#but today i had a Question that needed Answers

[natsaffection]

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.

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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[daylighted]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤshield ! reader ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤpart two !!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤULTIMATE REVENGE.

summary memories are reawakened with the arrival of soldier boy into your life again, but his presence is not the only new thing slipping its way through the cracksㅤㅤㅤwarnings feminine rage, light discussions of trauma, violence against men HAHAHA, me trying to mimic butcher's accent ( embarrassing edition )ㅤㅤㅤword count 2.1k

ㅤㅤㅤ"ARE YOU SERIOUSLY ANGRY WITH ME?" it was a ridiculous question to be asked, considering all that happened, but you'd let him talk. how deep of a hole could one man dig himself into?

you don’t dignify him with any answer. of course you were angry. it had been festering since you were created, switched between homes like a rejected foster child that no one really wanted, but got stuck with. it was bad enough knowing that the entirety of your long existence would be spent being a pest to the ones stuck with you; they did not need to find ways to torment you.

you shove the closet door open with your shoulder, having waited in the closet until soldier boy vanished. he didn’t deserve any of your attention, and didn’t deserve any indication that you knew him. that was another irritant to your fury.

“i told you to stay in your space.” it’s the only defense that the legend has, so he milks it, stresses the points of it as if that can deter your frustrations. “i told you that this is the risk i was keeping you from, dammit—”

the legend doesn’t have to get it, and so he never will. still, you can’t help but feel the need to try. “you knew it was a risk,” you say it slower, as if that will make it click in his rotten head, “and you did not tell me. you knew that soldier boy was alive, and could come back, and kept it.”

“look at how you’re reacting!” his hand shoots up toward you, hovering in the expansive closet’s entrance. “you decked him. you crushed his nutsack—”

“not. enough.”

“plenty enough, indy.” your name is always a weapon in men’s mouths. no one ever looked at you and thought you were something worth whispering or promising. you were a gun, your words the bullets, the safety always off. and nobody wanted a girl in a constant state of misfire. “i get what you’re going through, and what is going on inside of your head—”

“you do not.”

his lips thin in his frustration. “are you going to let me finish a single fuckin’ sentence today, indy, or are we going to argue around each other because you don’t listen?”

your jaw clenches tightly, teeth grinding together. “you do not get anything that is in my head. you are just an old man minus a leg.”

“you are old too,” he shoots back at you, wagging his finger in your face. you shove his hand away with a scoff. “just because little miss indestructible doesn’t physically age doesn’t mean she hasn’t been here as long as i have. so you should know better than to act like an insolent child.”

it’s so easy for a man to flip the script on you and blame you. you were not asked for permission before you were created. you were not ever treated kindly in the tests you endured after it. you were shaped and molded into something as strong as you’d been as a manmade shield, and then punished for what evolved from that.

“i would know better if i was not locked away.”

somehow, his thin lips press together tighter. you’ve got him. you always get him on that point, and still, the legend doesn’t ever listen to you. it was so useless to have a voice when it did nothing for you.

the bell to his door rings, and your head snaps in that direction. you can see the front door now, from where you stand — considering the fact you’d broken down the hinges to that side of the penthouse, and soldier boy had dismantled your door.

multiple shadows stand on the other side. you see their outlines, big and broad, through the glass walls surrounding the doorway. your eyes narrow. “soldier boy has brought guests.”

“i hardly doubt he will come back.” the legend steps around you, back into the living room, with a glance over his shoulder. “i’d highly suggest sitting this one out.”

“you cannot keep me away anymore today.” you stalk after him, following him again through the broken mess of doors scattered around his living space. “the door is ruined. you have to let me see.”

“i don't have to do a thing.”

he never listens to you. you’ve been stuck with him for forty years and he does not listen. he’s the cruelest sort of captor, controlling everything of your life down to the rooms you’re allowed to take up space in.

you shove past the legend, grabbing the doorknob before he can, tugging the locked, heavy door open with an agitated growl. “go away. you are not wanted here.”

the man in the center on the other side raises his eyebrows. “sassy lass, ain’t ya?” he has an accent, just like you, except his is much more pronounced and nothing like how yours sounds. “i didn’t know the legend kept around girls that can beat him in a tongue lashin’.”

sickening how every single man you’d had the displeasure of meeting assumed you were one of the legend’s playthings. this was the consequence of his containment. you faced the scrutiny of his choices.

you dash forward, grabbing the gun he had poorly concealed at his hip. you release the safety and step back before any of his crew can process the barrel of the pistol pressed against the center of his chest. “mind your mouth.”

his hands raise in mock surrender. “alright, love. i don’t think we should be playing with things we don’t know how to—”

you’d known how to shoot a gun since you learned how to grip. you cock a bullet into the chamber and point it backwards, pulling the trigger at the two feet distance between the legend’s cane and your own feet.

the tall, lankier man in the back of the group shudders out an, “oh my god.” the one next to their assumed leader grimaces at the ringing echo of the bullet. behind you, the legend is seething, hissed curses falling out of his spluttering mouth.

you press the warm barrel to the man’s chest again. “tell me i am too stupid to work a gun again.”

the corner of his mouth tilts higher. “my apologies, lass,” he says, raising his eyes from your face to behind you. “might i speak to the man of the hour?”

“he has nothing worthy to say,” you say, finally dropping the hand holding the gun to your side, “not unless you like idiocracy and long-winded tall tales.”

the man shrugs. "i'm afraid that's all this lot has got to offer, anyways, yeah?"

you don't give the gun back. you untuck your shirt from your pants and stuff it in the waistband, offering a smile to the group of men waiting outside. "i can tell," you hum, turning on your heel, walking back the way you came from.

the basketball game is still on, but it's wrapping up — as far as you can tell, anyways, through the giant black hole in the center of the screen. you weren't in any sort of mood to get in another argument about the channel after what you'd gone through, so you drop down onto the couch again with only a huff of protest.

expectedly, the men follow afterwards. expectedly, the legend is apologizing on your behalf to men that don't deserve it, using words you'd never use. she's really sorry. no you weren't. she's always been crueler than the other of vought's creations. the familiar sentence, still stings all the same.

"she's a supe, then?" the lanky one asks, like you aren't even there. he catches your eye when you turn to glare holes into his temple, and his face flushes a little. "you're a supe?"

your face twists up. "i hate soup."

"oh." he nods a couple of times, clearing his throat in the process. "well. that answers... nothing."

the irritable, disgusted scowl becomes one more laced with anger. "i am not one of the heroes." the legend's reaction is proof enough to an unanswered question you had. that, no, before soldier boy's departure, he did not inform the hero of who you really were, and he was dancing around it now. you'll spare him from the science lesson. "i was created in laboratory. by the vought man." he's never been doctor frederick vought to you, because he never acted as a doctor, only an enforcer. "a someone out of something."

the lankier of the men blinks his surprise, somehow not deterred even with the look you gave him before. "created how?"

no one has ever addressed you in these conversations. usually legend apologizes for you, and they talk about you like you don't exist, and you are expected to stand down even when the order is not enforced. a long silence passes before you speak, unwilling to answer if he was not genuinely asking. but his eyes don't stray from you, and so you nod slowly in acceptance.

"you know of soldier boy?" his name is poison in your mouth, the only thing that has ever hurt you. "the great american hero with a shield?" there is no point of you explaining the world's first hero to these people. they probably know more about him than you ever would. "i am the shield."

the original man, the one with a smirk permanently plastered across his face, turns to you, then, abandoning whatever plans he'd come with. "bullshit."

"you are bullshit." you don't need any of them to believe you. trying to convince others of what you knew to be true was pointless. you slump backwards against the couch again, your eyes zeroing in on the shattered television screen.

it's the lanky one that comes to sit next to you. the legend doesn't even sit as close to you as he does, and he'd lived with you for forty years. "vought does some crazy shit." his shoulders lift in a shrug, letting out a little hum. "doesn't seem so off base that they turn a shield into a girl."

"the shield is with him," you clarify, finding it hard to actually meet his eyes whenever he's watching you with more understanding than anyone had bothered to offer. he wears the same curiosity that you saw in soldier boy's, which simply wouldn't do. "it is just useless now."

"does he know?" the original man, his rugged voice giving way to its own sort of morbid curiosity. there are too many men around you, and not enough space for you to feel safe and secure.

you shake your head, shooting a pointed look at the legend, balking on the other side of the room. "he did not tell him."

"ben is not going to be doing anything with that shield to warrant knowing its truth—"

frustration pours out of every orifice of your body. "soldier boy is a ticking bomb." he has always been volatile. a man cannot change simply because the man was locked away for decades. from what you saw of him, there wasn't any ounce of growth from him at all.

"she's right." the man sitting beside you turns to look back at the legend, and for once, you feel seen. someone else sees the hypocrisy of the man you were stuck with and is not afraid to reflect it back at him. maybe the legend would listen this time, now that a man was telling all of his sins to the choir. "he's a ticking time bomb."

"don't start, hughie," the rugged brit says, his voice nothing more than a growl.

"no, she's right." he gives butcher a long, hard look before he shakes his head, glancing sidelong at legend. "you know what we're planning to do. you know that we're trying to use him for it. and you sent him into the world to die."

the confirmation makes your stomach feel leaden. you should not care at all about what that means. you shouldn't care that soldier boy could die. and you don't. it's just—

"and what do you want me to do about that now, huh?"

the room is quiet, the only sound being the distorted audio coming from the broken television. you know where this is going. you sense it in the way that the man that isn't hughie stares at you, piecing together everything that the options laid out for them offered.

hope was a bitter thing in your mouth. this could be your sole chance of freedom, finally getting to see a breath of the world you'd spent your entire life locked away from. it just came with the added downside of—

"hand over soldier boy's shield," the man finally says, his eyes never leaving yours, "promise with every inch of my wee heart we'll take good care of 'er."

notes. indy beat up all men ever era !!! billy butcher EAT UR HEART OUT. just a heads up that this !reader has a structured timeline vs baby & lore not <3 u can still send asks abt her if u wanna but in my head this lil lady is all plotted for ... i dont wanna say it in case i abandon it midway ... so just know there's a proper number of parts oKAYYY thank u 4 reading love u bye

tags. @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @eepwtf @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @jensenacklesballsack @abox-of-rocks @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @misatxox @angelblqde @bombarda-babe @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @voidsuites @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @hyacinnths @blushpinkdoll @mccartneyqp @svbnra @h8aaz @mahi-wayy

[thursdayinspace]

Since yesterday was the anniversary of the Sushi episode (Rm9sbG93ZXJz — yes, I just looked it up), here's a little ficlet, set after they came out of that warehouse. I was in need of some fluff, and also I love that episode. tagging @today-in-fic and @poangpals

Somehow, the night seems less quiet all of a sudden as they step back out into the street. It’s almost as if the world has been holding its breath, seeing how this was going to play out. Reality on hold. The nightly noises are back now, wind rustling the leaves, even their steps sounding less hollow. She feels almost dizzy, a little like waking up from a really strange dream. The world feels shaky, not quite solid under her feet.

