#if she was going to die he was going with her

[alexispunkkk]

the giver

- pairing: joel x reader x tommy

- summary: the ‘sweetheart’ of jackson has both the miller brothers wrapped around her finger—and they’re ready to take what she’s willing to give

- warnings: sex, threesome (m/m/f), rough sex, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, light spanking, cum eating/swallowing, sort of cucking, alcohol consumption, manhandling, creampie, light fingering, joel lovessss ass, kissing, neck kissing, thigh riding, orgasms

- word count: 10.3k 😮‍💨😮‍💨

very roughly inspired by the song ‘the giver’ by chappell roan…. writing that as i forgot about it being the inspo a third of the way through

on ao3

masterlist

Being the sweetheart of Jackson comes with its perks. 

You’re not one to join patrol shifts. Not one to dig perimeter trenches or be on the lookout for infected or raiders in the distance. Hell, you barely raise your voice in town, and folks just seem to gravitate to you.

Not once have you had any real work to do like everyone else–you sit and look pretty while the world is practically in flames around you. The comfortable town of Jackson keeps you safe from the apocalyptic world outside, and it’s virtually all you know now. Just sunsets dusted over the sky like gold, wooden porches, horses, movies every Friday night. 

It’s never too serious with you, and that’s how you like to keep it. You have the freedom to head out to bars and drink your heart away, sing alone and spend your time however you like it.

Nobody expects much out of you. You’re always in your pretty cowboy boots and tiny tanks, glossed lips, baking for your neighbors and planting flowers.

Maybe it’s your baking. Sugar-dusted pies and muffins that everyone swears are to die for. Or maybe the wildflowers you insist on planting on wooden walkways to bring pops of color to the town saddened by the reality of the outbreak. Or, it could be your smile–looking stitched by sunlight, a certain sweetness that can only come with a warning. 

The rumors say you came from a QZ in Colorado, wearing boots too clean for the end of the world. Some women are skeptical, but many of the men in town are stunned. Two, in particular. They’re wrapped around your pretty finger.

And you, on the other hand, don’t care. You wear that sneaky smile proudly and walk around Jackson calling everyone ‘darling.’ Handing out cookies to children, making friends with the community’s animals alongside Ellie, and sending an occasional wink to the many older and married men of the little ‘commie’ town. Cowboys are a favorite of yours.

You don’t normally need a map to find trouble–or to find men. They find you, and you hear it in the boots clacking on porches and smell it in the sweat and whiskey of Saturday night bonfires. 

You’ve learned how to read a glance. To read pauses, sense held breaths. Quite familiarized with stares.

It’s in your nature. 

So, you sit and look pretty on a daily basis, humming along to old country songs with the warmest voice and making your rounds. While you don’t have your own job, you seem to always help everyone else. You’re a giver. 

When a job needs to be done, they know they can call you. 

And that’s why everyone seems so devout to you–Jackson’s angel and heartbreaker all at once. 

Tommy Miller, though, is a flirt. The man could sweet talk a bloater if he thought it’d wink back. The kind that talks to anything that breathes–but in an effective manner. 

He’s attractive. A smile that belongs on a billboard and the warmest laugh ever that makes women peek over their shoulders. Lucky for Jackson, there weren’t many billboards left–so Tommy’s handsome face is kept safe in the borders of the town. 

And unlucky for you, the man knows how to work that charm a little too well. Often in your direction.

A walking distraction dressed in boots and a perfect Southern twang, he carries himself well despite going through hell–still comes out the other side with a wink and the occasional joke. Where his brother, Joel, is more silence and tension, Tommy is easy laughter and a lazy arm slung around your waist. Before you can even realize he’s too close. 

He always seems to be smiling, even if his mouth physically isn’t.

And it’s unfair. It makes you forget what you’re doing. What day it is. Your own name.

Tommy’s hair is always a little tousled by the wind, messy like he’d just taken off a hat or came in from a horse ride. His tan and freckled face seems to season him, and he wears it proudly. Comfortably. He’s gorgeous.

Strong, sure, after years of patrol and learning to fend and survive after the outbreak. But he doesn’t wear it. He’s laid back, like he’s not trying to intimidate, like he’s so casual and comfortable in his own skin that he doesn’t feel the need to flaunt. He’s the embodiment of warmth wrapped into a gorgeous body of a man–steady hands and touches.

An occasional shoulder bump, knee grazing yours under the table. Even his arm slung around your shoulders while he plants a wet kiss on your rosy cheek during a bonfire. Each touch lingers just enough to make you wonder whether or not he meant it, or if he’s just that friendly.

Joel, on the other hand, is a harder read. 

Tommy is all sunshine stirred into sawdust, and Joel is dusk. Slower movements, eyes that see more than he lets on–he doesn’t say as much as his brother. He’s older, and you can tell. You sometimes see him holding the small of his back when he stands up or hear the crack of his knees when he leans down.

And when he does talk, it’s usually gruffer and quieter. About something pragmatic, not flirtatious in the slightest.

He fixes fences, carries crates by, drops things off you don’t ask for with a small “figured you could use it.”

Not much for compliments.

But he watches, and you enjoy that. The quiet is nice sometimes in contrast to Tommy’s outward flirtation and neverending sweet talk. From across the town square, behind his guitar, over the rim of his coffee mug at his favorite diner in Jackson–he’s always just there. Watching.

Noticing you. The feeling of his dark eyes burning into you makes the rest of the world go quiet, even managing to mute a drunk Tommy on saturday nights. 

Joel has the raw and rough kind of beauty that also doesn’t flaunt itself, but creeps up on you. Broad hands, calloused and rough and capable from years of both contracting and fighting infected. His forearms are tanned from work, sleeves always pushed up to keep out of the way. A salt-and-pepper scruff covering his jaw that doesn’t behave very well, and his hair always sloppily pushed back with his hand.

Compared to Tommy, it’s like he doesn’t own a mirror. Rugged and hardened and messy but so, so gorgeous. Carries himself like a man. The most masculine you’ve ever seen. Big frame, thick and warm like a large space heater. Makes you wonder if all of him is that big. 

He’s older, but not in a way that makes him seem out of place. More like he’s earned the scars and little creaks and marks dug into the crevices of his handsome face. He looks like a fighter and still doesn’t deserve to rest, like he’s carrying something you can’t figure out.

And his voice–god–his voice. Gravelly, but smooth and bourbon-like, hiding something a little dangerous beneath it’s drawl. Everything about him gets to you. The way he keeps greater distance, doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t let himself get close like his brother does, but it ruins you even more. 

So you flirt a little more with Tommy when Joel’s around. Maybe you like watching him try not to look. 

Yes, ma’am. No, darlin.’ 

Their matching Texan accents ring in your head, drawing you to them while you head out in Jackson with an unsurprising batch of cookies–baked to perfection and nestled in tupperware–in your arms. 

The sun today is high, but not cruel, casting a warmth over the town that makes it look as golden and sugary as the pies you normally whip up. Kids are running barefoot down the road while their fathers work on splitting wood. Someone is playing their radio out of an open window. 

You can hear the faint and tinny country music over the hum of townspeople going about their normal afternoon routines. Taking your time for a nice stroll, you have an apron tied around your waist and maybe a hint of flour streaked across your denim-clad thigh. Like your badge of honor.

And, like always, you’re not in a rush. What’s the rush when there's a dozen voices calling out to you when you pass by the men working? 

“Smells like cinnamon again.” One calls out, giving you a charming smirk while obnoxiously chewing on his gum. Hot.

You laughed, but waved them off. Okay, maybe you gave him a wink.

But it’s just a batch of cookies, nothing too fancy. Chocolate chip with a sprinkle of coarse sea salt on top for the added flavor: your signature. You’re not trying to cause a stir, it just comes to you. People happen to notice when you walk by, smelling of baked goods and looking like the sweetest girl Wyoming has ever seen. 

And then, like an answer to a distant prayer, there he is. Your favorite of Jackson’s men. 

Tommy Miller, shirt half unbuttoned and clinging to his broad chest and shoulder blades with streaks of sweat. He’s standing in the gravel yard beside a pile of fresh cut logs. An axe in one hand and a rag in the other.

He’s mid-wiping the sweat off his forehead when he catches sight of you, dragging it along the back of his neck right after while he presents his usual ever-charming smile. Cheeky, but slow. And so, so handsome. 

Normally, you just shoot him a smile and offer a small glance up and down–occasionally narrowing in on his crotch. So you do the same–smile, wave, move on with your day. 

“Hey, hold on.” This time, his voice pulls you back. Easy, like he doesn’t want the moment to end quite yet. Needs a good look at you, a taste of the cookies you’re holding. Maybe of something else. 

He seems to take interest in the outfit under your apron when you stop: a pretty little white tank made of cotton and decorated with innocent lace. Big jeans held up by a dark cherry-colored red belt, matching maroon cowgirl boots thrown on your feet. And maybe he wants to know if what you’re wearing underneath would match the so-perfectly planned boots and belt technique. 

He doesn’t move, not really. One hand is still resting on the axe handle, the other now supporting his weight against the chopping block. Leaned over and propped up on his hand, shamelessly checking you out. Sweaty. Gorgeous. 

“You in a rush? He smiles, tilting his head just slightly to the left.

“Uh-uh. Not unless there’s a line somewhere waiting on these cookies.” 

You giggle and lift the tupperware, showing off the newest batch of everyone’s favorite sweets. Better than the bakery’s, that’s for sure. Your smile distracts him for a second, the pretty gloss pasted over your lips luring him in like a siren.

Tommy chuckles, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. Kind of makes him look like an asshole. But you like it. 

“As far as I know, I’m the only one who should be getting a fresh one.” He raises his eyebrows, letting go of the chopping block of wood and setting his trusty axe down. He steps closer, resting his thick fingers on the lid of the container.

“Please?” 

He looks down at you, a manipulative smirk crossing his face. His gaze is switching between your face–your lips, eyes, freckled skin–to the batch of cookies you’re supporting. Almost begging.

When he moves closer, you catch a whiff of his scent. Most people wouldn’t exactly enjoy the smell of a man’s sweat after chopping wood for an hour in the summer, wearing a long sleeve shirt, but something about it is alluring to you. Anything that relates to masculinity is alluring to you, really. Musk and the faint scent of cedar from his cologne that was barely holding on but also accentuated by the aroma of the wood surrounding you.

“Fine. One.” You give in to that smile, any woman would. Stepping back, you set the container down on a nearby block of wood, crouching down next to it. You flick your hair back and Tommy is soon gazing at your profile now, the way you bite your lip in focus to get a cookie out for him. Also, the way your ass looks when you crouch down in the dust like that.

You grab one with a napkin, shutting the lid and standing back up to return to him.

“Here. Guess you’re special today. These are actually meant for the preschool.” 

Tommy looks at you for a moment, and this time, his flirting is a little quieter. Muted. Softer. “Special? Not sure I’ve heard that one before.”

You roll your eyes, handing him the warm treat carefully before crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Then nobody’s been looking close enough.” You snort, motioning for him to try the cookie. Your words shut him up for a second, eyes flicking up and down as if deciding something. Looking for the right kind of words.

But he ignores the feeling, taking a big bite of the cookie. You watch his lips as his teeth sink down into the dessert, the way his tongue darts out to clean the crumbs off his bottom lip while he chews. 

And, as usual, his face displays his reaction to the taste shamelessly. He leans his head back, the cookie eliciting a small groan of pleasure from the back of his throat. His head bobs up and down with a nod of approval, of complete satisfaction at the taste of a single bite.

Upon swallowing, he looks down at the treat in his hand and grumbles in delight. “Mmhm. Sweetheart, that’s it. You’ve mastered it this time.”

His reaction is a little dramatic, but it makes you laugh. Makes you proud. Draws out that sweet giggle of yours that he loves so much, which makes him proud in return. 

“It’s the same recipe as always. I did not master it, sweetheart.” You answer, playfully mocking the nickname he likes to use on you. Something about the way that Tommy is an expert flirt changes the way you flirt back. You don’t go easy on him, you’re a little ruder with it–sassy. 

“Yeah, sweetheart. You did.” He rolls his eyes dramatically and mocks back, expression quickly changing back to an amused grin. He finishes the cookie in two short bites, stuffing his face and rubbing the crumbs off on his thighs. 

You go back to the block of wood to pick up your cookies so you can carry on with your day, but Tommy follows. He steps right behind you, wrapping a warm and rough hand around your wrist before you can pick up the container. 

“Hey–hey.” He stops you with a laugh, making your head turn to look up at him. 

You try your best to seem annoyed, but it’s all performative. Really, you’d stay here as long as he wanted. Stay and watch him chop wood, feed him cookies to his heart’s desire. 

“One more. C’mon.” Tommy grins, holding a hand out so you bless him with another. 

“No, Tommy.” You groan, keeping your hands on the container to ensure it stays shut and he doesn’t cheat you for more treats. “They’re for the kids. I’m not gonna keep giving away my cookies to a grown ass man. You had one.”

He grumbles like a petulant child, pouting down at you. It’s annoying, but a little funny. Makes you want to give in and give him all the desserts in the world.

“It’s not for me,” he starts explaining, shaking his head in protest. “For Joel. He’s on patrol, I’m sure he’d appreciate a little snack when he returns.”

The fact that it’s for Joel makes you a little more receptive to the idea. You’re a sucker for that man, for whatever reason. And, unluckily for you, Tommy knows that. Joel Miller is your weakness.

You sigh, shaking your head and slowly opening the container back up. Tommy grins at the sight of the lid coming up and your hand reaching in for a second.

“Atta’girl.” His hand lands on the small of your back while you’re leaned over to get Joel’s treat, a warm presence that brings a flush up your neck and ears. Tommy’s always been a touchy one, especially in comparison to his brother. He loves to swing an arm around your shoulder and ruffle your hair whenever he can. Loves to say things like ‘atta’girl’ and ‘good job’ to watch how you get as red as a tomato.

Once the cookie is wrapped up in a napkin and kept safe in his pocket for Joel, he straightens his back and lets you stand back up, removing his hand from your spine. He rubs the back of his neck, something that would seem sheepish if it was anyone else. But on Tommy, it seems practiced. Like he knows just how to make you wanna lean in even more. 

“Speaking of him,” he starts, pointedly. “There’s a bonfire tonight. Out past the paddock fence.” 

You nod, knowing of it–you’re planning on going already, actually, but you listen anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Couple folks are bringin’ instruments. Drinks and whatnot. I might even get Joel to bring out his old guitar.” 

You lift an eyebrow in intrigue, especially by the sound of Joel bringing out his guitar. You’d love to hear him play–love to see his big fingers work the chords and strings under the light of a fire. 

“You’re working real hard to make it sound casual, Tommy.” You giggle and tilt your head, finally picking up the container of cookies once and for all. 

He snorts and shakes his head, wiping the sweat dripping down the back of his neck again. It catches your attention, distracting you, drawing you to the sight of little beads against his hot, tanned skin. 

He gives you a crooked, stupid grin. “Yeah, well. I ain’t askin’ the whole town if they’re going. Just you.”

Your heart does the little thing–not jumping, not exactly skipping. But warming up. By the idea of Tommy only asking you about the bonfire. Like he wants you there. It felt like settling into a chair that feels just right.

You let your gaze drift down to the sweat-streaked white shirt clinging to his shoulders and the way the sun is catching on his temples. The crumb of the cookie still left on the corner of his mouth. Hell, he could be selling sins door-to-door and you’d still buy it. Of course you wanna go.

“I was already planning on going. But since you’re asking so sweetly…” You start, drawing out the words teasingly. 

“That a yes?” He perks up, the grin on his handsome face growing exponentially. 

“I guess so. Depends. Will you save me a seat with you and your brother?” You grin and lean back, fingers drumming against the tupperware in your arms. 

Tommy nods obediently, crossing his arms over his chest. They look big that way, especially when the sweat seeps through the white shirt he’s wearing and makes it a little see-through. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

Fuck, that always gets you weak. Being called ma’am–by none other than Tommy Miller, in particular, has you aching. The things you would do to hear that in a not-so-innocent context invade your mind. 

“M’kay. As long as you two behave–and don’t talk through all the music–I’ll be there. See you tonight, Miller.”

You lift the tupperware in a little sort of a wave, sauntered off before he can even say anything else. Left with the little cookie in his pocket saved for Joel. Oh, it’s gonna be a long night. He’s in trouble. 

Later that night, the sun starts to dip low and spill gold light into your kitchen window. That sweet, syrupy light that makes your skin glow. Makes you wanna dance in the kitchen and mess around.

You spent the day baking and then handing out cookies to the kids at Jackson’s preschool–it was adorable. But now, you’re getting ready for a night of drinking by a fire. A self-proclaimed “date” with both of the Miller brothers at once. With the town’s two hottest and beaten up men. 

You’re standing barefoot in front of the mirror, one boot on while you weigh the options. Black, brown, or red? The outfit you settled for was a tiny old denim skirt held low on your hips and supported with the same belt as earlier. Paired with a little red gingham top you’d stitched yourself from scraps.

It was only the right option because it hugs your waist perfectly and clings to your chest, enough to surely make Tommy lose his train of thought mid conversation. 

As hard as you tried to tell yourself this should just be another normal night, another bonfire, another excuse to laugh and drink with friends–it isn’t. You know why you’re going. You’re going to get drunk and mess with two brothers to the best of your ability. Fuck it. 

Tugging a brush through your hair and letting it fall around your shoulder in lazy curls, not too fussy, you stared in the mirror. A dull red lipstick painted over your lips, highlighted by a smooth cherry-flavored gloss. Vanilla perfume on your wrists, lotioned legs–you smell as sweet as the cookies from earlier. Maybe Joel and Tommy would want a bite of you instead.

Sure, the world is over outside of Jackson. But tucked safely in the town, your biggest worry is how good you look tonight. And which brother you’d choose. Or if you’re even going to settle for one.

Your mind drifted as you put on all your jewelry.

Tommy. Sweet-talking and warmed from years in the sun. The biggest flirt you know. He makes you feel like the only woman in the room, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. There’s something so easy about him, which makes you feel comfortable. 

He’s never boring, just familiar. Worn-in and all feel-good. 

The only issue with Tommy is his flirtatious nature. Sure, it works on you, and makes you feel seen. But if he’s that good with his words, touch, and eyes, he must have too much experience. You’re sure he sweet talks every single woman in this town the same way he does with you, which makes you uneasy. 

He flirts and doesn’t try to hide it. Makes it clear as day that he wants you. But might also want other women, so you’re not sure if he’s the perfect choice. 

Then there's Joel. 

Quieter, broader, and stiller. Doesn’t flirt or talk you up the way his brother does, but hovers. Makes you feel pretty with his eyes rather than his words. 

He looks for too long, staring at you, whether you’re paying attention or not. His rougher voice settles low in your stomach when he speaks, smoke curling around your ribs and heating up your insides–all the way into your cervix, actually. 

He’s much harder to pin down and slower to trust, but Lord, he’s worth the chase. You just know it. 

Something about the fact that he makes it so much harder to tell if he wants you than Tommy arouses you. The slow burn of it all, confusion at each of his lingering glances. It gets you wondering, which eventually leaves you more hot and bothered than Tommy can get you. If Joel’d ever let himself get closer, he’d hold on tighter than his brother can. 

Tommy is more a sunrise and Joel is a storm on the horizon. But they’re both fucking beautiful and dangerous, all at the same time. 

You tap on your bottom lip in the mirror’s reflection, weighing the options. Most days, you don’t let the thought linger for two long. Jackson is small and gossip gets around quick, and you don’t want to ruin the existing flirtatious friendship with one brother and the stolen glances you exchange with the other.

Truth be told, most men wouldn’t be able to handle it very well if they were to find out that one woman was sharing attention with both him and his brother. 

But, fuck, the idea of it?

Two men, both strong and stubborn and so big. So much bigger than you. Older, beaten by years of working. They’re burdened, and it makes them hotter to you in some sick way. 

One with charm and one with intense heat, both circling you as if wanting to worship you and warn you off at the same time. What would it feel like to be in the middle of that want–to have Tommy’s hot breath and mouth on your neck and Joel’s big hands holding your hips down?

You exhale, slow and deliberate. Your thighs squeeze together and you allow yourself a single quiet smirk in the mirror. 

No harm in thinking of it, right? After all, tonight’s just a bonfire. A little whiskey and music and possibly a seat between the Miller brothers on a bench. Not so bad.

So, you settle on the red boots. They match your belt and lipstick, after all. Lacing them up and giving yourself a last look, you head out. 

The supposed ‘sweetheart’ of Jackson, ready to stir up trouble and, hopefully, have her way with at least one brother. 

Later that night, you arrive just past nine. The bonfire is crackling tall and bright, its flames licking up at the starry sky. The scent of smoke curls through the air, sweetened by sap and pine of the surrounding forest. The low hum of voices–and a guitar being tuned–fills the space.

Tommy catches your eye first, sitting on a hay bale near the fire with one boot planted in the dirt and the other propped up on a small stump. He smiles, not flashy this time, but warm. Warmer than the fire, warmer than the heat beginning to return to your belly.

He knows exactly who you’re here to see. 

Joel’s nearby, hiding more out in the corner, further from the fire. He’s tuning his guitar held across his lap, catching sight of you. 

The signature look. He doesn’t smile or wave yet, just lips tightening in a greeting as he holds your gaze. Enough to make your breath catch in your chest. He looks back down like it’s nothing, deciding the strings of his old guitar need more attention than you do. 

Fair enough, you’re already getting enough in that little outfit. From the men around the fire–Tommy, obviously.

You make your way over with a friendly smile, the firelight catching on your smooth bare legs. The glint of your lip gloss and shine of your hair not going unnoticed by the first brother. 

“C’mere. Finally made it!” Tommy pats the spot next to him, thigh brushing yours while you sit. His gaze is quickly drawn to your lap, how short the skirt is–low on your waist but still only mere inches away from exposing your panties. 

The warmth of the fire pressing on the two of you and making his skin glow more than it already does feels good, settling the moment into something comfortable. The familiar hum of the forest at night around you, all of your friends and neighbors gathered around the fire. 

“I did make it. Can’t deny an invite from you.” You flash a smile back at Tommy, already entirely turned toward his body. With a little bit of whiskey on his breath and a more relaxed outfit now, he seems even more genial to see you tonight. 

“Yeah? He chuckles, lifting the hand that isn’t occupied with a bottle to settle it on your thigh. Your smooth, shaven, and moisturized patch of skin that’s all free for him to touch. The bonfire is heating your skin up, and so is Tommy’s touch, making you feel like you’re truly on fire.

“You look good, though. I’m likin’ the gingham on you.” He nods casually, moving the hand up to toy with the bow on the straps of the top. “Lookin’ like a little cowgirl. Would never guess you’re not from the South.”

His voice is so sweet and lazy, more laid back than normally, most likely due to the bottle of whiskey in his other hand. 

“Made this top myself,” you answer, stealing the bottle from his hand and taking a long swig. The feeling of it burns your throat, makes you almost sputter. You’re still so young compared to Tommy, and the intolerance to the strong alcohol reminds him of the fact.

He raises his eyebrows, shifting to face you more, forgetting entirely about the fire and his brother thirty feet away, tuning away at a guitar. 

“Looks real good. I like it.” He takes the bottle back and drinks, slowly, before setting it down on the ground in front of the hay bale. “Almost didn’t recognize you without the apron and all the flour on your jeans.”

That makes you giggle. Of course you’re known to everyone in Jackson as the sweet girl who bakes, constantly lost in a cloud of flour and never seen without an apron. Valid comment.

“Is that a compliment or an insult, Miller? 

“Both,” he chuckles and leans his head back to gaze down your body again, eyes narrowing down on your chest–the way the homemade shirt squeezes your breasts together perfectly. With the way you’re sitting, he’s got a great view down your chest. And you certainly notice–but, obviously, don’t mind. You’re not one to dislike attention.

The whiskey is rough but sweet, lighting your stomach up, and it slowly brings everything around you into a softer blur. The music presses pause on the rest of the world when Joel starts playing his guitar. Low and easy, something old and slow that sinks into your skin.

Everyone quiets down a tiny bit and limits their conversation as Joel gets up and moves closer. Inevitably, he comes right over, plopping down and sandwiching you between you and his brother. 

The weight of the two men on your sides is two very different kinds of attention. Tommy’s is neverending, letting you know how he feels. His hand gravitated back to your thigh possessively when Joel sat down, silently pulling your leg against his.

And Joel’s was muted. Barely looking, focused on his guitar. But every chance he got to look away, it drifted toward your lap with his brother’s hand resting on it. If the guitar wasn’t strewn across his body and covering him, it’d be hard to miss the tent forming over his crotch. 

The conversations around you died down to a low whisper, leaving you able to soak up Tommy’s touch and Joel’s music. His fingers stretched out on your thigh while he let out a satisfied sigh, lazy and confident and familiar on the skin. 

