle, desperate for fresh air, for movement-

“Not so fast.”

Natasha’s voice cut through the night, sharp and unwavering. You froze mid-step, turning to see her already out of the car, arms crossed, gaze locked onto you with that same unrelenting intensity. The air around her was different now. Heavier. You straightened instinctively. “What?”

She stepped closer, closing the space between you. “Training starts tomorrow. Six a.m.”

Your jaw tensed. “Tomorrow?”

Her brow lifted. “Did you think you were getting a break?” Exhaling through your nose, you clenched your fists at your sides. “No.”

A quiet hum. Head tilting slightly, Natasha’s expression remained unreadable. “Good. Because you don’t get one.”

There was something about the way she said it, like a warning and a promise all at once. Eight days until the race. And Natasha wasn’t wasting a single second. She turned on her heel, already walking toward the garage, leaving you standing there, pulse thrumming in your ears. Yelena strolled past, patting your shoulder with a smirk. “You should probably set an alarm.”

Day One: 5:59 a.m.

The alarm had barely registered before a hard knock echoed through your door. “Training started a minute ago.” Natasha’s voice was sharp as a blade. “Move.”

There was no time to think, no time to hesitate. You threw on your gear, barely pulling your shoes on before being dragged into the gym. It wasn’t just a warm-up. It wasn’t just conditioning. It was a full-throttle, no-mercy assault on your body.

Natasha stood in front of you, arms crossed, while one of the team’s personal trainers pushed you through a relentless circuit, strength, endurance, core. Every time you thought you could catch a breath, her voice sliced through the haze.

“Too slow.”

“Your reaction time is pathetic.”

“You think you can keep up with Walker like this?”

By the time you collapsed onto the mat, sweat dripping down your face, Natasha crouched beside you, looking far too composed for someone who had just watched you suffer. “You’ve got seven days left.” she murmured, eyes dark. “If you want to survive, stop acting like a rookie.”

Day Two:

Six a.m., and you were thrown onto the simulator. Split-second decision-making drilled into you until your reflexes burned. By noon, you were out on the track, repeating the same sector over and over. Every mistake? Restart. Every hesitation? Restart. Natasha’s voice cut through the radio like a blade. “You missed the apex.”

“Too aggressive, back off.”

“Again.”

Again.

Your body moved on autopilot, muscles screaming, exhaustion creeping in. When she finally called you back in, you pulled into the pit, stepping out of the car, legs trembling. Natasha barely glanced up from her tablet. “Get some sleep.” Even. Unmoved. “You’ll need it.”

Day Three:

The training room was dim, the only light coming from the massive screen flickering with images of drivers. Dreykov’s team. Rivals. Threats. Natasha stood in front, hands on the table, voice measured. “Know them. Study them. Every habit, every weakness, every mistake they’ve ever made. Learn their tells. If you don’t, they’ll rip you apart.”

She turned, gaze flicking toward you. “You want to be better than Walker?” Her voice dipped lower, deadlier. “Then you don’t just beat him on track. You get inside his head. Make him doubt. Make him hesitate.” You swallowed hard, nodding. Natasha’s lips curled, just barely.

Day Four:

Tires screamed against the asphalt as you pushed through another lap, the track lights blurring into streaks of color. Natasha stood on the pit wall, headset on, arms crossed. Watching. Tracking every movement, every sector time. She saw it now. The shift. The way you moved. The way you didn’t hesitate anymore.

The radio crackled. “Better.”

Not praise. Not exactly. But something. And from Natasha? That was enough.

Day Five:

A miscalculation. A slight overcorrection. One second, you were flying through the straight, next, the car twitched. The back end stepped out. The world tilted. Your breath hitched, flashes of your past crash slammed into your skull. You hesitated. And that was your mistake.

The car skidded onto the run-off area, tires screeching. You caught it, but by then, it was too late. Lap ruined.

“Get back in the pit.”

You swallowed, bringing the car in, already bracing yourself. The second you stepped out, Natasha was there. She wasn’t yelling. That was worse. “You hesitated.”

Your mouth went dry.

“Do that in the race, and you’re done.” Her voice was sharp, but there was something else beneath it. Something almost…dangerous. “Fix it.”

Hours later, your body felt like lead as you walked back to your room, exhaustion sinking into your bones after another brutal day of training. Every drill, every lap, every order had been pushed to the extreme by Natasha, like she was determined to break you. And now? You could barely move. You had one thought in mind, collapse into bed and sleep for the next century. But before you could open the door, her voice cut through the silence.

“Be ready by nine.”

You stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing. Natasha stood at the end of the hall, arms crossed, looking completely unaffected by the relentless day she had put you through. “For what?” you asked, already dreading the answer.

“Photoshoot.”

You blinked. “…You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I joke?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Please tell me this is just a few shots for the team.” Her lips twitched. That was never a good sign. “FIA. Sponsors. Press. Magazine covers.”

You exhaled sharply, head tilting back. “I can barely stand, Natasha. How do you expect me to pose for a camera?” She stepped forward, stopping just in front of you. Close enough that you could feel her heat. Her eyes flickered over you, assessing, calculating.

“You’ll manage.” And with that, she turned, walking away without another word, leaving you standing there, completely and utterly trapped.

Day six:

The next morning, you found yourself in a massive, high-end studio. Bright lights. White backdrops. Rows of expensive cameras and flashing bulbs. Everything screamed control. And in the middle of it all, Natasha, commanding the entire room. She stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching every single detail.

Every movement, every adjustment, every pose, she dictated all of it. When the crew hesitated, she fixed it. When the angles weren’t perfect, she adjusted them. Her presence was everywhere, in everything. And you hadn’t even stepped in front of the camera yet. This wasn’t just a photoshoot. This was a fucking mission.

Your first set was classic, controlled. You stood against the sleek backdrop in your race suit, arms crossed, chin high. The photographer and Natasha called out instructions.

“Look strong. Confident. Eyes sharp.”

“Fix your posture.”

Natasha’s voice cut through the room like a blade. Your jaw tightened. She was standing just off-camera, her gaze laser-focused on you.

“Shoulders squared.”

You adjusted. “Chin up.” You exhaled slowly, adjusting again. “Now hold it.”

You held it. The cameras flashed, one after another, capturing every angle. You could feel her watching you. Not just monitoring. Not just observing. Watching. Studying.

Next came the full team shots. You stood in the center, surrounded by the entire Romanoff Racing crew, mechanics, engineers, strategists. A wall of power. A force. The Romanoff insignia blazed behind you. The photographer adjusted his lens.

“Closer together. Stronger stance.”

You stepped forward, shoulders squared. The flashes erupted, capturing everything. You could feel the weight of it. The responsibility. The legacy you were now a part of.

Now, it was Natasha's turn and Jesus Christ. She stepped onto the set, a black suit, tailored to absolute perfection. She didn’t pose. Didn’t adjust. She just existed. And the entire room bent to her. The camera didn’t just capture her, it obeyed her. Her stance was effortless, natural, lethal. Her eyes sharp, lips pressed together in a look of absolute control.

And when she leaned against the car, one hand resting on the frame, the other tucked into her pocket, expression unreadable, you had to look away. Because holy shit..

Your fingers twitched at your sides. Your stomach flipped. And suddenly, you weren’t breathing right. You forced yourself to focus on something, anything else. The camera flashes. The set crew. But your eyes kept drifting back.

And then, she turned her head. And caught you. Your breath hitched. For one unbearable second, neither of you moved. She didn’t smirk. Didn’t say anything. Just looked. And then, she moved on. Leaving you standing there, heart pounding.

Then came the part you weren’t prepared for. You. And Natasha. Together. The photographer waved you forward. “Alright, side by side. Look strong, look dominant.”

You took your place beside her. And immediately, something was off. “Closer.” the photographer instructed.

Natasha shifted beside you, her shoulder brushing yours. Your breath caught. Your muscles tensed. The camera clicked. Natasha glanced at you, brow furrowing slightly.

“Break. Ten minutes.” The team scattered. You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to move. Before you could step away, Natasha’s voice stopped you. “What’s wrong?”

You froze. Your back was still to her, but you knew she was watching and waiting. You rolled your shoulders, forcing a casual shrug. “Nothing..” you muttered. “Just exhausted.”

Lie. Natasha wasn’t stupid. She saw right through you. Her eyes flickered over your face, searching, calculating. You knew you were caught. So you wiggled your shoulder slightly, brushing it off.

Natasha’s lips pressed together. She didn’t believe you. But she didn’t push. She just watched and something in her expression..something unreadable, something almost amused, made your stomach twist.

The photographer called you both back onto set, your stomach tightened again. “Alright, last round of shots. This time, we go for dominance!” the photographer instructed, adjusting the lighting. You swallowed hard. Natasha stepped up beside you. Close. Not too close. But close enough. “Cross your arms.” the photographer said.

You did. Natasha did too. Side by side. Like two weapons, locked and loaded. Another click. Another flash. “Now turn toward each other slightly.”

You’re kidding..You hesitated, just for a second. But Natasha didn’t. She shifted, her posture unwavering. Her sharp green eyes locked onto you, steady and unreadable. You mirrored her. Straightened your spine. Tilted your head slightly. The camera flashed again.

“Alright, I want something more intense. Y/n, look straight at the camera. Natasha, glance at her.” Your pulse jumped. But you did it. Held your stance. Held your breath. Just a few more minutes..! You were sweating at this point.

Natasha turned her head slightly, just enough to follow the instruction. The way her gaze landed on you, like she was assessing. Calculating. Waiting for you to break.

The shutter clicked. The camera caught it. And suddenly, you felt it too. This wasn’t just a team photo. This was a power move. A statement. The air between you was too charged. You could see it now. And so could everyone else in the room.

The photographer stepped back. “That’s the one.”The crew murmured in agreement. You exhaled slowly. “Alright.” Natasha said, stepping away first. “That’s enough.”

And just like that, the spell was broken. The crew started packing up, cameras shutting down, the studio buzzing with movement. Natasha, as always, was already ahead of everyone. She stood at the monitors, scrolling through the raw images with the lead photographer.

You were halfway through unzipping your race suit when you heard her voice. “Y/n, come here.”

You hesitated. Took a breath. Then walked over. The screen displayed a row of thumbnails, hundreds of photos from the shoot. The first few were standard. You in your race suit, alone. The team standing beside you. You adjusting your helmet. You leaning against the car.

Then came Natasha’s. The black suit. The sharp gaze. The effortless power. You looked away but when Natasha clicked on the last image. The one with both of you. Your stomach tightened. It was..intimidating. You stood tall, shoulders squared, your expression unreadable. And Natasha? She was beside you, turned slightly, looking at you instead of the camera.

It wasn’t a casual glance. It was calculated. Deliberate. Like she was analyzing every move, every breath, every inch of control you had. It looked… powerful. More than that, it looked like something else. Something dangerous.

You swallowed. Natasha didn’t look at you. She just studied the screen, tapping her fingers against the console. “This one.” she said simply.

Your voice was quieter than you intended. “…Yeah.”Natasha finally turned her head, just slightly. Your eyes met. And for a moment..just a moment, it was too much. Then she smirked. “Good.”

She clicked the screen off. And just like that, it was over. But the image? It stayed with you. Long after the photoshoot ended. Long after the cameras shut down.

And long after you left the studio. The car was quiet. Too quiet. The low hum of the engine was the only sound filling the space, but you barely heard it. Your mind was somewhere else.

Still stuck on the photoshoot. On the way the camera had captured everything, the power, the intensity, the control. On the way Natasha had looked at you in that last shot. It wasn’t just a glance.

You stared out the window, barely blinking, your thoughts spiraling as the scenery blurred past. Natasha was speaking. Something about the schedule for tomorrow, about things you should have been listening to.. But you weren’t. You couldn’t. Your chest still felt too tight, your breath too shallow. “Y/N.” Your name snapped you out of your daze. You blinked, turning your head.

Natasha was watching you. One hand on the steering wheel, the other resting against the gear shift, her gaze sharp even in the dim light of the car. “You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”

You opened your mouth, closed it and Natasha sighed. “Alright. We’re done for today.”

You frowned slightly. “What?”

“You’re off until tomorrow. Go rest. Clear your head.” You blinked again, trying to process her words. You were so used to the pressure, to the relentless push, to her orders keeping you on edge. But this? This was unexpected.

“Don’t look so surprised.” she muttered. “You earned it.” Her words settled in your chest, but you didn’t know what to do with them. So you just nodded. And for the rest of the ride, you sat in silence, still thinking, still feeling, still stuck in that moment.

Day 7:

Every drill was brutal. Every lap was ruthless. Natasha barely spoke, except to push you harder. Every limit you thought you had? She crushed it. By the time night fell, you thought she was done with you. Thought you could finally sleep. But Natasha found you later.

Fast asleep on the team’s lounge couch, still in your fireproofs, completely knocked out from exhaustion. She had stood there for a moment, watching. Then, without a word, she grabbed a blanket from the other side of the room and tossed it over you before leaving.

Day 8:

Final day. Final test. One last session to prove you were ready. The team stood by the pit wall. The car hummed beneath you, waiting. You took a breath. Natasha’s voice came through the comms.

“Last chance. Show me what you’ve got.”

And then, you drove. Fast, precise and unforgiving. You felt it. The shift. The control. The instinct overriding doubt. And when you pulled in, stepping out, Natasha was waiting. This time, she didn’t criticize. She just gave you one long look.

“You’re ready.”

——

The paddock was electric, alive with tension and expectation. Mechanics moved like clockwork, final checks being done, engineers poring over data, and drivers locked into their pre-race rituals. The weight of the moment pressed heavy on the entire grid.. this wasn’t just another qualifying session. This was the moment that decided who would start at the front. The moment that separated the contenders from the pretenders.

You sat in the cockpit, fireproofs clinging to your skin, harness so tight across your chest it felt like it was crushing your ribs. The scent of burned rubber and fuel lingered in the air, the familiar hum of engines warming up in the background. Your fingers flexed over the wheel, every part of your body wired, ready.

Across the pit wall, Natasha stood with arms crossed, headset secured, her green eyes locked on the track, calculating every possible scenario before the race had even started. She hadn’t spoken much that morning, not because she wasn’t paying attention, but because she was watching. Waiting for the moment to set the tone. Now, as you sat on the grid, the lights glowing red above you, her voice crackled through the radio.

“Listen to me.” Everything else fell away. “Today, you stop thinking like a rookie. Today, you stop waiting for opportunities to come to you. You take them. You fight for them. You rip them from their hands, and when they push back, you push harder. Do you understand me?”

Your breathing slowed. Your grip on the wheel tightened. “Understood.”

“Good. Because no one is going to move aside for you. Least of all Walker. He’ll do whatever it takes to hold that front row. Don’t let him.”

Your jaw locked at the mention of Walker. Natasha’s voice sharpened. “And if he tries anything, you make sure he regrets it.”

There it was. That edge. That lethal promise in her voice. The engineers gave the final signal. Time to go. You pulled onto the track, engine roaring as you weaved left and right, warming the tires, feeling out the car. The formation lap passed in a blur.

Lined up. Heart pounding. The lights above flickered on. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Green.

You launched off the grid, every fiber of your being focused, locked in. The tires gripped, the engine screamed, and the car shot forward. Walker was already moving to cover the inside line, expecting you to challenge immediately. You didn’t. Not yet. The first few corners were chaos, cars battling, elbows out, everyone jostling for position. You stayed aggressive, ruthless, refusing to back down when the space got tight.

P6. P5.

The radio crackled. Natasha’s voice was controlled but firm. “You’re faster. Stop waiting. Move.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. The next car ahead made the mistake of defending too early into Turn Seven. You sold the dummy, flicked the wheel the other way, and sent the car down the inside, clean, fast, brutal.

P4.

Natasha’s voice hummed in your ear. “Good.” P3 came soon after, the overtake executed so smoothly it almost felt effortless. But nothing about this was effortless. Because now, you had Walker in your sights. And he knew it.

Walker had picked up the pace, trying to pull away, but you were there, suffocating him. Every time he took a defensive line, you mirrored his movements, staying just inside his blind spot, making him feel the pressure.

Natasha’s voice cut through, sharp and knowing. “He’s breaking. Give him a reason to make a mistake.”

Turn Nine. Walker braked late, too late. His tires locked for a split second, and that was all you needed. Inside line. Full send. You were alongside him. Natasha’s voice held its breath. Next corner was yours.

You braced..then impact. Walker clipped your rear tire, sending your car into a violent snap-spin. The world tilted. Gravel exploded around you as the car skidded through the runoff, the steering kicking back violently in your hands. Natasha stood up, “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Her heart slammed against her ribcage, blood boiling as she watched your car skidding through the dirt. The pit crew held their breath. The race officials didn’t say a word. The safety car was on standby, waiting to see if you’d move.

Then, your car jerked forward. The engine roared back to life. Natasha froze. Then, sharp—“Y/n, report.” A beat of static. Then, your voice, steady but burning. “Still here.”

She exhaled sharply. “Get back on track. Now.” You were back. But you were P8 now. Too far back. Too much time lost. Your hands gripped the wheel. “I have an idea.”

Silence. Then, slower. “What idea?” You exhaled.

“It’s risky..”

“Everything in this sport is risky. Talk.” Your breathing was sharp, pulse hammering, your grip locked onto the wheel so tight your knuckles ached.

“If I overtake three cars before Turn Ten, I can keep it flat through sector two and make up time. But I need to go off-line in Turn Six.”

The moment you said it, the radio went dead. It was only for a second, but the silence was heavy, suffocating. Natasha wasn’t answering. Not immediately.

You could picture her in the pit wall, headset tight around her head, eyes narrowed at the screens, jaw locked, fingers gripping the radio as she weighed the calculation in her mind. If you missed the move by an inch, if the grip wasn’t there, if the car snapped on you at that speed, race over.

“Don’t fuck it up.”

Lap 15

Turn Six approached like a wall, a barrier you either broke through or crashed into. You didn’t lift. You went wide, off the racing line, into the part of the track where no one dared to find grip. The car trembled beneath you, the tires barely holding, but they held.