Mulder sighs deeply next to her and stops walking. She stops too, turning sideways to face him.

“Was that all real?” he asks.

“I think so.”

“Of all the strange things we’ve seen…” He laughs softly.

“That was definitely among the strangest, yes.” She laughs with him, shaking her head. “Remember those times I used to call your theories science fiction?”

“The ones you didn’t call outright crazy.”

“Yeah.”

His smile is soft. “Yeah. I remember.” He pauses for a second before he continues. “So. What happens next?”

She has no idea. But there’s always the safe option. “I should probably go home. I’m pretty tired.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

He smiles at her and she feels her heart beating faster in her chest. The truth is, she wasn’t entirely sure at the beginning of this evening whose house she was going to end up in. Neither one of them had said the word, but that had been a date tonight. She’s sure of it. And if it hadn’t ended so abruptly, if one of them had said something… Her face falls as realization hits her. “Oh.”

“What?” he asks.

“I can’t go home. My house blew up.”

“You—Oh. Right.”

“I should…” She hesitates. “I should probably check on the state of it. To see if there’s anything there left to salvage.”

“Do yo want me to come with you?”

She doesn’t want to go at all. It seems oddly tempting to just forget about it, to pretend it didn’t happen. Honestly, if it burned down then it burned down. She didn’t really have anything of great value in there. Nothing she would really, truly miss, most of her personal items left behind in boxes at Mulder’s house because she didn’t want the reminder of their happier times. Truth be told, she never liked her new place. “You parked your car in front of my house.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you call us a cab? One with a real human driver.”

“Don’t you want to get your phone back first?”

She sighs. “You’re right.”

Everything is where they dumped it earlier and they gather their possessions—she leaves only the vibrator behind.

He calls them a cab. They’re quiet on the way to her house, both of them exhausted. When she gets out in front of what used to be her home, he follows her. There’s a last, lone fire truck there, and she chooses to stand and wait and process as Mulder goes to talk to whoever is in charge. She says nothing until he gets back to her.

“Well,” she says.

“Shit,” he says.

That describes it pretty well.

There isn’t a whole lot left.

She sighs and wraps her arms around herself. “I think I need a place to sleep.”

“You have a place to sleep,” he says simply.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

She doesn’t have an answer to that question.

**

He drives them back to his house. She feels like she should say something, but even if she wasn’t very attached to her place, being pretty much homeless all of a sudden is not a great feeling.

“I’m sorry, Scully,” Mulder says quietly.

“It’s just… strange, not having a home.”

“You have a home.”

It seems he has made it his mission to state simple facts tonight. She has no idea what to say, but they’re pulling up in front of his house at that moment, and so she gets out of the car and waits for him at the foot of the porch steps. He takes his time joining her there. She knows he’s waiting for her reaction but she’s tired and none of her defenses are in place, and if she speaks now she’ll tell him how she feels, and then he’ll know.

So she watches as he locks the car and makes his slow way over to her. She follows him up the steps, into the house, stands and waits as he closes the door behind them. When he turns to look at her, she forgets to be exhausted, she forgets everything that happened.

His eyes on her are all that matters in the world. The softness in his gaze, the way he stands facing her, solid and unmoving, ready for her to step into his arms and be safe there.

She has never loved anyone this way. Nobody else has even come close.

And she’s done, she’s just done. The world is a mess. But she has something to hold onto. He’s here, he’s right here, and she can’t breathe for a second. She doesn’t believe in fate, but she’s so tired she’s just going to accept it as a sign from the universe that her house blew up after she failed to kiss him after their date. A huge fucking neon sign from the universe, an arrow pointing right at him, flashing letters saying “kiss him, you fucking coward.”

So she does.

She realizes she still hasn’t said anything to him. “You have a home,” he told her, and she’s been looking at him in silence ever since. She hopes he understands that this is her answer.

With a few steps she closes the distance between them and pulls him down into a kiss. He kisses her back immediately, wrapping his arms tightly around her, and yeah, he’s right, she has a home.

She has him.

“Stay,” he whispers against her lips.

She smiles into the next kiss. “I don’t think I have any other choice right now.”

“No.” He pulls back, his eyes amused and hopeful at the same time. “I meant for longer than just tonight.”

“Oh.” She waits for her mind to start screaming at her that this is a bad idea. For the panic to set in. It doesn’t happen. “Yeah.”

He carries her up to bed for no other reason than that he wants to, and she wants him to. She falls asleep in his arms and wakes up there as well.

It feels like being home. Maybe that’s okay.

[littlxpxtal]

I wish I never met you

TYRANTS || STORY MASTERLIST

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem!reader

WARNINGS: MDNI 18+ Content, swearing, sexual content, drug and alcohol use, violence

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

Mixing liquor and pot

Heard your brain cells can rot

If my memory was shot

I would like that a lot

I wish I could forget you

May

It was all a blur. The whole day. Zipping up my gown, putting the bobby-pins in my hair to situate the cap on my head.

I wish I could say graduation was the best day of my life, but I barely remember any of it. My name rumbled through the field, my legs moving without a thought. I moved my lips up on my face for the picture, shook hands with faculty that I had never seen or spoken to in my entire life.

The dinner with my parents was bland. They went on and on about college, asking me questions about what I decided to study. I don’t even remember the answer I gave.

I didn’t come to reality until the third time my phone rang while I laid on the edge of my bed, head hanging off the edge with my eye closed, a random record playing on my turntable was at the end and a soft humming noise filled the room.

I decided to finally check who it was, and to no surprise it was Sabrina.

“Hi” I mumbled into the phone, flipping over onto my stomach, one hand barely holding up the phone while the other dangled towards the ground.

”You done with family shit yet?”

”yes.” I answered simply, closing my eyes.

“Well I know you’re out feeling the best but, I really think you should come with me tonight.”

I groaned into my sheets.

“Sab” I whispered, my voice shaking.

“You can’t let this take over your life, y/n. We only graduate high school once.”

her positivity sickened me. I knew she was right. I didnt want her to be.

“Sab its the same shit we’ve been doing all year, what is different about tonight?”

“Well there’s no risk of expulsion”

”hah” it was her turn to groan in response.

“Y/N, im spending the whole summer abroad and I leave next week. I seriously need you to do this for me.”

”you cant pull that shit on me Sabrina its not fair.”

”but its true, y/n. You’re my best friends and I need you. You were a fucking zombie today. Snap out of it.”

there was a period of silence. I sat up in my bed and turned the lamp on.

“Well, what should I wear?” I can tell she tried to hide it, but I could hear her squeal on the other line.

“Cute top and a skirt.”

”I can make that work”

”fuck YA THERE SHE IS” she cheers into the phone. “I’ll pick you up in 15.”

We arrived to see the beach was already filled up, party in full swing. Sabrina gave me a reassuring look before we walked towards them.

”Let’s get some drinks. You deserve one” she says to me. I nod my head, following her lead.

We make our way over to the nearest keg, taking one of the many cups the boys were passing out.

“Grab me two” I whisper in her ear. She smiles wide and winks.

”That’s what im talking about.”

I chugged the first cup,passing it back to the kid who was pouring them out, he filled it back up and we walked with our cups to the dance floor.

“You gonna double fist all night?” Sabrina asks over the music.

”that’s the plan” I mumble back. The speakers are booming a new Metro Boomin song, and we make our way to the group of girls that are dancing.

I lose track of time, and snap back into reality when I notice Sabrina furiously texting on her phone.

“What’s up?” I ask. She hesitantly looks up, and locks her phone, sliding it back into her purse.

“Nothing, just, Toppers here. But, he’s with … his friends. So im just gonna stay here for a bit.” She awkwardly looks away, makes eye contact, then looks away.

“Sab, its okay, I would be an idiot to think he wouldn’t be here, especially with your boyfriend. Go say hi.” I give her shoulder a nudge and she shakes her head.

“No, im here with you.”

”im serious Sab.”

”just one more song. Who knows how long he’ll keep me on his arm if I go now.”

”you know I can fend for myself.” Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift starts playing on the speakers and Sabrina jumps up and down.

”I know, but I LOVE this song”

She starts leading us to the middle of the circle, and we sing to each other, as if we were the only two people on the beach. By the time the song is over, were doubled over laughing,our drinks spilt all over the sand.

“Im gonna go get another drink, you go say hi to topper okay?” She frowns and reaches for my hand.

”Fine, but I’ll be right back okay?” I roll my eyes.

”I told you I’ll be fine. Just go okay?” She smiles and skips away. I watch her walk over to the other side of the crowd, where a group of guys are standing, including Topper, Kelce, and, well of course, Rafe.

I notice everyone’s in conversation, expect for him. He’s just sipping from his cup, staring out into the sea.

I catch myself staring for too long, and realize i'm still in the middle of the dance circle, with two empty cups. I look around for the nearest keg and walk slowly over.

I made empty conversation with the girls standing around the keg while waiting in line, checking my phone every so often. The DJ continues to play songs I like, including pursuit of happiness, collard greens, Roll in Peace and more.

I find myself tipsy, dancing by myself in the sea of people. By the time I finally looked at my phone again, it had been an hour and I had a text from Sabrina.

were fuckin in my car really quick lol I’ll be right back.

that was from 5 minutes ago, so I probably wouldn’t see her for at least another half an hour.

I was tired of dancing, so I started walking towards the edge of the party, closer to the water.

The temperature outside was perfect. There was a slight breeze, not enough for me to put my hair up, but enough to get a whiff of the sea.

I pulled my phone out to take a picture of the water and the moon, before I heard a shout.

“Fucking BITCH”

I could recognize that voice anywhere. I whip my head to the right and see Rafe and another figure a few yards away.

everything in my mind told me not to go. But my heart was controlling my feet. I walked closer, and realized the other person was Noah.

“You ruined fucking EVERYTHING” Rafe growled.

“I didnt do shit expect tell her the truth man. She’s a dirty fucking shut,all you did was make sure I knew.”

I tensed up, and made eye contact with Noah. He smirked and looked back at rafe.

“Perfect timing, y/n, we were just talking about you!” Noah exclaimed, splashing the liquid in his cup in the air.

Rae whips his head back and stares deep into my eyes.

“Y/n,” he whispers. My body is still tense.

“Wh-whats going on” I ask

”your boyfriend - sorry I mean .. your confusing complicated situation ship over here is harassing me.”

rafe keeps his eyes on me. I cant read his expression, he looks empty.

“Maybe, if you just stayed in your place on the cut, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” Noah shouts at me.

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

I decide its just best if I leave. I start to walk away and hear Noah chuckling.

“This is all YOUR fault” Rafe yells, lunging at Noah. Noah swings back in defense, and I stop in my tracks.

“STOP” a scream escapes my lips and I run over. Rafe is knocked to the ground scrambling to get back on his feet.Noah kicks him back down, and I hear a sharp click, and notice something in Noah’s hand. The smile on his face is terrifying, and as I get closer I realize its a switchblade.

“My god Noah put that thing away.” I whisper.

“If rafe wants to fight, we can fucking fight.”

