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filthyjoelslvr · 1 month ago

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The Other Woman

part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Content: Jackson!Joel x reader; Jackson!Tommy x reader (not a threesome sorryyyyy)

Synop: Joel Miller only comes around at night. After the sun sets. After the stars have already flooded the sky. After all of Jackson is already asleep — including his wife.

But you're tired of being his dirty secret. Of being the other woman. You didn't think you'd hurt this much. That is until Tommy. Tommy who wants you openly. Tommy who wants you and only you.

You thought you were healing... until Joel comes along.

Warnings: age gap (unspecified reader of age), cheating (joel has a wife), reader gets heartbroken, mean joel, pinv, oral (f! receive), no ellie, praise kink (tommy), pet names, face riding (kinda), torn between both millers (me too)

Word Count: 9k?

(dividers by: @cafekitsune)

a/n: this did not turn out the way i originally planned but that's okay because i just let my fingers write whatever they desire. truly i am torn between both miller brothers and don't know who to have y'all end up with so let me knowwwwwww. SPOILER tho you will have sex with Joel next chapter. sorry not sorry.

The coffee's gone cold. It always does when you pour it too early, thinking he might stay longer than he does.

But he never does.

The sun bleeds gold across the warped floorboards, crawling in through the broken slats of the blinds you never fix. It’s quiet in that cruel kind of way — not peace, but pause. Like the world’s holding its breath before it moves without you.

Your place still smells like him. Leather and old sweat. Tobacco and pine soap. Faded traces of campfire smoke clinging to the flannel he left draped over the back of the chair. Like he’ll be back any minute.

But you know better.

He comes on the wind, always at dusk or after — carrying the weight of something he won’t name, eyes heavy with history and hands that shake until they’re on you. And when he touches you, he’s not gentle, not rough either. Just hungry. Like he’s trying to remember what it feels like to want something he’s allowed to take.

You let him. Every time.

Because the thing about being the other woman is that you learn how to live in the in-betweens. In the dark hours and unfinished sentences. In the jacket he forgot to take and the warmth in your bed that isn’t yours to keep.

And on Sundays, you never expect him.

Sundays are for her.

The one who gets his name whispered soft across pillowcases and gets to ask where he’s been without flinching. The one who gets to admire his features in the daylight. You don’t want her to exist anymore. But you know she always will.

Because Joel Miller never comes around on Sundays. Sundays are for her.

And if he ever did, you think maybe you’d ask him to stay.

But he doesn’t. He won’t.

And so you sit in the quiet with your cold coffee and that old flannel, pretending this room is a church and you’re the only sinner left praying for a man already spoken for.

It was Thursday. Or maybe Wednesday.

The days blur when you don’t ask for promises.

He came in like he always does — shoulders slouched, boots heavy, voice low. Said your name like it hurt. Like it was the first word he’d spoken all day and it tasted unfamiliar in his mouth.

You didn’t ask him where he’d been.

You never do.

You just moved aside, let him in, closed the door behind him like you were sealing something in. Or keeping something out. You’re still not sure which.

The lights stayed off. That’s how he likes it.

He sat on the edge of your bed like he didn’t mean to stay long, like this was a mistake halfway made. But then his hands found your hips, and his head found the crook of your neck, and suddenly you were both breathing like you’d been underwater.

It’s never urgent, with Joel.

It’s not tender either.

It’s quiet. Tense. Like a storm held behind his ribs.

You feel it in the way he touches you — slow, searching, like maybe if he just holds you long enough, he’ll forget what he’s running from.

You let him leave fingerprints. Bruises, sometimes. He always kisses them after, though. Mouth soft where his hands weren’t. As if to say I’m sorry, without giving it a voice.

You didn’t say anything when he traced his fingers along your spine. Didn’t move when he stared too long at the ceiling after.

You just watched him — that profile you’ve memorized a hundred different ways — and counted the beats of silence between breaths.

Then he spoke. Just one word.

“Laura.”

You turned your head away. He didn’t notice.

Or maybe he did. And didn’t care.

He left before the sun rose. No kiss. No goodbye. Just the groan of boots on old floorboards, the soft thud of the door closing, and the echo of her name still floating in the stale air you shared.

You buried your face in the pillow he used, pretending it didn’t smell like regret.

You don’t cry anymore.

That part of you dried up months ago, somewhere between the first time he left without looking back, and the fifteenth time you let him in anyway. Grief got old. Tears started to feel theatrical. And anyway, there’s no one left to see them but the walls, and even they’ve stopped listening.

Now it’s just the quiet. The long hours. The weight of being something he uses to feel human, but never stays human for.

You clean the sheets. Wash the pillowcase he used. Light a candle to burn the smell of him off your skin.

And still, it lingers.

That feeling. That film.

Like you’ve been dipped in something thick and invisible. Not blood, not dirt — worse. Something that clings behind the ears, between the thighs, under your tongue. Shame, maybe. Or the slow realization that you’re not a secret because you’re special, you’re a secret because you’re nothing.

Because love is something he gives to her.

And you’re just flesh.

You sit at the edge of the bed, half-dressed, your back to the mirror. You don't like to look anymore. You used to — used to try, anyway. Lip gloss. Liner. A hand in your hair, brushing it just so in case he noticed. In case he saw you.

But now, you don’t even try. What would be the point?

She gets him clean. You get him hollow.

You wonder what she’s doing right now. Maybe she’s making eggs. Maybe she’s wrapping her robe around herself while he kisses the top of her head and asks her what she dreamed. Maybe he makes her coffee without being asked.

Maybe he says good morning to her without needing to borrow a body first.

You’ve never heard him say it to you. You’ve never seen him like that in the light. You wonder if he looks different. Softer, maybe. Or maybe just real. You only ever get him in shadow, in pieces, in fragments, in the kind of silence that bruises.

He gives her Sundays. And you?

You get Thursdays, Mondays, Wednesdays — Fridays and Saturdays if you’re lucky.

Maybe. If he’s not too tired.

Never Sundays. Never.

You want to tell yourself you don’t care. That it’s just something you do — like a habit, or a drug, or a sin you haven’t gotten tired of yet. But that’d be a lie, wouldn’t it? Because it’s not just your body that aches when he leaves. It’s all the parts of you that no one’s ever wanted.

The parts you buried hoping he might dig them up.

But he never does.

He doesn’t ask.

It didn’t start with a look. It started with a sound, the scrape of boots on concrete behind you, the rustle of old canvas, the low murmur of someone asking for rifle rounds two stalls down.

Joel Miller.

Everyone in town knew his name. Not because he wanted them to — he kept to himself, like a man who learned long ago that silence is safer than kindness — but because in a place like this, everything echoes. Rumors. History. Grief.

You’d seen him before. Always moving, always grim. Eyes that didn’t linger. Hands that looked like they’d broken more than they held.

You didn’t speak. Not at first.

Just noticed.

He lived near the edge of town, in that crumbling house with the boarded windows and the overgrown porch. You passed it sometimes on supply runs and wondered what the inside looked like. If it smelled like cedar. Or smoke. If he ever lit candles, or just sat in the dark like you imagined he would.

The first time you actually spoke, it was raining. Hard. You were struggling with a crate of dry goods outside the community hall, your hands going numb, your patience gone.

He didn’t offer to help. He just picked up the other side of the crate and said, “Where you want it?”

And that was it.

No small talk. No smile. Just effort. Quiet and necessary.

After that, he started nodding when he saw you. A tilt of the head, sometimes a gruff “Hey.”

Then he started staying longer at the trade stalls when you were there. Asking about things he already knew.

One day, he brought you jerky from his last hunt. Said it was extra. You knew it wasn’t.

You didn’t know what to make of it, but you started brushing your hair before heading into town. Started wearing that jacket he once glanced at.

You told yourself it was nothing.

Then one night, he showed up at your door. Said nothing.

Just looked at you like the day had been long, and the world had been unkind, and you were the only soft thing left in it.

You didn’t ask questions. You just stepped aside.

That first night was clumsy. Not in a bad way, just in that way that two broken people collide. Careful and unsure, like neither of you had done this in a while. He didn’t kiss you. Not really. Just pressed his mouth to your collarbone like he was afraid it would vanish.

He left before dawn. No goodbye. Just the faint scent of sweat and regret on your sheets.

It kept happening.

Not often, not predictably. Just… when he needed.

He never made promises. Never brought flowers or touched your face like you were precious. But he came back. And for a while, that felt like something.

You started marking time by him. How long since he last came. How long until he might again.

You'd hear about him from others — how he helped reinforce the south gate, how he traded for ammo, how he didn’t speak much but always delivered.

He existed in your world like a shadow moving through the same air. A man near enough to haunt you, but never close enough to claim.

And slowly, what began as a flicker — something small and thrilling — dulled into routine.

Now, when you hear the knock at your door, you don’t smile.

You just open it.

Let him in. And let him leave.

He’s not a mystery anymore. He’s just a fact.

Like the cold. Like the curfew bell. Like the ache in your chest that never goes away.

You knew about her from the beginning. Before the first touch. Before the first knock.

Before the first night he let his body speak in place of his mouth.

People talk in towns like this. They whisper in market lines and at water pumps, over stitched-up coats and shared cigarettes.

"Joel Miller’s wife’s a good woman," they’d say. "She’s patient, still sets a place for him at dinner even when he’s late."

"She keeps the old world alive — bakes bread, tends a garden, teaches the little ones to read."

And you nodded, pretending you didn’t care.

Pretending your stomach didn’t twist when you heard the word wife.

You should have closed the door when he first came to you. But you didn’t.

Because no one ever taught you how to say no to something that feels like almost-love.

And he never mentioned her. Not once.

Not in words, at least.

But you saw it anyway, in the way he never stayed too long, in how he always kept one boot near the door. In the look in his eyes when he pulled away from you, like the sin had already been committed and there was nothing left but clean-up.

You don’t feel guilty.

Not really.

You’ve tried. God, have you tried.

But guilt implies you didn’t want it. And you did.

You still do.

You wanted the way he looked at you like maybe you were something warm in a world that had gone cold. You wanted his hands on your hips, heavy and sure. You wanted to feel wanted, even if it was only in the dark, even if it was only when he couldn’t carry whatever lived in his chest back home.

And maybe that makes you cruel.

Maybe that makes you hollow.

But it also makes you his, if only for the hour it takes to forget the life he chose before you.

She walks through town in the mornings — strong-legged and soft-eyed, with silver just starting to streak her dark hair. She looks like she’s earned her peace. Like she’s carried something heavy and learned how to set it down without screaming.

She’s his age. Maybe even older.

And you — you’re old enough to remember the world before it ended, but young enough to have gone through the hardships of puberty with infected hidden in every corner.

You hate that you envy her. But you do.

You envy the way people smile at her. The way her name is said with respect. The way Joel lets her hold his arm in public.

You envy that she gets all of him.

His mornings. His coffee breath. The sound of his voice when he isn’t worn thin.

You only get what’s left.

The part that’s too tired to speak. The part that hurts.

And still, you open the door.

Every time.

Even knowing he’ll leave smelling like you and crawl into her bed like nothing’s out of place.

Even knowing you’ll wake up in your empty sheets and try to remember what your name sounds like in someone else’s mouth.

He gave her the world. He gave you his ruin.

And somehow — somehow — you keep calling it love.

He comes late.

Later than usual. Boots caked with dirt, knuckles raw, a cut on his cheek that’s already scabbing. He doesn’t say a word when you open the door. Just walks past you like this is his house, like your body is furniture he knows by memory.

He sits on the edge of your bed. Elbows on his knees. Head bowed.

You don’t move to touch him. Not tonight.

You close the door slowly, lean against it like maybe it’ll hold you up. For a moment, neither of you speak — just the sound of the wind outside, and your heart thudding like it knows what’s coming before you do.

You ask quietly, almost gently, “Why do you treat me like this?”

He looks up, eyes narrowing like you’ve broken some unspoken rule. “Like what?”

You step toward him. Not angry. Not pleading. Just tired. “Like I’m no one. Like I don’t deserve to know anything about you. You come here, and you take what you need, and you leave. You don’t talk to me. You don’t even look at me, half the time.”

His jaw tightens. “I never made you any promises.”

And that hurts. Because it’s true.

You sit down across from him, knees almost touching, voice barely a whisper. “Is she different?”

His face hardens, but you press on.

“Are you nice to her? Do you talk to her? Does she get the real you?”

He looks away.

You keep going, each word slicing your own throat as much as his.

“Does she know what you’ve lost? What you’ve done? Does she get to hold you when the guilt comes? Because I don’t even know what you’re guilty of. I just know you crawl into my bed like a ghost trying to forget who he used to be.”

He stands abruptly. Paces. Hands clenched at his sides. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

“Because you won’t let me.”It explodes out of you. “You won’t let me see you. You come here and hide. And I take it. I’ve taken it for years. But I can’t do this anymore if you won’t even give me the truth.”

He turns back to you, angry now. “I never asked you to love me.”

You blink. Swallow the sting. “You didn’t have to. I did it anyway.”

Silence. Thick and final.

He stares at you, breathing hard — a man made of walls, panicking at the thought of tearing one down.

You think maybe he’ll say something. That maybe the dam will break. That maybe he’ll finally tell you who Sarah was, or what it’s like to lose the world twice, or why he looks so tired all the time.

But he doesn’t.

He just grabs his coat and walks toward the door.

Your voice trembles, but it’s steady where it counts.

“If you leave now, don’t come back.”

He hesitates. For half a second. Then he leaves.

Just like that.

No slamming door. No final word. Just the sound of boots fading into the night.

You stand there in the stillness, your whole body humming with what’s just been torn out of it.

You should feel strong. Empowered. But all you feel is empty.

Still, this is the first time in a long time you’ve chosen yourself. Even if it hurts like hell.

Even if the bed feels colder than ever. Even if tomorrow, you’ll still look at the door and wonder if he might come back anyway.

But tonight, you finally said what needed to be said. And that has to count for something.

You cry yourself to sleep most nights now. Not loudly. Not in that wild, breaking kind of way.

No, it’s quiet. The kind of crying that lives in your throat all day and only spills when your head touches the pillow, when the dark closes in and there’s no one left to pretend for.

You face the wall. Bite your knuckles to keep the sound in. Tears soaking the same side of the bed he used to lie on.

You don’t even know why it hurts this much.

You ended it. You told him to go.

But you never expected him to vanish like you meant nothing. Like you never mattered at all.

And now he walks past you like you don’t exist.

You see him sometimes. Out in town. At the gates, helping unload supplies. At the trade stalls, his voice low and rough, asking for nails or ammo or salt.

But he never looks at you. Never nods. Never glances. Never gives you even that old, familiar ache of almost-contact.

And that? That hurts worse than the nights he left your bed cold.

He let you go too easily. As if you were just another wound he’d gotten used to ignoring.

You tell yourself this is for the best. That every night you spend crying into the silence is one step closer to being free of him.

But healing doesn’t feel like healing. It feels like rotting in place.

Then one day, while you're working behind the mess hall, someone calls your name.

You turn, expecting a trader.

But it’s him. Not Joel — his brother.

Tommy.

You freeze. Something cold crawls up your spine. Not fear. Just... shock.

Because for a second, you think Joel sent him. Think maybe this is the moment everything comes crashing back.

But no. Tommy doesn’t look angry. Or suspicious. He looks... relaxed.

“Hey,” he says, hands in his pockets, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You nod, throat dry. “You didn’t.”

He steps closer, gestures toward the crates you’re moving.

“Lookin' mighty strong haulin' all those boxes.”

You almost laugh. Almost. Your voice comes out hoarse. “You offering to help or just standing there with compliments?”

And he smiles, not like Joel. Not guarded. Not hiding something behind his teeth.

It’s easy, unpracticed, genuine.

“I could be talked into both,” he says. And something in you lifts.

It’s small. Fleeting. But real.

For the first time in weeks, your chest doesn’t feel like it’s caving in. For one strange, stupid, golden second, you forget.

You forget how Joel looked when he left. Forget the way he never fought for you. Forget the sound of your own muffled crying into an empty pillow.

Tommy asks how you’re doing. He talks about the weather. The crops. A dumb story about some guy falling in the river trying to catch a chicken.

And you laugh. You actually laugh.

And when he looks at you, really looks, it feels like he’s seeing a whole person, not just a warm body in the dark.

He flirts a little, too.

Not hard. Not heavy. Just enough to remind you that you are still wanted. Still worth looking at.

And when he leaves, when he tips his hat and says he’ll see you around, you stand a little straighter. Breathe a little deeper.

You remember Joel again, of course. That night. That argument. The way he left without even asking if you’d meant it.

But for a single, flickering moment... You weren’t thinking of him.

And it’s the first moment in a long time that didn’t hurt.

Tommy keeps showing up. Not in the way Joel did — heavy-footed and silent, like a storm pushing through your door — but light. Curious.

Warm.

He comes by the stalls, where he was never one to linger before. Sometimes with a bundle of old books to trade, sometimes with nothing but a lopsided grin.

Most days, he doesn’t even bother pretending he’s there for supplies.

“You again,” you tease, brushing your hands on your thighs, trying not to look like you were waiting.

And he’ll just shrug. “What can I say? I like the company.”

At first, you keep your guard up. Not out of suspicion, just… self-preservation. You’re still stitched together with thin thread, and Joel tore through you like a blade.

But Tommy never asks for anything. He talks. He listens.

Sometimes he flirts — softly, the way sunlight warms your neck through a windowpane. It’s never the kind of heat that burns.

He compliments your laugh. Says you’re funny. Smart. That your eyes catch the light in a way that makes it hard to think.

And you blush. Actually blush. You forgot you could.

It’s been weeks since the last time you cried into your pillow. Now, you fall asleep thinking of Tommy — the things he said, the way he smiled like he wanted you to see it.

The way his hand brushed yours when you passed him a tin of tea.

You think about him more than you think about Joel. Not entirely.

There are still scars. Still moments when you catch sight of that same worn flannel in the crowd and your lungs seize.

But the ache has dulled. Like a wound that finally started healing the right way — not clean, not pretty, but real.

And then, one late afternoon as you’re closing up shop, Tommy leans against the frame of the stall, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

He scratches the back of his neck, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“I was thinkin’,” he starts, voice low, “I know a spot. Just outside the north ridge. We cleared it a few months back — safe, quiet. Stars are real clear out there.”

You blink. Heart thudding somewhere deep in your ribs.

He keeps going. “Thought maybe we could make a fire. Got a stash of chocolate, too. Even found marshmallows that ain’t gone stale yet.” A small grin. “Could roast a few, talk some more. Maybe... count constellations, if you’re into that kinda thing.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed. Not because you’re shocked he likes you. But because no one’s ever asked you for something gentle before.

A date.

Not a favor. Not a secret. Not a body to bury pain in.

A real, sweet, silly date. With s’mores and stars and firelight on skin.

Your voice is soft when you answer, but it doesn’t tremble. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And in that moment — with his eyes crinkling in that way Joel’s never did, with your heart fluttering like it used to before it knew better — you almost forget what it felt like to be someone’s ghost.

Because for the first time in too long… you feel wanted in the light.

You take your time getting ready.

Not because you're trying to be perfect — but because, for once, you actually want to be seen.

Your tiny denim shorts hug your hips just right, cinched with an old brown belt you found in a forgotten drawer last spring. They're worn, soft, fraying a little at the edges, but they feel like you.

You button up a maroon and white plaid shirt, short sleeves, tight at the waist. It fits snug across your ribs, flattering but not loud. Something about the colors makes your skin glow in the low light.

And then the necklace.

A tarnished gold chain with a little amber stone at the center — simple, but lovely.

Your mother gave it to you before she died. Before Jackson. Before Joel.

You don’t wear it often. It’s too easy to forget who you were before she died. But tonight, it feels right.

You glance in the mirror once before stepping away. Your cheeks are flushed from anticipation, your lips soft and parted like they’re waiting for something sweet.

You feel... pretty. Not just presentable. Pretty.

You hadn’t expected that to feel so strange.

And then — a knock at the door.

Not heavy. Not impatient. Just soft. Measured. Hopeful.

For the first time in forever, a knock at night doesn’t make your stomach drop.

You smile before you even open the door.

Tommy stands there, a little breathless, a little awkward, and handsome as hell.

He’s dressed up. For you.

Clean button-down, sleeves rolled up just enough to show his forearms. Jeans without a single stain or rip. Boots polished like it actually mattered what you thought when you looked at him.

And in his hand, a bundle of wildflowers. Pink and yellow, petals already wilting a little from the heat of his palm. Still, they’re beautiful. Vibrant and crooked and real.

Your breath catches.

“For me?” you ask, voice light, teasing.

He scratches the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “Yeah. Spent way too long lookin’ for ’em, honestly. Think I held up patrol more than once. Heard a lotta sighing behind me.”

Your smile falters , just a flicker, at the word patrol. Because you know who he rides with.

You picture Joel somewhere behind him, arms crossed, eyes dark, unknowingly watching Tommy pick wildflowers for you.

And your heart stutters. But you shove it down.

Not tonight.

You reach for the flowers, let your fingers graze his as you take them. They smell faintly of grass and sunshine and effort.

They smell like someone tried.

“They’re beautiful,” you say softly.

He’s looking at you like you’re something out of a dream. Like he can’t quite believe this is real.

“You look...” He swallows. Laughs under his breath. “Hell, I don’t even got the right word. You look dangerous, maybe.”

You arch a brow. “Dangerous?”

“Yeah. Like someone I might fall for if I’m not careful.”

Your stomach flips — not in fear. In fluttering. And you haven’t felt that in a long, long time.

He offers his arm, old-fashioned. “Ready?”

And you nod, tucking the flowers close to your chest. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

And just like that, you leave the door behind. Leave the bed where you cried yourself to sleep. Leave the ghost who never knocked again.

Tonight is for you. And for the man who actually came when he said he would.

The forest hums low with night.

You walk side by side, not touching yet, but close enough that your arm brushes his every now and then. The air smells like pine and dry leaves, the dusk settling slow and golden around the tree trunks. The path winds quietly, moonlight creeping between branches like silver veins.

When you reach the clearing, your breath catches.

It's simple — a little fire pit circled with stones, a folded blanket resting nearby, and a tin box of supplies tucked neatly beside it — but it feels like something meant. Not thrown together, not rushed.

Chosen. Prepared.

Tommy sets the blanket down first, spreading it carefully over the soft grass. Then, without a word, he gestures for you to sit.

You do. And he moves around you with practiced ease, stacking logs, striking a match, coaxing a slow, crackling flame to life.

The fire’s warmth kisses your skin in waves. You pull your knees to your chest, resting your cheek against your arm, and just watch him.

He notices. Smirks a little. “You keep starin’. I got somethin’ on my face?”

You grin. “Just wondering if you’ve always been this good at this.”

“At makin’ fires?”

“At... this.” You gesture vaguely. “Being nice. Making people feel safe.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just opens the tin and pulls out a bag of marshmallows, a broken bar of chocolate, and some skewers made of smooth, whittled sticks.

“I had a lot of years to practice,” he says finally, voice soft.

You nod. Don’t press. Not yet.

Over sticky, melting s’mores, you talk about small things. Silly things. Like his worst jobs back in the old world.

He tells you he once got kicked by a horse trying to impress a girl. You nearly choke on your marshmallow.

“Did it work?” you ask between laughs.

He grins. “She married my best friend a year later.”

You lean back, satisfied and full, the sugar warm in your blood. The stars have come out, pinpricks in the ink of the sky, sharp and endless.

Tommy glances at you, eyes lit with something boyish. “Got one more thing for you.”

You turn, brows raised, as he reaches into the bag beside him and pulls out—

A bottle.

Dark. Dusty. Long-necked, with a cracked label that’s mostly peeled away.

He sets it in front of you like it’s treasure. “I know, I know — real fancy, right?”

Your eyes widen. “Is that... wine?”

He nods proudly. “Found it on a run, buried behind a collapsed liquor store. Figured it was fate.”

You run your fingers over the dusty glass. “You were saving it?”

He shrugs, suddenly a little shy. “Didn’t know what for. Just felt like... I shouldn’t open it ‘til the moment was right.”

He pulls out two mismatched but real wine glasses, one chipped, one cloudy, and you laugh, breathless.

“You came prepared.”

He pours carefully. Red-gold liquid, thick and rich, filling the glasses with a quiet glug.

You stare at yours, then admit, “I’ve never had wine before.”

Tommy raises a brow, smiling gently. “Well, that just makes this better.”

You hold the glass, heart thudding. His eyes are on you — not greedy, not expectant. Just... warm.

You take a sip. It’s bitter. Complex. Sour, sweet, strange.

But it’s good.

You close your eyes, swallow slowly. “That’s... that’s really nice.”

He tips his glass toward you. “Told ya. Wine’s better when it’s old. Kinda like me.”

You giggle. You giggle, and you don’t even feel stupid about it.

And then — without even noticing when it started — you’re both lying back on the blanket, shoulders pressed, gazes tangled in the stars.

He points upward, totally confident. “That one there’s Orion. Or, uh… maybe it’s a frying pan.”

You snort. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Course I do,” he says, deadpan. “Look at it. Big ol’ dipper-lookin’ guy with a sword.”

You elbow him lightly, and he grabs your hand playfully, holding it between both of his. And suddenly your fingers are laced together, and the stars don’t seem half as interesting anymore.

The wine makes your skin buzz. Not dizzy. Not dull.

Just soft. Open.

You shift closer, your head finding his shoulder. His arm curves around you without hesitation, pulling you in. You tuck your legs beneath you, curl into him like you’ve always known the shape of him.

Neither of you say anything for a long while.

The fire pops quietly nearby. The stars blink, distant and watching.

And you? You don’t care about constellations anymore.

Because here — in this sliver of night, on a blanket in the woods with wine in your blood and kindness wrapped around you — you feel like maybe you’re allowed to be happy.

Like maybe you’re not ruined after all. Like maybe you’ve found something worth holding on to.

The stars have faded from your focus.

All you can feel now is him — warm against your side, arm curved around your shoulder, his chest rising slow and steady beneath your cheek. The wine has made everything glow softly at the edges. You feel buzzed in your fingertips, in your knees, in the flush climbing your neck.

You haven't spoken in a while.

Just quiet breaths. Little shared glances. His thumb brushing over your shoulder in slow, absent arcs, like he’s tracing the thought of you into memory.

And then you feel it shift.

The stillness between you grows thicker — charged and certain — and when you turn your head to look at him, he's already watching you.

His expression is soft. Not hungry. Not fast. Just… hopeful.

His hand lifts to your cheek — callused, rough, gentle — and he leans in slowly, giving you every second to pull away.

You don’t.

Your eyes close just as his lips meet yours.

The kiss is light at first. Testing. Tender. Like a secret being told mouth to mouth.

Your breath catches. Your heart stammers wildly.

His lips part slightly — warm and careful — and he kisses you again, deeper now.

Not demanding. Just there. Real. Present in a way you didn’t think anyone could be anymore.

You feel your cheeks bloom with heat. It’s ridiculous, really. You’ve been touched before.

You’ve been kissed in the dark like a secret, like a sin.

But this — this — makes you blush. Makes you feel like something delicate in good hands.

Your fingers find his shirt, holding lightly at the edge. His hand slips to your waist, grounding you

He kisses you again, and again — unhurried, sweet — until the rhythm feels like something you were meant to know.

And then—

He deepens it.

Just a little. Just enough for his tongue to brush yours.

And your stomach flips. Not in the good way.

Because suddenly, uninvited and cruel, he is there.

Not Tommy. But Joel.

Joel — with his rough, bitter mouth. Joel, who never kissed you soft. Joel, who made you feel wanted and worthless in the same breath. Joel, who touched you like a man burying a memory, not holding a person.

And now here you are — tongue tangled with his brother, and something sour rises in your throat.

You pull back gently, your hand moving to Tommy’s chest.

He looks at you immediately, worry flickering behind his eyes.

You force a smile. Light. Airy. You hope it doesn’t shake.

“Hey,” you whisper, trying to soften the moment, “slow down, cowboy. I’m still new to wine and stars and, you know... you.”

He laughs under his breath — not hurt, not defensive. Just sweet.

“Yeah. Of course,” he says, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry. Got a little carried away. You're just...” He looks at you like you hung the moon. “You’re kind of impossible not to kiss.”

You look down, smiling for real now, even if there's still a tremble in it.

He pulls you back into his arms without hesitation, without pressure, like he doesn’t need anything else from you tonight except your closeness.

And so you lay there again, your head on his shoulder, his arm around your back.

And maybe the magic of the moment is cracked now. But it’s not broken.

Later, when the fire’s embers are nothing but soft orange breath, he stands and offers you a hand. Packs everything up without asking you to lift a finger. Tucks the wine glasses back into his bag like something delicate.

He walks you home in the moonlight.

You don’t speak much, and you’re afraid — quietly, deeply — that maybe you ruined something. That the kiss that faltered might leave behind too much silence.

But when you reach your door, he turns to face you.

And just before he leaves, he kisses your forehead.

“Sleep good,” he says. “I’ll see you soon.”

And he walks away. Not lingering. Not asking to stay.

Just… leaving you with the feeling that someone actually cared enough to be gentle.

You stand in the doorway, watching him disappear down the path.

And for the first time in a long time, the ache in your chest doesn’t feel like loss. It feels like hope.

It’s your day off.

The sun’s warm on your skin, not hot, just gentle — like it’s blessing you for once.

A quiet breeze hums through the trees around the Jackson square. Someone’s hammering in the distance. Chickens cluck lazily across the yard near the fence. Children’s laughter spills from the schoolhouse down the road.

You sit on a bench just outside the mess hall, a book in your lap — one Tommy lent you, something about a girl lost in the woods. Your legs are crossed loosely, your thumb tucked between the pages.

You’re not really reading, though.

Every so often, your gaze lifts toward the path, expecting him. Tommy. He’s supposed to stop by later.

You don’t know if you’ll kiss again, or just talk, or just sit close and laugh about nothing. But whatever it is, you want it. You want him.

And for the first time in what feels like years, you’re not waiting to be needed. You’re waiting to be chosen.

So when a shadow falls over your page, your heart skips.

You smile before you even look up. “Hey—”

But it’s not Tommy. Your smile falls.

It’s Joel.

He’s towering over you, arms crossed, eyes storm-dark and narrowed. His jaw’s clenched so tight you see the muscle twitch.

“Joel,” you murmur, instinctively closing your book. “I—”

“What the hell’s goin’ on?” His voice is low, sharp, not yelling — but it slices all the same.

You blink. “What?”

He stares down at you like he’s holding back a thousand things and losing grip on all of them. “You care to explain why my brother spent half our patrol this morning blushin’ like a goddamn schoolboy? Talkin’ about your little date. Your outfit. How pretty you looked under the stars.”

Your cheeks go hot instantly — part pride, part confusion, part fear.

Tommy talked about you like that? Like you were precious?

But Joel’s not looking at you like you're precious. He looks furious.

He looks hurt.

“I didn’t know he was talking about it,” you say, your voice quiet. “I didn’t tell him to.”

He steps closer. Not enough to touch, but enough to pull the air from your lungs.

“I know what this is,” he says, voice thick. “You’re usin’ him to get back at me.”

You freeze.

“What?”

His gaze burns through you. “You think I don’t see it? You’re tryna make me jealous. Parade around town lettin’ him hold your hand, kiss your face, pretend like I didn’t mean anything to you.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” he cuts in. “And I’m not gonna let you drag him into your mess.”

Your breath stumbles. “My mess?”

His face twists. “You think he knows what you let me do to you? You think he knows you let me in your bed, night after night, cryin’ and clingin’ to me like I was the only thing keepin’ you from breakin’?”

Your whole body goes still.

He’s too close. Too loud. Too angry to care about who might hear.

Your voice shakes now, but not from fear. From something deeper — betrayal, maybe. Heartbreak.

“I’m not using Tommy,” you whisper. “I care about him. He makes me feel safe. And wanted. And happy. Things you never let me feel.”