The move was insane. The pit wall erupted. The commentators lost their minds. The entire grandstand stood up. You didn’t hear any of it. Because the second you pulled off the move, the radio clicked. Natasha’s voice cracked through, lower now, almost breathless. “…You’re insane.”

A grin pulled at the corner of your lips. “Told you.”

P5. P4. P3.

The radio clicked again. Natasha was fully locked in now. No hesitation. No restraint. She was with you. “Walker is 1.8 seconds ahead. Three laps left. Close it.” And you did.

Final Lap

Walker was right there and desperate. His lines getting messier, his defense more aggressive. He knew you were coming, knew you were faster. But you knew something else..He was afraid.

Natasha’s voice cut through, sharp as a blade. “If he tries to block, don’t lift.”

Turn 12. Walker braked early, too early. He was trying to bait you, to force a mistake. But you weren’t falling for it. You threw the car inside, right on the limit, the tires barely holding, but it was enough. Walker tried to squeeze you off, but it was too late. You were gone.

P1.

The checkered flag waved. The radio was silent. For a long, long moment..nothing. “Now that…” A pause. “Was a fucking statement.”

You leaned your head back against the seat, exhaling hard, body vibrating from the adrenaline, the exhaustion, the everything. You had done it. You had won. And Natasha..Natasha had trusted you. You barely heard her, too overwhelmed by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding against your ribs, the raw rush of adrenaline and exhaustion making your body tremble against the seat. The realization hit all at once.

Pole position.

You had fought for it, clawed your way from the gravel, risked everything, and won. The car slowed on the cool-down lap, but your hands were still shaking, your breathing still uneven. The reality of what just happened was sinking in, and for the first time in a long time, you felt it.

Pride. A slow, satisfied smirk pulled at your lips as you finally spoke into the radio, breathless but grinning. “P1, huh?”

A small pause. Then, Natasha’s voice, quieter now, something different in it. “P1.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just letting the weight of it settle in. “Ha!!”

Natasha didn’t respond, but you could sense her smirk, even through the static. She let you have this moment. She didn’t cut it down, didn’t make a comment about how it was just qualifying, that the real race was still ahead. No, she let you feel it.

Because you had earned it. Natasha was already pulling off her headset, stepping away from the pit wall as the team erupted into cheers, shouts, and frantic celebrations. She had done her job. Now it was yours. And she wanted to see it. She moved through the chaos, eyes locked on the car rolling in. The mechanics were already lined up, waiting for you.

The moment you stepped out, adrenaline still coursing through your veins, they swarmed. Shouts, cheers, hands grabbing at you, pulling you into crushing embraces. You did it. You laughed, breathless, still high from the race, from the moment, from everything. One of the engineers grabbed your helmet, ruffling your hair before clapping you hard on the back. Someone else was already holding up the pit board. P1.

You looked at it, at the reality of it, and your chest swelled with something powerful. You turned, scanning the pit wall, searching. And then, you saw her.

Natasha stood a few feet away, arms crossed, just watching. She hadn’t rushed into the celebration, hadn’t thrown herself into the crowd of mechanics. No, she was just there, eyes sharp, lips pressed together in something unreadable. For a split second, you thought she was going to walk away.

Then, finally, she nodded. A small movement, barely there. But you saw it. And fuck..it meant everything.

——

The energy of the paddock still buzzed behind you as the car pulled away from the circuit, leaving behind the celebrations, the flashing cameras, and the press that would no doubt be dissecting every second of today’s session.

The atmosphere in the car was… different. Not tense. Not suffocating like usual. Lighter. For once, Natasha wasn’t drilling into you, wasn’t immediately picking apart every turn, every sector time, every moment that could have been improved. She wasn’t reminding you that qualifying was just the beginning, that the real fight was still ahead.

Sitting in the passenger seat, you sank into the leather, exhaustion finally settling in. Your body was still buzzing with adrenaline, muscles sore, heart still beating in the aftershock of what just happened. But this was the first moment you had to actually process it.

You had pole position.

You unlocked your phone, fingers instinctively scrolling through the flood of notifications. News articles. Tweets. Posts.

“Y/N Y/L/N Takes Stunning Pole After Dramatic Comeback.”

“Against All Odds—Romanoff’s New Signing Sends a Warning to the Grid.”

“Walker Struggles Under Pressure as Y/L/N Dominates Qualifying.”

That one made you grin. You scrolled further, seeing clips of your overtakes, of the moment you took pole, of the radio call with Natasha. People were already analyzing it, already picking apart the dynamic between you and her.

“Romanoff’s reaction to Y/L/N’s pole position is so telling.”

One clip showed Natasha standing on the pit wall, her face blank, except for the small, almost imperceptible nod.

The comments were relentless.

“That’s the highest form of Romanoff praise. If you know, you know..”

“She’s pleased. Trust me. She won’t say it, but she is.”

You had spent so long trying to prove you deserved to be back. Fighting against the doubts, the whispers, the endless questioning of whether you were still capable.

And today? Today, you gave them their answer.

You turned your head slightly, glancing at Natasha in the driver’s seat. She hadn’t said a word the entire drive, hadn’t given you that usual look like she was waiting to correct something. She was just driving. Calm. Focused. She caught you looking and raised a brow. “What?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “You’re being…nice.”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she kept her eyes on the road. “Don’t get used to it.”

Your lips twitched. “No?”

“Not a chance.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, the tension that had always sat between you and her finally settling, not disappearing, but shifting into something else. Something you weren’t sure how to name yet.

Then, Natasha’s voice cut through the silence again, lower this time, like a warning. “Enjoy today.” A beat. “Because tomorrow?”

She glanced at you, and for a second, the warmth was gone, replaced by something else entirely. “The real war starts.”

The first race of the season.

You sat in the passenger seat as the team drove toward the circuit, headphones in, music drowning out everything else. The low hum of bass vibrated through your ears, steady, grounding. The world outside blurred past, flashes of the approaching grandstands, the towering banners, the overwhelming storm of people already waiting for the main event.

Your fingers tapped rhythmically against your thigh, muscles tense beneath your race suit. This was the moment you had spent years clawing your way back to. And today, you had one job.

The second you stepped out of the car, the onslaught began. Flashes. Cameras. The swarm of media surged forward, microphones shoved in your direction before you even had the chance to breathe.

“Y/N, a quick word before the race!?”

“How are you handling the pressure of pole position?”

“Walker says you don’t have what it takes to hold first place, any response?”

The voices came all at once, words overlapping, the chaos pressing in around you. Your fingers twitched at your sides, the air tightening-

“That’s enough!” Natasha stepped in front of you in an instant, her presence slamming into the conversation like a force of nature, sharp green eyes locking onto the nearest journalist, unflinching. The words cut through the noise like a whip crack. Then, she turned to you,

“Go. Get ready. I’ll handle them.” You hesitated for only a second before nodding, stepping away and heading toward the paddock entrance, leaving the storm behind.

The garage was alive with controlled chaos, engineers running final checks, the steady hum of the team speaking through headsets, the unmistakable scent of fuel and anticipation thick in the air.

You exhaled slowly, rolling out your shoulders as you made your way toward your race suit stand, where one of the crew members was already waiting with your gloves. “Helmet’s prepped.” another said, handing it to you.

You took it, fingers grazing the visor, feeling the familiar weight settle into your grip. Another mechanic helped with your strap devices, securing it into place while you adjusted your gloves, making sure every strap, every fastening, was locked in. The tension in your chest coiled tighter with every second.

“Radio check.”

You exhaled once, pressing the comms button on your wheel. “Loud and clear.”

Natasha’s voice followed instantly, sharp and precise. “Copy. Comms are stable. Crew, confirm status.”

One by one, the voices of your engineers came through, confirming everything was set. The team was ready. The car was ready. You were ready.

The pit lane outside was roaring with noise, the grandstands full, the grid already lined up with cars rolling into position. And you were about to join them. This was it. The pre-race ceremony had begun, but you barely processed it. The national anthem played, the teams stood by their cars, the broadcast captured the entire starting lineup.

Pole position. Your car, first on the grid. It wasn’t the final step. It wasn’t the win. But it was the beginning of something.

“Y/n.”

You didn’t turn your head, just listened. Then, smooth, like she already knew what the answer would be- “You ready to fight?” You exhaled slowly, letting the tension in your chest morph into fire. “Always.”

The engine roared beneath you, a low, guttural vibration that thrummed through your bones. The grandstands blurred into a sea of colors, the sound of thousands of fans mixing with the distant hum of commentary and static-filled radio chatter.

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. This was it. This was the real fight. You focused on the lights above you, glowing red, lined up like a countdown to war.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Lights out.

Your tires gripped hard, the acceleration pinning you into the seat as you launched off the line. Walker was already alongside you, his front wing barely inches from your rear tire, trying to force you wide into Turn One.

Not a chance. You braked late, hugging the inside, refusing to give an inch. The car behind you lunged forward, but you held firm, forcing Walker to the outside.

“Good start, Y/n. Hold the inside.”

Natasha’s voice was clear, sharp, cutting through the chaos like a blade. Turn One, clean. Turn Two: Walker tried again, but you covered it, forcing him back. By the time you hit Turn Three, you had defended your position.

P1.

Walker was relentless. He stayed glued to your rear wing, waiting for an opening, a mistake, anything. Your heart pounded, every nerve in your body locked onto every sound, every movement, every vibration of the car beneath you.

The radio crackled. Natasha’s voice, calm, but watchful. “Don’t let him push you. Control the pace. Make him react to you.”

You adjusted, shifting your lines slightly, feeling out the car, forcing Walker to mirror your every move. Turn Eight and he went for it. He dove inside, too deep, too aggressive. You saw it coming before he even committed. A quick switch-back, flicking the car to the outside as he overshot the apex, and just like that- He was behind you again. The pit wall cheered, but Natasha? She only said, “Nice. Now keep your head down.”

Lap 12

The degradation was kicking in. Your tires were screaming through the high-speed corners, the grip beginning to fade, every lap getting harder to hold. The radio crackled. Natasha again. “Box this lap. We’re switching to mediums.”

Your fingers flexed over the wheel. “Copy.”

Coming out of Turn 14, you peeled off the racing line, diving into the pit lane, the speed limiter engaging as you barreled toward the box. The team was already waiting. You rolled in perfectly, stopping on the mark. Four tires. Fresh set. 2.3 seconds. Fast

You slammed the throttle the second you were released, shooting back onto the track, merging just as a car flew past.

P5.

Natasha’s voice was back in your ear. “You’ll regain track position when they stop. Just keep your pace up.”

Lap 18

The car felt lighter, the grip returning, your confidence growing. P3. P2.

Walker was right there again. Natasha’s voice cut through the radio. “He’s losing grip. He’ll defend aggressively. Watch for a late move.”

Turn 11 and walker went defensive. You faked the inside, forcing him to commit, then switched lines instantly, diving outside instead.

Your tires barely held, the car sliding on the edge of control and you were through. P1 again. The radio erupted with team cheers, but Natasha’s voice was the only one you focused on. “Good. Now put some distance between you.”

Lap after lap, you could feel Walker’s presence behind you like a shadow, clinging too close, pushing the limits of what was allowed. You knew him, knew the way he played the game, but this? This was different…

Something about the way he moved, the way he positioned himself right at your rear wing now, sent a flicker of unease through your chest. You gritted your teeth, forcing the feeling down as you powered through another turn, your car gliding over the asphalt like second nature.

Your hands gripped the wheel tighter as you closed in on him, calculating your every move, your breath steady despite the heat in your chest. But Walker? He was too close. Too aggressive, as usual. You could feel him right on your rearview, waiting for a moment to overtake, but you wouldn’t give him that. Not now. Not today.

Then, in a blink, he made his move. You saw him inching forward, his car too close for comfort, and that was when the panic flashed across your mind. Why was he doing this? What was his game? You didn’t have time to think about it long before your tires lost traction, and you could feel the weight of the car shift.

“What the hell is he doing!?” Your voice was sharp through the radio, frustration rising as you saw him get closer, too close for comfort. But there was nothing you could do. Before you could react, before you could even process it, he hit you.

The force was hard. You didn’t even have time to brace. It came from behind you, the rear tires suddenly lifted off the track as your car was jerked sideways. You fought for control, your hands desperately working the wheel to correct it, but the back end of your car was already out of your control. The track seemed to tilt beneath you. The wall loomed ahead, too close, too fast.

Your breath hitched. No, no, no, you thought, your heart racing. “N-NO!” The impact was swift. Your car slammed into the wall with such force that it felt like your body was being thrown against the harness. The crash sent a sharp shockwave through your entire body, and the world went blank.

The sound of your desperate voice on the radio hit Natasha like a punch to the gut. She was already watching, tracking Walker’s every move, every inch of the track. But nothing, nothing could prepare her for the moment she heard you. The raw fear in your voice was unlike anything she had ever heard from you before.

Her body reacted before her mind could process the fear in her chest. She shot to her feet, the chair behind her crashing to the floor as if it didn’t exist. She grabbed the radio, her hands trembling as she slammed the button down.

“Y/n, come in!” She was breathless, her voice tight with panic.

Nothing.

“Y/N! Answer me!” She tried again, but the radio crackled with silence. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. She saw the monitors flicker, showing the image of your car crashing hard into the wall. The feedback from the telemetry was dead, and all she could hear was the commentators’ panicked voices.

“That was a huge impact! No response from Y/N!”

Her hands clenched around the radio, the sensation of fear crawling up her spine. Her eyes stayed locked on the screen, watching the wreckage unfold in real time, but her heart was somewhere else..in the car with you.

Her team tried to speak, but Natasha didn’t hear them. The only thing she could hear was the pounding of her own pulse in her ears, the sound of your voice echoing in her mind, and the image of you, helpless and not responding. She didn’t think. She didn’t hesitate. The safety car was already on its way, and before she could even consider what she was doing, Natasha was already moving.

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#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov x reader #dom!natasha x reader #nat x reader #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov

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waynes-multiverse · 1 day ago

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Already so in love with the start of this chapter! A girl who can eat is a girl after my heart 🫶 (and apparently Russell's lol)

“Good god. You have never been more attractive to me, which is saying something.” You slurped again, Russell letting his curiosity in your eating habits fade away in favor of the elephant in the room.

Girl, you and I have the same headcanon about this! He needs someone with super weird food habits 😂🫶

And I loved her then suddenly trying to get rid of him and coming up with the lamest excuse in the book before threathening him lol. Glad he saw right through that! And this made me melt 🫠:

“Forget I said anything.” You stood up, Russell matching the movement and catching your bicep before you could take a step. Yes, he was injured but even one armed, he had enough raw strength in him to keep you from leaving. “Tell me or I dig on my own and make things a lot riskier for both of us.” He dropped his hand, nodding to the seat. Russell sighed. “I trusted you. You can do the same.”

Oh, and it is a mafia thing! 👀 Phew, that's a tough job for Russell (not that I doubt his abilities, but she is right – he's only one man. You're not planning on breaking my heart, are you? 😅)

“Like my home?” He stared blankly, eyes drifting down to your chest. “The flirting was cute. Eye-fucking me in my kitchen, not so much.” “You have sauce all over your shirt.”

Oh, he got real lucky there, didn't he? He must've loved this 😂😂

“Because knowing how to get stains out of all types of fabrics is kind of necessary in my line of work,” he said, opening a few cabinets before finding the one with the plates. “Now. Can you put the knife you thought you grabbed without me seeing back and we have a civilized conversation over pizza?”

I'm so in love with this characterization of him here! Behind all the goofiness and bad flirting still hides that smart killing machine, and you portray that so well throughout their entire conversation 🖤

I love reading more of her backstory, and obviously Russell can relate since he grew up similarily. I see some romance brewing and bonding happening here 😍

You’re going to park in the visitors lot and go to the airstream in lot 4. It’ll be isolated. You knock on the door and there’ll be a guy inside. Colter. You stay with him, go wherever he goes and do whatever he tells you to without question. You don’t leave his side until I come and get you, understand?”

Knowing her, I don't see this working out well for Colter. Poor guy will have his hands full with her 😂

You woke up around six thirty, jolting up in your bed to find a very wet and nearly naked Colter trying to pick up a mug he’d dropped. “Well good morning,” you said, his hand in a death grip on the towel just barely concealing him away.

I don't mind this at all 😏

The commitment to him being shirtless on this show is for real, tho 🫠 (And PS: I saw you wrote for Colter too! I totally have to check that out! Justin Hartley had me in a chokehold since This Is Us. He rows right into the "lovable and stupidly hot idiot" category that I've fallen victim to lol.)

And not only did she bond with Russell in this part but also with Colter. Seriously loved every minute of their conversation! And considering Russell sent her to his brother, who he hasn't spoken to in so long, speaks volumes how much he trusts Colter. Colter seeing that too was such a precious moment 😭🫶

Sure, Colter was hot but Russell…well the image of that man in nothing but a towel as water dripped down his body…

Agree! The ruggedness and roughness (the beard) certainly adds a few plus points 🔥😏

“And? What am I saying?” you asked, staring him down.

I was gonna say, she should be careful with that challenge, and his answer did not disappoint! It was gold 🤣🤣🤣

And I totally didn't expect her to stay with Colter for days, drive across the country, and join him on a case! This is such a cool twists and I'm loving their hangout dynamic 😁 I do have an inkling Russell will be jealous of their bonding and probably scold Colter for taking her on a case lmao

“He knows what he’s doing. A job like this, he’s got to do a lot of prep work and he’s got to put a crew together. Trusted friends. Try not to worry.”

Ooooh I know you read the books and this reminded me so much of the crew book!Russell worked with!!! 👏

I was so relieved when he came back in one piece! And that little present for her was so sweet and thoughtful 🥹 The note, on the other hand, was hilarious 😂

But why the angst at the end there? No they were supposed to be happy! Sunset, rainbows, unicorns, glitter!!! I will suffer in the next part, won't I? 😅

This was such an amazing chapter from start to finish! I thoroughly enjoyed all their conversations, their dynamics, the humor mixed with seriousness and feelings. Loved every second of this! 🩵

He's My Man (Part 2)

Summary: The reader isn't quite so sure if she can trust Russell with her secrets but he's decided she's going to get his help, whether she wants it or not. Reluctantly she accepts but in the process realizes she might actually be starting to care about him...

Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 4,500ish

Warnings: language, gun shot injury mention, mentions of death, angst, fluff

A/N: Ooooh things are heating up! Please enjoy!

__________

Russell stared at you with what one could only describe as a look of wonder. You didn’t exactly blame him. Eating four large cheese danishes and chugging back a week’s worth of coffee in the span of fifteen minutes was enough to make anyone’s eyes widen.

You tossed your trash in his motel waste bin when you finished and returned to your seat at the tiny corner table. With an obnoxiously loud slurp of even more coffee, Russell titled his head, shaking it slightly.

Your fingertips rattled against the side of the large styrofoam cup, a small amount of heat radiating through. Now that you’d had some time to think, or rather stress eat, you knew this was a mistake. A big one. You needed to kick Russell out of your life and the sooner the better.

“I think you have the wrong idea about what’s going on and I thought it better we talk in private,” you said. Russell wore a weary expression, his eyes dissecting your every micro-movement. “I’m not interested in a relationship or a date or conversation. I don’t do that considering my line of work and I imagine you keep things casual with yours. So you take your money and consider this a warning. Contact me again and I will have you dealt with, understand?”

Russell leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a clenched jaw. You narrowed your eyes in response, Russell picking at his bandage without realizing.

“Stop that,” you mumbled when he kept doing it, his lip twitching up in a not so friendly way.

“You threaten me and in the next breath are worried about my damn stitches? I don’t think you realize just how good I am at my job,” he said, placing both hands on the table, folding them together. You swallowed, Russell staring so intently you had to glance away. “Alright. Back at the coffee shop, that was a moment of bravery and now it’s passed? Tough shit. We’re in the weeds now and we ain’t leaving until I know you do your job of your own free will. Understand?”

“Tell me or I dig on my own and make things a lot riskier for both of us.” He dropped his hand, nodding to the seat. Russell sighed. “I trusted you. You can do the same.”

“You’re one guy.” You shook your head. “Drop this or you’ll wind up dead or worse.”

“I made my living doing jobs where if I fucked up I’d wish I were dead over the alternative. I know how to keep a secret. Maybe I can help, maybe I can’t. But you opened the box. You can’t just close it again.”

“Yes, I can. Goodbye, Russell.” You grabbed your coffee and headed for the door, pausing when you had a hand on the handle.

But what if he could help…he was ex-special ops…

Russell’s hand slid over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. You frowned, a reassuring smile greeting you.

“Do you like your job?” he asked.

“S’complicated,” you whispered.

“How complicated?”

“Jobs like yours…that’s up to me to do that stuff but I…I work for someone else.” You found Russell’s unreadable green eyes and sighed. “I’m a fixer for the local mafia. It’s not a job you get to quit and stay alive very long.”

Russell contemplated your words, lips forming a thin line before he nodded. “I can take care of that assuming your story checks out.”

“My story?” you asked, Russell humming. “Why would I lie-”

“You could be playing me for any number of reasons. Like I said, I’m going to check your story out and if it’s all kosher, we’ll figure out where to go from there. Capiche?”

“Fine,” you grit out, shaking his hand away. “But do it quietly. You got three days.”

Late Evening

Your eye actually twitched when you answered your front door that night to find not your pizza delivery man before you but Russell fucking Shaw. He wore a deep navy utility jacket that hung loosely around his trim waist and a pair of black jeans. You weren’t sure why but his shift from lighter colored clothing this morning to this dark, edgy look made him look as dangerous as you expected he was.

“Russell,” you said. He didn’t bother hiding his smirk, eyes roaming over your body. You glanced down at your soft pale yellow pajama shirt and matching shorts set, huffing when he slipped past you inside.

“You totally are the kind of woman to having matching jammies,” he chuckled. You gripped the door tight, ready to kick him out just as your delivery driver pulled up.

“Just…take off your boots.” Two minutes later you had your pizza and garlic knots on your kitchen counter while Russell leaned back against it, his jacket since removed and tossed on the back of your couch. He wore a black zip up that was undone over a black t-shirt, Russell shifting at your growing unease.

“Listen,” he said, holding up his hands. “You got questions but first off, I’m not here to hurt you. This is just what I wear when I need to go…looking around places I ain’t exactly invited into.”

“Like my home?” He stared blankly, eyes drifting down to your chest. “The flirting was cute. Eye-fucking me in my kitchen, not so much.”

“You have sauce all over your shirt.” You glanced down, spotting marinara drops all over your short sleeve button up top from where you’d had the edge of the pizza box pressed against your torso as you’d carried it in. “Thanks for thinking so highly of me, though. Makes a guy feel special.”

“I’m on edge, alright?” you snapped, grabbing a towel and trying to get most of the sauce out. “Plus I just ruined a two hundred dollar shirt.”

“Figured you for a oversized men’s t-shirts kind of gal but little sets from french boutiques suites you.” You froze, Russell dropping his hands. “I know all about your shopping habits. You have high quality taste, much richer than the average suburbanite.”

“And?” you said, tossing the towel down, hands going to your hips. “Are you about to kidnap me and turn me over to the mafia or what?”

Russell approached you slowly, gently picking up the towel from the floor and dabbing it with some dish soap.

“If I had wanted to hurt you or take you or whatever else is going through your head, you wouldn’t have seen me coming.” He rubbed the towel against the damp spot on your shirt, letting the fabric get soapy. “Let that soak for a few minutes and then after you have some dinner, toss it in the wash. It’ll come out good as new.”

“How do you know that?” you asked, Russell hanging your towel on the oven handle.

You weren’t sure how he’d seen you swipe the knife from the butchers block but figured he had a point. If he’d wanted to screw you over, he would have done it already. After excusing yourself, you returned in a pair of skinny black joggers and a slightly cropped gray AC/DC shirt to find Russell had already plated two sizeable portions for yourselves.

“See? Now that’s a look more fitting for the princess of darkness,” he chuckled.

“That’s queen of darkness to you,” you said, taking a seat at the island in front of one of the plates. “Do me a favor, lover boy. Grab me a guinness from the fridge.”

“Dark stout. Always a good choice.” He got out two, removing the cap for you before retreating to the other side of the island.

“As much as I love uninvited house guests who welcome themselves to my food and beer, why are you here, Russell?” You took a large bite of pizza, Russell long necking his beer for a moment.

“Yet I don’t see you kicking me out. It’s okay to admit you’ve fallen for me, Y/N,” he teased. You growled, Russell’s eyebrows raising in amusement. “Hot damn, woman. I love when you get all grr. Tells me you are a force to be reckoned with.”

You rolled your eyes, Russell taking an extra large bite. “Stop flirting and talk.”

“Why can’t I do both?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. “But to answer your original question, I’m here because your story checked out and that’s kind of a problem.”

“Excuse me? Why is that an issue?”

He set his plate down and gripped the island, leaning over it slightly. “Y/N. I can call up a few friends and wipe out a local mafia family no problem.”

“Awesome. Then what’s the fucking problem?” Russell tilted his head, like you’d just walked into some kind of trap he’d set.

“Y/N. Despite all the obvious sexual tension brewing between us, you failed to mention that you have a boyfriend. You know, the head of this fucking mafia family. The boyfriend that buys you those fancy french pajama sets? The one that bought that espresso machine over there? Girl, you better explain yourself because I am not a hired gun.”

You chewed quietly for a few moments under the heated scrutiny of Russell’s gaze before you pushed the plate away.

“My dad was an accomplished doctor. He was very well respected. I grew up very comfortably until I was about eight.” Russell loosened his stance and began to eat while you decided what he needed to absolutely know. “My dad unknowingly saved a mobster’s life one night in the ER. Mr. Lauter.”

“The former head of the mafia and this guy, Owen, your supposed boyfriend’s dad?” You nodded before taking a big swig from your bottle.

“Well, that pissed off Mr. Elpine who had almost had a successful hit on Mr. Lauter. Elpine tried to get my dad to kill Lauter. Dad refused and the next morning on the way to school, the brake lines in our car didn’t work. Dad and I walked away. Mom and my brother didn’t. Dad was scared Elpine would come after me again.”

“Your father went to Lauter for protection,” said Russell. You picked up your pizza as he put together the rest of the pieces. “Lauter offers him protection for saving his life but something happens and your dad ends up working for Lauter as his fixer.”

“The paranoia got to dad. He would take me on these weekend hunting trips all the time and teach me survival skills and medical stuff and I was a fucking kid, Russell. I didn’t want to do that shit but dad was…twitchy. PTSD for sure, a mental break too. I always guessed there was some brain trauma after the accident that never healed. He got real bad when I went to college. Bad enough that Lauter stepped in when my dad attacked me when I came home for the holidays. Lauter killed him and the fucked up part was I wasn’t even upset. My real dad had died when I was a kid. But…when a mob boss kills for you whether you wanted them to or not-”

“They think they own you for life.” You nodded. “So you became the fixer.”

“They let me finish college under the condition I come back and work for the family. They leave me be except for when I need to patch someone in the crew up. It’s honestly not that bad. They gave me a lot of money over the years. I hate to say this but Mr. Lauter was pretty good to me.”

Russell cleared his throat. “You do know how fucked up what he did to you is, right?”

“Of course I do,” you said, closing your eyes. “But compared to my dad and Owen, he was the lesser evil.”

“I came across the fact Mr. Lauter died about three weeks ago from heart disease.” You hummed. “Tell me about this fuckface, Owen.”

“Dude has had a crush on me since he was fucking twelve. He has it in his head that the family owns me, literally. Lauter always reined him in but since he’s been gone, Owen’s been…pushy. Telling the crew I’m his girlfriend, asking them to follow me. Thankfully, and this is why this is so weird, I grew up around a lot of the guys. Making me work and fix people, fine. But some kind of forced romance? They aren’t cool with it, at least they’re kind of ignoring Owen. I’ve kept Owen off my back because he’s grieving and busy trying to take over but he’s going to back on my ass soon. This time, those guys will have to listen to their new boss.”

“So…I take out Owen and you think you’re in the clear. You could have just said that.” He finished off his beer and washed his hands at the sink. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going grab essentials, and I mean essentials, while I pack up your dinner in what I expect is some color coordinated tupperware. Then you’re going to take my car and drive to Elmhurst Camping Grounds. It’s about four hours north of here and no, you will stop for anything so use the bathroom before you go and I’ll pack you a snack. You’re going to park in the visitors lot and go to the airstream in lot 4. It’ll be isolated. You knock on the door and there’ll be a guy inside. Colter. You stay with him, go wherever he goes and do whatever he tells you to without question. You don’t leave his side until I come and get you, understand?”

“I feel like if I ask questions you’ll just tell me I don’t want to know.” Russell smirked.

“I love that big brain of yours.” You rolled your eyes but felt a tiny smile on your face. “Warming up to me are we?”

“Fuck no. But uh, who the hell are you sending me to?”

“My baby brother. Don’t worry. His ugly mug will keep you safe.”

Four Hours Later

“Uh, hi,” you said, practically bouncing up and down at midnight in front of a strange tall man at a very nice airstream RV.

“Y/N,” he said as you forced a smile. “Bathroom is right there-”

You darted past him and into the small cubby bathroom, grateful after the long drive. The man was waiting leaned against a small counter space when you exited, a temporary bed made up behind him in what looked like a breakfast nook.

“Sorry to barge in. Russell said not to stop for anything.”

“S’alright,” he said. “Bed’s made up if you want to crash. I’m going to stay up a bit longer by the fire. You’re welcome to join if you like.”

“Thanks, uh…” you said, a very brief smile on his face as you tried to remember what Russell had called him.

“Colter. It’s not a problem.” He skirted by you and outside, taking a seat in a foldable camping chair. You had questions but for the moment, all you wanted was to get some rest.

You woke up around six thirty, jolting up in your bed to find a very wet and nearly naked Colter trying to pick up a mug he’d dropped.

“Well good morning,” you said, his hand in a death grip on the towel just barely concealing him away.

“Morning,” he said, slowly backing up to the bedroom. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Not a problem,” you said, catching a whiff of coffee.

“Mug are in the first cabinet if you want a cup. I’ll be out in a minute,” he said. He excused himself to his room and slid the divider shut, leaving you to the rest of the airstreamer.

A moment later you were outside in front of a small fire, sitting in a chair with warm coffee in your hands. It was cool and you wished you’d thought to pack a jacket in your haste last night.

You were rubbing your arms when something was draped over your shoulders, a thick heavy hoodie.

“Russell got you out of there pretty quick, huh?” asked Colter, taking the mug while you shrugged into the warm fleece.

“Yeah. All I grabbed was my wallet, some cash and my computer. He told me I could buy clothes here,” you said. Colter handed you back the mug and took a seat beside you.

“I checked his car. He had a duffel full of his clothes in there I brought inside. You can use his stuff, or mine, until we can hit a store.”

“Thanks,” you said, smelling Russell’s deodorant on the fabric. Colter saw you tug the hood up, a question on the tip of his tongue but he decided against it. The air was still and quiet apart from the crackle of fire and morning birds.

“So,” said Colter, not looking at you as he drank. “You and Russell…you like, his girlfriend-”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I just met the guy yesterday. All I did was patch him up.”

“Right.” You sunk lower in your chair, slurping loudly.

“Were you special ops like him?” you asked. Colter shook his head.

“Civilian. Never had any formal training, just what we grew up with.” Well, that was an interesting statement. What the hell did it mean though? “Our father was a survivalist, taught us things.”

“Oh. My dad was a little out there too.” Was that why Russell was so adamant about helping you out of your situation? No. Maybe it played a part, but no. He’d wanted to help before you told him that. “Does Russell do this sort of thing often?”

“No clue. First time I talked to him in years was two days ago. I helped him find a friend of his. I was there when he got that bullet hole in him you fixed.”

Alrighty then. Russell was becoming more and more intriguing by the second.

“So you don’t know a lot about him then,” you said. Colter shrugged.

“I guess I’m figuring him out too but he’s a good guy. He’s somebody you want as a friend.” You hummed, finishing your coffee off. Colter excused himself to get you more and returned with a fresh cup, steam billowing from within.

“You trail run?” you asked, Colter’s eyes showing a flash of surprise. “Muddy sneakers by the door. I did cross country in school.”

“I try to get out most mornings. The hot water should be good to go in about five minutes if you want a shower.”

“Thanks.” You licked your lips as you remembered the sight of him exiting the bathroom not long ago. Sure, Colter was hot but Russell…well the image of that man in nothing but a towel as water dripped down his body…You shifted in your seat, squeezing your legs together to try and get a hold of yourself. Colter smirked slightly in his seat. “What?”

“I’m good at reading people is all.”

“And? What am I saying?” you asked, staring him down. Colter only smiled as he looked away to the fire.

“You’re wondering if Russell works out and picturing him naked.” You glared at him but it did nothing to hide the heat radiating off your cheeks. “Hey, you’re a grown woman. You can do as you please.”

“I think I will take that shower now.” You stood and set the mug down on the ground, shooting Colter one last look. There’d been no malice or teasing in his voice. He was simply being straight with you. “Listen. I just…I haven’t exactly been around good guys much, or ever. I’m not saying there’s anything there beyond physical attraction, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, looking at you like you were the worst liar in the world. “Whatever you say.”

You grumbled and went inside to take a very cold shower.

Three Days Later - Spokane, Washington

“Hey, Colt,” you said, pushing up the long sleeves of Russell’s gray henley you wore. Colter hummed around the piece of grilled chicken in his mouth as you spun your laptop around from the other side of the airstream’s dining table. “Could she have gone here? Looks like a decommissioned game trail.”

“Yeah, yeah that fits,” he said with his mouth full, chewing and swallowing quickly so he could take a closer look. You returned to your own dinner, Colter mentioning he was going to take a look after dark.

Things had fallen into an easy pattern with the two of you. Colter was very different than his brother but it wasn’t a bad thing. He didn’t talk much and worked as a rewardist. He’d planned on sticking around the east coast for when Russell met up with you again but an urgent case in Washington popped up. You’d spent most of the past three days driving cross-country behind Colter’s truck and the airstreamer, learning what the hell a rewardist was.

Colter had told you about the case at first to keep your mind off of Russell but you’d reluctantly taken an interest and now were deep in the weeds of helping him locate a missing young woman.

“You want to come look with me?” asked Colter, breaking you out of your train of thought. You blinked, a small smile on his face. “Come on. It’ll get you some experience with rewardest work and stop you from doom scrolling.”

“Alright,” you sighed. While you appreciated Colter’s attempts to make you feel better, you were starting to get very concerned. You hadn’t heard from Russell since you left your house a few days ago and there was nothing in the news about the local mafia members being killed. Or him.

Colter rubbed your back when you helped him unhook it from the airstream. He tended to do that when you started to get stressed out. He hadn’t been lying before. He really was good at reading people.

“Colter,” you said in the dark truck, the hum of the vehicle quiet in the cab as he drove. “What if something happened to him and he needs our help?”

“He knows what he’s doing. A job like this, he’s got to do a lot of prep work and he’s got to put a crew together. Trusted friends. Try not to worry.” You bit your bottom lip as you stared out the window, trees passing by.

If only it were that simple.

It was two in the morning by the time you and Colter made it back to the camping grounds. You’d found Martha in not too great of shape but she was alive and the doctors said she’d make a full recovery with time. Colter has tried to give you some of the reward money for helping but you hadn’t done all that much in your opinion.

“Stay here,” he said when he turned the truck into your lot and you spotted a dark figure sitting by the fire. He took his gun from the back of jeans and got out, pausing halfway out the door. He smiled over at you and you caught the dark figure give an awkward little wave. “Should I tell him how much you’ve been worried?”

“Not. A. Word. Colter,” you said before hopping out and happily rushing over to where Russell rose to his feet. You didn’t realize you were giving him a hug until he was laughing, returning it and lifting you off the ground.