He points the blade down at rafe who is still struggling to stand.

“Noah, seriously,” I walk towards him and his eyes flicker towards me, down at rafe and back at me. He points the blade up at me, and I start to shake.

“You’re insane” I whisper, taking a step back.

While he’s distracted, Rafe takes the opportunity to pull Noah’s leg, knocking him to the ground. The blade falls from his grip into the sand, and I lunge to get it. He reaches after it too, our bodies colliding. Rafe pulls him away from me while I grab the knife, and he pins Noah down, punching him straight in the face.

“That’s ENOUGH” I shout at the two of them. They both freeze and look up at me. The knife is dangling from my hand pointed down.

“Noah get the fuck out of here. And don’t EVER pull this shit again. You’re just embarrassing yourself.” He scrambles to his feet, patting the sand off his pants.

“Give me my knife back y/n” he commands. I shake my head.

”I’ll give it to you when you’re sober.”

he looks over at rafe. Something in his face must’ve scared him, because he makes a beeline back to the party.

I walk slowly towards rafe and pass him the knife. He safely closes it and stuffs it in his pocket.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He huffs, brushing sand off himself. He turns to look at the water, and his shoulders slump.

”I wish I knew” he whispered. After a brief moment of silence he turns to me, with sadness in his eyes this time.

“Look, y/n, im really-“

”I don’t want to fucking hear it okay? How many times are you going to put me through this. Like seriously?”

His jaw twitched and he looked down, running a hand over his hair.

“It hurts. It hurts so fucking much to see you hurt” he finally says.

“Then why do you keep hurting me?”

the sound of the waves and music behind us fills the silence.

“I don’t mean to. I just keep fucking up.”

I sigh, unsure of what to say. He takes a step towards me, I flinch slightly, which he notices, and makes him sigh.

“Sometimes I cant tell” I start to say. He looks up at me and takes another step forward.

“Sometimes I cant tell if you like me or hate me” I whisper the last part.

“Neither” his voice cracks slightly, and he looks up at the moon.

“I don’t hate you. I could never hate you, y/n. And I don’t, I don’t just like you, okay? I don’t just like you I fucking-“ he stops himself, his voice getting hoarse. “I fucking love you okay? And its driving me insane.”

I furrow my eyebrows and let out an involuntary laugh.

”the fuck are you talking about Cameron?”

he looks back at me, his face hard and serious.

“I mean, im fucking obsessed with you. I can never get you up of my head, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. You’re always just THERE. All the fucking songs you’ve showed me, all my favorite shows and movies. God even my favorite color. Its just you, and its always been you. It’s fucking terrifying, did you know that?”

”I-I-“ I stammer. He takes a step closer.

“I think about you when is wake up, when I eat breakfast, when I work out, when I do homework, when im smoking, when im drinking, when im high out of my fucking mind, when im sober, when im driving around town. All I see is you. You’re fucking everywhere and I cant get you out of my head.”

”it sounds like you don’t want me there.”

”that’s the problem is I DO. I want you there, I want you with me. And I finally fucking had you, and I just-“ his voice breaks again and he closes his eyes.

“Just don’t know how to keep you.”

”rafe” I whisper, walking towards him to close the distance. “Rafe, why didnt you tell me?”

”god y/n, you don’t even know how hard it is. Im dealing with all this shit in my head, and I wanted to save you from it but you made your way deeper into my life than ever before, and I couldn’t hide you from how fucked up I am. I tied you into this mess, and it’s not good for you.”

”why did you tell Noah that lie about me and JJ?”

”I told him because he was bragging to everyone about taking you out. I was pissed that someone else was going to take you. I was jealous. I didnt think it was going to hurt you the way it did.”

”why didnt you just tell me before he even asked me out. We were seeing each other-“ he cuts me off

”because y/n, its easier for me to do shit like that than it is to express my feelings okay? I cant do this love shit easy alright? It doesn’t come naturally like it does some people. It’s fucking terrifying”

his breathing is ragged, and he starts to clutch his chest.

“It gives me these chest pains like I cant fucking breathe.”

he huffs out, trying to catch his breath. I notice his face is flustered.

”cmon, lets sit” I grabs his hand and pull him down onto the sand,

“its okay just breathe” his pants slow down, and I wrap my arm around his shoulders.

“It’s okay” I whisper again. He leans his head on my chest, and I hear a sob escape his mouth.

“Im so fucking sorry. Im so fucking sorry” he repeats this over and over a few times before going quiet.

”I know you are.” I finally say.

We sit in silence for about 5 minutes before its interrupted.

”Y/N! There you are-“ Sabrina cuts herself off when she sees us, Topper trailing behind her.

“I knew it” I heard him whisper to her.

”well, did you guys kiss and make up” topper slurs. She shoves his chest, letting out a giggle and a hiccup.

“You guys have been boning for hours now”i shoot back at them. Topper lets out a nervous laugh and Sabrina hides her face.

“Well, are you guys going to come join us or?” She asks. Rafe sits up and looks at me

“Can we start over?”

I smile at him, stand up and reach out my hand.

“Rafe?” I whisper, he takes my hand and stands up, his figure looming over me.

“Yes, pretty girl?”

”i Love you too.”

Previous Chapter | Instagram AU

Tags: @ltristessedureratoujours @davinashifts333 @tomholland792

[mxtantrights]

mob!bucky knows you know

It wasn't a ceremony. It wasn't much of anything. Apparently Sam got ordained and that meant he was legally able to marry you and Bucky. Which, you had no clue was happening today.

But that was only one surprises in store for you.

-

When you got up to answer your door, there was Steve. He grumbled something about your presence being requested at Bucky's estate. His estate which you haven't been to ever--because the whole point of a secret relationship was to keep a secret.

A trist on an estate is hardly a secret.

So you sat passenger side in Steve's Mustang. Neither of you said a word to each other on the ride up there. You kind of wanted to talk to Steve but you knew he was still rightfully holding a bit of a grudge towards you.

It took a very long hour and third minutes to get to the estate.

As soon as you stepped out of the car, you were rushed inside. Steve told you that Bucky was waiting of you but you didn't know what he really meant until you saw him, and all of it.

There were flower petals on the ground, white ones. There was no furniture. Except for a single altar, which he stood at. Sam stood to his right.

"We're doing this now?" you asked.

"Now or never, sweetheart." Bucky said.

You looked down at your clothes. Silently you cursed Steve for not letting you bring something with you to change into. But you stopped yourself right then and there. This wasn't a marriage of love, it was out of necessity. It was a deal.

You walked on over the petals and joined Sam and Bucky.

"Took you both a long time, but here we are. I'm not gonna drag this because we've got a busy schedule today." Sam snickered.

"Thanks." Bucky muttered.

Quickly you looked him over once. He looked a bit--practiced, stone cold. You thought to yourself that was understandable. Based on what Steve told you about how he took the break up.

You were willing to bet that was only a part of it. Bucky never really shared that much about his feelings. Even when you were together. You knew he cared for you deeply with his actions. But he never said it.

To make yourself feel better you always thought you never needed him to say it.

As you stood across from him, hands at your sides as Sam started to speak again, you regretted it. You regretted not ever asking how he felt about you.

Because you know for sure that you were in love with Bucky Barnes.

And a part of you still is.

-

Bucky opens the basement door. And you find the one man you wouldn't want to see any other day. But today is different because you do actually want to see him.

Brock Rumlow is tied to a chair and gagged. You can't help the sigh of relief that comes out of you. He looks at you with wide eyes and starts trying to get out of his restraints.

"You're not gonna get out of that. The kid, Peter, he's got a knack for tying knots. We call him The Spider." Bucky says.

You walk closer into the room. Seeing Brock so helpless gives you a bit of a rush. A rush that a couple of years ago you would have found repulsive. But knowing what you know about Brock now, you find it satisfying.

With a smirk, you lean in close to him.

"You're delusional if you ever thought I would marry you." you speak.

Brock grunts and bangs his chair against the floor.

"And trying to trick my father into it, shows how much of a snake you are." you continue.

"Do you want me to kill him?" Bucky asks.

There it is. The million dollar question. He can't marry you anymore. He can't blackmail your father anymore. Not with you married to Bucky.

You look into Brock's eyes. It's not like you know him well. You've barely talked to the man. And when he's spoken to you, you've always felt that he was more so sizing you up and trying you on.

But looking at him now, you can see it. Fear. Fear is laced into his pupils. He's trying not so show it but it's hard to hide. His breathing is erratic and he won't stop budging against the ropes around his arms and legs.

"Not yet."

[seventeenmisaki]

doubts

word count : 2,061

timeline : march/april 2023

“step aside! move out of the way!” a bodyguard shouts while other guards try to make a path for seventeen to get through. misaki is bombarded with questions and hears cameras constantly clicking from reporters.

they leave the venue after finishing the press conference for “fml.” misaki swallows hard and looks at the ground while walking. there are so many people present, and the crowd intimidates her.

misaki follows seungkwan, who holds her hand as they get through the crowd. then, jun wraps his arm around misaki’s shoulders. “just a few more seconds. we’re almost to the vans,” he says to her.

like jun said, they reach the vans within seconds. misaki climbs into the back, sitting next to woozi. seungkwan and jun climb in to sit in the row in front of them while a guard slides the door to the van closed.

“you okay?” woozi asks once misaki’s settled into her seat.

she huffs out a breath. “yea, i’m okay,” she answers while putting her seatbelt on. woozi pats her shoulder, and they smile at each other.

“that crowd was a bit worst than usual,” jun comments, “more reporters for sure.”

“you guys handled it well though. i don’t think anyone expected that today,” your manager compliments from the driver’s seat. “okay, let’s get you guys where you need to go.”

“today was stressful,” misaki says before sighing. she lays on the floor in the practice room.

“because everyone was focused on you again?” dino asks her, also laying on the floor next to her.

misaki had been practicing alone after the press conference until dino showed up after his schedule. the two of them practiced for the comeback for awhile.

the girl is still on edge after the press conference. the entire event overwhelmed her. reporters had more questions for her, and it felt like the press conference was for her again instead of the mini album.

“yea. i guess the idea of a new person joining is too bazaar. it’s not like i’m an alien or anything,” misaki replies. she sits up, “do you think everyone will like me?” she asks dino, looking over at him.

“who wouldn’t? you’re so cool and amazing,” dino answers and sits up. he scoots over to face her. “there will be times that suck, but no matter what, we’re happy that you’re with us. those six months of discussion didn’t happen for no reason,” he reminds her.

she smiles, “thanks.”

“no problem,” he says before getting up. “come on, let’s practice before we get scolded tomorrow at the shoot.”

all of the performance team members have been helping misaki with learning the choreography for the comeback. lots of hours have been put aside, but she’s enjoying every second in the studios. normally, misaki is good at memorizing different routines, but she has a lot on her plate since her debut is more than just appearing on stage.