Joel’s chest rises and falls like he’s been running. His arms are still crossed tight, but his eyes betray him — flickering, pained, like he can’t believe you’re not just laying down and belonging to him anymore.

“Do you know how fuckin’ jealous that makes me?” he growls suddenly, voice raw. “Is that what you’re tryin’ to do? Watch me fall apart over this?”

You blink hard, throat tightening.

And in the silence that follows, a single thought hits you like a stone dropped in still water:

He feels it. Joel Miller is jealous.

He feels something.

But it’s too late. Too twisted.

Your voice steadies. “You don’t get to feel jealous, Joel. Not after what you did. Not after how you treated me.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just watches you.

“I think…” you say slowly, your voice trembling with something that tastes like both terror and freedom, “I think I could actually love Tommy. And I think he could love me too. We could have a life. A real one. Not a secret. Not some... dirty, bleeding shadow in the dark.”

You see it hit him.

Right in the gut.

Joel stares at you for a long, long time. His face is red, jaw clenched, arms like steel across his chest.

And then — without a word — he turns.

And walks away.

No apology. No threat. No parting shot.

Just leaves you sitting there with your book unopened in your lap, and your breath caught between heartbreak and release.

You don’t know what that silence means. But for the first time, you don’t chase it.

You try not to think about Joel. You try.

But his voice keeps echoing in your head, even hours later — low, bitter, possessive. That damn question clinging to the walls of your mind like smoke you can’t scrub out.

Do you know how fuckin' jealous that makes me?

You don’t know what it means. You don’t know how it made you feel. All you know is it shouldn’t matter — not anymore.

Not when Tommy’s the one coming to meet you.

You’re back on the same bench, pretending to read again. The sun’s slid down the sky, casting long gold shadows across the street. Your fingers twist nervously in the hem of your shirt, heart beating a little too loud for comfort.

You hear his boots before you see him.

Then, warm as always, his voice: “You alright?”

You look up. Tommy’s there — handsome in a plain tee and clean jeans, a flannel tied around his waist, eyes squinting slightly against the sun. His expression is soft, but worried.

You freeze.

It hits you all at once — how different this feels.

How he doesn’t demand answers, just asks because he cares.

And for a moment, you want to tell him. Want to say: Joel showed up. Joel said things. Joel looked like he might break in two and I don’t know why it still hurts.

But you can’t.

You can’t.

Joel doesn’t get to take this from you.

So you force it all down, deep into that box where you’ve stuffed the ache, the guilt, the heat of his eyes.

You smile. Not the biggest smile. But real enough.

“I’m fine,” you say gently. And before he can ask more, you lean up and press a kiss to his lips.

That does it.

He relaxes instantly, grinning as he kisses you back. “Okay then,” he says softly. “Let’s go.”

He takes your hand and leads you down the lane, fingers laced through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And for a little while, you let yourself forget the shadow that passed over your day.

Tommy’s house surprises you.

It’s nicer than you imagined. Country style, tucked just off the main path, with big windows and a porch strung with old Christmas lights that still work somehow. Inside, it smells like cedar and soap, warm and lived-in. There’s a leather couch with a throw blanket, a bookshelf brimming with paperbacks and dusty mugs, and a framed photo of him and Joel by the door — a reminder of another life.

The kitchen is small but tidy, and a bowl of fresh tomatoes sits proudly on the counter.

“Spaghetti night,” he announces like it’s a sacred ritual. “Told you I was cookin’.”

You grin, shrugging off your shoes. “And I told you I’m helping.”

Tommy mock-groans but doesn’t argue. “Alright, alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I take my sauce real serious.”

He shows you how to cut and peel the tomatoes, how to sauté garlic in olive oil, how to add salt “with love, not fear.” You’re clumsy with the measurements, splash sauce across the counter, drop a spoon in the sink with a loud clang.

He doesn’t get annoyed.

He just watches you with amusement, shaking his head fondly. “You’re a menace in the kitchen,” he says, chuckling.

“And yet,” you shoot back, “you invited me.”

When the sauce is finally simmering in the pot, you wipe your hands on a towel, only to feel something wet smear across your cheek.

“What the—?”

You turn. Tommy stands beside you, licking sauce off his thumb with a devilish grin.

“Punishment,” he says. “For makin’ a mess of my counter.”

You gasp, scandalized. “Oh, it’s on.”

Before he can move, you grab a glob of sauce with your fingers and slap it onto his cheek.

He freezes. Then breaks into a grin.

The next few moments are chaos. Sauce flung. Laughter echoing. You chase each other in lazy circles around the tiny kitchen until you collapse against the counter, breathless and sticky.

And then—

His hands find your waist. Yours find his collar.

And you kiss.

It’s playful at first — wine-sweet and garlic-touched — but it deepens quickly, hunger turning slow and sweet. He pulls back only to gently wipe the mess from your face with a soft cloth, fingers lingering along your jawline.

“I could get used to this,” he murmurs. “We could have nights like this every damn week.”

You look at him. At the sauce on his shirt, the light in his eyes, the way his voice dips when he says we.

Dinner is simple — pasta, bread, and the rest of that dusty old wine he saved. But he lights two stubby candles between you, their soft flames dancing as the sky darkens through the window.

And when you go to sit across from him, you change your mind. You slide into the seat beside him, hip to hip, thigh to thigh.

“Hi,” you say with a little smile.

He kisses your cheek in reply.

You play footsie under the table like kids. You compliment the meal.

“Tommy, this is actually amazing.”

He beams. “Told you. Serious about my sauce.”

You talk about small things — who you saw around town, someone’s busted gate, a child’s chalk drawing of a horse that looked more like a rabbit.

Then he asks: “How was your day?”

And you freeze.

Your smile falters for just a second too long.

He notices — you feel him notice — the way his hand slows as it traces your leg under the table, the way his eyes search your face like he’s trying to read between the words you haven’t said yet.

You lift your glass of wine, buy time with a sip. Force your voice to stay light.

“It was good,” you lie. “Quiet. Peaceful. Spent most of it with my book.”

He watches you for a beat. Then smiles, brushing your hair behind your ear.

You don’t know if he believes you. You’re not sure if it matters.

You lean into him, rest your head on his shoulder.

And somewhere in your chest, the ghost of another man gnaws quietly at your ribs.

But tonight, you are warm. You are safe. And you are not alone.

Before you know it, the night has gone quiet.

Just the soft murmur of the radio playing in the background — some old love song, dreamy and distant — and the faint hum of wind against the window glass. You’re curled up on Tommy’s couch now, head resting in his lap, your body curled sideways like a cat soaking up warmth. His fingers glide gently through your hair, slow and steady, like he’s memorizing each strand.

You’ve never been touched like this. Not like you’re fragile, or precious — but like you’re known.

Your eyes flutter closed. His palm rests on your temple now, warm and grounding.

You think, I could get used to this.

And just as the thought settles sweetly in your chest, Tommy breaks the silence:

“So… are you gonna tell me what really happened today?”

Your eyes open slowly. Your breath stills.

“I already did,” you murmur, keeping your voice soft, lazy.

But his fingers pause. You feel his gaze on you.

“No, you didn’t,” he says gently. “You said it was a quiet day. Peaceful. But you weren’t peaceful when I showed up. You looked… shaken. Scared, even. And you’ve been smiling all night, but not really. Not the way you did before.”

You shift, sit up a little. Your pulse picks up.

“Tommy—”

“Look,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “I know we haven’t known each other long. Not like that. But I’m not just doin’ this for fun. I’m into you. Really into you. And I’m not the kinda guy who can build something real if it starts off with secrets.”

He leans down, brushing your hair behind your ear, eyes locked with yours now — earnest and unflinching.

“I want someone honest. I want you. And maybe that’s stupid, but…” He huffs a soft laugh. “…you make me nervous as hell. I go to sleep thinkin’ about you, and I wake up with your face in my head. I don’t even know what to do with it sometimes. But I know one thing — if I’m gonna fall for you, I gotta know you’re not hidin’ somethin’ that’s gonna break me.”

Your heart drops.

Because God, you want to tell him.

You want to cry right here in his arms and tell him everything — how you let his brother crawl into your bed for over a year, how you loved him, how he broke you, and how today, he showed up and lit a fuse in your heart you thought had burned out.

But you can’t.

If you tell him, you lose this. Lose him.

And you’re not sure who you’d be with both Millers carved out of your chest.

So instead, you look down. Swallow the ache.

“…Some guy said something to me this morning,” you say softly. “Not someone you know. Just some asshole. Said I was easy. That I didn’t belong here. It just… threw me off, I guess.”

It’s not even a good lie. But it’s enough.

Tommy’s face hardens instantly. His arms go around you, pulling you up into his lap like you’re weightless. One hand cups the back of your head, the other gently strokes your cheek.

“Hey. Look at me.”

You do.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, firm and slow, like he needs you to believe it. “And I don’t give a shit what anyone else says. You’re strong. You’re kind. You belong exactly where you are. With me.”

Your throat tightens.

He studies your face for a moment, then adds, quieter now, “I’ll find him if you want me to. I swear.”

You laugh softly — more guilt than amusement. “No, it’s fine. Really. I just needed to shake it off. I didn’t want it to ruin tonight.”

Tommy’s brows relax. His expression softens like candlewax.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he whispers. “You being here? You… lettin’ me hold you like this?”

His hand touches your chin, tips it up gently.

“I think I’m fallin’ for you.”

And then he kisses you.

Not careful this time. Not shy.

It’s deep, and romantic, and hungry in a way that makes your chest ache. His hands grip your waist, your back, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

And for a moment, you let yourself believe this could work.

That maybe you can love him clean. That maybe one day, the lie will fade, and all that will remain is this. The way his mouth tastes like wine. The way he makes you feel safe. The way he chose you.

And maybe, just maybe — that can be enough.

Tommy’s kiss deepens, his mouth parts and his tongue slips between your lips. This time you’re not scared. This time you take it, entangling your tongue with his.

His hands wander, tentative at first — down the curve of your back, brushing along your waist, slowly tracing the line of your thigh. Like he’s unsure if he’s allowed, or maybe like he knows exactly what he wants but doesn’t quite have the nerve to ask for it. Every touch feels like a question, and every answer is in the way you lean closer.

So you decide to make the first real move. Your fingers drift down the planes of his chest, slow and deliberate, until they find the hem of his worn black shirt. For a second, you hesitate — then slip your hands beneath the fabric.

His skin is warm and impossibly soft beneath your palms, the kind of heat that seeps into your bones and makes you forget the cold ever existed. Your fingers explore the shape of him — the lean muscle, the faint scars, the way a trail of coarse hair starts just below his navel and disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans.

You feel him shiver. Not pull away — just breathe, sharp and shallow, like he’s been waiting for you to touch him like this, but didn’t think you ever would. His hands still for a moment, caught somewhere between restraint and want, before resting on your hips — not guiding, just grounding. Letting you lead.

It’s quiet, except for the soft rustle of clothing and the heartbeat echoing in your ears. And in that silence, you realize: he’s letting you in. Not just into his space — but into something deeper, something softer. Something real.

You pull away from the kiss, breath mingling in the small space between you. In one slow motion, you tug his shirt up and over his head, revealing skin kissed by sun and time — warm, golden, and solid beneath the soft glow of the low light.

He’s strong, that much is obvious — a man shaped by years of labor and living — but there’s a gentleness in the way he carries it. No fresh bruises. No jagged edges. His chest rises and falls with steady breath, his body unguarded in your presence.

Joel was always different. Built like a wall, all grit and sharpness — the kind of body that told a story just in scars. There was never a moment with him that didn’t feel like it might end in ache. But Tommy…

Tommy feels like safety. Like home.

There’s something soft about him, even in his strength — in the slope of his shoulder, the dip of his collarbone, the way his eyes search your face for permission, for want. Not taking, just waiting.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like something to be used. You feel wanted. Cared for.

Tommy’s hands slip beneath your shirt, the warmth of his touch blooming across your skin like a slow-burning fire. His fingers move with purpose, but not haste — exploring the soft terrain of your waist, the gentle curve of your ribs, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his hands if he isn’t careful.

He touches you like he’s trying to understand you — not just your body, but the quiet ache beneath your skin, the places where longing lives.

His hands roam higher, slow and steady, until they hover just beneath where you want him most. There’s a hesitation there — delicate, almost reverent — as if he’s waiting for a signal, a breath, a whisper of permission.

And that pause says everything: that he wants you, but won’t take more than you’re willing to give. That he sees you, not just your body, but your need — the kind that’s laced with history, with heartbreak, with the hope that maybe this time, it won’t end in ruin.

“For fucks sake, Tommy, just touch me.” A slow, heavy breath escapes you, desire coursing like wildfire beneath your skin.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just nervous.” He admits. Embarrassment fading across his face.

“That’s cute.” You say as you grab his wrists, pushing his hands beneath your bra.

His fingers finally graze across your hard nipple. His mouth parts slightly as he feels every tender inch of your breast. Feels how badly you're aching for him. He quickly pulls your shirt to your shoulders, dragging your bra with it. Your breasts bounce freely in front of him. His gaze lingers before his touch follows, admiring every curve.

He eases your shirt off now, slow and careful, like he’s unwrapping something fragile. There’s no urgency in the way his fingers move, only patience. Intention. When the fabric slips from your shoulders and over your head, he sees you — all of you. Or at least, the part of you you usually try to hide.

Scars trail across your skin like ghosted memories, remnants of a life you survived — one lived shoulder to shoulder with danger, where the infected were never more than a heartbeat away and safety was something you only dreamed about.

They’ve always made you feel exposed. Marked. Like the past would never quite let go. But Tommy doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away.

His eyes move over you slowly, tracing each line like they tell a story worth knowing — not something ugly, but something earned. You brace for judgment, for pity, but what you see in his expression is softer. Something closer to awe.

And in that silence, that gentle stillness, you begin to believe that maybe you're not something to be hidden after all.

You move freely in front of him — unguarded, unhidden, unashamed. There’s no need to tuck your insecurities away, no fear of being too much or not enough. In his gaze, you are seen, fully and without judgment. Every soft curve, every silent scar, every secret wish — they all exist in the open, and he looks at them like they’re sacred.

You’ve never been like this with anyone. Not even Joel. With him, there were always shadows — things you kept quiet, parts of yourself folded away, unsure if they were welcome. But with Tommy, there’s space. Space to breathe. To want. To be.

And so you let yourself unfold — slowly, delicately, like something once bruised that’s finally learning how to bloom again.

“So pretty.” Tommy whispers amongst his admiration. He makes you blush in a way you never thought you could, for reasons you never thought you’d experience.

He wraps his arms around your back, pulling you in closer, bare chest to bare chest. Your tender nipples scrape against the dark coiled hairs lining along his chest. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s slow and tender, his mouth moving with quiet worship. He kisses you like he’s savoring it — like he’s learning it — his lips molding gently to yours, warm and sure. When his tongue slips forward, it’s soft, exploratory, tracing the edge of your teeth with the lightest touch, like a question he’s too careful to speak aloud.

Then he plants soft kisses along your cheek, jaw, neck — meeting the soft skin below your ear, sucking enough to leave faded marks. Marks no one would notice but you. No one would notice unless they were looking for it.

“Tommy..” You breath, rocking your hips into his, feeling the growing curve beneath his jeans. His breath hitches — hands grasping your hips tighter.

“Fuck. Already makin’ me lose myself.” He groans, pulling his lips from the growing red marks he’s left.

“I need you.” You plead, his hands pulling you roughly into him — closing the space between his jeans and your shorts. The denim rubbing against your clit — that’s rubbing against his budlge — almost becomes too much to handle. You can feel the dampness between your legs. You can see the way his jeans darken with every movement.

His head dips to your chest, taking your hard nub between his lips — sucking harshly, flicking and circling his tongue around your nipple. Your grab your free breast with your hand, squeezing and palming yourself, causing electric shocks to travel down your spine.

Your back arches into his mouth, his touch. Chasing every movement. He shares his attention with your other breast now, removing your hand, letting him take care of you.

You’ve never been this way with Joel. Never sat in his lap, thrusting into his clothed cock, chasing his mouth with your arching back. Joels never shown you this kind of attention, made sure the pleasure was all about you. With Joel, it was always how he wanted it.

Tommy’s hands slid around the small of your back, holding you with a gentle strength as he eased you down onto the soft cushions of the couch. Without thinking, your legs curled around him instinctively, pulling him closer. He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a tender, slow kiss. The world seemed to hush around you as he captured your bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling softly, a sweet and intimate gesture that sent a shiver down your spine.

One hand pressed gently to the cushion beside your head, his weight resting on his elbow as he leaned in, anchoring himself in the intimate space where your breaths tangled and the world fell away. The other reached hesitantly between your legs, looking you in the eyes — asking for permission. Your begging pants were all he needed to hear before he rubbed slow circles on the ache hidden beneath your shorts.

“More…” You ask in a whispered hush. Wrapping your arms around his neck.

He whispered softly, his breath warm against your skin, “I want to take you to bed… to do this right, with you.” Carefully, he lifted you from the couch, his touch gentle, his eyes full of quiet devotion as he held you close.

Tommy’s arms wrapped securely around you as he carried you through the dimly lit hallway, your body fitting naturally against his. Every step was steady and sure. The world outside seemed to fade, replaced by the quiet rhythm of your breaths.

When he reached his bedroom door, it creaked softly as he pushed it open—an intimate sound that felt like the start of something sacred. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting warm shadows that danced across the walls.

Slowly, carefully, he lowered you onto the bed, his hands never losing their gentle hold. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, and for a moment, he just stayed there—watching you, his eyes full of something tender and protective. The quiet hum of the night wrapped around you both, and all that mattered was this soft, suspended moment between you.

He left a trail of gentle kisses down your body — stopping at the silver button clasping your shorts. He pulls them down — underwear including, his patience worn. Met with the sight of your glistening, begging pussy.

He drags his thumb between your folds, capturing your slick, and rubbing gently at your throbbing clit. Before you know it, his head dips between your legs — lips planting kisses on the inner soft skin of your thighs.

“You're dripping.” He groans. The eye contact with him becomes too much, to fierce. It sends a pulsing fire right to your lower stomach.

His tongue licks a long stripe, swirling and sucking right where you need him. Your moans fill the air and you can feel yourself become wetter and wetter. You’d be embarrassed with how loud you were being if it weren’t with Tommy. But Tommy eats up every bit of it.

Your legs curl tightly around his shoulders, drawing him deeper, while Tommy’s hands explore the soft, heated flesh of your thighs with slow, deliberate pressure — anchoring himself in the intoxicating pull of your body pressed close.

He digs his tongue inside of you, the sight of his face fully buried, nose pressed tightly on your clit, has your legs shaking. Once he enters two fingers, thrusting deeply and curling into the spongey part of you, you’re sent over the edge.

Your hands tangle fiercely in his hair, gripping tightly as you struggle to steady the rush of your trembling body. He thrusts his fingers into you faster, harder, as you try to chase his touch — griding against his face.

“Oh- oh god, Tommy.” You moan, the heat curled deep in you threatening to spill over.

His muffled moan vibrates against you in response. Enough to send shivers down your spines. Enough to finish you. Before you know it, you’re spilling your hot liquids on his fingers. On his tongue that’s still licking circles around your ache.

Tommy lifts himself from between your thighs, showing his fingers covered in your slick. He slowly brings the two to his mouth, licking them clean. The sight nasty, perverted, but turning you on once again.

“Tastes so good.” He claims, dragging his fingers out of his mouth with a pop. “Ready for me, babygirl?”

You nod your head desperately. “Yes..”

His hands move deliberately down, undoing the button of his jeans with practiced ease, unveiling more of the dark, tangled hair that lay beneath. He pulls them down, past his thighs, his boxers following quickly behind.

You weren’t expecting how big he is. His length slapping against his belly button, tip already dripping with wet precum. Your legs spread instinctively wider, inviting him in. He gives you a knowing smirk as he leans down, hovering over you and balancing himself on one hand as he guides himself to your entrance with the other.

He moves into you gently, as if savoring every second of closeness. You’re already so open to him, your bodies drawn together by something deeper than desire. His hands come to rest tenderly around you head, thumbs brushing your temples like a silent promise. A deep, almost trembling groan slips from his lips, and his eyes flutter closed — not just from pleasure, but from the overwhelming truth of how much he feels for you. It’s not rushed. It’s not just passion. It’s raw and quiet, spoken in the way he holds you.

His touch is slow, like he’s discovering something sacred. When he moves inside you, it’s not with haste but with intention — like very inch is a silent confession. You’re already so ready for him, your bodies fitting together with an ease that feels fated, walls accepting him deeper inside of you.

Tommy’s breath shutters as he presses his forehead to yours, hands gently cupping the sides of your face like you’re something fragile he’s afraid to break. His voice is low and warm, roughened by need. Thrusts a steady rhythms — the sound of skin slapping skin filling the air.

“You feel so fuckin’ good.” He whispers, bottoming out — a feeling that almost has you screaming. “Feel like I’ve been waitin’ my whole damn life for this.”

He moves slowly, savoring the way your body tightens around him every time he pulls out. Quiet sounds escape your lips — sounds he drinks in like they’re meant only for him. His hands slide back through your hair, then trail down your breasts, your sides, worshiping the lines of your body with a quiet awe, till his hands grasp your ass, spreading you wider.

“So damn beautiful,” he breathes against your skin. “You don’t even know, do you?”

And he’s right. You don’t. You haven’t in a long time. Not since whatever you had with Joel started. But your Tommy’s now.

His lips find yours again — slow, deep, and lingering — then trail to your jaw, your neck, pressing soft kisses between each whimpered word. His voice stays low, intimate, like a secret he’s trying to keep.

“Been dreamin’ of this… of you. The way you feel. The way you look at me. The way you make me feel like I ain’t carryin’ the weight of this while damn town on my shoulders.”

You feel Tommy in every part of you. The way his fingers lace with yours above your head, grounding you. The he pauses to look at you, chest rising and falling with every breath like he’s afraid he’ll miss something.

“You’re safe, darlin’,” he murmurs. “With me. Always.”

His rhythm deepens slowly, never rushed — every movement purposeful, guided by the overwhelming need to make this mean something. He leans in, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his pace builds.

"Fuck- takin' me like such a goodgirl." He whispers.

And when the tension finally builds too high to hold back, your legs wrap around his, pulling him closer — legs shaking. Tommy’s thrusts falter as he collapses into you, hot strands of him shooting deep inside of you. His pace slows as he releases every last drop, beads of sweat lining his forehead and chest.

Afterward, he stays wrapped around you, his hand resting in the strands of your hair. He presses a kiss to your temple, then your shoulder, and finally your lips — slow and lingering.

And when you wake the next morning, The light is soft when you stir — that gentle, early morning glow slipping through the curtains like a secret. Your body is warm, heavy with the kind of peace that only comes after something real… something that meant more than just a night.

At first, you're not fully awake — just aware of warmth beside you, the steady rise and fall of someone's chest, the brush of a hand loosely resting at your waist. And then your eyes flutter open.

He’s still here.

Tommy.

His face is so close, peaceful in sleep. One arm is slung around your waist, holding you gently but securely, like even in his dreams, he wants to keep you near. His breath is slow, even, ruffling your hair every so often as he exhales. You can feel the warmth of his naked skin where it touches yours, where your legs are tangled together beneath the sheets.

Your chest tightens.

You’re used to waking up alone. Used to the hollow stillness after Joel would slip out sometime before dawn — not cruel, not cold, just… distant. Detached. He never stayed. Never really let himself.

So now, lying here with Tommy still wrapped around you, the weight of his presence is almost too much. Too tender. Too safe. Like your heart doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

Your instinct is to freeze, not out of fear, but disbelief. You wait for him to move, to get up, to pull away.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he shifts closer in his sleep, nuzzles his face against your shoulder with a soft hum, and tightens his arm just slightly around your waist.

A tiny sound catches in your throat. It’s not quite a sob, but it’s something close — quiet and raw and full of all the things you’ve never let yourself hope for. You press your forehead into the pillow, breathing slow, trying to make sense of the ache in your chest.

Tommy stirs then, as if your silence reached him even in sleep. His eyes blink open, still heavy with rest, and they find yours almost immediately.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and rasped with sleep. “You okay?”

You nod before you even think about it, eyes wet, lips parting to speak — but no words come.

He sees it, though. He always does.

His hand moves up, fingers brushing gently through your hair as he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “You don’t gotta look so surprised.”

It had been a quiet kind of day — the good kind.

Tommy was busy with town duties, something about a supply run meeting and wall repairs, so you'd kept to yourself. The house was calm, filled with the soft rustle of pages as you read by the window, curled under a blanket. The book had long since been forgotten, though — set aside on your lap while your thoughts drifted to Tommy.

It was late now — a little before midnight — and the fire had burned low in the hearth. Outside, Jackson had settled into that peaceful silence it only ever got on cold, still nights.

Then came the knock.

Three soft taps. Hesitant. Almost... unsure.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

Your heart gave a strange little lurch — hopeful, for just a second, that maybe Tommy had found his way to your doorstep anyway. That maybe he couldn't sleep either, missing you the way you missed him.

But when you opened the door, your breath caught.

It wasn’t Tommy.

It was Joel.

And not the hardened, guarded version you’d grown used to. He looked different. Raw. Torn. Eyes shadowed. Like he hadn’t meant to come here, but his feet brought him anyway.

And then it hit you — the weight of the moment.

It was Sunday.

You stood there frozen in the doorway, one hand on the frame, the other wrapped tightly around yourself, as if your body instinctively knew this moment would hurt.

“Can I come in?” he asked, voice low, rough. Like gravel underfoot.

You stared at him for a beat too long. “It’s late.”

“I know.”

His eyes searched yours. There was something behind them — not just guilt, not just longing. Something more desperate. Something that made your chest tighten.

You hesitated, then stepped back wordlessly, letting the door swing open just enough for him to step inside.

Joel walked in slowly, glancing around your little living room like it had changed since he last saw it — and maybe it had. Maybe it felt different now, because you were different.

You didn’t offer him tea. Didn’t make excuses for the silence. You just crossed your arms and waited.

He stood by the edge of the fireplace, not looking at you. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“No,” you said quietly. “You really shouldn’t.”

His jaw clenched. “Tommy told me. ‘bout you and him… how he fucked you.”

Your heart thudded.

“So what?” you asked. You tried to keep your voice steady, but it cracked — not from weakness, but from everything he’d never let you have.

Joel finally looked at you. And you hated that your heart still flipped at the way his eyes softened, even now.

“You happy?” he asked.

You blinked. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I—I never meant to hurt you.”

You let out a short, bitter breath. “You didn’t have to mean it. You just did.”

He flinched like the words hit harder than you’d intended.

“You never stayed,” you whispered. “You never looked at me the way he does. And now you show up? On a Sunday?”

Silence.

“I left her,” Joel said suddenly. The words dropped like a stone in still water.

You stared. Shocked. “What?”

“Couple nights ago. I couldn’t—” he ran a hand down his face. “I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I kept tryin’ to tell myself it wasn’t real, what we had,” he continued. “That I didn’t feel nothin’. But it was a lie. And then the way Tommy said he…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

You stepped back slightly, unsure whether you wanted to laugh, cry, or scream. “You only came because you saw someone else loving me. Not because you were ready. Not because I mattered before.”

Joel looked down, silent again.

And then you spoke the truth you’d been holding in your chest for too long.

“I needed someone who didn’t just want me when they were lonely. I needed someone who chose me even when it wasn’t convenient.”

Joel looked up. Eyes full of something broken.

“You were never an inconvenience." He mutters. You swear you hear his voice crack. "I always wanted you."

"Stop, Joel. That's not fucking fair." Your eyes burn as you beg them to hold back your tears. "I'm with Tommy now."

"I bet you thought about me while he was deep inside you, huh?"

"Joel stop."

He's close now, leaning in centimeters from your face. "Did he do it right?"

"Joel, please." You beg. But yet you don't find yourself leaning away from him, from the way his hands slip under your sweater — grazing your bare hips.

He stutters for a moment. Eyes searching your face for any sort of excuse to stop himself. But he leans in, lips grazing softly against yours, mouth parting to say: "Stop me."

You don't. You collide your lips into his, tasting the familiarity. Hands wrapping instinctively around his neck, pulling him in closer. Like you've done this a million times before.

Well... you have.

But, it's only when his hand slips beneath you leggings, traveling down to the front of your underwear, that you push him away. That you push him off of you.

"We can't do this anymore. Seriously. I really am with Tommy." You inform, wiping away his drool from your lips. You feel filthy.

"You want me. Admit it." He fights back. The fear and anguish now returning to his face. The hurt as well.

"Get the fuck out, Joel." You yell, pushing him harshly towards you door, the tears finally escaping.

He didn’t fight. He didn’t beg. Maybe he finally understood.

And when you opened the door again, he walked out without another word — not angry, not cold.

Just hollow.

You closed the door behind him, leaned your back against the wood, and let yourself breathe. Slow. Deep.

And when your eyes drifted to the small clock on the mantel… it had just passed midnight.

It wasn’t Sunday anymore.

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stormhearty · 1 year ago

Text

Pushed to the Edge

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Trigger: angst, cheating, suicide, death

Word Count: 3k

Summary: You were the official seer of Night Court for nearly 500 years. the Inner Circle had always listened to you and your visions; however, when the Archeron sisters came and Elain started to show her powers, your family started to shift their attention to her visions. When you try to voice your warnings about the death-lord’s resurrection, everyone gave you the cold shoulder, ignoring your prophesies — this included your mate.

Note: no hate to Azriel or Elain, it just helped with the plot. and Also, I know it's completely unreasonable for Azriel to not have the Truth-Teller be with him at all times, just go with it for now. And I am working on “Reach Your Voice” Series, I’m still trying to figure out how to make sure each of our boys spends quality time with the reader.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

“That sounds absolutely absurd… How many times will you try to warn about something that will never happen?”

Your voiced died in your throat as you watched Rhysand look at you with apprehension before focusing on the paperwork in front of him.

You had ran into his office, waking up in cold sweat after another vision of another Death God crawling it’s way back into Prythian. You had tried to forewarn your High Lord for weeks on end ever since you first saw that vision. However, your warnings had been ignored by Rhysand. You knew that it sounded impossible, you knew that, Prythian had just finished a war — one that almost destroyed the world.

After the war with the King of Hybern, Prythian was slowly returning to its normal … well, attempting to fix what was broken by the King. The Night Court was healing, trying to rebuild itself again to its glory, helping other Courts to fix the damages that the war caused. Rhysand had been through an ordeal, losing his life to save Prythian and you knew that your High Lord was still recuperating from that tragedy. You knew that your High Lady was as well, almost losing her mate.

They didn’t need another war to happen when peace had barely returned.

But you also knew there was another reason your High Lord had been ignoring your for forewarning. You looked to the side, one where the rest of the Inner Circle was watching the confrontation. Cassian and Nesta, sitting close to each other, a glass of wine in their hands, whispering to each other, mostly likely about you and your vision. You could barely pick up with your keen Fae hearing on what they were saying.

“Do you think what she’s saying is real? That Koschei is trying to come back?”

“Elain hasn’t seen it though…”

The whisper of the middle Archeron child echoed in your ears as you looked at the Made Fae. She sat next to the window, brown eyes that seemed to sparkle like the sun rested on you before turning over to the male that she was sitting with. Your gaze followed hers to Azriel — your mate— but you can see that he didn’t bother to glance in your direction, only to focus on the delicate female next to him.

It hurt. You watched as the two of them conversed, glancing back in your direction before focusing on each other.

It was no secret, not for you, on Elain’s growing infatuation for the Shadowsinger, and in turn his own growing affections for the middle Archeron child — and in turn, losing his love for you.

You woke up in an empty bed, your mate missing from his side. You tried to talk to Cassian about how his day went, on if he would still train you with the Valkyries if he had time. You tried to converse with Rhysand and Feyre, seeing if they were healing properly after the war, wanting to make sure your High Lord and Lady were safe. You sought after you mate, wanting to spend even a second with him.