“I missed my queen of darkness too,” he chuckled, setting you down with a smirk. You scoffed, Russell’s eyebrows raising at your attire. “Is that my jacket? And shirt?”

“Why waste the money on new stuff,” you shrugged, Russell grinning like an idiot. “Stop that.”

“I’m sure that was the reason.” Colter came over, the boys sharing a nod. “You keep my little delinquent out of trouble?”

“She’s a breeze,” said Colter, taking a seat. “Even helped with my latest case. She should try the rewardist thing. She’s good at it.”

“Maybe. All I want to know is am I good?” you asked. Russell took your hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. He nodded, the tension running of out your body. “Thank you, Russell. Thank your friends too. I’ll pay you guys-”

“No payment. This was because you’re my friend, plain and simple. Just knowing you’re safe is more than enough.” You smiled, letting yourself rest your head against his shoulder. “You should rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“How-”

“In the morning. I need to catch up with my little brother.” You nodded, enjoying the feel of his heavy hand as it ran over your head. “Go sleep, Y/N. You’re exhausted.”

You reluctantly peeled yourself away and went inside to find your makeshift bed had been done up for you already. You didn’t even try to fight the flutters in your stomach when you spotted a yellow pajama shirt and shorts set neatly folded on top. There was a note beside it, a stupid ass smile finding it’s way onto your face.

Brand new. Imported from France. Don’t get used to fancy ass presents like these. I ain’t made of money. Even if these are soft as fuck and I totally wish they made these for men. I still think you’d look better wearing a band tee to bed.

Russ

P.S. They had a sale so I got you something else too. Check your backpack.

You shook your head and grabbed your bag from the floor, taking out a very elegant black bag. You undid the tissue paper and went wide eyed.

Inside was a very, very, fancy black lace bra and multiple pairs of gorgeous bikini style undies in soft muted colors. There was another note waiting for you inside, your heart stilling.

No strings attached. Hopefully these will cover you for a little while until you can get settled again.

“Oh, Russell,” you said quietly, thumbing over the bag, smiling to yourself as your insides did very happy backflips.

He wasn’t just a pretty and protective face. He was thoughtful too.

And you were starting to fall for a guy that’d most likely be gone by this time tomorrow.

Fuck.

__________

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

#wayne reads #fic rec #amazing writers 🤍#russell shaw #russell shaw x reader

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81pastrys · 2 days ago

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Thunderstorms Means Cuddling

Summary— It’s bedtime, but there’s a thunderstorm that worsens by the second. The Sainz babies decide their papa’s bed is the safest option.

Warnings— none

A/N— Viviana and Carlo as toddlers is prob my fav thing.

Translations:

‘Mi hijo’ - son

‘Buenas noches’ - goodnight

‘Los amo a ambos’ - I love you both

It had been raining all day, but nothing too bad. Carlos had put the two kids to bed and finally got to shower and relax in peace. Well for about an hour. The storm escalated into a thunderstorm.

“The kids are asleep mi amor.” He talked with his wife on the phone. She had gone to see family for an emergency. “The storm is getting worse though.”

“Don’t be surprised when you have two little ones on my side of the bed.” She chuckled. He chuckled with her, messing with the beautifully made bed. “I should be heading home soon, I think my mom will be alright with my sisters.”

“Stay as long as you need! If she needs you, stay.” He said. He was fine with the two kids. They could be a handful at times, but hey kids are kids. They finished their call and he climbed into his side of the bed. He saw the flicker of lightning before he heard it. It was loud that the house shook.

On the opposite side of the house, Viviana had gone into her brother’s room for comfort. “I’m scared Carlo.” She shakes with anxiety, wincing when the house had been shaken by another strike.

“Should we go see if papa is awake?” Carlo asked, scared himself. He hid most of his worries while around his sister, as to keep her calm. When she nodded they both got out of the bed and tiptoed to their parent’s room.

Carlos looked to his door as it creaked opened. He smiled seeing his two kids standing one behind the other. “Come in.” He said, barely audible over the rain. They look at each other before joining Carlos in his bed. Climbing on either side of the man.

“Papa I’m scared.” Viviana said again, this time confiding in her father. Carlos pulled her closer to him. She cuddled into his side more. His warmth resonating to her.

“It’ll be okay, just a bit of rain vivi.” Her older brother said, cuddling into the opposite side of Carlos. “Right papa?” He looked up to his father who gave him a smile.

“Si, mi hijo.” He responded before kissing their heads. “Buenas noches, los amo a ambos.” The rain continued on throughout the night. Thunder hitting from far away, yet still loud enough to cause the house to vibrate. Before sleep claimed them, Viviana gripped onto her father’s shirt and he rubbed her back.

I need more inspiration, send requests if you’d like ;)

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #formula 1 #formula one #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz f1 #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz fluff #dad carlos sainz #carlos sainz #carlos sainz fic

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eeerrrrewsd · 1 day ago

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Stolen Moments

Bruce Wayne x Reader – Forbidden Tension

Gotham had many shadows, but none were more dangerous than the ones that walked on two legs.

And she—she was one of them.

A ghost in the night, a whisper of silk and shadow, a thief who slipped through Gotham’s streets like she owned them. But she was different from the criminals he hunted. She didn’t break bones, didn’t leave bodies in alleys. She took what she wanted and vanished, always just out of reach.

And that should have made it easy.

She should have been just another name on his list.

But she wasn’t.

She was a problem. A temptation.

A mistake waiting to happen.

“Careful, Bats,” her voice was a purr in the dark. “You keep catching me like this, and I’ll start thinking you like our little meetings.”

Bruce tightened his jaw, his grip firm where he had her wrist pinned against the brick wall. The stolen necklace dangled between them, glinting in the dim streetlight.

“You’re getting careless.” His voice was low, controlled. “Sloppy.”

She laughed, breathless but unbothered. “Or maybe I wanted you to catch me.”

His fingers curled just a little tighter around her wrist. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind them both who held the upper hand. But did he, really?

She tilted her head, watching him, her gaze roaming over the sharp angles of his mask. “What’s wrong, Batman? Am I making you nervous?”

Bruce didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because she was.

He could feel the heat of her body through his suit, could smell the faint hint of something sweet on her skin—something expensive, indulgent, something that didn’t belong in the same world as crime. And yet here she was, defying his every rule, standing too close, pressing all the right buttons.

He should end this now.

Cuff her. Walk away.

But instead, he lingered.

“You think you’re untouchable,” he said, voice like gravel. “One day, that overconfidence is going to cost you.”

Her lips curled. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a warning.”

“Mm.” She exhaled, her free hand trailing up his chest, barely brushing the armor, but enough to make something in him coil tight. “You give a lot of those. And yet, here I am.”

His pulse pounded in his ears.

This was wrong.

He knew better.

She was a criminal. A thief. A walking, breathing mistake wrapped in silk and shadows.

But God help him—he wanted her anyway.

He should have stayed away.

He told himself that every time he saw her name in the news, every time she left him another calling card in the form of stolen art, rare jewels, priceless artifacts that always found their way back just before the city noticed they were gone.

A game.

That’s what it was to her.

And maybe… maybe that was what made her so dangerous.

Because when he found her again—this time on the rooftop of some luxury high-rise, leaning against the ledge like she had all the time in the world—he didn’t stop himself from stepping closer.

“You’re predictable,” he said.

She grinned, twirling a stolen ring between her fingers. “And yet, you’re still here.”

He should take it back. The ring. His time. The power he was giving her just by standing here.

But he didn’t.

She took a step forward, and this time, he didn’t move back.

Didn’t stop her when she reached up, gloved fingers tracing the edge of his cowl.

“I wonder,” she murmured, “what would happen if I took this off.”

Bruce caught her wrist in an instant, but not before her fingers brushed his jaw.

Her breath hitched.

And so did his.

The air between them was charged, thick with something unspoken, something neither of them had the sense to stop.

“This isn’t a game,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

She searched his face, her smirk flickering for just a second. “Maybe not for you.”

He exhaled sharply. Damn her.

Damn the way she pulled at something inside him, something reckless, something that whispered let go.

But he couldn’t.

Wouldn’t.

Because no matter how badly he wanted to—

Bruce Wayne didn’t make mistakes.

And she—

She was the biggest mistake of all.

But God help him, he didn’t think he could stay away.

#x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #holding back #bruce wayne #batman #tension #spice #temptation #desire #dc universe #dcu #spice x reader #smut

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givetomurasomechapstick · 2 days ago

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The League of Villains and a Baby

A/N: There isn't enough wholesome LoV x Baby Reader content. Or even any at all. I don't think I even found an x Child Reader. Also, female reader implied but you can change it around in your head if you'd like.

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So imagine during a solo mission, Spinner goes around to the assigned alleyway and hears crying.

And it was a baby. One with (h/c) hair, big (e/c) eyes, and a (s/c) skin tone.

Yeah, Spinner definitely wouldn't be having it. 'Who would leave a child like this? What would Stain do? Oh! He'd probably take the baby under his wing.'

And that is how you got into the League of Villains base.

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"Spinner, what is that?" Shigaraki would ask with a scowl. The League of Villains did NOT just become the League of Babysitters.

"Oh this? This is (Y/N). I named her myself after I found her." Spinner said, looking back down at the cradled sleeping baby in his arms. "Aw! She's so cute!" Toga skipped over to the baby taking out a knife at them. "Let me stab her!" With that, the gecko pushed Toga away from the baby. "Yeah, no." "Guys, this is the League of Villains, not a group of babysitters watching a 'cute' baby." Shigaraki said sarcastically with a growl, his face hidden under one of his hands he called father.

"Let's keep them! Throw her out!" Twice contradicted himself loudly, waking up baby (Y/N). Mister Compress quickly shut Twice up, rubbing on the baby's back gently. "Shush. Even if we aren't to keep her, we should at least find somewhere for her out of the base." "I don't care what happens to the child. We're getting rid of her TONIGHT." Shigaraki shouted, making (Y/N) whimper.

"TONIGHT?!" Everyone, other than Dabi, who was in his room, asked shocked of Shigaraki's lack of empathy. "Yes, tonight. Are you deaf?"

"Everyone stop yelling, your scaring her!" Compress attempted to yell over the yelling as (Y/N) began to cry. "Yeah, stop yelling and be quiet! Louder!" Twice contradicted himself again as the arguing did not stop.

So Compress swiftly took the (h/c) haired girl in his arms, without Spinner noticing, and took her into what appeared to be a hallway. The baby did not stop crying although he yelling was now muffled.

"There there. Uh, let's say we play a game." Compress asked nervously and unsure, the baby's sobbing becoming a silent sniffling. "Much better. See?" The man took (Y/N) into his room, because I'm pretty sure if he stayed in the hallway it would disrupt Dabi.

So Compress' room was pretty unbaby-proofed. Magic trick items everywhere, but in neat piles and areas. So Compress just quickly put the baby down on the floor to get his phone to put on some Cocomelom or smth (SINFUL), but the child got curious, and crawled across the room to a bag full of Compress' magic marbles. And touched one.

Like you would think, she was compressed inside of the marble and began crying because she was scared ofc. Who wouldn't be? But Compress couldn't hear her since the marbles were soundproof.

He didn't realize until he turned around to see the (h/c) haired baby gone. But he didn't know where. So he had a quick panic attack looking everywhere in his room, practically tearing it apart, which is pretty ooc for a guy like himself.

So when he found out the baby was in one of his unguarded marbles, he quickly got her out of there, put her onto his bed, and quickly closed the bag. And went back to looking for his phone (wow, Toga must've stolen it or smth).

So then (Y/N) crawled out of his room. Somehow quietly getting off of his bed onto his floor, which is quite a jump for a baby. And slipped through the cracked open door (you get what I mean, the door isn't broken).

So she crawled through the hallway, the cold floor stinging against her knees. And she reached another door, which was also slightly open. So she peaked her head into the room to find none other than Dabi sleeping on his bed.

Ofc, that didn't stop her. And she crawled into his room quietly, babbling some things here and there. And then she heard something. A ringtone. Of course she didn't know what that is, but she followed the noise in the quite messy room to a phone.

So it had two buttons. A red one and a green one (and it was facetime, but she didn't know). So she instinctively pressed the green one.

I just imagine Hawks calling, seeing (Y/N), and being like "Oh I must have the wrong number." But the talking wakes Dabi up to see a literal baby on his phone.

Wow. Imagine waking up to THAT.

"What the-" Dabi started, squinting his eyes to see if he was seeing things or not until Hawks cut him off. "Oh, so I did get the right number! So when did you get-" and then it was Dabi's turn to cut him off "I'm not answering that." And with that, Dabi just hanged up the call and glared at the oblivious baby.

So Compress meanwhile was freaking out. Not only because he couldn't find his phone but because (Y/N) had gone missing AGAIN. First he looked through his room, and now he's interrogating the League. Although, remember that Spinner didn't know Compress took her with him. "You LOST HER?!" Spinner was about to start hyperventilating until Dabi walked into the room with an annoyed expression, holding the baby in his arms.

"Alright, who put it in my room?" He asked with a glare and everyone just shrugged. "She probably just crawled into there. I'm sure you did!" Twice yet again contradicted himself.

Toga snatched the baby out of Dabi's arms and held her upside down accidentally, she obviously didn't know how to hold a baby. "Twice is right. You thought you could steal baby (Y/N) behind our backs?" Toga growled at the black haired man, rocking the baby back in forth STILL HOLDING THEM UPSIDE DOWN.

"Why would i take that annoying piece of garbage?" Dabi replies with a snarky remark, turning around to head back into his room. "How dare you! I mean, Spinner did find her on a garbage bin." Shigaraki just nodded while Toga was wondering what would happen if she slapped the four. Compress is only included since he took her.

Dabi had already began walking out and Shigaraki had already sat back at the bar on his Nintendo Switch. Until Toga snatched it out of his hands out course. Dangling it infront of him in a almost mocking way, but her face screamed anger. And she was now holding the baby upside down with one ARM. (Y/N) Seemed to be giggling tho.

"Sometimes I wonder what would happen if you just get out of my life." "Hey! That's not nice! Besides, you're mean to baby (Y/N)." "Because no one wants a baby crawling around with a ton of serial killer villains." "He has a point!" Spinner called out from across the room, although finding the child.

"Ugh!" Toga groaned before dropping his expensive Nintendo Switch behind the bar (desk?), leading to a shattering noise. Kurogiri just looked down at the shattered switch and sighed. Although, Shigaraki was plotting murder.

Toga walked away though, Shigaraki was already on his knees behind the bar where the switch had shattered, mourning for his precious device's death. Spinner was just rubbing his back for support since he's a gamer too.

"Don't worry baby (Y/N), I'll make sure those meanies aren't mean to you." Toga pouted at the baby, still dangling the baby not on purpose from her arm. But (Y/N) seemed unfazed and just giggled at the blonde girl's words. Until Shigaraki yelled out, "Fine! We can keep the brat!" Spinner had seemed to be wiping his eyes with his hands, carefully because of his scales, Twice was just clapping before putting his thumbs upside down saying boo, but Compress had said a quiet 'yes' under his breath. "Wow I can't believe you all get so emotional over a brat."

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cherubcameron · 2 days ago

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Igual Que Un Angel

Chapter Six

Synopsis: Sofia is pregnant, and the last thing she needs is for Rafe to find out. It’s her dirty secret, it’s not like he’s barging down her door to speak to her. He looks as if he’s done with her for good. Will outside forces, force Sofia to confront the situation at hand. Or will she be able to keep this secret up? Not like, her belly isn’t growing everyday or anything.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Two Weeks Later

“¿Entonces no salió bien?”(So it didn’t go well?) Lupita asks, Sofia puffed out a breath.

“No, fue terrible.” (No, it went terribly) Lupita tsks, Sofia sets her camera up on her pillow. She has a bowl of ice cream, she digs her spoon into it. Plopping some into her mouth. She meets her cousin eyes through the screen.

“Con tu mamá y tu papá? O con Rafe?” Lupita says, she begins to set her phone down too. It looks like to Sofia she’s doing her makeup.

“Los dos. ¿Estás maquillándote?” (The both of them. Are you doing your makeup?)

“Si, voy a salir.” (Yes, I’m going out.)

“Te ves linda.” Sofia smiles, admiring the way her cousin is applying her makeup. She has pink blush on her cheeks, her skin through the screen looks radiant.

“Gracias, prima.” Lupita scrunches up her face together as she smiles. Sofia letting out a little laugh. Eating more of her ice cream.

For a few minutes, silence overtakes them. But it isn’t awkward. Nor there is no need to break it. It’s a comfortable silence, she’d often had with her cousin.

“Tengo miedo, no conoces a Rafe, él puede enfadarse.” (Im scared, you don’t know Rafe. He can get angry.) Sofia finally says, her eyes going from her ice cream back to her cousin.

Lupita pursed her lips, she looked as if her mind was elsewhere. “He didn’t, hurt you right?” She asks hesitantly. Sofia quickly shakes her head.

“No, no, nothing like that.” Sofia pauses, “Well, not physically. It was some things he said. In the past. It’s a long story. Essentially he made it seem like we weren’t serious.” Sofia rubs her belly, noticing how slightly bigger her stomach has gotten since the last time she’d spoken to Lupe.

“Oh shit, so you broke up with him?” Lupita eyes are wide, Sofia regards her with a sheepish smile.

“He broke up with me.” Sofia says awkwardly, Lupita continues to do her brows, Sofia isn’t sure what she’s going to say. But she can gradually feel her cheeks grow warmer.

“I’m sorry Sofia.” Her cousin attentionis finally fully on her. “It can’t be easy, especially with the baby on the way.”

“That’s why I don’t know if I should tell him. What if it just makes him hate me even more?” Sofia scratches her head, her eyes staring at her cousins through the screen. Willing her to have a solution for her problem.

“You can’t exactly hide it forever. I know I’ve said that a thousand of times. But Sofia, you’re about to be four months pregnant. You need to make a decision quickly. And honestly Sof, you’re showing a lot more than you were.”