“watch your feet. don’t cheat the steps,” dino says to her as he watches her go through the choreography by herself. “do it again,” he instructs. she starts dancing again, fixing her steps and trying to be as clear as possible with her movements. dino smiles, “good. keep going. good. watch your arms. oh, wait. stop.”

dino gets up and turns around to face the mirror. he starts showing the correct move to misaki, and she realizes her mistake.

“oh, like this then?” she asks and dances to the section of choreography.

“it’s your arms that look weird,” dino says and grabs her arm to straighten it so it’s parallel to the floor. “don’t let it flop down so much.”

"but what if i wanted to flop around like a fish?" she asks him.

dino and misaki stare at each other before they start laughing together.

"you're ridiculous."

the two practice together for a few hours before heading home for the night. a staff member brings them home with misaki being dropped off first.

once misaki makes it to the dorm, she goes inside and locks the door behind her. she turns the lights on and checks her phone to see if anyone has contacted her.

she notices a few texts from the guys and staff members. most of them are reminders and some random things, but she replies to all of them.

afterwards, she takes a shower and eats a quick snack since she isn’t too hungry yet. with nothing to do, she lays on the couch, thinking about the music video shoot.

we film the music video tomorrow. that's crazy.

it’s finally happening…

misaki picks her phone up and calls the entire seventeen group chat. she’s unsure of who would pick up but patiently waits for someone to answer.

“hello?” jeonghan answers.

“who called? misaki?” wonwoo asks.

“hi!” hoshi greets.

“yea?” dino speaks.

“that’s how you greet us?” jeonghan asks dino.

“well, misaki was the one who called, and i did see her like forty minutes ago,” dino replies. “anyways, what’s up?”

“are you okay hyunjin?” jeonghan asks her.

“i’m fine,” she says. “i just…i just need some advice,” she claims.

“advice?” hoshi questions.

“for tomorrow?” wonwoo asks.

“tomorrow, and honestly, everyday moving forward,” she answers. “you guys have been doing this for a long time. i’ve never been in the spotlight before.”

hoshi seems to finally get what misaki is talking about. he sits up from laying on the floor at his house. “well, you’ve already experienced performance things since you were a backup dancer. you’ve been going to schedules and interviews, and you’ve handled them well,” hoshi says to her. “you’re in a different position than we were when we debuted, but you’re probably feeling the same way we did. nervous? anxious?”

“i don’t know how i feel. i guess…it just feels surreal,” she says while sitting up. she moves to sit on the floor and leans back against the front of the couch. “yea, i’m not sure how i feel,” she says with a laugh.

jeonghan chuckles, “you’ll be fine. you won’t know what to expect until you’re in the moment, right? so just take everything in as you go.”

“and don’t overthink and freak yourself out. you don’t want to stress yourself out,” dino adds. “you have all of us, so you’ll do just fine. the scheduling manager made sure that someone’s always with you too,” he reminds her.

“misaki, do you want someone to spend the night with you? maybe hanging out with someone will ease everything. it’s not that late right now. one of us could come over,” wonwoo suggests.

“no, it’s okay,” she replies. “i’m just going to eat dinner and watch a show or something. i have to get up really early to get my hair dyed and pictures taken.”

“well, don’t stay up too late tonight then,” hoshi says to her.

“yea, if your status is online, i’ll tell s.coups,” wonwoo adds.

"hey...that's just mean..."

after the call ends, misaki makes dinner for herself and meal preps since she has a lot of things going on during the week. on the kitchen counter, empty containers are lined up and each of them are packed with food.

“maybe i should eat this instead…it looks really good,” she speaks to herself while putting a pan into the sink, intending to wash it later. “that one looks good too. should i start a youtube channel?” she ponders and looks the the containers again.

“misaki!”

"AH!"

misaki jumps when she hears someone call her name. she turns around and sees hoshi standing at the kitchen island, laughing his heart out at misaki’s reaction.

“don’t scare me like that!” she yells at him. “what are you doing here?” she asks while putting down a pair of chopsticks.

he shrugs, “i wanted to hang out with you. i brought some drinks,” he mentions, holding up a plastic bag. he has a duffel bag slung around his body. “i’m gonna spend the night here too,” he adds, “i need to wake up early so it’ll be easier to leave from here.”

misaki realizes that hoshi is here because of the phone call. “you didn’t have too…” she says to him.

the tiger shrugs, “i was bored too,” he says nonchalantly and takes his duffel bag off, placing it on the floor against the wall in the hallway.

“did you eat yet?” misaki asks him as he walks into the kitchen.

“i ordered food,” he answers and places the plastic bag on the counter. “what’d you make?” he asks, peeking at the containers that misaki had set up.

“nothing special,” she says and starts putting the lids onto the containers.

“well, i’m going to have a bunch of food, so save whatever you were planning to eat tonight for another day,” hoshi says to her.

“are you sure?” she asks and he nods with a hum. “oh, okay.”

“bring a few containers with you tomorrow. i’ll eat one during our break. can’t let your hard work go to waste,” he says and pats her head before opening the fridge. he puts the containers away in the fridge for misaki while she starts washing the dishes. “need me to do anything?” he asks her.

“no, i got it,” she answers, “you can watch tv if you want. i use vernon’s accounts.”

then, both of them hear the doorbell ring. “oh, my food is here. perfect timing,” he says and leaves the kitchen. hoshi unlocks and opens the front door, “thank you for being my food.”

"why did you order so much food?"

hey, that sounds like—

"hey, don't judge me now. i ordered a lot for all of us," hoshi replies.

"my little angel~"

misaki turns her head and sees jeonghan and seungkwan standing in the hallway.

“what are you guys doing here?” she asks in disbelief.

"last time i checked, someone called an hour ago asking for some comfort," jeonghan says with a grin.

"the others are on their way," seungkwan mentions.

"the others? you mean everyone?" she asks.

suddenly, wonwoo pops his head into your view, "didn't you look at the group chat? everyone said they would come over,” he mentions.

"yea, the8 hyung even said he wished he could get on a flight right now to come over too," seungkwan adds.

”really?” misaki looks around the kitchen but doesn’t see her phone, “i’ve been cooking. i don’t even know where my phone is.” she turns the sink off and dries her hand with a towel.

"do you need anymore help in here?" seungkwan asks after he puts his stuff down.

misaki shakes her head, “i just need to put some things away.”

mingyu walks in with bags of takeout, “hey, i thought someone was gonna help me,” he says and huffs out a sigh.

"bring it over here. i’ll set up the food," hoshi says while some of the guys bring the food into the living room. “misaki, do you have a table?” he asks.

“there might be two of them here, but i’m not sure,” misaki answers.

“i’ll look for it. you go over there,” seungkwan says to her.

after everyone arrives, they hang out in the living room and most of them eat dinner. some of the guys sit on the couch while everyone else sits on the floor. there’s a bunch of takeaway containers along with utensils from the kitchen because there weren’t enough disposable ones.

“alright,” mingyu says, putting his arm over her shoulders, “let’s talk.”

“talk about what?” misaki asks.

"did you forget that you called us?" jeonghan asks again.

"how are you feeling about everything?" s.coups asks her.

"oh...better now. jeonghan's right, i won't know how i feel until i'm in the moment," she replies. "i just really don't know how to feel. the anticipation is getting to me.”

"you're a great performer, just like us. you know that you'll be able to do this, and we'll be there every step of the way," s.coups says to her. "we got your back," he adds with a smile, putting his hand on her head to ruffle her hair a bit.

she nods. “thank you all for coming over. it really makes me feel better.”

"of course, it's been awhile since we've hung out here," joshua says.

"we'll do anything for our makane after all," dokyeom says with a grin.

next : “super” mv filming

return to masterlist

[allthingsfangirl101]

Rooster's Twin Sister – Jake Seresin

Rooster's POV

The entire time I've been in the Top Gun program, no one has found out about my twin sister, Y/N. We both ended up going into the Navy. I became a pilot but Y/N became a mechanic—a damn good one, too.

A few years ago, Y/N, Maverick, and I were at lunch one day when Maverick and I found out more about Y/N's job. She was working at a garage in town and one of the guys wouldn't leave her alone. Most of the guys made jokes, accidentally brushed her when they walked by. All in all, they made her extremely uncomfortable.

After pushing her to tell us everything that was going on, Maverick convinced her to become a mechanic for the Navy. With her experience, her degree, and Maverick's recommendation, it would be easy for her to get in.

It took a lot more convincing, planning, and badgering before Y/N finally agreed to let Maverick send in her resume. Three days later, she had a job on a Navy base. She quickly became the top mechanic. She's not assigned to just one base. She moves around. She basically goes anywhere she's needed.

I walked into my and Y/N's shared apartment to see her keys already hanging up by the door.

"Y/N?"

"In the kitchen," she called back. I hung my keys next to hers and walked into the kitchen. When I got to the kitchen, I looked around to see her making her favorite pasta dish.

"What are we celebrating?" I asked as I immediately stepped in and started to help.

"Maverick called me today," she mumbled.

"He invite you to dinner Sunday?"

"Well, yeah," she chuckled. Her smile dropped. "He also told me about that Petty Officer that sabotaged your planes."

"Oh yeah," I scoffed. "Guy tried to. . . Wait, why was he telling you about that?"

"He talked me through what the Petty Officer did," she explained. "He asked if it was easy to reverse."

"Is it?"

"Very," she smiled again. "I told him it would only take an hour to reverse it."

"One hour to reverse it on all of our planes?"

"Well, an hour per plane," she smirked. "But I could easily get it done in a day or two. It was a small issue. Honestly, I could've done worse in high school."

"Did you explain to Maverick how to reverse it?" I chuckled.

"I didn't have to," she said, suddenly avoiding my eyes. "He asked me to come in next week and look at your planes and reverse the sabotage."

"That's awesome," I started to say, but she cut me off.

"He also wants me to see if I can tweak the computers so they can fight against anyone else who tries to sabotage or hack the planes."

"I didn't know you could do stuff with computers," I said, realizing just how long it's been since I had a real talk with my twin sister.

"I got a minor in cyber security, Bradley," she sighed.

"Did Maverick know?" I asked.

"I helped him put a few extra layers of security on the airplane hangar he keeps his plane in before he started training you guys. Now, Maverick wants me to spiff up the security on all your planes."

"How long would that take?"

"I said maybe two weeks," I shrugged. "Nothing more. But Maverick didn't put in for a limited transfer."

"What did he put in for?" I asked. I studied her and instantly knew what he put in for. I smiled as I answered my own question, "He got you permanently transferred to our base."

"Are you. . . Are you okay with that?"

"Of course," I laughed as I turned and stirred the sauce. Y/N grabbed my arm and pulled me back so I was facing her again.

"Are you really?" She double-checked. "I don't want to come to your base and. . . I know that you don't like me following you around. . . I mean, we're each our own person. And. . . Well, does your team even know about me?"

"They don't," I sighed. I hated that the look in her eyes slightly dropped. "The only reason I didn't tell them about you was to protect you. As soon as they find out I have a twin sister, I know several of them will look you up on the Navy website."

"And they'll think I'm disgusting?" She fake laughed.

"No," I said firmly. "They'll think you're amazing and bother me until I bring you around."