He’d occasionally lean in, whispering all up close in your ear–on purpose, obviously. His breath is warm and smells of the whiskey and faintly of a cigarette he must’ve smoked before you showed up. His touch is unmoving, keeping you grounded by his side like you’re his. 

His whispers are a random assortment, making you laugh and quiver all at once. He’d mention something stupid, like making fun of someone across the fire, or he’d lean in and remind you how good your tits look in that little top. 

Joel’s playing slowed after a while, then stopped altogether. When he sets his guitar aside without ceremony the conversations pick up around you again.

You can finally take a breath as Tommy backs up and it isn’t as quiet anymore. But within seconds, it all gets more intense. Joel finally lets himself lean in and speak, smelling dangerously of cedar and something darker. 

His thigh brushes yours, jaw clenching when he gives you a polite nod. 

“Cookie was good earlier. Tommy gave it to me when I got back.”

You don’t even register what he’s talking about for a moment, awfully distracted by the feel of both their thighs pressing into the sides of yours, especially when accompanied by Tommy’s hand that seems to keep moving higher and higher. 

“Oh, right. Thanks.” For a girl who’s normally confident, you choke up a little. Tommy laughs to himself, covering his mouth and letting his thumb rub the inside skin of your thigh. 

Fuck, they’re actually getting you nervous. This isn’t what you planned for. You turn to look at Joel upon sensing he’s gonna speak again, the slow pull of attraction tightening in your belly. 

But he whispers, glancing at Tommy leaning back with his hand splayed so intimately on your leg.

“You’re lettin’ my brother get real close tonight, huh?”

He questions, finally letting on a small smirk. He’s fucking into this. They planned this. And you’re only just now realizing.

It overwhelms you, but it makes the wetness build in your panties more than it may ever have before. The idea that the two brothers actually discussed this beforehand–sharing you–gets you weak. 

“Pretty dangerous sittin’ between us like this.” Tommy interrupts before you can respond to Joel, making your head snap back around to him. You almost let out a nervous whimper, you can’t even register what’s happening. But somehow, you’re into it. You let it happen.

“Okay? I like it here.” You manage out with a gulp, eyes trained on Tommy before his brother’s hand lands on your other thigh. Still sassy. Both of them tighten their grips, squeezing at the supple flesh shamelessly as if you’re not all in public right now.

Too gone to care.

Joel snorts, shaking his head, and you look over at him now. He’s smiling, which isn’t too common of a sight. Must really be satisfied with their work right now.

“Careful what you ask for, baby.” He whispers and strokes your skin, hand moving up and down tantalizingly. You don’t know who to look at. Hell, you don’t actually know what you just asked for. 

The moment goes entirely silent, the three of you exchanging glances. You–confused, but into it. The two men–seemingly have practiced this scenario millions of times before actually illustrating it. 

Tommy’s watching you with a little half-smile, like he’s been waiting for this moment for longer than either of them would like to admit. His gaze zeroes in on your chest yet again, almost predatorily. Then, to Joel–his gaze is unreadable but filled with more desire than you’d like to imagine.

It hits you. Not fear or nerves, but want. This isn’t something to be scared of. Fuck, you were hoping for it in your bedroom while you were getting ready. You wore this outfit just for the hopes of this happening. Said ‘fuck it,’ so why would you be afraid?

In return, you let your hands rest on both of theirs, fingers trailing lightly over their knuckles. Your thumbs brush their skin, and nobody moves. The fire crackles and everyone nearby is laughing, drinking, and–most importantly–distracted. 

As if reading your mind, Tommy leans in. 

“We could get outta here,” he whispers, almost too casual. “Back to mine. Joel’s. Yours. Wherever you want.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, licking your lips and letting the overwhelming desire shine through once he essentially confirms what’s about to happen. 

“Only if you want to.” Joel adds, ever the gentleman compared to his brother.

Their hands slide a little higher on your thigh, wanting and ready, and nothing else is exchanged but a quiet nod of approval from you.

Yet again, you’re the one left breathless. 

The next thing you know, you’re at Joel’s, laid out on his bed like prey. 

His place wasn’t far from the bonfire, a quiet little house on the edge of Jackson, tucked behind fencing and lots of trees. Quiet in the same way he is. You’ve been here before, dropping off food or supplies, but never like this. Never with your heart thumping this hard, two sets of heavy footsteps made by boots following behind you, two sets of warm hands ready to explore you and converge the different flavors of need in one space. 

Joel opened the door without second-guessing anything, no more ‘are you sure?’ The two men gave you a look for confirmation when you reached the bedroom, and that’s all they needed. You, on the other hand, didn’t even have to answer.

Inside his house is warm, very lived-in. Very Joel. An old lamp in the corner and a woodworking table in the living room where he carves little animals and whatnot. He walks ahead, dropping his guitar in its case by the couch while Tommy peels off his jacket and throws it mindlessly on the floor. 

You stood quietly for a second to process, and they both just looked at you. The air shifts, thick. So, so heated.

And this time, the older brother moves first–stepping close once you’re in his bedroom. You don’t stop him. His hand comes to your waist, rough and solid, checking one last time that you’re still good with a raise of his eyebrows.

You nod wordlessly, and Joel lifts you up by the waist.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear before tossing you gently onto the bed. Neither of them took the time to get their boots off–or yours. Nothing stopping the three of you.

He climbs over you while Tommy stands back for a bit to watch. In seconds, you feel the first pair of lips on yours–firm and grounding. One big hand on the back of your neck, the other slipping underneath you to the small of your back, pulling you up against him as if he needs it. 

Joel tastes amazing. Darker than you imagine Tommy will. More tobacco, stronger liquor. 

Tommy steps forward finally, climbing onto the bed next to the two of you and smoothing a hand over your hip. While his brother is on top of you, kissing you, he waits his turn and instead lets his lips brush your shoulder. 

Their energy is different, obviously, but they move together in harmony. Joel is slower, more intense, seemingly controlling the moment. Tommy is more free and tactical, his touch lighter but never giving up. 

And you let yourself be used. 

Growing up as brothers, they had to learn to share. And, naturally, they carried that ability into adulthood. So Joel gets off, freeing your body to his brother.

Tommy laughs, diving right in and attaching his lips to yours. It’s softer but more playful, like you don’t have to take him seriously in the way you just had to with Joel. He encourages you with his hands on your waist, squeezing and tickling at your sides teasingly.

“Tommy,” you gasp and giggle, leaning your head back and breaking the kiss. 

“What?” He chuckles in return, peppering the kisses down your chin and to your neck, focusing on the soft area just beneath your ear. That way, when he whispers, it feels even better.

You don’t respond, laughing and laying back while he works at your neck so perfectly. Everything is revolving around you right now. They just want to give you everything. 

In minutes, you’re forgetting where you are, overwhelmed by the feeling of not one, but two sets of hands exploring you and worshipping you in every way possible. 

“Pretty little thing,” Tommy would laugh, sitting up and tangling his hand in your hair to give it a tug.

Joel was more quiet, but still whispered little instructions. He was more of a guidance while his brother was the fun part: both necessary in the moment. 

“C’mere,” Joel whispered, moving back on the bed after you all actually took the moment to remove your shoes. He sits back against the headboard and pillows, spreading his meaty thighs and patting the right one. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping a hand around your waist to get you nice and close. 

You comply, climbing right up and settling yourself on his thigh–legs spread and straddling his denim-clad leg. You’re surely leaking and making a mess on it, your skirt pushed up to your waist. 

Joel’s head dips down, nose brushing your jaw while he murmurs and begins to guide your hips. 

“Good girl. C’mon, you can move, sweet girl.” He manages out, hoarsely, with a bite at your sensitive earlobe. It makes you shudder, following his orders and shifting your hips.

The feeling of his jeans pressed against your clothed pussy elicit quiet gasps from your lips, leaning in and resting your head on his shoulder. He keeps an arm wrapped around you, grounding you against him and ensuring you feel safe while getting off on his thigh like this.

By the foot of the bed, Tommy is forgotten now while Joel’s scent and touch invades your brain. He’s fine with waiting his turn, though. He undoes the buckle of his belt, the clank of metal not disturbing you and his brother.

Discarding his jeans, Tommy pulls himself out of his boxers shamelessly, unable to help himself. He’s been hard since you sat down with him at the bonfire in that pretty outfit. Hell, since he saw you earlier today and you gave him a cookie. 

He begins to stroke himself–one hand moving up and down the shaft, stretching himself, while the other rests under his balls and gently tugs at them to heighten the pleasure. His eyes are trained on the way your hips move back and forth on Joel’s leg, the small wet patch he can see forming on the denim fabric, even through your panties.

“She looks so good on you like that, doesn’t she?” Tommy groans, thumb brushing over the tip of his own cock while his brother nods. 

“Mm–real pretty.�� Joel grumbles, leaning back and letting his head hit the wall when you let out a particularly pretty little moan. His big hands come back to your waist, squeezing it and holding you tight to guide you in a slower rhythm.

You whine, opening your eyes back up to look into his. Eyebrows furrowing, you pout and try to speed up again.

“Baby,” Joel chuckles, squeezing you harder to keep you in place, to keep you going the speed he wants you to. “Gotta slow down for me, yeah? Be good. Take it slow, relax.”

His words are meant to be soothing and encouraging, but the low tone of his voice that gets you so wet only makes it all worse.

“Want–wanna go faster. Please, Joel.” You whimper, trying to rut your hips and speed up the agonizingly slow pace he’s got you going at. “Feels good.”

“I know, I know it feels good.” He sighs, giving up for now and letting you do it how you want to. Tommy laughs from across the bed, amusement and arousal all wrapped into one while he jerks himself off to the sight of you and his brother. 

Joel only lets you get off on his thigh for maybe a generous twenty seconds before lifting you up, patting your ass in the process. The pressure was building in your belly, tiring you out, making you feel so good. You were approaching an orgasm in a short time, motivated by the arousal the scene itself produced in your brain, but soon were stopped by his big hands. 

“Joel.” You frown, writhing on the bed and reaching down to touch yourself instead when he sets you down. 

Tommy sits up, abandoning his achingly hard cock, crawling up to you and grabbing at your wrist. 

“Uh-uh. Don’t gotta do that, angel.” He laughs, collecting both of your wrists in one hand and pushing them back. You’re pinned down and whining under him, but eventually give up protesting when you remember it's you versus two–very, very large–men. 

He passes your wrists to Joel, who holds them with even more ease due to the size of his hands. 

“Let’s make sure Tommy gets some lovin’ too, sweet girl.” Joel kisses you once, a soft peck, holding you down for a moment to let his brother get settled. Both of you watch as Tommy fully discards his boxers, stripping off his shirt and socks in the process until he’s entirely bare.

The man is a work of art. Tanned skin, some sun damage from always working outside–little spots all over his body, and freckles. He’s covered in hair, which you’d always expected due to the thick head of it he carries. 

His lower stomach, especially. It’s got the most gorgeous spread of tiny hairs leading to something even more beautiful–thick and wiry. Not graying just yet. His cock is long but thin, already red and twitching from jerking himself off to the sight of you just a couple minutes ago. The fat tip of it is leaking desperately, just begging to be treated.

Tommy lays back, seated against the headboard like Joel was, his legs spread out wide. His head tips back lazily, sinking into the bed and patting his thighs. 

Joel lets your wrists go, and you’re lunging forward like an animal in seconds. His thick, hairy thighs open to accommodate you while you kneel between them on the bed. 

“Nice n’ big.” You whisper and giggle, hands on his thighs while you sort of nestle your head down for now. Nuzzling into his crotch, you worship Tommy’s cock–nose exploring every crevice, tongue darting out under his heavy balls. 

He moans out quietly, hand finding your hair before you even begin and wrapping it up into a tight makeshift ponytail. 

“Look at you, baby.” Tommy praises, lifting his hips up to encourage you to take him. You were resting your head on his thigh and taking a moment, but the sight of him literally aching for you has you moving quickly. 

You grab the base of his cock, giving it a slight squeeze to draw more noises out of the man. Satisfied by a little grunt, you snicker and open your mouth, taking his tip into it eagerly.

“Fuck.” He jolts, head tipping back and eyes shutting happily. You focus on only the tip for a moment, swirling your tongue around the head and collecting the embarrassing amount of precum before sinking your head down and taking as much of his length as you can.

You sputter for a moment, just as you did earlier on the whiskey, but regain your bearings and start to move. His tip is hitting the back of your throat as if urging you to take more, but you physically can’t. He’s so big,

Tommy’s hand tightens in your hair, a little rude with the way he’s tugging and forcing your head down. 

“Jesus, Tommy.” Joel interrupts after watching carefully for a few moments. “Careful with ‘er. She’s gonna gag.”

The older brother’s hand comes to your back, gently stroking it to keep you grounded while his brother forces your head down on his cock. Tommy doesn’t mind too much, easing up on the pushing but not entirely stopping. He’s always been much less of a gentleman.

“You’re okay, angel. Go slow if you have to.” Joel whispers to you, patting your back before standing up and discarding his own clothes. You hear the sound of fabric and a belt hitting the floor, and want nothing more than to look.

But you can’t, because his brother is holding your head down on his dick. It’s not all bad, though. You’re still eagerly taking it, hollowing your cheeks and sucking him with near-perfect technique. He’s very vocal, noisily encouraging you to somehow work him even better.

The mattress sinks as Joel returns from undressing, and while you can’t see, you feel where he’s going. While your head is buried between Tommy’s thighs, Joel gently unfolds your body and pulls your skirt off for you, leaving you in pretty panties and that damn gingham top.

He smiles, stretching the elastic of your underwear and letting it snap back against your skin. You gasp.

“Tommy, look at this.” He rubs your ass, giving it a gentle smack, showing off the fabric. It’s little cherries over the same red gingham that your top is made of. Matching, making you look like the prettiest cowgirl they’ve ever seen.

Tommy snorts, opening his eyes and giving your head another push down on his lap at the sight.

“How cute. Bet you wore 'em just for us, ain’t that right?” He smiles and uses his free hand to cup the side of your face, stroking it with a thumb while you suck on him so perfectly. “Fuckin’ slut.” 

Joel shoots him a glance to be nice, because he’s already pushing your head down. He shouldn’t be calling you a slut like that.

“Ignore him.” He advises you, rubbing the skin of your ass that’s now pink from the little slap. He pulls at the fabric, tugging it down gently and working it over your feet before throwing them on the floor. On his way back to your ass, he kisses the back of your feet, ankles, calves, and thighs, leaving a trail of fire all the way to where he really wants to be.

His fingers go straight to the source, not even bothering to spread your legs. He digs two digits into your folds, groaning lewdly at the filthy feeling of how wet you are. Soaking his fingers, soaking the bed underneath you. Genuinely dripping for the two brothers.

“If only you could feel how wet this girl is,” Joel huffs in amusement, slipping his fingers back out and gripping the supple flesh of your ass again. The loss of touch elicits a quiet whine from the lips you have wrapped around Tommy’s cock. 

“I bet.” Tommy answers, groaning and leaning his head back yet again in pleasure when he hits particularly deep in that warm, wet mouth of yours.

Joel grabs at your body with a mix of gentleness and fervor, lifting your hips until your knees are able to support your weight. Your head is down between his brother’s legs, your back arched, and your ass in the air for him to do whatever he desires with.

He leans over you, pressing a trail of kisses down your back–the center of it. Between your shoulder blades and down your spine, while his fingers trail all over your soft skin. Exploring. Taking his time. 

He ends the trail at your back dimples, the spot where your butt and the small of your back meet. One last little kiss before he sits back up, spreading your legs just a bit so he can fit.

Once Joel ensures you’re not overwhelmed with what you’re doing with Tommy, he grabs his own cock and strokes it before gently pressing it against your ass. You moan around the other man’s length, and Joel taps him to let you have a break. 

Tommy releases his grip on your hair, gasping when your mouth comes off of him–a string of spit connects his crotch and your mouth due to the excessive slobbering you’d been doing. Dirty and beautiful.

“Fuck.” The two men say, almost in perfect unison.

You take a moment to catch your breath, glancing back at Joel behind you when you remember he’d gotten undressed.

And, lord, he’s somehow more perfect than Tommy. 

He’s built. Broad, hairy chest and a little tummy coming over his hips. Looks like he works out but certainly doesn’t deny a beer when offered. He’s hairier, even, a thicker and grayer trail leading to his pubic bone that’s pressed against your ass currently.

Older. Seemingly more experienced. He’s scarred and hardened, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. The mere sight of him makes you moan.

Both of them laugh at the little strained moan you let out, Joel’s hand rubbing your hip while Tommy’s strokes your hair. 

“You like him that much?” Tommy chuckles, kissing your forehead.

You nod mindlessly, still searching for the air you’d lost when your head was getting pushed down. 

“Mm–mmhm. Like Joel. A lot. Fuck.” You manage out, dropping your head back on Tommy’s thighs and resting it there.

Joel smirks and lets the hand on your hip travel back to your ass, rubbing it before gripping his cock and giving it a few small strokes. “Yeah, baby?”

You nod again and groan against the fatty flesh of the thigh under you, kissing his warm skin. Your hips naturally move backward when you feel movement behind you, subconsciously begging for Joel. Your back arches as well, giving him quite the sight. 

“You want it? Gonna take me good with my brother’s cock in your mouth?”

He smiles, teasing your dripping hole with his own leaking tip. Of course you want it. You’ve been dreaming of this all day–maybe even weeks before. But back then, it was a fantasy. Never a possibility in your mind. Now, you’re bent over, face down and ass up between the two of them. You couldn’t want it more. 

“Yes, please.” You gasp out, arching more and forcing your ass back against Joel’s cock. You feel him twitch.

He hums in approval, not saying anything else before lining himself up. At the feeling of him against you, you know what you’re supposed to do in return. Tommy is back in your mouth in mere seconds, and you’re sucking and slurping to the best of your ability in hopes that it’ll get you more. More of Joel. More praise. More cock.

Joel slides in once Tommy looks satisfied, slowly stretching your tight pussy out. The noises are filthy, squelching and wet. 

“Fuck–” He groans, panting and bracing himself by gripping your lower back. He isn’t even fully in yet and he’s ready to come all over you. He’s dreamed of painting you in ropes of release, of fucking you senseless and filling you up with his seed. Now it’s happening, and, God, he doesn’t know if he can even handle a minute. 

You whine around Tommy, but he doesn’t push your head down again. He knows it probably hurts a bit, given the Millers are genetically big men. They let you adjust to Joel before resuming, going nice and slow. 

“Pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, taking me this good. Just like that.” Joel becomes more vocal as he moves inside you, picking up the pace slowly, ensuring you’ve adjusted enough to take his size before doing anything you can’t handle.

The praise makes your head spin. Apparently, Tommy’s is too. You feel him twitch more in your mouth, see the way his hips are stuttering with each little bob of your head. 

So you pick up pace. And so does Joel. Everything gets more intense.

Sucking in your cheeks, you take Tommy’s cock so deep that it hits your uvula, resulting in a soft gag. His first instinct is to let you take a break, but you continue despite the tears spilling from your eyes and the urge to vomit increasing.

Your hands fiddle with his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze that draws out the loudest moan of the night from the man. Success.

If you could smile, you’d be doing it. But he’s so deep in your mouth that you can’t move a muscle–not until you feel hot strings of release fill your throat. 

You didn’t realize Tommy was that close, but he fills your mouth up more than it’s ever been stuffed. You’ve never felt a man come so hard. So much. He’s shaking as he finishes, piping it into your mouth and seeing it dribble down your chin as he pulls out.

“Ah-” he whimpers, actually whimpers, when your lips reattach to his tip to give it a final kiss. 

Joel sees his brother’s orgasm, getting a little jealous. He would give anything to be filling your pretty mouth with his come right now, cleaning it off your lips where it spills out. But he remembers he’s the one inside you, and he has a better dumpster than Tommy does right now. 

Once Tommy’s cock is removed from your mouth, he knows he can go a little harder. He wants to go a little harder. He can actually hear your pretty little moans and whimpers now that you’re not occupied. 

When Joel starts hitting your cervix, the lewd noises slipping from your throat are unstoppable. You still haven’t swallowed the come, gurgling while moaning and trying to keep it in your mouth–almost to savor it. 

His hand comes forward to grip your hair, remaking that damn makeshift ponytail his brother was just using. He tugs, forcing your back to arch as your head flies back with a whimper. He’s fucking you harder now, one hand gripping your hair and the other on your hip to press your cunt as close to him as he can possibly get it, pounding into you at a near-painful speed.

“Joel,” you cry out, more tears slipping from your pretty eyes that are quickly cleaned off by Tommy. You gasp and finally swallow his come, groaning in satisfaction and letting your head fall forward until it’s rudely tugged back by the other brother.

“You got it, darlin.’ You can take it. C’mon now, don’t go dumb on me.”

He groans, the hand on your hip giving your ass a solid smack. You cry out again, squealing with the mix of pain and pleasure. Pain, mostly now, as he’s fucking you deep and painfully harsh.

“Hold her still. She’s shakin,’ Tommy.” Joel leans forward with a growl, draping his body over yours and letting his head fall to your shoulder while he fucks you from behind. His teeth bare, nibbling on any exposed skin he can get, licking and sucking and kissing like an animal.

Tommy’s hands come to your shoulders, holding you still and shushing you while you cry under Joel’s hard body. “Almost there, angel. We’ve got you.”

And within the next minute, you and Joel’s orgasms approach at once. You can tell with him because his pace gets sloppy, hips slamming into your ass uncontrollably and inconsistently. He can tell with you because you’re impossibly more vocal, whimpering out and trembling. 

When your thighs start to shake, he snakes a hand down your body and attaches his index and middle finger to your clit. That’s your weakness.

It’s not even eight seconds after he touches your clit that you’re coming, gasping and writhing and falling forward against Tommy. Joel follows suit, finishing deep inside you and smacking your ass as he comes.

The next thirty seconds go silent. You fell forward against Tommy, he pulled you into his arms. Joel’s now-soft cock slipped out, leaving you pumped full of his seed.

Tommy strokes your hair, kissing your forehead in an attempt to get your shaking body down from the intense high his brother had just given you. The other man lays next to the two of you, senseless now and in his own little world. His eyes are pressed shut, sexy pants coming from his mouth and into his pillow. 

The room is quiet and hazy, heavy with sweat and the familiar scent of sex. It’s absolutely filthy. Wrecked.

Your limbs are all tangled up, breath catching. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s earned. 

The sheets are tangled and damp, clinging to your thighs when Joel manages to sit up. He grumbles, moving closer and cuddling into your side that isn’t occupied by his brother.

On the floor are your clothes, laying scattered and forgotten. Tommy is on your other side, hand curled over your hip and quiet breath in your neck where his head is buried. Joel is curling onto your left, kissing your sweaty shoulder and arm, anywhere he can get. 

And you–God. You’re spent, utterly and completely fucked-out. Used. Wrecked.

You’re past satisfied, actually sure that your bones probably aren’t solid anymore. Your limbs are too heavy to move, cheek pressed to Tommy’s chest and an arm slung over his brother’s body. They hold you like they’re afraid you’ll float off somewhere.

“Nothin’ left in me now.” Joel mumbles, lips brushing your skin. His voice is hoarse and dried out, more of an exhale than actual speech. “Not movin’ at all.”

The only part of him that can move is his fingers, trailing so slowly up and down your spine. 

Tommy nods and huffs in agreement, kissing your cheek and pulling you closer. You just smile–lazy and slow and perfectly wrecked. Everything aches in the best kind of way. You feel as if you’ve been pulled apart and put back together with hands that know exactly what they’re doing. 

Your throat is burning, hips stinging from Joel’s grip, your pussy leaking out his seed. And no one said much. They didn’t have to.

The air is thick and sticky, but also soft. Comfortable. Hearts beating in sync and bodies pressed so closely that you can’t tell where one ended and the next began. 

Tommy is the last to speak–“Might have to stay here ‘til winter. Jus’hibernating.”—and you laugh. Blissed out and tangled between the men. Just laughed, warm and slow, like the fire hadn’t gone out yet.

WOO that was a journey to write. I’m going to hell. Love yall though 💋💋

TUMBLR ONLY LETS ME TAG 50 👎👎 I’m so sorry to everyone else ik i got like over 100 asking to be tagged so i tried my best

@possiblyafangirl @monicasblues @stories-we-read @pattwtf @kimm4710 @darkheartgatita @melmel-fandom @elliesr1fle @aretha170 @luvrgirls @whitewolfstar01 @taytay0403 @valyrianflower @alidiggory92 @love-you-inside-n-out @darknight3904 @cinnamon-slut @caramelic3dlatte @atthediscowithoutpanic @maystyles @justsarahbella @mynameisbaby9 @american-exodus @visenya-targarye @dilflover-3 @mani-pedro @ilovetoomanymen @xplicitz @foggypenguinrunaway @pigeonpinata0xo @majesticalcocoa @wildxxwolf @yoursweetgirl18 @millersbby @alwayswndr @zroberts13 @marzplanetz @lonelygirl56 @godlypresley @emilynersinger @ivyleagueeeee @lowrisemiller @staley83 @junajun4 @bluegardenn @grayandthyme @heavens-whore @nihilophobias @romancherry @catch1ngmoths

[em1i2a3]

i don’t know if you take requests but some yearning or very obvious bob having a crush on reader… like full on fluff and everyone makes fun of him cause he’s just that obvious

Plainclothes Man

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: Everyone at the compound knows Bob has a massive crush on you–except you.