But they disregarded you so easily. Especially after they had found out that Elain had similar powers to you, one that was gifted to her by the Cauldron — one that was deemed more powerful than your own.

Your role as the Official Seer of Night Court was granted to you after Helion had sent you as an emissary for Day Court. Helion had found you wandering around Day Court lands. You had been a wandering child, with no real attachment to any Court, abandoned in the streets by your family at the age of five when your seer powers started to come into light. Helion had taken you in when you were ten, helped you hone your powers. Being a seer had been a mystery, no one in your heritage (that you were aware of) was a seer. And it baffled Helion on why such a remarkable gift had been casted aside.

You had stayed with the Night Court, gaining their trust and friendship for five centuries, gaining your own little foothold in their family. You had been a pillar when Rhysand had been trapped Under the Mountain for nearly fifty years. You helped Mor and Armen with the official Night Court Duties, trained with Cassian to ensure you were strong enough to fight when neither he nor Azriel was there.

During your time protecting Valeris from the eyes of Amarantha, your mating bond with the Shadowsinger snapped. It had been difficult at the start, both of you were still struggling with the disappearance of your High Lord, along with the weight of protecting the very city he hidden from view. But during that time, you became each other’s pillar, each other’s comfort in such a dark time. Falling in love with Azriel wasn’t difficult.

But keeping his love, apparently, was the most difficult.

When the Archeron sister’s came into everyone’s lives, it caused a tip in the scales. You loved Feyre, you loved your High Lady. You would do anything in your power to ensure she was safe and well cared for. But for the Cauldron-Made sisters, it was difficult for you to accept them.

They were different. You couldn’t see anything about them, as if the Cauldron had masked them from you powers. It made you terrified of them. Feyre and Rhysand had tried to assure you that the Archeron sisters deemed no threat to the Night Court. And you trusted them — trusted your High Lord and Lady without a blink of an eye. And yes, while their words deemed true, you did not realize that they were a different type of threat. One that would eventually lose your foothold in the Night Court.

You swallowed, your throat parched as you glanced from the sight of your mate and Elain speaking to one another to Rhysand and then to Feyre who had stood next to him. She gave you a worried look, wondering what you were wanting to tell them.

The air was tense, the declaration from your High Lord seeming to echo in your surroundings — he had deemed your vision to be false. And he had never done that before.

“… But…” you whispered, your voice nothing but wind in such a large room, “… I’ve seen it so many times, Rhys. Someone is trying to resurrect him. That they need a piece of something from the Cauldron — -”

“The Cauldron is with Miryam and Drakon… in Creta. There is no way that anyone would be able to use that power again,” Rhysand’s tone was taut, as if trying to drawn a line between the truth and your vision, “Your vision must be wrong, (Y/N). There is no way that Koschei can be resurrected from that lake.”

Another swallow, “But what if it doesn’t have to be the Cauldron itself. It could be something that was Made from the Cauldron.”

Rhysand’s eyes snapped up from his desk, up to you, eyes darkening at the words you were insinuating, “—- What are you trying to say, (Y/N)?”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes shifting down to your hands, fiddling with your fingernails — a habit that you’ve had ever since you were a child — one that would leave your hands raw from removing skin, ‘… Nesta and Elain were Made from the Cauldron. If it were to get word to the followers of Koschei, they… they could be in danger. The power that resides in them is the Cauldron… Nesta took something from the Cauldron and did not return it… They could be looking for that.”

It was already bad that you were trying to suggest a return of a Death God, months after a war with Hybern, but it was worse that you were even implying that the sisters were the center of being in danger again.

A dark shadow stood in front of you and you looked up to see Azriel. The golden string that connected the two of you sung, it had been weeks since Azriel went near you, but you knew that his side of the bond was shut, enshroud by shadows, completely shutting you out.

“Az—-” you said his name, as if it was a prayer, hoping he’d be the voice of reason. That he would back up you and your visions. As he always had in the past.

“How can we know that your visions are truth, (Y/N)? There are two Seers in the Night Court now, and yet you are the only one who sees this.”

Your ears rang, a high pitch noise echoing through them as disbelief shook your body. Azriel never distrusted you, never doubted your visions and your forewarnings.

The bond in you ached, as if it was burning you on the inside. Tears lined your eyes as you looked up at your mate, brows furrowing, “…How could you, Azriel?” you muttered, the pain lining your tone, “How can you not trust me?” your voice small.

“Because Elain hasn’t seen it,” was all he had to say.

Hot tears ran your cheeks, as you shakily stepped back from the male that had towered you. You glanced at Cassian and Nesta who looked at you, their eyes inattentive to the pain that you were feeling. You glanced at your High Lord, who looked at you with disinterest. You looked at your High Lady, the only person in the room that seemed to have noticed your pain and anguish, as she took a step towards you way, only to be stopped by Rhysand, his hand around her wrist.

“… So, just because the Cauldron-Made Seer hasn’t seen it, doesn’t mean that it is going to happen?” you asked, your question in the air for everyone to think, “… Just because I wasn’t a Seer Made by the Cauldron, that my visions and my words are not real? That I am a lesser of a Seer than her?”

“(Y/N)—-” Feyre, the voice of reason, called our your name.

You took a step back again, head shaking at them, “I’ve worked my life off for the Night Court. Ensuring that your city is safe, making sure that any danger would never step past the wards that you have put up. I have never hidden anything from any of you. I used my visions and my powers for all of you. And yet…” your voice shook at the end, not believing anything that was happening in front of you, “You disregard me… the moment a better Seer shows up. One that is Cauldron-Made… one that you…” eyes shifting to Azriel, “Deems more suitable for you.

“I’ve seen it. Not only in my visions but here with you all. You have decided to all turn a blind eye to it, decided not to tell me about it. Three sisters for three brothers, isn’t it, Azriel?”

Azriel’s form stiffed in front of you — he did not think that you would have heard that.

You were done, you were tired. You were tired of the lies and the deceit from whom you thought were family.

Feyre’s brows furrowed as she looked at you and then her elder sisters before the back of Azriel. Rhysand stood up as well, standing next to his High Lady at your declaration.

“… What are you talking about, (Y/N)?” Feyre asked, watching your form shake.

“Don’t you lie to me…” you muttered, glaring at your High Lady, “Don’t you dare lie that you have not seen it. Don’t you dare tell me that you have not noticed that Azriel and Elain have been together all this time. That you have turned a blind eye that a mated male would be infatuated, would fall in love with someone else that was not his Cauldron-bound mate. Don’t you dare lie to me you have not all seen it, and have ignored it and not tell me about it.

“You also have all disregarded me and my visions, ever since Elain started to show her own powers. You have all deemed, even without you telling me, that my powers are not worthy enough. That you all would listen to her cryptic visions rather than my own.”

Your words were rushed, you were hyperventilating to the point that your visions swam, but you shook your head, focusing on the scene unfolding — Feyre’s surprised look, Nesta and Cassian staring wide-eye at Elain before glancing at the Shadowsinger in front of you and your High Lord gripping the edge of the table, his violet eyes clearing as if he was in a trance, as if his mind has been cleared and he realized what he has done and what was unfolding with his family.

“No, (Y/N), that’s not what we meant…” he tried to reason, try to gain back your trust in the found family you had with them.

You scrunched your face, shaking your head as you looked at your High Lord before back at your mate, “…That’s what you have meant for the months you have been ignoring my forewarnings. Been ignoring me. Because Elain’s powers are better than mine, you have casted me aside…” Another step back, glancing at the grand door behind you before you glanced back at the family who had lost you, to the mate that had broken your entire being, “You had decided, to your own conscious, to fall in love with someone else, who is bound to someone else, just because you deemed that the Cauldron was wrong. I don’t understand what I have done to you, Azriel… when I have spent nearly five-hundred years with you, fifty years with you as your mate. And you, knowing Elain for a mere five minutes, throwing all that away…”

Azriel looked at you, his chest rising and falling quickly, his eyes staring you down. He watched as tears continued to flood down your cheeks, your form shaking even further. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t just stand here and be the object that they throw away.

So, you ran, ran out of that room, your name echoing behind you as your dress swirled behind you. You climbed up the spiraling stairs to your shared room with Azriel, throwing up the strongest ward you can muster behind you and around you. You couldn’t handle it.

You couldn’t handle the echo of the bond in your chest, you couldn’t handle the empty stare of your mated looking at you. You couldn’t handle the thought that you were so easily replaceable. A sob escaped your lips as you rummaged through Azriel’s drawer of weapons, pulling out the one weapon that he never is without — Truth-Teller. Dark tendrils of shadow gripped your wrist as you looked around you, Azriel’s shadows surrounding you.

That was where his shadows went — they had always disappeared when he was around Elain, yet they were here with you.

Frantic knocks startled you as you grasped the weapon close to your chest, your head whipping around towards the door. You heard them — Feyre’s panicked voice, Rhysand’s apologizes, Cassian yelling your name. But you didn’t hear that one voice that you had loved — you knew Azriel wasn’t there.

That had pushed you. Gripping the weapon, you moved to the bathroom, the shadows following your every movement. As you kneeled down on the marble floor, you felt the tug of the shadows against your hand, trying to will the weapon out of your grip — attempting you to stop at a take of your life.

You had always loved the shadows that surrounded Azriel, both physically and metaphorically speaking. They had always comforted you, protected you, always had been there for both of you when times were tough. But this was one of the times that you didn’t want them protecting you, comforting you.

“Please..” you begged at them. Whether or not they would listen or sprint off to their master, they backed off, though a few tendrils stayed behind, slithering around your wrist, holding Truth-Teller, as if a reminder not to do it. But you had made your mind — you couldn’t stay and be pushed to the side. Not anymore.

And with a last breath impaled yourself with your mate’s beloved knife, the very knife he had handed Elain during the war, was the last thing you remembered. As your body fell against the marbled floor, your soul leaving your body, you felt the tendrils of shadow frantically skim over your body, as if to try to find a piece of life still clinging onto you. Eyes looked and watched as the ward was broken and your High Lord and Lady skidding towards your body as your soul left for the skies above, the cool feeling of shadow never leaving your body.

A gasp escaped your lips, the dull ache on your chest making you rub at it.

“— - What…” you mumbled, your voice hoarse as if not used for a century.

“That Shadowsinger did not know what he had decided to let go, huh…” A voice, one so dark and so familiar echoing.

You knew that voice, that voice that haunted you in your visions for weeks — the same voice that you tried to warn your family about. Eyes opening, you were surrounded by the dark, the voice of the Death-God echoing around you.

“I should have died…” you voiced to no-one.

A laugh echoed around you, “You did, (Y/N), but you forget that I am a Death-God… And I can resurrect anyone I wish. Now, that your family has abandoned you, why don’t you join me. Show them what happens when a Seer of your capacity has been cast aside. I should have had you when that original family of yours stranded you, but that damn High Lord of Day found you first. Anyway… come child…”

You laid there, in the darkness, before you shakily reach out a hand, before spiny fingers grasped onto yours and pulled you out of that darkness.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar angst #a court of thorns and roses #( .one shot : pushed to the edge )

3K notes · View notes

in-silver-lake · 2 months ago

Text

strong

synopsis: you sign up for a self-defense class, and your teacher - well, let's just say you won't be missing a single class if you can help it. cw: none really, very very small mention of being in uncomfortable situations at the beginning, billie's a self-defense instructor, just read ig? not proofread, like at all ummm a/n: planning on writing a part 2, i got so excited about this idea, but could not for the life of me think of a better title. 2.3k

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚.°

i pushed open the glass doors, stepping into the bright-white lights of the gym, the air inside smelling faintly of sweat and disinfectant wipes. the walls were painted a charcoal gray, the floors covered in matching rubber mats. to my right i could see rows of machines and stacks of free weights, to my left was the boxing gym, i assumed, if the punching bags hung in the middle of the room and the speed bags lining the walls were anything to go by.

i approached the front desk, meeting the eyes of the purple-haired receptionist, absentmindedly admiring the stacks of silver piercings that adorn her ears, my eyes flicking down to read her name, becca, embroidered on her polo shirt.

swallowing before i spoke, i said, “hi, i signed up for the eight-thirty self defense class?”

her eyes flicked up and down once as she took me in, her fingers pausing from her rapid typing on her phone.

“name?” she asked, sounding completely disinterested.

“oh, sorry, yeah,” i nervously chuckled, before giving her my name. oh my god, why am i so awkward?

she looked over to the computer screen in front of her, long acrylic nails clicking against the keyboard briefly before she reached under her desk, pulling out a card from a drawer and placing in on the bench in front of me.

“this is your membership card. just tap it over there to walk through the barrier. you need it to use the lockers too. If you loose it there’s a fee for a replacement,” she droned, reciting a spiel she had clearly given a thousand times before. “your class is over on that side, there are lockers along the back wall” she continued, flicking her hand in the vague direction of all the boxing equipment.

“alright, thank you,” i said, snatching up my card and adjusting my bag strap on my shoulder as i walked over to a row of lockers, fumbling with the locking system for a little too long.

i had signed up for this class late the other night, heart still pounding a little too fast, my neck still coated in cold sweat, fresh out of a nightmare, and thoroughly sick of feeling uncomfortably vulnerable and unsafe everytime i walked at night by myself without a guy next to me, everytime i hit away wandering hands. so, i signed up at this gym. it was close to my house, had good reviews, and had classes that ran at night - pretty much all i needed.

once i had figured out the unnecessarily complex locking mechanism on my locker, i turned around, fiddling with my water bottle and checking my phone before i walked over to the empty corner that had a few rows of mats already set up for the class. i sat on an empty one in the back corner, smoothing my hand over the orange foam surface. i looked around, seeing that everyone else in this class was some variation of a middle-aged woman. perfect.

“alright guys, you’re all here for the self defense course, yeah?”

i turned my head at the sound of the low, feminine voice of who apparently was my teacher, and my breath caught in my throat because holy shit.

her shiny black hair glistened slightly underneath the gym lights, pulled back by a black bandana. a few pieces escaped, framing a perfect, pale face, full, pink lips, and the delicate curve of her nose. her eyes, pale blue and piercing, carefully observed the group. and her body - this woman was built. she wore a dark red muscle tank, showing off the distinct curve of her biceps and forearms, the defined lines of her muscle a clear show of her strength. her loose basketball shorts stopped just under her knees, and her calf muscles flexed with every step she took as she came to stand in front of the group. she radiated confidence and a steady sort of calm and safety that was intoxicating.

“hi everyone, i’m billie, i’m gonna be your instructor for the next few weeks,” she introduced herself, lips falling into an easy smile. “alright, we’re gonna start with a little warm-up. i want everyone to bring their arm across their chest…”

along with everyone else, i stood on my mat and started copying her actions as she lead us, demonstrating a few stretches, trying and failing not to stare too hard as her arms flexed with every movement.

“nice!” she celebrated, sitting down on her mat after finishing the warm up, gesturing for everyone to do the same. she settled down, reaching for her water bottle, and said “how about everyone introduces themselves? i’m billie, as you know, and i’ve been teaching classes here for a few years now, mostly boxing and self-defense. my brother, finneas, actually owns this gym - but i promise there was no nepotism involved when i was hired! um…oh! i have a dog named shark, he’s a rescue pitbull and the most loyal dog you’ll ever meet.” she grinned especially wide at that last part, before gesturing to lady in front of her to continue. i listened as most of the women introduced themselves, most talking about their children or their partners, and i couldn’t help but feel a little out of place. eventually, everyone had spoken but me, and i looked up to meet billie’s eyes, her expression open and curious she leaned back, one arm brought up to rest on her bent knee.

“oh, um, hi, everyone,” i said, stuttering ever so slightly as everyone turned to face me. i said my name, muttered something about what college i went to and the biology course i was doing. when i was done, billie clapped her hands together and faced the class, but i didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered on me for a split second too long, desperately trying to ignore the slight flush that brought to my cheeks.

she pulled up one of the women from the front row and demonstrated a few basic moves, like how to pull your arm from someone’s grip, how to best adjust your stance and your weight, before instructing us to pair off and try it for ourselves. i found myself opposite kathleen, a forty-something-year old who, if i remembered correctly, had two kids in high school and was currently working in human resources. it was a little awkward, practicing a movement that required so much physical touch with a stranger, but we both just focused on the task, making polite small talk. billie made her way slowly around the room, carefully watching each pair practice and giving feedback.

as hard as i tried, i just couldn’t do the move right, never quite being able to free myself from kathleen’s grip when it was my turn to practice. i was increasingly aware of billie as she drew closer to our corner of the room, my heart rate inexplicably climbing slightly as she walked up to us. she watched me with careful concentration, eyes focused on my body as i tried once again to execute the move, but i still couldn’t twist my arm away like how she had demonstrated. my face flushed involuntarily with embarrassment which was in no way alleviated by the fact that the most attractive person i had seen in my life was standing less than a foot away.

“i don’t know what i’m doing - am i moving my arm right?” i asked, my eyes meeting her piercing blue ones, a tinge of desperation seeping into my voice.

“no, you’ve got that part down perfectly, it’s just the way you’re stood, the way you’re distributing your weight that’s screwing you up,” she responded. “can i?” she asked me, eyebrows raised and hands lifted, gesturing to my hips. only after i answered with a yeah, sure did she move to stand behind me, resting her hands gently but firmly on my waist as she nudged my body to twist slightly. she was saying something about posture or stance, but i wasn’t really paying attention, too preoccupied with the way her touch made goosebumps erupt across my skin, suddenly extremely grateful that i had opted to wear a baggy shirt rather than a sports bra. from this close i could smell her cologne, the distinctly masculine scent of something musky and incense-y engulfing my senses. if i concentrated hard enough, i could feel the warm whisper of her breath dancing across the back of my neck as she spoke. i only refocused when i felt her hands pull away from my waist, brushing against my back ever so slightly as she stepped back, a strange, cold absence replacing the places where her hands were just touching.

“okay, try it now,” she said, stepping back as she offered me an encouraging smile. She crossed her arms against her chest, toned biceps once again on display in a movement that i shouldn't've found as attractive as i did. my eyes lingered for a split second too long, and i swear i saw the ghost of a smirk dance across her lips before i turned away. this time, when i tried the movement, i was able to pull my arm away with surprising ease, and an unbelieving smile burst across my face as i thanked her, my voice a little breathless.

“you don’t need to thank me, you were already more than capable,” she grinned, my excitement at realising what i could do mirrored in her own eyes. she watched me practice the move a little more, praising me with every successful attempt. my confidence grew with every time, my smile growing wider and wider. eventually, she peeled her eyes away from me and walked back to the front of the class.

“alright everyone, that’s it for today’s class, thanks for coming - i’ll see you all next week!”

at her dismissal, everyone dispersed, collecting their belongings and calling out thank yous as they left. i, however, was caught up fumbling with my locker as, apparently, the device had decided to get no easier to understand in the hour since i put my bag in there. after a few minutes of fiddling, the room now empty, i heard a soft giggle from behind me and a voice that asked, “you need a little help?”

i turned around, frustration on my face as i breathed a grateful yes, please, handing my keys to billie.

“are these lockers really this hard to use or am i just being a little stupid?” i huffed, leaning against the wall as i watched her fiddle with my card for less than a second before the locker popped open.

“right, so option number two,” i laughed, shaking my head slightly as i reached past her to grab my bag, finally freed from its prison.

she chuckled, lips stretching into a humoured grin as she looked at me, “i mean, it took me a while to get the hang of as well…” she tried.

“it’s alright, you don’t have to make me feel better, i can acknowledge my flaws,” i replied. that made her let out a real, loud laugh and throw her head back, and i couldn’t tear my eyes away from the movement, an immediate need to make her laugh like that again and again shooting through me and settling deep in my chest. i didn’t even really know her yet, but god, i wanted to.

“are you heading home now?” she asked me, falling into step beside me as i slowly walked towards the door, wanting to drag out my time with her as much as i could.

“yeah, i just gotta walk a few blocks to my car, i couldn’t find parking nearby before,” i replied, slinging my bag over my shoulder. i watched her eyebrows draw together, eyes briefly flickering to the clock on the wall that now read ten-thirty, a ghost of something like concern flashing across her face.

“let me walk you to your car?” she asked, eyes hopeful.

“oh, oh no, that’s okay, you don’t need to, i’ll be fine,” i tried to assure her.

“c’mon, please? i’ll feel better seeing you get there myself,” she responded, pleading, with not a moment of hesitation. in the moment i didn’t recognise the implication of her statement, the hidden i want to see you safe, the i care about you.

and so, we both set out through the car park, the winter air cold and biting, making me pull my jacket around myself a little tighter. i eyed her tank and shorts incredulously, “aren’t you freezing right now?”

she looked at me for a moment, confused, before she followed my line of sight to her clothes.

“no, i mean, i just don’t get cold easily, i suppose,” she responded, humour dancing in her eyes as she saw the way my arms wrapped around myself in an attempt to stay warm.

for the short walk back to my car, she asks me all about myself, about school, my job, never once loosing interest, eyes never leaving my face as she absorbed every word i spoke. her expression was always open, wanting to listen, and it warmed something in me that she was genuinely interested to learn more about me. i asked her about boxing and the gym, and she told me about how she used to compete in boxing competitions, eyes lighting up as she reminisced. she spoke about how, even though she loved it, the strict training regimes were a lot, and she decided she wanted a little more freedom in her life, so she started working at the gym as an instructor.

eventually, we made it into my car, a small blue hyundai hatchback. i couldn’t help but imagine billie driving this car, doubtful that her tall frame and thick muscles would even fit in the drivers seat.

“well, this is my car. thanks for walking me over, billie, i appreciate it,” i said, feeling unreasonably disappointed at the prospect of leaving her, especially given the fact that i only met her a few hours ago.

“ok, well, drive safe, yeah? i’ll see you next week,” she grinned, waiting until i got into my care before turning to walk away, but not without looking over her shoulder for one last, lingering glance.

#billie eilish #billieeilish #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fanfic #fanfic #wlw #wlw fluff

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arlana-likes-to-write · 4 months ago

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One More

Part 2 of Reunited

Summary: When your phone rings, you know it will be your last one before retirement. Unfortunately, it does not go as planned.

Warning: (spoilers in the warnings) nightmares, PTSD, mention of war displacement, kidnapping, torture, death, killing, blood, angst with a happy ending, injuries, non-sexual nudity

Word Count: 18K (I am so sorry)

You sat up quickly, chest heaving and a thin layer of sweat covering your body. With a glance, you saw Natasha still asleep. Good. You would have hated yourself if you woke her up. You threw off the blanket, and your legs shook as you entered the bathroom. Your mind was hazy as you closed the door, flipped the lights, and turned on the shower. You stepped underneath the water without bothering to strip out of your clothes. The cold water shocked your system, and it pulled you out of your nightmare-induced haze. You slide to the ground and let the water fall on you.

The nightmare was a recurring one. Although the setting changed, the main idea remained the same. You were unable to keep your family safe. You had one job, and you couldn’t do that.

Suddenly, the water was shut off, and you blinked slowly. “Are you with me, Detka?” a voice asked.

You knew that voice. It wasn’t Fury barking orders or the sound of your girls screaming for you. The voice was warmth, safety, and peace. It was Natasha. Slowly, you nodded. “Can I touch you?” You hesitated but nodded anyway. But your wife saw your hesitation and knelt in front of you. She kept her hands to herself until you reached for her. A silent way to tell her you needed her. Her hands were warm, a sharp contrast to your cold skin. You shivered. “Do you think we can get out of the shower, or do you want to stay here for a little while?”

“Stay,” your voice shook. Standing sounded exhausting, and if you stayed in the bathroom, you wouldn’t have to face the outside world. In here, you were safe. You felt your throat burn as you kept the tears at bay. The only thing that kept you from slipping back into your nightmare-fueled mind was your wife’s warm hands. “I’m sorry,” you finally spoke. “You shouldn’t have-”

“Hush, my love,” she gently cut you off. “Just focus on my hands and breath. You are safe here.” You nodded and let out a shaky breath. It wasn’t the first time you woke her up from a nightmare; you knew it would not be the last. You would wake up and sit on the couch at the beginning of your relationship. You wouldn’t share what your mind created and refused any help from Natasha. As you grew as a couple, you learned to lean on her. The cold began to affect you.

“Can we get out?” You whispered. She nodded with a smile and helped you stand up. You felt like a toddler, unable to do anything for yourself, as Natasha stripped you of your wet clothes and dried you off. Once you were dried, she pulled you back into the bedroom.

“Do you want new clothes?” You shook your head and pulled her into your arms.

“Want you,” you mumbled against her skin.

“Okay,” Natasha whispered. “Go lay down,” you hesitated, not wanting to let her go, but you did as you were told and lay back in bed. Natasha undressed quickly and joined you. You rested your head on her chest, and her fingers ran through your hair. Her free arm wrapped around you. The steady beat of her heart was a gentle reminder that she was alive and safe. Your nightmare was wrong; you weren’t too late to protect her. “Do you want to talk about it?” She broke the silence. You looked up at her.

“Bad guys got to you and the girls. I couldn’t protect you,” she carefully pushed away a few tears.

“It is not only your responsibility to protect this family,” Natasha whispered. We are a team.”

“Nat,” she moved up suddenly and forced you to move with her.

“We are a team, my love,” she said, connecting your hands. I know the things you’ve done and the enemies you’ve made, but we protect this family together,” you kissed her hands. I am here for you like you are here for me, okay?” You nodded. “I need to hear you say it.” You pulled her onto your lap, arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close.

“Okay,” you said against her lips and kissed her. The kiss was slow and gentle as if you were afraid the other would break. Your hands tangled in the soft strands of her hair as the kiss deepened. Your tongue swiped against her lips, and her mouth opened. A soft sigh left her mouth, and you captured the sound. It was easy to get lost in the sounds that Natasha made and how her hips rolled against yours. Your lips traveled down her neck, and you left no skin untouched.

“We can’t do this right now,” her voice was breathy, clearly affected by your actions.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” you would never force her to have sex. You bite down on her neck, and she moans loudly. “Sh, baby, we don’t want to wake the girls.”

“Then you better keep me quiet,” you smirked against her skin. You were so in love with your wife that it made you lightheaded. Sometimes, you thought you were dreaming. You never thought this would be your life: a roof over your head, a woman you loved in your arms, and your kids, who were asleep in their room. Soon, you would be retired, and this would be your life forever.

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“You look like shit,” Clint took Natasha’s empty seat. She and Laura were at the bar getting drinks. It was a lovely day, so your family, the Starks, and the Bartons decided to visit the local water park. You pushed your sunglasses up to your forehead. “Well, you look tired.” You smiled and crossed your arms, watching Rose and Hailey climb around the water castle.

“Woke up from a nightmare last night,” you looked at your friend. “Nat found me completely out of it in the shower,” Clint nodded.

“Laura has found me in the snow only wearing my boxers,” you sighed.

“Do you regret being part of the team?” He stopped staring at you and looked at his kids.

“Yes and no,” you waited for him to elaborate. “We did some good work with the team and saved many lives, but we’ve missed a lot here and have done some pretty horrific things in the name of justice.” You chuckled, resting your arm on your knee. Horrific things were an underestimate. You killed, lied, and tortured in the name of getting the bad guys. “One more for you, right?” You nodded.

“What about you, old man?” You teased. “How many more do you get in you?” He rolled his eyes.

“Two more, maybe three, depending on how they go.”

“You’re in my seat, birdbrain,” Natasha said, holding two drinks. Clint flipped her off and moved back to his seat with Laura. Here you go, dorogoy,” she handed you your drink. It remained in her hand. You were distracted by the red one-piece she was wearing. “My eyes are up here,” you smirked and took the cup.

“Thank you,” you shared a quick kiss before she sat down.

“What were you and Clint talking about?” She asked.

“About last night,” you took a sip. Since you weren’t the biggest drinker, it was lemonade, and you told Natasha you would DD. “He said I look like shit.”

“I’ll kill him,” you smiled at the deadpan look on her face. You knew she meant business.

“Down, kotenok (kitten),” you squeezed her hand. You sipped on your drink while you watched your daughters wait for the giant barrel to fill with water and dump on them. They were all carefree, untouched by the evil in the world. Maybe it was unfair to be jealous of a child. The shrill sound of your phone pulled you out of your thoughts. You glanced at Clint, who was looking for his phone. That was not a good sign. You grabbed your phone from your backpack and saw the message from Steve - You’re needed. Assemble. Sighing, you hit your phone against your hand.

“Last one,” you looked at Natasha. There was a soft smile on her face. You grabbed her hand and kissed it.

“One more,” you repeated. “One more.”

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“Well, well, well,” Maria said as you walked to the front with your bag over your shoulder. You rode with Clint to headquarters to get debriefed before heading to the airport. “Heard from the big man that this is your last mission.” She held open the door for you both. You nodded.

Natasha had to be in the room with you while you were on the phone with Fury. It was a roller coaster of emotions - intense guilt, relief, sadness. You saw Fury as a father figure. He took a chance on you when no one else would. But he was proud of you and started the process of your retirement. “What do you have planned with all this free time?”

“Ton of sex,” Clint answered. Rolling your eyes, you slapped him on the back of his head. You ignored his grumbling protest as he rubbed his head.

“We still have a lot of sex even with the job, thank you,” he scrunched his nose in disgust. “Nat and I have been thinking about traveling with the girls. But we’ll see,” you opened the conference room door, and Bucky and Steve were already there. “Hey, lover boys,” you dropped your bag on the floor and sat across Bucky. “How have you been?” It had been a few months since the last mission, so catching up with the team was nice. Minus Clint, you only saw the others when you were called in. Since you were retiring, you made a mental note to invite them over more. They were your family, best friends, and people who would give their lives to save yours. You loved them.

The team stood at attention when the door opened. Fury walked in, followed by Sam Wilson, second in command on the other team. He was a good man and never afraid to crack a joke.

“At ease,” Fury said. You sat back down. “This is an exciting mission. It will be our last one with Viper,” your team cheered, and Clint grabbed your shoulders to shake you. You rolled your eyes and pushed the man off of you. You thought the nickname was stupid. But Clint called you once, and it stuck. Every time you heard the name, it reminded you of the one time you disobeyed a direct order. You were a good soldier and followed orders without a second thought. But when Maria and Fury told you to stand down and wait for backup to arrive, you disobeyed, turned off your coms, and rescued the hostage. If you waited, they would have been killed. Clint said you moved like a snake, quick and precise. He called you Viper while Fury chewed you out.

“Speech, speech, speech,” Bucky cheered.

“I can not wait not to have to deal with your ugly mug,” you flipped him off. He threw his empty coffee mug at your head as retaliation, but you ducked it out of the way. This was what you were going to miss.

“Alright, children,” Fury chuckled. “Second, Sam Wilson will be joining us.” Now you could join the celebration as the man sat beside Maria.

“Where are you shipping us off to, boss?” You asked and crossed your arms.

“We’ll be headed to the border of Ukraine and Russia. We’ve been asked to help refugees leave the country,” you nodded. It was a straightforward mission and not the first time you’d been asked to help people displaced by war. You would distribute food and water, provide security, and entertain the kids. Hopefully, it would be a quick in and out, and you’d be home with your girls.

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“Sam joined the team,” you told Natasha. Your phone rested on your shoulder as you prepared your weapon case.

“I guess Fury found your replacement,” you chuckled. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, really good,” you said. You knew the team would be fine without you; even the second team was qualified. “I promise,” you reassured her. You knew she was worried about you. “I just miss you and the girls already. How are they?” Natasha sighed.

“They miss you. Do you want to talk to them?” You wanted to, but you knew if they got on the phone and told you to come home, you would.

“I’ll talk to them when we touch down,” Again, she sighed. “I’ll be safe, baby; you know I always am.” You never told her where you were going or what you were doing. One, it was a security clearance, and two, you never wanted to burden her. There was some close class; you were shot, broke your leg, and had a few concussions. On the other side of the phone, you heard the doorbell. “Are you expecting someone?” You could barely make out the excited yells of the twins.

“Oh fuck me,” Natasha mumbled.

“I wish,” you smirked and left the armory. “Who is it?”