"And you don't want to bring me around because. . ."

"I don't want to bring you around them because I don't want them tripping over themselves to get to you."

"Like they would do that," she scoffed under her breath and walked back to the stove. I sighed before setting the table.

I hated it when she did this. Y/N's always struggled with her confidence. Part of it has to do with her being a mechanic. The other part was typical teenage girl stuff.

I thought that she'd grown past that.

As we ate, I got an idea. "What if I took you to my favorite Navy bar on the beach and we can celebrate you coming to base?"

"Your favorite Navy. . . Won't your friends be there?"

"I hope they are," I smiled at her.

"You want. . . You want me to meet your friends?"

"I do, Y/N."

* * * * *

Reader's POV

I subconsciously straightened out my uniform that I rarely wore. Bradley looked over my shoulder and laughed.

"What?" I scoffed. "I'm usually in my mechanic jumpsuit."

"You look good," he chuckled as he opened the bar door. As soon as we were surrounded by other Navy guys, my heart jumped into my throat. With my nerves and anxiety all over the place, I grabbed my twin brother's hand.

"It's okay," he said under his breath. "If the guys look at you wrong, just let me know. I'll kick their ass."

I rolled my eyes as he kissed my cheek.

"Bradshaw. As I live and breathe."

I looked away from my brother to see a guy smirking at me. His eyes fell on me and his smirk changed.

"And who is this, Bradshaw?" The guy asked.

"This is Y/N," he introduced me. "Y/N, this is my team. Phoenix, Bob, Payback, Fanboy, Omaha, Coyote, and Hangman."

"It's nice to put faces to the names on the sides of planes," I chuckled.

"What does that mean?" Coyote challenged.

"Easy, Lieutenant," I chuckled. "I'm a Navy mechanic."

"She's the best mechanic the Navy has ever seen," Bradley bragged about me as he threw his arm around my shoulders. "And she's joining our unit."

"You're the mechanic Maverick called after someone hacked our planes," Phoenix said as she crossed her arms over her chest. "He seemed to believe that you could reverse it."

"She already did," Bradley smirked. "She went in today and reversed it on my plane. She even added like 7 layers of security."

"I only added one," I scoffed, pushing his arm off me. "And spiffed up the original security and added my own code to strengthen it."

"Do Navy Mechanics have callsigns?" Bob asked, making me smile.

"Sort of," I shrugged.

"Sort of?" Fanboy asked.

"Callsigns are only meant for pilots," I said like it should've been obvious. "Don't all pilots know that?"

"We do," Fanboy said crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, mechanics aren't pilots. But we do have nicknames for each other," I clarified.

"What's yours?" Phoenix asked, glancing at the other guys with a smirk on her face.

"Tinkerbell."

"Tinkerbell?" They all repeated.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "Mechanics 'tinker' with things and I'm a girl. Tinkerbell."

I sent Bradley a smirk, making the two of us laugh. I looked over to see Hangman studying us.

"So, Bradshaw," he finally spoke up, "how do you know the Navy's Best Mechanic?"

I glanced at him, not sure if he was going to tell his flight crew the truth.

"Y/N is my twin sister."

"You're what?!" His team gasped in sync.

"Do you guys always talk in sync?" I asked, making Bradley laugh. "You've done it twice now."

"You have a twin sister, Bradshaw?" Hangman laughed. "You are his twin sister? That's not possible."

"Why not?" I challenged.

"Well, he's eck and you're hmm."

I turned to my brother and said, "I don't know whether to be flattered or offended."

"Offended," Bradley answered instantly. He turned toward Hangman, his Protective Brother Glare on his face, and added, "With Hangman, the default should always be offended."

* * * * *

When we got home later that night, Bradley talked to me for over an hour. For some reason, he made it his life mission that I know everything about his team. Especially Hangman.

Bradley spent most of the time warning me about the kind of guy Lieutenant Jake "Hangman" Seresin truly was. He wanted to make sure I knew what kind of game he played and how he treated/talked about women.

I'd be lying if I didn't get the "womanizer" vibe from him. All night it felt like he was studying me. He'd say things that were clearly meant to be brags. After he said them, he'd look at me like he was waiting for me to be impressed.

I've been here a little under a week now and Hangman has fulfilled every warning my brother gave me. He was busy on the flight simulator while I was working on his plane. When I get working, I tend to tune everything around me out. So much so, I didn't hear someone walk in.

"Gotta say," someone said as they walked in. "Seeing another body in my cockpit doesn't sit well with me."

"Aww," I fake-cooed. "Is Mr. Hangman feeling a bit self-conscious about his cockpit?"

I smirked and the look in his eyes slightly darkened. I laughed as I went back to tweaking the security.

"Can you at least tell me what you're doing to my plane?"

"Your baby is perfectly safe with me, Hangman," I said. "I've almost broken down the previous hack. Once I get it off, I can put in my own code of security."

"You write code?" He challenged.

"I'm not just a mechanic," I sighed. "I got my degree in cyber security. A part of that is understanding code. Once you understand it, it's easy to write."

Hangman kept asking me random questions as I worked on his plane. Most of the questions were about Bradley and my childhood. I didn't give him full answers—just your basic half-assed ones —until he brought up the bar.

"You didn't seem impressed by me," he laughed off.

"Was I supposed to be?" I challenged. I glanced over my shoulder and smirked when I saw his jaw clenched.

"Well, yeah," he tried to shrug off. "My numbers and stats are. . ."

"Let me stop you right there," I cut him off and stopped what I was doing. "Something you should realize, Hangman, is the fact that I am constantly surrounded by insecure men who think they have to prove they're more masculine than me."

"More masculine than you?" He smirked.

"My brother wasn't exaggerating when he told you guys that I'm the best mechanic the Navy's got," I explained. "Men don't like women trampling their turf. They get defensive and angry and insecure."

"Why are you telling me this?" He asked, his usual bravado failing.

"Because I wanted you to know why I wasn't falling for your little tricks," I said, turning back and finishing what I was doing on his plane. "You do know that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, you catch more women with honesty than with lies."

I sent him a look before wrapping it up. The entire time I finished working, Hangman stayed where he was and watched me. I got hyper-focused on his plane and forgot he was there until I climbed down. My foot missed the third-to-last step. I would've fallen if Hangman wasn't there.

He caught my hips and we both went down. We landed with matching grunts.

"You okay?" He asked, his arms still wrapped around me. My brother's words of warning popped back into my mind.

"I'm good," I said, standing up and brushing myself off. I looked up, instantly coming face-to-face with Hangman. "Thank you."

"Of course," he said, instantly snapping back into his cocky demure.

I saw the clock on the wall and smirked. I crossed my arms over my chest and slightly shifted my weight.

"You might want to get out of here."

"And why's that?" He asked, copying my stance.

"My twin brother is on his way and if you're here when he gets here, he'll throw you off this ship."

"Your brother warned you about me?" He laughed, but there was a bit of concern hiding in his eyes.

"Oh yeah," I chuckled. "He warned me thoroughly about you."

"What if I told you I was actually a good guy?" He asked, his voice slightly dropping. "And that I only act this way because everyone expects me to?"

I scoffed as I started to walk away. "Y/N," he stuttered.

"Guys only say that because they're too embarrassed or insecure to man up," I cut him off. "They either act like dicks because they are playing a facade to cover up an insecurity. Or they act like dicks because they are dicks. So my question for you, Hangman, is which type are you?"

I couldn't help but smirk when I saw the look on his face before walking away.

[losers-clvb]

ocean // soldier boy

pairing: soldier boy x female!reader

summary: things don't go as planned when you ask ben if he would ever marry you.

content: ben is mean as hell in the beginning, angst, hurt/eventual comfort, slightly toxic ben (but we love him for it)

word count: 3.2k

note: next sb fic is gonna be nasty, trust, but we all need a little angst in our lives.

masterlist

----

“Would you ever marry me?”

The question sliced through the blissful peace of your post-sex glow. It had been on your mind for a while but you hadn’t found the confidence to actually give a voice to it. For some reason, this time felt perfect.

You knew the answer. Or, you thought you did. It was supposed to be a yes. Why wouldn’t it be? You and Ben had been more or less dating for months now, and you weren’t expecting a proposal today. You just wanted the validation that you were worth something to him.

“Where the hell did that come from, doll?” Ben asked, shock lacing his tone. His chest rose when he took in a hit of the joint in his fingers. He offered the rolled paper to you and you declined, a frown on your face. He was supposed to say yes. Why didn’t he say yes?

“I was just wondering…” you trailed off, swallowing down your words at the hard gaze Ben gave you.

“You think too much.” He bit out. It wasn’t uncommon for him to speak to you like this, but his avoidance to answer your question struck you like a hammer. You dropped your eyes to the blankets in front of you. Suddenly, you felt too exposed, too open to the world. You pulled the sheet up to cover your top half.

“So, no.” You mumbled. You were trying hard to ignore the lump in your throat. You couldn’t cry now, not in front of him. It would be too hard to stop. Ben scoffed and rolled his eyes, sucking down the rest of the joint. He flicked it off to the side, into an ashtray you had practically begged him to use.

“I don’t get why it’s so fuckin’ important right now.” He grumbled, sliding a hand over your waist. You pushed it off, not in the mood. He frowned.

“Your cum’s dripping out of me and I make you dinner every night.” You snapped, turning on your side. Maybe sleep would fix this all. “Sorry for thinking that meant something.”

“You need to watch your fuckin’ attitude.” Ben growled. He didn’t like when you were mad at him. He preferred you to be his happy little girlfriend, even if it meant having to suck up to you sometimes. In the heat of this moment, he reverted back to that forceful man you had met. “I’m not gonna listen to you bitch about not gettin’ your way.”

You shivered at the anger and heartbreak you felt. He really thought of you in this way?

Ben looked over your form, searching for any hint that you would just give in and except his non-answer. You weren’t crying, but you also didn’t give him that smile he loved so much. In an attempt to soothe his own ego, prove to the non-existent audience that he was the top dog in this situation, he scoffed and rolled off the bed.

You shifted slightly, just enough to look at him without giving him your full attention. He was shaking his head as he walked to the end of the bed, swiping up a pair of his sweatpants that had been tossed off to the side. He slipped them on before giving you a bone-chilling look. It was like he hated you. Did he really hate you?

“Come find me when you’re not acting like a crazy bitch.” He seethed out before stepping into the hall. You flinched at the slam of the front door of the cabin you were staying in.

You didn’t recognize this man. Ben could be sweet and loving, and the only time you had seen him act like this was toward enemies or someone who got in his way. Never you. Maybe you had imagined it all, imagined the connection you thought you shared with him. You took in a shuddering breath and the tears finally fell. You sobbed into your hand, biting down on the flesh to try to keep the volume low.

Ben still heard you. He always heard you, felt you. It was a side effect of the Compound V in his system, but also because his body had learned to search for you everywhere. He leaned on the railing of the porch, sucking on another joint. He squeezed his eyes shut at your choked noises. Rain pattered down on the leaves around him and he ignored the way his heart clenched at your anguish. He would make it up to you later. With his mouth and body, he would make you forget ever feeling like this.