Warnings: Semi-Spoiler for Thunderbolts because of Bob’s involvement but other than that…None :)

Author's Note: Hey y’all! I do take requests! Just to make that clear! Nothing is really off limits! :) I love this idea! So I thought I would start with it. I kind of rushed it a bit because I have so many ideas going at once for Bob right now, but I wanted to please y’all so hopefully it’s good :)

Word Count: 1,775

Bob was a neon sign of romantic agony.

Everyone could see it.

He was about as subtle as a firework in a library when it came to you, and everyone–everyone but you–knew that he had very obvious feelings for you.

At first, it was just the little things. He would hold the door open for you, make your coffee in the morning, and sometimes he would walk you to your training sessions carrying all your weapons and gear. God forbid you mentioned needing help with something too, because it was like he teleported into the room instantly just to be your knight in shining armor.

It would’ve been sweet–it was sweet–except for the fact that he looked like he was going to pass out every time you smiled at him, or the fact that the first time you touched him he felt like he was having a heart attack.

Not only that, but at the Thunderbolts compound, privacy was a myth. Everyone noticed the way he put you first, and nobody had the emotional maturity to leave it alone, especially during down times when everyone was home with no missions or jobs to run off to.

Idle hands made for cruel commentary.

They started small. Little side-eyes, snorts, giggles, the occasional cough-covered ‘lover boy’ muttered under someone’s breath when Bob stood the moment you entered a room, like he was always on guard.

Then it escalated.

Yelena turned it into a sport, narrating his reactions like a nature documentary when you weren’t present.

”And here we see Bob Reynolds in his natural habitat–blushing violently, hands wringing in his lap, trying not to pass out because Y/N said his name. Observe how he avoids eye contact while trying to remember how to function.” This would make him even more flustered, and only add to his embarrassment of wearing his feelings on his sleeve.

“Please stop,” He would say, with his face on fire.

Ava took to mimicking Bob’s dreamy stares behind your back when the both of you would talk to one another, making sure there was grotesque exaggeration to every detail. How his eyes would widen, and his lips would part, oftentimes she would clutch her chest dramatically and sway from side to side, which only made his cheeks go a bright red as he was talking to you.

Even Alexei, who should’ve had better things to do, began to offer unsolicited advice.

”You must confess, Bob. Women like confidence. You must say, ‘I am man of strength and softness, let us be passionate together!’” Bob nearly choked on the air he breathed, blinking up at Alexei, who was nodding like he had just offered the secret to eternal happiness, and not a line from a Soviet soap opera.

”I…I’m not saying that,” Bob stammered, voice thin with embarrassment.

“Why not?” Alexei boomed, looking over at Walker and Yelena as if they were going to back him up, “You are soft man! Strong man! Women love this contradiction!” Walker sipped his protein shake without looking up from his phone.

”Honestly Bob…It’s not the worst idea he’s had.” Bob looked like someone had just pulled the emergency brake on his nervous system. He was stunned by the agreement the idea was receiving, then he rubbed his hands over his face, like he could scrub away the humiliation clinging to his skin.

”I can’t say that…I’ll die in the middle of it.” Bob muttered, his hands muffling his voice, before hearing a little chuckle coming from Yelena.

”You’re like watching a candle melt under a heat lamp…Take it easy on yourself Bob.” She said, leaning back in her chair.

”Seriously,” Ava added, leaning against the counter with a yogurt in her hand, “ Just say something. Anything at this point will be better than nothing. And please hurry up, because you’re starting to give us secondhand embarrassment with this mating dance you’re doing.” Bob was about to say something then the door creaked open, causing him to pause mid conversation.

Bucky walked in with a towel draped around his neck, drenched in sweat from the endurance run he had done on the treadmill just moments ago, with a look of vague concern on his face.

”What’s with all the noise? I heard Alexei yelling about passion through the vents.” He said, glancing over at everyone who was crowded in the kitchen.

”We’re trying to get Bob to confess his undying love for Y/N.” Yelena replied, watching as Bucky looked over at Bob who was hunched over the kitchen island and flushing a scarlet red.

”Oh,” He said, like it suddenly made perfect sense, “…Wait, he still hasn’t said anything?” He added, confused.

“Nope,” Walker responded, still scrolling through his phone, not bothering to look up, “Somehow he’s been able to keep the verbal diarrhea to a minimum with her.”

“Barely. Last week she complimented him on how strong he was for carrying six bags of groceries for her in one go and he stammered over a thank you for two whole minutes.” Bucky let out a little laugh.

”Pretty sure you’re describing a stroke, not a crush/“ He started, wiping his face off with his towel, “What exactly are you waiting for, Bob? A written invitation from the president or something?” Before Bob even had a chance to answer, the door creaked open again, and you appeared.

You were still damp from the shower you had taken a few minutes ago, with your hair pinned back, and your skin still flushed from the heat of the water. You had on a soft, oversized t-shirt and…Bob’s sweatpants. He had given them to you last week without prompt, saying that you would be warmer in them, and since then, you managed to forget to give them back–whether it was on purpose or by accident, nobody really knew for sure.

Yelena had caught it immediately though.

”Wow…Y/N, those are some nice sweatpants, where’d you get them from?” She drawled, grinning like a cat that had just spotted a mouse. You glanced down at them and pointed.

”These? They’re Bob’s actually, so I have no clue where they’re from, but they’re super comfy.” Bob made a noise that could only be described as a choked squeak, as everyone glanced over at him in their own small ways. Yelena grinned.

”Oh, Bob’s, huh?” You nodded cheerfully, completely missing the way Bob’s soul was visibly leaving his body.

“Yeah, I was freezing after that mission last week and he just gave them to me. I forgot to return them, but they’re just too good to give up.” You replied, looking down at them fondly, like they were a luxury item of sorts, before adjusting the waistband a little bit, “Hope you’re okay if I keep them a little longer before giving them back to you.” You added, with a little smirk.

Bob–already pink from neck to ears–opened his mouth but only managed a soft, and cracked, “Yeah…Yeah totally fine.”

You smiled at him–kind, and warm, and totally unaware of how he was going to spontaneously combust in a few moments if you didn’t stop looking at him the way you always did, with this admiration and care.

Yelena nudged Ava as you turned to the pantry to grab your tote bag.

”I was about to actually go on a grocery run, I figured it’s a good time to stock up for movie night tomorrow…Bob, do you wanna come?”

He lifted his head almost immediately, like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you correctly–or like he was still rebooting from the sight of you wearing his sweatpants again and saying you might want to keep them longer.

You looked at him with your eyebrows raised, and everyone else looked at him like a firing squad waiting to shoot.

”I-uh…Grocery run?” Yelena pressed her lips together to hold back a grin, before glancing over at Bucky who was shaking his head, then Walker glanced up from his phone, staring at him with a look that basically screamed ‘don’t you dare blow this.’

“Yeah, “ You said with a casual smile, “I was actually going to go because they finally restocked those kettle chips you like, and that weird sparkling iced tea…The lemon honey one. But I thought I’d just kill two birds with one stone and just take the whole movie night snack order now and get it over with…Y’know what I mean?” Bob felt like his entire chest was going to cave in under your words. The fact you remembered such little details about him killed him, because it gave him those butterflies in his stomach–the ones that gave him hope. Dangerous, reckless hope.

”He’ll go.” Yelena replied, “He’s not doing anything anyways, he’s super available right now, aren’t you Bob?” All eyes turned to him.

“I–uh…”

“He lives for those late night grocery runs,” Ava chimed in, “You’ve made his week.” Bucky crossed his arms, clearly entertained.

”Oh yeah, didn’t you say twenty minutes ago that your dream night would be picking out snacks with a girl you–respect deeply as a teammate?” He piled on, causing Bob to swallow loudly.

“Well that’s perfect then! I’ll meet you in the garage in five minutes!” You said brightly, giving him one last smile that probably shaved three years off his life expectancy before you turned and strolled out of the kitchen, with your tote bag bouncing against your hip. Everyone waited until the front door clicked to interrupt the silence.

”Oh Jesus.” Bob said, sinking his face into his hands, hearing Yelena clap like a coach at halftime.

”Alright, let’s lock in–because if you mess this up, Bob, you’re probably never getting another invite like that again.” Ava pointed her spoon at him like a judge handing down a sentence, before saying.

”And it’s the first time she’s asked you to come with her somewhere instead of you tripping over your shoelaces to offer a hand, so that’s a good sign.”

“Yeah,” Bucky added dryly, “So don’t think yourself into a grave for the love of god, because you’ve done it all backwards. She’s supposed to be wearing your clothes when you’re dating, not before.” Bob groaned louder.

“I think I’m gonna throw up.”

[r3ynah]

DANNY NO—

Despite popular opinion, Danny and Paulina did become good friends after graduation, with Paulina not going to college but instead becoming a famous model and actor loved and adored by everyone in Metropolis, and Danny being able to study Aerospace engineering at Gotham passing with flying colors a real contrast when they were in junior high and while also interning at Wayne Enterprises, and it was working unbelievable well for the both of them.

They would try to meet up once a month, with being miles away from their hometown Danny was the only person she could rely on when something went downhill, they floated towards each other in search of any sort of comfort and normality—well what they consider normal that is.

They would pick between Gotham or Metropolis just to meet in a cafe and just chat about anything, Paulina asks about Sam and Tucker, but mostly Sam (the both of them had enemies to friends to lovers to enemies phase and no one can change my mind bout that, and the both of them are still yearning for each other).

after all these years she sees Danny more as a brother rather than a dorky weirdo who is uncharacteristically obsessed with space, but she loves him—but don't tell him that, and Danny also loves and sees Paulina as family, he knows that even when she complains about how he dresses she will always be there to accompany him shopping( with the excuse that'll she'll die if she's seen by anybody near him, in her words she said that he looked like he dressed himself in the dark, which is fair) and keeping him sane by forcing him to sleep when Tucker, Sam, and Jazz were too busy with their jobs and studies.

Most importantly Danny is there to protect her, sometimes she even offers to pay Danny to be her Bodyguard at galas which he refuses, this is also the reason why she sometimes gets protective of Danny, because if you won't let her pay then she'll just do the same but tenfold— she knows Danny can protect himself but the amount of time she gets emergency calls from the man when he gets injured by the GIW really puts her off.

And it certainly doesn't help when one of there meet ups at Gotham, vigilantes seemed to be around every corner and overly nosy 'civilians' who at first she thought they were there for her, well they did use her as an excuse to get close with the request of signing an autograph but she knew better.

with the way their gaze are fixed on Danny, and their stances always stiff like they're prepared to attack if the skinny man in front of her pick up a butter knife, this was the same in metropolis it bothered her that they were eyeing her friend with such skeptical stares, but at least she knew that the heroes that resides in metropolis won't do anything rash after all, she is famous and with one bad tweet of them from her on twitter she can definitely turn half of the population against them.

But in Gotham? she doesn't really know how the people and economy work, she has supporters there she knew that but they weren't so keen on turning their backs on their vigilantes which were the only ones that really tried protecting them, she's just an actress from another city she knew that she won't have the upper hand here, so she just keeps her head low and make sure that Danny is safe and doesn't get harmed.

It's not like Danny is some sort of rogue, yes his parents are mad scientist and all— but Danny knows better than to follow their steps, for Ancients sake Danny was the beloved vigilante of Amity Park he was there when it all went bad, when no one was there to save them he was there, he was the hope of their town—their god.

So she will rain hell upon earth if ever one of the people that named themselves 'heroes' try to lay a finger on Danny— Fuck her reputation she couldn't care less.

So why? Just Why did he get the attention of vigilantes? and the bats nonetheless, she couldn't keep her curiosity at bay, so she asks.

"Oh them? well, I kinda made my way to their watchlist when I decided to pass my half-assed research all about: 'travelling different alternate universes with the usage of Lazarus waters' " he causally uttered as he picked off the cherry tomatoes out of his plate and onto Paulina's

"did you know ectoplasm here is more commonly known as Lazarus waters? cause I didn't, and when I tried to research more about it online I was stopped by a fire wall, which was embarrassingly easy to get through, and you know what was more embarrassing? it wasn't even worth it, the collected data I gathered was not even 1/4 of the things my parents researched, and I'm speaking about the scientifically correct things"

WHat. Paulina looked at him speechless, "Danny no…"

"Danny, yes.." he cheekily answered, amused by Paulina's stunned face "Boy— you better be joking because I will actually call Jazz"

"Please don't—" poor Danny he looked like he was one second away from passing out and sleeping on the table, who knew being watched by vigilantes has a much bigger toll on his body than when he died.

A/N: Oh noo… Danny being seen as a god by overprotective and devoted Amity Parkers, Oh no…. Guys— I didn't know what happened i was just listening to random things and then Hozier started playing, and now we have this.

[drwhataretheodds]

GOOD MORNING! here is my attempt to recap everything we've found so far on deltarune.com

for those unaware, last night toby released a new newsletter giving information about deltarune's release date. he also released a clip of an alternate ending for the sweepstakes for if silence would've been chosen instead of freedom. (for those even MORE unaware, the spamton sweepstakes were a 2022 2-day event raising money for a charity where all sorts of hidden pages were shown on the DR website.

now, my (and many other people's) immediate reaction to seeing this, as well as this passage in the newsletter,

was that surely the site had been updated with some new content. and it has, a lot of it! and so this is my attempt to document everything so far.

/sweepstakes/silence/

this page features this short video revealing the alternate ending for the sweepstakes. in it, spamton a. spamton is simply wiped out of existence. not that exciting, but fun to see!

the page also includes a barren version of the main /sweepstakes website, with all the text deleted.

HOWEVER! at the bottom of this page, we can see two links. both of these lead to pages already found in the ORIGINAL run of the sweepstakes.

the rest of this will be under the cut, to avoid spoilers for those interested in exploring the site themselves.

/code

this page is accessible by clicking on the purple square. it was originally found from the main sweepstakes page, on the listing for noelles "fur-thentic cardboard box" from chapter 2. this link leads to the /catpetterz page of noelle's blog, which explains how the Cat Petterz 2 breeding system works. it ends in "Until one day..." which leads to /egg, continuing the story on the previous page. the link at end of /egg brings you to /code, which links back to /egg.

nothing seems to be actually changed on this version of the site, and it only serves as a way to get you back onto /egg.

/egg

this page has all the same text as the 2022 version of the site did, with one exception: the text "secret cats" is now a link! this link leads to /rain.

/rain

this page is an as of yet unseen post from noelle's blog. she describes the experience of staying home from school because of the rain, and a friend coming over to play cat petters. this friend is called "she," making it unlikely to be kris, and as this story takes place in her childhood, it's unlikely to be susie. the postscript says that her friend came over because "she thought that means that I was going to pet HER," which makes me think it might've been catti? if anyone else has any theories, let me know.

the rest of the page discovers another one of noelle's strange cat petters glitches. her "guide to the rarities of different cats" includes "blue ora (aura?)," "rock & roll," and "angle wing" and "super holy angle wing" are listed at 0% and 00000% respectively. another addition to the pile of mysterious connections between noelle and angel symbolism....

she also describes finding a cat that "lowered the amounts of point she had," making her die immediately. the MOST significant thing on this page by far though is a link to "try it yourself," which leads to a simulation of the cat petters minigame she described.

/rarecats

this page links to a cat collecting minigame. one of these green dancing cats will bounce around the screen like the DVD logo, and clicking on it gives an amount of points. the tab title simply displays the number of points so far.

cat-001.gif

this cat gives 10 points. it's probably the "normal" cat that noelle describes.

cat-002.gif

this cat gives 50 points. it's probably the "blue ora" cat that noelle describes.

cat-005.gif

this cat gives 250 points, and plays a guitar chord instead of the sparkling sounds that clicking the other 2 does. it's probably the "rock & roll" cat that noelle describes.

cat-006.gif

this cat gives 1000 points, and plays a very dramatic musical flourish. it also causes a window sprite to briefly appear before disappearing, as seen below.

this sprite links to the /windows page when clicked on. this cat is probably the "ANGLE WING!!!!" cat that noelle describes.

cat-007.gif

this cat gives 3000, and also generates a window sprite linking to the /windows page. it plays a more extended musical flourish as well. it is probably the "SUPER HOLY ANGlE WING!!!!" cat that noelle describes.

other cats

cat-003.gif

this cat looks like a yellow version of the "blue ora" cat. i don't think there's a way to get this cat in the game.

cat-004.gif

this cat looks like the "rock & roll" cat without the flame effect. i don't think there's a way to get this cat in the game.

cat-008.gif

this cat seems to be an even more powered version of the other two angel cats. it may be possible to get in game with even smaller odds, but since noelle's page only lists 2 "angle cats" i think it's unlikely.

cat-009.gif

this is a png of the yellow and pink smile that appears in spamton's basement. the inclusion of it here suggests to me that it is in fact some kind of "cheshire cat" character/allusion, like people have theorized before!

/windows

this page is simply the stained glass window sprite from /rarecats looped over and over. the tab title reads "Are you forgetting something?" each of these links to a page with the words "forest" "grow" "lost" "the" "where" and "would," in seemingly random order. an example of a few of these are

/wherewouldforestlostgrowthe /thegrowlostwouldforestwhere /thewheregrowwouldforestlost /growwherethelostforestwould

only one of these actually leads anywhere, the rest all lead to the "dogcheck" page which is the default for broken links on deltarune.com.

/lostwheretheforestwouldgrow

this page contains an image of a tree, overlayed with an edited version of the water image that seems to be a recurring motif in deltarune, used most recently in "jockington grows the beard". clicking on it plays a solemn piano chord. after clicking a few times, it instead links to /window. the tab title reads "ROOTS."

/window

this page contains the same repeating stained glass windows as /window did. the tab title once again reads "Are you forgetting something?" this time, each links to page with the letters "cdeehhilnooprrt", in seemingly random order. an example of a few of these are

/lonpecrrohedhit /pdolhehrnriceto /ecrorltipendhoh /creohnptredilho

once again, only one of them leads anywhere.

/thepoorchildren

this page is another black screen. this time, you have the ability to draw with the mouse. clicking creates a trail of white squares. the tab title reads "Therapy".

drawing in the middle of the image for around a minute causes a sprite of the "egg room" tree to slowly fade in.

after drawing for a bit, the tree will move to the front and become clickable. clicking on this just returns you to the /egg page mentioned earlier.

as far as i can see, this is everything to be found on the "noelle's blog" side of updates, the ones accessible from the purple square. unfortunately, tumblr has a limit for how many images i can include in a post, so the stuff from the other link i will include in a reblog! be sure to check it out, it's where stuff gets REALLY crazy!

[ohtobeleah]

Chameleon // Jack Abbot

Summary: When Jack Abbot sees the love of his life has changed her hair colour…it doesn’t go as well as he, or the rest of the ER, would have hoped.

Warnings: Separated Reader x Jack Abbot. Jack Abbot x F!reader. OBGYN Reader. Marriage problems. Mental health issues. Mentioning of divorce. Age gap relationship. Younger female x older male.

Word Count: 2k

Author Note: I’ve used this scene before in a series. But for this one-shot, it was perfect inspiration. I had to revamp and create this little one-shot for my Friday afternoon serotonin boost.

“You know, soon enough you’ll have to sit down and have a genuine discussion about the state of your marriage, brother,” Robby walked with Jack down the bustling ED corridor. The two were getting ready for handover, as they did every morning and night, like yin and yang. “Personally, I think the two of you can work through whatever this is, together. I don’t think a divorce is necessary.” 

There it was…that goddamn word that carried the weight of the world. ‘Divorce’, Jack Abbot hated that word. He always had. But he’d never hated it more than when it became relevant to his own marriage. 

“Besides, I hardly recognise you, all you do is work and go home and listen to that scanner. Then, come back as soon as the sun goes down.” Robby wasn't wrong. He wasn't wrong in the slightest bit. But Jack still didn't appreciate it. 

“Who said anything about a divorce?” Jack growled as he caught the back of someone by the nurse’s station he couldn’t recognise. “Look, it’s complicated,” Jack paused his steps. Robby mimicked his friend's stance as the two continued to talk, all the while Jack never let the blonde in pink scrubs out of his sight. “I love Y/n, and I know she still loves me, because if she didn’t, we wouldn’t be in this mess trying to fix what I broke.” 

It’s an inevitable part of depression. The part where you tend to push people away. The part where self-isolation becomes a form of therapy. Jack knew the solace of being alone far too well. He knew it so well that he forgot that he was married…

And that broke your heart. Enough that the love you had for Jack couldn’t outweigh the pain of his behaviour and lack of affection. Attention. Understanding and empathy. He forgot you even existed. So…You left him. But not before you gave him everything you could. And not without explaining in great detail, why you were leaving. 

Jack needed time and space to better himself. You wanted him to come back to you when he was ready to love you the way you deserved to be loved. You wanted him to realise what he’d done to drive you away. PTSD, untreated depression. It all became too much. 

“You need help, Jack!” He can still hear your words echoing in his mind. “You save people all day and yet you can’t seem to understand that you’re slowly killing yourself with this fucking bullshit!” He knew you were right, you had been from the start. But at the time? Jack wasn't ready to listen. So he watched you walk out of his life instead. “I can’t keep waiting for you to jump off a building because you don't give a shit who you hurt as long as your pain ends, I can't watch you die because you won't let me help you.” 

It's a haunting reminder of his biggest mistake. Letting you go. But a reminder Jack won't ever forget. 

“Who’s the blonde from OB?” Jack followed up his statement with a question that hung heavy in the air. “There’s no blondes in OB? Did we get a new resident?” 

Robby doesn’t answer right away. He simply studies the way Jack's eyes examine every inch of the woman standing over by the nurse’s station. He has to know, right? It’s the woman Robby had only just seen in the elevator ten minutes ago. The woman who had just been sobbing on his shoulder about how much guilt she felt for separating from Jack. 

He needed it, though. Even Robby agreed that Jack had been teetering on the edge of a full-blown psychotic episode. Your separation was the best thing for him. He needed to realise that he was going to lose the one thing that mattered most if he didn’t get a grip on reality. 

“Uhh—“ Robby knew it was you, the blonde that was. You’d told him about your crash-out. The one that ended with a bottle of hair bleach and some not-so-professional measurements. You’d explained how you’d been missing Jack like crazy, but maybe it was time to think about divorce. You weren’t sure if he was ready to change. To help himself get back to a point where he could love you just as much as you loved him. It killed you every day that passed, but you knew if you went back now, Jack would only revert to his old ways. 

And he’d slowly, but surely, been making progress. Robby had mentioned to you that Jack had been seeing a therapist. He wasn’t sure for how long, but he had mentioned it. That gave you a little hope, and eventually stopped the tears from flowing before you had to get out of the elevator. 

“I’m not sure, but let’s—“ Before Robby could think of any excuse to remove himself, and Jack from your trajectory…the normally brooding attending was excusing himself with a smirk only reserved for mischief. 

“Excuse me.” Jack looked at his best friend with the intent to cause trouble before he walked off in the direction where you stood. Not knowing it was you. 

“Oh, well, now I recognise you,” Robby chuckled as he watched Jack saunter off. “This isn’t going to end well—” He groaned through mumbles as he looked anywhere but at the car crash about to happen right in front of him. His hands were tucked deep into his pockets with fear. 

“Hey—!” Jack started as he approached the nurse’s station. “Are you down here for a consultation? I’m not sure if we’ve met. I’m-“ It was worse than a car crash… it was like a double homicide. But not a soul could take their eyes off the scene before them. 

Emergency Room attending physician. Dr. Jack Abbot verves obstetrician and gynecologist Dr. Y/n Abbot. Separated spouses, who can barely work in the same hospital right now, let alone have a conversation face-to-face. 

As you turned around, Jack swore his heart fell out of his stomach. His heart raced inside his chest. You were stunning. He’d never seen you like this before. In all your years, you’d never been blonde. It looked…you looked beautiful. 

“Ahh!” Jack stepped back a little, fear was evident in the lines on his face. Holy shit, what was he supposed to do now? “What did you do to your hair?” Nope…That wasn’t what he should have said. But it was a question with many layers. 

Much like Jack Abbot himself. 

“I—I-I changed it.” You stumbled over your words as your husband, uh, ex? Husband? Separated spouse? asked with a tone you couldn’t tell was good or bad. Self-doubt immediately bubbled to the surface. “I uh, I coloured it.” You reach up and ran your hand through your blonde hair, not usually the standard issue colour. “I just—“ Then, as you stopped your mind from running off with the idea of shaving your head entirely, you caught onto what was happening... 

“Wait, you thought I was someone else?” Your heart sank. Jack didn’t even know it was you, yet here he was.