Sarah rubbed her belly, she was due very soon. Her body almost slumped onto the couch. Rafe stared at her, his nose crinkling.

“You look uncomfortable.”

“You would be too. If you had a baby in you who’s pressing onto your bladder.”

“Uh, right, that kind of reminds me.” Rafe gets up, leaving the room briefly. He re-enters with a pretty big box. Sarah raises an eyebrow in question and Rafe gives her a tight lip smile.

“It’s a pregnancy pillow.”

Sarah blinks in surprise, Rafe lays it down next to her. “Don’t—”

Sarah eyes begin to tear up, “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me.” Rafe rolls his eyes, Sarah wipes away at her eyes. “I mean it Rafe. Thank you, you didn’t have to give John B and I a place to stay. And you did.”

Rafe rubbed his brow, “Uh yeah, don’t mention it.” Sarah gets up slowly, her hand still on her round belly. She reaches out and pulls Rafe into a hug.

“Umph—” Rafe eyes widen, his hands spread out but not hugging her back yet. He stood there awkwardly, his body tensed. Until, he finally loosened up, hugging her back.

“Still not used to this, huh?” Sarah laughs, she pulls away. “You’re not always an asshole, ya know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He pats her gently on the back, shaking his head.

“Weird thing to ask but; John B has work until six. And I have no one to come with me to my ultrasound at four.”

“And you need someone to go with you?” He says, rubbing his eyebrow once more.

“I mean Wheezie hates waiting rooms. Plus we still have that whole custody battle with Rose.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll go. Just don’t expect me to enjoy myself. Okay.”

Sofia observed the fluorescent lights, tapping her leg as she waited her turn at the doctors.. Another one of the ultrasounds she had to do. She already had finished the check up, she’d arrived around 1, usually the doctor took long. So she’d been here for over an hour after the check up. She finally leveled her head back to the rest of the room. As a woman and a man, sat together, the man rubbing her belly as he smiled at her. They spoke amicably to themselves, almost in a world of their own. Sofia felt a pang in her chest, she looked away quickly. What she would give to not be so alone in this.

Her eyes move towards another couple, two women. One of them had their head on the others shoulder. One of them very pregnant.

“Sofia Jimenez!” One of the nurses, in pink scrubs calls out. She has a clipboard in her hands, a small gentle smile on her face. Sofia raises to her feet, heading towards the door the nurse was holding open with her leg.

“That’s me.” Sofia says softly, the nurse smiles at her, motioning for Sofia to follow her. Sofia does, they head down a wide hallway, filled with rooms. Some empty and still not in use. Others have the door shut closed. The nurse finally stops at a room at the end of the hall. Letting Sofia walk in first.

“The doctor will be right with you.”

Rafe held out his arm, helping Sarah out of his bmw. “You got it?”

“Yeah I got it.” Sarah says, holding his hand as she steps out of his car. She sighs, “Thanks.”

“No worries, come on. This starts at like… four, right?”

“Yeah, at four. But I like to get here early. They do check ups first and it can take hours before the actual doctor sees you.” Rafe helps Sarah as she walks alongside him. He nods as he listens, he looks out towards the clinic.

“You and John B have— everything you need right?” Rafe says it, almost hesitantly. He wasn’t the type to pry in Sarah’s life. Well, before it started involving him with the gold and the cross. Before that, he didn’t care much about involving himself.

“Yeah we’re good. I mean with the money we’ve have from the blue crown. And the fact that we have the Royal Merchant gold. We’re set, it’s just John B and I. I think we just realize we want a simple life.”

Rafe purses his lips, somehow, he’s surprised to realize that resonates with him more than he’d ever thought. All this chasing for gold, it was what his dad wanted. His whole life, he wanted to do what made him proud.

And now… he wasn’t sure if he wanted the same things his old man did.

Sofia sat on the examination bed, lying down slowly. The doctor Dr. Reynolds greets her warmly. Her heart quickens, today she finds out the gender of her baby. She’s not sure what to feel, it feels foreign. But nevertheless, she’s happy. Happy that she finally gets to see her little baby.

“Hey, it’s me. Your mom. I hope you’re doing okay in there. Please don’t give me a scare.” She says softly to her baby in her stomach. She rubs her belly gently.

Someone knocks on the door, Sofia attention is reverted away from her belly bump towards who’s at the door.

“Hi Sofia,” The doctor pauses to look at her clipboard, scanning the information on it, “Sofia Jimenez, right?”

“Yes, thats me.” Dr. Reynolds smiles warmly, shutting the door behind her.

“Good, good.” She heads over to the monitor. “Well, it’s good to see you. It looks like from your chart that you’re in good health. Which is amazing. We’re going to check the baby, hear their heartbeat. And finally, find out the gender of the baby.”

Sarah plops herself back down next to Rafe; as she comes back from the check up.

“I’m all healthy.”

“Really?” Rafe feigns shock, “Because the 17 bags of lays you make John B buy; says otherwise.” Sarah playfully slaps his arm. He lets out a chuckle.

Rafe scratches his head, looking around at the other patients in the waiting room. His eyes landing on a woman by herself. She looks anxious, constantly biting her lip. Her leg tapping rapidly against the linoleum floor. Rafe couldn’t help but feel bad for her. He couldn’t imagine going through something like this alone. How scary it must feel. He wonders where the father of the baby is. The girl looked so—

“Pass me my bag. I recently got into reading and—” Sarah pauses. “Nevermind, you wouldn’t care.”

Rafe passes Sarah her bag, “Come on, Sar. Just tell me.”

“Oh, uh I just bought myself a kindle. That’s all.” Sarah says, her cheeks red, her gaze averted from him. She began to fidget with her kindle, tapping against the screen.

“You don’t have to make it so—”

“Sarah Cameron!” Sarah turns in surprise but gets up nevertheless. Rafe helps her, getting up with her.

“You want me to come or—”

“Yeah, I don’t mind. You’ll get to see your nephew.” Rafe follows behind Sarah as the nurse leads her into the examination room. Their lead to the left wing of the office, his eyes move towards the right. His brows furrow but he continues walking. He continues to follow Sarah and the nurse, they speak amicably among themselves.

Rafe puffs out his lips, turning his head back. He has this gnawing feeling but he ignores it. He was never the kind of person to like being at the doctors. But..

“Right in here, the doctor will be with you shortly.”

The doctor places the cool gel onto Sofias stomach, she laughs at the way it feels on her belly. Even after a few of these sessions, she still can’t get over the cold feeling.

Dr. Reynolds smiles at her, moving the transducer across Sofias stomach. Then she heard it. Her babies heart beat. No matter how many times she’s heard it, it’s a sound that could never get old for her.

“Everything is looking good. No issues. We already checked the size of the baby. They seem pretty good from head to toe.” Dr.Reynolds smiles, continuing moving the transducer across Sofias belly. “The heart beat sounds normal. The level of amniotic fluid is normal as well. Not too much and not too little. Do you want to know the gender of the baby? Or would you rather wait until they’re born.”

Sofia nods, “I’ll like to know. Thank you.” Dr. Reynolds moves the transducer lower on her stomach. Pressing enough for the computer to pick up the baby.

“Hmm.” Dr. Reynolds looked deep in thought, Sofia couldn’t help but feel her heartbeat race. A part of her wanted to wait until she gave birth to know the gender of the baby. But the more anxious side of her; wanted to know immediately. She let out a deep breath, staring at the computer.

“So when the baby is a girl, we look for what we like to call the hamburger sign. The labia lips tend to look like a hamburger bun. For the boy, we would consider this to be the turtle sign. Since it peeks out. We also look for the sagittal sign. There’s a nub on the end of the spine. That’s also another way we can indicate if it’s a boy or if it’s a girl. We call it the caudal notch. When it’s a boy, it’s upwards. And when it’s a girl it’s downturned.” Sofia nods, taking all the information in.

“The hamburger sign is present here. And the caudal notch is downturned.”

Sofia can’t help the tears that prick her eyes. Her heart clenches, “It’s a baby girl?”

Dr. Reynolds regards Sofia with a warm smile. “Yes it’s a girl.”

Sarah smiles as Rafe sees his baby nephew in real time. His eyes are glassy. He can’t help but feel almost proud. No, he is proud. He never realized how big the baby was now. The doctor Dr.Thompson, moves the transducer with ease. Pressing down, as he does so.

“A very healthy baby boy. This is your second to last check up. How are you feeling, Ms. Cameron.”

Sarah turns her eyes towards Dr. Thompson, “I can’t wait to see him. I’ve been waiting so long now.”

Dr. Thompson nods, the baby’s heartbeat in the background.

“Very strong heart, by the way. Strongest I’ve heard.” Sarah turns to smile brightly at Rafe, he can’t help but return it. His eyes returning to the computer, his mind briefly wanders. He knows Sarah would be an amazing mother. Seen her caretaking ways—but he—he’s not sure if he’ll ever be a good father. Maybe it was too late. Maybe he was already too messed up.

“Everything seems to be good. I’ll be back with the paperwork so you can be discharged.”

Sofia signed the papers the nurse handed her, she clicked the pen closed. Handing it back, the nurse smiles. “I’ll see what appointments Dr. Reynolds has opened. Give me a second.” As the nurse clicks away at the computer, Sofias mind wanders. Her eyes scanning the room. Would it be so bad if Rafe knew he was going to be a father?

“Okay, I have Sunday in the afternoon. Around 3pm. Or Monday morning at 12. This is for next month. The beginning of November.” She looks up at Sofia expectantly.

“Uh, let me check.” Sofia takes out her phone, looking at her calendar. She knew she was going to go on maternity leave soon enough. She’d spoken to Phil, he’d cleared it for her. Sundays were usually the days she spend with her mom, sisters and grandma.

“Monday works.” Sofia smiles. The nurse smiles, putting that into the system. Then handing Sofia an appointment card.

“If you need anything, you find some kind of trouble. You can always come earlier than that. But for now, November 3rd is your day of appointment.”

“Thank you so much.” The nurse nods, smiling.

“Have a lovely day.”

“You too.” Sofia walks away, heading towards the elevator. Pressing the button.

Rafe helps Sarah up as they make their exit. They walk back down the wide hallway, Sarah’s hand over her belly.

“We’re naming the baby JJ.” She says it, softly. Rafe continues to walk alongside of her.

“I bet JJ would have really loved that.” Sarah looks at him, her eyes pricking with tears. Rafe and JJ had always hated each other. There was never a time Rafe would have thought, he wouldn’t have had animosity against him. But now, now that he’s gone. He can’t hate him anymore. He just understands.

“Thank you.” Sarah croaks. “I know—I know you hated him. But—you don’t know what that means to me. So thank you.” She grabs his hand, squeezing it. “And—thank you for trying. Trying to be better. I promise, Wheez and I can see a difference.”

The elevator chimes, Sofia steps in. Pressing the number 1 so she can head home. She looks down at her phone, she was so excited to take pictures later with the sonograms that the doctor had given her.

Sarah opens the door to the waiting room once more. The elevator doors closing shut as she steps out. She heads towards the nurse at the counter. “Booking your last appointment Ms. Cameron?” Rafe stands awkwardly to the side, his hands in his pockets.

“Yes, last one before I pop.” She lets out a chuckle as the nurse chuckles alongside her.

Sofia enters her car, she was still allowed to drive. She looks down once more at her belly.

“Hey baby girl. Mommy is so happy to know you’re a girl. No matter what though, boy or girl. I’ll still love you all the same.” She lets her car heat up a bit before peeling out of the parking lot.

The sliding doors of the doctors opens, Rafe and Sarah walk towards his car. He helps her back into the passenger seat.

“So, any more errands?” He asks, but he doesn’t sound annoyed. He realizes in the past, he would have been. If they lived in a world, where Ward Cameron was still alive. He wasn’t sure he would be doing this. Nor, he knows they’re would be a baby in Sarah’s stomach.

“No, we’re good. Unless you have any errands to run.”

“Nah.”

“Okay, let’s head home. I’m tired.” Sarah puts her seatbelt back on. Rafe heads towards the driver seat, plopping himself inside, putting his own seatbelt on.

“Home it is.”

#rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe x sofia #sofia outer banks #sofia obx #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #outer banks sofia #rafe and sofia #sofia x rafe #rafia #rofia

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waynes-multiverse · 2 days ago

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Oh, this chapter was just deliciously angsty!!! Just my cup of tea loll 😇

Loved every minute of it 😍😍

Oh, Micheal is just such a lovely, lovely person, isn't he? 😒 In the words of Taylor Swift: Michael doesn't measure up in any measure of a man...

“Do what you gotta do in the times, ‘s what I say,” Sam agreed.

Why did his wording here remind me so much of that? 😂😂

“Try to stay alive,” Sam rejoined.

Noooo dead 💀💀

Hahaha omfg I loved Sam so much during this chapter! He was awesome!!! Go Lawyer!Sam 😎🤎 (And I have no idea if you intended for my mind to jump to Changing Channels and French Mistake Sam with these lines, but it did, so THANK you 🤣🫶)

“But sometimes…sometimes an anchor just feels suffocating,” he said.

I do understand his struggle after the war, but it's literally NO excuse to treat his wife like shit, cheat on her, lie to her, spend her money for his trashy sidepiece, and God knows what else. You don't want an anchor? Fine. Get divorced. The fact he keeps her around and won't let her find her own happiness after she literally saved his life is so mind-boggingly selfish smh The least he could to show his gratitude is not be a gigantic cuntface 🤬

You never thought you would dishonor your husband as well as yourself.

Ugh, God, poor thing! 😭💔 With all the romanticism of that period sadly also comes the shame of taboo topics (not to mention feminism in general taking a backseat lol) Really feel for her here! Wish she wouldn't blame herself as much. Her husband is a dirtbag 😔

“Oh, sorry,” Dean said, making way for the guy. He wasn’t quite as tall as Dean, lithe, blonde, and blue-eyed. He grabbed an arrangement of blue and yellow iris flowers from the case and took it up to the front. The florist seemed to recognize him. “Oh, Michael! Been a while since I’ve seen you,” he said.

SCREAMING 😳😳😳

The whole flower shop scene was like watching a train wreck. Poor Dean! So many stingers in those few sentences!! 😩 (And man, I wanna choke Michael!!! Buying flowers? Dinner? Are you fucking kidding me??? WHAT THE F–???)

But did you stop the angst there? Nope! The reader part of me hated you, while the writer part highly commended you 😂💜

“As long as Michael plays along, should be quick. A few months at most, after he’s served the divorce papers and signs them,” Sam assured. A few months? That wasn’t quick enough in your book, but you agreed with a nod. You got up from the chair opposite his desk. You hesitated there.

I already knew it wouldn't be fast, but I knew this was going to be a problem. Where would she stay during this? Michael certainly won't have it, and I really fear for her safety here 🥺 (Reading the teaser for the last part, I think I have good reason to, even though I know you said once earlier I didn't need to. Still, you got me shaking here, girl 😅)

Surprised Sam wouldn't think about that, considering everything he found out about the guy so far 👀

You not only found Dean in Central Park, but close to the very same bench you two had sat on yesterday and talked the night away. He was surprised, but he smiled when he saw you. Your pace quickened, until you were hastening over to him. He welcomed you into his arms. He bent his head towards yours, stopping just shy of kissing you. Instead, he pressed his forehead to yours for a moment.

This was such a dreamy, swoon-worthy movie scene *sighs* 😍��

And then they had to start talking, didn't they? Specifically Dean. The infamous DW self-loathing enters the AU 😆

I really just wanted to cover his piehole and tell him to stop talking, kiss her for real, and take her with you. Hide out in Kansas till everything blows over 😭

“You’re just saying that so you have an excuse for toying with me. So you can keep chasing skirts,” you said, pushing at his chest. “Yes, your brother told me about all your little exploits.” Dean took the blow, both proverbial and physical, with a raise of his brows. He guessed he couldn’t blame you for that one. Still, the disdain behind your words stung. He allowed you to break free of him.

It hurts. It hurts so much...

And I'm so glad the brothers had a long overdue chat as well! I still feel so incredibly heartbroken for Dean 😭

I can't wait for the last part of this & how it all will tie together in the end! Eeeek! This is so, so, so incredibly good, friend!!! 😍😍😍 (And I get to read it on Patreon tonight too hehe 🩵)

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 4

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Now we get into the aftermath of the night before, with all the insecurity and heartbreak to go along with it. 💙

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “Danke Shoen” by Wayne Newton

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: Mentions of cheating, angsty angst, trauma/PTSD, and a cliffhanger…

✨ Series Masterlist

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 4: Complicit

Sam would give Michael one thing. The guy damn well knew how to drink.

He didn’t stop all night, throwing back whiskey like it was cheap beer. His words began to slur, his movements sloppy, but he was still coherent. When he got up to visit the men’s restroom, Sam got up as well. Maybe he could get Michael talking.

Sam stopped the other man from tripping into the urinal. The two laughed it off, with Michael thanking him before he unzipped to finish his business. Sam did the same.

After washing their hands, Sam looked over and noticed Michael’s gaze lingering on his own reflection in the mirror. It was becoming a rough sight—his blonde hair no longer neatly coiffed, purplish rings under his eyes, the stench of alcohol clinging to his skin and clothing.

“You all right there, Milligan?” Sam asked.

Michael ran a hand over his face, sighing when it didn’t get any better.

“Fine,” he replied. “So, Winchester. What did you say you do for work again? Something about your own business?”

Sam nodded. “I started up a law firm.”

That much, he had to be honest about. It was all too easy for someone to look up his name in the directory.

“Sounds like a good outfit,” Michael said, with an incline of his head. “Every lawyer I know wears a Rolex.”

Sam chuckled, glancing down at his father’s watch. “Well, I’m not quite there yet.”

“Someday soon, I’m sure,” said Michael. He bumped Sam conspiringly on the shoulder.

“And you?” Sam asked. “What’s keeping the lights on at your place?”

Michael raised a hand to sort through his unruly hair, a dirtier blonde in this unflattering light.

“Well, you could say I’ve inherited a business of my own,” he said. “I run a meat packing plant down in the district.”