But you had other plans.

You weren't going to sit here and let this man wreck you, and you couldn't bear to look at him after everything he had said. You pulled yourself up on shaky legs. Mindlessly, you used your trembling fingers to dress yourself, haphazardly throwing on jeans and a t-shirt. It would have to do for now. You needed to get out of there.

You shoved clothes into a backpack, leaving behind the less important pieces. You could replace them if you really missed them. With a moment's hesitation, you left the necklace Ben had gifted you on the dresser, where you knew he would see it.

You stumbled to the back door, slipping Converse on your bare feet. It was raining. It did nothing to deter you from running out into the woods, feet crashing over twigs and moss. You knew the road was in this direction, and once you reached it, you would call your friend to pick you up. You were still sniffling when you dialed her number, voice wavering when you tried to sound normal.

----

Ben didn't know when he had spaced out but he did know that something was wrong when he was pulled out of it. His attention was latched onto a family of deer that had wandered to the front of the cabin, chewing on vegetation. He figured that was who he had heard cracking branches earlier.

He didn't hear your cries anymore. You must have been sleeping. He knew better than anyone that you always ended up crashing after a good cry. He sighed when he stood, stretching his sleepy muscles. It was time to make it up to his girl.

It wasn't as if he was completely against the idea of marrying you. It would be nice to see a diamond on your finger, shining at everyone to tell them to back the fuck off, she's mine.

But it would also mean admitting to everyone that you had him so far wrapped around your finger that he had to lock you down. He knew you would want him to have a band around his own finger. When he thought about it too much, it was all too much like Vought and the Russians. They had trapped him and he vowed to never let it happen again.

“Doll,” Ben called out softly on his way down the hallway. He listened for an answer. Nothing.

He couldn’t even hear your breathing.

He stepped into the room, eyes scanning around wildly. The blankets were messed up, but no woman lay sleeping in them. Your clothes that had been dumped on the floor in a sex-crazed flurry were gone. He whipped his head behind him, thinking maybe you were in the bathroom.

Something caught his eye.

The twinkling star pendant of your necklace taunted him. You refused to take the thing off for even a shower. He knew what it meant if it was there. You left him.

You fucking left him.

Ben almost reached for the jewelry, but held back when he noticed his hand trembling. He told himself it was from the anger coursing through him.

There, hiding underneath a blanket of learned hatred, was a spark of fear. He was angry, yes, but more than that he was afraid. You, the best thing to ever happen to him, were gone. You were somewhere out there without him. You had run from him.

He swallowed down that fear and chose to channel it into something he was more familiar with.

His fist crashed through the wall, leaving a hole behind. He pushed the dresser down on its side, making one of the legs fall off. His attention turned to the bed and he quickly descended upon it, smashing up the bedframe and ripping the sheets.

When he was finished, the room was in ruins. He was seething with a mix of emotions. He was going to find you. He needed to find you.

He would burn the entire world down to get to you.

----

You had managed to hide from him for three weeks.

Okay, you weren’t consciously hiding from him, but that’s what it had become. You figured he would just let you go. He had made it clear, at least from what you understood, that you meant nothing to him.

It was all just a matter of moving across the state. You found a big city, nothing like New York City, but it would have to do. A motel became your new home, your mind still not wanting to accept that you were having to uproot your life like this. Thankfully, your job was remote work, so you had no issues to work out with them.

You lived lonely. Most days you stayed in your room, scrolling through news articles and YouTube. You didn’t make friends. You didn’t go out to bars. You shut yourself off from everything, numb to it all. In the early mornings, when your mind was halfway in sleep, you felt your arm reach out to find Ben, but all you were met with was a cold pillow.

You missed him.

You loved him.

Maybe that was why you found yourself wandering the sidewalks of the city, a scarf tucked around your lower face. You tried to find something that gave you the same feeling as his green eyes.

That was when you saw his green eyes.

Staring at you from the other side of the crosswalk.

Ben.

Your eyes widened at the realization that he had found you. He stuck out in his green supe suit, everyone in the direct vicinity ogling the man. He only looked at you, jaw flexing. You almost wanted to go to him, but then you remembered his words. You didn’t move until he began to walk forward, stepping in front of a line of cars.

You scrambled backwards, wind and the honking of the cars’ horns flooding your ears. You huffed into your scarf while you ran, bumping into people while in pursuit of somewhere to hide. You practically fell into the walkway of an abandoned building, hoping for all that was worth something that the door would be unlocked.

When the click of the lock secured, you took a few more steps back, shaking with emotion. You weren’t scared of him. You were only scared of what he had said. The next wave came, this time heartbreak. You couldn’t do this again.

Bang

You snapped your head to the door. You didn’t move. Maybe he would just go away.

“I swear I will break down this goddamn door if you don’t fuckin’ open it right now.”

His voice was seething. You flinched at another slam. He wouldn’t hurt you, you knew that, but he would hurt anything that stood in the way of you.

You heard your name growled from the other side. Your breath caught in your chest. It had felt like a lifetime since you heard him say it.

You spun around, looking for somewhere to escape. No back doors. No open windows. You stumbled to a bedroom, tucking yourself into one of the closets just in time for Ben to kick the door down. You could feel his presence as he searched the main room for you. You thanked the Vought gods for not gifting him with x-ray vision.

“Sweetheart.” Ben growled and you heard him footsteps grow closer. He heard your breathing quicken, practically smelled your grief over seeing him again. It was like a honing signal, bringing him right to where you were.

He sucked in a breath when his eyes caught yours in the dark closet. Tears were streaming down your face, smudging your mascara. You backed away, but your back was met with the wall.

He stepped forward, continuing on until he was standing toe to toe with you. You looked up at him with a trembling chin.

His arms shot out to wrap around you, pulling you into his chest. You melted into him on instinct, eyes fluttering shut while you breathed in his familiar scent.

“You fuckin’ left me.” He grumbled out, squeezing you tighter in his arms. You swallowed and stayed silent.

“I will always find you. You can’t leave me.” If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought it was a threat. No. It was a promise. You read between the lines, caught on to the catch in his voice. This was his way of saying he loved you because he couldn’t bring himself to actually say the words. A flood of anger drowned out everything else.

“This was your fault!” You spat out. You flinched away from him, hitting and pushing at his chest. He stood there like a statue and took it. None of this hurt him, not physically anyway. “You asshole!”

“Did you meet someone else?” He asked, trying to divert the blame from him. You stopped your punch mid-air, looking at him like he was insane. You clenched your jaw, your fist turning into a finger that you jabbed into his chest.

“What, you think I’m a whore too? I know I’m already the ‘dumb bitch’ in your mind!” You all but screamed at him. You slapped a hand on his chest, trying to push him away. He didn’t move.

“I called you a ‘crazy bitch’.” Ben corrected and you completely lost it. You slammed both your hands into him with all your force. It actually made him step back to keep from losing balance, something you would have patted yourself on the back for if you weren’t already storming for the door. He took a few swift steps to reach you, fingers wrapping around your wrist to keep you from leaving.

You whirled around to look at him. Your eye was twitching. You had stopped crying, but your face was still wet. He looked down on you, face blank but eyes swimming with everything he was too “manly” to say.

“I hate you.” You bit out, trying to pull away from him. Ben shook his head.

“No you don’t.” He said, almost condescendingly. It was true. You didn’t.

“You’re mean to me.” You choked on the last word.

“I know.”

“You're selfish and arrogant and don’t know how to mind your own business.” Tears started streaming down your face again.

“I know.”

“You’re the love of my life and you don’t even want me.” You finally broke down. That made him finally release your wrist, but you weren’t pulling away anymore. You were shaking, lip quivering while you sobbed. Ben looked down on you, face twitching into something other than stoicism.

“Why don’t you want me?” You sobbed out, body shuddering. You almost fell over from the sheer force of all of these emotions coming at you, but Ben caught you before you hit the ground. You curled into him, head falling to rest on his bicep. He was holding you up like a ragdoll. He slowly sank to the ground, leaning back on the wall while he rocked you. You liked to be rocked, he knew.

“Why don’t you want me?” You asked again, voice smaller now. You weren’t calm, but you had stopped choking on your own crying. Ben pulled you closer into him, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

“You’re all I want.” He mumbled, trying to say it without actually saying it. This was pussy shit, he had thought before. What man needed words to get a woman to stay with him? That had to mean there was something wrong with his body or income or power. But, he knew you needed this.

And maybe he did too.

“I can’t sleep without you,” he confessed, the words trying to claw their way back into his body. He forced them out. “I can’t breathe without you. You’re my ocean, doll.”

That made your breath hitch again. He was talking about what you had told him just a few months ago.

The two of you had gone to a beach, but it was night now. No one was around and yeah, maybe you had taken a bit too much advantage of that. Ben had just pulled out of you when he noticed you staring out at the open water. He had, of course, bragged about getting you all fucked out, but your voice spoke up afterwards.

“It’s so peaceful. So calming.”

Ben had no choice but to agree. It was peaceful. The waves from earlier had calmed into a quiet lull like nothing you had heard before. Seagulls rested on the beach, seemingly watching the water like you were.

“That’s love. That’s what everyone should look for.”

You had mumbled out the sentiment and Ben had pulled you over to sit in between his legs. You leaned back into his chest, eyes fluttering shut from the exhaustion of the day.

“What? A fuckin’ ocean?”

Ben had found it all funny at first, not quite catching on to what you were saying. He thought you meant that everyone in the world should just take a trip down to their closest ocean and all would be right in the world.

You tilted your head up and lazily opened your eyes. He caught your gaze and felt his heart clench. It was the first time he really realized that he loved you.

“Yeah.” You hadn’t caught on to the fact that he wasn’t understanding. “Everyone needs their ocean.”

It hit Ben like a ton of bricks. You loved him. He was your ocean -- God, the words were so cheesy he couldn’t believe he’d actually said them out loud.

Now, you were looking up at him much like you had in that moment, but this time you weren’t on a beach, you were in a dirty house. Your face was wet with tears, not saltwater. You sucked in a deep breath.

“Say it.” You whispered. He knew what you meant immediately. He wanted to say them, God, did he want to say them. He hesitated, not because he didn’t mean them, but because it was yet another brick in the wall that you were slowly chipping away at.

“I love you.”

They were barely a whisper, more of a ghosting of breath. If a bird had even made the smallest of chirps, it would have gotten covered. All of this was true, yet every syllable hit you.

Relief fell over your face and you collapsed against him with another sob. It wasn’t sad this time, wasn’t born out of heartbreak. No, this sob was letting out all of the need and wanting you had for the past three weeks. It was molded from everything you had ever needed from him.

He would learn to scream it from the mountaintops that he loved you. He would scrape and push and kick at that wall inside him until it was nothing more than rubble. You knew it because he had actually said it.

You clutched your fingers around the arms that held you and echoed his words back to him.

“You’re my ocean.”