Jack immediately turned to look back at where he’d left Robby. Much to Jack's dismay…Robby had vanished into thin air. Shit. This wasn’t going to end well. He’d really put his foot in it this time. 

“You didn’t know it was me? And you were hitting on me!?” There was a tone in your voice that had everyone around you on edge. It made the blood in Jack’s head rush south…he liked you a lot when you were being mean to him. 

Langdon, who was only just getting situated with his patient pool for the morning, looked over at Jack with wide eyes and a shocked expression plastered across his smug face. He was so thankful it wasn’t him in Jack’s shoes right now. 

“No! No—“ Jack tried to explain himself. “No, I just thought you were, you know, some blonde.” But he had nothing to explain as he lowered his head and pressed his lips together. 

God help him. 

“Jesus, Abbot—“ You sighed. It was hard enough to love him enough as it was. Now, the idea of him running rampant around the Emergency Department, flirting with anything that moved, was going to ruin the small ounce of strength you had left. “You’re pathetic, and hypocritical—and slutty!” You whispered, shouted through gritted teeth. 

“And you are no blonde!” Jack retaliated, sending the Emergency Department into a buzzing gossip column. It was rare to ever see the two of you together anymore, let alone arguing like a married couple. 

“What did you just say to me?” It was a loaded question, like you were just daring Jack to continue. You stepped closer to where he stood, matching his intense gaze like you knew the way passed and into his heart. He fucking loved you. Being this close made his heart yearn for you. He just wanted you to be his again. 

You can’t pull that off, sweetheart.” The term of endearment slipped off his tongue like it was something Jack said every day. It was…But he wasn’t supposed to be calling you that anymore. Much like he wasn't supposed to be wearing his wedding band. 

It made your heart race. He still noticed you. He still wanted you and only you. He still cared. But not enough for you to trust he had your best interests at heart. 

“Blondes are either badass, or fun, and you’re—“ Jack paused, he was trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t inadvertently hurt your feelings. He was flirting, after all. “You’re a brunette.” 

“Fuck you, old grumpy bastard!” That was all you said as you collected your things and turned away with quick haste. You needed to leave. You were needed for a consultation, and that's what you were here to do. You weren't here to argue with your ex. 

“Damn—“ You heard it as you walked by. Langdon was looking at you like he’d just witnessed a public execution. “If you want my opinion, I think the blonde looks rad.” He smiled. 

“Oh, shut up!” You hissed with enough conviction that it had him thinking you might actually be venomous. 

“That didn’t end well, did it, Romeo?” Robby reappeared as Jack stood idly, watching you walk away. His heart ached, like he had a school-yard crush on the popular girl at school. 

“When did she dye her hair?” He asked softly, kicking himself for not noticing sooner. 

“Two weeks ago,” Robby replied. He knew Jack would take that as an answer he was hoping not to get. An answer to the question he secretly asked. The question was about your hair, but in reality, Jack had asked how long it had been before he noticed you. 

And the fact you’d been walking around like a totally smoke show for two weeks and Jack hadn’t noticed…made his stomach churn with guilt. 

“She’s too good for me,” Jack sighed. He knew he screwed it up. He knew he stuffed up your marriage. He just wanted to get back to you. “But holy shit, she looks good.”

“I think that’s what she was going for,” Robby smiled as he tapped his friend on the shoulder twice. “C’mon, we got hand over to get through Mr. Casanova.” Teasing, Robby coaxed Jack to follow him. 

Meanwhile, you watched on from where you’d run off to, secretly pining for your husband to flirt like that with you again any time. He was coming back to you. 

Slowly. But surely. Jack Abbot was coming back to life.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

Sylus

Part 1

Pairing: Sylus x f!Reader

Summary: Sylus has the whole girl dad thing down to a t, though you'd disagree.

Warnings: Fluff

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

Becoming a father again is certainly a tumultuous situation. Sylus isn’t the same man that he once was. His knees hurt from doing the simplest tasks, and he doesn’t have the same energy he did when he had his son. Nonetheless, he was ecstatic. 

Sylus wasn’t sure what he would do, especially not with a girl. But once he held the little bean in his arms, it’s as if it was programmed into his brain. The task was simpler than he could’ve imagined.

Spoil her rotten.

“Papa!” His little girl yells, making sure her daddy follows along. Diana is a headstrong little girl who loves her daddy more than anything– That is because Sylus spoils her rotten. Anything she wants, she gets. Both from her father, and older brother. “Koen!”

“We’re following, sweetie.” Sylus responds, though that isn’t a good enough answer for her. The three-year-old wants both her father and brother to walk alongside her, not behind her.

“What do you want to show us?” Koen asks, wondering if he’s wasting time by going with her. He’s supposed to meet up with some friends in an hour or so and he’s still wearing pajamas. 

“Yes, what are you up to?” Sylus�� eyebrows perk up. Amusement flows through him, but he won’t laugh just yet. He knows that the little girl is up to something, Sylus can feel the mischief cloud that surrounds her. 

There’s silence. Sylus has taught his little girl one thing: don’t confess to your crimes. Ever. She knows that much. But there’s something that Sylus forgot to teach her in Crime 101.

“Why are we going to dad’s room?” Koen furrows his eyebrows, preparing himself for the worst. The boy is right, Sylus failed to notice that they’re going to his room.

There’s no answer again, and this time it worries Sylus. Just what exactly did Diana do? He’s about to ask her what she did, though he knows it’s to no avail. She knows better than anyone to not confess her crimes.

It’s a good thing that he doesn’t have to wait too long to find out, because once the door to his room opens, he sees the catastrophe that Diana has caused in the room. The cool air suddenly gets hot, and Sylus begins to get heart palpitations. 

“Oh! This is going to be good!” Koen exclaims, seeing the mess that’s in the room. The teenager bursts into laughter while Sylus begins to sweat.

Sylus isn’t scared of anything– Well, he is scared of one thing and that’s his wife. The wife that warned him about letting Diana get away with everything. You told him he should start disciplining his little girl more often. The man didn’t listen, and now it bites him in the ass.

“Mama’s makeup!” She points out, and Sylus tries to process the mess that she’s made. All of your precious makeup is scattered over the room. Splatters of foundation on the bed sheets, the lipstick spilled over Sylus’ precious rug, crumbled eyeshadow on the nightstand. Sylus will die tonight and resurrect three days later.

It’s not that he can’t afford it, it’s about the principle.

“Koen, get the materials. We have a cleanup.” Sylus says, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt since he has to clean up a dead body. In this case, your makeup unless he wants to become the dead body.

“You don’t like it?” She asks with tearful eyes, making Sylus clicks his tongue. It seems that it’s time to teach her the second lesson in Crime 101: Never mess with mommy’s things.

He guesses this is his punishment for spoiling her a little too much. And as he stares at the mess while the teenager gets everything needed for a clean up, Sylus can only think of one thing… He’d absolutely do it again.

[vingt-soixiante]

There's this polish """guy""" I know who talks a lot about how they desperately wish they're not a guy, that they wish they were a girl, and could do girl things. However, they personally do not feel safe in any way to transition in the place they live, they feel like transition in at least their part of Poland is way too risky And so I often try to articulate that even if they don't feel like they could be a girl to people around them in real life, that me and plently other people would consider them a girl in an instant, that in a snap I will she/her them until the day I die. But every so often, some guy comes along and goes "Uhhhm, he can be guy if he wants to! Uhhh not everyone is trans! there's such a thing as a girly guy!!" and I'm always left completely speechless on what to even say to this blatant misreading of a person

Like there's a difference between a guy wearing a skirt, and being comfortable to be a boy, and someone who walks around going "Yeah, I don't want to get old... I mean only if I'm old as a male" "Yeah I would transition, but y'know, I can't" "Yeahhh I let some of my closest friends she/her me" Come on...

everyone who thinks "social pressure to transition" is real has naturalised the social pressure Not to transition to such a point that they have become incapable of understanding that it's real and exists. "cis guy who likes wearing a skirt has been pressured into becoming trans :(" how about "trans girl who is in the middle of cracking her egg is terrified of being trans and you telling her that it's Okay to be a cis man in a skirt is unhelpful at best and open transmisogyny at worst". you do not see that 99.99% of the social pressure is in the direction of Staying Cis because it is only that 0.01% that feels unnatural to you

[roanofarcc]

MEDDLING KIDS

pairing: yelena belova x fem!reader (requested)

summary: when your fellow thunderbolts find out you have a crush on yelena, they make it their mission to tease you about it (and maybe help you out a little along the way too)

warnings: some self-depricating thoughts from reader; crushes and meddling teammates; bucky is team mom

word count. 2.1k || masterlist

It started out as admiration, a simple feeling of awe for Yelena Belova. She was awe-worthy, an ex-window with skills and strength to take down attackers, a natural leader with a dry sense of humor, and a secret softie with an urge to protect those she cared for - whether they were a grown man or a rescued guinea pig. 

Somewhere along the way, as the team formed and moved into the Watchtower, your admiration shifted into something else. You found yourself growing affection toward the blonde, laughing at her jokes that weren’t even that funny, offering to help her with errands to simply be around her, and stuttering when she tossed out the occasional compliment. It was a disaster waiting to happen, you knew that much. 

A crush was one thing, but having one on your roommates/teammates was another. Yelena was hard to read and was so focused on the team that she hardly talked or did anything else. You doubted she time to entertain your feelings. And you doubted she felt the same way.

You were too in your head about it; you knew that. But it was hard not to be when you were constantly around her with a complicated back and forth of your crush and self-doubt. 

“You’re doing it again,” Ava said, eyeing you from across the kitchen table. She begrudgingly enjoyed a breakfast made by Walker, stabbing her eggs with a roll of her eyes as he served you and her plates with a cocky grin. 

“What?” you asked, averting your gaze down onto your plate. 

“Staring like a love-sick school girl,” Ava replied. “And before you try to deny it, don’t.” 

You closed your mouth, swallowing your objection as you sank back in your seat. Walker took a seat at the table, everyone else having already eaten earlier. “Are you talking about her crush on Yelena?” he asked. 

“Oh, my God. Say it louder. I don’t think they heard you in Jersey!” you snapped and buried your head in your hands, mortified. Your crush on Yelena was supposed to remain between you and your mind, no one else. But your new teammates prided themselves on being nosy. Okay, and maybe you weren't the most subtle. Still, they could’ve done you the favor of staying quiet about it. 

Walker laughed. “Come on, it’s kind of obvious. Even Bucky’s mentioned it, and he ignores us most of the time.” 

“I’m going to throw myself off the balcony,” you muttered, sinking lower in your seat. 

Ava even smiled, and you momentarily wished for her and Walker’s bickering over the current topic of conversation. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s just Yelena, not a shark. I don’t think she’ll bite, unless you ask her to.” 

“I’m not asking her anything,” you hissed, glaring at the two. “This is not one of those crushes where you admit it to the other person, okay?!” 

Ava furrowed her brows. “You have crushes where you don’t tell the person how you feel? What’s the point?” 

It was Walker’s turn to be confused. “You tell people you have a crush on them?” Ava nodded like that was a super easy and normal thing. “That’s crazy.” 

“What do you do about it, exactly?” 

“Nothing,” Walker replied with a shrug.

You gestured to him. “See! Exactly. I’ll do nothing, and eventually it’ll go away.” 

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I expected this kind of emotional constipation from Walker, but not from you. But if you want to die alone, be my guest.” 

The heavy footsteps from combat boots sounded, pulling your, Ava, and Walker’s attention. Much to their humor and your horror, Yelena strode in with her training bag slung over her shoulder and hair tousled from her session. You busied your hands with your mug of coffee and tried to ignore the heat that flooded your face. 

“Who is dying alone?” Yelena asked, dropping her bag on the floor beside the counter and pouring herself a mug of coffee. 

Ava and Walker exchanged glances with you, then with each other. Before you could get ahead of whatever they were about to say, Ava shrugged Yelena’s question off coolly. “Doesn’t everyone?” 

Yelena raised her brows, biting into a piece of toast that Walker had left on a plate on the counter. “Wow, that’s a cheery morning conversation. Do I need to call Bucky and have him up your time at therapy, because I can totally do that.” 

Ava glared playfully at the blonde before phasing beside her, plucking the piece of toast from her grasp, then phasing back into her seat. 

“You bitch,” Yelena said with a grin. 

You thought the conversation would turn onto something else, maybe a new mission or something unrelated to you and your feelings. But you had missed the mischievous glint in Walker’s eyes. He leaned back in his chair and looked around the group. 

“You know how Alexei’s been hounding us for a movie night?” he said, oddly and out of the blue. 

“Oh, yeah,” Ava said, stretching out the last word suspiciously. “Walker and I were thinking about it, and we…well, we kind of feel bad for shutting him down every time.” 

Yelena looked surprised. “You two feel bad about rejecting movie night? Do you have fevers?” 

“No, we just, we’re trying to be more of…” Ava glanced at you, a stupid smile playing on her lips. “Team players.” 

“Yeah,” Walker added, sharing a similar look. “A movie night won’t kill us.” 

You pressed your lips in a thin line, trying to figure out what the hell they were up to. 

“How about you?” Yelena asked, drawing your attention. 

Under the table, Ava kicked your shin hard. You bit your lip and nodded before finding your voice. “S-Sure. That sounds fun.” 

With a shrug, Yelena agreed. “All right. I’ll tell Alexei movie night’s on tonight.” She left the kitchen, focus drawn to her phone as she texted her dad, who had probably forced his way into a morning jog with Bucky. Once she was out of the room and earshot, you glared daggers at the two at the table. 

“What was that?” 

They just smiled, gathered their dishes from their downed breakfast, and left. 

“Uh, where is everyone?” You entered the living room dressed in your pajamas and carrying a blanket. You expected to see the rest of your team arguing over seats or popcorn bowls, but the only person there was Yelena, seated in the middle of the sofa with a large bowl of popcorn in her lap and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. 

She shrugged, tapping on her phone. Her brows furrowed as she read something on the screen. “Those little assholes all bailed,” she said. 

You mentally cursed at Ava and Walker and started forming some kind of plan to get back at them. “All of them? This was Alexei’s plan, and Bob doesn’t even like to leave the tower.” 

“I know,” Yelena hummed. “But I guess something came up.” She seemed much more indifferent about the team bailing than you, but that was likely due to the fact that you knew Ava and Walker had set you up to be alone with Yelena. How they got the others to agree, you had no idea, but they had. 

You shifted from one foot to another, toying with the blanket in your hand. “Well, I guess movie night’s off then.” 

Yelena looked at you oddly. “Why?” 

“Because no one’s here?” 

She pointed to herself, then at you. “Are we not here?” You rolled your eyes in response, and she smirked. “Come on! That means we don’t have to fight with everyone to pick a movie.” She patted the spot on the couch directly next to her before starting to flip through movie options on the screen. 

Ignoring the quickening of your heartbeat at being alone with Yelena without at least one team member there to prevent any awareness you may cause, you joined her, leaving a good amount of space between the two of you. 

You two settled on a movie rather quickly, and Yelena placed the popcorn bowl in the space between you. For a while, you sat in silence and focused on the film. You tried to ignore the little voice in your head that was in override at your current situation. If you didn’t want things to be weird, you had to bury your crush. Yelena was your friend, your teammate, that was all. 

It wasn’t until the movie was nearly over that Yelena broke the silence. “Are you okay?” 

You looked at her, slightly startled by the question. “Yeah. Why?” 

She shrugged, eyes focused on the screen. “You’ve seemed weird lately.” 

“Oh,” you said quietly. Have you been weird? Around Yelena, maybe. You know you didn’t interact with her as much as you had when you first met, but you didn’t think she’d notice. 

“I guess I should have asked you if you even wanted to watch a movie, huh? I’m not always the best at that. Blame my dad for that.” 

You studied the side of her face, gently illuminated by the glow of TV. Your chest ached; your feelings bubbled against your will. With a sigh, you shook your head and forced yourself to focus on anything else. 

“No, I wanted to,” you said. 

It was her turn to look at you. You felt her eyes and couldn’t help but meet them. A small smile rested on her lips as she moved the empty popcorn bowl onto the coffee table before scooting closer to you. There was still a space between you, a friendly space, but your heart beat faster anyway. 

“Good,” she said, snatching half of your blanket from your lap and tossing it over her legs as she kicked her feet up on the coffee table. “If I’m being honest, I was kind of glad everyone bailed. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do like those assholes. I really do. But I felt like we hadn’t gotten a chance to, you know, hang out.” 

“You wanted to hang out with me?” The words slipped out before you could even think about it. You had a hard time understanding why Yelena would want to hang out with just you. It wasn’t that you didn’t think you two were friends, but you assumed you were just the kind of friends that exist in a group. 

She stared at you like you had said the most insane thing. “Duh? You are…nice.” 

The softness in her tone unfurled some of the tension and nervousness in your body. “I think you’re nice too.” 

“The others can be nice, but with you I am…I don’t know…comfortable.” She paused as her words sank into you, sending your mind into a whirlwind of confusion. Then, she laughed, deep and raspy. “Sorry, that sounds crazy.” 

“No,” you said quickly. “It doesn’t.” 

Yelena held your gaze for a moment longer before she dragged her eyes back onto the screen. You did the same, a dizzy feeling comfortably wrapping its way around your head. Her words were the only thing you thought about as you began to doze off on the couch, mind filled with her pretty smile and intense gaze. 

Tip-toeing into the tower’s living room, Ava and Walker led the charge. They stopped, peaking around the wall that held the TV. 

“I told you,” Ava whispered, digging her elbow into Walker’s side. 

He wanted to retort with a snarky comment, but refrained, smiling fondly at the sight in front of them. 

Even Alexei managed to stay quiet as he fumbled for his cell phone and held it up. “Oh, this is getting framed for New Avengerz Christmas card,” he said in the quietest voice they’d ever heard from him. He snapped a photo, almost giddy. 

On the couch, with a movie long since over, you and Yelena slept sharing a blanket, your head resting on her shoulder, and her arm draped lazily around you.

The sight was sugary sweet, even enough for Bucky to crack a smile. 

“They look so cozy,” Bob whispered.

Alexei tossed an arm around Bob’s shoulders, causing him to tense up momentarily before relaxing. “That, my boy, is young love.” 

Bucky chuckled softly. “All right, let’s not push it. And-” he looked pointedly between Ava and Walker. “Less meddling, okay?” 

With a roll of her eyes, Ava replied, “Yes, mom.” 

The group broke apart, leaving you and Yelena to spend the rest of the night sleeping together on the couch. 

As they made their way toward their bedroom, Walker knocked his shoulder with Ava’s. “We’re not actually stopping meddling to get them together, right?” 

She eyed him, smirking lightly. “Not a chance.”

[teambyler]

What the people who call Bylers delusional sound like (UPDATED)

It's the middle of Season 2...

You Jancy fans are delusional!

Nancy LOVES STEVE. She TOLD HIM she did. She only has trouble expressing her feelings because she's from a loveless family. She wouldn't lie to him! Are you saying she's a liar?

And they KISSED! Multiple times in the show!

It's ALWAYS been them since the beginning!

Steve RISKED HIS LIFE and went back in the Byers house to save Nancy. He didn't have to do that! Steve WOULD DIE FOR NANCY. Steve loves Nancy!

Steve's AMAZING and a great guy. He even helped buy a new camera for Jonathan. Admit it: you just hate Steve!

Nancy and Jonathan have no chemistry. Did you see how they argue with each other? How he insists on speaking his mind?

You think Nancy would love someone she fights with instead of Steve Harrington, the love of her life who would die for her?

Steve's popular and Nancy's pretty. It's not realistic for weirdos and outcasts like Jonathan to get girls like Nancy in the 80s.

What a CREEP! He STALKED Nancy and took photos of her! His "love" -- if you can call it that -- is UNHEALTHY and he should learn to MOVE ON. It's clearly one-sided. Nancy was nice to him because she's a decent person and wanted to find Barbara. You think she'd go for a guy who's obsessed about her? If you think she'll choose a stalker over the man who saved her life then you're clearly sexist.

He even took Nancy home from the party when she was drunk and wasted, when she's already WITH STEVE. He tried to STEAL Nancy. He's a homewrecker!

The show told you they're just FRIENDS:

They're FRIENDS. They SAID IT!

And why are you online obsessing about two minors having sex anyway? You must be a stalker like Jonathan. NANCY LOVES STEVE.

You're DELUSIONAL. And your posts about them BOTHER ME SO MUCH

-teambyler

[lenoredovesbairds]

Lenore Dove is so misunderstood and mischaracterized by the fandom it makes me sad to see.

She is not this manic, dream pixie girl. Her character very much shaped, flawed and real. Haymitch is able to oversee and ignore her “flaws” because he’s a 16 year old teenage boy who is madly in love with her, but it is not hard for us readers, to look between those lines and see how fleshed her character really is.

She is seen to act before thinking, making rash decisions which aren’t the best for her wellbeing. She is way too emotional, feels too many feelings and has too many thoughts and she doesn’t know how to articulate them into words because she’s an introvert and she fears her words being lost in translation.

She only reveals her unfiltered, (sometimes) dark thoughts to her loved ones, and often enough she does it by using metaphors so she can still backtrack incase she gets misunderstood because she still feels like her thoughts could be a burden to the people around her.

She is not a “Lucy Gray Rip-Off”.

Lucy Gray was a born performer. She loved to be on stage, she loved performing for her people and knew how to get the crowd on her side, how to keep them entertained.

Lenore Dove doesn’t sing in front of people. It makes her uncomfortable. She’s not a “Born Performer” nor does she know how to control a crowd, at least not in the way Lucy Gray did.

She’s a rebel. She’ll only use her voice when she realizes she absolutely HAS to. She’ll use it when she’s mad, and sad, and in despair.

She’ll go against the rules at any given time, especially when it comes to protecting her loved ones. She doesn’t realize nor care about any consequences at the time, she only acts because she’s in pain and wants to avenge her people.

She’s a sixteen year old girl who dreamt big in a world where dreaming was a luxury and not something many people can afford.

In spite of her dark, burdened thoughts, she had still kept her innocence and was able to dream of a world without the reaping, she had hopes that one day that dream could become a reality, no matter how crazy it sounded to others.

She also had dreams of growing up, having a loving family and living peacefully with her loved ones and her boy who she loved more than anyone and she was willing to die for him.

[heavensgaze]

fanart for some clangen // warrior cat comics i've been very into lately !! all of the blogs will be linked below the cut.

PLEASE go check all of them out if you haven't.

Lilac is from @mammoth-clangen - your comic has been on my reading list for ages now and when someone suggested Lilac for this it gave me the perfect opportunity to sit and read. i love the choice to write in first person from the perspectives of the characters. it creates a really intense emotional weight in the story. your art is also just SO stunning. your environment and background work is to die for. Lilac is such a good character. he has this quiet dignity around him that i really love in a character.

Coalfrost is from @rainy-wc - rain has heard me gush about shoreclan and The Watchful Eyes of the Sea so so much already but that's not going to stop me from doing it here too. the atmosphere of the comic is so mysterious and bleak in the best way. the way you write the dialogue really feeds into the culty energy, with everything seeming so innocent on paper but also so incredibly guarded that something must be going on. i love the jagged shapes and the use of color so much too. you know i love coalfrost... i can't wait for people to see more of her.

Flowerdaisy and Rapidpaw are both from @sunclan-rising - i fell in love with your art the moment i saw it. i love the vibrant colors and sharp lines, and how varied each character's shapes are. it gives them so much personality. seeing what happened to little rapidpaw broke me, and then i remembered that flowerdaisy is practically a kit herself at 18 moons??? i can't imagine how this is weighing on her, and can't wait to see where it goes from here. (also sorry for flopping and calling them peakpaw... a classic jj L, i fear TT_TT)

Greenberry is from @fallenclan - i've probably read through fallenclan in its entirety four or five times at this point. i ADORE the way you draw cats, and the longevity of the comic is such an inspiration to me. i think one of the coolest things about fallenclan is how everyone seems to have their favorite little background character, regardless of their relevance. you're so good at making every single character have so much personality, even if they only show up once or twice. greenberry is my personal fav!! people who know me will know that a character having "green" in their design (or name, in this case) is a surefire way to my heart. she's MY clairvoyant little sweetie...and i was so excited to see her get her new accessory.

Leapmist is from @ask-littleclan - first off... it was SO hard deciding which littleclan cat to draw. your character designs are so next level and inspiring to me!! and the comic is BEAUTIFUL??? the colors are so tasty and the way you use all of the space on each page is insane. like i can only aspire to have that level of visual interest. i chose leapmist because i LOVE how pointy they are, and i figured they deserve it considering their new promotion. i'm so very excited to see where the story goes, and i hope you're able to get lots of rest and that the new term goes super smoothly for you!

Yewstar is from @righteous-pines - if it's not very obvious from the content of gardenclan, i LOVE a story about religion. i'm very excited to see where your comic goes, especially since it starts with this guy losing a life? his design is SO fun. i love a grumpy old man, and his spiky fur and beard are such good details. i am such a big fan of how you draw cats, especially the really round ones. it's SO fun. and the detail and backstories you've given everyone are crazy intriguing.