“My fucking parents,” she said. “I may have slipped that you got called in, and they just showed up. Ugh, I may kill them,” you smiled. You liked her parents. Alexei’s chaotic nature and Melina’s dry humor were a perfect dynamic, but you knew it could get on Natasha’s nerves.

“Please don’t, baby,” you said.

“I have to go. Call me when you can,” you smiled. “I love you.”

“Love you more,” you hung up and looked at your lock screen. It was your family at the twin’s party that you barely made it home for. This was why you wanted to be done, not to miss anymore.

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“Mama, I appreciate you and Dad coming, but you did not have to drop everything and come,” Melina waved the redhead off.

“It is the summer. We have it off, and we miss our vnuchki (granddaughters),” Before they stopped over, they must have gone to the grocery store because they brought in bags of food. Usually, they put in a grocery order to drop off when you were deployed. This time, they came along with it. While Natasha and Melina put the food away, Alexei was in charge of entertaining the girls. “You and the girls must be excited, right? This is her last one?” Natasha nodded.

She was ecstatic about your retirement. Natasha would always support you, but when she was happy, you decided to step away. Every time you were called away, anxiety tormented her, wondering if you were going to be okay. “You know, I did not like her at first,” Melina said. Oh, Natasha was well aware. Her mother made it very well known that she disapproved of her relationship.

“I know,” Natasha grabbed the cutting board and washed the strawberries to cut them up. “You made it loud and clear.” Her mother dared to smile.

“But I am glad you are happy,” she said. That is all I have ever wanted for you and your sister.” Natasha knew that, too, and you made her happy. It was strange how similar your past was to hers. You were two young girls desperate for a family. You found family servicing, while Natasha found it in Yelena, Melina, and Alexei, who saved her. Now, you both had a family, and Natasha loved watching you be a part of the family.

Your love for their girls made Natasha fall in love with you repeatedly. She was glad you would witness more milestones in person, not through a photo or video.

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“Shol’ko tebe nuzhno (how many do you need?)” You were grateful now more than ever that your wife and in-laws were Russian. It was easy to communicate with some of those at the camp. The woman held up four fingers, and you gave her four water bottles. “Vashi malyshi golodny (are your little ones hungry)?” Three kids held tight to their mother, terrified of you and your team. You understood why. Soldiers stormed into their homes, dragged their father to the middle of the town square, and shot him along with the other men. Then, a new group of soldiers brought them here. It had to be overwhelming and terrifying. A little girl nodded her head. You smiled and whistled. Maria looked over to you and walked over with a box of snacks. “Vyberite nekoyoryye (pick some),” you told the kids. They looked at their mother for permission. Once she nodded, they dove into the chips, crackers, and cookies box. The three kids took two bags each. “Naslazdat’sya (enjoy),” you waved and walked to the next group.

“You are so disgusting cute with kids, and it’s gross,” Maria teased. You rolled your eyes. Are you and Nat thinking about having more?” It was something you hadn’t talked about, especially given the nature of your job.

“Not sure,” you smiled at the boy as you gave him water. “I guess anything can happen when you retire,” you felt a tug on your shit and looked down. It is the little girl from the mother of three. You expected her to ask for more cookies, but she raised her arms and asked to be picked up. Oh, your heart. Smiling, you dropped your case of water and picked up the girl. Her heart burrowed in the crock of your neck. “Kak vas zovut (what is your name)?”

“Anna,” she whispered. Maria picked up the rest of the water.

“See, disgustingly cute,” you chuckled and ensured Anna was comfortable in your arms before walking over to the tented area. While Clint dug into a Cheetos box, Bucky and Steve organized the shipment.

“That better be part of your snacks, Clinton,” he flipped you off.

“Yes, it is. Laura packed me some before I left. You are free to have some,” he said. “Whose the little girl?”

“Her name is Anna,” Maria told him. She took a liking to our Viper. “You carefully sat down and moved Anna onto your chest.

“You guys are jealous I can make friends wherever I go,” you softly said. You heard Anna’s quiet snores.

“I don’t think they count when those friends are half your size,” Bucky teased.

“They must sense her motherly instinct,” Steve said. “She likes being called mommy outside of the bedroom.” You flipped him off as your team laughed.

“Shut up, Rogers,” you smiled. “What about you and Buck? Wanna have kids one day?” The blonde soldier looked at his boyfriend.

“Maybe one day,” Steve said. “When the fighting is done.” Sam walked over with a case of electrolyte drinks and began to hand them out. You took a sip of the bottle, wrapped your arms around Anna to keep her safe on your chest, and before you closed your eyes, you saw Clint taking a picture of you. When you and Natasha discussed trying for kids, it scared the shit out of you. You had no actual role model to help you be a parent. Yours were more worried about their business instead of their daughter. Something inside you clicked when you held Rose and Hailey for the first time. It was your most significant accomplishment; no medal could compare to it.

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Hailey hated school. It was unfair that it was summer, and she was forced to do work. Even Melina and Alexei were on vacation. However, it was better than being in ‘real’ school. Hailey liked the flexibility of homeschooling, and it helped that Rose, Tommy, and Billy were in the same class.

They were outside in the backyard of the Stark house. Hailey could see Wanda peek out the window every once in a while to check on them. She had to admit that Hailey was jealous of Billy and Tommy because they had both of their parents’ homes. Hailey missed you. She tried not to show it, but when you called, and she got to talk to you, she had to force away her tears. So she did what she does best and joked about everything.

Tommy groaned, and Hailey glanced up at her book. He was already looking at her. It smelt of trouble. “We overheard our dad talking to our mom about the mission your mom is on.”

“Tommy,” Billy warned, but he ignored his brother.

“It’s dangerous. She and the team are helping refugees escape a country torn apart by war,” Hailey kept her eyes locked on Tommy.

“Doesn’t matter how dangerous it is,” Rose said. “Mom always comes back home to us.” It was true. You always came home; when you were back, it was like you never left. You fell back into the routine the family had. Tommy smirked.

“They offered it to Peggy’s team, but I guess she turned it down,” he said. “Because it is so dangerous.” Hailey narrowed her eyes at him.

“What are you getting at, Maximoff?”

“Your mom is going to die.” You and Mama always said she was impulsive. She acted before she thought. She often solved problems with her fist and not her words. This was one of those times she punched Tommy. The force sent him flying out of his chair.

“Hailey!” Rose yelled, but Hailey ignored her sister and jumped on Tommy’s chest. She got a few good hits before Billy pulled her off him.

“What is going on?” Wanda asked, rushing over to them. It looked bad. Blood was pouring out of Tommy’s nose, and Hailey’s fist was bruising. No one would talk badly about her mom, even if someone she called were a friend.

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Hailey was rubbing her knuckles; they hurt, but she kept her thumb on the outside like you taught her. She kept her head down even when Wanda came in and sat beside her on the bed. “I had to call Natasha,” Wanda told her. “The other three aren’t talking, so I’m hoping you can tell me what caused the fight,” Hailey shrugged. Sighing, Wanda gently grabbed her hand and unfolded her fist. She placed a bag of frozen peas in her hand. Hailey let out a slight hiss from the pain. “Tell me what happened. You know your mom is going to want to know what happened.”

“Mama,” Hailey corrected. “Mom isn’t home. She’s never home.”

“It’s her job, honey,” Wanda cooed and pushed Hailey’s hair behind her ear. “But this is her last tour. Then she’ll always be home, and you’ll be sick of her.” Wanda tried to make light of the situation. Hailey smiled, but Tommy’s words echoed in her head.

“What if she doesn’t come home and something bad happens?” She asked and looked at Wanda. “Tommy said she went somewhere really dangerous, and she’s going to die!” Hailey cried. Tears started to run down her cheeks. “I don’t want my mom to die.”

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In the beginning, Natasha thought the couch was a dumb purchase. It was too big for a family of four, but you were persistent that it would be perfect for movie nights. So you compromised: You could get the couch if you built Natasha a small ballet studio in the basement. It was the first project you finished before you left when duty called. Now Natasha loved the couch, and you were right. It was perfect for movies.

Her girls were cuddled up by her side. Kate and Yelena were on one side, and there was still enough space for Melina and Alexei to watch the movie. Her family was together besides you. Wanda told her about the fight and what Tommy said. Her neighbor promised that the boy would be grounded, but Natasha was more worried about her abnormally quiet daughter. When she picked them up, Hailey refused to talk about what happened. Even her sister took up Hailey’s value of silence.

Natasha kissed the top of Hailey’s head and snuggled closer to her. “Mom is going to come home, right?” Hailey whispered. She tried to keep her voice quiet to avoid disrupting the movie.

“Of course, baby,” Natasha said. “She always comes home to us.”

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“Samuel,” you groaned. “Pass the ball to me, not 10 feet in front of me,” you huffed as you moved Anna up your back. Her arms wrapped tighter around your neck, almost cutting your air supply off.

“Sorry, Viper. Playing soccer wasn’t on my entrance exam to the academy,” Sam said. You laughed. It was a great pass, and if a 60-pound girl weren’t dangling on your back, you would have had it. Anna was attached to your hip from when you woke up until she returned to her mother for bed. It was cute, even though she reminded you of your girls at home.

However, your job was to provide security and supplies to the refugees. Your team liked to have some fun with them. So you, Steve, and Sam found a soccer ball and started a pickup game. At first, Anna joined the other kids and chased after the ball. However, it took one accidental shove from a boy to send the girl to the ground, and she asked to be on your back. Besides, you liked listening to Anna’s laugh. It made the situation she found herself in better.

The work was slow. Only small batches of people could leave each day. It broke your head when you told a family they had to go. But you knew they would be safe. However, you were unsure when they could come home when they asked. With the ongoing war, there may not be a home to return to.

“Here,” Sam ran up to you with a water bottle. Carefully, he put the open bottle to your lips. You got a good portion of the liquid on your shirt.

“Thanks,” you deadpanned, and Anna giggled at your antics. You and the team had been here for a week and a half. While you worked, you overheard conversations between the refugees that you quickly translated into your head. They couldn’t keep track of who was winning this ‘war.’ You never asked Fury who these people were fleeing from. It made no difference to you. The people here were trying to survive.

Then, the peace was shattered.

Gunfire - a rapid, staccato from the gate. Your team wasn’t the only military unit assigned to this camp. Today, you weren’t assigned to the gate. Anna’s arms tightened around your neck, almost crushing around your windpipe. Unfortunately, you had to set her down. “No! No!” She struggled.

“Anna!” You placed her on the ground and knelt to her level. “Go to your Mama. Stay hidden,” you heard Steve call out your name. Not your nickname but your real name. You knew it was bad. “I will find you.” Tears were swelling in her eyes and running down her cheeks.

“Safe,” she said, throwing her body back into your arms. “Stay safe.” Anna hugged you as tight as she could.

“Run, little one,” you stood up and watched her run off.

“Viper!” You caught the assault rifle without looking towards Maria.

“Where do you need me?” You asked, taking the safety off.

“West side with Wilson. Barton and I will take the East while Barnes and Rogers are at the front.” She instructed.

“Got it,” you smiled at your Commander. Are there drinks on you tonight?” Maria chuckled, shaking her head.

“You are impossible.” You shrugged and ran to the West side. Sam was already in position. The man smiled at you.

“Got you a few more of these,” he handed you two magazines.”

“Always thinking, Falcon,” you placed them on your vest. “Stay close. Stay vigilante,” you squeezed his shoulder. “We will make it out of this. Besides,” you smirked. “Hill is buying the first round.” Sam huffed out a laugh.

“People on the second team think you are insane,” you laughed. You’ve heard the stories, most of which are just legends and myths. But the good thing about a legend is that there is a tiny element of truth.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion rocked the eastern side. Screams followed. The refugees scattered, running for cover as people dressed in black tactical gear. Your heat dropped to your stomach - fear paralyzed you as you thought of Maria and Clint. But they were capable soldiers.

Besides, an explosion on the south wall caught your attention. Similar to the east side, a group of armed soldiers came through. Shit. They were moving towards the tent that Anna and her family were in. “Viper, go,” Sam said. “I got this side.” You wanted to run and protect that little girl and her family. However, the insurgents gave you your answer. The west side exploded. You acted on instinct to push Sam to the ground and covered your body with his as debris fell to the ground.

Your ears started to ring, but you got to your knees. A soldier from a different team took a round to his chest, crumbling to the ground next to you. You couldn’t remember his name. Raising your gun, you squeezed the trigger. One of the assailants dropped. Another flinched as a bullet grazed their shoulder, but the rest kept coming. They moved like ghosts, slipping between shadows.

It meant one thing: this attack was planned.

Sluggishly, you started to stand as a blade of pain ripped through your side—the blunt impact air from your lungs. You stumbled back and stared at the person who attacked you. Their gender was hidden behind their tactical gear, but they were shorter than you. Soon, you were surrounded. The yells and screams of the camp around you turned to white noise. All that mattered was getting out of this situation.

To your shock, they rushed you at once. Hands seized you, rough and unyielding, and dragged you to the ground. You fought, elbows slamming into bodies. A knee was pressed to your chest and pinned you.

Above you, a face was hidden behind a mask, with only their eyes visible—cold and calculating. “She is the one,” the figure muttered.

The figure was female. That wasn’t a surprise, but they sounded so young. One of the assailants hit you with the back of their gun. Darkness was creeping in. You struggled to fight it. The last thing you heard was the yell of the surviving refugees and the fading crackle of gunfire.

Then-nothing.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

“Viper, Viper,” your name was repeated repeatedly. It was an annoying mantra that pounded against your skull, and you groaned.

“5 more minutes, Ria,” you mumbled. The sound of Maria’s pained laughter jolted you awake. “Fuck my head,” you groaned and pushed your palms to your temples. It felt like the morning after drinking with Steve and Bucky. They treated shots like sips of water. You rolled on your back and blinked your eyes a few times so the room could come into view. “Are you okay, Hill?” You asked. She let out a shaky breath.

“Ribs are bruised, and my ears are still ringing from the explosions, but I’m good,” you nodded. Your ears were ringing, too. You remembered pushing Sam to the ground as bullets flew above you. Touching the side of your head, you felt dried blood. Slowly, you sat up. You were in a cell with bars on all four sides, and Maria was across in her cell that mirrored yours. Cells were up and down this hallway, but no one else was there. Maria was sitting on the back wall with her arm around her ribs.

“Natasha is going to kill me,” you chuckled. Maria laughed but grimaced in pain.

“How are we getting out of this, Viper?” You clicked your tongue on the top of your mouth.

“I’m working on it. " You had promised to return home and were going to keep that promise.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Everything was muffled. It was like Clint was in an episode of The Peanuts, and the adults were talking. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and he was in a hospital bed. Not in Ukraine. Not in a refugee camp where gunshots ran and explosions rattled his bones. He was safe, but who wasn’t? “Clint? Clint? Are you up?” He saw Sam sitting next to him. “Can you hear me?” He could, but the ringing in his ears grew, and it sounded like Sam was in a fish bowl. His voice was distorted and echoed. “I’ll go get a nurse.” He spoke slowly and left. Sam was alive and safe. Good. No, he had to figure out about the rest of his team.

The doctors diagnosed him with NIHL (noise-induced hearing loss) and gave him hearing aids. The damage was caused by years of explosions during his years of service. The diagnosis signed his ticket home. He knew he could no longer be an active team member and was waiting for Fury to deliver the news. “Bucky is in surgery,” Sam spoke slowly and softly so Clint could get used to the hearing aids. “An explosion took off his arm. There was so much blood.”

“Jesus,” Clint mumbled as he sipped the water the nurse had brought him. Where are we?”

“Fury got us to Poland while a medical team and the secondary team got to send to help the refugees,” Clint was glad there were some survivors. “From our body cams, it was a well-organized attack. They struck us and captured some of the young girls. Stark and his team are reviewing the footage now,” Okay, that is where Clint wanted to be. He was going to save those girls that were taken. First, he needed to check on you, Maria, and Steve. Carefully, he stood up and cringed at the ache in his bones. Damn, maybe he was getting too old for this.

“Thanks for the update,” he grasped the man’s arm. “How are you, Falcon?”

“Just a grade 1 concussion. It would have been worse if Viper didn’t push me out of the way,” just the mention of your nickname tugged at Clint’s heart. He needed to see you and confirm you were safe. He figured you were with Fury going over the next phase of the plan since Sam did not include you in his update. Sam grabbed his wrist as soon as his hand left Sam’s arm. “Clint,” the man said slowly. His eyes told him everything.

“Where is Viper?” Clint asked.

“MIA,” Clint turned to look at Fury, who entered his room. “Her and Maria both.” It was hard to read the man. Clint could never figure out what he was feeling.

“Send me back,” Clint insisted. His boss glared at him with his good eye.

“And do what, Barton? Wander the border between Ukraine and Russia until you find them.” It was a stupid idea, but you and Maria were his friends long before he was on the team. Hell, you guys were family. “You are to go home. You are medically discharged,” Fury relaxed his posture. “Go be with Laura and the kids, Clint.” He was being sent home while you and Maria were being subjected to horrific things. But it was an order.

“I want to be the one to tell Natasha,” he said, feeling his throat dry. “She’ll take it better if it’s coming from me.”

“Request approved.” Fury took a few steps forward and touched Clint’s shoulder. “We’ll bring them home.” Clint knew they would, but in what condition?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The silence was killing you. You and Maria tried to fill, but your injuries were aching. You were trained for moments like this. Everyone called it hell week, and the instructors taught you how to survive the most difficult situations. Torture was a mind game, a cat-and-mouse chase on who would lose first. “I would kill for a cheeseburger right now,” Maria said. You shook your head with a smile. “I’m not lying. A big burger with a side of onion rings and a tall milkshake.” You closed your eyes and leaned your head against the wall. “Come on, Viper. What food do you want now?” Your stomach growled.

“My mother-in-law’s piroshki,” Melina would make it every time she visited. “It’s a little puff pastry with cheese, potatoes, and meat.” One night, Melina found you after a bad nightmare eating the leftovers. You knew she did not like you - the reason was why it was still a mystery. That night, you had a heart-to-heart with her over a plate of piroshki and a bottle of wine.

“Mhm,” Maria moaned. “I love cheese.” You chuckled, but the sound of a door opening cut it off. You stayed still, and a group of girls stopped before your cell. They weren’t much older than your girls, 15, maybe 16. Two were armed with AK-47s. The closer to you pulled out a set of keys and unlocked a small part of the cell.

“Put your hands through,” she ordered. Her voice was laced with a Russian accent. It was a weird deja vu moment. The girl was a splitting image of a young blonde you saw pictures of in a photo album and a photo strip on the side of Natasha’s bed. You refused to follow orders, and the girls with the guns pointed them at you and Maria. “I will not ask again, Viper. We have orders to bring you unharmed, but we can use force if you and Commander fail to comply.”

She sounded like she was trained in a military setting. What was going on here? You were told that many war-torn countries looked to fill their armies with children. But seeing it in person was unsettling. Slowly, you stood up and put your hands through the opening. Handcuffs were placed on wrists. Your eyes locked on Maria’s. You tried to communicate your thoughts and comply with more straightforward commands, and it was not worth getting hurt this early on.

Once Maria’s cuffs were on, they unlocked the main door, allowing you to leave your cell. It was a smart formation. You and Maria were between the four girls, and the barrel of their AK-47 was pressed against your back.

The girl in front led you up a staircase and pushed open the door. So you were in the basement of a school. You walked past lockers and classrooms that were transformed. Some looked like regular classrooms with desks and a chalkboard. In comparison, others were empty, except a ballet bar. Every room had a window to look into it.

You were brought to the main entrance and saw two armed guards. They weren’t young girls but closer to your age. You walked to where the principal office would be. The door was opened, and you and Maria were pushed inside. There was a fire that was lighting up the room. You hadn’t realized how cold you were until you felt the heat from the fire. A hand on your back pushed you further into the room, where a man sat behind a desk. His eyes trailed up and down your body. Behind him was a woman. Her blonde hair was cut short, and she wore a navy blue skirt and shirt. “Please have a seat,” the man said. There was no choice as you were forced to sit down in front of the desk. The four girls took their spots at each corner, standing at attention and waiting for their orders. You could tell it was something they’d done before.

“Would you like some tea?” the woman asked. A kettle was already boiling. Still, you and Maria remained silent. The woman scuffed. “It is rude not to treat your host without respect.” She walked over to a table where the kettle was. You saw photos hanging above it, but you were too far away to make out what they were.

“It’s also rude to not make introductions,” Maria said.

“And kidnapping,” you mumbled. The man smiled, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. It was unsettling.

“Welcome to shkolv v kransoy komnate,” the red room school, you translated in your head. “Here, we pride ourselves in developing elite soldiers,” She returned with two cups of tea, and he took one. “Thank you, darling,” she placed her hand on his shoulder.

“You make soldiers out of young girls,” you clarified.

“Look at them,” the woman pointed to the girls in the corner. These girls were trash, thrown out into the street. We recycle the trash, and we give them purpose. We give them a life. “That was up for some debate.

“What do you want from us?” Maria questioned. The man sipped on his tea.

“You two are world famous. The Viper and the Commander. We have a new shipment of recruits and want you to train them.” Shipments? These girls weren’t shipments. They were human beings, but they spoke about them like they were cargo. It was making your blood boil, and you struggled to keep cool.

“What if we refuse?” you questioned. Are you going to have one of those girls put a bullet in our head and call it a day?” The man chuckled and held up a photo. The young girl closest to him walked over and took it without a word. She handed it to you, face down. You hesitated but turned the photo over.

The instructors taught you how to contain your emotions in the same hell week. They said your captures would say and do things to get underneath your skin. Your captures wanted to cloud your judgment. Angry and fear were powerful and dangerous to feel.

When you flipped the picture over and saw a picture of your girls, keeping your face neutral was near impossible, and your hand crumbled on the edge of the photo. The photo was taken at their home school program when you were at last deployment. How long were your family being watched, and you weren’t there to protect them? “Beautiful children,” he said. Finally, you tore your eyes off the picture. He knew he won and trapped you into a deal by dangling your family above your head. “Show your friend,” you showed Maria the picture. Her face stayed composed, but you heard the sharp inhalation.

The man stood from his chair and circled to the front of his desk. “From here on out, you will work for me. Every order will be followed. Do you understand?”

“Who the hell are you people?” Maria questioned. You were wondering the same thing.

“It is our network of Widows that help us control the scales of power,” the woman walked over to the girl who reminded you of Yelena. She pushed some of her blonde hair out of her that didn’t make it into the braid. “One command, the oil and stock markets crumble. One command and a quarter of the planet will starve. Our Widows can start and end wars.” They were insane. You had no other way to describe them.

“And now,” the man said, putting his hand under your chin and holding you in place. You will be part of it. " He dropped his hold on you, but you could still feel it there. Take them back to their cell.”

As the four girls lead you out of their office, your eyes found a picture on the bookshelf. Your stomach dropped. It felt like you were on a roller coaster which you hated going on. The twins and Natasha always made fun of you when you would hold the bags while she took the girls on the ride. They could never understand how you could jump out of a helicopter, but roller coasters were a no-go for you. But now your stomach was flipping, and you tried to calm your face as you saw a younger version of your wife in the picture. Young Natasha was at a ballet bar with the woman you just meant behind her. Now, it was impossible to get your emotions buried down. Your Natasha was here. These monsters hurt your beautiful, strong, and kind wife. At that moment, you knew. You were going to burn this place to the fucking ground.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

“Girls, do you have your backpacks? Natasha asked.

“Yes, Mom!” They called from their spot on the couch. She saw their backpacks on the kitchen table. At least they were packed. Natasha suggested going to the National Mall with Alexei and Melina. She thought it would be a nice way to spend time together as a family. The busier Hailey and Rose were, the easier it was for their mind not to wander to you, especially with what happened between Hailey and Tommy. The hurtful words the boy said were still fresh in Hailey’s mind. Natasha could tell. She caught Hailey looking at pictures of you around the house or at the garage door opening to see you walk through it.

The doorbell rang, and before Natasha could get to it, she heard the door open, and her girls exclaim, “Uncle Clint!” Usually, the unexpected visit would be welcomed, but it froze Natasha in her spot in the kitchen.

“Hi, kiddos,” her friend said. “Where’s your mom?”

“She’s in the kitchen,” Rose answered. Natasha heard their approaching footsteps. “We are going to the Lincoln Memorial.” Thankfully, Melina walked from their guest room.

“Sounds fun,” Clint forced a smile. He stood in front of Natasha, dressed in his off-duty uniform. She could pick out new bruises and cuts from their latest mission. Was he wearing hearing aids now? “Hi Nat,” Melina glanced between the two.

“Come on, girls. Let’s go help your grandfather,” Melina said. “His outfit is a little extreme.” The twins giggled and ran off to their grandfather. As Melina passed Natasha, she kissed her daughter on the temple.

“Were you able to bring her home?” Natasha asked once she was alone with him. If anything, she could do was give you a proper burial. It was what you deserved. Clint twisted his hat in his hands.

“She’s MIA,” Clint told her. “Her and Maria were taken after a refuge camp we were ordered to protect was attacked,” he exhaled slowly. “Bucky was in surgery, Steve was shot, and Sam and I were the least injured,” Natasha blinked at the man. Missing. You and Maria were missing. Kidnapped and taken to go who knows where and the rest of the team were in shambles. She was getting flashbacks of her childhood - the smell of death and the rocking of shipping containers that sometimes kept her up at night.

“Clint,” she said slowly and felt her knees buckle. He was quick to catch her before she hit the ground.

“I know, I know,” he kept repeating. “I’ll find her. I’ll bring her home. I promise.”

Everything happened in a blur around her. Clint helped her tell Melina, which her mother told Alexei. Somehow, her house was filled with people��Laura and her kids, Wanda and the twins, and Yelena. Even with all these people, she felt alone. But she had her girls to worry about. When her chest was aching, and she wanted to overcome the agony she was feeling, she tapped into her training, pulled up her mask, and pretended to be strong.

Natasha sat down with Hailey and Rose in their room with Melina, and the door closed. She told them the truth; she never liked lying to them. Watching their faces fall and the light leave their eyes was heartbreaking. “Mom is missing,” Rose said slowly as if she was trying to understand. Natasha nodded.

“Yes, but all your aunts and uncles are looking for her.”

“And Aunt Maria is with her,” Natasha nodded again at Rose’s statement. She turned to look at Hailey, who was holding onto the necklace you gifted them. The girls never took them off.

“The bad guys took Mom,” Hailey whispered. “Why did she leave us if it was dangerous?” Natasha watched tears leave Hailey’s eyes. Carefully, the girl climbed onto Natasha’s lap and burrowed her face into the crock of her neck. Natasha felt the tears against her skin. Melina walked into the room, and Rose hugged her right.

“Your mother,” Melina said. “Is strong just like her girls and wife.” She ran her hand over Hailey’s back and then to Natasha’s cheek. It was subconsciously for Natasha to lean into her mother’s touch. “It is okay to be safe and scared now, but believe in it and have hope you will all be together again.” Natasha closed her eyes and felt a few of her tears out that Melina’s hand caught.

This was supposed to be their last one. The last one to endure as a family. Why was this happening now?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Your time in the service taught you a number of things: teamwork, the importance of companionship, and critical thinking. Above all else, it taught you patience. Some would argue you lacked patience, but you were patient when it mattered.

Patience won Natasha’s heart, gained the trust and acceptance of your mother-in-law, and allowed you to mediate fights between your daughters. Now, you were lacking that very skill.

Your fingers were interlocked behind your neck, squeezing the tension you carried. The silence was maddening and taunting. So you filled it with pacing - the sound of your boots hitting the concrete floor. “Maybe if you pace some more, you’ll pace a hole into the floor, and we can escape through it,” you glared at Maria, who was lying on the ground. An arm was thrown over her eyes. While you paced, Maria tapped her foot. You weren’t the only one who couldn’t stand still.

“I have to get out of this fucking cell,” you said. Maria scuffed.

“Yeah, no fucking shit,” you stopped pacing and grabbed onto the bars. Your head hung low. “I’m guessing you didn’t know,” you glanced up as Maria stared back at you. “About Nat. I saw her picture, too.” You let out a shaky breath and shook your head.

No. You had no idea the true horrors of your wife’s past. It wasn’t easy for either of you to open up about your life before you met each other. As your relationship grew, so did the trust. But why would she keep this from you? “I need to get out of here,” you repeated.

“And do what? Burn this place to the ground, kill those bastards, and save the girls?” Yes! Yes! That was precisely the plan.

“Yes,” you told her.

“God, you are reckless,” you stood up straighter but kept your hands on the bar. “You know Fury was worried about putting you on this team. He said that big heart of yours was going to get you killed.”

“Do you expect me to sit here and watch while innocent children are getting tortured into soldiers?”

“No!” Maria slammed her hand against the floor. “I expect you to think, Viper. We have no way to reach the team. We have no idea where we are or how large their operation is,” she pushed herself up, and you saw the slight wince. Her ribs were still bothering her. So think, plan, then engage, or you’ll never see your family again.”

Patience. You needed patience and a clear head to make it through this. Going rouge wasn’t going to help. It was only going to endanger your and Maria’s life. You squeezed the bars and sighed. “You’re right,” you slowly sat down and crossed your legs. “You’re right, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s why I’m in charge, and you aren’t,” she managed to make you chuckle. Maria moved closer to the set of bars, and you were face-to-face with each other. “I’m jealous of you,” your eyes widened in shock. “You have something to pull you away from all of this,” she waved her hand in a circle, but you knew what she meant. The service. The team. All the fighting and bloodshed for national security would be over for you. Your family gave you an option to walk away.

“What about Danvers?”

“Please,” Maria rolled her eyes. “I think she’s married to her job, and I’m the other woman.” You chuckled softly.

“You could walk away for yourself,” you whispered. “Might be better than why I’m leaving.” You would die for this job if it weren’t for Natasha or your daughters. For the longest time, it seemed like the only option. The core saved you; the only way to repay it would be to die for it. That idea seemed lonely.

Before Maria could respond, you heard the main door open and scrambled to your feet. Maria was slower to get up. This group was smaller than before: two instead of four. Still, it was the same blonde from before. “Hands through,” she ordered, and you listened.

“What’s your name?” you asked the blonde. She seemed surprised you asked a personal question, but she recovered quickly.

“Mila,” she answered. You smiled.

“Beautiful name,” Once Maria was handcuffed, she opened the cell doors. You stood between Mila and the girl with the assault rifle.

Think, plan, and then engage. That was the motto of the team. Think - you knew you needed to get out of here, save the girls, and return to your family. It is an enormous task, but not impossible. The problem was there were questions you needed answers to. How were they running their operation? How many guards were on their payroll? How many girls were there? Plan and engage would have to wait until you could answer some questions.

Mila opened two metal doors and led you into a large room that used to be the school’s gym. “Welcome to the first training,” the man said, his hands together. This is your new group.” The tip of the assault rifle pushed you forward.

In front of you was a group of girls between ages 6 and 13. A quick count in your head: there are 12 in total. They were dirty, bruised, and terrified. You forced your hands into a tight fist to stop yourself from punching him. All around the border of the room were guards armed with assault rifles.

You drew your focus back to the girls, eyes squinting at them. They looked familiar. The explosion may have rattled your brain more than you thought. It clicked when a young girl looked up from previously looking at the floor. Her eyes locked on yours. “Anna,” you mumbled. All these girls were from the refugee camp. Her eyes went wide at the realization of who you were. You tried to convey with your face to stay, but she refused.

It happened quickly. Anna stood up and pushed her way through the crowd. Immediately, the guns were pointed at her.

“Vniz (down),” you ordered to her. Anna went down, and you rushed forward, sliding onto your knees so your body covered hers. “Vse normal’no (it’s okay),” you whispered into her hair. You saw her grab onto her shirt. Her entire body was shaking. “Sh,” you cooed. “Be strong, little one.”

“Interesting,” you heard his footsteps walk over. His hand grabbed the back of your shirt and pulled you up. Once you were up, the man grabbed Anna and dragged you to her feet. “You have a little pet,” he said.