[ivystoryweaver]

Cosmic - Poe Dameron

Episode 4: It Came From Outer Space previous

Cosmic Masterlist | Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Summary: Quality time and a day at the fall festival with Poe, who doesn't really get the point of a ferris wheel. Oh and your ex is there.

Content/Notes: fluff, tw food, language

Word Count: 3.2k

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"That everything?" Poe asked, securing the final basket in the back of your truck. Heaps of fresh organic produce, homemade jellies, herbs and eggs from your chickens were loaded and ready for your little farm's booth at the fair.

The warmish weather had finally eased into a crisp, cool morning, invigorating your fall spirit and giving you a boost of energy needed to peddle your wares.

Poe, dressed in his boots, jeans and a flannel button up of your dads - a dark green and navy plaid over a white t-shirt - gazed at you expectantly, hands on his hips.

"I think so," you answered, granting him a bright smile. "Thank you so much for doing this. It would have been a lot with Chester away in New Jersey. I've never done it by myself." Your thoughts briefly drifted to your father. This was only your second year without him at the festival.

"Glad I can help," he grinned, pushing a hand through his curls.

Since you'd bought him hair products and toiletries, he'd attempted new styles with gel and hairspray, usually preferring his hair off his face. Today it seemed he didn't bother, remarking how his hair had grown longer than ever, and beyond his control.

You offered to cut it for him soon, after the festival was behind you.

Right then, your cat Cheddar darted out of the barn, with Marigold and Kit Kat hot on his trail. Your three barn cats had added themselves to the long list of animals who instantly loved Poe. Cheddar had almost convinced the both of you that he was truly a house cat who needed to sleep in Poe's room at night, rather than out in the barn with his siblings. Almost.

Curling around Poe's legs adoringly, Cheddar meowed, waiting for attention, which Poe was more than willing to give.

"Heyyyy, little buddy, came to say goodbye? Don't worry, I'll be back."

Kneeling down, he granted some attention to Marigold, while Kit Kat hissed in jealous protest.

"All right, you guys, go back to catching things. We have to go." You playfully rubbed each of their heads before gently shooing them away.

It was then that you noticed Poe eyeing you with about as much fondness as Cheddar had displayed. It caught you off guard for a moment, until he held up the truck's key and dangled it in front of you.

"Can I drive?"

"Give me those," you laughed, yanking them out of his hand and bumping shoulders with him as you headed for the driver's side.

"Come onnn, please," he whined, following you closely.

You reached for the truck's door, but he pushed his arm up against it to stop you, trapping you there against the side of the truck, with his arm caging you in. Noticing how close your bodies were, he lowered his arm slowly, licking his lips as your eyes locked with his.

"Sorry." He backed away to give you some space, noticing how your breath stuttered and your eyelashes fluttered. "I'm the best pilot in our fleet, I swear. I can definitely handle a truck."

"Wow," you whistled, pulling open the truck door finally, but Poe noticed you still had a playful glint in your eye. "You actually insulted my truck while bragging. Well done. Passenger's seat for you."

He groaned, but complied, leaving it alone while you cranked the truck and backed it away from the house. Stopping at the end of your long driveway, you peered over at him.

"I know you can drive my truck. It took you like half a day to get what usually takes us regular people a few months to learn. It's just that you don't have a license and we cannot have any questions asked about who you are and where you're from. You understand, right?"

Poe swallowed, nodding, noting how serious you were. "Sorry. I just thought it would be fun. I didn't realize..."

"It's okay," you smiled warmly. "I just...I get nervous thinking about if someone found out. I mean, Poe, to think of what could happen to you..."

"Is it really that dangerous here? In the United States?" He asked, as you eased onto the main road and started driving.

"It could be. It really could. We are in a kind of war right now. A cold war. No one's firing, but it's tense. And if they find out you're from space, they'll never let you go. We have to keep it a secret no matter what. Let's go over our cover story again."

So you spent the drive into town reviewing the story you'd concocted. Poe had come to work on your farm temporarily, as a replacement for Chester, who was with his ill mom in New Jersey. Simple enough. For now, the story would be that Chester gave a friend of a friend-type recommendation. You would loop Chester in on the plan ASAP, when he wasn't preoccupied with helping his mom.

Poe would be called Joe, which sounded a little more run-of-the-mill Earthy, and would be from Florida. The next step was to somehow get him some convincing documents without drawing attention from the wrong people.

This story should be easy enough to maintain. If someone were to question you about Poe's past, you could simply claim to not know, since you truly met him so recently.

Something heavy settled in your stomach as you drove toward the first public outing with this man who fell to earth.

"Look, I'm sorry about the driving thing," he offered, once you'd double checked your story together. "I know we have to be careful. I promise I won't get you in any trouble."

Glancing over at him, you realized this must all be frightening to him, or at least alarming. "It's okay. You must be bored out of your mind on the farm." Pulling into a parking space in the grassy field outside the fair's entrance, you turned to face him. "You don't have to stay in the booth with me all day. You should ride some rides. They're fast. Probably not as fast as an X-wing, but...could be fun."

"Okay. Only if you ride with me."

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To absolutely no one's surprise, Poe was a perfect addition to your booth. Chester was a great help when he was around, but he was more of a behind the scenes worker.

Poe was a people person, charming customers, introducing himself as Joe, as instructed, and making them feel at ease. With the way he was able to add a dozen farm fresh eggs or a jar of your jelly to each order, you were certain he could probably persuade anyone to do anything.

"You know, maybe I should go ride rides, since you've almost sold all the eggs before lunch," you teased during the briefest lull in customers.

Dark eyes went wide until he realized you were messing with him. "Oh...I thought I was doing it wrong for a second."

"No, please. The sooner we sell out, the sooner we can pack up and the less we have to carry home. Be my guest," you grinned, folding your arms over your chest. "Exactly how many dangerous situations have you charmed your way out of?"

Poe laughed, pushing his fingers through his curls again. "Way too many, Trix. You have no idea."

"Oh shit," you whispered, ducking behind the corner of your booth, frantically waving Poe over to join you.

"What's wrong?" He whispered, conspiratorially huddling with you. "Is it someone from the government?"

Shit, you probably scared him. "No. Sorry, no, it's just my ex."

He gazed into your eyes. "Your ex...boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

"Ex asshole," you failed to clarify, groaning as you realized it was too late. You'd been spotted.

"Heyyyy, it's my favorite organic farmer," your ex boomed, embarrassingly loudly, as he was often prone to do. At one time, you had adored his exuberance and bold personality.

"Hey there," Poe interjected, "what can I help you find today? We have homemade jelly."

Your ex made a sour face at you and hitched his thumb at your new, shorter friend. "Who's this guy?"

"Joe," Poe responded, thrusting his hand between you and your ex for a handshake. "Just started at the farm a few weeks ago, while Chester's away. So what can we get you?"

Ignoring Poe, your ex stared at you, waiting for your attention. Fighting a smile, you returned his rudeness and instead turned to Poe. "I think you've got this covered, so I'm gonna unbox a few more things."

"Take your time. We're good here." Poe sent you off with a wink.

Your heart raced as you darted around the side of your tent, so thankful for the embarrassing situation that didn't just happen. It wasn't that you couldn't take care of yourself, or handle your ex. Hell, you were the one who dumped him. You simply weren't in the mood for his loud mouth and embarrassing antics, especially if he tried to give Poe the third degree for simply existing in the same space as you.

Wondering, for a second, if you felt managed by Poe, or dismissed, you sighed in relief, realizing that his reaction was spot on, and just what you needed. He minimized someone who loved to make everything about himself. He kept the focus on your booth and your products, allowing you to get to tasks that needed your attention.

To be seen and understood so effortlessly felt really good.

Another hour passed before the two of you took a break for lunch, closing your booth for about twenty minutes to sit near the back and munch on some ridiculously fried fair food you insisted Poe try.

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By mid afternoon, you'd sold out of everything except a few greens, but Poe was determined, continuing to sell while you started packing up.

As the sun set, your booth was empty and cleared, leaving the two of you free to enjoy the festivities.

"Thank you so much for today," you sweetly said, bumping shoulders as you walked along rows of various carnival style games. "This is the most successful year I've ever had."

"Happy to help," He smiled over at you, "with getting rid of produce...or ex-boyfriends."

"Oh my god, I'm sorry about that," you chuckled. "I appreciate it though. I was not in the mood to talk to him, believe me."

Poe focused his eyes ahead, enjoying the music drifting through the air, the smell of what you called popcorn and brightly colored balloons. "I thought it would be good practice for getting rid of unwanted attention," he shrugged. Waiting a bit, he added, "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

You let out a long sigh, prompting Poe to say, "sorry."

"No, it's okay," you assured him. "We had some good times. He helped out, you know...when my father got sick. But I found out he was going to propose. And then I found out why he wanted to propose."

Poe groaned, "Don't say he wanted your farm."

"Bingo," you remarked, snapping your fingers and pointing at him. "I mean, really, is this 1881 or 1981? He was after my land?"

"I guess there are worse reasons to marry. But I see your point," Poe conceded. "Was he good to you?" He flinched. "Is that okay to ask?"

"He was until he wasn't," you confessed. "Kind of ruined the whole, benevolent 'help my father' thing when I caught him with another woman."

Poe whistled. "Okay, now I have to kick his ass."

That made you laugh. "He's not worth it. Come on, let's ride the ferris wheel."

Less that ten minutes later, you and Poe sat side-by-side in the bucket seat...of the world's slowest ride, apparently.

"What does this thing do?" he questioned. "It's really slow. And goes in a circle. Is that fun in Iowa?"

You burst out laughing, swatting him on the arm. "It's peaceful and kind of magical because it goes up high and you can see the town." You explained this as your gondola climbed to the ferris wheel's highest point.

Poe nodded, taking a moment to enjoy the highest vantage point he'd seen in weeks, since his ship crashed here. Normally, he was used to being up in the air on a daily basis, so this was nothing too special. Until he glanced over and noticed your eyes shining as you gazed out across the festival and surrounding, rural fields.

Peering over the edge, you remarked how high up you were, bouncing with excitement before looking back at Poe, eyes bright and filled with wonder.

"You're right about the view," he said softly, eyes never leaving your face as the ferris wheel slowly brought you back down to earth.

Next you dragged him to a mini roller coaster, promising it would go at least somewhat faster. Hands gripping the safety rails, you squealed in delight as Poe grinned, enjoying the ride almost as much as he loved riding full speed on your horse Annabelle a week ago.

"I'll take you flying someday. Somehow," he promised. You appreciated the gesture, but your heart burned at the faraway look in his eyes. It sobered you to remember, again, that he needed to find a way to get out of here eventually.

"I'll probably embarrass myself and scream or get sick, but I would love to see you in action."

As soon as the words left your mouth, your face heated up. And he noticed.

Leaning closer his eyes dropped to your lips before he smiled knowingly, nodding behind you. "You want to see me in action, let's go."

Brushing past you, he left you a bit speechless until you realized he intended to play a shooting game. With perfect precision, he used rubber darts and a plastic gun to take aim at, and perfectly eliminate yellow duckies in a row, earning some oohs and ahhs from interested onlookers, and the game's attendant.