Doll is from @ask-graveclan - i was torn between drawing doll and whispstar (I LOVE GREEN CATS!) but doll's design is kind of everything to me. every single cat in this clan is breathtaking. seriously. i could look at your art all day? graveclan is so full of mystery and intrigue... i need to know who killed this absolute SWEETIE. i hope her and sunpaw stay safe as they investigate... i'm also so invested in their little ghost romance too...

Siltsplash is from @loudclan-clangen - i've actually made fanart for loudclan before. it feels like ages ago now, but i don't think i would have gone down the clangen comic rabbithole at all if i hadn't found loudclan. it's SO special to me. Siltsplash and Wildfirecry are my faves, but since i've drawn the latter before, Silt was the obvious choice :3 i LOVE them so much and they've suffered more than christ on the cross... i love their relationship with their adopted sons, and their relationship with owlstar, even if i think they should be allowed to throw rocks at him forever. your art is so charming. i love the way you draw cats and i love how expressive everything is. your ability to convey emotion not just through their faces but through colors and framing is SO impressive to me. and the worldbuilding you've done is also so good. it's such a fresh take on the warrior cats formula. you are one of my biggest inspos for Our Garden Under Heaven. i'm SO excited to see where this story goes... and scared. but mostly excited!!

i'm so sorry that i'm incapable of being brief, but i hope you all know how much i love and appreciate your art!! thank you for doing what you do!

[littlelamy]

you’d never had a whole week off before. rose had pressed the note into your hand that monday morning—short and stiff, typed on her monogrammed stationery: “y/n l/n, take the week. you’ve earned it. the estate will survive without you. (we hope.)”

you read it three times before blinking up at her. “you mean like.. all week? like seven days? like… no chores?”

she stared at you. sipped her coffee. “yes, seven whole days. go do whatever it is girls your age like you do.”

you gasped, “like pilates and journaling and maybe alphabetizing my nail polish?”

“yes...exactly that.. go away.”

so you did it; you made a color-coded schedule with glitter pens. tuesday was for deep-cleaning your closet and trying on all your swimsuits to see which ones still fit your tits right. wednesday was for cookie experiments. and thursday—thursday was yoga day.

you’d laid your mat out just as the sun came up, soft pink light kissing the dew off the hedges. you wore your tiniest spandex shorts—baby pink, obviously, barely covering the underside of your cheeks—and a workout bra that wasn’t really a bra so much as a small fabric of coverage. it tied in the back, thin like ribbon, your breasts held together more by sheer hope rather than support.

you were already halfway through your routine by the time rafe walked out.

you didn’t see him at first. you were in a downward dog, back arched, breathing steady, totally unaware that his bedroom window faced the front lawn. or that he’d woken up late, shirtless, grumpy, barefoot, and about to storm the kitchen for cereal—until he saw you.

you, on your mat, sun hitting your thighs, bent over with your spine stretched like a sleepy cat and in those little shorts that were definitely illegal in several states, bouncing on your toes between poses like you were doing it just for him.

his mouth went dry, as he desperately trying to grab his phone, snapping a picture on after another and zooming in on some.

“fuck.” he took another one, tilted his head, cursed under his breath when you dropped into child’s pose, ass high, arms stretched forward. rafe inhaled sharply through his teeth, padding outside without a sound. “what the fuck is this, pretty?”

you squeaked, nearly tipping off your mat. twisted around, face gleaming with sweat. “rafe! oh—oh my god, good morning! i didn’t think anyone would be up yet, you scared me!”

he was grinning, eyes locked on your ass. “you’re doing porn on the lawn now?”

you blinked, correcting him, “i’m doing yoga.”

“sure you are.” he stepped closer. your eyes darted to his bare chest, the cute sleepy crinkle of his hair. he hadn’t even put on real pants, just old sweats hanging low on his hips. God, he's gorgeous. your thighs squeezed together at the thought of him from last night, when he split you open on his dad's desk.

you cleared your throat. “it’s thursday. thursday’s yoga day.”

“riiight,” he said, gaze trailing down your body like a drip of warm syrup. “and what’s with the outfit, sweetheart? trying to kill the neighbors?”

you pouted, “i always wear this for yoga. it’s comfy. i get sweaty.”

“you’re giving the grass a hard-on.”

you giggled, “you want to join me?”

he blinked. “what?”

you tilted your head, sitting back on your heels, adjusting your top where it barely clung to your tits. “i said, do you wanna join me? you came all the way out here. unless you just wanted to say hi?”

his jaw flexed, you were being very earnest. no idea what you were doing or how hard he was under those sweats.

“sure,” he said, voice rough. “let’s do some yoga.”

you scoot over, give him half the mat, which doesn’t leave any room for personal space. your knee brushes his; your arm bumps his chest when you stretch sideways. every time you exhale, it’s comes out as little whimper, and every time he inhales, it’s just to smell you. your coconut shampoo, sugary scented lotion, sweat, and sunlight, fuck—he’s going to die.

you guide him through cat-cow. he growls on the exhale. “am i doing it wrong?”

“n-no, baby” you stammer, “you’re just…intense. that’s good though. yoga should be passionate. like..from the inside. that’s what my instructor used to say.”

you move into cobra pose, arching your back until your chest pushes forward. your head falls back with a soft moan of breath.

rafe watches, commits it to memory. you peek over, “you’re not stretching.”

he huffs. “i’m stretched.”

“you’ll pull a muscle, silly. here—”

you reach over, place both hands on his waist. pushing him gently.

“lower..breathe out. let it all go.” he groans, but not from pain. you were right behind him now, hands on his hips, pressing him into the stretch. your chest brushes his back. “does that feel better?”

“yeah,” he chokes.

you tilt your head, “you’re really warm.”

“so are you.”

you smile, drowsy and pleased. “that’s the sun for you. isn’t this nice?”

he turns his head, and your faces are inches apart.

“baby.”

“mm hm?”

“are you trying to kill me?”

you blink, shocked at the accusation, “what? no! i’m trying to help you find your center. we’re working on alignment—”

“alignment,” he repeats, licking his lip. “pretty, if i align any harder, someone’s calling the cops.”

you frown, then following his eyes down to his sweatpants. oh...you cover your mouth, a smiling forming.“oh my god.”

“yeah.”

“was it the child’s pose?”

“babe.”

“or the cobra?”

“it was everything.”

you squirm. “i'm sorry, i didn’t mean to—” he cuts you off by grabbing your wrist.

“stop,” he growls. “don’t apologize for looking like that. i want you to apologize for moaning!”

you squeak. “i was breathing!”

“you were whimpering.”

you blush, “i didn’t know you were watching or paying attention.”

he tugs you into his lap making your legs spread over his thighs. “i’m always watching you,” he says, almost purring. your breath stutters at the sexiness of his voice. his hand slides up your bare back. “you wanna stretch, baby? i’ll give you a good stretch.”

“r-rafe—” like before cuts you off by kissing you.

“fuck yoga,” he breathes. “you and me need a different kind of session.”

❤︎ tags below

@rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl @esquivelbianca @p45510n4f4shi0n @palomavz @cokewithcameron @donaldsonsgirl @yncoded @lilbunnysfics @solaceluna @icaqttt @alphabetically-deranged @bevstofu @wintercrows @emluvsuxo @rafestoothbrush @cadhlabear @st8rkey

[flyingprisonalindustrialcomplex]

#real obi-wan fans don't think he's a catch they think he sucks <3

As someone who loves Obi-Wan and finds Ewan hot,I second that. Obi-Wan is a cool character because he's flawed(the same goes to both lovebirds in question,lol).

#an important factor is also obi-wan spent 10 years by aotc listening to anakin narrate how great padme is #thats the kind of overexposure that gets people making deranged statements like 'idk i think senator amidala is kinda mid' #and on padme's side of things. she knew obi-wan in tpm thats enough for a lifetime

Love the idea of two of Anakin's favorite people being utterly unimpressed by each other.

#also even if padme fell for obiwan nothing would happen bc obiwan is married to his vows?? he would never leave the order #or do anything to jeopardize his place in the order

This.

#like anyone that thinks Padme is the 'cool collected and rational' one in the relationship clearly has not seen the films #that woman has one setting: ride or die #this is a woman that says 'i'm a pacifist' while setting her chic custom blaster to 'kill' #and then takes her personal luxury yacht to raid a planet full of enemies who tried to assassinate her to save her illicit husband

Yep. She's just poised and elegant about it(befitting for a royal).

#padme to obiwan is 'this man is my brother/father in law or something i guess' #Obi-Wan to padme 'this is my brothers side chick who is ruining everything' #they arent friends #literally the only real conversation they have is him showing up to be like hi anakin is evil where is he #and when she doesnt give him what he wants he just sneaks on her ship and makes the whole situation 1000 times worse #anakin only thinks theres something going on cause he thinks their bith amazing

Padme and Obi-Wan being unimpressed by each other while Anakin thinks they're both awesome makes everything better,IMO.

#god forbid a girl falls madly in love with an obviously bad dude who also fulfills her emotional needs #concept: a woman makes bad decisions and it's bc she's complicated #not bc she's stupid #they match each others level of weird

Exactly.

aotc anakin is not “normal” but neither is aotc padme. this is the lady who says “i want to know who’s trying to kill me” in a perfectly collected deadpan less than ~48hrs after said assassination attempt. and anakin is the only person in the room who says yes. i will. we will do whatever you ask. obviously that’s going 2 appeal to her

[lalo0]

INSIDE AESPA EP. 7┃ The Calm That Isn’t

Male reader x Karina

Word count: 6.7k

Tags: squirting, dom/sub, dry humping, orgasm denial, breath play, dirty talk, teasing PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6

The morning was quiet.

Not the soft kind. The kind that makes your thoughts louder.

Karina wasn’t in bed when I woke up. No note. No sound. Just the dent in the mattress beside me, the scent of her still clinging to the pillow.

I sat up slowly. My body ached in places I hadn’t realized I’d used. My jaw felt tight from clenching. My wrists still held the memory of her grip. The kind of soreness you earn, not regret.

I told myself I was fine.

Then sat on the edge of the bed for five minutes pretending I believed it.

The house felt different today.

Not changed—just... rearranged.

Like someone had come in while we were sleeping and moved everything an inch to the left.

Winter was in the living room, legs folded under her, scrolling through something on her phone. She didn’t look up when I passed.

Ningning was in the kitchen with a spoon halfway to her mouth and a box of cereal cradled in one arm like a newborn. She glanced at me once—just enough to register I existed—then went back to her bowl.

“Morning,” she said around a mouthful.

“Hey.”

She swallowed. “Karina let you sleep in?”

I raised an eyebrow.

She smirked. “No reason. Just surprised you’re walking straight.”

I didn’t answer.

I found Karina in a small room with only a couch and a window. Not on her phone. Not reading. Just sitting—one leg crossed over the other, staring out the window like she was calculating something she wasn’t going to say out loud.

She didn’t look over when I entered.

“Morning,” I said.

A beat. Then: “Hey.”

No tension. No edge. Just... calm.

Like something had shifted between us, and for once, neither of us was trying to wrestle it back.

I sat beside her. Not close. Just within reach if either of us decided to bridge the gap.

She leaned her head back against the wall. Closed her eyes for a second.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Sure.”

Another pause. No eye contact. Just the window and her own thoughts.

“How do you stop acting like you're fine all the time?”

I didn’t say anything.

She opened her eyes again, slow. Met mine, but only for a second.

“I mean—like—I’ve been holding it together so long, I don’t know how to not.”

I let it hang there.

She glanced away. “Forget it.”

“I won’t.”

That got the smallest breath of a laugh. Just air through her nose.

Then, quieter: “I’m tired, Mylo.”

The words sat between us for a second. No drama. No weight behind them. Just truth.

I nodded slowly. “I know.”

She looked at me again. Really looked. Like she was trying to figure out how much I meant that. If I said it because I understood, or because I wanted her to think I did.

“I don’t want to be in charge all the time,” she said quietly. “Not just here. With everything. My parents. My label. The girls. You.”

That last word came slower.

I didn’t flinch. “I never asked you to be in charge of me.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t feel like I should.”

We sat in that for a minute.

The room didn’t feel heavy.

It felt clean. Like something unspoken had been scraped out of the air.

Karina sighed. Shifted. Her shoulder brushed mine.

“I don’t even know what this is,” she said. “But when I told you not to make me chase you…”

I looked over.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch. Just said, clear and quiet:

“I meant it. Don’t disappear.”

It was dark when I left. I didn’t run. I walked. Slow. Careful. Not looking back. The streetlights buzzed like they were about to die. Every time a car passed, I stopped breathing. It didn’t matter if the driver saw me. Didn’t matter if they didn’t. I didn’t have a bag. Just a hoodie and twenty-three dollars in ones. No plan. No destination. Just away. Away from the envelope. From the way he looked at me like he already owned the next few weeks of my life. From my mother’s silence when I told her I didn’t like him. From her not asking why. And from what I overheard the night before.

His voice on the phone, low and too casual: “Yeah, he’s quiet. Doesn’t fight. Should be easy.” I didn’t need to know who he was talking to. I knew what he meant. The couch where he used to sit still had the imprint of his keys in the cushion. I noticed that as I passed. I didn’t cry. Not because I was brave—just because I already knew what it would feel like.

I stared ahead for a long moment.

Then I said it.

“I won’t.”

She held my eyes for another second. Then nodded—barely—and turned. The door shut softly behind her. No dramatic exit, just quiet certainty.

It wasn’t the kind of silence you fight. It was the kind that invites you to sit in it, let it wrap around your ribs, and wait to see if you flinch.

Eventually, I moved. Pushed off the wall. Wandered the loop of the house once—bedroom to hallway to kitchen and back—just to keep from being still too long.

The others came back home before sundown.

It wasn’t loud. Just footsteps, murmurs, the thud of a bag dropped too hard. The kind of noise that means the outside world is back.

Ningning walked in first. Her phone lit her face in a pale wash, and her lips moved like she was mouthing lyrics only she could hear. She looked tired in a way she wouldn’t say out loud.

Winter trailed her. Hoodie zipped to the throat. One earbud still in, the other dangling like she forgot it. Her eyes passed over me and kept going.

Neither said anything.

They didn’t have to.

The air between them was stretched thin—tight with something I didn’t understand yet. Like a conversation had started in the car and ended too early.

I waited a beat. Then moved to the kitchen to give them space.

Ningning’s voice broke the quiet later, from the living room.

“You think she’s okay?”

She didn’t say who.

Winter didn’t answer right away.

“She’s fine,” she said eventually. “Just overthinks everything.”

Ningning didn’t push.

I didn’t ask.

Karina came out last.

She changed. Clean hoodie, leggings, towel-dried hair pulled up like she didn’t care how it dried. Her face was bare—no makeup.

She moved like someone who was used to motion. Someone who didn’t stop unless she meant to.

Her eyes met mine just once. That was all.

I nodded.

She didn’t.

But she didn’t look away either.

Giselle didn’t come out at all.

Her door stayed shut. No music. No voice. No presence.

Like she’d vanished into her corner of the house, and everyone had quietly agreed not to disturb the boundary she’d drawn.

I almost knocked once. Just to break that boundary.

But I didn’t.

Dinner happened in fragments.

Ningning reheated leftovers and ate them standing up. Winter poured a glass of juice and forgot about it. Karina opened the fridge, looked for something for a full thirty seconds, then left without taking anything.

I stood in the hallway and watched it all like I wasn’t really part of it.

Maybe I wasn’t.

Maybe they weren’t either.

They were all in the same house, breathing the same air, carrying different weights they wouldn’t name.

Later, I passed by the bathroom and heard Winter’s voice through the door.

Not talking. Singing.

Soft. Something slow. Not Korean. Not a song I knew.

It only lasted a minute. Then the water shut off.

And the silence returned.

I ended up in the kitchen again.

Leaning against the counter. Cup of water untouched beside me. Hands still. Mind not.

Karina appeared again without warning. No footsteps. Just there.

She didn’t speak.

Neither did I.

She stood across from me, fingers curled loosely around the hem of her hoodie. Her eyes scanned the room—then settled on me like I was something she’d already decided to reach for.

“Come with me,” she said.

Her voice wasn’t demanding. It wasn’t soft either.

It was certain.

I followed her.

She didn’t lead me far—just to the back door. Slipped her shoes on without speaking, unlocked the latch with a twist, and stepped outside.

I paused at the doorframe, then pushed it open and joined her.

The air was cooler out here. Still, like the house was holding its breath behind us.

Karina walked a few paces ahead, then slowed by the fence. She didn’t sit. Just stood there, facing away, her shoulders rising with a breath she didn’t let out all at once.

She spoke without turning around.

“That thing I said earlier—about not wanting to carry everything…”

I said nothing.

She looked over her shoulder. “This is part of that.”

Then she turned to face me fully, hoodie sleeves bunched at her wrists.

“I’ve been watching the others,” she said. “Winter, Ningning… Giselle. They’re not saying it, but something’s off.”

I nodded slowly. “I heard them earlier.”

“Yeah.” Her jaw worked a little. “They were talking about Giselle.”

She finally sat down on the edge of the low bench near the back fence. I followed, sitting beside her with a few inches of space between us.

“She’s been pulling away,” Karina said. “Not just from you. From all of us.”

I didn’t respond.

“She seemed fine this morning. A little quiet, but that’s normal after a long day.” Karina ran a hand through her hair. “Then something happened while they were out. Winter wouldn’t talk about it, and Ningning… she said too much already.”

“What did Giselle do?”

Karina shook her head. “Nothing dramatic. No yelling. Just—she shut down. Didn’t say anything the whole way home. Got out of the car, went straight to her room.”

“Is that normal for her?”

“Kind of,” Karina said. “But usually, she doesn’t vanish unless she’s trying to avoid herself.”

She looked down at her hands. Twisted her fingers once. “I think she felt something today. And it scared her.”

A breeze moved across the yard, soft and dry. It carried the faintest sound from the street—a car door, maybe. Then silence again.

“She asked them something,” Karina said. “Ningning just said it was about being wanted.”

I didn’t move.

“She asked if she was being kept around for the fantasy of her.”

That sat in the air for a while.

Karina didn’t look at me when she said it.

“She didn’t mean aespa,” I said.

“No.”

That was all either of us needed to say.

Karina leaned back a little. Her hands were tucked into her sleeves again.

“She's the kind of person who’s always been wanted for the wrong reasons. Looks. Fame. Money.”

“And then she let someone get too close to the real thing,” I said.

Karina looked at me now.

“And when it got quiet,” I added, “she panicked.”

“She’s not the only one,” Karina said.

I raised an eyebrow.

Karina gave a thin smile. “You think I’m like this for fun?”

That got half a breath of a laugh out of me.

She turned her face toward the fence again. “The whole point of being strong all the time is pretending you don’t notice how tired you are.”

She didn’t say it for pity.

Just a fact.

“And now?” I asked.

She was quiet for a beat.

Then: “Now I notice.”

We sat like that for a while. Not touching. Not rushing.

Karina’s voice came softer the next time.

“I’m glad you didn’t disappear.”

“Yet.”

She smirked. “Don’t make me punch you.”

Then, with a glance that cut sharper than it should’ve:

“You’ve been holding it together a little too well,” she said “Sometimes that’s the loudest red flag there is."

I glanced at her. “You think everything’s a red flag.”

“Only when it is.”

I gave a small smile, just enough to pass for unbothered. “Maybe I’m just good at handling shit.”

Karina rolled her eyes. “That’s what people say right before they crash.”

I looked away. “I’m not crashing.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

A pause.

Then, quieter: “Just said you’re holding a lot.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Who isn’t?”

“That’s not the point.”

“It kind of is.”

She sighed, but didn’t push harder. Just leaned back against the bench and stared at the fence like it might answer something.

“I don’t need the whole story,” she said after a while. “I just… want to know you’re not white-knuckling everything alone.”

“I’m fine.”

Karina didn’t argue with me. She didn’t nod either. She just sat there. Watching me with the kind of quiet that didn’t feel like pressure—it felt like understanding trying to be patient.

I looked down at my hands. They were steady. Still.

“I’m used to this,” I said. “Being the one who stays calm.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I figured.”

“Good at not making it anyone else’s problem.”

She didn’t answer right away. Then: “Sometimes that just means you stopped expecting anyone to care.”

That stung more than I wanted it to.

But I shrugged, like it hadn’t.

“Look,” I said. “I get it. You’re worried. You want to check in. And I appreciate it.”

“That’s not what this is.”

I looked over.

Karina met my eyes, firm but quiet. “I’m not checking in. I’m here. With you. That’s it.”

I didn’t respond.

But I didn’t look away either.

We sat in silence for a while.

Karina pulled her legs up onto the bench, hugging her knees. Her face looked softer in the dark. Less controlled. Less carved.

“I’m not trying to read you,” she said eventually.

“You are.”

She smiled. “Bad habit.”

I leaned back, elbows on the top of the bench. “You’re not wrong.”

“But you’re not gonna tell me anything.”

I looked at the sky. “Not tonight.”

“That’s fair.”

She let her head rest against the back of the bench, close enough that our shoulders brushed again.

“I used to think staying quiet was strength,” she said. “That being composed meant I was handling it.”

“And now?”

“I think sometimes it just means you’re scared of falling apart in front of the wrong person.”

I looked over. “You think I’m the wrong person?”

“No,” she said. “I think you don’t know if I’m the right one.”

That shut me up for a second.

Karina shifted, stretched her legs back out, one foot brushing mine as she moved.

She wasn’t looking at me anymore. Just out across the yard, the way people do when they’ve said too much and don’t want to see the reaction.

I didn’t speak.

Didn’t touch her.

But I stayed.

Not as an answer.

Just as proof I hadn’t disappeared.

The silence between us had changed.

It wasn’t tense. It wasn’t thick with something unsaid.

It was waiting.

Karina’s foot still rested lightly against mine. Her head tilted back, eyes on the stretch of sky above the fence line. I didn’t need to look at her to know she was still thinking—still holding the weight of the things she hadn’t said.

And then she shifted.

Turned.

Her voice low, but clear.

“You coming back with me?”

I looked over at her.

She wasn’t smirking.

She wasn’t teasing.

She just… meant it.

No game. No pose.

Just want.

I didn’t answer. Not with words. I stood up first, waited for her to do the same.

She did.

She didn’t lead this time. Just walked beside me. Our steps soft across the grass. Through the back door, past the low light of the hallway, down the quiet corridor toward her room.

No one saw us.

Or if they did, no one said anything.

She opened the door and stepped inside. Left it half open behind her.

I closed it.

The room was still. Dim.

She turned toward me and pulled her hoodie off in one slow motion. Her t-shirt clung underneath—thin, worn-in, more sleepwear than outfit. She tossed the hoodie onto a chair, then stepped forward, close enough that I could feel the heat off her skin.

But she didn’t touch me.

Not yet.

She just looked.

“I meant it,” she said.

I didn’t ask what.

But she told me anyway.

“When I said I didn’t want to be in control of everything.”

My chest tightened—but only a little.

Still manageable.

Still quiet.

“Okay,” I said.

Then, softer: “What do you want instead?”

She stepped in, fingers finding the hem of my shirt.

“I want you.”

It wasn’t desperate.

It wasn’t loud.

It was steady. Certain.

Like she’d waited long enough to say it clearly.

I let her lift my shirt. Tossed it aside. She kissed me once—quick, focused—then again, slower this time. And this time, it deepened fast. Her hands were on my back, gripping hard like she didn’t want to fall.

But there was no rush.

She didn’t push.

She just pressed closer.

And when she pulled back, breath slightly uneven, she looked at me like she was daring herself to go quiet again—but didn’t.

“Don’t make me tell you what to do,” she said, voice almost a whisper.

I stepped forward.

“Get on the bed,” I murmured.

She exhaled.

Relieved.

Then she moved—no words, no hesitation. Just turned, stepped backward, and climbed onto the mattress. She didn’t pose. Didn’t sprawl. Just sat on her knees in the center, watching me like she needed to see how far I was going to take it.

Her breath hitched once when I stopped at the edge of the bed.

“Lie back.”

She did.

Flat. Head tilted slightly, hair spilling over the pillow.

I climbed over her, slow and deliberate, one knee between hers, the other caging her leg. My hands pressed down on either side of her ribs, just enough weight to let her feel I was everywhere now.

“You’re not in control,” I said quietly.

Karina nodded.

“Say it.”

“I’m not in control.”

My hand came up, fingers sliding gently along her jaw. Then I let my thumb rest just under her chin, tilting her face toward mine.

“And you don’t want to be,” I added.

“I don’t,” she whispered.

Her eyes searched mine. Not afraid. Just wide, focused. Like she wanted to feel what it was like to be looked at without armor.

“You’re going to take what I give you,” I said. “And nothing else.”

“Yes.”

“No begging.”