“Don’t hurt you,” you moved forward. You felt a kick to the back of your knee and fell forward. The muzzle of the gun was on the back of your head.

“What is your name?” he asked her. You were shocked by the way Anna struggled against him. “What is her name?” he asked you, but you remained quiet. You heard the safety of the gun click.

“Anna,” Maria answered. “Her name is Anna.” You glared at your friend and shook your head.

“Anna,” he pulled the girl closer to him. Her eyes danced over her. You have a fire in you. It reminds me of someone else,” he whispered the last part. That is enough for today.” Once again, you were brought to your feet and brought back to your cell.

But the entire time you walked, your mind was somewhere else. In that slight reaction, you learned something. He graved control, order, and submissiveness. Someone fought back and won. And you knew exactly who it was.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Clint’s first stop was the medical unit of SHIELD. He had a quick meeting with Dr. Cho about his condition and the steps he could take to regain his hearing. He was barely paying attention. His eyes were glued to Steve. The blonde looked like he hadn’t slept since the attack. Dr. Cho handed him a pamphlet and sent him on his way. Immediately, he walked over to Steve and sat down. “He hasn’t woken up,” the blonde said. “The doctors said that it’s normal, but it’s killing me,” Clint nodded and saw Bucky lying in bed. His arm was missing, and his gaze covered the missing limb. “How’s Natasha?” Steve asked. Clint wasn’t sure.

“She’s holding it together for the girls.” Once he was done here, he checked on her again. Right now, Laura and Wanda are looking after her. “How’s the shoulder?” Steve’s left arm was in a sling.

“Bullet went right through,” Steve sighed. “Destroyed some of the muscles, so I’ll be out for a while,” the blonde ran his good hand through his hair. “We fucked up on this one, didn’t we?” That was an understatement, but Clint knew you would never blame them. It was part of the job. Sometimes, the mission went wrong.

“One hell of a last one for her,” Clint tried to joke, but Steve frowned.

“Hell of a last one for all of us, I think.”

He stepped away and found an empty room to take his hearing aids out. It was a feeling he was trying to get used to. Every sound was different, more intense, sharper. At the moment, the team had no leads. No group was taking responsibility for the attack. Facial recognition was a dead end. The only thing they knew was their attackers were girls between the ages of 10 and 16.

It was maddening. The longer they went without information, the less likely they would find you alive. That thought turned Clint’s stomach. Sighing, he placed them back in his ears and pulled out his phone. Laura answered on the first ring. “Are you okay?” He hated how worried she sounded.

“Yeah,” he licked his lips. “I just needed a break, and I wanted to check in. How are they?” Laura sighed.

“Hailey and Rose have been quiet. The kids are trying to get them to play, and Natasha,” she paused. “I don’t know Clint. I’m worried.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you coming back here or back home?”

“Probably there,” he answered.

“Okay. She needs you,” Clint closed his eyes. “I know you want to be there and help, but-”

“I’ll leave here soon,” he cut her off. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he hung up before she could say anything else. It was a little selfish of him. If he were here, he wouldn’t see the hole left by your absence, and the guilt wouldn’t be as strong. If he were here in his mind, you wouldn’t be gone.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Nights were Natasha’s least favorite when you were deployed. It made your absence more challenging than it already was. Now, with the knowledge of you being gone, the night was the worst. She changed into one of your long sleeves and walked to her daughter’s room. The door was cracked open, and Natasha peered inside. They pushed their beds together and had one giant sleepover with the Maximoff twins, Lila and Nate. It looked cramped, but Natasha was thankful her girls were sleeping. The only kid that was missing from the cuddle puddle was Cooper.

But Natasha found the eldest Barton quickly. He was sitting awake in Hailey’s bean bag chair, but she could tell he was fighting sleep. Cooper sent her a small wave, and Natasha titled her head in question. “Keeping watch,” he whispered. “It was the only way they’d fall asleep.”

She was grateful for the eldest Barton. “Get some sleep,” she whispered. “If you need me, come get me.” Cooper gave her a thumbs up and got comfortable in the chair. Natasha quietly closed the door and continued to the kitchen, which wasn’t empty. She knew he would be there with a bottle of whiskey. He was expecting her, too, indicating by the second glass. Wordlessly, he poured the glass, and she sat next to him. They drank in silence until Natasha’s glass was almost halfway gone. “It wasn’t your fault, Clint. I don’t blame any of you for what happened.” Her friend sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“They both saved lives. She pushed Sam to the ground, and Maria got to me.” That sounded like you and Maria. You were always ready to save others before yourself. Natasha smiled.

“Then I’m glad I’m not mourning your life while worried about my wife’s life,” Clint looked at her.

“We’ll bring her home,” he promised. Natasha finished her drink and poured herself another. She wasn’t dumb. She knew he phrased the sentence to avoid saying “alive” or “dead.” They would find you and Maria, she had no doubt. But would you be alive? Natasha wasn’t sure.

Yelena was worried when Natasha told her you and she would try to have kids. She knew her sister would be a great mother but worried about how she would handle the responsibility of being an aunt. Over time, she learned to love her nieces and fell into her role quickly. She prided herself on understanding their cues. She could stop a fight before it broke out. If Rose was feeling overwhelmed, Yelena knew how she liked to decompress. At her office at work, each bad she had, and various places around her home, she kept fidget toys for Hailey.

Now, they were quiet. They barely greeted her and only took a pop tart to eat, even when Yelena was cooking other food. At least they were eating. They sat on the couch and turned on the TV. Yelena kept her eye on them while finishing breakfast. The house was filled with many people, so many bellies needed to be filled.

She felt a hand on her lower back and a kiss to her temple. “Morning, sweetheart.” Yelena smiled as Kate sat down at the counter with her laptop.

“Are you working?” Yelena asked.

“I want to re-watch the body cam footage with fresh eyes. We must be missing something,” Yelena turned her back to Kate and poured coffee for both of them.

“Isn’t that a breach of security?” the blonde asked. She wasn’t sure how Natasha dealt with the stress of watching you leave. She was thankful Kate never saw combat. Her girlfriend was in the cyber division alongside Vision. Yelena would leave her veterinarian job and have dinner with Kate almost every night. There was no need to worry about her girlfriend’s safety. Kate shrugged.

“As long as I don’t get caught,” the blonde rolled her eyes and placed Kate’s coffee beside her. With a quick kiss on Kate’s cheek, she was about to resume cooking when she saw the footage Kate was watching.

It was like someone injected ice into her veins. She felt frozen in her spot. A lot of Yelena’s childhood was fuzzy. She had no memory of her biological parents, and she bounced between foster homes. Until a woman brought her to a place of nightmares, hours were spent training with a gun in her hand she could barely hold. She tried to forget all of it. Sometimes nightmares woke her up, and Kate had to calm her down, but she never told her what they were about. But then she met Natasha, Melina, and Alexei. The place of nightmares offered a light at the end of the tunnel because she got a family, and her family got her out. Melina promised them they were safe - that the claws of that place could no longer get to them.

“Hey, Kate, can you watch the food? I want to check on Nat,” Kate nodded. Immediately, she closed her laptop and took Yelena’s spot in the kitchen. Yelena quickly walked to her sister’s room. Her mind was spiraling. It couldn’t be them. Melina told them he was dead and that they were safe. The sight in front of her pulled her out of her thoughts.

Natasha was asleep. Her breathing was muffled, no doubt from her tears, and Yelena wasn’t blinded to the half-empty liquor bottle on her nightstand. Carefully, Yelena closed the door. It was unfair to Natasha to deal with this problem. It could be nothing, and Natasha needed sleep. Sighing, Yelena went to find Melina. Her mother was in the backyard, working on a garden bed. Melina looked up and frowned. “What’s wrong? Is it the girls? Natasha?” Yelena shook her head.

“I think I know who attacked the camp,” Yelena said, playing with the rings on her fingers. Melina stood up and whipped the dirt off her hands onto her pants. “He’s alive, mama,” she whispered. “The Red Room is back.”

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At this point, you were used to the routine. Mila would come with another girl, and they would bring you to the gym. They were also responsible for bringing you food, to the bathroom, and for providing medical treatment. It seemed Dreykov and Madame B wanted you and Maria in tip-top shape.

Dreykov. At night, you would whisper his name as a mantra. You heard it from some guards as you passed. Like their boss, they had an ego. So many times, you saw them mess with the girls. They would drag some of the older girls away, and when they returned, the guards would have a smirk on their faces while the girls had new bruises.

Their rotation seemed random. Maybe that was the point of keeping you and the girls confined. But there were always two at the front entrance and one by the armory, which was locked with a fingerprint scanner.

From your analysis, this ‘school’ was the only one, but they had girls stationed worldwide. The girls who graduated were called Widows. This leads you to another question on your list: How was Dreykov able to manage all of them? The man was a monster, but he ran an organized operation.

“Again,” you translated Maria’s order into Russian. The group reran the move you and Maria taught them. It was a simple one-leg take down. It required a solid stance that attacked one of your opponent’s legs. You would use your strength to off-balance your opponent. They ran it a few times, and right away, you could see who was stronger than the others. God, you hated this. You felt like a monster.

A loud commotion drew your attention. The metal doors swung open, and Madame B came in with her hand tangled in the girl’s hair. You believed her name was Emilia. She was one of the girls that would sometimes be with Mila. She was set to graduate soon.

“Attention,” the woman ordered. The group you were teaching quickly stood up, arms behind their back and posture straight. They created a circle, and Madame B and Emilia stood in the center. “A little lesson for all of you,” Maria looked at you, confused by what she said. It was Dreykov’s slow step that forced you to look forward. He stood between you and Maria. “That your loyalty is to us. Your life is in our hands,” she released Emilia’s hair. The poor girl fell to her knees. Her tears were silent, but you could see them. “If we smell disloyalty, it is over.”

The feeling of dread filled your stomach. Surprisingly, Emilia pulled herself up, kneeling tall and proud. You and Maria took a step forward. “I would not do that,” Dreykov mumbled. “Or do you forget who you serve?” Your feet became glued to the spot as Madame B raised her gun.

“Fuck you,” Emilia hissed. Then the gun went off, and Emilia fell back. Her blood pooled on the gym floor. The girls in the circle flinched from the sound. You could see Anna’s body shaking with fear.

Death was something you were used to. You’ve seen it, caused some of it, and tried to stop it. Emilia was not the first child you’ve seen die. But something inside you snapped. A blinding rage filled your body. “A shame,” you looked at Dreykov. “She had potential.” He kissed the jewel he wore around his neck. “Dispose of her.” Dreykov turned to leave the gym.

“You are a coward,” you said and turned around to look at him

“Excuse?” He asked.

“Did I stutter? You are a fucking coward. Is that why you chose little girls? You knew grown men wouldn’t listen to you,” you took a step forward and ignored the way Maria said your name. Not Viper. Not your code name. Dreykov chuckled. “You are weak. You and that bitch,” you gestured to the woman behind you. Emilia was no more than 15. Her whole life was ahead of her, and she was robbed of it. Dreykov’s smile dipped slightly.

“Do not start something you can not finish,” he warned. You laughed.

“Oh, I’ll finish it, and when I’m down with you, no one is going to recognize you,” you said, taking a few more steps forward. “You think you are unbeatable, yet I know someone who beat you,” you smiled and leaned next to his ear. “Natasha.”

You broke something inside of him because he punched you. It wasn’t strong, but it surprised you, and you stumbled back. You went to fight back but, “Viper!” You looked at Maria. She was on her knees with a gun to the back of her head. You looked behind you, and the girls were in a similar position.

“Don’t you see,” Dreykov began to circle you. “Real power comes from undetectable influence. I believe someone needs to be reminded of it.” A quick kick to the back of your knees sent you tumbling forward. He was quick to grab you by your chin. “Guards tie her up.”

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Natasha woke up to silence, which was odd because of how packed her house was. She splashed cold water on her face and took pain medication. She kept her long sleeve on and walked into the living room, where she found Yelena, Melina, and Alexei. They were whispering in Russian and stopped when they saw Natasha. “Where are my daughters?” she asked.

“At Wanda’s,” Melina forced a smile. “Can you sit with us?” Natasha hesitated.

“Did they find them?” Yelena shook her head.

“No,” she simply said, patting the spot beside her. “Kate is going to show you the body cam footage from the team,” she looked at her family, confused.

“I don’t want to see this,” Natasha stated. “I don’t.” Alexei placed his hand on her shoulder.

“It is important, malen’kaya roza (little rose),” he said. “And we will be right here, okay?” No, she wanted to scream. Instead of that, she nodded, and Kate came from the kitchen. She placed her laptop on the coffee table.

“Fury gave us clearance, so we aren’t breaking any laws,” Kate teased. Natasha was grateful for the girl’s attempt to make light of the situation. Her palms felt sweaty, and she rubbed them together. Kate opened the laptop and hit the space bar to play the video.

At first, Natasha was unaware of why they were making her watch this. Kate edited the footage so she was watching four views at a time—yours, Sam’s, Maria’s, and Steve’s. She was watching Sam’s while he passed you a soccer ball, and you laughed when you missed it. It tugged at Natasha’s heartstrings, watching you play with the little girl on your back.

Suddenly, it changed. Everyone was taking fire while gunshots rang and explosions rocketed the cameras. She saw the people responsible for the attack on Steve’s camera first. They moved with precision - with agility that was taught. The same way Natasha and Yelena were taught. Those lessons came to her in the form of nightmares now - hours spent at a ballet bar or with a gun in her hand. But it was impossible. The Red Room was gone.

“Dreykov,” she mumbled and slammed the laptop closed. Her hands shook as she stared at Melina. “You told us he was dead. You promised that we were safe.” Melina’s face paled.

“I thought we were,” she said. “He was in there when the building exploded,” Natasha vividly remembered that day. She sat in the passenger seat while Melina drove the car. Sometimes, the heat of the explosion kept her up at night. Kate stood up from her kneeling position.

“I need all of you to come down to headquarters and tell us everything you can remember about Dreykov,” she said. “The more you tell us, the better the odds of finding her and Maria are.”

Once upon a time Melina and Alexei made Natasha promise to never speak about the Red Room. Yelena was to young to fully understand what they were trained to do. For a young age, so much blood covered Natasha’s hands. Her ledger was just as long as yours. She was lucky Melina and Alexei saved her or she would have been killed or in jail for her crimes.

As she sat with Fury and Peggy Carter, Melina made sure all of them received pardons for the crimes they committed under Dreykov’s abuse. Once the deal was created and her family signed it, Natasha began to tell her story.

She was taken from a foster home and placed in a shipping container along with other girls. It reeked of blood and death. She thought she was going to die in there. Soon enough, the doors opened, and men with guns ushered them out. At the time, she was grateful to be out of there and able to stretch her legs and smell the fresh air. But she was walking into hell where every order had to be followed. In the first week, Natasha was covered in bruises and got her first kill. At 8 years old, her hands were covered in blood.

For the next 5 years, the Red Room was the only life Natasha expected to live. Until she was paired up with Yelena to act as sisters along side Melina and Alexei. When the mission was completed, the couple refused to return. They rang and planned to stop them.

Natasha told your colleagues about sitting in the driver’s seat of a car she helped steal. She gave Melina the all-clear when she saw Dreykov in the window. The entire city block went up in smoke. The family had to hide in Budapest for two months until the heat died down.

“Where could they be?” Peggy asked. “Where would Dreykov hide them?” The family stayed quiet and glanced at each other.

“We do not know,” Alexei said. Fury scuffed and shook his head. He stood up from his chair and rounded to stand behind it.

“I find it very hard to believe,” he leaned back in his chair. “From your story, you were Dreykov’s head scientist,” he pointed to Melina and looked at Alexei. “And you were his right-hand man. Then you,” he locked eyes with Natasha. “You were his pride and joy. The best soldier to come out of the Red Room.” Natasha narrowed her eyes at him.

“We thought he was dead,” Natasha said. “We’ve been in the States for years. If I knew where my wife was, I’d tell you, Fury.” This was another reason Melina wanted to keep all of this a secret. Once people find out, they are treated as enemies.

“The only reason we knew it was the Red Room was because I saw the body cam footage,” Yelena explained. “We don’t work for him. We want them back home just as much as you do.” Natasha looked at Melina. Her mother was oddly quiet. She only spoke when spoken to.

“What is it, mama?” Natasha asked. Melina sighed and sat up straighter in her seat.

“If it is Dreykov,” she said. “Then I may know where he is hiding. It is a long shot, but clearly, you have zero leads.” Fury rolled his one good eye.

“You could have started with that,” he said. “Let’s go bring our girls home.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Breathe, you thought, breath. It was a mantra that you kept repeating in your head. Breathe. Slow down your heart rate. Keep calm. There was some pain in your shoulders, but you ignored it. That pain was going to be the last of your worries. “What do you think he’s going to do?” Maria asked. You opened your eyes to see your friend leaning against the bars.

“Nothing good,” you said, using your upper body strength to lift yourself up. It provided some relief to your shoulder. “It’s not gonna be pretty. You-” You licked your lips. “You don’t have to watch.” Maria scuffed and shook her head.

“We are in this together,” she said. “I’m not letting you face him alone, even if it was your dumbass that got yourself in this mess.” You smiled, chuckling softly.

There were words you wanted to say to Maria that seemed trapped in your throat. I’m sorry. Thank you. If I don’t make it, tell my family I love them. But you kept them away. Because if you said them, you would be admitting defeat. You were going to put up a fight against him. You chuckled instead. “Do you remember that prank we pulled on Fury?” At first, you saw confusion on Maria’s face, but then it hit her. She smiled.

“When we died, his eye patch pink or put rhinestones on the back of his trench coat that spelled Sexy Pirate?” You laughed, a real laugh that caused your sides to hurt. Oh, the look on Fury’s face was priceless. You were sure he was going to arrest you and throw you in the RAFT.

However, Fury was a good sport about it and got his revenge with extra workouts. He was a good man. Sighing, you looked at the ground. “I’m sorry,” you finally admitted. “That I got us into this mess.”

“Don’t do that,” you looked at her. “Don’t make it sound like we aren’t getting out of this together. That man has got nothing on you, you hear me?” You nodded. “Say it then.”

“I won’t let him break me,” you said out loud. “I won’t let him win.”

That man was not going to kill you. You were going to see your family again. The main door opened, and you heard the sound of multiple footsteps bouncing off the wall. You watched Maria tense up. “Come, children,” Dreykov’s voice said. “We have something planned today.” Behind the man were four girls, one of them was Mila and a girl close to her age. The other two were younger, maybe 7. You believed they were the strongest out of the group at the refugee camp. “Open the door.” He instructed. Mila opened it. “How are we doing?” His question was directed at you.

“Peachy,” you smiled. “You know I’m just hanging out.” You emphasized on the word ‘hanging.’ Maria groaned and hung her head.

“See, you have been a throne in my side, but you are hilarious,” Dreykov laughed. You weren’t sure if you should accept the compliment, so you shut your mouth. “She is the perfect example of how to act under intense pressure.” The man circled behind you. You hated that you no longer were in your eyesight. Tiring to keep your body relaxed, you locked eyes with Maria. She offered you a smile. “Does your military do a hell week?” You kept quiet. “I asked you a question,” his hand gripped the back of your neck. “Answer it. Tell them what it is.” The four girls stood at each corner of the cell, with Mila being the closest to the door.

“Yes,” you finally answered. He hummed for you to continue. “Each branch does it differently, but it usually consists of 5 1/2 days of cold, wet, brutal operational training on fewer than 4 hours of sleep.” Yours was for 2 weeks. You thought you wouldn’t make it through, but Maria helped you through it. She became one of your best friends after that.

“In this hell week, did they teach you torture techniques?” Dreykov walked to your right side. You nodded and were surprised he allowed you to answer non-verbally. “Have you tortured someone before, Viper?”

You had and you hated every second of it. When you returned home, you refused any touch from Natasha. You were a monster. “I have,” you answered. “But torture is a last ditch effort.”

“Explain.” You rolled the tension out of your shoulder.

“We try to get people to cooperate without physical violence. Most times people are willing to help us before it gets to that point,” you clenched your jaw. “Others are more stubborn.” The man laughed.

“So is this my last ditch effort.” To your surprise, you smiled.

“Probably, I’ve been told I can be difficult,” Maria let out a forced laugh. Dreykov smiled.

“Open her cell,” he gestured to Maria with a flick. The girl across from Mila went over to Maria and opened the door. Your friend remained in there, eyes narrowing at the man. “I would like to remind you, Commander, that I am still very much in charge. I will kill her. Understood?”

“Yeah. Crystal.” Maria took a few steps out of her cell.

“Excellent. Like I said, we have something fascinating planned,” Dreykov walked behind Maria. You kept your eyes on him the entire time. “We get to learn from the best,” he placed both hands on Maria’s shoulders. The woman tensed. “Torture her.” Maria recoiled forward so his hands fell back to his side. Her back was to you as she faced the man.

“You are out of your fucking mind. You are insane like actually insane.” Dreykov frowned.

“I am of sound mind,” he said. “I brought you here to teach my girls. This is the perfect way to learn. A hands-on experience.” Maria laughed - a full belly laugh that forced her to bend down.

“Oh, you are crazy. I’m not hurting her. So you are going to have to kill me and call it a day.” Maria crossed her arms. Dreykov looked at her then to you. His face was indifferent as if the thought of killing Maria was an afterthought - something as simply as crossing a name off his to do list.

Her death would haunt you more than a few scars and bruises. “Ria,” you whispered. “Do it.” Maria’s eyes snapped to you.

“You can’t be serious.” You smiled.

“Come on Hill,” your voice was soft. “I’m a lot tougher than I look.” Maria huffed - tears burning in her eyes. “Do it.”

Now you weren’t insane or crazy or had some pain kink. The plan was tactical. Maria was part of that same hell week and taught the same techniques. So, she could make the torture look real but cause less harm. While she entertained Dreykov, you had to come up with a plan.

Many believed torture in an interrogation was ineffective and counterproductive means of gathering information. Primarily, it generated false or misleading information. It was a delicate balance of pain to keep a person honest. You preferred psychological instead of physical. You used environmental manipulation, loud music or light control. As Clint said many weeks ago, you’ve done horrific things in the name of justice. The man you interrogated was part of a human trafficking ring that operated in the states. The information you got shut down the operation.

A hand grabbed the strands of your hair and pulled your head back. The pain brought you back to reality. You felt Maria’s breath on the back of your neck. “Clock is s ticking.” She mumbled. Maria understood your plan. She would stale as you came up with a way out of here.

But what the hell was the plan? How the hell were you going to escape while you were chained up and Dreykov was watching you like a hawk? The man seemed untouchable, indestructible. The Red Room went under the radar for years. Although it was a horrific endeavor, you were impressed with the level of sophistication.

Even the most powerful men had weaknesses. George Washington was a brilliant leader but struggled with tactical planning. While Genghis Khan was a brilliant military leader, his reign was marked by brutality and violence, which ultimately led to the decline of his empire. Niccolo Machiavelli believed power could only be gained through exploitation, and he was wrong. Those who relied on manipulation were often isolated and ineffective.

Isolated and ineffective. At Dreykov’s core, he was alone. So many people surrounded him because he manipulated them to fear him. “Enough,” Dreykov ordered. The sound of his voice made you flinch. You were so deep in your head that it startled. Now more present you felt the ache in your body. Damn, maybe Maria wasn’t holding her punches. “Girls,” it was on command that the four girls drew their pistols at you and Maria. Shit, you weren’t aware they were carrying weapons. “Step away from her.”

You heard Maria take a step back. Two of the girls followed her with their guns. Suddenly, Dreykov’s hand wrapped around your throat. “Why is she holding back, my flower?” You swallowed.

“So what now?” You asked instead of answering. “You’re gonna fold me into your pathetic little puppeteer act?” The grip he had on you lessened slightly.

“Pathetic?” You scuffed.

“Yeah, what would you call it?”

“I would call it-”

“When was the last time you had a conversation with somebody that wasn’t forced to talk to you?” You cut him off. The grip tightened—hook, line, and sinker. You tried to keep your heart steady even when you wanted to panic. His grip wasn’t suffocating, but you hated the feeling of his hands on you. “Besides,” you continued. “How put together are you? When 4 of your people escaped and left you.” It was a shot in the dark that the rest of your family was part of this circus. You were right by the vein that started to pulse in Dreykov’s forehead.

“They ran away,” he said through gritted teeth. “The real war is fought here in the shadows.” You rolled your eyes.

“You don’t fight in the shadows you hid in the dark. You are nothing. You have nothing.”

“There are 50 people in the world-” you scuffed.

“Oh, stop it.”

“Don’t tell me to stop it.” The pressure on your neck increased. You laughed. The sound echoed against the walls. It turned into a cackle as your airways began to be cut off. Somehow, you found the strength to swing closer to his face.

“If I don’t tell you when to stop, how will you know when to shut up!” You should have seen the punch coming. You giggled. The punch hurt but you’ve been punched harder by your daughters. “Come on. You don’t think I can take a punch.”

The strength behind his punches increased, it rocked you back. You leaned your head to side and spit blood onto the floor. “My god, you are weak,” you taunted. Suddenly, Dreykov grabbed the gun from Mila’s hand. The barrel of the gun was pressed against your chest. Oh. Well, that was unexpected.

“Who is weak now?” He asked. On paper probably him if he needed a weapon to showcase his strength. “You and Natalia and everyone else will never understand the power I had.” You hated the way he said her name.

“Then do it,” you whispered. His hand flinched slightly.

“What?”

“Pull the trigger,” you said. “Ubey menya (kill me).”

“Viper,” Maria warned. You hated putting her in this position, but it was a gamble you had to take. You used the rest of your strength and swung yourself over to him. You wrapped your legs around him and pulled him closer. The barrel shifted to point under your chin.

“Shot me!” You yelled. “Do it!” The sound of your voice echoed against the wall. Dreykov struggled against you, but you were stronger. Until he used the gun and hit you on the side of the head.

Black dots covered your vision and the man stumbled backwards. In your pain filled haze, you saw a key fall out of his pocket. Quickly, Mila covered it with her foot. Dreykov was blind to it - to busy trying to regain his composure. “You are as crazy as they say,” you chuckled.

“Yeah well its part my charm.” Gods above you felt like you were going to throw up. Concussions were no joke. Dreykov forced the gun back into Mila’s hand.

“Come, girls.” Dreykov ordered. “There is work to be done.” He filed out first and Mila was the last to leave and locked the door behind her. You gave her a small smile because the key was still on the ground.

“You are fucking insane,” Maria raced to be in front of you and cupped your face in her hands. You chuckled, removed your head from her hold to spit more blood on the floor.

“Key,” you mumbled. Maria looked confused. “Key,” you repeated and gestured to the corner. Maria followed your movement.

“You son of a bitch,” she quickly picked it up. “How did you know he had the key on him?”

“Didn’t,” Maria unlocked the metal cuffs around your wrist and you fell into her arms. “Wasn’t part of my intentional plane.” Carefully, she lowered you to the ground with your back against the wall.

“So what is the plan?” Your friend asked as she stood before you with her hands on her hips.

“Break down his ego and escape,” you shrugged. “But first I need a minute.” You closed your eyes, gave her a thumbs up, and was welcomed by darkness.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

“Hey,” you were woken up by Maria gently shaking you. You wanted to slap her hand away and go back to sleep. You were dreaming of Natasha and your girls. That dream was so much better than the hell you were living in. “Come on,” your eyes fluttered open. Before you could open your mouth to speak, you leaned to the side and threw up. Yup, it’s definitely a concussion. “Hot.” You rolled your eyes and spit more out. “Someone is coming.”

You gave her a thumbs-up and forced yourself to stand. If Dreykov was coming back to finish the job, you would stand to face him. But the footsteps were different from his. These were light and hurried. “Anna,” you whispered as you saw the little girl. Mila was next to her with keys in her hands.

“Hurry, hurry,” Anna said, pulling on Mila’s arm. You could tell the older girl was losing her patience, but she kept it to herself. Finally, the cell opened, and Anna ran inside. Maria was quick enough to step in front of her.

“Easy, easy, our friend isn’t feeling well.” You smiled but waved her over. Gently, Anna pushed her body against yours. You hugged her back and looked at Mila.

“What’s going on?” You asked the older girl.

“Scouts reported the military on the school’s property,” Mila explained. She stood at attention as if she was giving a report to her superior. “They called for a code 8,” you and Maria looked at each other. Mila huffed. “Mobilize all available personal. Shoot to kill.” Your stomach plummeted but the military was here which mean it could be your team or somebody else that could help.

“What are you doing here?” Maria questioned. Finally, Mila’s tough exterior crumbled. She looked like a girl her age.

“If anyone can stop them, it’s you two,” she whispered. They will be distracted from stopping the soldiers from getting it. This may be our only shot.”

She was right. A new sense of energy and strength rushed through you. They were distracted, plus Dreykov’s ego took a major hit when he failed to shoot you. “She’s right,” you said and turned to Maria. “I think I can stop him.”

“You can barely stand,” Maria deadpanned. You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself off the wall. You were a little dizzy, but you’ve been through so much worse.

“I’m fine,” you looked at Mila. “Do you have a weapon?” She nodded and unclipped a pistol from her waist. “Give it to Maria.” Unfortunately, the girl followed the order perfectly. “If they called for a code 8 only the most trained girls are facing the military so the kids from the refugee camp are still in the school,” you looked at Maria. “Find them and get them out.” Your friend sighed.

“I hate this.” You chuckled.

“Go with Ria,” you told Anna. Thankfully, the girl pulled away from you and grabbed Maria’s hand. She whipped her tears.

“What about me?” Mila asked.

“You are going with Maria too,” the girl frowned.

“But I can help. I can fight.” You shook your head and took a few steps forward. Kneeling to her level, you put your hands on her shoulders.

“I am so proud of you,” Mila tensed up, not used to this type of physical comfort. “But now you are going to get out and be free. No more fighting.” You hugged her gently and she felt like you hugging Natasha for the first time. Tense. Awkward. Soon she relaxed into your body.

“No more fighting.”

“Exactly,” you ended the hug and cupped her face with your hands. “You’ve done so well,” you smiled. “Now leave the fighting to the adults.” Mila nodded.

“We should get going,” you stood up and watched Maria lead the two girls out of the basement. You leaned against the metal bars of the cell.

“Shit,” you mumbled. Maybe Maria was right but like hell you were going to tell her that. All you had to do was buy them some time. Sighing, you made your way out of the basement without chains or cuffs.

The first step of the plan was to get the armory without being detected. There was no one around - no guards, no girls being dragged to whatever lesson. Just eerie silence. The silence was the worst.

Each step forward was quiet and calculated. The last thing you wanted was to give away your position. You made it to the armory without any issues, and the door was left open. It rang a warning bell in your head. For as long as you were here, you never saw this room not guarded. Quickly, you went inside and grabbed an assault rifle with a few magazines, two smoke grenades, and a pistol. “Hey,” you spun around and shot the guard without a second thought. His body crumbled to the ground with a pool of blood around his head. You knelt beside his body and took his communication device. At least you’d be able to hear how the fight was going.

You put the pistol on your hip and aimed the assault rifle down the hall as you began to walk forward. Each guard you came across was killed without much of a second thought. Maybe later you would mourn their death but right now they were just as bad as Madame B and Dreykov.

Checking one of the classrooms you saw Madame B’s body - a single gun shot to the head was her cause of death. You wondered if it was Maria. The technique was flawless, but you continued to Dreykov’s office.

When you were in front of the door, you took a deep breath in and slowly let it out before opening the door. There he was - sitting in his chair with his back to you. It would be so easy to end it all, but you hesitated to pull the trigger.

Once upon a time when you were a kid, you played soccer and your father was the coach. He would say before you received the ball you should know where you are going to pass it. If you hesitated it was to late. He would tell you all the time that was your problem. In big game moments, you would panic and hesitate. The same could be said while serving. If the enemy was faster than you, it could result in your death.

The reason for your hesitation was the office looked different than the last time you were here. Dreykov was staring at screens that came down from the ceiling. The screen in the middle was the biggest, with pictures of girls flashing across the screen. On the right side, two screens showed the battle outside. On the left, those were turned off. “It’s over, Dreykov,” you finally spoke. “You’ve lost.”

“That would mean you agree I have won before,” he spun around in the chair. “How is my Natalia?” You squeezed the grip of the gun.

“She is safe and loved like all those girls you kidnapped will be too.”

“No, no, no, he stood up and shook his head. “She’s a traitor. All of them are. They turned their back on their people. On their blood,” he picked up a picture from his desk and shattered it against the wall. Your eyes flickered to the shelf of photos and saw the one with Natasha missing. “I gave her a home. I gave her love.”

“Like hell you did,” you took a few steps closer to the man. “She’s dead, by the way. Your little puppet master. A single gun shoot to the head that my friend probably did.” There was no trace of guilt sadness, or grief in the man’s expression. “I can guess your death will be more violent if you don’t get on the ground when they come through the door.”

“You know,” Dreykov laughed, ignoring your warning. “I thought with you here we could build something beautiful,” he began to fidget with the necklace around his neck. The man wasn’t one to fidget. “Maybe with you here, the others would come home.”

So you were bait as well. A final act for Dreykov to have his pride and joy back. “Instead of teaching our Widows how to fight, you gave them something else. Hope,” he wiggled his finger at you. “And that was not a nice thing to do.”

Something felt wrong. “Dreykov, stand down,” you ordered. “Get on your stomach with your fingers interlocked behind your head.” The smart thing to do would be to put a bullet right between his eyes, but he had answers to some of your questions. The Red Room would not be truly gone until his network of Widows were saved.

“We could have done so much good. If only you cooperated,” he ripped the chain off his neck.

“I won’t ask again.”

“Our Widows could have stopped and started wars. Controlled the scales of power,” it was the same speech Madame B gave to you to explain who they were. This time it felt different. Every time he said ‘our’ it sounded like he was talking about you and him. Our Widows. Our girls. Our children.

“Enough!” You ordered. The man stopped mid rant.

“Tell Natalia I said hello,” he raised his hand up and rushed it forward. There was no hesitation when you shot him - directly in the chest. Death would be instant but the red of his blood covered your eyes so you shot again. Then again. And again. Until your magazine was empty. His body fell backwards with a thud. You dropped the gun to the ground and walked over to his body. The adrenaline was leaving, and you began to feel the effects of your injuries. There was so much blood around his body.

You bent down to grab the necklace and saw the similar cut out on his desk. You frowned as you rubbed your fingers over the jewel. Dreykov wasn’t the type to try to kill himself. So what was this? As you tried to line up the placement, your vision went crossed and you began to see double. Falling to your knees, you caught yourself by your forearms on his desk. Finally, you lined it up and heard the click of the gem locking into place. The screens behind you turned on, and you turned around to watch. It was a map of the world. Every few seconds, you would see a dot appear. This was his web of Widows. “Fucker,” you mumbled.

But why show you? That question could be for another night. Now it was time to sleep.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Once again, you were awoken by a repetitive sound. When you woke up from inside the cafe, it was Maria’s voice saying your name over and over again. This time it was beeping. The annoying and constant sound that you wished would stop. You wanted to go back to sleep now that you were in a bed and no on the concert floor of the Red Room.

There was another sound. If you strained your ears hard enough, you heard humming and felt soft fingers run up and down your arm. Natasha. The humming wasn’t to a specific song and it was an act you loved to catch her in. Mostly it happened when she was in the kitchen or sewing together a new pair of pointee shoes. Sometimes, you wouldn’t disturb her and watch her complete the task and the song. Other times, you would pull her into your arms and dance to the song she was singing. Her voice always calmed you; it was a blanket of safety.

Slowly, you opened your eyes and were thankful the lights were dimmed. The humming stopped. “No,” you groaned, turning your head to face your wife. “Keep singing,” Natasha blinked at you, her green eyes taking in your appearance. You were taking her in as well, capturing every detail. She was exhausted, bags underneath her eyes. Still she looked beautiful. “Hi baby,” you smiled.

Her hands shook but you were gently as she cupped your face and traced the new cuts and bruises. You could feel tears forming in your eyes. “You killed him,” Natasha finally spoke. The mention of the man that hurt your family sobered your feelings. “You killed him,” she repeated when you remained silent.

“I did,” you said. “They won’t be able to hurt you, Yelena, Melina, or any little girl ever again. He’s dead. You are finally safe.” A sob escaped past your wife’s lips. Without any hesitation, you ignored the pain that radiated from your body and hugged her. She slumped against you. You felt how tired she was.

In the back of your mind, you knew a conversation would need to be had. You wondered why she kept this part of her past hidden from you. All that could wait when you both needed to be in each other’s arms. “I’m hurting you,” she mumbled and tried to escape the hold you had on her. You shook your head.

“Don’t care,” you replied. “Missed you to fucking much.” Natasha chuckled but managed to remove herself. She ignored your pout and sat back in the chair. After all she was right, the adrenaline was wearing off and you could feel the injuries you endured. She smirked as you sat up more, wincing at each movement. “Shut up,” you teased and took her hand.

“One hell of a last one,” Natasha smiled. You chuckled with a shake of your head.

“Where are the girls?” You asked. You were itching to see them.

“With my parents and Yelena,” Natasha answered. “This has been a lot for them.” You could only imagine what the twins went through but also knew it was a lot for Natasha. From the moment, you and Natasha started dating she’s seen the affects on your deployment more than anyone. Each physical and emotional scare you bared, she carried too.

“A lot for you as well,” you guessed. Natasha lifted your hand and kissed your palm. You left your hand on her face.

“I am glad you are done,” she admitted. “I’m happy that you are letting someone else be the hero. You’ve earned your rest.”

Once Natasha notified your doctors that you were awake, they gave you a quick check-up. They explained every injury you withstood and the recovery process. It was routine at this point. Finally the doctors were done and you were growing impatient to see your girls. Natasha sent a text to Yelena to bring them up while you ate. “I miss Melina’s cooking,” you said. “Do you think she can sneak in some food?” You had nothing against hospital food, but it was bland. You were craving anything with flavor.

“You have learned of my unique set of skills,” Melina entered your hospital room. “And you want me to sneak you food in.” You smiled at your in-laws.

“Start small. Then we start planning to take over the world,” you teased. You ignored the groan from your wife. Melina chuckled and walked over to your free side. She leaned into hug you. It was much softer than the hug between you and Natasha.

“I am glad you he could not break you. You kept your heart,” she whispered and kissed your cheek. You nodded, to chocked up with emotion to find any words. You turned your attention to Alexei.

“Go easy on me papa medved’ (papa bear),” the Russian rolled his eyes and hugged you softer than Melina.

“My girls are strong,” he said. “I knew you would come home.” You let out a shaky breath and found yourself lost for words again.

“Alright,” you heard Yelena’s voice from outside the room. “What did we talk about?”

“Be careful because mom is healing,” you knew you were a goner when you heard Rose’s voice. Your throat burned as you kept the tears at bay. The twins walked in with Yelena behind them. The air was sucked out of your lungs.

“Mom!” Hailey cried. Whatever Yelena told them went out the window. The twins rushed to the hospital bed and climbed their way into your open arms. Their hands gripped onto the flimsy hospital gown so tightly that you knew they were going to rip it. You burrowed your face into their hair and finally let some of your tears fall.

“No more fighting bad guys?” Hailey questioned. You shook your head.

“No more fighting,” you kissed both of their heads. “I’m done.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The medal felt heavy around your neck and every time you tried to take it off someone would come behind you, slap you slightly on the back of your head to keep it on. Maria had one similar, while the rest of the team had various ones. The party was in full swing after the ceremony that honored you and the others for going above and beyond the call of duty. You were watching Bucky and Steve mess around with your daughters. It felt nice to have both of your family’s together. Sipping on your water, you felt Natasha’s arm sneak around your waist and pull you closer to her. “Whatcha thinking about baby?” She asked.

“Just about what’s next,” you smiled. “Ready to see the world as a civilian.” Natasha hummed in response and leaned against you more.

“I heard Paris is lovely this time of year,” you chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “So is the Maldives, Bahamas, and Italy,” you turned to face her and wrapped your arms around her waist.

“Yeah?” You chuckled. “Do you have a list of every destination you want to visit?” She nodded and bit her lip. “Well you know what they say happy wife, happy life.” You kissed her slowly. The party disappeared around you. All that mattered was the woman in your arms. Now, it was your job to make her and your daughters happy. There was no place you rather be.

#natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #black widow imagine #black widow one shot #black widow x reader #black widow fanfiction #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x y/n

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virginsexgod69 · 1 year ago

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REQUEST ‼️‼️‼️

I’ve always wanted to read one where the reader is one of Hershel’s daughters (set in season 2). When Daryl and the group show up the reader won’t stop teasing Daryl and eventually he can’t take it anymore. Please make my dreams come true 😭😭🤘. (p.s virgin reader would be +50 points ;)

❝ V-Card ❞

pairing (S2) Daryl Dixon x virgin!fem!Reader

cw loss of virginity, unprotected p in v, lowkey inexperienced daryl, but also not really?, teasing, some pining, daryl kinda being a boob man, reader being a little pervy at times

note i am so sorry i kept you waiting 32 days for this request @mygrandmaschinacabinet, i really hope you like this and thank you for your patience and kind comment on my other post!

p.s. just bc reader is hershel's daughter does not imply anything ab her appearence

~5.k words

Living on a farm that was fairly far from society, it was a given that you wouldn't see good looking guys too often. But being a good looking girl, the guys you didn't want were always the ones after you, and you'd always have to turn them down. When she gets older, she's gonna have to fight off boys with a stick, was something your grandma would often tease your father, Hershel, about. You laughed it off, not paying any mind to it, but boy did she end up being right. You spent a good portion of your high school years rejecting your suitors, none of which were good enough for you, and none of which you really wanted. But when you finally laid eyes on the most beautiful man you've ever seen, he happened to be one who seemed to pay you no attention.

Odd circumstances brought the beautiful man, whom you quickly learned was named Daryl Dixon, to your farm. Otis shot a kid, Hershel took him in to care for, and his dad's group eventually made a home on your father's land. You couldn’t help but ogle at him from your bedroom window whenever you got the chance. The way his biceps flexed whenever he worked with his arms had your virgin pussy aching to be filled by him. He was a man who you’d let do things to you that you’d let no other man before even think he had a chance of doing.

“Not this again,” Maggie complained upon entering your room. You were perched at your window -like you have been since the group first arrived- watching Daryl skin some squirrels. No one could look as good as he did while doing such a grisly task.

“Can you blame me? Jus’ look at him,” you replied dreamily.

“No thanks.”

“Whatever. You have your eye candy, I have mine.”

“Eye candy? What’re you talkin’ about?” She asked defensively.

“Glenn. I’ve seen the way you look at him, like he’s a piece of meat,” you teased.

“Whatever! Do you need anythin’? I’m goin’ out on a run.”

“With Glenn?”

She let out an annoyed huff and exited the room, not awaiting your response. But you didn’t need anything anyway. You went back to watching Daryl. The sweltering Georgia heat caused sweat to drench his sleeveless shirt and drip from his short, dark hair. He looked like he walked out of one of your many wet dreams. Just then, an idea popped into your head. You hurried down to the kitchen and filled a glass with water, cooling it with the scoops of ice you added. Surely this kind deed would put you on his radar.

“Hey, Daryl,” you cheerily greeted as you approached the rugged man. He sat on a stump, now gutting the squirrels he already skinned. He grunted in response, not looking up from his work. Your smile dropped, not that it mattered, considering he wasn’t even looking at you.

“Brought you some water. It’s pretty hot out here and I wouldn’t want ya gettin’ dehydrated,” you said as you held out the cold glass, now dripping with condensation. “Thanks.” He grabbed the glass, his fingers slightly brushing yours, sending a tingling through your spine. He threw his head back, downing the water. A small stream of water dripped down his chin, then his neck, sliding down his shirt no longer in your vision. You squeezed your thighs together. Every little thing he did drove you crazy. You felt like a victorian man who’d just seen a peek of a woman’s ankle whenever you were around Daryl.

“You uh… Ya need somethin’?” He asked when he noticed you haven’t left yet. You froze. You didn’t need anything, but you didn’t want to leave either.

“Jus’ came to check on ya, I guess,” you muttered.

“ ‘M fine?” He tossed the squirrel’s guts into a bucket.

“Well, alright. My work here is done!” You cringed as the words left your mouth. You grabbed the emptied glass and walked back into the house, chastising yourself the entire way. You wanted nothing more than to have him look at you the way other guys do, but he barely give you the time of day.

The glimmer of sunbeams on your face woke you up the next morning. You glanced at the analog clock on your nightstand that read 11:36. You hopped out of bed and eagerly hurried to your window, hoping Daryl would be back from hunting or looking for that little girl or whatever else it was he did when he wasn’t in his usual spot. He was sat on that stump again, but this time he was cleaning his crossbow with that red rag he kept on him. You couldn’t take it anymore, you had to do something. He couldn’t keep getting away with being so hot and so uninterested in you.

You readied yourself in the bathroom, making sure every hair was in place and every tooth was brushed. You debated putting on makeup. You had some leftover from before, but never had a reason to use it, not until now. You layered on some mascara until your lashes looked twice as long and twice as full and coated your lips with some tinted gloss. You stared into your closet debating on what you thought Daryl’d like better. Your tightest, shortest shorts and a nearly see-through tank top.

“What’re doin’ all dolled up like that?” Your younger sister, Beth asked upon entering the kitchen.

“Makin’ lunch for D-,” you stopped yourself, not wanting another sister catching onto your thing for Daryl, “for the group out there.”

“Daddy doesn’t want us wastin’ all our stuff on them,” she protested. You rolled your eyes at her. She could be such a goody-two-shoes sometimes. “What he don’ know won’ hurt him.” You cut a piece of the sandwich you made and handed it to Beth.

“Eat this and keep quiet.”

You assembled the sandwich and a glass of lemonade on a tray and carried it over to his lone camp. He didn’t look at you until you were standing before him holding the tray of food. His eyes slowly made their way up to yours, lingering on your bare legs and exposed cleavage on their way up. You couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged the corners of your mouth at this small victory. He quickly averted his gaze and set his crossbow down.

“Wha’s all this?” He asked, nodding his head toward the tray in your arms.

“Made ya lunch. Figured you’d be hungry after all that huntin’ and searchin’ you been doin’,” you answered as you set down the tray.

“Uh, thanks?” He seemed confused, but grateful nonetheless. “Of course,” you replied with a bright smile before sauntering off, swaying your hips more than usual. Unbeknownst to you, he watched you until the door closed behind you.

In the days that passed, you upped the ante on your teasing. Daryl noticed. At noon almost everyday, you’d bring him lunch in risqué little outfits. Not quite skimpy, but just enough to tease him. And tease him they did. He already was too nervous to look at you, afraid he might scare you off with his gruff nature and lack of experience with women. He’d choose, instead, to catch glimpses of you when you weren’t watching. Like when you’d leave after bringing him something, or when you’d be around doing farm-work or interacting with the other members of his group. But when you started wearing those revealing outfits, it became harder for him to keep from looking at you. But when he made eye contact with you, he became so nervous and shy that he had to look away. You were the sun. He could feel your warmth, even when he couldn’t see you. You were so bright and beautiful that he felt pulled to look at you, but whenever he did, it couldn’t be for long because he’d forcibly look away, your bright smile burning his sensitive retinas.

Speaking of the sun, there you were. “Daryl!” You called as you ran to him. The actual sun glowed behind you, making you look even more like an angel. He was atop one of your horses ready to leave the farm to look for Sophia. He was shocked to see you since you usually weren’t up until noon. He’d know since that’s around the time he sees you watching him through your window.

“Yeah?” He grunted.

“Ya goin’ out to look for that little girl?” Once you were out of the sunlight, he could actually get a good look at you. Something in him stirred when he saw you in the little dress you had on. It was a cream color with ruffles at the bottom and it gave him a good view of your breasts from his position on the horse. He quickly tore his eyes away and looked at the view ahead of him, which was nowhere near as beautiful as you.

“I figure you’ll be gone for a bit, so I brought you a little bite to eat,” you said holding up a few muffins you made the other night wrapped in cheesecloth.

“T-thanks,” he stuttered. Despite how frequent it was, he was always taken aback by the kindness you show him. He’s never been treated the way you treat him before and it caught him off guard.

“Be back by dinner, okay?” It wasn’t a command, more of a hopeful question, but made his heart flutter.

“I’ll try.” He didn’t want to make any promises he couldn’t keep. You stood there fiddling with your dress about to say something but deciding against it each time.

“Wha’ is it?”

“B-be safe out there!” You blurted before scampering off. He found it odd how you could be so bold with your teasing, yet shy when it came to actually talking to him.

Your words echoed in his head as he searched for any sign of Carol’s lost daughter. Your request of be back by dinner, okay? motivated him to get back to the farm, despite his injuries from the horse tossing him down a cliff making it difficult for him to move. But what really stuck with him was your horrified scream when you saw Andrea shoot him. That scream haunted his dreams while he was unconscious. The terror of it being the last thing he’d hear from you was his real nightmare. So when he heard your soft “Hey,” he felt relief wash over him, despite the pain everywhere else. He blinked his dry eyes open only for the first thing for him to see being your tits. You had on a loose t-shirt with no bra underneath. He didn’t know if this was a part of your teasing or a pure mistake, but either way, his cock stirred at the sight. You leaned down further to look into his eyes.

“How ya feelin’?” You ask, placing the back of your hand to his forehead. He tried to croak out a response, but his throat was too dry. You quickly grabbed the glass of water at his bedside and helped him drink it.

“Better?”

“ ‘M fine,” he said. You gave him a look that said you didn’t believe him, but were humoring him anyway. “You were injured pretty badly, Daryl,” you said as you gently stroked his hair. He caught himself before he could fully melt into your touch. In fact, he moved away from it.

“I know, ‘m fine,” he snapped before trying to roll over, away from you. He didn’t like you seeing him like this. So weak and frail, having to depend on those around him. He didn’t see the hurt expression that took over your pretty face. But, to his luck, you didn’t let him push you away. Instead, you toed off your shoes and got into the bed beside him, facing him. He hoped to the high heavens that you couldn’t see the redness that blossomed on his face when you flashed your bright smile at him.

“I’ll keep ya company,” you promised.

“Don’ need no company, said ‘m fine.” He didn’t know why he was so adamant about pushing you away. The minute he realized you were in here, he brightened up. He didn’t want his sunshine to leave, but he couldn’t help the storm that was brewing inside him.

“Well, if you really want me to leave, I’ll go.” You were almost out of the bed before his clammy hand grabbed your wrist.

“Nah, you can stay,” he said, prompting the return of that bright smile.

When you woke up, the sun was setting and Daryl’s arm was around your waist, holding you close. Your heart swelled, this was all you ever wanted, to be in Daryl’s arms. Okay, well you wanted more than just his arm around you, but small victories! You gently moved his arm off you so you could get up and get some dinner from him and yourself.

“What were you doin’ in there?” Your father asked as soon as you stepped out of the room. He stood outside, about to come in, holding a tray of food for the bowman.

“Nothin’, Daddy, I was jus’ checkin up on our patient!” It was the truth, but it felt like a lie.

“Since earlier this afternoon?” He pressed.

“Lost track of time,” you explained.

“Now, honey, I know you’re just lookin’ out for him, but-“

“I know, I know, you don’t really trust them, but I’m just lovin’ thy neighbor, so to speak.” You bargained.

That response seemed to satisfy him for now. He handed you the tray of food to give you Daryl.

“Daryl, dinner,” you called softly upon reentering the room. He groaned, but woke up anyway. He tried to sit up, but winced in pain. You set the tray down and quickly ran to his side to help him out. You adjusted his pillows and helped him to a sitting position.

“Wha’s fer dinner?” He asked, glancing at the bowl of soup on the tray beside him on the bed. You hummed in thought before dipping your finger into the bowl and sucking it clean, making sure your lips were pouty as you did so, hoping to tease Daryl.

“Tomato.” He hummed noncommittally before reaching for the spoon. You swatted his hand away. “Nuh uh, you’re still healing, let me feed you.”

“I can feed myself,” he protested. You furrowed your brows and pouted at him. He sighed and rolled his eyes, but opened his mouth slightly, waiting for a bite. You smiled, scooping up some soup and spooning it into his mouth, making sure to lean forward as to give him a front row seat to the view down your shirt. You saw him avoid looking the first few times, but soon he was unable to resist taking a peek, and soon his peeking became staring (however, he pretended not to be whenever you looked back up at him).

“Enjoy the soup?” You asked once the bowl was mostly empty.

“S’alright,” he said as he nibbled on a cracker. You grabbed the bowl and drank the rest of the soup directly from it.

“Goddammit!” You cursed when a glob of soup fell onto your white t-shirt. But maybe it was a blessing in disguise, a chance to drive Daryl crazy. You grabbed a random t-shirt from one of the drawers and set it down before taking off the one you had, tossing it aside. You put the new one on as if you didn't just give him a strip show. His face was beet red and he hurried to adjust the blankets on his lap.

"Daryl, you okay? You look a little hot?"

"S'just w-warm in here."

"Let me jus' check your temperature." Instead of pressing the back of your hand to his forehead like before, you placed a gentle kiss to it.

"Feels a little warm." You stayed close to his face. If he moved, even a centimeter, his lips would touch yours, which is what you were hoping for. You glanced down at his lips, then up at his blue eyes, waiting for him to lean in. Despite all this teasing, you kinda wished he'd make a move, too. When he didn't, you pulled away, kissing him on the cheek instead.

"Get well soon, okay?" you said before taking the tray and leaving.

Daryl had been mentally punching himself since that night. He was an idiot for not kissing you when he had the chance. You were right there and so obviously waiting for him to do something, anything. But he couldn't. It'd been so long since he'd done anything with a woman, and even then, he didn't think he was any good. He was almost embarrassed about how inexperienced he was at his age. And someone as beautiful as you obviously would have some experience, so why waste time on him. He didn't want to be the cloud that dulled your shine.

He was now well enough to be released from Hershel’s care, but not well enough to resume about his usual ways. He’d normally disobey orders to take it easy, but when you made him promise to rest, he couldn’t break it. Subconsciously, he glanced over to your window. It wasn’t something he did often, considering you were usually the one watching him, but you were weighing heavily on his mind. He saw you up in your room, assuming you’d just woken up since it was almost noon. You were at your window, rummaging through your dresser -he knew where it was when he caught a glimpse of your room when he was inside the house. You held up a few shirts, probably deciding on which to wear, before pulling your pajama shirt off over your head. This was now the second, no, third time he’s gotten a perfect view of your tits. God they would feel so good in his hands, better yet, they’d look so good bouncing in unison with his thrusts as he fucked you into your mattress. Your teasing and mischievous ways only fueled his fantasies, causing his pants to tighten uncomfortably. The little wave you gave him from your window pulled him out of his own head. You, still topless, blew him a kiss before stepping out of frame.

His heart rate increased expeditiously as he nearly came in his pants. He couldn’t handle your teasing anymore, it was driving him crazy. He wanted you, not just the fantasies in his head and the company of his hand. He wanted to feel your walls squeeze his cock, hear your little moans as he pleasured you until your mind went numb, become one with you as you came in unison. He hurried into his tent and zipped it all the way up before collapsing onto his sleeping bag and hurrying to undo his pants. He liberated his aching cock from its confines and spat on his hand. He rubbed himself up and down, from base to tip, imagining it was your pretty mouth swallowing him whole. He ignored the sound of distant footsteps approaching his tent and instead chased his climax, which was coming embarrassingly fast.

“Daryl?” Your distant voice called, but all he heard in his mind was you moaning his name as your nails scratched down his back.

“You in here?” You asked. Daryl came in his hand, taking extra care to stifle the moan that threatened to spill from his mouth. Reality set in when he saw your shadow standing outside his tent. He quickly wiped his hand off on the closest piece of fabric and shoved himself back in his pants.

“Need somethin’? He asked. He willed you not to notice his flushed, sweaty face.

“Watcha doin’ in there?” You asked, trying to peek into his tent. He moved to block your vision. He didn’t need you finding any trace of his earlier activity. Although, the little dress you had on had him ready to continue said activities.

“Nothin’.”

“Anyway, I came to check on you, make sure you’re takin’ it easy.”

“I am, was jus’ takin’ a nap,” he lied.

“Then why are you so red? And sweaty? Are you comin’ down with somethin’?!” You were starting to sound worried, making Daryl feel guilty. You reached up to feel his forehead and check for a fever, but he stepped back, avoiding your touch. If he felt your skin on his, in any capacity, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold back anymore.

“Daryl, don’t be so stubborn!” You stepped closer only for him to step back again.

“Ain’ got no fever, girl! S’just hot out here!” He insisted.

“Don’ know that for sure. If it is one, it could mean one of your wounds is infected.”

“S’not a fever, ‘m sweaty from workin’ out.” You looked at him with an eyebrow skeptically raised and a hand on your hip. So much for takin’ a nap, you thought. Your eyes traveled down his body before meeting his again, this time with look more mischievous than usual in your eyes.

“Your fly’s down.” He quickly zipped it up, cursing himself for the dumb mistake.

“Anythin’ to do with your ‘work out’?”

“Dunno what yer gettin’ at.” His heart was beating faster in his chest, this time because of anxiety. You were onto him and he was about to get caught, humiliated under your scrutinizing gaze.

“Flushed, sweaty face.” You took a step closer and he took one back. “Dilated pupils.” Another step forward and another one back. “Unzipped fly.” He stepped back, not looking where he was going and stumbled onto the grassy ground. You sat down next to him. “Took forever to open your tent.” Your face split into a grin like the Cheshire Cat. “I’d say you were in there masturbatin’.” He stumbled over his words, looking for what to say in denial of your observation accusation. You pressed your pointer finger to his lips.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You leaned over him and slid your hand down his chest. “I touch myself, too.” His sparkling blue eyes went wide. “Usually thinkin’ ‘bout you when I do it.” You could feel his breathing change as you slid your hand further down his toned stomach. “Were you thinkin’ ‘bout me?” His face was beet read and breathing shallow. You had him and he was more than ready, willing, and able to give in. He nodded his head, confirming your suspicions.

“Well, next time I’m on your mind,” you leaned down, lips ghosting his parted ones, “don’t just settle for your hand.” His lips finally met yours in a heated kiss. The built up tension from his days of pining and yours of teasing finally being released in that kiss. You tangled your fingers in his hair, deepening the kiss, slipping your tongue inside and drinking in all his pleasured groans.

“Wanna go back to my room?” You asked after pulling away.

“Nah, too far. Let’s go inside my tent.” You happily agreed and hurried inside, zipping it up behind Daryl. His mouth was back on yours in an instant, passionately exploring it with his tongue. He kissed his way down to your neck, roughly sucking marks.

“Oh, Daryl!” You shouted when he reached a certain spot on your neck, just beneath your ear. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him impossibly close. Nervously, Daryl’s hand experimented with touching your body, his hands firmly gripping your hips. They were comfortable there and not daring enough to try anything else. He wanted to impress you, but at the same time he didn’t want you to notice that he had no clue what he was doing or what to do next, using the pirated porn and one night stands of his past as reference. Your hands grabbed his and placed them on your tits.

“Touch me, Daryl!” You whined. His hands groped and kneaded at the soft mounds of flesh hidden behind the thin fabric of your dress. He pulled down the front of your dress, freeing your tits then recapturing one by putting it in his mouth. His large hand toyed with the right while his mouth suckled the other. Your little wanton whimpers egged him on, giving him the confidence to try more. Your squirmed beneath him, squeezing your thighs together. His cock was also painfully hard, once again, and yearning to feel your warm walls around him. He pulled away and undid his pants before pulling out his cock, stroking it a few times. He looked up at you, but you looked less excited. Your eyes wouldn’t meet his and your arms were crossed over your chest, hiding yourself from him.

“Wha’s the matter, Sunshine?” He asked, the nickname rolling of his tongue naturally. He was more than excited to sleep with you, but his worry regarding your sudden change outweighed that.

“N-nothin’. Jus’ put it in,” you said hoarsely.

“Nah, we ain’ doin’ nothin’ unless ya tell me wha’s wrong.” It sounded harsh, but it came from a place of genuine concern.

You sat up, readjusting your dress as you did so. “I-it’s jus’,” you nervously fiddled with the hem of your dress, something Daryl noticed you did a lot around him. “C-can we go slow? I haven’t done any of this stuff before,” you admitted.

“You a virgin?” He asked, astonished. You glumly nodded your head as if you were accepting defeat. In a twisted way, that relieved him a bit. Maybe since you’ve never had sex, you wouldn’t notice his own lack of experience. He put himself in his boxers before patting the spot in front of him. You crawled over to him and sat between his legs, your back against his chest. His lips found that spot on your neck again and began sucking there as his hand slid underneath your panties. He rubbed your clit in tight circles, causing your thighs to clamp shut over his hand.

“Jus’ relax,” he coaxed. You relaxed the best you could, but the pleasure kept you from staying still.

“F-faster,” you whimpered. He obeyed your command, rubbing you at a quicker pace. Your head fell back against his shoulder and you moaned in his ear. His other hand slipped beneath your panties and gathered your arousal on his finger, before he slowly slid it inside you, giving you time to adjust. He pumped it in and out of you as he continued to rub your clit. Your back arched off him as you moaned his name. He easily slipped in a second finger with how wet you were. Your velvety walls were so soft around his thick digits. He couldn’t wait to feel them with his cock. He moved his fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion, hitting you in a spot that had you babbling nonsense. You squeezed his fingers with your soaking cunt as your first orgasm overtook your body.

“Daryl, I’m ready. Need ta feel ya inside me,” you slurred. He helped you lay down on your back and slid your panties off before pulling his painfully hard cock out again. Your legs rested over his thighs as he coated his member in your juices before lining it up with your entrance. He slid in as slowly as he could, making sure this would be as painless as it could be for you. You were so soft, slippery, and smooth around him, the best pussy he’s ever had. Once he was all the way in, he stopped to give you time to adjust. He leaned down and connected your lips in another kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled held him close.

“You can move now.” His hands gripped your hips as he started slowly thrusting in and out of you, not wanting to give you too much too soon. His pleasured grunts mingled with your moans as he slid in and out of you.

“More, need more!” You whined. He adjusted your position, placing your legs over his broad shoulders. The new position allowed him to fill you even better. As he pounded in and out of you, the erotic sounds of damp skin slapping damp skin filled the tent, harmonizing with his and your sounds of pleasure. He lifted your dress over your head, getting rid of the barrier between you and him, and tossed it aside. His own fantasies came true as he watched your tits bounce in unison with his thrusts. He took them in his hands again, rolling your nipples between his finger and thumb, bringing you closer to your climax.

“Daryl I think I’ma-” Your sentence trailed off into a moan as you came around his cock. He fucked you through your orgasm as his own approached. He pulled out of you just as he was about to finish and came all over your tits and stomach, like a firehose. You let out a satisfied hum, barely able to keep your eyes open. He grabbed one of his discarded shirts and cleaned you off before laying beside you in the sleeping bag. You rolled over to face him and hugged him close in your arms.

“You were the best first I coulda asked for,” you confessed. Your words soothed his worries that he didn’t perform well enough while also making his heart flutter.

“Guess all yer teasin’ paid off.” You giggled against his chest.

He pulled you closer to him and pulled you in for another kiss, a sweeter, gentler one this time. You dozed off in his comforting arms, wishing you’d never have to leave.

i proofread it, yaaay! anyway, thanks for reading! <3

i wrote this instead of doing my homework, mwahahahah >=]

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hllywdwhre · 1 year ago

Text

My Darling Boy

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Irish!fem!reader

Summary: Tommy’s late night leads to you comforting him and a recount of the first time you realized you loved him.

Warnings: Panic attacks, reader faces anti-Irish sentiment from a stranger, Tommy says some questionable things about the Irish but nothing too bad💀, violence, bar fight. Let me know if I missed any!

Word Count: 2.8K

Notes: This was 100% inspired by @red-write-hand ‘s Tommy bot. My god do I love that thing and fluff it gives me. I tried keeping this as reader friendly as possible, but some details had to be added to fit the plot, such as reader being Irish.

Edit: This has not been proofread and YIKES. Sorry for all the errors😭

Flashbacks are italicized!

You stared at the clock on your wall that read 2:07 AM. Tommy was supposed to be in bed three hours ago. It was your agreement. He could work as late as he wanted as long as he ate all three meals with you and came to bed at 11. The resolve had come almost a year ago when you’d finally told him you, his wife, felt like second place to his work.

But here it was. 2AM, your bed felt cold without him there, and this was the third time this week that he hadn’t come to bed on time.

You tried not to argue with him. He had enough stress with work and you didn’t want to be a source of more stress, but you had his same quick temper and you couldn’t deny that you were more than irritated that he was seemingly back to his old ways of ignoring your agreement.

You made your way down the hall and to his office, leaning against the door frame.

Tommy spoke before you could, “I know what you’re about to say.”

The exhaustion in his voice and the way he looked… defeated immediately caused a change of heart in you, though.

“My darling boy,” you said in a soft voice, making sure to use the pet name you had for him to try and avoid him thinking you were there for an argument.

“Don’t ‘my darling boy’ me,” he replied immediately with a bite in his tone, “Not when you’re here to start an argument with me. What time is it?”

You’d known Tommy since he came back from The Great War. You knew more than well enough by now to not take his words to heart when he was like this. He was taking his anger out on you, whether you deserved it or not.

You had blinded men and taken their tongues using the bladed Peaky Blinders cap for speaking to you the way Tommy was speaking to you, but Tommy was your soft spot. Somehow, you always remained calm when it came to Tommy.

You made your way over to his desk and picked up the empty whiskey glass that was next to a stack of papers that littered his desk.

“It’s 2 in the morning, my love,” you replied in a calm voice. You walked over to the fireplace where his bottle of whiskey sat and refilled the glass then placed it on the desk again.

He picked it up as soon as you set it down and took a long drink from it.

“I have work, you know that. The business doesn’t run itself.” He took another swallow of the liquid and you could see the way his breathing had picked up slightly.

It started to make sense in that moment. You knew Tommy as well as he knew you and as well as you knew yourself. You knew the signs of one of his panic attacks beginning and stepped between him and his desk.

“I know that. I’m not mad at you, darling,” you replied after a moment. You made sure to keep your voice the steady and calm tone you knew he needed at the moment as you spoke. “Can you look at me?”

Tommy took a deep breath before looking up at you and you could see the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead along with the way his eyes seemed unable to focus on you. You lifted your hand to his cheek and gently ran your thumb across it in a slow motion.

“What’s your full name?” You asked him. The questions you would ask him changed from time-to-time so he wouldn’t get too used to them. They were simple questions, enough to distract him and get him to focus on you, but not enough to send him into a further panic.

“Thomas Michael Shelby, why?” He raised the glass to his lips again, but his breathing only picked up more.

You took the glass from his hand and set it on the desk behind you then placed his hand on your chest, right where you knew he would be able to feel your heartbeat.

“Focus on my breathing and my voice. What’s John’s wife’s name?” You asked him next.

You watched as he closed his eyes and did as you said, trying to match his breathing to yours as you began taking slower and deeper breaths.

“Esme,” he answered after a moment.

“When’s our wedding anniversary?” You asked next.

”The 17th of August.”

You knew it was silly, but you couldn’t help the blush that rose to your cheeks at how quickly and easily he answered that question. It was the little things like that which reminded you that you were still his number one priority.

“Can you look at me again?” You asked him once you noticed his breathing had calmed down.

Tommy looked to you, his blue eyes immediately finding your eyes and locking onto them. The corner of his mouth tilted into a small smirk and you returned it with a small smile of your own.

“I love you,” you told him as you crawled into his lap and pulled him into a hug, trying to help ground him more.

He immediately returned your hug and buried his head into your neck. Your hands instinctively rose to the back of his head and gently ran your nails across the shaved part of it.

“I love you, too. Even when I’m a mess,” he replied quietly.

“You’re not a mess,” you argued immediately, “you’re my amazing husband, an amazing business leader, an amazing member of parliament, and the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

A sigh left his lips after a long moment and his head remained buried in your neck. His breathing was no longer panicked and he had relaxed into your hold completely.

“I don’t deserve you,” he muttered into your neck.

“Funny,” you said with a chuckle, “I think the same thing of me.” You moved your head enough so you could kiss his temple. “Love you with all my heart, Thomas Shelby. You’re my darling boy.”

As soon as the pet name left your lips, he was chuckling into your neck. It was one anyone else would be maimed for calling him, but somehow you saying it had won him over.

“Love you, too,” he murmured in response.

After a couple long minutes of the two of you curled into each other, and once you were sure he wouldn’t panic speaking of it, you asked him,

“What led to it?”

He immediately knew what you were asking and shook his head in your neck,

“Nothing,” he replied in a defeated voice.

You pulled back enough to cause him to raise his head and she the quirked brow you were giving him,

“Thomas Shelby, what do you tell me every time I try to say the same thing?”

Any time you tried to belittle your problems, Tommy was the one who was telling you that if it was causing you troubles, then it wasn’t nothing and it was worth talking about.

He grumbled something under his breath about using his own words against him and then finally answered.

“The bloody Irish,” he said loud enough for you to hear.

You couldn’t stop the giggle that left your lips. You knew Tommy knew better than to think she was laughing at him or her problems; you were simply laughing at the irony of it all.

“What have my people done now?” You asked, purposefully making your accent come out as thick as possible to pick on him.

“Made an illegal shipment without our say so,” Tommy replied and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Well… we’ve never liked to obey the English. I think my ancestors are rolling in their graves at how soft I am with you,” you teased, hoping to get at least a chuckle out of him.

It worked and you could feel the way his body shook the slightest bit as the small laugh left him,

“You’re not soft, darling, you’re just civilized,” he teased in return.

You pulled away with a look of mock offense on your face,

“Hey, now! My people are very civilized, we just know how to have fun,” you told him.

You know Tommy held no actual disdain towards you or your Irish blood. He himself was part Irish. He only spoke this way around you to get under your skin and pick on you.

“If you call bar fights being civilized then sure, darling.” The smirk on his face told you he was still only teasing you.

You scrunched up your nose as you looked at him,

“Maybe not your strongest point, love. I’ve come home with a black eye from an English bar fight where, for once, I was genuinely an innocent bystander and I had to keep you from going after half of Small Heath,” you pointed out.

Tommy’s face immediately darkened at the memory of that night and he tried to stutter out some defense of how it was different, but you shook your head no.

“You know that was the night I realized I loved you?” You told him as your own version of the memories flitted through your mind and you tried to distract him from the darker thoughts of his mind.

Your words seemed to catch him off guard and he looked up at you with surprise written on his features.

“Really?” He asked, unsure how else to reply.

You nodded in response and you felt another deep blush creep onto your cheeks. One thing you and Tommy had in common was that vulnerability didn’t come natural to you.

“Would you care to know how I remember that night?” You asked to which he nodded. “It was after a day of shopping with Ada and Esme. You and I had been together for three months at that point, and Ada and Esme were sure we were going to end up getting married, so they wanted to make sure I knew I was part of the family.”

You knew he knew all of this, but you wanted to tell him the whole story of how you had come to the realization and what had happened leading up to the fight.

”After we were done shopping, Esme had John meet us up at The Garrison so we could all have a drink.”

The three of you stumbled through the doors of the pub, giggling over something Ada had said.

John motioned the three of you over to the table he was sitting at, already having ordered a round of drinks for you. It was the first time you had sat outside of the private room the Shelbys had, and the last.

In the middle of the three of you telling John about the new dress Ada had bought, someone who’d had one too many drinks came stumbling over.

“I don’t get you Shelbys. You serve your country in the war then associate with some Irish scum,” he spat out, motioning from John to you.

You had met the other Shelbys while Arthur, Tommy, and John were in France. Polly had needed a bookkeeper for the betting shop and had taken you, even vouching for you when they had returned. After a year of working with them, one incident where you had been used as bait that had gone too far, and you’d been forced to defend yourself, Tommy had decided to make you an official Peaky Blinder. You may not wear your Peaky cap, but the bladed item was also on you. Offers had been made to hide blades in other women’s items of clothing, but you had denied. You had learned how to hide the cap among scarves, shawls, or in your bags and you wanted the official Peaky Blinders symbol.

John had immediately jumped to your defense that night in The Garrison.

“She’s a damn Peaky Blinder and has been for years! She can be trusted as well as any Englishman or woman.” He had defended, standing up to meet the man eye-to-eye as a warning to leave.

“Do you know who you’re talking about?” Ada said next, standing up also, “Irish or not, she’s Tommy’s girl and a Blinder.”

“I don’t give a shit if she’s Tommy’s current whore or not. She’s Irish scum and I don’t want to be in a pub with the likes of her,” the man spat back at Ada.

Esme and you both stood up at this and the rest of the pub had silenced as they watched the scene unfold. Seemingly out of thin air, a couple other Blinders that were present came to stand beside John as he told the man to leave the pub while he could still see the door.

Next thing you knew, Esme had pulled you harshly out of the way as a glass shattered against the wall behind you.

Chaos broke out immediately. Despite you trying to fight against them, a couple patrons or other members of the Peaky Blinders (you weren’t sure which) had tried to drag you, Ada, and Esme back to the office. During the mix, a blow landed on your cheek and you quickly swung back.

The fight seemed to halt immediately after. Even if the guy was brave enough to harass you for being Irish, throw a glass at your head, and fight John over everything, everyone else seemed to realize the grave mistake that had been made in that moment.

No one touched Thomas Shelby’s woman, and there she was with a bruise already evident on her cheek.

John grabbed the guy by the scruff of the neck like he was nothing more than a rabid dog, called for you to follow him, and called for Esme and Ada to be walked back to the betting shop and for all the members of the Peaky Blinders present to go there, also.

You walked with John to the canal and were told by John that you ‘could do the honors of killing the bastard’ yourself.

After the deed was done, the two of you had walked back to the betting shop and arrived at the same time as Tommy.

You remembered the worry on his face as he looked for you, the anger that took over when he spotted the black eye, him screaming at everyone to give him an answer as to what had happened and who had harmed you, and the way he had pulled you into his arms in a hug that nearly crushed you.

You remembered the feeling of safety that washed over you once you were in his arms, the feeling of home, and the way you were able to ignore the chaos around you as others explained what exactly had happened that night.

You remembered the way he wouldn’t let anyone else touch you until he had personally looked you over for any injuries.

You remembered the look he had when you told him you’d killed the man. The disappointment over not being the one to do it himself, but the pride in you standing up for yourself.

“I remember being absolutely terrified when it finally clicked in my head what I was feeling. I have never feared you, but I was terrified of ever getting my heart broken again. I knew Esme and Ada had said they were sure we would be married, but my own insecurities came into play, and I was terrified you’d realize how much of a mess I could be and you’d leave me,” you told him, leaned in and kissing him softly for a moment before continuing on, “You never left me. Even when we’ve fought, you never let me feel like you were going to leave me. I learned that no matter what happened, you’d move the earth, heavens, and hells to make sure you always came back to me.”

Tommy remained silent as you finished your story. He opened his mouth several times to speak, but it seemed you had actually managed to make the man speechless.

“I love you, Thomas Michael Shelby,” you muttered as you leaned in to kiss him again, “I meant it the first time I said those words, when I accepted your proposal, when we said them at the altar, when I say them now, and every time in between. You’re my darling boy through it all.”

His hand came up to cup your face and he rested his forehead against yours, “I’ve meant them all, too. You’re mine until the end of time.”

#thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #Thomas Shelby x you #Thomas Shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby #Peaky blinders #Cillian Murphy

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diettwistup · 1 year ago

Text

HALF OF YOU

PAIRINGS: tashi duncan x f!oc, art donaldson x f!oc, patrick zweig x f!oc

SUMMARY: No matter how bright Tashi Duncan shined, her best friend, Milan Mikaelson, wasn’t far behind. Though seeming second best, Milan would never let that define her career. Holding as much fame as Tashi, Milan encountered Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson. Would this encounter change the trajectory of her life, and would it completely alter her relationship with Tashi Duncan?

WARNINGS: challengers spoilers, reader is milan mikaelson, sexual situations, language, angst, plot alterations.

WC: 5.1K

NOTES: hiiii!!! hope y’all enjoy this next chapter cuz it’s not my fave thing ever LOL. was also too lazy to proofread so sorry if there's errors. i’m also gonna be going on vacation with no internet for a little over a week so next update will be after that! thanks for reading luv u 💋

READ BEFORE THIS: INTRO and ONE

CHAPTER 2: DOUBLE TROUBLE

CHALLENGERS TOURNAMENT, NEW ROCHELLE - 2019, 1:00 PM

Gnawing on my bottom lip, I gripped my dress as Tashi got up and cursed before walking off, disappointed with Art’s performance.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going.” I shot and grabbed her wrist, eyeing her up as I took my sunglasses off.

Shaking my grasp off of her, she bent down and spoke dangerously close to my face.

“If he’s not gonna play tennis, then I don’t wanna see shit.” She seethed and walked off, brushing off her dress with each stride.

As I watched her go, I could feel a pair of eyes on me. Darting my attention back to the match, Art was already looking my way.

Shooting him a sad expression, I put my sunglasses back on, huffed, and sat back in my seat.

All he did was shake his head and rub the sweat off his face while Patrick smirked proudly.

He sure seems to love this.

Sighing, I raised one hand to my mouth to bite my nails, the nerves of the match taking over my entire being.

At the next serve, I carefully watched the strategic movements behind the boy’s every motion. They have always been outstanding players, and I furrowed my brows as I thought back to the first time I saw them play against each other.

The stupidity of Tashi and I, dumb enough to pin two best friends against each other. We should have never stepped foot in that godforsaken hotel room.

Shaking my head, I closed my eyes. The crowd's roar echoed around me as I thought back to the night that started it all.

The night that ruined it all.

THE BOY’S HOTEL- 2006, 12:00 AM

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!” I exclaimed to Tashi as we made our way to the boy's hotel room. “Why the fuck would you let them come down when you knew I was there?” I shot at her as I smacked her arm.

Tashi smacked me right back, making me let out a hiss and shoot a cold glare at her.

“I don’t know why you're acting like you don’t have a game. You’re the best at playing hard to get.” Tashi responded and shrugged as if it was as simple as adding two plus two.

“You’re a bitch.” I muttered and rolled my eyes as the hotel came into view. “What do you even plan on doing with these two.” I raised my brow at her and studied her expression to gauge what was going through her mind.

“What we usually do,” she responded, smiling at me. Hypnotize them with our charm and have a good time, of course,” She said proudly as if this was second nature for us.

I won’t say that Tash and I haven’t had our fair share of fun with boys, but something like this, with two boys who knew their way around the game themselves, was certainly daunting.

“Fine, but you should have heard how they talked about us at your match. It was disgusting.” I pretended to gag and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Perfect, we already have them locked in then.” She nudged my arm before leading the way to the room.

Rolling my eyes, I smacked her again before following behind her.

On the way to the room, I got lost in my thoughts. How did we get ourselves into such a situation? I hope Tashi doesn’t expect us to have a foursome of any sort because I don’t have the patience to deal with a whole ordeal like that.

Approaching the door, Tashi stopped to let me walk ahead of her.

“Perfect, Mila, you can see your ass poking out of your shorts.” She smirked and gently patted it until I swatted at her hand with a laugh.

“Fuck off, let’s go,” I scolded, waiting for her to catch up, as she knew which room to go to.

Once we reached the door, Tashi knocked and softly bit her lip. Scuffling was immediately heard behind the door, signifying that the boys were startled by our appearance.

I moved to press my ear to the door with a slight smirk which Tashi returned as she did the same.

“They’re crazy…” I whispered to Tashi, to which she responded with a nod and a soft hum.

When we removed our ears from the door, it swung open so quickly I couldn’t make out the motion.

The boys stood at the door, looking extremely disheveled. Patrick wore boxers and an unbuttoned linen shirt that looked like it had been shoved in his tennis bag and forgotten. Also wearing boxers, Art wore a beater t-shirt that looked like it had never been in the wash and dryer a day in his life. Both of their hair was ruffled and unkempt, making it look like they had just gotten out of bed.

Raising an eyebrow, I was the first to speak. “What, did you two just get done fucking?” I questioned as I looked between them and placed my hands on my hips.

Patrick just burst out into laughter while Art spoke up.

“No…fuck no…” He muttered with a laugh as he patted Patrick on the back.

Drunk as sailors.

I nodded at this before resting my eyes and glancing at Tashi, who smiled fondly at the two, but I knew she was plotting.

“So, hi,” Tashi spoke calmly with a smile that immediately brought the boys back to Earth as they moved aside to let us in the room.

I had to stop myself from covering my nose as we entered the room.

Reeks of beer and cigarettes…typical boys.

Two beds pushed together were messily made. Beer cans, cigarette buds, and clothes were everywhere, though it looked like someone had tried to tidy up a bit.

That explains all the noise.

Patrick mindlessly spoke to Tashi as I continued to scan the room, not noticing that Art was eyeing me up. Turning my head, I caught his stare, which didn’t make him falter. He only continued to stare before coming up to me and handing me a beer.

“Didn’t know you were gonna come.” He spoke as he looked down at me through lidded eyes. Tipsy eyes. And, of course, he had a smirk, but it spoke I’m glad you came, really.

I continued to study his expression as I let my guard down a pinch. I shrugged nonchalantly as I took a long swig of the beer, knowing I would need it to get through the night.

“Had nothing else to do. Figured why not.” I spoke calmly as I let my eyes rake over his entire figure, drinking up his messy look which he really really pulled off. Never would I ever admit that for him to hear.

Or me.

“Well, glad you’re here.” Art said as he took the beer can from my lips and sipped it while he stared into my eyes, flickering to my lips for a moment.

I kept my eyes trained on his as I refused to back down in this staredown, showing that I couldn’t be swayed that quickly just because he was extremely attractive.

“You two, come sit,” Patrick spoke up from the ground by the bed where he sat with Tashi.

Nodding at this, I waited for Art to take his eyes off mine before I made any movement to sit. After a few seconds, he nodded and placed a hand on my lower back to walk me to where everyone was sitting.

I shivered slightly at this as I softly bit my bottom lip, hiding this motion from him, but I knew Tashi saw it by her smug little smile that said I told you so.

We haven’t even done anything, and I suddenly feel like I’m in the trenches.

The next couple minutes were used to discuss how Patrick and Art met each other and how Patrick, predictable enough, taught Art how to masturbate, all while we all took sips from the beer can that Art had given me when we first got here.

“Y’all are weird as fuck.” I snorted, a bit tipsy, wiping my mouth from my last gulp as I looked between the two boys who had red cheeks from a mix of alcohol and embarrassment, and can’t forget, two big smirks.

“No, Mila. I think it's a cute story.” Tashi nodded with a smile in an attempt to reassure the boys jokingly—a tactic she used to fully reel them in.

I rolled my eyes at this and fake glared at Tashi. “Only if you’re fucked in the head!” I laughed again while the rest of them laughed with me.

“Don’t tell me you two haven’t done anything weird like that,” Patrick said, making me whip my head to him before glancing back at Tashi.

“Yeah, you two have known each other since the womb. There’s no way you haven’t done nothing.” Art added and took a long swig of the beer can before passing it to Patrick, eyes trained on me for longer than I would have liked.

I shook my head with a small laugh before looking back to Tashi, who gave me an eyebrow in return, signaling something.

You ready?

…

I’m ready.

We nodded at each other before standing up and looking down at the boys.

“You guys aren’t leaving-“ Patrick started but stopped when he saw the two of us moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

My eyes locked with both of them briefly as I flashed the most innocent smile I could muster.

Here we go.

“Patrick, come sit by me…” Tashi spoke and patted the space to her left.

You didn’t have to tell him twice. He sprung up so fast he spilled the beer can everywhere on the carpet, but he couldn’t give a fuck.

As he sat down next to Tashi, my eyes locked onto Art’s. I did not need any words to tell him to sit by me.

He took the hint immediately, got up almost as fast as his best friend, and sat beside me, thigh already touching mine.

I turned to face him with lidded eyes and a small smile. I could hear his breath hitch as Adam’s apple bobbed, signifying that he took a small gulp. I softened my eyes to let him know it was okay to relax and that he could be comfortable around me.

Even though Tashi wanted to play with these boys like putty, I felt a little different about the situation.

As I tilted my head at Art slowly, I saw his face contort into a grin that radiated his comfort and need.

Leaning in slightly, I placed my hand on Art’s chest, noting how firm it felt through his thin shirt. Art mirrored my leaning in but instead placed a hand on my thigh. As I neared his lips, I teasingly pulled away as I felt Tashi pat my back. I smirked slightly at this and turned around as my lips met hers instead of Art’s.

It was an innocent kiss, a tactic to get these boys right where we wanted them. This action certainly answered their questions about us, and I hope it was worthwhile.

Once again, I could feel Art’s eyes piercing the back of my head, so I moved my hair off my shoulder and tapped the side of my neck so he would know what to do.

Almost immediately, his lips were latched onto my neck. I wondered for a moment if he was a vampire because of the way he was sucking on my neck. I figured he was searching for a blood vessel. Poor baby must have been deprived of any female touch, but the way his lips sucked profusely on my pulse point, I could tell this wasn’t his first rodeo.

Tashi and I pulled away from our innocent kiss and shot each other small smirks when we noticed that Patrick and Art were too lost in our necks to give a damn.

I tapped Art’s thigh so he would know to stop, which he reluctantly did. His lips were a bit swollen, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off them. Biting my lip, I reached up and brushed a finger across his bottom lip. As I did this, Art grabbed my hand and studied it before gently kissing my finger where my nail had broken. My eyes widened at this as my heart threatened to beat out of my chest.

Keep. your. composure.

Shaking out of my daze at his action, I smiled softly once again and leaned in slowly to connect our lips, hands on the back of his neck, threatening to tangle in his blonde curls.

Pillows. His lips feel like pillows.

The kiss was soft until his hand moved from my thigh to my waist. He pushed forward a bit until my back fully hit Tashi and tried to part my lips by biting my bottom one, but I pulled away before he could get that far.

Too easy.

Licking my lips to taste him, I turned back to Tashi, who placed her hand on my cheek to kiss me lightly again. As her lips melded with mine, I gingerly placed a hand on the base of Art’s jaw and slowly pulled him towards Tashi and me’s kiss. Immediately, I could feel Art’s lips meld with Tashi's, mine, and then Patrick’s, knowing that Tashi had done the same with him.

Now, the four of us were all kissing, making me slightly clench my thighs. Only slightly.

After about five seconds, I felt Tashi tap my back to signal me to pull away slowly.

As we both pulled away, Art and Patrick were full-on making out, not noticing that the two of us had abandoned the kiss. I glanced at Tashi with a smirk as she watched them in satisfaction.

It took everything in me not to giggle as I watched the two continue to eat each other's faces fervently.

Specifically Art.

After a beat, Tashi spoke up.

“Okay.” She said, which made the boys freeze and pull away from each other.

Immediately, they both looked at us in shock.

Got ‘em.

I tilted my head at Art as I gently reached my hand out to trace shapes on his thigh while he looked down at me like I had three heads.

“That was cute…” I mouthed to him with a soft smile as he continued to eye me up in shock mixed with a bit of awe.

“Well, we should get going before our parents freak out and wonder where we are,” Tashi says. I sit up as I follow suit, cutting any tension in the room.

Standing up from the bed, I chuckled to myself as I brushed off my clothes and fixed my hair. “It’s been fun,” I said, aiming my comment at Art. Thank you for having us,” I finished with a small, innocent smile as Tashi and I left.

“Wait!” Patrick said which stopped us in our tracks.

Turning around, Tashi and I shared matching grins that we quickly hid when we faced the boys.

Art spoke up next as he looked right at me. “What about your numbers?” He asked as he stared at me like a puppy deprived of dinner.

I crossed my arms and shrugged. “If you win tomorrow, I’ll give you my number,” I said plainly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“And I’ll give you my number if you win tomorrow,” Tashi said to Patrick just as plainly as I did.

Both boys shot each other smirks before nodding in agreement.

Tashi and I said our goodbyes before leaving the hotel room. When we were out of earshot, we both started laughing.

“We have them wrapped around our pretty little fingers!” Tashi exclaimed as she wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

I laughed at this and wrapped an arm around her waist. “I really hope Art wins,” I said in a dreamy tone of voice as I thought back to his face, lips, chest, everything, really.

Tashi shook me back and forth with a smile as she exclaimed, “I’m just ready to watch some good fucking tennis!” She laughed, knowing that the two boys were really going to battle it out with this new prize put into motion.

STANFORD UNIVERSITY - 2007 5:00 PM

As I slowly trudged from the tennis court to the dining hall, I felt my arms giving out.

“Fuck this damn bag,” I whined and went to a nearby bench to take a breather and bask in the California sun.

Today’s practice was by far the worst of the semester. I worked with my coach on my serve to prepare for my upcoming match, where I would face an opponent ranked decently high in the state.

Closing my eyes and throwing my head back to catch the rays of the warm sun, I let out a groan. I probably looked like a corpse to every passerby, but just like Tashi, they knew me, so hopefully, they would just smile and wave.

“Rough practice?” An extremely familiar and captivating voice snapped me back to reality.

Opening my eyes, I was met with my favorite pair of light blue eyes—something he would never know. Of course, a smirk adorned his features, and his blonde curls were tucked into a backward red cap, most certainly saying “Stanford” on the flip side.

“Art…” I spoke almost breathlessly as I sat up, brushed a piece of hair out of my face, and used my other hand to block the sun that Art’s head almost blocked.

“Hey, can I sit?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets, and nodded to where my bag was on the bench.

Quickly moving it to sit in front of my feet, I patted the empty seat next to me. “Sure.” I smiled at him and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear.

Over the summer, I would never allow myself to be so forward with Art Donaldson. I couldn’t speak for my present self, though. Since Patrick won the match, he and Tashi started dating after he scored her number. I, of course, was too upset to act like I didn’t give a damn about not being able to give Art my number. Tashi insisted that to keep their passion and drive for tennis alive, I keep up my end of the deal and don’t give Art my number. Hesitantly, I agreed as I knew how easily a stimulus like that can create great results. Since the match, Art and I have never spoken except for the occasional hello when passing by each other on the tennis court or dining hall. This moment was the first time I could speak with him since everything, and since I may have developed a slight…crush.

“So,” He started and turned his body on the bench to face me fully. “How have you been?” He tilted his head and tapped the back of the bench while studying my face.

Inhaling a sharp breath, I turned my body to face him fully, bringing one leg up and letting the other drape off the side of the bench.

“Do you want an honest answer?” I chuckled softly as I moved my hands to remove my hair from its braids.

In turn, Art laughed gently while smirking at me. His stare narrowed as he studied my face, acting like I was an old friend he had known for years.

“Well, if the honest answer is terrible and cruel, then I’m not so sure.” He responded and immediately matched my energy.

Damn you, Donaldson.

“Hey.” I softly laughed as I moved my dangling leg to kick his gently while I finished taking my hair out.

I wondered for a beat how I wanted to summarize months of memories, feelings, and experiences into one sentence, and this made me sigh.

“It’s been rough. Majoring in biology and the grueling tennis schedule makes me wanna rip my hair out.” I spoke in a low tone as I ironically and subconsciously began to play with a strand of my hair.

“I feel smothered.” I finished and silently cursed myself for acting so vulnerable.

That was three sentences, Milan. Not one.

As I stared at Art almost helplessly, his eyes softened.��

“I feel the same way, trust me.” He chuckled softly before removing his hat and running a hand through his hair. “It really sucks, but it’s gonna be worth it,” He ended his thought before putting his hat back on.

“Fuck, and I thought I was the only one. Quite naive of me.” I laughed before looking back up at the sun. “It’s whatever, though. You’re right, and everything will come into place and be worth it.” I continued as I looked anywhere but at Art’s piercing stare.

Silence. He didn’t respond. He didn’t laugh. He did nothing except stare. Stare in a heavy silence that brought me back to the night in that damn hotel room.

After a few beats, I returned to my senses, slowly stood up from the bench, and brushed my skirt off.

“Well, I didn’t mean to stay here for long, so I’m gonna head off.” I went to pick up my bag as I spoke disappointedly.

I couldn’t allow myself to fall into the trenches. I needed to focus on my studies and tennis. Hard work makes everything worthwhile, and a boy isn’t part of that everything right now.

“Wait, Milan,” Art spoke up and grabbed my wrist, his grip as firm as it would be if he held his racket.

This made me freeze in my tracks. What the hell did he think he was doing?

My eyes slowly met Art’s as I parted my lips to speak, but nothing came out, so he spoke for me.

“It’s been months, Milan,” he started, his grip on my wrist still firm, his eyes scanning my face for any hints of discomfort.

“I know we only really talked with each other that one night and had no time to get to know each other, but I would like to get to know you better.” He didn’t falter. Not once. I don’t even think he blinked.

My lips had gone dry, and my voice, for some reason, grew hoarse.

“Art…” I slowly began as I looked down at his hand, gripping my wrists. “The four of us had a deal…” I made sure to tread lightly with a severe tone.

Two feet and ten toes on the ground. Don’t falter. Don’t give in.

“They’re a happy fucking couple, Milan. I doubt they give two shits.” He stated matter-of-factly as I felt his thumb rub up and down on my wrist.

How naive.

Biting my lip in thought, I began an internal battle with myself. I wanted this so bad. And I could tell Art wanted it just as bad as I did—possibly more.

I deserve a win other than tennis.

Sighing, I removed my arm from his grasp and moved to my tennis bag to look for a piece of paper. Instead, I found a piece of muscle tape and a small pencil. Quickly scribbling down my number, I could feel Art trying to see what I was doing.

“Here,” I said with slightly red cheeks as I stood back up and handed him the piece of muscle tape. “Don’t go blowing up my phone now,” I playfully scolded before picking up my bag and walking past him, glancing at the triumphant smile playing on his perfect features.

Perfect? …yeah.

Before I began my trek to the dining hall, I touched Art’s shoulder and whispered in his ear.

“I didn’t want to admit it, but I really wanna get to know you more, too.”

NEXT DAY, STANFORD DORMS 11:00 AM

MEET ME IN THE DINING HALL FOR LUNCH?

My eyes stared at the text in utter disbelief. Art certainly didn’t take any time once he got what he’d been craving all summer.

“Why do you look so shocked?” Tashi laughed from the foot of my bed as she hit my leg.

Fuck.

My eyes looked to her as I shut my phone, put it next to me, and picked my computer back up to pretend to look at my study guide for an upcoming biology quiz.

“My mom sent me a weird text,” I laughed awkwardly before covering my face with my computer.

“Are you fucking with me?” Tashi laughed as I heard her moving up towards my side of the bed.

She shut my computer to look at my face, which was for sure red as a tomato.

“You’re lying,” she smirked before sitting on her knees and clapping her hands. What is it? A boy? A girl?” She persisted as she grabbed my leg and widely smiled at me.

I rolled my eyes at this before clicking my tongue. “Why are you so dead set on the fact that I was texting someone romantically?” I crossed my arms and bit the inside of my cheek, probably a dead giveaway.

Tashi’s face fell as her brows furrowed, and she crossed her arms, mimicking me.

“You’re joking, right?” She started before studying my stern expression. “We’ve known each other for what, eighteen fucking years?” She used this as a tactic to crack me. “I know your every expression and what it means. I could write a thesaurus on you if I wanted to.” She stated as she sucked on her teeth, brows still furrowed.

I stared at her sternly for a few beats before sighing and turning my head to look anywhere but at her.

“Fine, you got me…” I trailed before uncrossing my arms to fumble with my fingers. “but this is the first time I’ve received a text, so it’s not important.” I put my hands up and looked at her as an explanation as to why she shouldn’t ask questions.

I should know better.

Tashi’s annoyed face instantly turned into a happy one as she bounced on the bed and continuously hit my leg.

“Who is the lucky guy? or girl…” She tilted her head with a goofy smile, which she would only show me.

“It’s a boy…” I sighed before turning my head to look at my closest, as it suddenly looked very interesting.

No matter how long I had known Tashi, I couldn’t gauge how she would react to this. She’s a very pushy person who likes everything to go her way, but I’m hoping that since it’s me, she will react differently.

She shrieked and shook my legs back and forth with a giggle.

She’ll be so disappointed.

“Who is it? Is it that cute boy I caught you practicing with the other week? Or that one boy that you sometimes study with from your Chemistry class? Or maybe it's that random guy from the baseball team I saw you talking within the dining hall last week?” She fired off in a millisecond as I stared at her in utter disbelief.

“Okay, first of all, how did you know about all of those? And second of all, the first guy is gay, the second guy has a girlfriend, and the last one was giving my pencil back to me after using it for a quiz we took in statistics.” I responded as I rolled my eyes so hard I thought the whites of them would turn permanent.

“I’m your best friend. I know everything.” She spoke eerily with wide eyes before breaking into a smirk. “So, come on! Tell me who it is!” She bounced repeatedly on the bed and shook me back and forth until I finally had enough.

“Fine!” I exclaimed and threw my hands up in the air.

Fuck it.

“It was Art, alright.” I threw my hands up as I bit the bullet and came clean.

Tashi’s face dropped almost instantly as his name fell off my lips. She wasn’t happy. Not at all.

“What the fuck do you mean?” She laughed in disbelief as she shook her head and moved her hands from my legs.

I immediately sat up more and moved towards her.

“I saw him after practice yesterday, and we got to talk,” I explained as I bit the inside of my cheek in anticipation. “He asked for my number, and I figured since everything happened months ago, there would be no issue…” I trailed off and looked her straight in the eyes with a pleading expression.

Tashi just stared at me and shook her head slowly.

“We had a deal with them…” She stared at me with an accusatory face.

“Tash, I know,” I exclaimed and grabbed her hands. “But you knew I liked him more than what happened in that hotel room. Plus, you and Patrick are happy, so why should it matter?” I asked and shook my head as I gripped her hands.

She stared at me as if I kicked her puppy and gasped in her throat. “Um, to keep their passion alive? To ensure they both strive for better and strengthen their relationship with tennis?” She spoke as if it was plain as day.

Furrowing my brows, I slowly shook my head and parted my lips, shocked.

“Is tennis all you care about?”

I shouldn’t have said that.

My words echoed in my mind as I retracted my hands from Tashi’s and bit my lip, feeling defeated. Her stare pierced into my soul as she looked away from me and placed her hands on her thighs.

“If this is what you want, go ahead. I can’t and won’t stop you.” She spoke slowly before eyeing me.

Fuck, I messed up.

“But never think for a second that I care about tennis more than you.” She choked out as she looked at the picture of us in fifth grade sitting on my bedside table.

At this, my eyes widened, and I nodded slowly as a single tear slid down my cheek. Moving towards Tashi, I wrapped my arms around her waist and hugged her.

“Pinky promise?” I whispered into her neck while she returned the hug.

“Pinky promise.” She responded and grabbed my hand to interlock our pinkies.

342 notes · View notes

ninus9607 · 2 months ago

Text

To love a witch pt1 - Wanda Maximoff

Pairing(s): Wanda Maximoff x Female! Vampire reader

Word count: 5.5k

tags: l content: Soulmate AU, Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Vampire!Reader, Slow Burn Romance, Dark Themes, Blood & Violence, age-gap, Morally Grey Protagonist, Supernatural Abilities, Blood Drinking

The story contains graphic violence, dark themes, and slightly possessive behavior

AN: Hiii guyss! I am back! Finally ahahahha.... I decided to split one big oneshot into 2 parts soo enjoyyy. I will try to write the second part asap <3 Also sorry about every mistake, and I will be glad for every comment, like or vote <3

The clock on the wall rang too loudly in the silence, and the smell of aged whiskey and stale cigar smoke hung heavy in the air. You did not mind. You thrived in environments like this—quiet, heavy, and unpleasant. It improved people's ability to read. And the man sitting across from you was nervous despite his well-made clothing and government connections.

You could smell it on him.

You sat back in the leather chair, one leg crossed over the other, one hand resting lightly on the armrest, and the other casually tracing the rim of your drink. When his gaze shifted to the clock for the sixth time, your lips curled in a slight grin.

"Relax, Mr. Calloway," you said, your voice silky smooth yet with a sharp edge. "You've called me. I believe you know what type of organization you were looking for."

He cleared his throat, attempting to find bravery that he did not have. "Yes, I did. I'm just- this is complicated."

"Isn't it always?" You answered in an annoyed tone. "You fools never call me when it's simple."

He slipped a thin, cream-colored folder across the table. You did not rush to open it. Instead, you fixed your focus on him, seeing the slight shine of sweat forming at his temple.

"You don't seem like the type to be this anxious," you said, enjoying how his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

"This man is dangerous. And connected," Calloway stated hastily, as if saying it faster might help him get out. "It has to be clean, quiet, no traces back to me."

"Of course," you said quietly, eventually reaching for the file.

Your fingers grazed the front cover, and you waited a moment before opening it. A few security photographs, clipped stories, and a name you had heard in traveling: Thomas Crane. Former government spy. Asset has gone crazy. Nothing you hadn't come across previously.

Until you noticed a line buried halfway down the final page.

Currently under the protection of the Avengers.

Ah.

A smile pulled at the corner of your mouth as you leaned back, the folder still open on your lap.

"You left out an important detail, Calloway," you remarked, your tone cold but strong. "He's got Avengers breathing down his neck."

Calloway paled and tugged on his collar. "I-I didn't think--"

"No," you interrupted him, raising your hand. "You didn't. Luckily for you, I'm good at cleaning up other people's problems."

You grabbed your phone out of your pocket and wrote a fast message. Full info. Tomas Crane. How heavy is the shield that surrounds him?

The response came very instantly. Stark monitoring is at its highest degree. Barton, Wilson, and Maximoff are on rotation.

That got your attention. You let out a soft giggle. Interesting.

You put down your phone, meeting Calloway's chaotic glare. "Normally, I'd ask for eight hundred grand."

His face twitched, revealing an anxious smile. "Consider it done-"

"I'm not finished." You lifted your eyebrows, cutting him down with just a glance. "Since you forgot to add Earth's Mightiest security detail, it's one million. Half now and half when his dead body is cold."

The room became quiet. Calloway soaked his lips, clearly considering his choices before immediately nodding.

"Done."

You grinned, slowly and dangerously. "We didn't even negotiate. You must really want this bastard to die."

"I... do."

"Any preferences?" you said softly, scrolling over the file once again. "Quick and quiet?" Or should I send a message?"

He paused for too long, then his expression darkened. "Make it hurt."

You smiled wider. "That's more like it."

You got to your feet and slipped the file back over the table.

"It's a pleasure doing business with you, Calloway," you muttered, placing your phone back into your jacket pocket. "You'll get your receipt soon enough."

And without another look, you stormed out of the room, the weight of his gaze hanging on your back like a ghost.

You spend your next week stalking him and his routine.

The apartment smelled of old money and terrible secrets. You walked across the room like a shadow, the aroma of perfume and cigars lingering on the walls. Thomas Crane wasn't at homehis calendar was busier than most politicians', but you knew how to sneak in. Your inside contact had handed you the codes an hour ago.

It was far too simple.

You searched through his desk drawers, looking for confidential information, coded records, and images you couldn't take your eyes off of. The man was worse than the whispers said. Not only a trafficker in influence and blood money, but a pedophile. One drawer had horrible photos. Your stomach twisted with disgust, and the anger was sharp and icy.

Your throat tightened. Even a vampire that has lived for hundreds of years might feel sick.

You weren't focused on the photos, but the one you caught made you uncomfortable. Killing this man no longer seemed like a job. It felt personal.

"Fucking bastard" you said under your breath.

You went for your phone and sent a discreet text message to one of your team members who was waiting outside.

Find the nearest opportunity for assassinating him. now

You'd complete what you came for tonight.

But before you could go, your stronger senses noticed something. Footsteps. Not one pair, but several. Moving quickly and with discipline. You froze, your head jerking towards the door.

Voices.

Shit.

A female voice talked clearly and confidently over an earpiece. "We're in position."

Recognition flashed. You have heard that voice before. Black Widow. Natalya Romanoff. That meant...

Avengers.

A cold feeling rushed through you.

You rushed back toward the balcony window, disappearing into the shadows as the front door flew wide.

Then you felt it.

A pull. An unusual current of electricity in the air. Old magic grew on your skin, like something awakening after decades of sleep. Your pulse quickened. Your fangs pushed firmly on your bottom lip.

Then you saw her.

She stormed into the room, wild hair, piercing stare, and strength hanging to her skin like a second, living creature. Red energy flashed across her fingertips.

You didn't know her name. You'd heard murmurs of the Scarlet Witch, but files never did acknowledge the truth.

Because one look, one heartbeat, and your world is shattered.

Time slowed. The air thickened.

Your vampire instincts - honed, cruel, and disciplined- were destroyed by something older than bloodlust.

Your body reacted before your brain did. Fangs dropped. Pulse roaring. Every inch of you lit up with wild, unrestrained want.

Your hands held the window frame so tightly that the metal cracked beneath your fingers.

You should not have stayed. You should have gone as soon as you felt them coming. But you could not move. You couldn't take your eyes off her.

She looked around the room, her power surrounding her like a real being. And for a single second, her eyes shifted from the window to you.

A burst of fresh, essential electricity passed through you.

She did not see you. Not really. But she felt something.

You could see it in the slight wrinkle on her forehead, the way her eyes narrowed, and her lips parting slightly as if to taste the air.

"Someone was here," she said softly, her voice heavy with accent and skepticism.

Natasha said behind her, "Then they're long gone."

However, they weren't.

You were still there, huddled just beyond the balcony, hidden by shadow and glass, watching her.

Your chest heaved, and something deeper was twisting in your stomach. You'd never felt like this before. Not with anyone. Not even close.

It scared you.

And it surprised you.

"What the fuck are you?" You whispered to yourself.

Because you weren't meant to have a soulmate, that was not in your cards. You symbolized death, violence, and decades of blood-soaked nights.

But one look at her—one incredible, soul-binding glance—and you knew.

That was her.

And she'd destroy you.

You waited a little longer, putting her face on your mind. You had never seen a picture. Only classified information. Names in a file.

Then, finally, you forced yourself away, dropping down silently onto the fire escape, vanishing into the night. But even as you fled, your heart, your bones, your blood screamed for you to turn back...

Later that night, the city sprawled out in front of you, bursting with neon lights and noise.

The world seemed small from your position on the ledge of the high-rise rooftop. Cars snaked through the streets like arteries, lamps blinked like distant stars, and a faint thrum of music, sirens, and drunken laughing slipped into the darkness. The wind tugged on your hair, expressing the bitter fragrance of rain, yet the storm clouds stayed without breaking.

It should have calmed you.

It used to.

You'd always enjoyed looking down at the city from above, feeling distant and untouchable. The world below, with all its cruel secrets and ruthless little games, could not reach you up here.

But tonight, it seemed too loud.

Too alive.

Because of her.

Your fingers beat wildly on your thigh as you leaned back against the cold stone ledge.

You had not seen her face until this evening. You'd heard murmurs, sure, but everyone in your line of business knew who the Avengers were. An issue that you avoided. Something that you didn't want to start.

But then you walked inside that flat,

That pull.

And then you saw her.

You knew what it meant. Your kind only got one.

And yours... yours was standing in the same goddamn room, "Fucking perfect," you'd hissed to yourself.

Your vampire instincts didn't make mistakes. She was yours. Fate had written it in blood centuries before you were born.

And you'd rather tear your own heart out than claim it.

Because you didn't do love.

You didn't do forever.

You killed people. You enjoyed it, you survived.

Not this.

Your phone buzzed.

A text from one of your people.

"Files secured. Attendance confirmed. Party next week."

Good. Work. A distraction, you slammed the file shut. But the job wasn't done.

The event was set for a week starting tonight. A high-profile gala. Charity for appearances; dirt behind closed doors. Politicians, businessmen, military leaders, and, as you may have heard, the Avengers are on security detail. Of course, they'd be there. A perfect, shining cover.

You had already set the plan in acmotionPower would go out at your signal. Your blow would be covered by chaos. Inside and outside. Quiet and clean.

You took the paperwork and tucked it under your coat, your fingers firm even if your heart wasn't.

"One million dollars, you son of a bitch," you mumbled. You tipped your head back, one last look at the restless city, then stepped off the building's edge, vanishing into the night.

Next week....

Your car's engine hummed as if it were alive, sleek and threatening beneath your palms. It was midnight black and polished to a mirror shine, cutting through the city streets like a predator on the chase. The city lights flashed across the glass as you drove, one hand on the wheel and the other gripping the earpiece between your fingers.

"Status report," you whispered, your voice cool and chilly, conveying authority without having to exude it.

"Perimeter's set," Becca said via the communicator, "Security at the west gate has doubled since this morning, but we have eyes. The power grid is ours as soon as you say so."

You grinned while tapping a nail on the driving wheel.

"Good. What about Mr Crane?"

"Upstairs. VIP lounge on the third floor. A tight circle of bodyguards. There has been no evidence of the Avengers, but rumours suggest they will arrive soon." Pffft

Of course they will. You almost hoped they would.

As you got long road leading up to the event, the magnificent mansion became visible. A huge, large property served as the site for the evening's incredible show. Expensive cars lined the way in, and photographers flashed lights at everyone with enough money or power to matter.

"Final check," you repeated into your communicator. "Exit ways?"

"North gate is left alone. The east hallway leads to the removal spot. There are no snipers or drones overhead."

A delighted murmur escaped your throat.

"Then it's a beautiful night to have fun, right?"

You came to a stop near the red carpet, and an attendant arrived, showing nervousness soon as he noticed your sipresenceGood. You wanted them to be nervous.

You stepped out of the car, heels clicking on the ground, your dress catching the light like spilled wine. Conversations stopped, heads turned, and gazes lingered. You didn't recognize any of them.

You were here for one reason.

As you neared the great hallway, a security guard stood in your path, hand raised.

"Name, invitation, and—"

You glanced at him, a slow, deadly smile twisting your lips.

"Look at me," you murmured, your voice a gentle blade, "you're going to let me through." His eyes widened immediately, as the vampire's affect slipped over his mind.

"I'm... going to let you through," he repeated, dazed, stepping aside as if it had been his idea all along.

"And forget about me." He simply turned around and let me in; oh, how simple that is.

The hunt had begun.

You slipped through it all as if you belonged there, which you did. Nobody would question you. Not tonight.

A glass of rich red wine slipped into your palm, snatched from the table with expert elegance.

"Eyes on him yet?" Becca's words crackled in your ear.

"Not yet," you muttered, gazing at the shining crowd.

You moved to one of the tall, arched windows, leaning a shoulder against the marble frame as you let the soft notes of the quartet wrap around you. It was a game of patience now, and you were very, very good at waiting.

Another sip.

You let your gaze wander, catching snippets of hushed conversations...

Every clink of glass, every scent of perfume, and every heartbeat in the room fought at the back of the throat. The wine had been a poor replacement for what you truly desired. You could feel it: the tightness in your jaw, the way your eyes remained just a little too wide in the dim light, and every pulse in every neck around you ringing out like a siren.

Hunger.

You rolled your eyes and tipped your head back, suppressing the urge to groan. "God, I need a drink," you muttered under your breath.

Thomas Crane, greasy little bastard in an overpriced suit, reeking of power and fear, moving through the crowd like he owned the place. You straightened from where you leaned against a marble column, eyes locking on him like a hawk. The pulse in your throat skipped.

There you are, you piece of shit.

You began to move, moving through the crowd with the grace. The world slowed, and your senses sharpened like blades.

And then—of course.

Captain America himself was standing alongside him, smiling as if this was a healthy gathering rather than an evil lair. Steve freaking Rogers. A clean-cut, good boy scout with biceps. His presence was like a cold shower in your warm, twisted night.

You paused in your steps, squeezing the bridge of your nose.

"Are you kidding me right now?" You whispered, partly to yourself, half to the communicator. "Of all the goddamn nights..."

Becca's voice cracked back, suppressing a chuckle. "Problem, boss?"

"Yeah, America's Ass is speaking up my payday." You looked at them with droopy eyes. "If I didn't already want to kill this guy, I'd do it just to get the blonde boy scout off my case."

Your hunger spiked again. Not just for blood, but for the satisfaction of sinking your blade into Crane's smug chest and feeling the heartbeat stop under your hand.

Your communication crackled faintly in your ear. "The south doorway is protected. The power generator is ready when you are, boss."

You grinned, one sharp canine just grazing your lip.

"Good," you muttered, your gaze never leaving Crane. "We drop it on my word."

Someone is watching you.

Natasha Romanoff appeared in front of you, over polished marble and clinking glasses.

Red dress. Eyes like ice. One brow rose in silent awareness.

Shit.

She was not shocked to see you. But she was worried.

You saw her tilt her head, fingers quietly stroking on her comm. Your increased hearing allowed you to hear the words as if they were said right next to you.

"We have a problem, guys. Protect him immediately."

Your lips curled into a slow, wicked grin.

The music kept playing. The guests kept laughing. But for you, time felt like it held its breath.

Your hand lifted, brushing dark hair off your shoulder as if to flirt with someone across the room, but the motion was for your team.

"Lights down."

You whispered it.

And the world obeyed.

A heartbeat later, the chandeliers flickered once. Twice.

Then the entire room plunged into darkness.

Steve Rogers was good. Fast, powerful, and experienced. But you were something else completely.

Before he could respond, you appeared in front of him like smoke, a blur of grace and power, and swung your arm once, one clean, amazing backhand — sending him falling into an iron pillar with a loud boom.

He collapsed to the ground with a moan, stunned but breathing. Not your problem.

Your dagger was already at hand.

You turned on Crane, your grin wild in the darkness, teeth shining as his eyes widened.

There was something delightful about his fear, the way his throat shook as he tried to swallow it, the way he stumbled back against the wall as if he could melt through it and get away from you.

"P-please—"

You put a finger to your lips, mockingly. "Shh," you grinned. "You're ruining my fun."

Then you laughed.

Not respectful. Not gentle. A deep, rich, sharp-edged sound rang true through the darkness.

Without saying anything further, you plunged the dagger immediately into his belly, twisting as you went. He made a wet, gasping sound, his eyes became hazy, and red spilled down his front.

You leaned in closer. "I normally take my time," you hissed against his ear, voice smooth and deadly, "but you, Thomas... You were never worth the effort."

He slumped. Dead weight.

You let him fall.

And as his body hit the ground, you lifted your gaze to the shadows, already hearing the buzz of a repulsor charging and footsteps scrambling.

But you simply grinned. Because it was done.

The lights snapped back on.

Everything stopped for a single second. The shining room was a jumble of fallen tables, broken glass, and terrified guests gathered together, murmuring in terror.

Natasha was already moving. She ran across the floor, dropping to her knees near Thomas's crushed body. Blood pooled beneath him, painting the marble floor a rich scarlet. His dead eyes gazed up at the ceiling.

"Shit," Nat whispered under her breath, pushing two fingers on his neck despite knowing it was pointless.

Tony burst in through the glass in full costume, metal boots crashing against the floor.

His mask pulled out, revealing a confused, annoyed Tony Stark.

"What the hell happened here?? I leave for two minutes, and it turns into a murder mystery?"

Steve stared around, tensed. "Someone took Crane. Fast."

Tony reviewed the room. "Security said there was no breach of security. Whoever did this was already inside."

Natasha kept silent, her gaze fixed on the window.

Tony gazed at her. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Natasha's voice seemed calm, yet something about it was odd. "We need to talk in private."

Steve lifted his eyebrow. "You know who did this?"

"I'm not sure," she replied. "But I've got a bad feeling."

Tony frowned. "That's helpful."

Natasha stood slowly, cleaning blood off her gloves. "Trust me. If it's who I believe it is, we have a much bigger problem than one dead billionaire."

From across the city, you stood on a rooftop, one hand resting comfortably on your hip. A smirk tugged on your lips.

You knew she had seen you. And that was the fun part.

Avengers Tower – Next Day

The conference room on the top floor of the Tower felt naturally quiet. The morning sunshine came through the huge glass windows, catching on the edges of modern technology.

Wanda Maximoff sat at the far end, holding a cup of tea with both hands. She looked drained, her dark brown hair a little tangled, her eyes influenced by a sleepless night.

Pietro fell into the chair next to her, his fingers beating on the polished table like a clock. He wasn't meant to wait.

"Why are we even here?" he murmured, flashing a gaze at the door. "It's too early for this."

Wanda glanced at him. "Maybe if you didn't stay out half the night causing trouble, it wouldn't feel early."

Pietro grinned. "I wasn't making problems. I was practicing."

"конечно" (of course)

Across the table, Sam Wilson rested in his chair, nursing a mug of black coffee. "Practicing what? How do I get detention?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," Tony Stark said as he entered the room, sunglasses pushed up into his hair and a cup of something expensive-looking in hand. He sank into a seat with a big sigh.

Wanda leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Where's Natasha? She called this meeting."

"No clue," Tony muttered.

For a little while, the room was quiet.

Sam looked around. "Does anyone else feel like...? Is something wrong?"

"You mean besides someone getting murdered right under our noses?" Steve murmured.

"Yeah. That."

Before anybody could respond, the door opened and Natasha walked in, a file clenched in her hand and her face stone.

"Morning," she responded, her tone harsh. "We've got a problem."

Without saying anything, she dropped the folder onto the table. Photos poured out — primarily unclear security camera footage,

A woman. Dark eyes, like twin daggers. A bright dagger in one hand. Blood splattered on a cheekbone like battle paint.

"That's our killer," Natasha said without preamble.

Everyone leaned in.

"Who is she?" Sam asked.

Natasha took a deep breath.

"Her name is Y/N. We've known about her for years, or believed we did. She is a vampire. A professional assassin. No loyalty, no reason. People hire this type of person when they do not want to leave any trace. Shield had attempted to track her previously. "Never came close."

"A vampire," Tony repeated, as if to make sure he had heard correctly.

"Fast. Strong." Natasha continued, "Smart as hell." And risky. She has taken out politicians, CEOs, and military officials. Last night, she threw Steve across the room as if he weighed nothing. That alone should frighten you."

Wanda muttered softly, "She was laughing." Everyone turned to her. She hadn't intended to say it out, but the picture stuck in her brain. That grin. Like a beast in blood-soaked silk.

"She's the best there is," Nat replied, holding Wanda's gaze for a time, something unreadable going between them. "And she doesn't miss."

"Why the hell was she after Thomas?" Tony asked, confused.

"This was not a random hit. Someone spent a lot of money to get Thomas Crane out, and Y/N doesn't do favors. Whoever it was has money and influence. And I do not believe this is over."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"I mean, whoever hired her isn't done," Natasha said gently. "There will be another target. And another after that. I can feel that this is part of a larger play."

"So what's the plan?" Tony asked.

"We don't just hunt her down. We get her on our side."

"She's dangerous, yeah," Natasha said. "But if we don't get her first, somebody else will. And we cannot afford to allow whoever is behind this to continue to use her as a loaded gun. She may be the only one who can bring us close to whoever is pulling the strings."

Wanda's fingers curled around the cup. She wasn't sure if it was an itch of fear or something else completely, but she didn't speak.

"We find her," Natasha murmured, her voice quiet and confident. "And we make her to be on our side before they do."

A few days later....

You noticed her long before she showed up.. The quietest sound of a heartbeat struggling to keep steady.

Amateur.

You turned onto a side path without breaking stride. The darkness greeted you like an old friend. You waited.

"Miss Romanoff," you said without looking around, your voice silky as good whiskey. "Surely you have better ways to spend your afternoon than chasing creatures older than your country."

Natasha entered seconds later, mouth set and arms folded. "You don't make yourself easy to find."

"That's rather the point."

A pause. The tension was tight, heavy. Natasha gazed at you seriously, but you were not in a hurry. You never were.

"We need people like you," she eventually said, her voice low. "Things are moving. Borders are being drawn. We could need a lady who knows how to get her hands dirty."

You smiled softly. "Delicious. But, sweetheart, I've been through more of your selfish problems than you can count, and they all end the same way: bodies in the ground with no one left to remember why."

Natasha kept staring. "It doesn't have to be that way."

You took a step closer, the distance between you charged, but you made no effort to threaten. "I am not a soldier in your battle, Romanoff. I choose my own battles. And my loyalty, once bought, is expensive." A smirk. "More than your Stark's pocket change can cover."

Natasha exhaled through her nose. "Think about it."

You dipped your head with that old-fashioned, mocking bow. "I do not think, miss. I make the decision."

Without extra word, you turned and vanished into the darker streets, leaving Natasha alone.

"She's going to be a problem," Natasha whispered into her comm.

And you smiled to yourself as you blended into the crowd.

They've been doing this for almost a month now.

You feel them – they're always watching and chasing shadows. Their footsteps are trying too hard to be quiet, and their gaze stays just a second too long when you pass by in the crowd. When one of them gets closer, the tension in the air is palpable.

Foolish.

You always manage to slip past their grasp. You're there one moment and gone the next, like a ghost in the wind.

And in the meanwhile, you feed.

Not recklessly - you're far too careful for that. However, your hunger has always cost a price. A politician here and a trafficker there. A man whose crimes would make the devil tremble. Targets for hire, or simply those that the world would not miss. The monster is kept under control, but only just.

Until your last mission…

The ballroom was a return to another era, with tall chandeliers shining with hundreds of candles.

It felt like home.

This was your world once. A world where monsters wore silk and pearls and death arrived disguised as midnight.

Your target tonight: Lord Sebastian Hale. A man as vile as the rumors claimed. Whispers of the children gone missing in the neighboring villages.

You watched him now, laughing too loudly, his hands too familiar on the waist of a girl who couldn’t be older than sixteen.

Pervert.

You swirl the wine in your glass, seeing the crimson wine reflect the candlelight like blood in a vase. The old ballroom hums with subtle string music.

You lean against a stone pillar, mainly listening to the symphony and half watching your target giggle at a private joke near the fireplace. His fate was locked in the moment you accepted the job, and his blood would soon mark the floor.

But for now, the wine is plenty, and the night is young.

A presence draws you, and you recognize it before you see her: warm, electric, pulling at something old and buried in your chest.

And then you see her.

The woman in front of you is clothed in red, which seems wicked against her pale skin, and her dark hair falls loosely over her shoulders. Her eyes—God, those eyes—were a shade of green you'd never seen before, soft and powerful all at once. You feel like the world is closing in on you.

"May I have this dance?" Her voice is lilting, with a strong accent.

For the first time in a very long while, you forget how to speak.

You gently placed your wine down, a tiny, amused smile curving your lips. "I suppose I can spare a moment," you say softly, your voice softer than normal.

Her smile grows wider, and she extends her hand.

Without hesitation, you accept it. Her touch is warm, and it causes a shiver in your freezing skin. Everything falls into place as if it were always meant to be.

She brings you to the floor, and you let her, which surprises you more than it should.

The music surrounds you both as you drift smoothly around the floor. Wanda's hand feels warm in yours, steady and confident. You attempt to duplicate her calmness, but your dead heart beats a little quicker than you would want.

"So," you continue quietly, trying to sound casual, "how is the Avengers' recruitment work going? I guess I am not your first target tonight." You said ironically.

Wanda giggles softly, as if revealing a secret. "You're definitely the most interesting one."

Your lips move into a little smile, a nervous habit you don't notice yourself doing. "Is that a compliment, or a warning?"

She leans in, "Maybe a little of both."

You swallow, trying to focus on the dance rather than the fire building in your chest. "I've been around for a long time. You believe you know someone based on a few stories and rumors, but the reality may be darker."

Wanda nods and takes a step closer. "I'm not afraid of the dark. Sometimes it's the only thing that seems honest."

Your eyes meet...

"So, what's next?" You ask, dropping a tone. "Are you going to convince me to join you? Or threaten to stop what I'm doing?"

She smiles, "Neither. I want you to decide. "Because only someone like you can make that decision."

You chuckle with a short, breathy tone. "Miss Maximoff, you're brave. I like that."

"And I'm just getting started," she continues, keeping her gaze fixed on you.

You tighten your hand slightly around hers, a delicate, almost undetectable move, and guide her into a slower turn as the orchestra transitions to a more gentle melody.

"So," you mutter, your voice a little harder and softer, "tell me, Miss Maximoff... Do you ever get tired of the hero business? Saving the world must be exhausting."

Wanda lets out a small laugh, her lips curling into something genuine. "More than you'd imagine. But I suppose being hunted down for a living isn't really a holiday."

You chuckle, your thumb brushing over her hand in a way that could have been innocent if not for the way your gaze stayed on her. "Touché. But we aren't here to talk about me or the world breaking apart, are we?

Her brows rise, revealing a hint of question and maybe something warmer beneath. "Then what are we here for, exactly?"

The song is slowing, though neither of you makes a move to leave the floor.

"You're not what I expected," Wanda said softly, her voice cutting across the thick air between you.

The corner of your mouth twitched. "Is that so, Miss Maximoff?" you drawled, allowing an old accent to twist your words. It always made them pause and made their pulse race. However, she didn't. No, she only grinned, as if she knew you too well already.

"I expected a monster," she said.

"And what am I, then?" Though your throat felt tight, you asked with a light expression.

"Something dangerous," she confessed. "But not heartless."

"You shouldn't say such things, Miss Maximoff," you murmured, leaning in just enough to get a whiff of her perfume. "You might give a girl the wrong idea."

Her smile became cheeky. "Maybe I'm hoping to."

The music slowed down, the violins soft and quiet. The rest of the world was focused on her hand in yours, the rise and fall of her chest, and the slight flicker of red light beneath her lashes when she blinks.

"Come with us," Wanda asked softly. "Please help us put an end to this.You don't need to be alone in the dark anymore."

You swallowed hard. Every instinct screamed to run. You didn’t owe them anything. Didn’t owe her anything.

And yet.

"Yes."

Wanda's lips parted, a little flicker of surprise reflecting in those forest-green eyes.

But before that warmth could sink in, you leaned in closer, your breath ghosting across her ear.

"But first," you muttered, "I have one last piece of business."

Wanda hardly had time to respond before you gently removed her hand. You moved across the floor, the crowd separating like water in your path.

Your gaze fell on Lord Hale, who was too busy talking to a group of impatient, pervet nobles to notice death coming.

You removed the blade hidden beneath your dress with one quick, trained move, its silver sparkle catching the light of the chandelier. Before anyone could shout, you stabbed it deep into his chest.

His shocked cry rang in the sudden silence.

Blood erupted against his white waistcoat, leaving a growing, damning sign.

Gasps, shouts, and everyone comes to a stop.

Across the room, you caught Wanda's gaze: calm, steady, and without judgment. Only the same quiet promise.

You grinned, blood pouring through your veins and your vampire senses burning. Around you, chaos exploded. Guards reach for weapons, guests cry, and someone shouts orders via a communication device.

"We've got a situation—" a voice crackled over the Avengers communication line.

"сестра, what's going on?" Pietro asked. (Sister,)

But Wanda... Wanda just grinned. A slow, secret thing as she tilted her head and spoke into her communication device:

"Let her go."

That stupid smile was the last thing you noticed before diving through the stained-glass window in a spray of color and light.

You knew you'd come back.

Because now you belonged to her.

And she'd wait.

#marvel #fanfic #wlw #marvel imagines #marvel preferences #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine

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