"Best shootin' I've seen all day, son. Pick a prize from the top row there." The older gentleman pointed up to the row of ridiculously oversized stuffed animals.

Poe grinned at you. "Which one?"

"You won it," you giggled. "You pick."

He chose a gigantic plush lizard.

"For you." He presented it with a dramatic flare.

"Wowww, this is...this is really something. Thank you." You laughed in spite of the weird but oddly cute offering.

"Well you have lots of animals at home, so I thought you might like something different," he explained as you headed for the cotton candy tent. "Besides, all the animals here are really...hairy." He squeezed the giant lizard. "This guy looks more like my galaxy."

"I love it then," you decided. "What should we call him?"

"Toe Dameron," he teased, a twinkle in his brown eyes. "That way, you'll think of me when you hug him."

For the first time in a while, you enjoyed a good belly laugh. "I don't need a giant lizard named Toe to think about you, but okay."

Poe carried Toe Dameron around while you bought some cotton candy, which intrigued him immensely. He gobbled it up quickly, which let both of you know he was actually hungry. So next up was the pizza stand, of which Poe was definitely a fan, polishing off three slices while you sat at a small table with Toe Dameron on the ground beside you.

"A picture for the lovely couple?" A photographer asked, appearing beside your table, with his camera at the ready.

"Uhh, not a couple, and no, actually, it's okay." You waved him off. Digging into your pocket, you gave him a small tip. "Thanks anyway."

"What was that?" Poe asked through a mouthful of pizza.

"Nothing, he just wanted to take our picture - like the ones in my hall, you know? A photograph?"

Poe nodded, polishing off his meal.

"But, even though I would love to have a picture with you, I just think it could be dangerous. Better to keep a low profile."

"Right, good thinking." Glancing around, the idea that he was an unwelcome guest on planet Earth seemed to sober him. "You're sure it's safe to be here?"

"Yes, it's fine," you assured him.

Hoping to cheer him up, you took him to a very spinny, very fast ride that he loved. But as soon as it ended, you both realized what a terrible idea it was to ride the spinning ride after eating a ton of pizza.

"Ready to go?"

Poe was gazing past you again, as he'd been doing all day, his interest piqued by every different or similar thing to his home galaxy.

This time, his ears perked up at the sound of live music and his eyes gazed at couples dancing on a makeshift dance floor.

"Come on," he urged, taking you by the hand. "Dance with me."

"Oh...okay," you smiled at his exuberance. Poe was so full of life, so interested in every little thing.

Swallowing down any trepidation you felt about making a fool of yourself on the dance floor, you eased into an embrace with him, swaying to a medium tempo song, getting used to the feel of one another.

The song cadenced and the beat kicked off a lively tune, which delighted Poe. He took the lead, guiding you through steps that were probably not of this world, but seemed to make sense. He certainly had a good sense of rhythm and was no stranger to dancing.

You slightly stumbled once, but he steadied you with his palm spread across your back. "Just follow me, I've got you." He smiled brilliantly, giving you a twirl and guiding you around to his opposite side, before somehow doing the same thing in reverse. You weren't sure how he managed it, but it was fun and you found yourself laughing and relaxing all the way through the end of the song.

The music slowed into a couples' dance, so you stepped back to give Poe an out, but he held out his hand. "One more?"

You smiled sweetly at him in spite of yourself, taking his hand as he pulled you close, somehow still keeping time even with the slow tempo.

"Is this okay?" He breathed against your cheek, arm cinching you closer even as he asked permission.

"Yeah...it's okay. You're a good dancer," you breathlessly whispered on his ear. "Which isn't surprising. You're good at everything."

"Thank you," he granted you a sincere reply, which you appreciated. "We danced a lot growing up. Not exactly like this but...anyway."

Easing back, you gazed at him questioningly. "What is it?"

He gently smiled, eyes fixing on yours. "Nothing. I just...I haven't had a day like this in years. A day off, to have fun and dance and eat and laugh." He sighed, peering up at the night sky. "I think this is one of the best days I've ever had."

"Really?" You gasped, surprised and touched, honestly.

"Yeah," he nodded, eyes finding yours again. "Really. I think maybe Iowa is a special place."

That made you laugh.

"Or maybe it's because you're here." His arms wrapped all the way around you now, palm pressing along the curve of your back.

You reached up to push a stray curl out of his eyes. "Bet you say that on every planet you land on."

"Maybe, maybe not. But there's definitely only one Trix."

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thanks to @silvernight-m for the names-that-rhyme-with-Poe exchange and @reallyrallyauthor for pointing out that many animals in Star Wars world are reptilian

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[diotheworldus]

He was shocked when she pushed his tongue back in his mouth as well as when she pulled herself off his throbbing length, had he done something wrong? In the few seconds his mind worked to answer these questions her hand had already began to touch her folds and that’s when he realized that maybe he had been trying too hard, all the different positions, all in an attempt to satisfy her when in reality all she needed was him to keep paying close attention to her real needs. “And the boss thinks the seductive secretary should remember what her boss wants at the moment.”

His strong hand moved down and gripped her in a way that allowed him to guide her fingers, moving them slowly agaisnt her clit as he spoke. “I don’t enjoy solitaire my dear and neither should you, especially after all we’ve been through.” His voice like silk, eyes like a hungry beast as he moved her fingers faster while his other hand moved down and pushed two fingers inside. “I’m going to test that stamina of yours…say can you recall what’s your record?” He let out a heavy breath as he pressed his forehead agaisnt hers, his fingers still moving, now guiding hers inside her own folds. “Of the most times you’ve climaxed in a single day? Because I intend to break it today~”

Both her and his fingers danced around inside of her, both reaching for sensitive areas and stimulating her more and more while the vampire dared to steal a kiss while those strong digits pushed in deeper than what her own fingers could reach. He pulled away from the kiss while bitting on her bottom lip and pulling on it a bit. “Close your eyes, focus on this feeling, chase it in your mind, catch it and don’t let go~” he then presses one finger right on her most sensitive spot within her hoping to get a reaction out of her and also hoping she could see this as an apology for not realizing her needs sooner. Truly it had been too long.

Her words resonate in his mind, she was right he was so focused on going all out that he had failed to consider her own stamina but before he could say anything her tongue and lips caught his ear and he melted fully, oh how he wished he could feel those lips somewhere else as well. He moaned out as she moved his hand to where they connected while she moved her hips in which a way that made him shiver with delight.

“You’re right…y-you don’t have as much stamina as me and yet…..” his hand finds her sensitive bud right above her folds and slowly rubs it while he keeps speaking. “Have you forgotten that..a-a drop of my blood can revitalize you…? Just have one drop and we can take our sweet time indulging in all of our fantasies together~” he breathed as his manhood throbbed within her tight grip, this was so intense.

“Let’s get…more comfortable…” and so he picked her up while he was still inside and carried her to the boss’s chair, where he sat with her straddling his lap. “T-there…now you get to do whatever you want to the boss~” he teased as he stuck out his tongue, a single small drop of his blood on the tip making it clear that it was her choice if she wanted it or not.

[icannotgetoverbirds]

*stumbles out of a reddit thread covered in blood, triumphantly holding up new learned vocabulary words and terminology*

[beartitled]

The bear creatüre has a bachelor degree now

Yea I graduated uni today 🐻‍❄️🎓🎉

Feels weird tbh 💥

My brain did not register this information yet

Diploma comic reveal when? 👀

[icewindandboringhorror]

indeed my exact process once every 8 months or so

[nylathriasoulseer]

There were others? More souls like Freydis, souls that probably had the same question, searching for the same answers. “You need to find the others Freydis, we know what is coming. You all fought together once, you need to learn how to fight with eachother again.” Those who bore the red hand, they were important, the wheel didn’t bring them here out of pure coincidence. They were all lost individuals at the moment, perhaps the king himself had been bought back to unite them?

Nyla had rubbed Freydis’ back in a circular fashion slowly as she heard the blatant lie spill from the lips of the other. “After everything you have told me today you expect me to believe that? I see the weight you don, how you blame yourself for not protecting others, for your past. I don’t believe you.” It was easy to say you were fine and brush others off because you didn’t want to be a burden but Freydis wasn’t getting away with that here, not after everything. “Freydis stop. It’s okay, let it out.” After seeing someone’s soul it was hard for Nyla to not be invested, she wanted to help them when they were hurting. Pulling Freydis in tighter “I know you’re not fine a weetheart.”

Freydis offered a thin smile in response when Nyla mentioned the bias of history. It was true, much of it was crafted and put to record tinged by agenda and bias, but she wondered as well if, in this case, it was just as much a consequence of the passage of time. There had been a time when Freydis was dedicated to puzzling away at who a reincarnated Hrimthur might be, the way she was a recycling of Tove’s soul, but she had made no headway and abandoned it. She was sure Nyla’s perspective would keep her up late into the night that particular evening, reopening that pandora’s box. “Thank you,” Freydis responded quietly, but her gratitude was evident. She shocked her head no. “It doesn’t feel any different than the rest of me. The first several weeks I had it, I kept forgetting it until I saw it in the mirror. Others have it, too.” 

She felt ridiculous at her insistence that came out in a cracked voice and despite the lump in her throat as she hugged Nyla back. “I’m fine, you don’t need to worry about me,” Freydis insisted as she often did once she broke away from the embrace. It was the same lie she always told, and no matter how much she felt herself pulled apart in every thread of her being she probably always would. “But that’s very kind of you to consider it.”

[vvelegrin]

always another date to wait for! yay! it has been 0 days since i've had to move my Date of Expectation out even longer!

insurance has 30 days to get us an answer on the appeal. and in the meantime, i am supposed to [???]. well. i guess i'll work a little bit on coding and do a little reading and work on language stuff and some writing, and lots of sleeping and trying to trial and error my life and energy to some semi-optimized place for when this treatment option definitely doesn't pan out and my doctors tell me i'm shit out of luck and to go find a specialist (there aren't any for hundreds of miles and they don't take new patients <3).

how do people not completely lose it. how do people not completely fucking lose it.

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

Okay sooo...in relation to my last post, which I will try and not verbatim, I am considering having this blog still be its own thing for Cars and all that jazz, still serving as my 'main' blog. And then having a separate blog(ONE. JUST ONE.) Where I put alllll my nonsensical ramblings or gushing or whatnot over other characters there. So it will be two blogs total. Just this one serving the same purpose it always has, and then a second one that will just be a jambalaya of "Oh I wonder what Kane has dug up in the mines this time. Let's go find out!"

How I am going to merge everything from my other blogs, I'm....not too sure. Since it'll all be just one big bang of different fandoms that'll sway a lot from how much I am or amn't fixated on them, I probably won't go too crazy with making different links to things like my S/Is story with them or whatnot, and I will just cut it all down to one carrd so there's not like five different ones to read through.

I think I will keep the other blogs simply as archives, if you will, just because sometimes I like to look back at myself losing my own mind. But I won't post from those blogs anymore, they will simply just be...floating around.