A slow breath. “Okay.”

“No hiding.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

I kissed her—deep this time, all breath and heat and no space left between. Her legs wrapped around me instantly, hips shifting like her body already knew where it was going. But I didn’t move faster.

I slowed it.

My hand slid under her shirt, skimming her stomach, then up—slow enough to make her arch, barely enough to be cruel.

When I finally pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it aside, she was already panting.

But she didn’t reach for me.

She waited.

Exactly how I wanted her.

I kissed her neck next. Bit lightly. Then dragged my mouth to her collarbone, pressing a hand flat to her chest just to feel her pulse jump under it.

Then I moved that hand higher.

To her throat.

Not choking. Not even tight.

Just resting there.

My thumb brushed the side of her neck, steady pressure.

Her mouth opened.

But she didn’t speak.

She didn’t have to.

Her eyes said it all—yes, please, don’t stop.

I applied a little more pressure—not enough to cut breath, just enough to remind her she’d given it up.

Then I kissed her again, holding her there, body under mine, voice caught somewhere in her chest.

She moaned into my mouth.

It was quiet, choked, honest.

When I pulled back, I kept my hand at her throat.

“Good girl,” I said.

Her whole body reacted.

Her nails dug into the sheets. Her knees squeezed around my hips.

I kissed her temple, then her jaw, then whispered against her ear:

“You’re going to come for me like this.”

She nodded—desperate, silent.

But I wasn’t done.

I shifted lower. Trailed kisses down her chest. Took one nipple into my mouth and sucked, slow and deep, while my other hand slid between her legs.

She gasped.

My fingers found her soaked.

I groaned softly, more for her than for me.

“You were waiting for this.”

She whimpered.

“Say it.”

“Yes—fuck—I was—”

I slid two fingers in, slow and deep.

Her back arched.

I tightened my grip around her throat—still gentle, still measured.

“Stay right there,” I said. “Don’t move.”

Her hips trembled.

But she stayed.

Exactly where I wanted her.

Every breath she took came in pieces—tight, shuddering. Her hips kept rising, chasing my hand like she couldn’t stop herself. I let my fingers stay inside her, slow, deep, curling just right to make her toes flex against the sheets.

My other hand rested at her throat again—gentle pressure, firm enough to remind her.

Her eyes were wide, lips parted, chest rising fast. Her breasts moved with every breath, soft and flushed and begging to be touched again.

I leaned down, brushed my mouth just over hers without kissing her.

“You want to lose it,” I murmured. “Don’t you?”

She gave a small nod.

“That’s not good enough.”

“I—yes,” she gasped. “Yes, I want—fuck—I want to—please—”

My fingers didn’t stop. They moved slower now. Crueler. Keeping her trapped in that ache that sits right before everything breaks.

She squirmed beneath me. Back arching. Nails clawing at the sheets like she needed something to hold on to.

“I’m right there—Mylo—please—”

“No,” I said.

Her moan cracked in the middle. Desperate. Wordless.

“I didn’t say you could.”

She tried to nod, to obey, but her thighs were trembling and her chest was flushed all the way up to her collarbones.

I leaned in again and kissed just beneath her jaw—slow and open-mouthed—then dragged my tongue along her throat where my hand rested.

“You’re doing so fucking well,” I whispered.

She whimpered like praise itself made her wetter.

“But you don’t get to finish until I say you can.”

I bit her collarbone—not hard, just enough to leave a mark.

“Understood?”

“Yes,” she choked. “I swear—I’ll wait—just—”

I cut her off with a kiss, then pulled my fingers from her slowly. She gasped—almost sobbed—at the loss, trying to grind against nothing.

But I wasn’t done.

I brought my hand to her mouth.

“Taste what I got from you.”

She wrapped her lips around my fingers without hesitation, moaning low as her tongue circled them.

“You're mine,” I said. “You get to come when I say you can. Not a second sooner.”

She nodded fast, eyes glassy with need, cheeks flushed and wet where her hair clung to them.

I pushed my hips forward, dragging the length of my cock against her folds—just enough friction, just enough slick—and then pulled back.

She cried out.

“You ready for me?”

“Please,” she breathed.

I pressed forward again—slow, grinding the head of my cock along her clit, teasing her with it, but not giving her more.

She writhed under me.

“Fuck—you’re cruel—”

“No,” I said. “Just patient.”

Then I grabbed her wrists, pinned them above her head, and drove into her with one deep, solid thrust.

Her whole body arched.

A strangled sound came from her throat—half cry, half sob.

“Jesus—”

I didn’t give her a chance to recover. I pulled out, slow, then slammed back in. Again. Again. A pace she couldn’t match, only feel.

Her tits bounced with every thrust, full and soft and flushed. Her legs locked around me.

“You were made for this,” I muttered against her ear. “Weren’t you?”

“Yes—yes, I was—”

Her voice cracked again.

I tightened my grip on her wrists. Pinned her harder.

“Let go,” I said.

“I—”

“I’ve got you. Let go.”

And that’s when she broke.

She came hard.

Not with grace. Not with control. She shattered like she’d been holding it in for days—hips jerking up, breath caught, thighs trembling around my waist.

And I didn’t stop.

I kept thrusting, deep and slow, letting her ride the edge of it while she gasped through the aftershocks. Her eyes fluttered closed, mouth slack, hands twitching where I still held her wrists.

“Too much,” she whispered.

I didn’t slow down.

I leaned in instead. Let my mouth brush her ear.

“That’s the point.”

She moaned—half pain, half bliss—and I kissed her temple, then her neck, while my hips kept the same pace, stretching her open again while her body pulsed around me.

She clawed at the sheets with one hand when I let go, then pulled me closer with the other like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to get away or be ruined again.

“Fuck—fuck—Mylo—”

Her voice cracked beautifully.

“I can’t—”

“You already did.”

She arched again. Full-body. Her breasts bounced with the movement, soft and flushed and still sensitive. I caught one in my hand, squeezed just right, then bent down to take it into my mouth.

She cried out.

Bit down on her own knuckle.

“Fuck—please—just slow down—”

“No.”

I kissed lower. Across her ribs. Down her stomach. Then pulled out with a wet sound that made her whimper from the emptiness.

And just when she started to breathe again, I flipped her.

Fast.

She let out a startled sound as her chest hit the bed, hands braced near the pillow, hair falling across her face. I pushed her knees apart, then leaned over her back, chest flush to her spine.

“I’m not done.”

“Fuck,” she whispered.

My cock dragged against her ass—wet, slick with her, still pulsing. I didn’t thrust in. Not yet. I just ground forward—slow and heavy— humping the curve of her body like I was building tension on purpose.

She buckled back.

I pushed her down.

“Stay.”

She went still.

My hips rolled against her again, lazy, deliberate. The fabric of the sheets rasped against her breasts. My cock pressed between her cheeks without entering, grinding slow over her soaked pussy until she was writhing again.

“You’re not in control,” I growled into her ear.

“I know.”

“You’re not calling the shots.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Good.”

I kept humping her like that. Slow. Cruel. Denying both of us what we needed.

“You want to beg again?”

“No,” she whispered. “I want to be used.”

I watched her hips twitch, legs still spread wide on the bed. Her breath came in sharp gasps, thighs glistening and trembling, her ass raised slightly like her body was trying to stay open even when I denied it.

Then I sat back and said, voice low, calm, brutal:

“Show me how badly you want it.”

She looked over her shoulder, hair in her eyes, completely wrecked.

“What—?”

“You want to come?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Then work for it.”

I leaned back on my heels, grabbed her hips, and pulled her on her back—not into me, just onto my thigh. She moaned, a high breathless sound, then realized what I was doing.

Her face flushed deep.

She was still trembling when I spoke again.

“Ride my leg.”

She hesitated.

And that pause—that pause—told me everything.

She was embarrassed.

Turned on enough to be shaking, but embarrassed.

And I loved that.

“I want to watch you hump like a needy little slut,” I said. “Since that’s what you are right now.”

She let out a broken sound.

Then slowly—shakily—began to move.

Her thighs flexed as she started grinding herself against me. Not graceful. Not practiced. Just raw. Desperate. The drag of her soaked pussy against my thigh slick and hot.

“That’s it,” I murmured. “Keep going.”

She moaned, biting her bottom lip, hands clutching at my knee for leverage. Her hips rolled hard, rubbing herself fast along my thigh. Each motion left her gasping.

“Faster.”

She obeyed.

Her tits bounced wildly, sweat glistening between them, her face burning with shame and pleasure as she humped me.

“Look at you,” I said, brushing her hair back roughly. “Humping like you’ll die if you don’t come.”

“I—f-fuck—please—”

“Please what?”

“I—ahhh—I want to—please—I’m gonna—”

“No you’re not.”

She whined—loud, desperate—and kept grinding harder.

“Even if I beg?” she panted.

“Especially if you beg.”

I grabbed her jaw, pulled her face up to mine.

“You’ll come when I make you come. Not a second before.”

She nodded, legs trembling beneath her.

“I want to see you ruin yourself trying.”

That pushed her over the edge—not into orgasm, but into need. Her whole body started shaking. She moaned uncontrollably, thighs clenching around mine, mouth open in a silent cry as her clit dragged across my thigh in desperate, slick circles.

She was a mess. Humiliated. Completely under my control.

And loving it.

Her hands reached out like she needed something to cling to.

I gave her nothing.

Just my leg.

Just my voice.

“Keep humping,” I said. “And don’t you fucking come.”

She kept going.

Not because she wanted to impress me.

Not because she had something to prove.

Because she was past the point of reason—driven by the need to come, to be allowed, to be owned in the only way that would break her clean.

Her body shook against mine, thighs slick and trembling, hips grinding frantically against my leg. Her eyes were glassy, lips swollen, flushed skin glowing with sweat and need. She looked wrecked—and still she moved.

“I can’t,” she gasped. “Mylo—fuck—please, I can’t—”

“You can,” I said, gripping her ass to keep her pressed against me. “You will.”

“I’m—I’m gonna—”

“No, you’re not.”

She sobbed—high, trembling, desperate. It wasn’t just begging anymore. It was pleading from someplace deep. Her face crumpled as her hips twitched harder.

“I’m trying,” she cried.

“I know.”

“I want to be good for you—fuck—I’ll do anything—”

“You already are,” I whispered. “But you don’t come until I say so.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, breath breaking apart into short, choking gasps.

Her rhythm faltered.

She was right there. Teetering.

I let her grind again—once, twice, hard enough to make her whole body convulse—then I grabbed her hips and lifted her off me.

She screamed.

Wordless. Raw.

Her head dropped to my shoulder. Her whole body shook.

“Why—why—”

I kissed her jaw, her temple.

“Because I’m not done with you yet.”

She was crying now—quiet tears, barely a sound—but her body didn’t pull away. It curled in tighter. Hands gripping my arms like she needed them to stay grounded.

“I can’t take much more,” she whispered.

I held her still.

“Yeah,” I murmured. “You can.”

I laid her back gently onto the bed, and climbed over her again. Her legs parted instantly, involuntarily.

“I’m gonna fuck you now.”

She nodded—shaky, wrecked.

“I want it.”

“I know.”

I lined myself up, rubbed the head of my cock along her slit, then looked her in the eye.

“You're gonna be my good girl?”

She nodded quickly, too fast, eyes wide.

“Yes. Yes, I swear—please—”

“Then take it.”

I thrust in—slow but deep. Every inch.

She screamed again, but this time it wasn’t pain or desperation.

It was relief.

Pure, overwhelming, body-shattering relief.

Her walls clamped around me like she’d been made to hold me there. Her arms wrapped around my back. Her breath caught and broke again and again as I started to move—slow and brutal.

“You’re mine,” I whispered. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours—fuck—I’m yours, Mylo, I’m yours—”

And then I gave her what she needed.

I drove into her like I owned her.

Because in that moment—I did.

Her legs wrapped around me, ankles hooked behind my back, locking me in. Her hands tangled in the sheets like she didn’t trust herself not to fall straight through the mattress. She met every thrust like her body was done pretending to have boundaries—just open, raw, and wanting.

“Harder,” she begged, voice cracked.

I gave it to her.

The bed creaked under us. Her tits bounced with every movement, slick and swollen, flushed all the way to the tops of her shoulders. She was moaning without rhythm now, lost in it—gripping me, pulling me, dragging me in deeper every time.

“You gonna come?” I asked.

She nodded frantically. “Please—please—I’m so close—”

“Then come.”

She did—loud, full-body, completely broken. Her thighs clenched around my hips, her mouth open in a cry that barely sounded like her anymore. Her eyes squeezed shut as her whole body seized, shaking with every pulse.

But I didn’t stop.

Not right away.

I slowed down—let her feel it all the way through, hips still moving, slow and deep, just enough to overstimulate her, just enough to make her whimper.

“Can’t—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes you can.”

She sobbed. “I—”

I grabbed her jaw, leaned in, kissed her hard.

“You’re done when I say you are,” I said against her lips. “Not when you think you are.”

She moaned into my mouth, body twitching under mine, completely surrendered.

I fucked her through it—until she went still beneath me, body limp, trembling, breath ragged.

Then I pulled out.

She whimpered at the loss, at the emptiness.

But I was already moving.

I knelt beside her, gripped her hair gently, then guided her down.

She didn’t need direction.

She took me in her mouth like she was starving for it—lips wet, mouth open, eyes still teary and glassy as she sucked me deep. Her tongue curled around the head, her cheeks hollowing as she worked me over with messy, eager devotion.

“Just like that,” I groaned. “Don’t stop.”

Her moan vibrated against my cock.

I gripped her hair tighter, started thrusting into her mouth—slow at first, then faster, deeper. She took it all, drool spilling down her chin, eyes rolling up with each thrust, hands gripping my thighs for balance.

“You look so fucking good like this,” I growled. “On your knees for me. Wrecked. Obedient.”

She whimpered around me.

I held her in place.

“Swallow it.”

Then I came.

Deep in her mouth.

Hot and thick and heavy.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just took it—eyes half-lidded, lips wrapped around me, swallowing every drop.

I held her there until I was done.

Until I could breathe again.

Then I let go.

She pulled back slowly, licking her lips, face flushed, hair a mess, chest still rising fast.

I leaned down.

Brushed a thumb across her mouth.

“You did good.”

She gave the smallest smile.

And then she collapsed back onto the bed.

Quiet. Spent. Glowing.

And this time—I lay down beside her.

No orders. No pressure.

Just calm.

The kind of calm that meant something had changed.

Not finished.

Just shifted.

For both of us.

Karina hadn’t moved much.

She was still on her back, hair splayed out, one arm draped over her stomach like she wasn’t sure what to do with her body yet. Her eyes were half-open. Her chest rose slowly with each breath.

I stayed close.

Not touching.

Just there.

The silence between us had changed again—no longer tense or waiting. Just quiet. Tired. Real.

She turned her head a little toward me.

“I know I keep saying this, but I meant what I said earlier,” she murmured.

I didn’t ask which part.

She kept going.

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

Her voice was softer now. No command. No challenge. Just a truth spoken carefully, like it could crack if pushed the wrong way.

I looked at her.

She was still flushed. Still wrecked. But something in her face had cleared—like letting go hadn’t weakened her, just peeled something away.

“I’ve never been good at saying stuff like this,” she continued. “But... some people can be trusted.”

Her gaze met mine.

“And maybe you’re not used to that. Maybe it’s easier not to believe it. But it doesn’t make it less true.”

I swallowed, jaw tight.

She didn’t say anything else. Just looked at me. Let me sit with it.

The air was drier that day. I remember that. I was sitting on a porch. Not mine. Not anyone’s I knew. Just a porch in a neighborhood I didn’t belong in, watching the light change as evening crept in. My bag was at my feet. My arms were wrapped around my knees. I hadn’t slept in days.

Then the door creaked open. “Hey.” The voice was older. A woman. Warm. “You’ve been out here a while.” I didn’t answer. She didn’t press. Just opened the door wider. “You want to come inside?” I looked up. She didn’t flinch when our eyes met. Didn’t pity me, either. “We’ve got food,” she said. “And a couch.”

I don’t remember walking in. I remember the smell, though—something like cinnamon and laundry. There was a fan running. The TV was on, low volume. Someone else was in the kitchen, talking to a dog like it was a person. I stood near the wall like I didn’t trust any of it. “Name?” “Mylo.” She smiled. “I’m Cara. That’s Bill. You can stay a night if you need to.” “Why?” Her smile didn’t change. “Because it looks like you’ve run out of places to go.”

Back in the room, Karina was still watching me.

I must’ve drifted longer than I thought, because her expression had changed—slightly more alert now, brow just starting to knit.

“You okay?” she asked.

I nodded. A beat too slow.

“Yeah.”

Karina didn’t press.

But she didn’t look away either.

“Some people really can be trusted,” she said again. Quiet. Like she was repeating it for both of us.

And I almost believed her.

Almost.

Karina drifted off with her hand still barely touching mine.

She didn’t say anything before she closed her eyes. Just shifted slightly, murmured something half-formed, and exhaled. One deep, steady breath—and she was gone.

I stayed there for a while, eyes on the ceiling, heart quiet but alert. Her skin was warm beside me. Her scent still clung to the sheets. It should’ve felt comforting.

It didn’t.

Not in a bad way.

Not in a good way either.

Just… muted.

Like it had happened to someone else.

After a few more minutes, I slipped out of bed.

Softly. No rush. Careful not to wake her.

I gathered my clothes. Moved like I’d done it before. Like I’d learned how not to leave a trace when I walked away.

The door clicked shut behind me.

The hallway was still.

Quiet, but not heavy. Just late.

I walked barefoot across the floor, down to the end of the hall, then into the bathroom. The fan was humming softly behind the mirror light. There was a towel hanging over the edge of the sink, still damp.

I turned on the tap. Let cold water run over my hands. Splashed my face. Let it drip.

The reflection stared back.

My eyes looked tired.

Not in the usual way.

Not the kind that sleep could fix.

I toweled off and caught the smallest mark on my collarbone—faint, red, already fading. Karina’s nails. Or maybe her mouth. Something that should’ve felt intimate.

I touched it.

Felt nothing.

No shame. No heat. No tenderness.

Just skin.

I looked at myself longer than I should’ve.

Trying to find the version of me that belonged here.

The one they thought they were getting.

The one who was stable. Useful. Capable of being wanted without breaking.

The mirror didn’t offer anything back.

Eventually, I turned off the light.

But right before I did, I caught my own expression.

I was smiling.

Not wide. Not warm.

Just practiced.

Like it was something I’d taught myself to wear.

I dried my hands. Left the bathroom.

Didn’t check if anyone was awake.

Didn’t check the time.

Just walked slowly back to the guest room and sat on the edge of the bed. My bag was still at the foot of it, half-zipped. My phone on the nightstand. Still no new notifications.

I sat there a while.

Breathing.

Not thinking.

Not feeling.

Just... sitting.

And somewhere in the back of my head, I heard Karina’s voice again.

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

I blinked.

And then I told myself—quietly, carefully:

If I keep this going, they won’t ask.

And I believed it.

Enough to keep breathing.

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

a/n: this is the final chapter but i’ll upload their backstory as well

summary: natasha romanoff x married!reader; nat and you used to be in love. now, years later, you're married to a wealthy man and have a daughter with him. will running into natasha change everything?

warnings: gunshot + bullet wound, blood, violence

word count: 10k

part 4, part 5, part 6

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— SKIN OF TEETH —

A gunshot rings through the air.

The bullet slams into Natasha's shoulder, the force of the hit causing her to lose her balance for a moment. She staggers backwards, her hand going to her shoulder to try and staunch the bleeding. Blood seeps between her fingers, her vision swims, the world spins around her as she tries to stay upright.

"Warning shot", the man with the graying hair says coldly. He and his friend sit back down in their car and pull out the driveway.

She curses under her breath, pain radiating through her shoulder. She fights through it, steadying herself against a nearby tree. It's not like she isn't used to being injured every once in a while, but being out here, hiding in the woods — it complicates things.

Inside the cabin, you flinch as soon as you hear the weapon discharge. Nina's eyes widen, her little hands clutching your shirt as you get up with her in your arms. You throw the door open.

"Natasha?", you call — and then, all words die in your throat. Natasha's face is pale, one hand clutching her bleeding shoulder, the other trailing along the trees for support. You hastily put Nina down before running outside, snow crunching beneath your feet. "Natasha!"

You rush to her side, not wasting a second. You sling her arm over your shoulder, your hand wrapping around her waist. Natasha tries to stand taller, but her legs give out beneath her. Her weight nearly knocks you off balance, but you manage to catch her.

"I'm fine", she mumbles, but you just shake your head. 'Fine' looks different. 'Fine' isn't a jacket soaked with blood, or legs that sway with every step.

"Let's get you inside", you say, voice shaky, and start leading her towards the cabin.

You pull Natasha inside and help her to the closest chair, your hands flying to find the medical supplies. Nina is standing in the doorway, her hands nervously grasping at the hem of her shirt as she watches the scene unfold.

Gauze pads, medical tape, some antiseptic wipes.

"Y/N", Natasha groans as you gently peel off her shirt, revealing the deep, gaping wound underneath. The blood is still flowing, too quickly for your liking. What's in front of you is beyond your usual expertise, as you can clearly tell it'll need surgery. "I'm fine. I- I've survived worse, okay?"

You don't respond at first. The sight of Natasha, so vulnerable, so pale, sends a sharp spike of panic through you.

"Shut up", you mutter, almost angrily, as you press a cloth to the wound. "You're not going anywhere, you hear me? Just keep your eyes open."

You keep applying pressure to the wound in hopes to stop or at least slow the bleeding, but all attempts seem futile. She's still there, still fighting, but her forehead is feverishly hot and she looks like all blood drained out of her face.

"We need to get you to a hospital", you say quietly, your fingers pressing on the cloth shakily. "I can't do this here."

Natasha shakes her head, her eyes fluttering — the effects of blood loss, so visible, so tangible. "No hospital. Too risky."

"You're barely holding on as it is", you snap, your frustration boiling over. "I'm not letting you die in some cabin, for god's sake! You'll bleed out, and then I can't save you!"

Her eyes soften with something you haven't seen in years. She winces as you adjust the bandage only to wrap another layer around her shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere", she murmurs, the words faint.

You bite your lip, but you can't help it — the first tears of the night fall. "You'd better not", you mutter stubbornly, your voice cracking. "You're not allowed to."

A beat passes. Then, Natasha weakly reaches up, her fingertips wiping the tears off your cheek.

"I love you", she says quietly, almost too quietly to hear, but she means every word.

You freeze. Your heart stutters in your chest. She loves me.

"Don't you dare leave me", you plead, your voice broken and raw. She shakes her head again, but the simple movement seems weaker and weaker the more often she repeats it.

"I'm not going anywhere", she says again. "I promise."

The ticking of the clock is the only sound in the room. Natasha is slumped against the table as you apply the final makeshift bandage. The wound in her shoulder is deep, her blood has soaked through every layer, but your hands are steady. Your mind, however, is everything but.

She's losing too much blood.

"Natasha", you say, frustration taking over. "I can't do this here. If you don't get to a hospital soon, you'll die."

"I told you...no hospital." She winces as she tries to sit up. "Too risky."

You look at her, seeing the spark of determination in her eyes. It's admirable that she's still being the strong one, but it also makes your heart break. Is this what will end up killing her? Is this how you will lose her again, this time for good?

Natasha sees the look on your face and then, slowly, she exhales. "There's a place", she says reluctantly. "It's off grid. A SHIELD clinic, about 45 minutes away. They'll...patch me up."

"45 minutes?", you repeat, glancing at the front door. "That's far away."

"It's our only option", she murmurs. "It's either that or nothing. We don't have a choice."

You look at Nina, who's curled up beside the fireplace. She's been silently watching you for the past what feels like hours — in reality, however, not more than ten minutes could've passed. She saw all the blood, the wound in Natasha's shoulder, but she hasn't cried or voiced her fears once. When she catches your eye, she slowly gets up and walks to Natasha's side, wrapping her little fingers around her larger hand.

"Mommy will help you", she says quietly. "She can save you."

Natasha smiles weakly at the girl. You know how much your daughter adores her, and that bond has only grown over the past days.

Finally, you nod. You realize that she's right — SHIELD's off grid clinic is your only option right now. If you want to get there on time, you need to leave. Now. "Okay. Fine. Let's go."

You pack medical supplies and other essentials you may need. You help Natasha to her feet and guide her through the door, making sure she's somewhat comfortable in the backseat. You wrap blankets around her and Nina, who's holding Natasha's hand firmly.

Snow is falling in thick sheets. It's gotten dark outside, which will only make everything more difficult. You slide into the driver's seat and buckle up, your hands gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled force. Then you give Natasha one last look before starting the car.

You drive off into the dark, leaving the cabin behind. Your sanctuary, your place of peace, is now slowly fading into the distance.

. . .

The road stretches endlessly in front of you. Snow and ice crunch under the tires, the sound mixing with Natasha's ragged breathing. You keep checking the rear view mirror for any signs of danger, your mind a whirlwind of fear and urgency.