Sam’s attention piqued. There had been a meat rationing during the war, even some rumors and propaganda about “meatleggers,” black market operators.

“How’s it been with the rations?” Sam asked. “Been hard to even find a good carton of eggs lately.”

Michael gave him a slight smile. “Been on the turnaround, actually. I’ve been able to make some connections with vendors outside the city. A little grease on the palms makes a little go a long way, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly smiled and nodded. A little grease on the palms, huh?

“Do what you gotta do in the times, ‘s what I say,” Sam agreed.

Michael snorted. “Now you’re talkin’. That’s all we can do, you know. Try to make a thing work, with whatever scraps we get. Try to stay afloat.”

“Try to stay alive,” Sam rejoined.

Michael made a low sound of approval. He became more contemplative, crossing his arms as he once again glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sam’s gaze on the other man was perceptive, gaining ever closer to what seemed to be eating at the very core of him. Whether Sam actually believed what he was saying or not, each of his words was a test, a subtle nudge.

“You know,” Michael said. “I was shot down in France.”

Sam sobered further. Leaning against the counter, he retrieved two cigarettes and a lighter. He didn’t often smoke, but he thought it might keep the other man talking. He handed one over to Michael, and he took it gratefully. They lit up together and coiled musky tobacco smoke into the air.

“Where?” Sam asked.

Michael snorted, huffing a bit of smoke. “Lord knows. But when I woke up, I had stitches from here to here.”

He gestured to the back of his head, all the way to above his brow. It explained a small, but noticeable scar near his temple.

“And I had an angel standing over me,” he added, his eyes growing heavy. Guilty. “A bona fide angel. She’d stitched me up, she told me. She also told me I was lucky to be alive. The doc wanted to toe tag me and be done with it, but she thought I still had some fight left in me.”

Michael shook his head. “The next chance I got, I married her.”

Sam’s brows rose. He knew you had been a nurse, but he hadn’t known this part of your story.

“A wartime romance, huh?” he said. Michael quirked a smile.

“She was my anchor,” he said. “After it was all said and done, she followed me here, held my feet down to the ground. Sometimes she had to hammer me down, ya know.”

He hesitated, his eyes somewhat glazing over. He stared over Sam’s shoulder at something only he could see.

“But sometimes…sometimes an anchor just feels suffocating,” he said. “Sometimes, you need to forget your own damn name. Forget that your entire life and mortgage is in a warehouse that might as well be a freezer full a’ dead cow meat. And still, it smells a hell of a lot better than lying on a dirty cot—where the last guy who had your spot probably got his leg sawed off.”

Michael considers the cigarette in his hand for a long while before he takes another puff.

Sam exhales smoke as well. He spent the last three years behind a desk, but he sees the same shaken core in Michael Milligan that he too often sees in his older brother.

“You know, Winchester, there’s two kinds of men,” Michael said, just a hint of a slur in his voice. “The ones who pray to live…and the ones who beg for it to be over.”

“And what kind of man are you now?” Sam asked. His tone was loose, but his gaze was sharp.

Michael snorted. He dabbed the butt of his cigarette on the inside of the sink before he threw it away.

“I’m the guy who can’t die,” he muttered.

He rolled his shoulders, as if to let the weight of his words and everything that came along with them to roll off his back. Then he pushed his way out of the bathroom, leaving Sam considering more than just half a cigarette.

That night after Dean left, you slept in the guest room instead of your bed. You couldn’t even bring yourself to sleep next to Michael when he stumbled in at four in the morning, especially now that you had seen his game with your own eyes.

However, you also felt complicit yourself the next morning. You felt…ashamed. You took your vows seriously. You had never in your life thought you would be someone so brazen. You never thought you would dishonor your husband as well as yourself.

And yet. All while you got ready for work, hearing Michael’s snores from the other room, your mind was filled with warmth and memory—of Dean. His smile, his voice, his eyes, his lips, and of course, his hands. You couldn’t decide which of them was your favorite, but his hands were high on the list.

You shouldn’t have let him in, you reminded yourself. You nibbled on your lower lip while you prepped the coffee maker. You should have told him goodnight at the door and saw him off. You should very well not have invited him up to the apartment, let alone drank with him, or let him touch you…

You paused while the sound of percolation and the smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. You looked up at yourself in the small mirror that hung on the wall. The woman looking back at you was conflicted at best.

Yes, you felt guilty. But at the same time, you didn’t. Was it really betraying your marriage if your husband had been doing far worse, and for God knew how long?

No. This wasn’t a marriage. This was a sham. A mockery of the very thing.

You frowned angrily and almost slammed the carafe on the counter when the coffee was done. Forcing yourself to take a few steadying breaths, you allowed that hate and anger to slowly drain out of you, and you smiled.

You marveled that you could smile at all, but it was only thanks to Dean Winchester.

What the hell am I doing?

Dean stared at the two bouquets of flowers. One was a bound bunch of red roses, the other was wildflowers and other colorful ones he didn’t know the names of. He was having a hard time deciding, namely because he didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked.

Because after all, he barely knew you.

He sighed down at the roses. They were pretty, but expensive. He could imagine your surprise, followed by your smile—the one that actually lit up your eyes and changed your whole face, made you sweeter, almost shy.

I’m buying flowers for a married woman.

The thought managed to make him pause, with a rough exhale of breath. The truth was, he’d crossed the line with you. More than once.

The hard part about it was, he didn’t really care. He did wonder if you cared.

He wondered if you’d be embarrassed to see him again. He wondered if you wanted to keep last night a memory, and nothing more. He wondered if he was better off booking his train home now, and leaving some kind of note for you with Sam. Dean didn’t think he wanted to see that look of mortification on your face, the whiskey finally cleared from your mind to see what he really was: a man with no job, no commitments, and very little prospects on the horizon.

“Ah, ‘scuse me,” a young man said from Dean’s left side.

“Oh, Michael! Been a while since I’ve seen you,” he said.

When the florist asked about you as well, the mention of your name rang between Dean’s ears. A feeling like inky claws raked through his chest; he raised his head from the roses and finally recognized Michael Milligan. He was the same man Dean had spotted in your wedding pictures hanging on the wall last night, right in the foyer.

“She’s all right,” Michael chuckled. “Truth be told, I’ve been working late this week. Hoping to surprise her tonight, take her out to dinner. Somewhere nice, you know.”

“Oh, really? Why don’t you take her to that nice steakhouse off of Broadway…” the florist twittered on as he continued to ring up Michael’s order.

Anger and disgust prickled under Dean’s skin, his fists clenched at his sides. More than anything, he wanted to turn around and lay your husband out flat. If he thought one little bouquet and a Salisbury steak was going to wash him clean, then he was an idiot as well as a selfish bastard.

But Dean knew, deep down, that Michael would be just as justified to throw a swing right back at him.

So Dean left the flowers, the flower shop, and the entire busy street and all its blaring sounds behind.

During your lunch break, you quickly made the trek over to Sam’s office. He’d called you this morning with a story that only confirmed everything you’d inherently felt, and yet, some of it still managed to shock you.

You didn’t even have the patience to wait until after work, but when you got there, he reassured you. It had taken him a few rounds of poker and discreetly following Michael and Dolores after they exited through the back of the club…but Sam had gotten the evidence not long after. They weren’t exactly discreet in the alley. Or in the nearby motel.

You had the envelope in hand filled with the pictures he’d developed from his camera.

“You don’t have to look,” he advised. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“No, I want to see it,” you said. You took the pictures out, and your expression didn’t change as you look through them all. Each position captured was more compromising than the next between Michael and Dolores Daye. Apparently, he was paying most of her bills as well with your combined household funds. So part of your own money was financing his exploits.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. He was sincere, with those hazel eyes of his.

You nodded and gave him back the envelope. “What’s next?”

“I went ahead and filed the petition. I’ll take this right to the clerk’s office myself.”

“How long will it take to be over?”

“As long as Michael plays along, should be quick. A few months at most, after he’s served the divorce papers and signs them,” Sam assured.

A few months? That wasn’t quick enough in your book, but you agreed with a nod. You got up from the chair opposite his desk. You hesitated there.

“Oh, I meant to ask…how’s your brother?” you said.

Sam began to smile, but he tempered it. “He just called before you came in. He let me know he was stepping out for a walk.”

“Oh, really? Did he happen to say where?”

“Well, look who’s here?” he teased. “How’d you find me?”

“I stopped by Sam’s office,” you said, holding onto the lapels of his coat. A cold November wind pushed at you both, ruffling your clothes. “The paperwork is on its way. Soon enough, I won’t be a married woman anymore.”

He tucked a wild strand of hair behind your ear and smiled, but it didn’t altogether reach his eyes.

“How soon is soon?” he asked.

“A few months, according to your brother.”

Dean nodded, taking a deep breath. “That’s good…but, I need to head home for a little while.”

That made you pause, tilting your head in confusion. Though you supposed it made sense. He was only here visiting his brother. He was planning on going home eventually.

But surely, that was before we… You lowered your gaze.

“Back to Lawrence?” you asked. Again, he nodded.

“I need to take care of some things, figure out my next move,” he said.

You pulled away from him to brace yourself, and not just against the cold. “Well, when will you be back?”

He stayed quiet, worrying you even more. There was a deep pit forming in your stomach, churning with unease.

“Dean?” you prodded.

He stepped back in to grasp your arms gently.

“Sweetheart…the truth is, I don’t have much to offer you,” he said. “I don’t have a business to inherit from my folks. I don’t even have a job. I’m a man who was about as useful as a jackhammer, until the war ended.”

You frowned, resting a hand against his chest. “Dean Winchester, that’s not all there is to you.”

“Really. When did you figure that one out, in the whole week you’ve known me?” he asked. It was harsher than he meant to be, but he couldn’t help the words that were spilling out of his mouth. “Didn’t that get you in trouble the first time? I’d a thought you would’ve learned your lesson by now.”

You snatched your hand back, hurt filling your eyes. You turned to walk away before he saw your tears. You should have known. You should have known a man like him would never be serious. Not about you.

As soon as he let the words go, Dean realized what he was doing. Yeah, he was frustrated, but it wasn’t aimed at you. It couldn’t be aimed at you.

God knew he didn’t want to hurt you, or for you to hate him. He really couldn’t stomach either thought, so he relented and reached out to grab at your hand, before you could get too far.

“Wait,” he said, managing to pull you back to him. “I’m sorry.”

You tugged your hand to try and free yourself from his grasp.

“You know what, maybe you’re right,” you said, your voice wobbling with anger, dismay, and tears. “Maybe I ought to stop letting a man get even an inch into my heart. At this point, it’s my own fault.”

“Stop,” Dean demanded. “No, it’s not.”

He pulled you back into him, but you looked away from his imploring gaze. Your breaths grew shallow while you tried in vain to stop yourself from crying. It damn well broke his heart.

“It’s not your fault. I’m just an idiot,” He cupped your cheeks and wiped your tears as they fell. “But you…you deserve to be happy. With a man that can take care of you, protect you. A man who has a little more of his life figured out.”

Dean took the blow, both proverbial and physical, with a raise of his brows. He guessed he couldn’t blame you for that one. Still, the disdain behind your words stung. He allowed you to break free of him.

You stepped back and straightened your clothes. You took in a deep breath that did nothing to calm you, and you uttered a humorless laugh.

“I suppose it makes sense. Why would you want anything to do with me?” You gestured down at yourself with a dismissive hand. “A-a walking mess. Even when I am divorced, that’s how people will see me. Damaged goods. I don’t even know how I’m gonna tell my parents.”

You covered your face against Dean and the rest of the world, and after weeks and months, you finally allowed yourself the one thing you hadn’t since your first inkling that your husband was being unfaithful. You finally allowed yourself to break.

The first sob shuddered through your body, followed by hot tears. You squeezed your eyes against them and wiped at your face in vain.

Dean broke too, in his own way. He gathered you into his arms, where he shushed you gently and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I wasn’t giving you an excuse,” he said.

Despite how much you wanted to push him away, the deep, steady timbre of his voice pierced you and soothed you at the same time.

“I meant every word I said. I may not be the right guy for you, but don’t you dare take a scrap of what anyone else might say, you hear me?” he said firmly. “You’re beautiful. You don’t suffer fools like me, and you’re better than that sad sack excuse of a man deserves.”

You looked up at him with watery eyes.

“You’re a lot of things, Dean Winchester, but you’re not a fool.”

He shook his head, not wanting to argue with you anymore. He just kissed you, deeply, thoroughly, the way you always imagined a kiss should be.

Except that you realized…this was goodbye. So you took advantage of every second of it.

You met him with as much as he gave and reached up to touch his cheek. It felt a little rough under your fingers, just like you remembered. You would probably always remember that feeling, long after you left the park.

That evening, you packed as many bags as you could. You put together the savings you’d been collecting for a few months. It had been at your coworker Jess’s advice, ever since you started feeling the inkling that something wasn’t right in your marriage.

After you were all packed, you took one last, long look at the space you had tried to make your home. With one last tear trailing your cheek, you stepped out of the apartment. You took the bus uptown, where you later checked into a hotel.

When your husband finally got home from work, he would find a one-page letter written in your own hand.

For once, Sam was actually home in his apartment. He was helping Dean take his suitcase to the front door after calling a taxi to come shortly. Sam wasn’t happy about it though.

“You don’t have to go so soon, Dean,” said Sam.

Dean gave a humorless laugh. He grabbed his coat from the rack and threw it on.

“I’ve gotta get back to the house. It’s already been empty too long,” he said. Three years too long. “Fact is, I’m just getting in your way here.”

He couldn’t quite meet Sam’s eyes as he went to the door, but Sam stopped him with a pressing hand on his arm, tugging him back.

“Hey,” Sam said, his brows furrowed. “That’s not true. Where’d you get that idea?”

Dean raised his brows. “You mean the way you’ve haven’t been home more than a few hours a night? The way the only time I see you is if I go find you at that office. You should open up a Bed n’ Breakfast there. You’d make a double killing in this town.”

Sam wilted. “Dean, we opened the firm barely a month ago. I’m just trying to—”

Dean laid a hand on his shoulder, relenting.

“Hey, look. I’m not judging you, Sammy. I’m not,” he said. “You’re building something. I know that. I just need to go figure out how to do the same, whatever that means for me.”

Sam stared back at him, still with that frown. His guilt and reluctance to see Dean go was reflected in his eyes; those sad puppy dog eyes that used to get him out of almost any punishment with their parents when the boys were young. Before.

The corner of Dean’s mouth kicked up into a smirk.

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you again soon,” he said.

“How soon is soon?” Sam asked. It was something their mother used to say to John whenever he called late, promising he’d come home after long days in town buying supplies for the farm.

“The divorce papers will be served to Michael Milligan,” Sam added, pointedly raising his brows. “She…could use your support.”

Dean’s smile faded at the mention of you. His hand slipped from Sam’s shoulder.

“She’s got a strong head on her shoulders. She’ll be all right,” he said. He heard the honk of the taxi outside. He grabbed up his hat, set it on his head, and took up his bags. He turned back to Sam at the last moment. “I’m sure you’ll look out for her.”

It was somehow both a question, and an imploring charge. Sam sighed, but he nodded in agreement. His brother could be so very stubborn. Once he got an idea of what he thought he needed to do, there was almost no talking him out of it.

Sam opened the door for him and walked him out to the car, helping him with his bags. Before Dean could get into the cab, Sam stopped him. Their gazes met, but in that moment, no words were needed.

They pulled one another into a firm hug.

I’m sorry. I should’ve been there more for you.

Don’t worry about it. It’s already forgotten.

Dean released him first with a smile, and a heavy pat of Sam’s shoulder. He turned and climbed into the cab’s backseat. Afterwards, Sam watched the yellow cab take his brother away to the train station, feeling a weight in his heart that wouldn’t subside.

He would never know that Dean felt exactly the same way. Except that impossible weight felt a lot like your hand, gently laid over his heart.

Dean took up his suitcase as the train pulled into the station. He stepped up onto the platform and retrieved the ticket from his pocket, but he paused, hearing a familiar voice shouting his name.

He turned his head and saw Sam rushing to meet him at the platform.

“What’s the matter? What’re you doing here?” Dean asked in surprise. He didn’t like the wary apprehension written across Sam’s face.

“I just took a closer look at Milligan’s finances,” he said. “Before you go, there’s something you might want to know.”

AN: Come on, we needed at least one cliffhanger in this series! 😘 What do you think Sam rushed over to tell Dean? What did you think about their "goodbye," as well as her and Dean's goodbye? ...And are you ready for all the drama that's about to go down? lol

Next Time:

Except the loud, insistent knock on the door broke you out of your thoughts. Straightening up with a frown, you set down your glass and went over to the door. Maybe it was Housekeeping coming up to bring you the fresh towels you asked for. The ones that had been laid out in the bathroom smelled musty.

You opened the door to a tall frame taking up room in the doorway. It was Michael, standing there both disheveled and steaming mad. He held your letter crumpled in his left hand.

“Michael, what—what’re you doing here?” you gasped and stepped back. He followed you inside the room and slammed it shut. He looked around at your open suitcases in disbelief, then finally at you.

“What’s this supposed to mean, huh?” he demanded to know. He shook the flimsy piece of paper at you.

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leyavo · 1 day ago

Text

| Retribution |

Jinx spent the past three months gathering intel on their last botched mission. Just don’t ask her how she got it.

[Jinx (technician!reader)Masterlist]

Jinx was an enigma to Captain Price.

No paperwork, no name and no history.

Laswell had handed him a blank sheet of paper with her callsign, nothing else. She’d vouched for the technician, promising John she’d be an asset to the 141. Jinx flitted between two different bases, never speaking of family…if she had any.

John’s back not even five minutes and he’s staring at the wad of paper falling to his desk.

“This is unauthorised information, Jinx. I can’t read this,” John said, leafing through the stack of papers before him, the tip of his pen nudging them apart.

His brows arched at the lack of blacked out lines covering classified intel. He doesn’t even let his fingers brush against the one labeled MI5. Most of what he’s reading shouldn’t be available to the technician, let alone be printed out on site.

He reads it though, finger scratching his moustache as Jinx stands opposite his desk. Hands tucked behind her back and her gaze on a spot just over his shoulder, she never did look anyone in the eye for too long. Something her last superior noted in her file.

She gave Riley a run for his money, when it came to the silent and staring presence. Always lurking, listening like another damned ghost.

“Laswell said I should get creative, Captain.” Jinx shifted her weight, leaning more to the right and head lowering like a child being scolded.

Price leant back in his chair, “creative this is downright diabolical. How did you even get another specialist unit’s information? There’s even a restaurant receipt from a few months ago.” He glanced up at her, reading glasses halfway way down his nose. If she could find all this, he didn't want to think who else could.

“The internet, sir.”

“Well I know that,” John grumbled to himself, trying not to think of the legalities of what lay on his desk.

“Laswell didn’t give you clearance then?” Lieutenant Riley, pushed off the wall and stood beside the Captain. His arms folded over his chest as he raised a brow at Jinx. He’s not in his usual full mask, messy blond hair sticking out from under his hoody and a mask covering his mouth and nose. His duffle bag slung to the side, he'd too been caught in the corridor and dragged into the captain's office.

The 141 had been off for a few months after their last unsuccessful mission, Johnny still healing, but he was also on base. And as soon as Jinx passed the captain in the corridor, she requested a meeting with Price and Riley.

Unlike the rest of her team, Jinx stayed on base and threw herself into research and digging up intel. She even took a few ops for Laswell, there was nothing for her outside of the military.

Price huffed, shuffling through the papers and giving Jinx a once over. "When's the last time you slept, Jinx?"

The deep rims under her eyes telling enough, fly away hairs sprouting from her usual slicked back hair. Long sleeved t-shirt creased, a coffee stain near the tattered hem. She hadn’t even bothered tucking it in to her trousers. The laces of her boots looked like she’d strung them together in the dark.

"They shot Soap." She blinked and John nearly fell off his chair as her narrowed gaze met his. It was brief, her eyes flitting back to the safe spot to the side of his head at the wall.

Jinx and Soap were the last two the Captain would put together, the loud sergeant managed to break through her cold and reserved exterior. And his injury seemed to bother Jinx more than John thought it would. She'd had that silent brooding stare, something John maybe shouldn't have overlooked a few months ago.

"We can't prove that," Price said, sliding his glassed off and tossing them on the desk. He rubbed his tired eyes and released a sigh.

"The restaurant proves that, Captain."

John picked his glasses back up, pushing them over his nose. “What a team meeting over dinner…” he tossed the receipt to the side and glanced to Simon, who leant over his shoulder to look at it.

“Well they said they weren’t in Moldova, this restaurant is on the same border where it all went to shit. Might want to check the total of that bill, Captain,” Jinx said, his rank leaving her lips like she was spitting out venom.

“She’s right,” Simon interrupted, squinting at the receipt in case he read it wrong. “Why would they pay that much for a meal?”

An obscene amount of money, more than a captain earns that’s for sure. Simon chuckled as he sifted through some of the technician’s research.

“Jinx you know we can’t use any of this, for one you’ve got all their bloody bank accounts for the past six months printed out here.” John held his hand up to stop her before she could reply. “And Laswell needs evidence that wasn’t obtained illegally before we can even do anything.” He tapped his pen on the desk, punctuating each point he’s trying to prove to her.

“Laswell doesn’t have to know. No different to 2011 Moldova Captain?” Jinx tilted her head, smile tugging the corner of her lips as she pointed to Simon. “No different to 2016, November sixth, location unknown lieutenant?”

Of course she’d snooped in their files, no doubt all of theirs before she joined. John hated that he didn’t have anything to push her back on.

“The list goes on Captain.”

A chair scraped along the floor, Simon’s hand on Jinx’s shoulder as he shoved her into it. He sat on the edge of the desk in front of her, arms crossed over his chest. “Who are you Jinx?” He asked, voice low and controlled.

“Who ever you want me to be, lieutenant.”

This has been sitting in my drafts since January 30th 🤭 hope you enjoyed, please note I am dyslexic so there might be errors/mistakes, I do edit my work a few times, but I do miss stuff - Leya

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sweetfuchsia · 2 days ago

Text

situationships & scandals ft. itoshi rin , namey name

locker room gossip . ✦ . series masterlist

summary

rin is never a part of online drama and scandals. he won’t let some girl change that.. or will he?

notes:

mostly written parts aside from the text screenshot <3 btw, i’m kinda using tifa as like.. a fill-in for reader pics because i love her so much !! BTW BTW!!! this doesn’t rlly follow most of the bllk plot so like.. it’s just… blue lock facility and games and stuff but none of that is really roo important .. meow

click on the screenshot and the full img will pop up !

to say that rin was confused is an understatement. he woke up just like any other day, yawning softly to himself as he sat up.

but when he opened his phone, he was met with the sight of a notification— not like that’s uncommon, but what is uncommon is some girl sending an angry message.

he sighs, figuring that you’re probably just attention-seeking. rin doesn’t even bother looking at your profile— to him, you’re not important. he has other things to do.

but when he hears his name pop up in the changing rooms before training paired with something that sounded so familiar, he really couldn’t help but listen in.

“yeah, name’s like, really hot.”

“yeah.. but i heard she’s into rin or something. people say she’s copying his workouts or whatever.”

“come on, that’s the dumbest thing i’ve heard all day!”

“i dunno.. what if she’s trying to flirt with him?”

“too bad. i think i’ll send her a message..”

what the fuck are these idiots on, rin thinks to himself. he shakes his head, closing his locker with a ‘slam’! before turning to his teammates.

sometimes, he wonders why he stays in blue lock if he just has to deal with a bunch of braindead monkeys every day.

“i can hear you.” he states, narrowing his eyes at the group. they weren’t even trying to hide the fact they’re talking about him— and… name, was it?

“you haven’t said anything about it, though.” isagi notes, tilting his head just slightly. he can’t lie, he’s pretty curious about this. “have you even heard of what’s happening online? dude, you’re literally at the centre of it right now.”

centre.. of.. what?

“what do you mean?” rin blinks, eyes widening a fraction. “..i’m never a part of drama. they must have the wrong person he adds with a scoff, turning his head away from the group.

“no, no. apparently some girl’s copying your workout routine!” bachira says, popping up like some sort of mole from a carnival game. he’s just like that sometimes. “apparently she’s into youuuu . . !” he teases, leaning closer and raising an eyebrow.

“oh.” rin mumbles, plucking his phone out from his pocket. he pulls out the messages, narrowing his eyes at the name on the top of the screen— and sure enough, it’s you.

name.

“her?” rin mutters, flipping his phone to show bachira who just nods excitedly, a grin stretching across his features as he snatches the phone from rin.

“look! they’re flirrttinnngg,” bachira exclaims, waving the phone around like a madman. i mean, it’s not his phone so why should he care? “he totally like her!”

“lemme see, bro—“ isagi tries, a hand reaching out in attempt to take the phone from the fidgety bachira. “give it!”

“my phone’s not a damn toy.” rin huffs, grabbing his phone and tugging it away. “we weren’t flirting and i doubt that she’s into me.” he states firmly, turning his phone back off and stuffing it into his pocket.

otoya grins, “so i can message her—“

“no.”

extra : next chapters will probably be longer <3

#bllk x reader #blue lock #bllk x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #bllk smut #blue lock x female reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x y/n #itoshi rin x you #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x y/n #rin itoshi x you #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi

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moonlight-joy · 3 days ago

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Not Yours to Love

MASTERLIST

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Anthony has been your closest friend for years, but when he announces his engagement to another, you realize you might have always wanted him for yourself.

Pairing: Reader/Anthony Bridgerton

You had always believed there were some things in life that were constant.

The warmth of the sun on a crisp morning. The scent of old books in the Bridgerton library. The way Anthony’s laughter—deep, unguarded—made the world feel a little less daunting.

And the way you and he had always belonged to each other, in that quiet, unspoken way.

You had never dared to name it. To do so would have been to disturb the delicate balance you had shared for years. Anthony Bridgerton was your dearest friend. Your fiercest ally. The one who knew your thoughts before you could voice them.

But he had never been yours.

And today, you were reminded of that in the most painful way imaginable.

“The engagement has been settled,” Violet Bridgerton announced with all the grace of a proud mother, her voice carrying over the chatter of the crowded drawing room.

You barely heard the murmurs of congratulations. The clinking of teacups. The delighted exclamations from Lady Bridgerton’s guests.

All you heard was the sharp, deafening crack of your own heart breaking.

Anthony was to be married.

You forced yourself to look at him, to see it for yourself. He was standing tall beside his betrothed—a woman you had known only in passing. A woman who was beautiful, refined, worthy of a Viscountess.

A woman who was not you.

His dark eyes met yours across the room, searching. Something flickered there—something uncertain. But it did not matter.

Because he was no longer yours to know.

You did not cry.

You did not allow yourself such foolish indulgences.

Instead, you smiled when necessary, congratulated him when expected, and kept your voice light, as if your heart was not unraveling thread by thread.

But later that evening, as you walked the Bridgerton estate gardens in solitude, the weight of it pressed against you like a storm.

You had been foolish.

You had never spoken the words aloud, never let yourself believe that Anthony Bridgerton could ever be yours. And yet, deep down, you had always thought—one day.

One day, he would see. One day, he would choose you.

How naive.

“Why do you look as though the world has ended?”

You startled at the sound of his voice, turning to find him standing at the edge of the garden path. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, his expression unreadable.

“I am merely enjoying the fresh air,” you lied.

Anthony studied you in that way he always did—too perceptive, too knowing.

“I thought you would be pleased,” he said, his voice softer than before. “I expected you to scold me for waiting this long to settle down.”

Your lips curled into something that was not quite a smile. “Am I not?”

Something flickered across his face—something like hesitation. And for the first time, it occurred to you that he had expected something different from you today.

A different reaction. A different feeling.

But it was too late.

So you tilted your chin up, your voice even. “She is lovely, Anthony. You will make a fine husband.”

He exhaled, the tension in his posture easing—if only slightly. “It is the right choice,” he murmured.

The right choice.

A sharp ache settled deep in your chest.

Of course, it was.

Anthony had always done what was expected, always shouldered the weight of duty with unwavering resolve. And love—real, reckless love—was not something he allowed himself to indulge in.

Perhaps that was why he had never seen you.

You swallowed hard and forced a smile. “Then I am happy for you.”

You should have left.

You should have walked away before the weight of it crushed you completely.

But you stayed, lingering in the gardens as Anthony hesitated beside you. As if he, too, was waiting for something unsaid.

“Tell me,” he murmured after a long pause, “do you think I will be a good husband?”

The question was like a knife.

You turned to him, searching his face. “Does it matter what I think?”

His jaw tightened. “It always has.”

A bitter smile touched your lips. “Then I will tell you what I think, Anthony.”

You stepped closer, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.

“I think you have always done what is expected of you,” you whispered. “I think you have spent your entire life making the right choices.”

His breath hitched, but he said nothing.

“And I think,” you continued, voice trembling, “that I was foolish enough to believe, just once, you might have chosen something for yourself.”

The silence between you was deafening.

Anthony’s hands clenched at his sides, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

“Say it,” he rasped. “If you have something to say, say it now.”

Your throat burned.

But what was the point?

He had made his choice.

And you… you were not his to love.

So you swallowed the words that threatened to spill from your lips.

And instead, you forced one last smile.

“There is nothing left to say.”

Then, before he could stop you—before you lost whatever fragile composure you had left—you turned and walked away.

And this time, Anthony Bridgerton did not follow.

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#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x yn #bridgerton x you

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evorawrites · 2 days ago

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I See Him

Tw:uvogin x reader, stalking, talk of fear, talk of possible kidnapping

2.3k words *I haven't written in over a year, so this was a little warm up. Hope you enjoy

It had gotten far too late. You were an idiot, you had work tomorrow, yet here you were. Walking home alone at 1am, trying to get to the bus stop on the main street. Although you scolded yourself. You couldn't lie, it was worth it. It had been a friend's birthday, and you hadn't seen her lately. Both of you were always working or just plain too tired. This was a special occasion though, you could forgive her for making you take several drinks past your limit and staying out later than you wanted to.

Rounding a corner, you headed towards the main line. Unfortunately, the bus only ran on a few main streets in this area, and the bar was off the line. Maybe you should have taken the cab someone offered to call. It would have been better than walking several blocks in heels while exhausted. Looking down, you noticed your heels were red.

"I'm going to feel that for the next few days." you thought to yourself.

Focused on your feet, you failed to notice the men in your path. Bumping into the larger one, almost losing your balance before a pair of hands caught you.

"Oh shit. I'm so sorry. I-" You looked at both men, taken back at the size of the one holding you. "I wasn't looking where I was going. I'm so sorry."

"It's nothing, j-"The smaller man next to him had spoken first, but was cut off by the other's voice.

"You shouldn't be alone out here." He looked down at you, as if annoyed.

You looked up at the man, still having his hands on your arms. Keeping you upright and in place. You were taken aback by what he had just said.

"I-I'm just heading home." He was right, but it was still rude.

Once you began to stand up straight, he let go. You brushed past them, trying to pick up speed. You couldn't shake off the oddness of the interaction. Why on earth would he say that? You shuddered at the interaction.

Your heels hit the pavement, echoing in the empty streets. Not many people were out in this area. Most had taken a cab to the little bars that were further back. Smart, unlike you. Perhaps saving a few bucks wasn't worth bumping into weirdos like the guys back there.

As you finally hit the main road, your worry vanished. Cars were passing by, people were walking about, and a bus was about to pull up to the stop soon. The eerie feeling of the walk there was vanishing. You'd be home soon, safe with these stupid heels off.

It wasn't long till the bus arrived. Hoping on, choosing to sit near the back by the window. Sighing in relief as you sat down. Taking the pressure off your feet. Leaning your head against the window. You looked out as the bus began to move. Your eyes widened as you looked out. You sat up straight, staring at the view before you.

Looking back from the other side of the window, down the street you had just come were the two men from before. The smaller, leaner one was leaning against the building by the sidewalk. Looking off down the road, but the large man. He was staring directly at you, smiling as if happy with himself. Once he realized you were looking at him, he began to wave. Keeping that smile that made your pick up, on his face. The bus drove away, but you kept your eyes on them as long as possible and it seems he did too.

They followed you to the bus stop. They had followed you. It wasn't a coincidence. You had bumped into them going the opposite direction. They had purposely pursued you. Suddenly, the pain in your feet became the least of your worries. Every stop, every new passenger you stared at. Fearing the men had somehow gotten to the stop before the bus and were waiting for you. Every new passenger made your heart race, your palms sweat and your head pound. The announcements began to drown out, sounding out of reach. The only thing you could hear was the doors opening and closing. You had almost missed your stop. So worried and focused on the doors. Pulling the string last minute, you shot up. Racing to the front doors.

Stepping out, you looked around. The bus sped off behind you. Your stop was a few blocks from your place. There weren't many people out. A few cars passed by, a few people were out walking their dogs, but that was it. Heading home, you stayed alert. Looking behind you every few steps. Afraid those men would appear again. You couldn't shake off how creepy it was. Why were they at the bus stop? Maybe they were trying to catch the bus? No, there was only one bus on that route, and they made no attempt to get on, and the taller guy was waving at you. Clearly they had followed you, but why? You shuddered at the thoughts, trying to convince yourself they were making sure you were safe. Even if it was bizarre and unrealistic.

Finally you were home. Kicking off your shoes, you made your way to your room. Shedding off your clothes and removing your makeup. All you wanted was the comfort of your bed. The safety of your room. The sweet feeling of slumping on the bed, the pressure off your feet. Laying on the bed, you began to doze off. Comfort and safety took over as your eyes closed. Tomorrow you would forget about your weird journey home and just remember the bad choice in shoes and the fun you had with your friends.

Your alarm blared on your nightstand. Demanding you to wake and face all the bad choices from the night prior. Your head pounded from the previous drinks as you woke. Looking out the window, you noticed the sun was barely up. Shit, could you call off sick? Would your boss even care? The answers were no and yes. He was a dick and already was in a bad mood due to new projects. Your absence would just be something he could harp on you for. Claiming there was no one else to cover reception, a lie. There was, however, there was no one who wanted to cover reception.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you ignored the soreness in your feet and the rest of your body. Dressing yourself and preparing breakfast. Putting some bread in the toaster, deciding on something simple and light. You reached for the top of a cabinet, getting down your jar of coffee beans.

"Fuck." You closed your eyes and sighed as you held the empty jar.

You would need to hit the coffee shop before work. There were no good ones on your way to the office, which meant you had to go to the one a few blocks out of your way.

Packing your lunch and laptop for the office. You headed out, making your way to the shop. It wasn't too out of the way, just a few blocks in the wrong direction. You had left early enough. It should be fine, not cutting into your time getting to work. Your feet would hate you, but there was no way you could get through the day without some form of caffeine.

The ache in your feet was bearable now that you were wearing runners and not heels. Though the rest of you was still in rough shape. Head foggy, body tired. You just wanted a coffee and rest. Turning the corner, you headed through the front doors of the shop. Hearing the chimes above the door as you went to order. Ordering your usual before stepping aside. Waiting for the barista to make your drink.

The bells above the door chimed again. Looking up, expecting to see another poor early riser getting their morning fix. Opening your mouth to give a greeting, you stopped yourself when you saw who it was. Oh god, your body was no longer tired. No, fear was taking over. Making your heart pick up pace as you looked at the man's face. You knew that face. The unkempt hair, the stumble, the wide eyes that stared directly at you like the night before. It was the taller of the two men. The one who had caught you. He was here, here in your local coffee shop. Far from that area last night. There was no overlap. There should be no overlap, he shouldn't be here.

He made his way towards you, his eyes held on you. Your eyes glued to him as well. His held pleasure. Yours held dread and terror. You took a step back, pushing your back into the counter. Trying to further yourself from him. This wasn't a chance run in. Someone wouldn't come towards a random they bumped into the night before and were rude to.

The barista's voice broke both of your stares. She was calling out your name and order. Handing you your drink and motioning your stalker to the cash register. You took his distraction to grab your drink and bolted out the door. Looking back into the shop's windows to ensure he wasn't following. He wasn't, you saw him ordering his drink at the counter. Taking a sigh of relief. Perhaps you were in your head. Scared of imaginary scenarios and villains. Turning towards your work, those calming feelings disappeared as quick as they came. Standing on the other side of the entrance was the creep's companion. Leaning against the wall. He looked up at you, gave a weak smile then went back to looking elsewhere.

Your body reacted quicker than your mind could. Your feet carried you down the street. Picking up speed with every step. You ignored the feeling of the burning coffee hitting your hand. The pain and panic that was coursing through you. They had followed you, they were stalking you. This wasn't some messed up coincidence. They had followed you. Faster and faster you moved. It wasn't until you hit the front doors of your work did you allow yourself to relax and breathe. Standing past the doorway, looking back. As if expecting to see those men again standing there. Waving smiling. You waited for their faces to pop up, but it never came. You were safe. Safe inside the building. Finally, you took in the scene around you. You were hyperventilating in the lobby of your work building. People were staring. Trying to calm yourself down, you headed to the elevators. Jumping into a mostly empty one. Giving a weak smile to the people with you before turning around and using the elevator mirrors to fix yourself up. Your hair was wild from the run. Shit, you tried to fix it the best you could with one hand. Running your fingers through the parts you could or patting it down. After some fiddling, you made your hair somewhat presentable. Now turning to your outfit, looking at the coffee on your coat. At least none got on your pants and top. You wouldn't look crazy with a clean outfit even if your hair was a bit wild. You had managed to spill about half your drink on yourself and the ground while running. So much for your morning pick up. Turning towards the door, you leveled your breathing one last time before heading to your desk.

The day had seemed long. You were still on alert. Terrified that they would turn up again. Apart of you wanted to say it was all a weird coincidence, but you knew better. No one acknowledges a random bump in from the night before. No one sane stares at another person the way he did. The idea of calling the police crossed your mind, but you knew it was foolish. You didn't have proof and they hadn't actually hurt or threatened you.

The day dragged on, lunch came and went. Every ding of the elevator, or opening of an office door had your head snapping towards the noise. Your chest would pick up from the heavy and quick breathing. Chills would run down your body, freezing your actions for a few seconds till you saw their face. Till you knew you were safe. There was nowhere to hide. You were the receptionist. You had to see and greet every new face that walked in. Had to watch as people walked in and out of the elevators. 5 o'clock couldn't come fast enough.

The walk home was filled with the same fear and paranoia. Always looking over your shoulder. Sure you were certain they hadn't followed you to work, but then again. You were convinced they hadn't followed you past the bus stop. Days and days were like this. Repeating the anxiety of leaving the house, of seeing them. Every movement from the corner of your eye had you on full alert. Every day was the same. Panic to work, panic at work and panic at home. Yet, you hadn't seen them again. Days past. You were beginning to feel somewhat safe again.

A foolish feeling. Your paranoia was correct. Your suspicion of the shadows was right. The taller of the two men was always there, waiting, watching. Staying just out of sight. Your anxiety filled him with satisfaction and passion. He wanted you, needed you, and just watching was getting dull after a while. Perhaps it was time you two properly met. Get to know each other a little better. Plus you were losing that fear he loved. Shoving himself off the wall in the alley. He watched as you headed inside your office. Maybe it would be fun to meet you back at your place? Uvo headed in your home direction. Yeah, it would be fun. He can already picture your cute face as you walked in to be met with him lying on your couch. Too bad Nobunaga was too busy to see it. He would just need to snap a few pictures.

#yandere #yandere hxh #yandere uvogin #yandere uvo #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere x reader #yandere uvo x reader #yandere uvogin x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere male #male yandere #male yandere x reader #hxh #hxh x reader #hxh x y/n #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader

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walkingstackofbooks · 1 day ago

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It really would 😭😭😭 Oh man, I ended up imagining this for ages and now I've got far too much to write so I'm gonna try doing this in bullets and see if that limits me at all 😅

Dax spots them on the passenger list as she's checking it for who's coming in, and immediately comms Ben. Ben's in his office with Julian, so Julian hears her say his parents have arrived and asks to be dismissed. Assuming that Julian's going to want to hide from his parents in his quarters, Ben tells him to take all the time he needs.

And immediately, Julian goes to meet his parents, because of course, that's what you do when your parents come to visit you whether or not you asked for them to come. Jadzia, already waiting at the airlock, is very confused to see Julian - but it's too late to do anything because the transport's arrived. She follows Julian's lead in trying to be polite as she greets them, then quickly slips away to comm Benjamin to ask him why he sent Julian down here what's happening?

Ben comms Julian, telling to report to him urgently - please give my apologies to your parents, and ask Lieutenant Dax to find them quarters while I borrow you. Julian returns to Sisko's office, wondering what's wrong... Sisko: Why did you go to meet your parents? Julian: You let me! Sisko: I'd assumed you wouldn't want to see them. Julian: They're my parents. I can't simply not see them. Sisko: After what they did to you, I'd say you had every right in the world to stay away from them. Julian: After what they-- What do you mean by that? Sisko: Lieutenant Dax believes they hit you. Julian: That was years ago, that's not-- She had no right to tell you that, anyway. They've come to visit me, and I don't know why, but I-- You can't stop me from seeing my parents, sir. Sisko: I'm not trying to stop you, Julian. But you don't have to see them, just because they're on the station... Do you want to see them?

Cue Julian going very quiet and becoming very conflicted, until Jadzia interrupts them with a comm to tell them she's found out why his parents had come - for interviews with Dr Zimmerman.

"Interviews," Sisko repeats, mouth set in a thin line of displeasure. "And he never asked you for permission?" Julian's eyes darken, torn between hurt and anger. "He mentioned contacting them, sir," he replies. "I asked him not to. He said he understood." Sisko's mouth tightens. "I think I'd like to have a word with Doctor Zimmerman. Or better yet, his commanding officer."

Sisko gets in touch with Jupiter station, and they tell him that everything was above board, and that Doctor Bashir should ahve raised his objections when he signed the consent form.

... What consent form?

The one Doctor Zimmerman had sent detailing the entire process, which Doctor Bashir had agreed to months ago.

It turns out Zimmerman, tired of waiting for a response that had never came, forged Julian's signature and just went ahead with it. Julian had never got the (several) emails because he'd been a prisoner of the Dominion at the time.

Zimmerman is in a lot of trouble.

Julian still hasn't figured out what he wants to do about his parents though.

DS9 crew at Quark's talking about how weird muscle memory is and Julian chiming in like "Yeah, it's so weird, sometimes I still flinch when Captain Sisko's disappointed in me, and it's been years since I left home haha"

#sorry this is weirdly formatted i just am bad at replying to things if i can't say all my thoughts #but i also knew there were way too many thoughts to write normally #and that if i stopped this would just be added to be ever-growing collection of drafts #but anyway YEAH flipetty this changes everything and i hadn't thought about that until you said it #and i've had a lot of fun thinking about it so thank youuuu <3 <3 #richard and amsha's a++ parenting #julian bashir #fic ideas #benjamin sisko #julian au concepts #wsb

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airconditionertm · 2 days ago

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Aemond x daemon’s ward reader part 2

Summary: the ward of daemon Targaryen y/n is constantly wrapped up in his schemes but having to get aemond Targaryen to propose to her had to be the hardest

Word count: 2499

Read part 1

Y/n was once again eating breakfast with daemon. “Things have been going well aemond he escorted me back to my chambers yesterday and asked me to call him by his first name” she reported to the daemon. “ good well then everything is going to plan, “ he said placing down his goblet. “Do not forget the purpose of your marriage don’t get caught up in your feelings dear”.

——————————————

Y/n walked in the garden considering how to further wo Aemond when she suddenly overheard voices coming from one of the gazebos. “ you are so dramatic brother”,“ mother he cannot be allowed to continue like this stumbling drunk through the castle harassing lady’s “,” I’m not harassing anyone I don’t even remember what you’re talking about “,” yeah because you where too drunk to remember”, ”just because your a boring repressed fuck doesn’t mean everyone wants to live like you “. It was Aemond and Aegon arguing. “Boys there’s no need to fight so early in the morning” Alicent tried to scold them however Aemond started yelling in high valerian his brother only replied in Broken sentences. Y/n stayed standing on the path too scared to move and be discovered eavesdropping. But she suddenly heard footsteps. She tried to sneak away but Aemond saw her . “ what are you doing here “ he asked. “I was taking a walk in the garden I didn’t mean to hear I’m sorry Aemond, “ she said . “ it’s alright y/n,” he said. “Was the argument caused by what I told you yesterday?” she asked looking at the floor. “Yes but it’s not your fault he’s been behaving like this for a while it was just the straw that broke the camel’s back, “ he said gesturing for her to walk with him. “ I see I’m glad I don’t have siblings like him “ she replied he let out the smallest chuckle. “ certainly, “ he said. A silence fell over the two while they walked.

Y/n looked over the wall of the garden at the beach below stopping Aemond stopped with her. “ is that Vhagar “ she said pointing at the dragon flying over the sea. “Yes it is she’s probably hunting “ he explained. “ she’s waiting for a whale to surface right and then she pulls it out and eats it I remember seeing her do that on Dragonstone it’s impressive yet terrifying.” She asked leaning on the wall to look at Vhagar.” yes I suppose it is a little terrifying if you're not familiar would her,” he said looking out at the sea with her. “ I suppose so” They both look out at the sea for a while until Aemond speaks up.

“Can I ask you something which may be rude,” he asked. “Of course you can what is it” she replied looking over at him. “Daemon said you're here to find a husband but I have hardly seen you socialize with any men at court,” he asked.

Fuck y/n had not considered having to keep up the ruse that she was looking to marry any man but Aemond. “ if I’m honest I…” 7 hells why couldn’t she think of anything “ I’m not the most social, I find it hard to talk to people especially when the result of that interaction is anything as important as marriage “ she spoke rushed. “You speak to me and I’m considered less approachable than most” he retorted. “ well I already know you in a way Aemond from childhood and royal events even if we haven’t spoken much, it is also that you happen to be everywhere I go “ she replied rubbing her hands nervously. “I know I should socialize more but being hiding in the library and talking to you is far more enjoyable, I know if I don’t find a husband soon I might never find one “She looked at him trying to gauge his reaction. “You will find a husband you just need to talk to men” he replied matter of fact. y/n chuckled “What makes you so sure of that “ she asked him. “ you’re a noble lady with close ties to the royal family, you’re beautiful, you’re polite and kind and surprisingly smart and analytical any man would be lucky to marry you y/n ” he looked straight at her and back at the sea. “You are too kind ” she spoke moving closer to him and placing her hand above his which rested on the top of the wall. “ I am not too kind I am speaking the truth, “ he said.

" so this is where you have gone off.." the two instantly jumped apart at the sound of Alicents voice " To Aemond.. y/n?". " I should go " y/n

blurted out walking away. It was good for Alicent to see them together but it might be too early she wanted to talk with Alicent first before being caught together in a garden holding hands. For some that may not mean a lot but among the nobility, it was practically like being caught naked together on a roof. Oh no, would people gossip would they give her weird glances?

——————————-

Alicent had invited y/n to tea. She had spent a while choosing her dress and readying her hair. Though she likely knew what Alicent wanted to speak with her about, tea with the queen was never to be taken lightly. She waited outside the door to be let in.

” Come in sit with me “ Alicent commanded. Y/n sat down across from her. “ I want to know what I saw in the gardens yesterday “ she got right to the point. “ we met each other when he walked off from his argument with his brother. We walked together for a while until I spotted Vhagar above the sea and we stopped and started talking.” Y/n stated matter of fact. “Well you’re talking seemed quite intimate what did you talk about “ she asked. “ well first we spoke about Vhagar but later he asked me why I didn’t socialize with many men at court when I was trying to find a husband and we spoke about that and I started to get a bit distressed worrying about not finding a husband and he reassured me” Alice wasn’t convinced yet. “ you placed your hand atop his “ she said. “ I did yes“. “What are your intentions with Aemond you're supposed to be finding a husband at court yet you have been focusing on my son instead, “ she asked. “ in truth, I may have developed an infatuation with him at first I was simply curious to see the boy I knew grown up but then I discovered he is quite handsome all grow up I know it’s immature and inappropriate ” she tried to explain. “ so you only like his appearance than “ Alicent accuses her. “No no that’s the difficult part if it was just about his appearance it would be easy to get past if that was the case but he’s dedicated intelligent dutiful and he’s closed off in a way that makes you feel so special when he opens up to you “ y/n tried to seem as genuine as possible which wasn’t to difficult since all she was saying was technically true.

“So you truly care for him not his looks or his title “Alicent asked looking straight at y/n . “ yes I do Your Majesty “ y/n shifted in her seat. “ I do think that it is time for Aemond to find a wife I think it would be good for him but alliances are also important in royal marriage if he loves you and he comes to me I will not deny him but I will not help you “ she explains. “I understand Your Majesty “Y/n couldn’t help but smile a little at the queen's lack of disapproval it wasn’t quite an approval yet but it was close.

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“Your mother invited me to tea yesterday,” y/n said looking up from what she was reading. Aemond groaned “Yes she spoke with me too, about us holding hands in the garden it was…”. ”indeed it was strange she asked me what my intentions with you are” y/n replied. “ well what are your intentions with me y/n,” Aemond said smirking. “ genuine “ was all she said. “ my mother talked to me about marriage I’ve been trying to avoid that conversation I blame you, “ he said. ”well I’m sorry aemond, she spoke with me about marriage too, I felt like she was interrogating me“ y/n broke eye contact. “what did she say to you, “ Aemond asked. Y/n wasn’t sure if telling him might feel too forward but she knew she couldn’t avoid his questions. “She expressed her lack of disapproval if the two of us would marry…. I think it’s a bit of a dramatic reaction to people holding hands to start talking about marriage “.

“ it isn’t dramatic truly, we aren’t even officially courting technically we should not even be anywhere alone together and generally when a young man and lady interact it has something to do with marriage, also think my mother assumes something else may have happened,” Aemond explained looking more serious than before. “ I suppose we have not been following court procedures I don’t want to cause any scandal for you Aemond but I still enjoy spending time with you, “ y/n said. “ I suppose we could officially court to allow us to continue our time together “ Aemond at this point paid no more attention to his tomb.

“If we were to officially court would it be to simply continue spending time together or would it go towards a possibility of marriage I cannot court multiple men so officially courting you would not do well for my plans of finding any other husband ” y/n explained, of course, she didn’t care about courting other men but it was a good excuse to ask whether he would marry her. “as I’ve already said any man would be lucky to marry you, however, I am a prince so my marriage has to be considered more carefully, but what is more important is do you want to go towards that possibility, “ he asked reaching his hand across the table to meet hers. “ yes, “ she said quietly. “ why is it you wish to marry me is it my title, my house or do you feel you can not refuse me “ he rubbed her hand gently. “ I cannot say that your position has no part in the appeal however to speak truly I first started seeking you out because well .. you are quite handsome…. And then I grew to realize you are quite intelligent and we like similar things and I quite enjoy your company so I think you would be a suitable companion for me and maybe in a way it is also that by marrying you I would finally be officially part of the family I have spent my whole life with and this marriage does provide security for me and with a guardian like daemon security would be a nice change “ she looked at Aemond for reassurance he did not give her any. “I will discuss the topic with my mother I’ll tell you by tomorrow so you must not worry about it too long, “ Aemond said. Y/n already worried was she going too fast had she messed everything up bringing up her meeting with Alicent she hadn’t expected Aemond to start seriously talking about marriage. This was it she thought everything could fall apart all the research the planning and the scheming she never thought it could make her this anxious. She felt like her heart might explode.

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She walked to Daemon's chambers knocking on his door. “ who is here so late “ he opened the door “Oh hello is everything alright “ he asked. “ I don’t know Aemond he started talking about the possibility of officially courting” she spoke breathlessly.” Isn’t that a good thing dear why don’t you come inside” daemon gestured inside the room and closed the doors. “ yes it would be good if he had decided then and there but he said he needs to speak with his mother about it and I don’t think Alicent likes me particularly much I mean at the tea she practically interrogated me, and it wasn’t supposed to happen this fast, god why did I have to bring it up I I I don’t even really get if he wants to marry me he said that any man would be lucky to but that’s a thing people just say right and he w-“daemon cut her of “ dear you need to calm down alright we won’t know until tomorrow even if this plan fails you know I always have a plan b alright “.

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Y/n awoke forgetting for just a second what she was so worried about the night before it was a beautiful second before it all came crashing down on her again.

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The day was almost over and Aemond hadn’t spoken to her yet she was sure this was it she had failed. She sat on her bed sketching something in her sketchbook. A sudden knock disturbed her “Who is it” she called out. “Aemond” shit she got up trying to fix her hair and smith her dress. ”Come in,” she said. Aemond stepped into the room “ I wasn’t able to find you I spoke with my mother “ he said standing at the door. “What did she say “ y/n asked trying not to sound too desperate for the answer. “She agreed that we might court,” he said. “ gods are why didn’t you just say that I was certain you were going to give me bad news” y/n looked at him. “My apologies y/n I didn’t mean to worry you”. He said. “ it is alright “Y/n replied taking his hands he recoiled a little at first but let her hold his hands. “We must announce that we are courting officially.” He said. “Yes, we must when should we do that “ y/n replied. “Where having dinner together my mother makes us at least once a week we can announce it then if you and daemon would join us ” he was silent for a moment “Does daemon approve “ he asked unsure. ” Yes he does I spoke with him about it,” y/n said. “ that surprises me in truth, he doesn’t seem particularly in favor of me ?“ Aemond questioned. “ I can be quite convincing Aemond “ y/n replied smirking hoping he bought that she convinced him.

#x reader #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #hotd #hotd fic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #fanfic #hotd aemond #daemon targaryen

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