And then, your stomach drops.

In the distance, a pair of headlights has appeared, glowing bright in the pitch-black of the night.

"Natasha", you say sharply, making her open her eyes. "We've got company."

"Drive faster", she mutters after glancing at the road behind you. "If they catch us-"

"I know", you interrupt her. You don't even want to think about what would happen then. You press the accelerator, the car skidding slightly over the icy road. Your eyes flick to the rear view mirror, the headlights now dangerously close. "Hold on."

The pursuing vehicle closes in, a dark silhouette against the snowy night. It's a black Jeep, unmistakable, and it's clear they're not here for a friendly conversation. Your hands are sweaty but steady as you grip the steering wheel.

The car tries to force you off the road, swerving to ram you, but you remember all the maneuvers Natasha taught you years ago.

"Not today", you mutter as you yank the wheel to the side. The car jerks sharply, the tires screeching as you barely escape the oncoming impact. The Jeep veers off course, its front end spinning dangerously close to the edge of the road.

"Hold on!", Natasha warns, holding onto the seat in front of her as the car veers back into the right direction.

You slam your foot down harder on the pedal, the car jolting forward and the distance between you and the Jeep increasing. But the attackers don't give up easy — they gain speed and start coming closer again.

That's when Natasha, with that last bit of strength left in her, reaches under her jacket and pulls out her Glock. Both your and Nina's eyes widen as she leans out of the window and aims with precision, loud gunshots cutting through the icy night air.

The Jeep swerves violently, tires screeching on the road before the car crashes into a snowbank. It disappears between the trees, allowing you to breathe again.

"Jesus Christ", you mumble, nervously gripping the steering wheel. You glance at Natasha and Nina to check how they're doing. Your daughter seems fine, although a bit upset by everything that's happened, but Natasha — Natasha looks like she's about to collapse. She's lost so much blood, and now she's sagged into the backseat. You frown nervously. "Nina, baby, can you check on Nat?"

The girl nods and starts squeezing Natasha's hand. "Tasha", she sing-songs, rubbing her fingers. "Open your eyes."

Nothing. You swallow and nod, encouraging her to keep going. "Just like that. Come on, ten more minutes."

Natasha stirs faintly, her forehead drenched in cold sweat. The way she's experiencing reality right now is dreamlike, as if she's watching herself from a distance. Colors have dulled. Voices and sounds are muffled, like she's underwater. Something about this feels familiar, but she can't quite put her finger on it.

A second stretches into an eternity. Everything slows, then blurs together, then slows again.

. . .

You can feel yourself relax when the small, nondescript clinic appears on the horizon. Nestled into the woods like a hidden sanctuary is a an angular structure with a row of windows that emanates a faint glow. Despite its isolation, it brings a wave of relief.

You barely park the car before you're out, rushing to Natasha's side. Getting her into the car earlier was struggle enough, but now it nearly seems impossible. She can barely keep her eyes open, yet alone stand, so you basically have to drag her into the building. Nina, wide-eyed and terrified, follows behind you in her little snow boots.

Inside, the clinic is dimly lit and quiet. Muffled voices and footsteps are the only signs of someone being there. You look around frantically until you find a doctor — one you recognize from your days at SHIELD.

"Dr. El-Sayed!", you call out, relieved. He spots you, his eyes going wide when he sees Natasha.

From that moment on, everything happens in a blur.

Natasha is wheeled into surgery immediately. You linger by the door, clasping Nina's hand, your knees almost buckling. A nurse finds you and gently ushers you into the waiting room, where you sink into a hard plastic chair. Your daughter curls up in your lap, hiding her face against your chest.

Your eyes sting with tears as you look at her. You barely manage to catch a glimpse of her face — still terrified, still in shock, her fingers clutching your hoodie. She'll have nightmares about this, just like you.

Trying to soothe both her and yourself, you snuggle her closer and kiss the top of her head. She lets out a pitiful sound, her eyes squeezing shut.

And then, you wait.

. . .

You've almost dozed off by the time Natasha's doctor approaches you. He pulls off his mask and clears his throat, startling both you and Nina.

"Oh, sorry, I-" You cut yourself off and exhale, looking at him anxiously. He doesn't seem too somber, which you take as a good sign. You want to straighten up, but he gently stops you.

"Don't worry", the doctor says, his brown eyes as warm as you remember them, only now with a few more wrinkles around them. "Natasha is okay. She's out of surgery and stable. The bullet did cause significant damage to her shoulder, but luckily, it didn't hit any major arteries. There was moderate blood loss — she went into the early stages of shock — but we were able to control it quickly. She will need time to heal."

"Can I see her?", you ask, not able to wait any longer. You get up, balancing a now-awake Nina in your arms.

Dr. El-Sayed smiles faintly and nods, leading you through the sterile-smelling hallways of the clinic. He opens a door and steps aside.

"I'll be here if you need anything", he says, then you turn around and step into the room.

The quiet hum of machines and the soft clicking of the door as it shuts behind you are the only noises in the otherwise still space. Natasha lies in the bed, her face pale and drawn, but alive — luckily. Her shoulder and torso are wrapped in bandages, but she's breathing steadily now.

You lower Nina into one of the chairs before slowly approaching Natasha. Your heart gives a sad tug at the sight of her like this — small, vulnerable, but so so familiar. You've seen her like this before, bruised and battered between hospital bedsheets, but it always hurts the same.

At your quiet footsteps, her eyes flutter open. She needs a second to remember where she is and what happened, but once she does, she smiles faintly. It doesn't reach her eyes, though.

"Guess you were right", Natasha mumbles, still high from that cocktail of painkillers they put into her. The humor in her voice, however, is unmistakable. "You do save my ass when things go sideways."

It's funny, how a simple statement can transport you back into the past. That first "Who are you?" in a distant, dangerous world of espionage, that first bandage you wrapped around her arm, your first kiss. Here you are now, years later, standing in the aftermath of it all.

The wound between you never healed. Suddenly, everything hits you at once.

"Natasha", you whisper. Without wasting another second, you cross the distance between you and cup her face. Your fingers tremble as you brush them over her cheeks, feeling how warm she is. Before she can say another word, you kiss her.

In that moment, everything outside the room you're in ceases to matter. Her lips are soft against yours, tasting familiar still. She doesn't pull away, doesn't even consider pulling away — instead she grabs your wrist and leans into the kiss, a quiet noise escaping her as her own emotions catch up to her. Neither of you need to say anything.

You pull away eventually, but you keep cradling her face. You study her face, taking it all in. Her tired eyes, her messy eyebrows, her colorless skin. You can't hold the words back any longer.

"I love you too", you say quietly, your eyes burning with unshed tears. "I love you so much."

Natasha blinks, her expression softening into something raw and sweet. Despite the way her heart rate increases, she manages a teasing smile. "You really know how to make a girl wait."

A weak laugh escapes you, followed by tears you can't stop. You shake your head, your fingers tracing along her jaw. "I was scared", you admit, your voice breaking. "Saying it before felt like it would've been a goodbye. A final goodbye."

Her eyes soften further. She turns her head just enough to nuzzle it into your hand. "Never goodbye", she mumbles, her eyes falling shut. "Not for us."

"Good", you say quietly, your tone trembling but resolute. "I'm not losing you. Not after all of this."

Behind you, Nina shifts in her chair. You hear the soft padding of her feet and turn to look at her, quickly wiping away your tears. "Mommy?"

"Hey, honey", you say softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling her into your lap.

Nina looks at her, tilting her head. She pauses as if contemplating something. She saw you kiss Natasha, after all — and she's never seen you kiss anyone besides her dad like that. Though, truthfully, you haven't even kissed him like that. There was always something lacking.

Finally, your daughter tilts her head up to bring her mouth near your ear.

"You kissed Natasha", she whispers. The words hit you like a sharp gust of wind, momentarily knocking all air out of your lungs. You glance at Natasha, who's looking more amused than shocked.

"I did", you say quietly. "Because Natasha is special", you then add.

Her little face scrunches up. "Special how?", she asks, her index finger drawing circles on your arm.

Natasha chuckles, wincing at the simple motion. "I like your mom", she says simply, glancing at you with something way deeper than affection. "A lot."

You smile faintly, moving one of your hands to grasp hers. Nina nods after considering her words for a moment — apparently, it all makes sense now.

"I like her too", she says with the innocence only a child can possess. She leans over to hand Natasha her Bearie. "Here. He can make you feel better, Tasha."

"That's sweet", Natasha says, watching the girl snuggle into your embrace. It's way past midnight by now, way past Nina's bedtime, and all three of you are tired. Careful not to move her injured shoulder too much, Natasha shifts on the bed before you can protest. "Come on", she says, nodding at the space next to her. "Kid's exhausted. You must be, too."

"Alright", you mumble after a brief moment of hesitation, turning and then scooting backwards with Nina in your arms. You lay down and cuddle into Natasha's side, feeling her body heat mix with yours. Your daughter is tucked between you, already dozing off, and you feel yourself calm down as well.

Outside, the snow continues to fall in thick flurries. You're not out of the woods yet — you've both got multiple people looking for you, most of them with the intention to harm you in some way. But for now, the world seems at peace.

. . .

— A SUDDEN DISTURBANCE —

You've been ignoring every single one of Ethan's attempts to get you to come back home. His (mostly empty) threats, the guy showing up in front of your cabin, the dozens of phone calls and texts. There's not much you could've done, either — what were you supposed to do, after all? Give in? Tell him to fuck off? Nothing seemed like the right solution, so staying quiet was what you did.

Your lack of response only fueled his frustration and anger. He spent hours pacing around his office and calling people. Vance, Isabelle, basically every connection he has gets a call from him. His perfect facade is crumbling, and he needs to act fast.

Natasha is a larger threat than anticipated. Hours of research tell him that she's a dangerous wildcard, one that's about to expose secret after secret. Her involvement with SHIELD and the whispers about her taking down powerful criminal organizations in the past gnaw at him. Worst of all: her interference in the human trafficking ring.

One that he's technically not a part of. That's what he used to tell himself, at least — but now, reality looks different. He'll be thrown behind bars if he doesn't find a solution. He ends up making another call, this time contacting a trafficker that owes him favors. He's linked to the organization Natasha has been targeting.

"What do you know about Natasha Romanoff?", Ethan demands during the phone calls, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. He's in the kitchen, only wearing boxers and a crumpled shirt, but appearance isn't what matters right now. He's sporting a long stubble despite usual opting for the clean shaven look, and his hair is messy and unwashed. He hasn't had the time to shower.

There's a pause on the other end of the line.

"Romanoff?" The man chuckles mirthlessly, almost grimly. "Yeah, we know her. Woman's trouble. You've got her in your sights?"

"I need her taken care of", Ethan responds coldly. "And I want my wife and daughter back."

A faint rustling of papers and another pause. The trafficker, smooth and detached, is taking is time. Meanwhile, Ethan feels like he's about to go insane.

"Are you even aware of what she's done? Of what she's been doing recently? Romanoff is a high-profile problem."

"I don't care about her past", he says, his voice clipped. "I just want her out of the picture."

"Well, if you want her gone, you're doing us a favor", he says. "She's been a thorn in our sides for months. Tracking shipments, leaking intel. We're trying to get rid of her."

Ethan perks up as he feels a cold ripple of satisfaction. This could work in his favor.

"And I've got the leverage to make that happen."

"Leverage?" The laugh the man lets out is mocking and sharp. "You've already handed us Romanoff's location without realizing it. What 'leverage' do you think you have?"

"Uh..." He stiffens, frantically racking his brain for something that'll help him here. He hasn't considered how easily they might use him. "I can keep her distracted."

"We don't need you 'distracting' anyone, Bailey. We need results. If it keeps you out of the way, fine. You handle your family, we handle Romanoff."

Another pause. What the man on the other side of the line says next sends a chill down his spine.

"One more thing — if you interfere, you'll end up just like her. Don't overestimate your value."

. . .

You end up falling into a way too brief, dreamless sleep. You're all huddled together in the hospital bed, with Nina tucked between you. Your forehead is resting against Natasha's uninjured shoulder, breathing in her scent with every breath you take. A fragile picture of peace, but you'll take what you can get.

What shatters this moment of stillness is the faint sound of engines. It's not loud — just a faint hum of cars pulling up outside — but it's enough to make you jolt awake. You've been overly alert for what feels like an eternity now, so even the smallest change in your surroundings causes your system into overdrive. Your heart begins to race, every muscle in your body tenses up. You glance at the clock — 4am. Too early for any visitors.

Carefully, so as not to wake Natasha or Nina, you slip out of bed. You move to the window and peek through the curtain.

Outside, it's pitch black. It's stopped snowing, but there's a thick layer of snow glittering underneath the faint glow of SHIELD's clinic. You, on the other hand, are paying attention to something completely different.

Multiple cars have parked just beyond the clinic's entrance, men stepping out of them. One of them: Ethan.

Your stomach drops. Ethan is a problem you can handle — there is not much he can do about you coming back home. But the others? They aren't here to mediate a family dispute. Judging by their gear and the way they're moving, this is an escalation you haven't anticipated.

Your first thought is to wake Natasha, but a single glance at her makes you hesitate. She's still recovering, her strength nowhere near where it needs to be. And Nina — your eyes fall on your sleeping daughter, her face peaceful as she stays cuddled into Natasha's side.

You move quickly but quietly to the closet where the clinic staff has stored their gear. You open the door and begin rummaging for the emergency stash you know you'll find here. With trembling hands, you pull out a firearm and check its chamber — not much, but it will have to do.

Just as you're about to put on a bulletproof vest, a faint rustle behind you makes you turn around. Natasha has stirred awake, her green eyes fluttering open. Her gaze immediately locks on you.

"What's going on?", she asks, sitting up way too rapidly. Nina huffs in her sleep and Natasha grunts as she gingerly brushes her fingertips over her injured shoulder.

"Ethan's here. And he's not alone." You frown as she tries to sit up a little more to glance out the window, the strain of her injury making her grimace. "Natasha, get back into bed. You're in no shape to fight."

"And you're going to handle it on your own?", she shoots back. "We need backup, Y/N."

You nod, quickly running through all the options in your head. "Maria?"

Natasha curses under her breath, pressing a hand to her side as she tries to shift again. She nods. "Hurry. We're out of time."

As you're reaching for your phone, the men outside start to approach the clinic. One of them motions for Ethan to stay back, clearly intending to take the lead. Ethan complies but scowls as he leans against his car, his arms crossed tightly. If he's sure of one thing, it's that he won't be leaving without you or Nina.

The traffickers begin moving into the building without even sparing him a second glance. They're moving with the kind of cold efficiency that makes even him uneasy. For a brief moment, he wonders whether he unleashed something he won't be able to control.

You send a message to Maria, looking up from your phone just in time to see Natasha swing her legs over the edge of the bed. She has difficulty moving, but that's not stopping her.

"Natasha, don't-"

"Don't even try", she says, her voice steady despite the pain etched into her face. She steadies herself by grasping your arm. "We do this together. We've got to hold them off until Maria gets here."

You hesitate — again, Natasha is in no condition to fight. You can tell by the way she's barely standing upright, with her legs wobbling underneath her. She's clearly in pain, sweating all over. She should stay in bed and rest. But you're out of time, and you're just wasting precious seconds by trying to argue.

"Be careful", you remind her and step towards the door. "Stay here with Nina."

"Not happening", she says firmly, grabbing a gun. "We don't have enough firepower for that. We're already outnumbered, and if we split, we have no chance of making it out alive."

You nod and poke your head out of the room. Behind the counter, a nurse — young and wide-eyed — peeks at you. "Do you need help?", she asks.

"Can you handle a weapon?"

The nurse hesitates, but another staff member — an older man in his fifties — steps forward and grabs a scalpel. "I can", he says grimly. "Not my first rodeo."

Natasha looks at Nina again, now rousing at the sound of your voices. The girl is barely clinging to the last shreds of sleep. "Good", she says, feeling a painful tug of anxiety in her chest. "If it comes down to it, protect the kid."

As soon as she's said that, the front doors of the clinic burst open. Two men in black storm inside, scanning the area. You don't hesitate when you see them — you aim your gun and shoot one of them in the shoulder, making him let out a grunt. The other one quickly turns to you and raises his weapon.

Natasha reacts quickly, firing at the man. Her aim is steady despite the pain she's enduring, and she hits him square in the chest. He drops to the floor, blood soaking into his shirt. Beside you, the nurse lets out a gasp.

"We need to move them back!", Natasha barks, her voice commanding. "They'll funnel if we stay in here!"

You nod, motioning to the staff. They immediately straighten up. "Go to the back rooms! Secure Nina and everyone else in there!"

The older man takes charge. He scoops Nina up, who wakes with a start. Eyes wide, she begins crying for you. "Mommy?"

"Go", you tell him, waving your hand urgently. It pains you to send your daughter away without even trying to comfort her, but right now, you don't have a choice.

The man and the nurse head into the other direction, checking all the other rooms. You turn to Natasha again, then you retreat into the main hallway. More men enter, their weapons drawn, and you quickly use a corner as a cover. You both fire again, slowing some of the attackers.

But the numbers aren't on your side. Another man moves around the corner, firing a shot that whizzes past your ducked head and embeds itself into the wall. You glance at Natasha, your heart pounding, before returning fire.

"They're splitting up!" She curses under her breath as she spots movements through the clinic's windows. Two men are circling the building, clearly on their way to the rear entrance. She gestures towards another nurse who's tucked into the corner behind a supply closet. "You! Cover the back entrance! Don't let them through, for fuck's sake!"

He nods and quickly grabs a heavy wrench from a maintenance cart, then he heads for the rear entrance.

"With a wrench?", you mumble, shooting her a skeptical look. "You just threw him to the wolves."

Natasha doesn't have much time to respond. Another attacker lunges forward, too close for you to fire any shots. You react on instinct and slam the butt of your gun into his face. He stumbles, and Natasha follows up with a swift kick.

Another man approaches you from behind. He grabs Natasha and locks his arm around her throat, causing her to let out a pained grunt. She twists sharply, driving her elbow into his ribs and startling him. She uses the opportunity to sweep his legs out from under him, and he falls to the ground. Meanwhile, you shoot someone who's aiming at Natasha.

"They're relentless!", you gasp, your chest heaving.

"So are we", she replies, wincing as she leans against the wall for support.

The fight spills into the clinic's main treatment area, where overturned chairs and shattered equipment litter the floor. You grab a metal IV pole, swinging it at an oncoming attacker and knocking him off balance. Natasha, weakened but still deadly, manages to take down another man with a precise shot to the leg.

The nurse from earlier reappears, blood streaking his temple. "They're at the back door", he warns, his voice strained. "We're holding them, but they're not stopping."

Natasha curses under her breath, glancing at you. "We can't hold this place much longer."

"Maria should be here soon", you say, her voice tight, and brush some hair out of your face. "We just need to buy a little more time."

"How much time?", she asks, her face hardened in both frustration and pain. Her shoulder is throbbing nonstop, a sharp pain that suggests she might've torn her stitches.

"I don't know", you say weakly, already hearing the faint echoes of footsteps. More men are approaching, all of them armed and thirsty for blood. You brace yourselves and adjust your grips on your weapons. "Be careful."

You retreat further into the clinic, taking down another attacker. Natasha's shoulder is bleeding through the bandage by now, her breathing labored and droplets of sweat glistening on her neck. She grips the corner of a counter for support, her gun trembling in her hand. She may be strong and determined, but she's running on fumes.

"You need to stop", you plead during a moment of calm — one that won't last long. "You're not going to make it if you push yourself any further."

"No", Natasha rasps, her voice raw with pain. "If I stop, you won't make it either."

Before you can respond, another wave of attackers storm the hallway. Boots pound against the floor tiles, making you whip around and raise your gun. You fire at the nearest man and drop him before he even gets the chance to aim. Another lunges at you, and you barely have time to dodge. You slam your elbow into his face and twist his gun out of his hands, shooting him with it.

"Natasha, stay down!"

Despite your orders, she pushes herself up from where she's been leaning against the counter. She raises her gun, taking out another assailant with a precise shot. But the effort costs her — one of the attackers seizes the moment and aims directly at her.

"No!", you scream, your voice breaking as you turn too late.

The bullet hits Natasha's side and she crumbles to the ground. Two gunshots in one day, is all you're able to think, frustrated and desperate, helpless and absolutely furious.

Your heart is racing as you throw yourself at the man who shot her. You tackle him to the ground and wrestle away his weapon, fueled by nothing but pure, unabridged rage. Your fists connect to his jaw, his nose, punching his face until he's a bleeding, unconscious mess.

Then you scramble back to Natasha's side, pressing your hand down on the wound on her side. Her face is pale, her breathing shallow.

"Don't die on me now", you whisper, basically begging her. "You're not dying, you hear me?"

"Don't- don't sound so sure", she mumbles, forcing a weak smirk. You shake your head, feeling her blood seep between your fingers. You cover the wound with both hands, hoping to slow the bleeding.

"You're not dying", you repeat frantically, as if your words alone could change her fate. "Just stay with me. Maria should be here soon. Please, Nat."

Being so focused on the woman in front of you, you forget about everything else that's happening around you. Suddenly, a man grabs your arm and yanks you away from her. You struggle, kicking and clawing, but he's stronger.

Your gun? Discarded on the floor, right next to Natasha. She somehow manages to reach for it. It slips from her sweaty grasp for a moment, but then she aims it at the man and shoots him in the face. Blood goes everywhere, into your hair and in your face. You cough some of it out, grimacing, before kicking him aside.

Another guy grabs you, pinning you to the wall. You can't do anything but watch as a tall man walks up to Natasha, cornering her.

"Leave her alone!", you yell, struggling against the attacker's firm grip. "She's injured, you bastard!"

No shot. You can't free yourself from his rough hands, his fingers gripping you so hard they'll leave bruises. Natasha's lying there, defenseless, her breathing shallow.

Your mind is reeling. This can't be how it ends. Not after everything you've gone through together.

And then, the shattering of glass and the sound of engines roaring cuts through the air. Suddenly, a smoke grenade rolls into the hallway, filling the space with a thick fog. You start coughing, but —luckily — the man lets go of you.

"SHIELD!", a voice booms through the chaos. "Get down!"

You drop to the floor, wincing, and then crawl to Natasha's side to shield her from everyone else. Quickly, you check her pulse — weak but steady —, then you apply pressure to the new gunshot wound in her side. The bleeding seems to be slowing down, which is a relief.

"Can you hear me?", you sob out, seeing her through some lingering smoke and an unbidden rush of tears. Blurred, shimmering, both achingly close and impossibly far. "Nat, come on. Say something."

The remaining attackers around you are being arrested and dragged out of the clinic. Maria sends an agent outside to look for Ethan and then spots you two on the ground. Natasha, in her worsening condition, and you, sobbing as you kneel beside her. You faintly hear her call for a medic.

You're pushed aside. Medics surround Natasha. She's being stabilized.

You stand there, speechless, tears drying on your cheeks. Your expression is stoic — you refuse to let anything shimmer through. Beneath that mask of composure lies a truth too raw to surface: nearly losing Natasha has stripped every emotion bare, turning love, fear, relief, into something sacred. Those feelings belong to you alone, too precious to be exposed to the eyes of a world that could never understand what you almost lost.

Outside, the snowfall has begun to slow, the chaos being replaced by a haunting stillness. SHIELD agents swarm the scene, rounding up the remaining attackers — among them, Ethan. What a shame neither you nor Natasha can see him like this, with his hands cuffed behind his back as he's forced to his knees by two agents.

Surviving members of the trafficking ring are dragged into reinforced vehicles. Their operation is dismantled, their leader subdued, and your personal nightmare might just finally be over.

Natasha's doing better soon. Not much better, but she's somewhat stable and awake now. You kiss her forehead before straightening up, then you look for your daughter. Your heart is pounding as you search room after room — you haven't seen her in what feels like ages, and the worst scenarios are flashing through your mind. You turn a corner and freeze, relief flooding you when you see a SHIELD agent crouched next to Nina in a small corner of the waiting room.

"Mommy!" Nina's voice cracks as she sees you, her arms outstretched. You exhale and drop to your knees, pulling her into a tight embrace. The second your arms wrap around her, she starts sobbing inconsolably.

Thankfully, Nina is unharmed aside from a scratch above her eyebrow. She's shaking, however, her tears showing no sign of easing. You fully understand why — the past hour or so has been one of the scariest of your life, and you don't even want to imagine what it felt like to a little child.

"I've got you", you whisper, scooping her up and holding her close. The agent nods as he walks up to you, a look of sympathy on his face.

"You've got a brave little one", he says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants. "Barely cried."

You give him an absentminded hum as you keep rocking Nina. Still crying, but now voicing words of complaint through the constant stream of tears.

"I know", you mumble into her ear, making your way through the hallways of the clinic. You pass a bunch of SHIELD agents — some familiar, but most of them not —, your feet carrying you back to Natasha.

. . .

As soon as the medics are done stabilizing and treating Natasha, you visit her. Nina is awake still, unable to find sleep after the events of the past few hours, so you sit down on the edge of the hospital bed with the little girl in your arms.

Natasha looks at you and you look at her. For a moment, everything's okay. The wound has healed, the gap has closed. The world outside is exactly how it's supposed to be — quiet, snowy, undamaged.

Nina wriggles out of your arms. She stopped crying a while ago, her cheeks reddened and warm from the tears. She presses a hand to Natasha's face, frowning in childish concern. "You're hurt", she states softly.

"Just a scratch", Natasha assures her, smiling faintly. Now that she can see that both you and Nina are alright, she barely feels the weight of her injured body anymore. You see how warm their simple exchange is and your throat tightens. Wordlessly, you reach for Natasha's hand.

"I thought I'd lost you", you admit quietly, your thumb grazing her knuckles. They're scarred and bruised, colored in so many shades of blue and purple that they look like a tiny canvas.

"I'm a little harder to get rid of", she promises, squeezing your fingers. "Where is...?"

Ethan. She won't say his name, and you know why — the reason is sitting between you, her tiny hand smoothing down Natasha's hair the way you do hers.

"Gone", you say. "Arrested. I don't know what will happen to him exactly, but we've got some breathing room for now."

"Are you sure?", she quips, something akin to both amusement and self-deprecation lacing her voice. "I don't think that's ever the case."

You smile weakly, but it doesn't reach your eyes. Her words hold a certain, painful truth — whenever you're together, you run. You fight. You survive, if only barely. Peace tends to avoid you, for some reason.

"A little too early to be making jokes about that", you murmur, your eyes fixed on Natasha. She huffs quietly, the corners of her mouth twitching into the slightest of smiles. "You're okay? Does it hurt a lot?"

"I'm fine", she says, bringing your hand to her lips. She kisses your fingertips before resting your palm against her cheek. You can feel the life beneath her skin, feverish and fragile, like a little flame refusing to be snuffed out.

"Say that one more time", you warn her, somewhere between playfulness and genuine concern. "I dare you."

Natasha grins and, finally, she actually looks a little more like herself again.

. . .

— AFTER THE STORM —

The living room is bathed in a soft, golden light from the crackling fireplace. A faint scent of hot cocoa, mingling with pine and cinnamon, lingers in the air. There's a Christmas tree in the corner, its branches dusted with a sprinkle of glittering tinsel. Tiny ornaments, mostly picked out by Nina, dangle like treasures from a storybook.

You're curled up on the couch, a thick blanket draped over the two of you. Natasha's arm is slung lazily over your shoulders, your kisses slow and unhurried. After weeks of chaos, this peace feels fragile but sweet. You're warm, safe, and this is a gift more precious than anything wrapped under the tree.

You're still under SHIELD's protection — you're fully equipped with a panic button and a bunch of instructions to keep you safe —, but you both trust that you've finally made it. For now, you're safe.

You pull away from Natasha only to lean in again, your lips pressing against hers time and time again. She tastes like Christmas, which is something you're definitely not used to. During your SHIELD days, her taste was everything but sweet and cinnamony — it was smoke and chewing gum, alcohol and blood. You can't say you mind the change, though, so you trace the seam of her lips with your tongue.

"You know", you murmur between kisses, your lips stretching into a lazy smile, "this might be the first Christmas I've actually looked forward to in ages."

"Yeah?", she rasps quietly, keeping you close to her. Her nose nuzzles against yours as she places another kiss on your bottom lip. "Then I'll make sure it's a good one."

"It already is really damn good", you assure her, both of your heads turning toward the hallway as you hear soft footsteps. Nina emerges from her makeshift bedroom, bundled in her favorite pajamas and her hair a mess. You smile softly as she pads to the couch, opening your arms. "Hey, baby. Merry Christmas."

"Mommy", she mumbles, still half-asleep, and nestles herself between you and Natasha. "Merry Christmas."

Natasha leans down to kiss the top of her head. "Did you sleep well, Tiny?"

The girl nods, her face buried against Natasha's chest. Then she seems to remember what day it is and pulls away, her attention shifting to the heap of presents underneath the sparkling tree. Instantly, her eyes light up.

"Can I open my presents?", she asks, her face full of hope as she looks at you.

"Yes, honey", you confirm, watching her scramble out of your lap.

She sits down in front of the tree and starts opening present after present. She plucks off the little bows and tears the wrapping paper to shreds with unrestrained excitement, squealing and smiling at each new toy. New crayons, a coloring book, some LEGOs — no matter what it is, she loves it all the same.

You and Natasha stay seated on the couch, exchanging occasional glances of pure contentment.

Then, the doorbell rings.

You frown, sitting up straighter. "Who is it?", you ask as Natasha is already pulling up the camera feed from outside the door. A slow smile spreads across her face and she nods at Nina.

"That's for you, Tiny. Want to see what it is?"

Nina's eyes widen with curiosity. She scrambles off the floor and runs to the door, fumbling with the handle before pulling it open. Her jaw drops as she sees the big box sitting in the hallway, tied with a large red bow.

"Whoa!", she exclaims, grabbing the bow and pulling the box inside. Then, she crouches down and carefully lifts the lid. The box's sides fall open, revealing a small black puppy inside. His fur is slightly ruffled, and his tiny tail is wagging so fast it's a blur.

Nina squeals in delight and starts to jump on the spot. The puppy follows in suit, bouncing around her more like a spring toy than a coordinated animal. They do make quite the pair, their movements and voices almost identical.

You freeze, your mouth opening and closing as you process the scene. Slowly, you turn around. "Natasha. You got her a puppy?"

"She asked for one a few weeks ago, remember?", she says, her hands lifted innocently. "Said it was for her birthday. Figured Santa could be the one to deliver it a little late."

"Oh god", you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I- how did you even..."

"Shelter", Natasha replies simply, leaning down to scratch behind the puppy's ear as he runs up to her to sniff her leg. "He's a mutt, but the guy there said there's some Belgian shepherd in him. That tail? Definitely herding dog energy."

"Oh no." Your eyes widen and you quickly throw another glance at the puppy again. "No way. Those get huge! Do you have any idea what you've just done?"

Natasha shrugs, watching Nina and the dog roll around on the floor. She giggles when he puts his paws on her chest, licking at her face enthusiastically as his tail thumps on the floor. "Made a kid happy. Isn't that what Christmas is all about?"

You scoff, giving her a look of utter disbelief. "I can't believe you. Neither of us have any idea how to take care of a dog."

"We'll figure it out", she says, waving her hand dismissively. "We handled Ethan and those other jerks, didn't we? Can't be that hard to raise a canine."

"God, you're impossible", you groan. Natasha leans in and kisses your temple.

"You'll get used to it."

You let out a slow, resigned breath, watching Nina and the puppy tumble around on the floor. He yaps at her, his butt lifted into the air and his tail wagging wildly. One ear perked up and the other flopping to the side, he does look pretty adorable. "Well...he is cute."

"See? Told you." Natasha's smirk deepens, and you lightly swat at her arm. "Ouch", she complains mockingly, wrapping her arms around you to pull you closer again.

"Natasha, what's his name?", Nina asks, beaming up at you as the puppy barks.

"That's up to you, Tiny."

Her little face scrunches up in thought as she regards the puppy. His paws patter lightly as he approaches the Christmas tree, tumbling before he quickly gets back up. He's all paws still, his gait clumsy and bouncy.

"Max!", she finally says, smiling as the puppy bolts back into her direction.

"Max it is", Natasha confirms.

. . .

Later that day, the cozy Christmas morning shifts into an entirely different type of adventure. Wrapped up in warm coats and scarves, you, Natasha, Nina, and the energetic little puppy pile into the car. The drive is surprisingly quiet — Nina is busy cuddling Max, and Natasha's hand is resting on your knee.

In front of you, the Avengers' Compound appears — sleek, modern edges softened by blankets of fresh snow, with frost-covered trees dotting the property. It's nice, you can't deny that, but it's not the same.

"I still miss the Tower", you mumble, causing Natasha's lips to twitch into a smile. She parks the car at the edge of the shoveled driveway.

"You'll like it, I promise. You ready?"

"I'm not sure 'ready' is the word I'd use", you reply, trying to catch a glimpse of what's happening behind those huge windows in front of you. "I haven't seen them in years."

"You'll be fine", she assures you, gently squeezing your knee. "It's not like they bite."

Behind you, Max barks. Nina giggles. "Not like Max!"

You sigh, a wry smile tugging at your lips as you unbuckle. "Yeah, this will be great."

"Come on", Natasha says, getting out of the car. As you step out, Max bolts out of the car, dragging Nina along. She giggles as she hurries to keep up with him, her grip on the leash firm.

"Oh no", you quickly say, trying to get the dog to stop. But he's a little tornado, already halfway across the grounds. "Max, no! Stay!"

The puppy stops, glancing at you. He yaps, bouncing as if to test your patience. You quickly dart forward and hoist the howling puppy into your arms, ignoring his sounds of protest.

"Good call", Natasha says as you approach the Compound together.

"Is this where Natasha works?", Nina whispers as she grabs your hand.

"It is", she confirms, shooting the girl a smile. She opens the door to the Compound and ushers you into the warmth of it.

The living room is buzzing with activity when you walk in. Steve, Sam and Bruce, chatting by the fireplace, Tony pouring himself a drink, Wanda flipping through a book as she sits cross-legged on the couch. Thor is unmistakable, his laughter as loud and booming as you remember it.

You linger in the doorway, partially hidden behind Natasha. Returning so suddenly, after years of not talking to them, feels intimidating. They've changed, you've changed, and yet, it all appears to be the same.

"Look who I brought", Natasha announces, immediately drawing attention.

All heads turn, and the room goes silent as they take in the unfamiliar trio — you, Nina and the puppy.

"No way", Tony says, slowly, as he puts his glass aside. "Natasha Romanoff finally brought people to a holiday gathering. Mark the calendar."

Steve raises his eyebrows, his gaze shifting between you and Natasha. "Y/N?", he says, holding out his hands. You shake it, smiling sheepishly.

"Hi. It's been a while."

"A while?" He smiles back at you, letting out an amused huff of air. "Try seven years. What are you doing here?"

Thor, oblivious to any tension, strides over and claps Natasha on the back hard enough to make her wince. "Hello! You brought a little one, I see." He crouches down in front of Nina, who smiles widely. "Pleasure to meet you, tiny warrior."

"I'm Nina!", she says, preening under his warm smile.

"Of course you are", Thor says delightedly and pats her head. He looks at Natasha. "You didn't mention you had a daughter."

"She's not-"

"I'm mommy's daughter!", Nina declares, pointing at you. Then, she turns to Natasha. "And that's Tasha! She likes my mommy!"

You're not sure which one of you blushes more. Natasha smiles weakly, her hand resting on the small of your back. "Can't argue with that", she mumbles.

"Nat, when were you planning to share this?"

"Oh wait, so you're back back?"

"What happened to your shoulder? You look like hell!"

"Guys, calm down-"

"Don't act all high and mighty, Rogers. You can't tell us you aren't even a little bit surprised by this."

Finally, Wanda stands and extends her hand. She's the only one who hasn't met you yet, so she's more interested in you than the commotion. "You must be Y/N", she says. "I've heard about you."

You shake her hand, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks. "And you must be Wanda. I...truthfully, I haven't heard much about you."

"Figures", Wanda says with a small smile. "Natasha's not exactly forthcoming about her personal life."

"She's not forthcoming about anything", Tony mumbles, finally recovering from his shock. "And what's with the dog?"

Max chooses that moment to lunge at Tony, his leash slipping from Nina's hands. Tony yelps as the puppy jumps up, leaving wet paw prints on his suit.

"Great. This is why I don't do pets."

The room descends into a flurry of activity. Max darts between legs, yapping excitedly, while a laughing Nina chases after him. Thor decides to join the fun, attempting to 'herd' Max with booming laughter. Tony stands to the side, muttering about dry-cleaning bills.

Meanwhile, Natasha stays by your side, her hand resting on the small of your back. "See? Not so bad."

"Not so bad?", you say, watching in horror as Max knocks over a small vase. Flowers spill out, as well as some water. "Nat, this is a disaster!"

"Relax", Natasha says, leaning in to whisper. "They like you."

"You think?"

She smirks, brushing a kiss against your temple. "I know."

At first, the chaos seems to settle. Max curls up next to Nina, who's asking Thor about Asgardian princesses. Everyone else is sitting on the couches, chatting and exchanging gifts, and you find yourself relaxing for a moment. Your lips graze Natasha's as she turns her face to yours, making her smile. Before you can lean in a little more, though, her attention switches to the puppy. Her eyes narrow as she notices him starting to sniff around, a gleam in his eye.

"Uh-oh", she mumbles, her instincts honed even for mischievous animals. Max pauses, glancing at her — and then he squats down next to the couch, leaving a puddle on the pristine floor.

"Oh no!", Nina exclaims. "Bad Max!"

"This", Tony says, shooting you and Natasha a withering glare, "this is why I said no pets in the Compound."

You direct a look at Natasha that screams This is your fault. She just shrugs, unbothered.

"I've got this", Wanda says, standing up. A small wave of her hand makes red tendrils of magic appear, wrapping them around a towel from the bar and guiding it to the floor. Both you and Nina watch with amazement as the towel floats and gracefully mops up the mess, swirling the liquid away.

"Wow", Nina whispers, enchanted by the glimmering threads of red magic. "How are you doing that?"

"It's just a trick", Wanda says with a kind smile, whirling the towel around in midair for dramatic effect.

But Max doesn't think it's a trick. He thinks it's a game.

With one high-pitched, excited bark, he takes after the floating towel. Wanda raises an eyebrow as Max jumps, chasing after the swirling piece of fabric.

"Okay, okay, that's enough-", she begins, retreating the towel higher.

The puppy isn't deterred. He bolts towards Wanda, barking furiously, as everyone else starts laughing.

"Uh, Wanda?", Natasha says, grinning as she squeezes your side.

The witch turns around just in time to see Max leap at her. She squeaks in surprise and instinctively floats into the air, her powers lifting her above the dog's reach.

"Down! Down, boy!", she calls from her perch, her legs tucked underneath her. Nina is rolling on the floor laughing, her giggles loud and infectious.

"I think he likes you", Sam says.

"I'm more of a cat person", Wanda shoots back, carefully moving the towel into the trashcan before she lowers herself down near the edge of the room. Max quickly runs after the piece of fabric, only to be met with the lid shutting in front of his nose.

"You should've warned her", you whisper to Natasha. She smiles and pecks your cheek.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Wanda returns to the couch, muttering something in Sokovian, but her smile gives away her amusement. "That dog has too much energy," she says, eyeing Max warily as he wags his tail.

Nina grins up at her. "He wants to be your friend."

"Sure he does," Wanda says, gently patting Nina's head. "But next time, let's keep the magic for cleaning spills only, okay?"

The girl smiles, nodding. "Okay, but it was so cool! Can you do more of that?"

"You want to see more?" The witch holds out her hands. You and your daughter both lean forward to watch closely as red wisps of power curl around her fingers like smoke, forming tiny droplets in the air. Slowly, the droplets multiply and begin to fall, creating a kind of 'rain shower' that cascades over Nina.

"Woah", the girl says, lifting her hands to catch the drops. They aren't wet or cold, no — they're warm and soft, almost melting on her palms.

"That's incredible", you mumble, completely fixated on the scene in front of you. Wanda smiles, her powers now weaving into a new creation. The droplets coalesce into floating shapes — stars, hearts, even a tiny, glowing puppy that bounds through the air. Max barks excitedly, jumping up and down. "Like a living painting."

"You're too kind", she says, though her blush hints at her pleasure. She forms a constellation of stars that spin around Nina, the twinkling lights eliciting quiet giggles.

Natasha, however, is a bit more wary. She trusts Wanda, but she's also seen what kind of damage her powers can cause. "Careful", she mumbles, her arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders. "Keep that up and they'll start expecting magic at home."

You turn, a small smile playing on your lips. "I already have magic at home", you flirt expertly, making her roll her eyes. Nevertheless, she plants a kiss on your cheek. "Come on, just admit it's impressive."

"It is", she says cautiously. "But it's also unpredictable."

You shift, turning your body fully toward Natasha as if to block her view. "You're tense", you say, trailing your fingers along her jaw before letting your hand rest on her chest. "Relax. No one is going to get hurt."

She sighs, her lips curving into a reluctant smile. "Old habits."

"And I love you for them", you whisper, leaning in to leave a lingering kiss on her jawline. "But right now, you should stop glaring at Wanda and focus on me."

"I am focusing on you", she counters, her hand dipping underneath your sweater.

"Good", you mumble, brushing your nose against hers. You press your lips to hers, slow and deliberate, your hand cupping her cheek. Behind you, Sam groans.

"Good lord", he says, tossing a cookie at you. "Can we not with the romance novel PDA? Some of us are single."

"Some of us are jealous", Natasha quips, not even glancing away from you.

"Jealous? Of you two? Please."

Wanda, trying to maintain Nina's focus, turns the glittering stars into snowflakes that rain down around her. Max barks, leaping into the air in an attempt to catch one, his paws skittering against the floor.

"Max, no!", Natasha says, making no real move to stop him.

"Relax", you mumble, smiling at her. "Look at me."

"I'm looking", she says, her voice dropping enough to make Sam stand up abruptly.

"And I'm leaving", he says, grabbing a plate of cookies and stomping out. "Y'all can make goo-goo eyes in private!"

"Who needs privacy?", Natasha whispers, planting a trail of kisses from your earlobe to the corner of your mouth. You hum, turning your head to capture her lips with yours.

Your daughter is the only one who's unfazed by your sap-show. She tugs at Wanda's sleeve, a pleading look in her eyes. "Can you make a rainbow next?"

Before the witch can respond, Tony bursts into the room and taps his watch. "Alright, enough of that. Time for the real show!"

Quickly and piece by piece, his Iron Man suit begins assembling itself around him. Wanda rolls her eyes, the shimmering stars she's been conjuring up now fading. Nina gasps and jumps up as his helmet clicks into place. The magic was impressive, but Tony's tech is simply said cool.

"Impressive, right?", Tony says through the speaker. He crouches beside her, swiftly pulling out a kid-sized glove that's not too unlike his own. Red, gleaming with lights and buttons. "Here, kid. Just don't press the-"

"No!", you and Natasha interrupt him simultaneously.

"What button?", you ask warily.

"Don't worry, it's decorative — mostly."

"'Mostly'?", she snaps, her tone rising with the same alarm as yours.

Nina's finger hovers near the button, and you both yell: "Don't press it!"

Eyes widened, the girl yanks her hand back. "Sorry!"

"Tony, I swear-", Natasha begins, only to be interrupted by you pulling her into another kiss. She lets out a quiet grunt before relaxing, her eyes falling shut.

"Alright, alright, lovebirds", Tony says with a wave of his hand. "I'll take it back. Geez. Merry Christmas, you paranoid maniacs."

. . .

The quiet hum of the car fills the space, soothing in the way only long drives at night could be. Snow falls softly outside, flurries illuminated by the glow of the headlights, while Nina and Max doze in the backseat. Her tiny hand rests protectively on the puppy's fur, her head lolling to one side as she fights sleep.

You adjust your grip on the wheel, your gaze flicking to the rearview mirror. A tender smile tugs at your lips. "Look at them," you murmur, your voice barely louder than the heater's low hum.

Natasha turns her head, her eyes softening as she takes in the sight of Nina and the puppy snuggled together. "She's so much like you," she says quietly. You glance at her, tilting your head.

"Stubborn?"

"No", she says pointedly, reaching out to gently wrap her fingers around your wrist, her thumb tapping against the back of your hand. "You know what I mean, smartass. Open-hearted, always seeing the good in people."

"Hm", you mumble, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "That means a lot. Really."

"I mean it", she says.

For a moment, silence lingers. The car keeps coasting along the road, snow blanketing the world outside and muffling the night. Behind you, Nina dozes off.

"She's wiped."

"It's been a long day", Natasha says, her expression gentle as she glances into the back of the car. "For all of us."

You hum in agreement, your hands on the steering wheel tightening. 'Long day' is an understatement — it's been a long few months, but you've somehow made it through them. Despite Ethan, despite the chaos, the fear, you've made it out alive.

You frown as Natasha shifts and winces, adjusting her position a bit. "You okay?"

"I'm fine", she says, though the faint lines of pain around her eyes betray her. She carefully moves her hand to rest it on your thigh. "Stop worrying about me for once."

"That's rich, coming from you", you mutter, but your voice softens. "You scared me, you know. Bleeding out on that clinic floor. I'll have nightmares about it forever."

Her hand lingers, her thumb lightly brushing against the fabric of your jeans. "Not going anywhere", she mumbles like a quiet promise. You've heard that exact sentence too many times to be able to ever fully believe it, but in that moment, you do — you believe her.

Your throat tightens, but you swallow the lump that's formed. Instead, you nod, trying to focus on the road. Natasha leans her head against the backrest, watching the snowflakes outside curl and dance through the air. You place your hand on hers, squeezing briefly.

"Home?", Natasha asks softly.

"Home."

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @heliotropeheart @s1ut4nat @upsidedowndanvers @scarletsstarlets

[loveharlow]

if you’re taking requests, could you do a jj maybank x reader where they’re dating but she hates everyone? very much the grumpy carebear personified and is NOT a people person at all but would still die for her friends and makes it known

jj would have too much fun (and pride) knowing he gets to be the only one to bother her

swearing, verbal altercation, underage drinking

"Havin' fun, meanie?" JJ's voice, laced with amusement and a hint of something softer, cut through your thoughts. He sauntered over, a crooked grin playing on his lips and a half-empty red plastic cup swinging loosely in his hand.

You didn't bother to hide the scowl that flickered across your face. "Define 'fun.' Because last I checked, it involved a lot less girly shrieking and a significantly lower density of egotistical assholes and popped collars..."

When Kie had informed you all that she'd got invited to a party, you didn't think a house full of Kooks was what she meant.

JJ chuckled, leaning his hip against the railing beside you from where you peered down at the partygoers, watching from the upper floor. JJ was close enough that your shoulders almost brushed. "I told you, you didn't have to come, baby." The blonde reassured, slinging an arm over your shoulders. "You know, for someone who claims to despise humanity, you sure like to spend a lot of time with us." He taunted with a small, mischievous smile.

"Shut up..." You scoffed, nudging his ribs. "And don't mistake loyalty for a sudden love of crowds. I don't trust Kooks, that's why I came. " you retorted, your gaze sweeping over the throng of dancing, laughing Kooks. "I normally wouldn't. You know this. Unfortunately, you and our friends just happen to be the exception to a very firm rule."

He bumped your shoulder gently. "Yeah, well, I appreciate it. And I'll show you just how much I appreciate it later. Hm?..." He spoke lowly, pressing a sloppy kiss to your temple. "We'll leave soon, 'kay? I promise."

"Yeah, whatever..." A small, almost imperceptible twitch of your lips betrayed a hint of a smile. "It's cool. Someone has to keep you dorks in line. Left on your own, who knows what you'd do."

"Hey!" JJ protested, feigning offense. "I am a fully responsible adult… most of the time, anyway."

The easy banter, the comfortable silence that often settled between you, was a familiar anchor in the storm of your general misanthropy. JJ, somehow, just got it. He didn't try to force you into sunshine and smiles. He accepted your grumbling exterior and seemed to find amusement in it, all while knowing the soft heart that beat beneath. If anyone knew what it was like to have a hard exterior with a heart of gold, it was JJ. He was your sunshine and smiles.

But the relative peace was shattered by a sudden surge of raised voices near the makeshift dance floor. Pope, ever the voice of reason, seemed to be at the forefront of a heated debate with a group of rich kids, their faces flushed with alcohol and entitlement as John B and Kiara stood on each side of him, their expressions tight.

Your spine straightened. The familiar prickle of irritation surged through you, overriding the ingrained desire to stay as far away from conflict as possible. These were your people.

"Hey," JJ's brows pinched in on themselves as he tried to zero in on what you were looking at. "What is it? What's goin' on?" JJ asked, his easygoing demeanor instantly replaced by a guarded alertness as his arm around your shoulders slid to sit on your waist.

"Some random dudes..." you stated flatly, already pushing off the railing and rushing towards the staircase. "They're bothering Pope."

"Wai-" JJ tried, reaching for your arm but you were quick to whip around.

"You comin' or what?" you asked, your voice low and dangerous. "Didn't you say you wished someone would knock them on their asses? Now you've got a chance. So, you gonna stay up here and watch or go down there with me?"

JJ didn't protest. He knew that look in your eyes. He also knew that beneath the layers of cynicism and disdain for the general population, you possessed a fierce, unwavering loyalty to the few you considered your own. He just sighed, a mixture of exasperation and something akin to pride on his face. "Dammit. Alright, boss lady. C'mon."

JJ Maybank Taglist in replies!

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow