#russian swear words hit different...

[pomponchik]

Some illustrations from russian edition of svss:

[queers-gambit]

Let the Bodies Hit the Floor

prompt: what happens when Tangerine's little lady is targeted in their home?

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 9.1k+

note: this got away from me. like wtf is this plot, Cherry?

warnings: author still runs with Tangerine's name being Aaron and Lemon's being Brian. inspired by GIF, established relationship, Russian Mafia vibes, physical violence / assault, blood, character injury, small angst, mostly hurt and comfort, Tan and Lem standing on business.

The skirt of the designer dress fanned around your thighs when you turned swiftly from the stovetop to a separate counter in order to collect the chopped vegetables. Light music filled the space between the sizzling of different dishes cooking, bare feet sticking to the linoleum floor of the kitchen.

"Right," your sweetheart, Aaron, announced as he jogged down the glass stairs while fixing his cuff link, entering the shared space, "know I hate t'do this, love, but I promise we won't be long."

You smirked, "Uh-huh, and where have I heard that before? Oh! That's right, when you - "

"Oi, oi, oi, you know I ain't mean to disappear in fuckin' Kyoto for 6 weeks, love," he repeated in exasperation, "please, stop holdin' that against me."

"I'm not," you sang in a singsong voice, dropping the vegetables to the stir fry you were preparing, "but you know, you say you won't be long, and then you disappear for random amounts of time."

"You know why," he sighed, buttoning his suit jacket as he closed the distance between you, "and you know it ain't my choice."

"Yeah, yeah, job first, girlfriend second."

"Not even close t'what my priorities are," he smirked, snatching your hand to twirl you around and tug you closer to face him. You grinned up at him, hands landing on his chest; letting his arms lock around you to keep you pressed against his impeccably sculpted body. "You look so beautiful tonight," he whispered, eyes flickering over you, "just love you in this dress. Could ravish you right here, right now."

"Yeah?" You cooed, "Recognize it?"

"Hm, feels rather expensive," he pet around your hips and waist, cheekily moving them around to grip both arse cheeks; causing you to gasp lightly, "thinkin' I must've gotten it for yah. Huh?"

"From Paris last month," you chuckled.

"Ah, yeah, I remember. Lemon was right hacked off we spent so much time shoppin', but no way was I gonna come home without something for yah." He sniffled and patted one hand in a gentle smack on your bottom, continuing, "Now, listen, sweetheart, I know tonight's real important to yah, so, I promise, Lemon and I will be back before the main course, yeah?"

You tisked, "Don't fucking call him that, you know I hate it."

"Apologies, lovely girl. Listen, I won't have my phone on, so, you need me, call Brian - "

"'If I need you'? See, now it's sounding like you're gonna disappear again, Aaron," you complained. "What the hell's this job anyway?"

"Nah, don't worry 'bout nothin'," he promised, "'cause we'll be back in time for your li'l dinner party."

"You know tonight's important for us - both of us!"

His eyes rolled, "Yes, yes, t'finally get your father's approval, right?"

"More like my whole family," you reminded with a roll of your eyes. "Goddamnit, I knew you weren't gonna take this seriously - "

"No, hey," he soothed, squeezing his hands to gently jostle you into silence, "tonight's very important to me, darlin'. I swear it, yeah? We'll be back in time, promise you."

"Good, you better."

"But in case, call Brian - "

"Aaron!"

He grinned, watching your own lips spread, "Jesus Christ, can't take a joke no more, can yah?"

"Maybe on less important days."

"Duly noted." The apartment's buzzer sounded, your boyfriend sighing, "Right, then. That'd be Lem - aht, ahem, Brian." He frowned, "Feel bad skippin' out on yah like this, but duty calls, baby."

"Mhm," you hummed, lifting on your toes to peck his lips. "Just be careful, please."

"I always am."

"You literally crashed a Bullet Train into an entire village - "

"Told yah, that was the Ladybug twat!"

"You also got shot! A centimeter to the side and you'd have bled out your fucking jugular."

"Again, the Ladybug twat."

"Potato, po-ta-toe."

Aaron chuckled, kissing you again, his mustache tickling your skin; groaning in annoyance when the buzzer sounded again - but for a prolonged time. "All right," he pulled back only to peck your lips again, "I'm off but I'll be back real soon. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Good without me?"

"I have to be," you teased, petting the lapels of his suit jacket and readjusting his tie. "Go, before you give your brother a fucking aneurism."

"Right," he chirped, pecking your forehead with a loud smooch. Swiftly, Aaron reached over to pluck a carrot from the wok, hissing from the heat, "oh, hot, hot, hot!" You swatted his bottom as he stepped away, eating the veggie, knowing you hated when he sampled your cooking while in the midst of actually cooking. "Mh! Tastes divine, sweetheart, maybe a bit more garlic. Love you!" He called over his shoulder, dropping a quick wink.

"Love you," you repeated, smiling; feeling lucky in love. You watched him go; his curls slicked back, classic navy blue suit on to make the crisp white button-up stand out, his shiny dress shoes winking at you. With a sigh, you focused again on prepping an admirable meal for the evening, planning on hosting both your divorced parents, their partners, and three older siblings.

Obviously, as the youngest kid, any and everyone you dated fell under heavy scrutiny.

The plan was to shmooze them into accepting Aaron as your lover, something your father and eldest brother were specifically vehemently against. But you weren't a little girl anymore, they couldn't dictate who you loved, but you could do your part to make your contract killer boyfriend more appealing to your kin. Easier said than done, but tonight was about at least trying.

So, you cooked a series of dishes to present on the grand dining table your boyfriend had furnished your apartment with, yet never utilized. Humming to the music, you hopped around the cooking space, and about an hour later, the apartment's buzzer was sounding in an obnoxious echo.

Dusting your hands off, you rushed to the comms system and pressed the big green button that unlocked the door building's front door. You left the door to your flat unlocked for easier access, rushing back to the kitchen to finish plating dinner. Not a minute later, the door opened and in walked your family; bottle of wine in your father's hand and a bouquet of flowers in your mother's.

Your father, Edward, had his newest wife on his arm; in the tallest heels you ever saw and a dress made of sequins, being far too short for this kind of event.

You mother, Linda, powered walked ahead of everyone with her boytoy of the month kept a close distance to the matriarch. He was probably just a few years older than you - but you were dating a contract killer agent, there was no room for judgement.

Your eldest brother, Robert, or better known as Bobby, entered with an aurora of arrogance; instantly looking around and judging your home unfairly. You sister, Mabel, just looked stony and stoic; completely bored of that night already. Lastly, your brother older by just a single year, Jonathan, or John, or John Boy, followed behind your siblings, wearing a thick gold chain against a classless wife beater.

"Oh, I'm so glad you made it!" You squealed, opening your arms and practically skipping close to greet your parents and their partners. "About time, don't you think?" You smiled at your father, hugging him first and kissing his cheek.

"Well... Guess better late than never," he begrudgingly agreed. "You remember my wife, Crystal?"

"Of course," you tried to politely smile and offered the fake-blonde a greeting kiss to her cheek, "lovely to see you again."

"Thanks for the invite," her tired voice drawled; indicating she'd rather be literally anywhere else.

"Mum," you moved along, hugging and kissing her cheek, too. "You're look fit."

"Thank you," she sighed.

Looking to her boyfriend, you greeted, "Thanks for coming, Keith - "

"It's Toby."

You blinked, "Huh?"

"Name's Toby," he explained.

"Right, right, Toby, my fault," you apologized, ignoring the look he sent your mother as you greeted Bobby, Mabel, and John Boy.

After, your father stiffly asked, "So? Where is he? This boyfriend you want us all t'like so much, huh? Not even out here to greet us?"

"Running an errand, but he and his brother will be back for dinner."

Bobby scoffed, "So, we do all this for him and he's not even home? Wow... Real stand-up guy, innit he?"

"You're also here to see me, aren't you?"

"We see enough of you, we're here for your dumbass boyfriend you're so enamored with that you missed Christmas last year."

"Bobby," you warned, taking your mother's flowers and heading back into the open-concept kitchen to locate a vase and fill it with water. "You're gonna play nice tonight or I'm gonna be really pissed," you warned your family, "and I'll cancel the New Years trip."

"Woah, hang on," your sister, Mabel, interjected, "let's not be hasty, the night's only just beginning - no need for threats."

"I know," you smirked at her, "it's called incentive."

"Truly your father's daughter," you mother scoffed and rolled her eyes. Edward just mocked her and handed over the wine bottle; making your mother snip, "No drinks to offer us? Not a very diligent hostess, are you, darling?"

Her sickly sweet tone gave you a cavity, but this was simply how your mother behaved when around her ex-husband - all passive aggressive and holier than thou.

You pointed, "There's an entire cart behind you, there. Help yourself."

"Hm," she hummed, nodding, turning to make herself a hefty bourbon with Toby right behind her.

"Um," Crystal hummed, "do you have seltzers?"

You almost laughed but managed not to, "No, no, just win and whatever liquor's on the cart."

"It's a nice place you've got, love, if not overly expensive," Linda cut off anything Crystal might've said; complimenting you stiffly, looking around as the amber liquid was poured, "bit empty, though, innit? I don't see one single family photo, not a personable damn thing."

"Oh, well, Aaron and I just like the minimalistic aesthetic," you deflected; the truth being, Aaron was constantly on the move for his job, there was no real time or reason to decorate the flat. You began transporting the large dishes on the kitchen counters to the table, your other brother, John, springing into action to help.

To say it was awkward was the simplest way to put it. After pouring herself a second drink, Linda started to trade insults with Edward; both telling the other how pathetic it is to find younger lovers. Mabel rolled her eyes but listened carefully, ever the quiet mouse who opted to observe rather than be seen. Bobby was snooping through anything he could get a hand on; attempting to know Tangerine without outright meeting him yet. John Boy didn't care this way or that, happy to just be involved and set the table for you.

"Chow's on!" You announced, leading everyone to the table and take whatever seat they liked.

"You know," Bobby started, "think it's a bit weird."

"What is?" You asked, handing Mabel the steamed sticky rice.

Bobby gestured around, "The whole thing. I mean, I'm almost tempted to believe you've made this Aaron character up. What kinda man skips out on a family meal like this?"

"A man who has a very demanding job," you snapped, the table still passing dishes around to take their fill. "I didn't ask you guys here to fucking harp on him, I asked you to just give him a chance and get to know him."

"Why should we even bother?"

"Because he's important to me!"

"You honestly think this is gonna last?" Bobby scoffed, shaking his head and passing the vegetables.

"Of course I do, I know how strong my relationship is. What the hell do you expect me to say, do, think, or feel if Aaron and I get married, and my family's feuding with the groom - "

"I beg your pardon?" Edward snapped, making the table go silent. "You're gonna marry this bloke?"

"No, Daddy, he hasn't proposed or anything, but we have been together almost 7 years" you explained. "I just used it as an example. Aaron's going to be in my life for a long time, I'd really appreciate everyone getting along."

"I think that's reasonable," Crystal smiled.

"Oh, shove it, nobody asked you," Linda sneered.

"Could you maybe not be a raging bitch for five minutes?" Edward snapped, dropping the cutlery with a loud clatter. "Don't talk to her like that - "

"The trollop doesn't get an opinion on family affairs!"

"Now that we're married," he held up his left hand, golden band visible, "she does get an opinion. It's your newest toy that shouldn't talk!"

"I didn't even say anything, mate," Toby scoffed.

"I'm not your 'mate', silly boy - "

The table erupted in a busy and loud argument, you slumping back into your chair; listening to your siblings attempt to resolve the feud. You thanked yourself for making the conscious decision to have this little dinner party at home instead of a restaurant; knowing Linda and Edward were never able to resist a good screaming match, even if in public. You sipped your wine mutely, eyes darting back and forth between either sides of the table.

However, they were silenced when there came a pounding at your front door. Three distinct, punctuated knocks of a fist, your mind instantly jumping to thinking it was the police - nobody else knocked like that. You went rigid instantly, brow furrowing, your father asking, "Expecting more company, honey?"

"No," you shook your head, already out of your seat and heading for the door - when suddenly - it was kicked in. Your scream was shrill from shock. The force of the violent entry splintered the doorframe; knob colliding with drywall, indenting it from the jarring movement. You yelped in shock, trying to back up, but there came a flood of armed men that instantly rushed you. You were only briefly aware of chairs scraping on hardwood floor as your family leapt up in shock.

Long gone was the argument, your family mutually screaming in fear.

These intruders yelled in Russian, fanning out to gather you and your family in harsh grips; shoving everyone into the living room. You were forced to sit down, at least one armed man posted for each of you, the others spreading out and searching the flat.

"What's happening? What the hell is happening!?" Mabel squeaked through her huffy breath, the men exchanging a few words before one stepped forward with his gun drawn at the ready. "Please, there's some mistake! Please, please, why are you - what is happening!? You can't do this! We only - "

"You," one of the intruders spoke with a heavy accent and a thick, pointed finger, "quiet." From his utility belt, the Russian produced several zip ties, demanding, "Hands. Hands, together! Now! You understand, eh!? Hands! Your hands! Now! Right now!"

Another henchman barked in Russian, telling you to comply or things would get messy. "Just do what they say," you whispered, pressing your wrists together and presenting them. They were secured tightly, your parents, their partners, and siblings enduring the same, and by the time the last zip was tied, the other henchmen returned.

You identified what was reported: "He's not here, no trace where he went."

"No, hmmm," mused the man obviously in charge, "well, that's all right, his girlfriend is right here." Your eyes widened as the Russian turned to look at you with a sadistic smirk. "Heard he's real protective of you, likes you a lot. Huh? Heard he once broke a man's collarbone for just looking at you - must be very important, yeah. What do you think he will do when he finds you - ruined?"

"You're not gonna do anything," you seethed between gritted teeth, "because you know he'd kill you all. Now, there's been no harm done so far, so there's time to walk away and I'll guarantee he or his brother won't come after you."

The Russian chuckled, "Oh-ho! Hear that, boys? Good old Tangerine's domesticated now. Takes orders from his bitch, and boy, she likes to bark!" Other henchmen chuckled, a few picking at the abandoned dinner. "I think it's time we send him our message, no?" The leader grinned to his men, earning a chorus of agreement.

Your eyes widened when the man lunged forward and yanked you to your feet, yellowed teeth gnashing in your face. "Whole family can watch!" Another intruder barked, curating a wave of laughter, "Call it, uh, bonding? Trauma bonding?"

"Oh, I like that," the leader of the kill squad grinned.

You gasped when the Russian balled his fist and socked you directly in the diaphragm; winding you, bending you at the waist, and giving him the vantage point to rocket his fist upwards into your nose. There was a sickly snap, you whimpering when a different Russian shoved you from behind and forced you to your knees; three different men joining the relentless and savage beating. You were kicked, punched, breaking several bones, being spat on, shoved over, and made to bleed your own blood. Though you hadn't wanted to, wanting to appear strong and unfazed, you cried out when the pain became too much; heaving for breath and praying the next kick to the head was enough to knock you unconscious.

But you weren't so lucky and wishful thinking was simply that: wishful, not applied or actual. Your family begged and pleaded for mercy, flinching when you spat blood on numerous occasions; shoes squeaking when they stepped in the globs. Everyone helpless and powerless in the current predicament, no hero to swoop in and save the day; your family knowing they were yelling into thin air and their words fell upon deaf ears. They could only watch and listen as you took the brunt end of three angry Russian's brute strength.

The leader had lit up a cigarette, watching his men physically assault you with an air of entertainment and aloofness. This went on for several long, agonizing minutes; you eventually going limp. "Hm," he waved his hand through the smoke, inhaling nicotine, "enough, boys, that's enough. She gets it, she gets we mean business." His men complied and backed away from you, letting the leader kneel at your head on blood-smeared hardwood floor. "You tell Tangerine and Lemon who did this, huh? Yeah? You tell them for me."

You spat blood in the Russian's face, smirking in satisfaction when it hung off his nose in a humiliating display of your stubbornness.

"Ah, I see," he wiped the blood clear, regarding it on his hand before bare-knuckle punching your head back into the ground. You were instantly dazed, groaning, the man continuing, "Now that you got that out of your system, you will remember my name. Huh? Ivan, yes? You remember that? Ivan. Fucking Ivan Kostka, you tell Tangerine and Lemon Ivan Kostka did this."

"The fuck does it matter who you are!?" You whimpered, eyes burning and being kept screwed tight. "You're a deadman walking, nobody cares about your fucking name except whoever inscribes your tombstone."

"Because your fruity boyfriend and his twin took something very valuable from me," the Russian leered, "and I have come to collect it back into my possession. You tell them, Ivan did this to you. I want them to know they are not untouchable - not to me. Not to my men. Tangerine can try to protecting you all he wants, but there will always be a time and place to act." Then, he laughed, "Know how easy it was for us to get here? Huh? Bit too easy, I admit. See, we picked up Tangerine's trail and followed him here. All we had to do was be patient for our opportunity."

"Who the fuck is Tangerine?" John was heard whispering to the others, a series of shrugs replying. The Russian gave a new command and several men divided to use their weapons to wreck the flat you called home; tearing up pillows, smashing spider-web cracks to the windows, tossing plates and mugs, overturning a bookcase, throwing expensive crystal glasses to watch the shards scatter.

Ivan continued to explain, "Your stupid fucking family talk so loud, eh, it is miracle they are not in witness protection, huh? We see them at your door, and when you opened for them, oh, it was easy to, ehhh, just follow them inside. Yeah? And now, here we are," he smirked. "I am sorry about this, though. You've such a pretty face, I almost don't want t'taint it," he pet a finger down your bloodied cheek.

"Go to hell!" You hissed.

"Oh, I will be when the Reaper comes for me. Remember, tell Tangerine it was Ivan... Ivan Kostka did this," he gestured to your tattered form, "and that I want my Faberge Egg and little sister back or this will get a lot worse for everyone involved."

You coughed as the man stood, whistling sharply and commanding his men to follow. The moment they were gone, as your family erupted in panicked screams, Mabel raced for the kitchen and snatched up a knife from the counter. Returning, your sister carefully uncut everyone's ties, your mother gasping and dropping to her knees when freed.

"What have you gotten us into, you stupid girl!?" She cried, massaging her constricted wrists.

You manage to mumble before passing out, "Call Brian."

Tangerine and Lemon had been on their own stakeout, tracking a gang of Russians accused of money laundering. He had forgotten to put his phone on the charger the night before, it dying and being left behind at his flat; so when there came a vibration, he knew it was Lemon's phone.

He hate the sound of the vibrations in the cupholder. "Oi, gonna fuckin' answer that?" Tangerine snapped, staring out the windshield.

"Uh, bruv?" Lemon turned the phone for Tan to see, guessing, "It's for you, I'm sure." The contact name displayed your home number.

Tangerine sighed and accepted the call with it on speaker, "Yeah, hello? Love? That you?"

"A-Aaron?"

"Linda?" Tan questioned in curiosity, hearing your mother's soft sob. "What's goin' on? What's wrong? Why're you calling? Where's Y/N?"

"Th-There's been an accident."

"What kind of accident?"

"The kind that involve angry Russians looking for some egg and someone's little sister? I don't know - "

"Oh, fuck me! Don't move, we're on our way," he rushed, hanging up. "Oi, fuck this, mate, get us back home," he barked at his brother, "we gotta get back now. Like right fucking now!"

"We can't just - "

"What? Leave our post?" Tan snapped. "Brian, you know where we are right now?"

He glanced outside, "Uh... Little Italy?"

"Fuckin' wanker," Aaron snapped. "No, this shipping yard is owned by the Kostka's - Russian crime family. You heard Linda, means the tip tonight was a set up t'get us away from the flat. They probably moved while we were absent. Now, c'mon, fucking hustle!"

Lemon connected the dots and started the engine, peeling away at a dangerous speed to navigate the city back to the high-rise apartment you and Tan shared. He couldn't explain why, but Tangerine could feel his heart in his throat; a sick feeling taking over at the thought of the Russians setting this entire thing up.

Why send he and Lemon to stakeout the shipping yard? Why remove them from the equation?

Upon arriving at the shattered front door, both men in pressed clothes came to a jarring halt, taking in the sight. The flat was a wreck, literal feathers from pillows still floating in the air, their dress shoes cracking over shattered glass.

Tan caught sight of your hunched body sitting on the couch. "Right, the fuck is this, then?" He demanded, striding up to where your family had surrounded you. "The hell happened? Swear t'God, I'll put a bullet... In... Whoever..." He trailed, pausing when he saw your state. Tangerine slowly squatted in front of you, gently trying to coax your chin up, "Lemme see, darlin', c'mon, c'mon, lemme see, c'mere."

When you met his baby blues, you could only watch as tears filled them - knowing they'd never fall. "I'm sorry," you whispered, throat soar from the beating; making you sound a lot hoarser than ever before.

"For what? You did nothing, love, nothing - couldn't have deserved this, now could yah?" He rushed to comfort, caressing your jaw in both hands to look you over. There was a long gash in your hairline that dripped racing drops of blood down your face. "This is my fault, I know it is, God fucking damn it. Who the fuck did this? Hey? You remember, darling? Remember anythin' 'bout these men?" But you were silent from shock. So, he addressed the room by barking, "Does anyone? What the hell happened here, tonight!?"

Your father cleared his throat before knocking back the last swig of his whiskey. "These Russian fuckers," Ed answered. "Big lot of 'em, too, all with scary lookin' tattoos and fucking guns. Some were automatic." He eyed your boyfriend, "Associates of yours?"

"Fucking hell," Tangerine looked up at his brother, "think they want the Faberge back?"

Lemon frowned, "Possibly, but that's only if - "

"Ivan," you whispered suddenly, Tangerine and Lemon both looking back at you in mild shock. "He said his name was Ivan and he wanted you two t'know there was no hiding from him. He wants back whatever it is you two took."

"Yeah, they want the fucking Egg," Tangerine's jaw flexed as he glared at the floor, sighing deeply, and then looking back at you. "Hey," he whispered, "I'm just glad you're alive and well-enough. Yeah? You're my priority, sweetheart, nothing else matters."

You sniffled, "I'm okay."

"Like hell you are," he shook his head, gently prodding around your bruised face and sighing, "look at yah. You're definitely not okay, sweetheart. Right, then, listen, we'll go to a safe house for the time being - "

"A what?" John asked incredulously.

"A safe house," Lemon repeated, "you know? Somewhere not on record to let us hide discreetly?"

"I know what it is - but why go?"

"Can't stay here, mate, it's compromised," Tan answered with a hardened tone. "Now, you gonna fuckin' stand there, questioning me, or go be useful and get ready to leave?"

"Tan," his brother offered softly, "lay off, they just watched our girl get the shit kicked outta her."

Tan nodded and looked back at you, "Yeah, all right, sorry, love, just a bit on edge. But I'm gonna fix this - "

Robert (or Bobby, he's also known as), scoffed a sarcastic laugh, arms crossed, approaching you and Tangerine. "You takin' the piss? Your fuckin' job is leadin' men t'my sister, breakin' in her own home, givin' her a beatin' meant for you, yah fuckin' twat! Yet that's all you got to say to us? That you're on edge?"

"What'chu want, then, bruv?" Tan snapped, standing to face Bobby. "Huh? Call it an occupational hazard, but just 'cause you wanna bring it up, know that we ain't never had no situation like this before. All right? Excuse us for tryna piece it best together."

"My fuckin' sister's still bleedin', and you're, what? Makin' it up as you go?" Bobby snarled. "You owe us a plan! Somethin'! Fuckin' anythin'! How the fuck are you gonna rectify this situation?"

Tan's mouth opened, ready to retort.

"All right, all right, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, no, no, quit it, cut it out, yah fucking ninnies!" Lemon stepped between them and forced distance between the two men. "That shit ain't gonna help us right now. We all need to think clearly, so let's try not to wind one another up. Yeah? Fair?"

"Fuck you," Bobby spat, "fuck the both of yahs, you're both responsible! Puttin' my sister in harms way! Fuckin' look at her!" He snarled and pointed, "Shakin' like a fuckin' leaf!"

"Yeah, all right, you what, mate?" Tan sneered.

"I'm not your mate."

"I'll just fuckin' handle this on my own - "

"Like hell you are," His brother interrupted. "They fucked with our family, ain't nowhere for them to hide."

Tangerine nodded, then asked, "How many men were here would you say? Ballpark number." It was quiet. "Someone better answer me!"

Linda sneered, "Some 12 or 15 men, most of whom carried assault rifles. Anything you wanna tell us, Aaron? Huh? Why were these men searching for you? What'd you do that was so bad, they hurt my little girl?"

Your boyfriend nodded and looked to his brother, stiffly nodding and stoically demanding, "Let's get fuckin' Biblical, then, yeah?"

Brian clicked his tongue and winked at his brother in agreement, Crystal handing you a bag of frozen peas to hold against your head.

"You're sure it's safe?" You whispered, holding onto your boyfriend like a crutch as you exited the elevator.

"They didn't want our protection, love, 'cause the Russians are after us," Tan answered. "Easy does it," he whispered, opening the door to the safe 'house' he and Lemon kept in downtown London - not terribly far from your actual flat. "At's a good girl, slowly - slowly," he kept one arm around you, the other holding the door for Lemon, who carried several duffels. "Right, see? Nice, ain't it?"

You nodded, still relatively drugged from the hospital you just left. After begging them to come with you, your family outright refused, saying Tangerine and Lemon were bad news and they wanted no part in whatever bullshit was happening; even though it meant leaving you alone. So, Lemon packed up the flat while Tan took you to the hospital, meeting again at the skyscraper that doubled as a fortress.

"Here we are," he sighed, lowering you to the couch; left wrist in a cast, a brace on your ankle, concussion, bandages and gauze stuck to random open wounds that required stitches. "Right," he knelt in front of you, "you saw the lobby, yeah? Ain't nobody gettin' in here without clearance, you're safe. Yeah?" He pushed a strand of hair from your face, hating how it was still crisp from dried blood.

"Okay," you whispered with a nod.

Aaron sighed, "I'm so sorry, love."

"Not your fault."

"But it is," he frowned, "'s all my fuckin' fault."

"Did you really take a Faberge Egg?"

"It's what our employer wanted, so... Yeah. Apparently, it was a right dime piece, thought lost in one of the wars. Very exclusive - "

"Most expensive Egg made," Brian added, dropping a couple of the duffels. "And it's not in our possession anymore, love."

"Fuck would we do with Faberge?" Aaron rolled his eyes.

"Hock it," his brother answered, bringing grocery bags into the kitchen and setting them on the counters.

"And the sister?" You asked, eye once being nearly swollen shut now just red and irritated; looking at him with profound sadness. "What happened to Ivan's sister?"

Aaron sighed, wiping a hand down his face, "She was placed in witness protection, she's an informant f'MI6 and Interpol. They want her 'cause she's been spillin' secrets, gettin' business all topsy-turvy."

"They wanna kill her?"

"Seems so," he nodded, smoothing his hands over both your thighs, "but don't you worry 'bout nothin', yeah? We'll handle this."

"How?"

"We've got a couple calls to make," he alluded, standing to his full height but bending at the waist to kiss your forehead gently. "Try to rest, love, we'll be here a bit."

You nodded and watched him stride out of the living room, grabbing one of the duffel bags Lemon had dropped and brought it to the glass dining room table. He ripped it open as you sunk into the plush fabric of the pillows, but perked up when Brian came into sight. "Here, darling," he set a mug of tea to the granite coffee table in front of you, "just a bit of something for your nerves, yeah? You all right? Need anything? A pain pill, maybe? You look uneasy."

"I'm all right," you promised, trying to smile, but it came out as a grimace.

"Mhm," he sent you a look, grabbing the pharmacy bag. "Don't be a hero, just keep yourself afloat. Here," he handed you a little, round, white pill and the tea. "Bottoms up, huh?"

You half-chuckled and did what he said, settling again as he grabbed a blanket and tossed it over you. "How often are you two here?" You asked.

"Ah, usually when we're doin' recon," he answered, handing over the remote. "All the streamin' you could want," he winked, pointing at the TV.

"Oi, mate," your boyfriend called, "thinkin' we should call Kiwi?"

"To stay with her?" He asked, caressing the top of your head affectionately; grabbing another duffel and meet his brother at the table. The London Eye was visible from the window, creating a picturesque scene.

"Yeah," Tan answered, "she's good company, ain't she? Handy with a gun. Usually shoots first, asks questions later."

Brian shrugged, "Couldn't hurt. But I think we need t'call Moss... See what he and The Agency can tell us 'bout Ivan."

"On it," Aaron agreed, rapidly typing on a nondescript laptop. But he paused suddenly, looking up and asking, "You gave her a pain pill?"

"Yeah."

"She should eat with it..."

"I'm right here, you know!" You snapped. "I can hear you!"

"I know, doll, sorry," Aaron sighed, going to the kitchen and grabbing you trail mix - knowing opioids gave you the munchies. "Here, love, just wanna make sure you stay all right," he handed the bag over, dropping to the spot beside you with a heavy sigh. "Listen, uh, we're gonna have some of the lads come over t'help."

"Who?"

"Well, Kiwi's a lass, but she works with us sometimes. She's handy t'have 'round inna pinch. That all right?"

"I'm not one for much company right now," you frowned.

"Nah, don't worry, she'll entertain herself," he chuckled slightly, eyes darting around to take in your appearance. In a low whisper, he breathed, "I'm so sorry this happened."

"You've said that," you half-smiled, placing an M&M at his lips. He accepted the treat. "We knew something was bound to happen eventually, right?"

"Not like this, this ain't acceptable," he shook his head. "Lookit, Ivan's one of them nasty fuckers, traffics narcotics into the country using a series of shipping yards. He's got a whole army at his fingertips, plenty of money t'sustain an all out war if he wants."

"When was the last time you dealt with this guy?"

Lemon joined you two, sitting on the other side of the L-shaped couch. He worked on the laptop now, but sent a look to Aaron that begged him to lie. But often, Tangerine never could to you, so, he told the truth, "Last we saw him was some 6 years ago."

Your head cocked, "That's when we first started dating."

"Yeah," he smirked, stretching his arm around you to bring you in close for both your comforts. "Remember that week you couldn't get ahold of me? I told yah I was on some bloody fishing trip?"

"Mhm."

"We were in Colombia, fuckin' up part of his operation."

Your eyes widened, "Colombia? You mean, this Russian's in league with South America? The cocaine capital of the world?"

"Yeah," he sighed, "but it's taken him apparently this long to get shit straightened out - else he would've come sooner."

"Or he was waitin' until our guard was down," Brian chimed in, rapidly tapping on the laptop. "Intel says... Ivan's been in the country 'bout 3 months."

"And before that?"

"Uh... Looks like... Ah, fuckin' hell, he was in Spain, Portugal, Nicaragua, even fuckin' Trinidad."

"Sounds like he's made some friends," Tangerine frowned. You nestled a little closer, his arm contracting to squeeze you tight. "Send word t'Kiwi and Moss, ask Moss t'bring only The Jailbird."

"Who the fuck - you know what? I don't want t'know," you whispered.

"The Jailbird is a brutal fucker," Lemon chuckled, typing faster, "took out an entire fright train by himself with a single shotgun and only a couple rounds of ammo."

"Brian," Tan warned, shaking his head.

"What? 'S not like she's gonna say shit, you picked the most loyal girl in the world," he grinned, winking at you. "Right, love?"

"Mhm."

"That pain pill kicking in yet?"

"Not yet," you yawned.

"Right," your lover chuckled, handing over the mug of tea, "we've got some work t'do, you sit tight. Need somethin', anythin', just ask. Please," he frowned, "don't try t'get up."

"All right," you whispered, lifting your chin slightly with intent. He smiled and met you the rest of the way, pressing a gentle kiss to your split lips.

The lads went back to the glass table, setting up a network of tools and technology, muttering to one another as they did what they knew to gather as much information as possible.

About an hour later, there was a knock at the door that made you flinch. "It's all right," Tangerine rushed, but pulled his gun in hand, "probably Kiwi - "

"It's me, fuckers!" A female called from the other side.

Your boyfriend checked through the peephole and sighed, holstering his gun and opening the door. "Kiwi," he greeted.

"Tangerine," she rolled her eyes, strolling into the flat with her arms full of food. "I brought lunch! Know you fuckers aren't payin' attention to time and shit. Oh!" She grinned when she saw you, "Oh, my word, you're her! Wow, you're even prettier in person! You know, Aaron's told me all about you - "

"Fuck off," Tan snapped.

"Fuck you," she sent right back, "been askin' t'meet your lady for years now, now I finally get to."

"I wish it were under better circumstances," you offered softly, watching the lass with stark white hair round into the living room to set coffee cups and paper bags down.

"Oh, hi, hello, you gorgeous girl," she grinned, sitting next to you and hugging you softly. You were shocked, eyes wide, but hugged her back. "Oh, it's real nice to meet yah, heard all about'cha!"

"Really?" You asked when she pulled back, "'Cause I didn't know a thing about you until an hour ago."

"Makes sense," her eyes rolled, "them two never talk 'bout shit. Makes 'em good agents, but shit lovers. Huh?"

"I'd have to disagree," you smiled softly, defending your love.

"Yeah," she grinned, "knew I'd like you. Lemon!" She greeted in a cheer, standing swiftly to set one coffee cup out for you and take the rest over to the table.

"Hi, Key," he chuckled, offering her a hug. "Lookin' fit, aren't yah?"

"Just got back from a 6 month stint in the DR," she nodded.

"R&R or mandatory?"

"Rehab," she shrugged casually, "but not for me."

"Makes no bloody sense," Tan rolled his eyes.

"I was there, cozyin' up t'fucking Francisco Juarez."

"No fuckin' shit," Lemon laughed. "How was that?"

"The man's mental, but shit, he's got some balls of steel."

"Jesus Christ," Tan groaned. "Can we focus, please? Where's Moss? Anyone heard from him?"

"Mh," Kiwi nodded, swallowing a mouthful of coffee as you gingerly reached for your own; trying not to strain the shattered ribs you earned. "He called me on my way here, said he was on his way, just had to pick something up."

Lemon and Tangerine shared a look as Kiwi practically skipped back over to you. She happily struck up a conversation, telling you all about how she first met Aaron and Brian on some recon mission in Moscow - the three apparently all tracking Ivan. So, no wonder she was asked to assist on this little mission.

The man named Moss arrived not long after, dropping another duffel in the foyer and silently approaching Tangerine and Lemon. Kiwi waved the behavior off, whispering, "That's one of the bosses. Not a man of many words, just a man of action, yeah?"

You nodded in understanding, accepting the Tylenol she handed you and answering her 20,000 questions. You heard the three men muttering together, papers shuffling over the tabletop and the laptop dinging every time there was new information.

"Oh, holy shit," Lemon gaped at the screen, earning everyone's attention. "You lot aren't gonna believe this."

"What's wrong?" Moss asked, moving to his shoulder and peering over to look at the laptop. "Well... Ain't that interesting?"

"What?" Kiwi asked.

"Looks like Ivan's here for some wedding..." Lemon muttered, tapping on the return key repeatedly. "No shit!"

"WHAT!?" Kiwi snapped, making you flinch. She instantly apologized, "Oh, shit, sorry, sorry, sorry, love, I get a bit excited when outta the loop."

"Ivan's sister's gettin' married," Moss reported, "to the Minister of Defense."

It was quiet for a long moment, the agents stewing in shock. "Well, that can't be good," you whispered to Kiwi.

"Not entirely, just means our jobs got a helluva lot more exciting, though," she grinned, dropping a wink.

Three days. Three bloody days, you've been confined to the safe house. You were under strict orders not to leave out of fear of retaliation, so you remained for Aaron's peace of mind.

Moss, Tangerine, Lemon, and Kiwi were preoccupied focusing on their plan of attack. They figured there be an altercation at the engagement party, designing a trustworthy team to help them infiltrate and keep an eye. The day of the party, you were curled up in bed, reading to pass the time, and when you noticed Tangerine leaning in the doorway, your book snapped shut.

"How long you gonna keep me here?" You asked. "Some of us have day jobs they need to get back to."

He smirked, "I covered for yah."

"How?"

"Said you had a funeral t'go to in the States," he eased, pushing off the doorframe and approaching your side of the bed. He grunted as he sat, sighing deeply, "Listen, sweetheart..."

"Oh, that's never good."

"Just listen," he smirked. "Tonight's the engagement party, so we're gonna make our move."

"Are you sure Ivan's gonna be there? That this is what needs done?"

"We got it worked out, love," he promised. "Just need yah t'stay here with Kiwi. Keep safe, yeah?"

You stared at him for a moment, cocking your head slightly, "Been meaning to ask - why refer to each other's codenames when alone, like we are?"

"Good habit t'have," Aaron shrugged, caressing your head and then petting a finger down your cheek softly. "Hate leavin' you like this, but I'm gonna kill the fuckers that dared touch you."

"I'm not usually one for violence or revenge, but in this case, go crazy."

He nodded and stood with a smirk, stooping slightly to press his lips against yours. There was a solemn tension in the air, foreheads pressed together to breathe the same air, him whispering, "Love you, darlin'."

"Love you, too," you answered instantly. "Just make sure you come home, yeah?"

"As quick as I can," he swore.

You learned that day, you hated waiting. You despised being out of the know, having no connection to tell you what was happening on Aaron's side of things. Kiwi was a great distraction, though. She was chipper, talkative, wildly animated; sharing a joint with you, ordering take out that a security guard brought up, and making you watch all her favorite movies.

She checked her phone several times, eventually, you begging, "Any word?"

"Nah, don't worry," Kiwi smiled, "they usually don't give updates when on the job."

Unknown to you, on the other side of town, Tangerine and Lemon were changing into suits the hotel waiters would wear to serve the engagement party. Moss was in a nondescript white van, working surveillance, informing in the headset, "The Jailbird's in position."

"So are we," Lemon reported, nodding at his brother. "Ready, bruv?"

"It's gonna get messy," he nodded, cracking his neck and leading the charge into the event room with trays of champagne. He surveyed the room subtly, seeing The Jailbird working the catering table in a matching suit, and when the couple of the hour entered, it was showtime. However, before springing into action, the trio of trained and paid assassins had to wait for the first move else they'd blow their cover and alert Ivan they were onto him.

The future bride's name was once something traditionally Russian, now choosing to be Veronica, and her soon-to-be-husband, Gerald, was the very man who had established her witness protection. It was romantic, in a way, that the two fell in love; being naughty and a little forbidden, yet still tantalizing. Their families filled the room with the groom's colleagues, security lining the walls - yet being unable to do anything if the Russians decided to attack.

However, the moment Tangerine saw Ivan, he went rigid with anger. "Mate, hang on, don't do it - we have a plan for a reason," Lemon tried to warn, but sighed hotly when his brother stormed off. Into the comms system, he warned, "Heads up, lads, Tangerine's on the move. 'S bouta get real sticky, people, stay sharp."

Tangerine surged up behind Ivan, who was dressed similarly and indicating he, too, was undercover at this event. Tan felt his face redden with anger, tapping Ivan's shoulder, and when the Russian turned, he didn't hesitate to pull his fist back and launch it directly into Ivan's nose. It was the first punch thrown (literally) that spurred the other Russians into action.

People shrieked, heels clattered to flee, and security guards rushed to cover their employers; not knowing who the desired target was. Luck didn't seem on their side that evening as security managed to get Gerald out of the hall, but his fiancé, Ivan's sister, was separated in the stampeding crowd; gunshots making patrons scream in concern.

In their comms, Moss barked, "Veronica! Someone cover Veronica! She's the informant - get to Veronica!"

The Jailbird flipped the catering table to reveal several heavy-duty guns strapped for this very moment. He and Lemon made their selections, Tan preferring his fist; someway, somehow, missing getting shot by Ivan's men. But the Russian gangster was just as angry, fending off Tangerine and even getting a few punches in himself. All for nought, though, because Tangerine had the power of his anger propelling him; your face conjured in his mind, bloodied, making him hit harder - and harder - and harder.

"You! Dirty! Fuckin'! Scum!" Tan punctuated each word with a blow of his fist, keeping Ivan in his grip like a vice. "C'mere! You've done it now, haven't yah, you fuckin' bastard? Fucked up by touchin' my woman! I'll fuckin' gut you!"

Ivan's elbow cracked Tan's nose, making him stumble back a few steps. The Russian grinned, blood outlining his teeth, "She was real pretty, wasn't she, eh? I tried to leave her face for yah! Didn't wanna fuck that up too bad!"

"C'mere!" Tangerine roared, knuckles bloody. However, as he was winding up for another hit, one of Ivan's men tackled Tan from the side and knocked him into a banquet table - collapsing it.

The Russians were in an abundance, yet stood no chance when Tangerine got ahold of a handgun. The Jailbird preferred the larger shotgun, blowing gargantuan holes in people's chests; Lemon keeping it simple and just doing his job by taking out the enemy. It was Tan who was absolutely feral, sprayed in the blood of his enemies and sparing no life he came across; the party's occupants screaming in terror and trying to flee the event hall between gunshots.

"Tan!" The Jailbird barked, pointing off at someone, and when he looked, Tan locked onto Ivan again. The Jailbird located Veronica, trying to save her, but being unsuccessful when a Russian got to her first - disappearing from his line of sight as the chaos rampaged.

Growling, Tangerine started firing single shots to the heads of anyone in his way of his main target, but this time, the Russian saw him coming and was plenty prepared. The blade Ivan used cut Tan deep, filleting flesh; but did not stop the man wanting to avenge his love.

Bodies hit the floor left and right as Tangerine's anger swelled, there not being a single force in the world that could stop him now. Whatever Tan could get his hands on turned into a weapon, finding every single Russian responsible for what happened to you - the love and light of his life.

The engagement party was decorated with white table cloths and white roses, now stained and splattered in blood the longer the fight went. The musicians of the live band had fled, security encountering the Russian that had Veronica and shooting him dead, food covering the walls. Moss had tapped into the security cameras, informing his men when more Russians were racing towards the room; grunting when he threw off his headset, grabbed a gun, and left the van to take out anyone trying to get inside.

Lemon did his best to cover Tangerine's six, but the Russians kept coming in waves; far more prepared than they were that evening. Yet it didn't matter, their numbers might've been high but the anger Tangerine and Lemon felt was a gift from God Himself, spurring them to work harder and smarter.

Once inside, Moss brought The Jailbird to higher ground and strategically shot down their enemies while Lemon and Tangerine operated on the ground. When face-to-face with Ivan, Tan seethed, "You waited 6 years for a shot at me, would've thought you'd try harder."

"Don't need to," Ivan laughed, "I already got you!"

"Didn't get shit - "

"That why your girl's all alone? Don't worry, lad, I sent some boys to go deal with her. C'mon, then!" Ivan taunted, waving Tan in an antagonizing motion, weilding the 6-inch blade. As the two exchanged blows, Ivan laughed, "Never told me! Did you like my li'l gift? How I left your girl?"

Tangerine grit his teeth and used a chair to bash the Russian over his head. "I'll fucking gut you for touching her!" He shouted, people still squealing and screaming in fright.

"You stole my inheritance! That Faberge Egg's been in my family for generations!" Ivan roared, "And my fucking sister! If not for you," he grunted, taking a hacking swipe and missing, "she never would've opened her mouth!"

"Your sister, mate, fuckin' hates your guts!" Tan barked, kicking Ivan back and sending him crashing through a table. "She would've spoke even if we hadn't picked her up!"

"Bullshit!" Ivan snarled, swinging and his blade catching Tan's bicep, slicing shirt and flesh. "My sister knew loyalty! Until you rotten fucks showed up, kidnapping her, confusing her! Fucking brainwashing her!"

"She's the one who hired us, mate!"

"Liar!"

Tangerine earned the upper hand by flipping Ivan onto his back, dropping to his knees, and wailing his fist into the Russian's face. He kept hitting him, even when Ivan stopped moving; flesh tearing, meat flying, bones breaking, and blood spurting in every which direction.

Blood painted his face, droplets racing down to create streaks.

At the safe house, Kiwi was making tea when there came a series of distant banging from outside the flat's door. She met your worried eyes and pulled out a gun, holding a finger to her lips to indicate you to stay quiet. She checked the in-house security system, spying a few Russian Mafia members fighting through the security guards and getting closer.

"Right," she rushed, helping you off the couch, "you gotta hide and stay quiet, love, I'll handle this quickly."

"Handle what? What's going on?"

"They're here."

"A-Are we safe?"

"For now."

"Are the lads!?"

"We'll find out!" Kiwi stuffed you inside one of the closets, assuring, "No worries, I'll handle them, you just stay here. Aaron would kill me if he knew something happened to you on my watch."

You didn't even have time to register that she used his real name; finding no choice in the matter as she shut the doors, and through the slats, watched her brandish a gun. You flinched when you made out the sounds of a struggle and then several gunshots, not knowing who fired them, who was being shot at, or what was happening.

Tears of fear filled your eyes, holding your breath and just waiting with trembling appendages. You hated waiting. You hated not knowing. You hated the tension, the fear, the cultivation of stress.

When the doors ripped open, you gasped shrilly and stepped back into the wall, but calmed when you realized it was only Aaron. And then you realized - it was Aaron!

"Baby," you gasped, leaping into his embrace out of sheer relief; arms wrapping around his neck and being dampened with blood. "Oh, my God, oh, my God, you're okay - you're okay, you're really okay."

"Yeah, 's all right, love," he rushed, one arm holding your waist, the other petting the back of your head. "I'm all right, 's all right, I'm here. I've got yah, love, I'm here now. They're all dead, they're all dead, my love, we got 'em all, you're safe, it's all right. Nobody will touch you again - never again, sweetheart."

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" You sniffled, pulling back to take both his cheeks in hand and frowning, "Is this blood!?"

"Yeah," he whispered, gently taking your wrists to pull your hands down. "But it's all right, 's not mine. I'm not hurt." He didn't let you answer, rushing, "Are you all right? Hey? Not hurt?"

"No, no, Kiwi - she protected me," you nodded, sniffling. "Where is she? Is she all right!?" You suddenly panicked, but Tangerine shushed you gently.

"She's fine, love, she's safe. Not a single scratch on her. Had most of the Russians down and out by the time we got back."

"And Brian?"

"Lemon's fine," he promised softly, "just cleanin' up in the other bathroom. Which," he smirked gently, "we should probably do the same. C'mon."

You agreed, hating the sight of blood on your man. When in the shower together, you got a look of the cuts and bruises he earned that night; knowing that despite him being the reason you were attacked, he was also the man who would protect you from anything and anyone. No matter the cost.

There was nowhere you were safer.

Watching you wash his wounds in spite of your own, Tangerine realized he didn't need to ask your father for permission - he was gonna marry you. Come hell or high water, there wasn't anything or anyone - be it Edward or Ivan - that could keep him from loving you the rest of his life.

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

[aleskie]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: 𝟑𝟔 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 SUMMARY: A park, a game, the World Championships, and a question Ice to Meet You Masterlist Previous | Next

Word Count: 6.3k Warnings: A lil swearing, some family stuff, mentions of the devs losing

Training was brutal. Even more than usual. But that was to be expected with Words fast approaching. Mila had a title to defend, after all. She first claimed it in 2015, then again in 2016. She lost the title in 2017, but got it back in 2018 and hasn’t let go since. And she wasn't about to now. At least, not without a fight. So, she took each fall, took every bruise. The pain felt like a small price to pay for another win. Still, her age was definitely creeping up on her. She’s at the age of retirement for most female figure skaters. God, she’s not even 23 yet but her knees are fucked. 

That’s the thing about figure skating that no one talks about. It consumes you. You train and train and train, and that’s all you have. It’s all you do. You train until you’ve bruised every inch of your body. You skate until you fuck up your knees permanently before you’re even thirty. You fall, you get up, and then you fall again and again and again. And it hurts. And the worst part is, Mila loves it. She loves it so much she’d stay forever if she could.

“Mila, you went too far into the edge,” Georgi called out, his voice tinged with exasperation. She hadn’t been landing her jumps properly all day. “Pull your left arm back in a bit more and keep leaning on the outside edge—really create that energy to lift you up properly.”

She nods. She knows what to do. She knows how to jump. She just…wasn’t getting it right today. And she was starting to get frustrated. She sensed Georgi picking up on it when he waved her off for a break.

“Calm yourself,” he says, placing a hand on her shoulder, “Go take a breather, we’ll come back in five.”

Mila skated off, slipping her skate guards on before finding a seat by her bag. She’d had off days before, but never this close to something as important as the World Championships. Was this a sign? Was her body finally giving up on her? The thoughts spiraled until she felt her phone buzz in her pocket.

A text. She sighed, pulling it out, almost grateful for the distraction.

Mystery Man (nico): Can I see you? 

She gives a small smile as she reads the text. She hadn’t expected to hear from him so soon, especially not after a loss like that. If it were her, she would have shut the world out for days. But maybe he was just built differently—better, kinder. No, scratch that. He was a better person than she was. That wasn’t exactly a high bar to clear, but still.

Mila: I’m at training :( But you can come and watch if you want 😁

Mystery Man (nico): Send me the place 😄

She quickly typed out the address of her rink, hit send, then took a deep breath before hobbling back over to Georgi, ready to get back to work.

Not that the short break did much good. She was still struggling—falling, wobbling on her edges. Her landings were sloppy, and her entries? Basically cheats. After one particularly bad fall, she let out a frustrated breath and looked over at her coach.

“Okay,” she pants, looking over to Georgi, “If the Russians can cheat their jumps, why can’t I?”

“Because I refuse to have you retire early because of bad technique,” Georgi huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “You’re too good for that.”

She couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged at her lips. It was nice, having someone who believed in her, who saw her as better than her mistakes. Better than she saw herself sometimes.

“Okay,” she smiles, “Let’s try again.”

This time, she ran through the jumps with a little more focus, a little less frustration. And though it was still far from perfect, it was better. Not great. But better. Maybe it had just been her nerves pulling her down, weighing down her feet like lead. As she finished her last jump, she wiped the sweat from her brow and tried to calm her racing thoughts.

Okay, she told herself, Nothing dire, nothing wrong. Just a bad day.

Sometimes that’s all it was. Life moves on, time doesn’t stop. It was just a bad day.

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

When she’s out of the showers, dressed in a thick, cozy sweater and leggings, Mila pulls out her phone to check in with Nico, only to spot him sitting by the bleachers. He had on a Devil’s hoodie, black sweatpants, and a snapback—worn backward, of course. She was starting to think hats were his thing.

“When did you get here?” She asked while approaching him, still towel-drying her damp hair.

“A bit ago,” he smiled, glancing up from his phone. “You were in the middle of training, so I didn’t want to interrupt.”

She scrunched her nose and sighed. “It was a bad day.”

He nodded solemnly, the weight of his own recent loss clear in his eyes. “We all have them,” he said, more to himself than to her. “What matters is that you push through and do better next time.”

The look in his eyes was determined, as though he needed to believe the words just as much as she did. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh captain, my captain,” she said dramatically, trying to lighten the mood. “What wise words you have!”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “What can I say? The captaincy’s still new, but I’m getting used to it.”

“Well, I suppose exposure therapy has its merits,” she teased, brushing her hair back and giving him a sidelong glance.

He hummed in agreement. “So, how do you deal with a day like today?” he asked. “When everything feels... off.”

“You mean a shitty training day?” she grimaced, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”

She grabbed his hand—his much larger hand in hers—and pulled him toward the parking lot.

“Get in,” she said, opening the passenger door to her car. “I’ll drive you back later.”

He raised a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I can’t believe I’m letting you kidnap me.”

She winked, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Key words: you’re letting me.”

He laughs before settling into his seat.

The drive to Mila’s secret place is tranquil, filled with easy conversation—the kind that flowed without much effort. They have idle chatter about their days. Nico talks about training that day, talks about the team and how they’re handling the game from last night.

“They’re reeling,” he says, “But they’re trying not to let it get to them. I think they’re working harder because of it. I feel like…they feel as if they have something to prove.”

“Wouldn’t you rather they work harder because of a win?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t any athlete?” he countered with a small smile.

“Fair enough.”

At a stoplight, Mila handed him control of the music. “Go ahead, play something. Anything you want.”

Nico's face lit up mischievously as he scrolled through her playlist. Suddenly, the car was filled with a booming beat and rapid-fire lyrics in a language she didn’t understand. She shot him a bemused look.

“Is this…in German?”

“Swiss-German,” He clarifies, shrugging, “You said I could play anything.”

She rolled her eyes but grinned. She’s not not enjoying it. The beat is catchy even though she doesn’t understand anything the artist is saying.

After a few moments of silence, the music almost fading into the background as she bobbed her head to his music, Nico glanced at her, his voice softer. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah? Why?”

He hesitated. “It looked like it hurt… when you fell.”

 She blinked, her mind flashing back to the rough landings she’d had earlier. She tried to brush it off with a joke. “From heaven?”

But Nico wasn’t laughing. He looked at her with genuine concern. “On the ice.”

She scrunches her nose.

“I mean it. I heard it. I mean, the sounds were…” He takes a breath. “I’m surprised nothing’s broken.”

For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She’d almost forgotten he had been watching her practice. “I’m used to it,” she shrugs.

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

“I guess.” She swallowed hard, staring at the road. “That’s the first thing you learn in skating. How to fall.”

“I remember.” He smiled faintly, recalling his own experiences on the ice. “But what I remember most was learning how to take a punch.”

They shared a laugh, easing the tension between them. The conversation shifted back to lighter topics as Mila drove into a secluded woodland area, the kind of place that felt worlds away from the bustling city.

“We’re here,” she says, “Hold on, I’ll open the door.”

“You’re really giving me the princess treatment here,” he jokes as she opens the door for him, “Isn’t that my job?”

“I’d give you flowers if I had any,” she smiles. It’s true. She’d give him a million roses if she could.

She grabbed a bag from the backseat before leading Nico through a small gate not too far away from where they’re parked. The soft chirping of birds filled the air as they walked in silence, hand in hand, until they reached a quiet spot under a large tree.

“This should be good,” Mila said, laying out a blanket she pulled from her bag. She sat down, gesturing for him to join her. 

It was a tight fit, his legs stretching beyond the edges of the blanket, but neither of them seemed to mind. They sat quietly, letting the sounds of nature surround them. After a moment, Mila laid down, staring up at the canopy of leaves above.

“This is where I go to clear my head,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “I stay here for hours. Just thinking. Or listening to music. It’s far away from everything. I like it”

Nico listened, nodding in understanding. “It’s peaceful.”

They stayed like that for a while, the quiet settling over them like a warm blanket. Every now and then, he glanced at her, watching the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the serene expression on her face.

“Take a picture,” she teased, cracking one eye open. “It’ll last longer.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he said with a grin, pulling out his phone.

She shifted, propping herself up on one elbow, and struck a playful pose. “Here, I’ll even smile for you.” She stuck her tongue out, flashing a peace sign as he snapped photos of her.

He got into it quickly, directing her poses, both of them laughing at the absurdity of it all. They laugh over the faces Mila makes, laugh at the photobombers in each photo. And then they’re back to silence. The calm rushing over them. Then and there, they were just two people, free from the pressures of their sports, from the weight of their responsibilities.

But eventually, the conversation turned back to the game.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Mila asked, sitting up to face him. “The game yesterday?”

Nico sighed, staring up at the sky.  “I don’t know what to say,” he says after a moment, “We’re a good team. We have good players. But we can’t seem to get it together. I don’t know how to help, how to fix it.”

She hums in response, sitting up to face him. “Do you wanna hear what I think?”

He nods.

“I think,” she contemplates, “That’s not something you should worry about.”

His brows furrow.

She continues, “You can bring up the team’s thoughts to the coaches, you can cheer up the boys, you can defend your team to the media, and you can lead by example.” She takes a breath. “It’s not your job to make strategies or figure out the dynamics of each player’s play style. You can help. Tell the coaches how the boys like to play best, how they like to be coached, how they respond to the strategies. But you aren’t solely responsible for how they play. If they suck during a game, then they suck. You can’t control that. All you can really do is try to make things better for them next time.”

He sighed deeply, lying down on the blanket. “I don’t want to fail them.”

“I don’t think you will,” she smiles gently, “You just got named captain like, what, a month ago? You’re not gonna be perfect from the start.”

“Were you? At skating?”

“Nah,” she smiles, thinking of her five-year-old self who couldn’t even balance on the ice, “I sucked for, like, thirty minutes. And then I learned how to hold myself up on the ice.” She smiles at him. “You’re still in your first thirty minutes. You’ll be just fine.”

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

Here’s the thing: Mila is ridiculously good at Goldfish. Nico learns that the hard way. By losing five games in a row.

“Okay,” he groans, furrowing his brows as he studies his empty hand. “You’re definitely cheating,” he pouts.

“You just suck,” she shoots back, smirking as she sticks her tongue out at him, clearly relishing her victory. So she’s an arrogant winner, sue her.

“I don’t suck,” he protests, a cute pout still present on his face.

“Says the guy who’s lost five times in a row,” Mila teases.

“Let’s play a different game.” He places his cards on the ground. “Goldfish is banned until further notice.”

“Fine, fine, you sore loser,” she giggles, leaning over to shuffle the cards back into the deck. “What do you have in mind?”

“I...don’t know, actually.” He tilts his head, thinking. “What do people play when they’re trying to get to know each other?”

Mila pauses, fingers tapping rhythmically on the deck. “Hmm, my friends and I did that 36 Questions thing once. We can do that?”

Nico narrows his eyes. “Wasn’t it 20 Questions?”

“Nope, this one’s different.” She pulls out her phone and quickly taps a few buttons to pull up the list. “Originally, it’s supposed to help people fall in love, but I think it just helps people build a connection.”

“Fall in love?” Nico raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “We’re getting serious now?”

“Oh, hush. You know what I mean.” Mila rolls her eyes but grins back at him. “You in?”

“I’m in.” He mirrors her grin, scooting a bit closer.

Mila scrolls for a second before reading aloud. “Okay, first question: ‘Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?’”

Nico lets out a short laugh. “This is supposed to make us closer?”

“It starts off easy. Just trust the process,” she smiles, “It might surprise you.”

He thinks for a moment. “Maybe someone smart? Or someone I could learn from,” he hums, “You know, I’ve always idolized Roman Josi. He’s one of the best players in my opinion. So, maybe him.” 

Mila nods, a little smile playing on her lips. “Solid choice.”

He thinks for a moment. “Or maybe Stephen Hawking.”

“Stephen Hawking?” She chuckles. “That’s a bit out of left field.”

“I could ask him about the universe. We could talk about black holes or something. I think that’s pretty cool. Maybe I wouldn’t understand much of the science, but it’d be nice to learn about it.”

She smiles. “I want to dine with Taylor Swift. She’s cool.”

He laughs. “Of course. You played just her music for the first half of the ride here until you let me play my stuff.”

Mila places a hand on her heart in mock offense. “Hey now, Ms. Swift is my treasure, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nico chuckles, leaning in slightly as the teasing banter flows easily between them.

She grins, locking eyes with him for a moment. “Next question?”

“Shoot,” he replies, settling in as they move to the next one.

“Would you like to be famous? In what way?” Mila groans, dramatically rolling her eyes, “Let me tell you what I tell everyone. I just want to skate. I could care less about the media. I mean, I love the fans and all. They’re great. But, I just want people to know me for skating, not for being marketable or having the right image or whatever.”

He nods in response. “Exactly. I love the fans. I mean, they’re the reason we can even do this.” She nods at him. “But I don’t want the glamor of it. I just wanna be known for hockey.”

They briefly go through the next question. The park around them hums softly with life—children’s laughter, the rustling of trees in the breeze—but for now, it feels like the world is just theirs, this little bubble on the blanket. 

Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?

They both agree to just winging it, not putting too much thought into the what-ifs. There’s no use worrying about something that you don’t know about. It’s different from sports, they agree, you prepare for competitions to get the best results you can but phone calls can be wild or they can be mundane. You can’t control what’s gonna happen there, but it’s at least easier to adjust to the vibe of the conversation.

“Next question,” Mila says, “What would constitute a “perfect” day for you?”

Nico hums, thinking it over for a beat. “Honestly? Maybe just a chill day to myself. Spend it with family and friends, then go home, relax with a good book, and have a nice dinner afterward.”

He’s a pretty simple guy, Mila realizes—no drama, no big wishes. He’s mellow, easygoing. He appreciates the mundanity of life—wants to bask in the simplicity of things. She likes that about him. Likes that, outside of hockey and competition, he’s just…a guy. It’s refreshing.

“That sounds nice,” she says softly. Then, with a small smile, she adds, “I think I’d want to do things I’ve never done before. Go to an arcade, make a scrapbook, paint, maybe decorate a cake. Stuff like that.”

“You’ve never been to an arcade?” He asks, eyes wide with disbelief. 

She shrugs. “Didn’t have the time. Or, you know, the friends to go with. I thought it wouldn’t be fun to go alone.”

“I’ll take you,” he says, determined, “Next time. It’ll be fun.”

Mila narrows her eyes playfully, holding out her pinky. “Promise?”

He links his pinky with hers, their hands gently locked together. “Promise.”

“Good,” she says, playfully stern. “You can’t break this. Pinky promises are sacred.”

“I swear it.”

She smiles and they move on.

When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?

For what in your life do you feel most grateful?

If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?

They go through question after question, laughter filling the air. Some answers are ridiculous—like when Nico declares he would want the power to make the weather always match the climate of his hometown in Switzerland. Mila teases him about being spoiled by the picturesque Alps.

Other answers, though, carry more weight. Mila’s face softens when she answers that she’s most grateful for her coaches. “They’re like parents to me. They’ve just…always been there.”

The questions keep flowing, and they don't all dig deep into their personal lives, but they savor the silliness of it all. It’s fun, Mila realizes. And maybe that’s what the game is about—finding the fun in figuring out if you have chemistry with the person you’re answering it with.

Mila pauses when they reach the next question. She cringes a little before reading aloud, “How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?”

Nico has this certain smile as he thinks about it, his expression softening into something nostalgic. “I feel like my family’s pretty close,” he starts, his voice warm. “I don’t get to see them as much now since they’re back in Switzerland, but we spend as much time as we can together over the summer when I’m home.”

He continues, “We spend a lot of time together at the lake, at the beach. We’re all athletes, so it’s always fun playing sports together. My mom makes the best food. We talk all the time while I’m here. They come visit whenever they can.”

He smiles as he talks about them. He loves them. That much is clear. There’s a quiet ache in her chest as he speaks, something that makes her feel a bit jealous of it all. She wants that feeling, longs for the warmth in his eyes as he talks about his mom’s cooking or spending time with his siblings. 

“That sounds… wonderful,” she replies, her voice soft. She means it. The feelings are foreign to her. Unfamiliar. Strange. But she finds herself yearning for it.

Nico’s eyes flicker with curiosity. “What’s your family like?”

Mila hesitates, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “They’re okay,” she starts, keeping her tone casual, though her gaze drops to her lap. “My parents are both doctors—surgeons—so they were always busy. And my brothers were so much younger that we never had anything in common.” 

She hates how her words are dampening the light mood. She feels the familiar tightness in her chest and quickly rushes through her explanation. “I moved away when I was young so I didn’t get to spend much time with them after that. And I had competitions near holidays so it just wasn’t efficient to come back home.” She shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant. “But we’re…okay.”

Nico’s brow furrows in that way it does when he doesn’t quite understand something. “They never came to watch you skate?”

Mila forces a small laugh, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “They’re not exactly big fans of the whole skating thing. They wanted me to be a doctor. Or a lawyer—anything but this.” She fixes her gaze on the sky, trying to keep her tone light. “My dad even offered a trust fund if I ever chose to be a writer or a researcher or a teacher or some other ‘low paying job’” She says with air-quotes. 

“Literally anything but this.” Her voice wavers with sarcasm and a hint of bitterness. “My grandparents funded my international competitions until I was eighteen. And there’s funding from the association. So that helped.”

There’s a beat of silence. Nico shifts beside her, his hand brushing against hers. Kind of like he’s reassuring her. When he finally speaks, his voice is low. Sincere. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, but…” He swallows, and when he speaks again, there’s a weight to his words. “You don’t deserve that.”

The sun is setting, shades of pink and orange littering the sky. The park is quiet now, with only the two of them left on their picnic blanket, surrounded by the soft hum of the evening. Mila watches as Nico glances at the dimming sky, his face relaxed yet somehow wistful.

"It’s getting dark," she murmurs with a chuckle, breaking the comfortable silence between them. "Seems like we’re the last ones here."

Nico pouts in response, his lips turning down in exaggerated disappointment. “That means we have to go soon,” he says, though his voice suggests he’s not in a rush.

She doesn’t want to leave either. There's a part of her that wishes they could stay like this forever—just the two of them, away from the world, no pressures, just...like this.

“We can’t do the rest,” she says softly, “Let’s end on a high note, yeah?”

He smiles and nods, eyes following her as she scrolls through the list of remaining questions.

Mila stops, a mischievous smirk creeping across her face. “‘Tell your partner something that you like about them already.’”

He laughs, throwing his head back slightly. “Of course you’d choose this one!”

“It’s the most fun one left!” She teases. “Unless you’d rather answer ‘Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?’” She says, voice taking on a dramatic, playful tone. “I mean, that’s morbid!”

She tries not to let it show, but there’s a flutter in her heart. There’s something intimate about the question, something that makes her feel like the gap between them is closing with each word he could say.

“Okay, okay,” he smiles, “I like that you’re…talkative, but you listen.”

She raises a brow, curiosity piqued.

“I mean that,” he pauses, choosing his words carefully, “I don’t always have a lot to say. I say things mostly as I see them and there’s not much to explain. But you? You have a lot to say and you say them easily. And then I speak and you…really listen.” His eyes glint with sincerity, making his smile even more captivating. “You ask questions, you react, and you call back to other things I’ve said before. I think that’s part of it too. You remember. Not a lot of people do.”

Mila’s smirk fades into a more genuine smile, her cheeks warming at his words. She didn’t expect him to think that of her. She just thought she was being normal. It’s a special kind of feeling when someone you like tells you that you listen. She gets the feeling of not being heard. She wants to listen to him forever.

“Your turn.”

“I like that you…start things.”

This earns him a playful, incredulous look from her.

“Like…” She tries to find the words. “I’m not the type to start conversations or invite people to hang out. But you do that.”  She locks her eyes with his, sincerity woven into her tone. “It’s hard to start things. It’s hard for me to start things. But I think you get that about me. I mean, you were the one who talked to me first—both times, I might add—and you messaged me first, you sent the first picture, sent the first video. You’re the one who asks me to hang out. I admire that about you.”

Without missing a beat, he tells her, “You’re worth it. All of it. I start things with you because I want to.”

Her heart swells at his words, a rush of warmth flooding her veins. “I want to do those things for you too,” she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper, but the intent rings true.

“You can,” he assures her, his tone gentle. Kind. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m right here.”

Mila decides that’s another thing she likes about him. 

He waits for her.

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

They hang out a lot more after their little impromptu gettogether at the park. They get lunch, hang out at the cafe they went to the first time he asked her out, and fall into a comfortable rhythm. Nico watches her study, sometimes quizzing her with flashcards, playfully teasing her when she struggles with a card she should’ve known. They carve out time for each other. And when they aren’t free, they text all night—little ramblings about their day, stories about their friends. Sometimes it’s more heartfelt—losses and failure, the pressure to excel. They keep talking until one of them gets too sleepy to continue, often ending with a send-off of heart emojis—red for Nico, blue for Mila.

Today, they’re hanging out at Mila’s apartment. She’d invited him over. A first for the two of them. It’s a nice but strange feeling to have someone in your space. The apartment wasn’t messy (she stress-cleaned the night before), but she found herself glancing at everything, wondering if it felt too personal. Yet, once Nico arrived, Tulips in hand, his easy going presence helped put her at ease.

She had made them lunch and the way he complimented her cooking made her heart flutter. She found herself smiling more than usual. They spent the afternoon watching a dating reality show, laughing together as they made fun of the contestants' ridiculous personas, judging their decisions and betrayals. His laugh was infectious, and Mila found herself finally relaxing.

It was all fun and games until Mila remembered she was leaving for the airport tomorrow. For the World Championships. Normally, she’d remember well in advance thanks to Nicole’s insistence at helping her pack, fussing over her like a mother would her child. But this time was different. Hers and Georgi’s anniversary would fall on the same week as Worlds, so Georgi was taking her out for the day.

“You’re a big girl now,” Nicole had told her with a wink.

But was she?

Now, here she was, running around her apartment as Nico sat cross-legged on the floor, folding her leggings and turtlenecks like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Shit. I can’t find my skate guards,” Mila muttered, rummaging through her closet, her voice tinged with rising anxiety.

“Aren’t they in your gym bag?” Nico asked, glancing up from the neat pile of clothes he’d just finished folding. He was leaning back against the couch, watching her dart back and forth.

“I need my lucky ones,” she replied, a whine creeping into her tone. “The last time I didn’t wear them, I lost the championship.”

He chuckled softly, the sound light and easy. She’d find it cute if she weren’t so stressed.

“Us athletes are so superstitious aren’t we?” He teased, though there was an understanding in his voice.

“It’s only acceptable if the superstitions work,” she huffed, finally spotting the guards buried under a pile of scarves. She clutched them triumphantly, a small wave of relief washing over her.

Nico, done folding, patted the spot next to him on the floor. “Come here.”

Mila hesitated for a moment, but then walked over and sat down beside him. He pulled her close, his arm slipping around her shoulders, and she melted into him, the warmth of his embrace instantly calming her.

“You’ll be fine, you know. Even without the lucky skate guards or whatever rituals you have.”

She leaned her head against his chest, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the edge of his sleeve. “You don’t know that,” she whispered, the weight of the competition looming over her.

“I do,” he said softly, his voice full of quiet certainty. He rested his chin on top of her head, holding her a little tighter. “You’re the best one there is.”

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

Competitions were always hard. Physically and mentally. Especially mentally. She always seemed to psyche herself out and it almost always showed up at the worst possible moments. At the worst of times, it manifested as she skated, making her switch to easier jumps at the last minute. During practice, she could nail every jump with ease. But on the ice, under the glare of the lights, things became different. Georgi often told her that her biggest competitor was never the other skaters—it was herself. She was inclined to agree.

At the short program today, she’d under-rotated a salchow and ended up in second.  Second. A perfectly fine result, for anyone else. But it wasn’t where she needed to be, and that salchow—it shouldn’t have been a problem. It was one of the easier jumps. She could do it in her sleep during training. So why was it such a challenge in competition? God, she should’ve pushed harder to take that jump of her program. She's never been good at it. But it was too late now. Her results weren't too bad, sure. But it wasn’t where she wanted to be—where she needed to be. She needed to win. And a second place finish wasn’t getting her there.

She tries to calm herself by taking walks and spending time with her Team USA teammates. It didn’t work, but it was worth a shot. She couldn’t shake the heavy feeling settling deep in her chest. What is wrong with me? 

She wants to talk to Nico, hear his voice, have him comfort her. But she switches her phone off during Worlds. Half out of superstition, and half because she couldn’t resist the urge to doom-scroll through Twitter. It’s a bad habit of hers, reading through all the comments—positive and negative. Mostly the negative, reading every harsh comment from strangers who knew nothing about her. And yet, once she started, it was hard to stop. So, she kept her phone off. It was safer this way, even if it made her feel a little lonelier.

When the day of the free skate comes around, she’s all nerves. Her nails dig into her skin as she fidgets around. She tries to convince herself that second place isn’t bad. She still got a medal with it. But who was she kidding? Second place is the first loser. No one remembers second place. 

But what if she fumbles harder? What if she doesn’t even place? That was worse. That’s what everyone wanted. She’d never failed to make a podium her entire career. Never. How could she ever deal with that? Worse still, this season she’d won every competition she entered up until this point. She didn’t want to start her off-season with a loss. She knows how that ends—with her feet bleeding and a doctor’s note telling her to stay away from the rink until she was “mentally ready.” Whatever that meant. Ready for what? Skating was her life. She had to be ready. She didn’t have a choice.

Georgi put a hand on her shoulder, his voice steady, his presence solid. “Just skate,” he said, looking her in the eyes.

She stared at him, like he’d spoken another language. That was his advice? But Georgi was always like this—calm, grounded.

She took a breath.

The roar of the crowd filled the arena, but it was distant. Muffled. 

She tried to focus on the feel of the ice under her blades, the glide, the familiarity of it all. 

It was just her and the ice. Her and her old friend.

Just skate.

And so, she did.

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

She gets a call from Nico the next night—actually, she has one other missed call from him, but she tries not to dwell on it. Her gold medal is safely tucked into her luggage, nestled between her clothes. She leaves for the airport in an hour. And she’s excited to go back home. She’s excited to model her medal for her friends, excited to place it on their necks as they act like they’d won it themselves. The thought makes her giggle to herself.

“Hi,” he says, his voice soft and low. He sounds tired.

“Hey,” she replies, leaning back on her bed. “Long day?”

“Yeah, training was tough this morning,” he says with a sigh. “But it was good. The energy was good. We won the game earlier.”

“Congratulations!”

“Same to you, Ms. World Champion.” She can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I told you you could do it.”

“You did.” A warm feeling spreads through her chest, remembering their moment in her apartment—how he believed in her even when she didn’t.

“What are you up to now?” he asks.

“I leave for the airport in an hour,” she says, glancing at her packed luggage. “Just hanging out in my room until then.”

“Excited to go home?”

“Yeah,” she says, nodding even though he can’t see her. “Can’t wait.”

“I’ll get you flowers when I see you again.”

She smiles at the thought. “What kind?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I want Tulips, like the ones you got me last time.”

“Then tulips it is.”

Her smile widens as she leans further into the pillows, relaxing into the sound of his voice. The conversation flows from there. She asks him to tell her about the game so he does—recounting every goal, every save, and even a few funny moments that happened on the ice. She made a mental note to watch a rerun when she got back.

She’s reminded of the time difference when she actively hears Nico getting sleepier. His voice becomes slower, lazier, and then he yawns, trying to muffle it.

“I think you need some sleep, hun,” she says softly, her tone teasing but affectionate.

“I want to talk to you more,” he murmurs, and she can almost imagine him, sprawled out on his bed, struggling to stay awake.

“You’ll see me soon,” she assures him, her voice gentle, “It won’t be long. I promise.”

He hums in agreement, though his voice sounds distant, like he’s already half asleep. “Okay.”

“See you soon, Nico,” she whispers, her heart warm.

“See you soon.”

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

He shows up to her unit just a few days later with a bouquet of tulips in hand. He’s dressed a little nicer than usual—wearing a crisp button-up and tailored dress pants. The sneakers keep the look casual, but there’s something different about him tonight.

“What’s the occasion?” she asks, raising a brow as she lets him inside.

“I was hoping you’d let me take you out tonight,” he says, his voice soft but carrying an excited edge.

She gives him a quizzical look from where she’s arranging the flowers in a vase, glancing down at her current outfit—a comfy house shirt and loose shorts. “Now?” she gestures at herself, amused.

“I’ll wait,” he says with a smile. “You can change.”

“Okay,” she replies, still confused but warming to the idea, “How fancy are we going tonight?”

He tilts his head slightly, considering his words. “Something comfortable, but, you know, like you wouldn’t regret wearing it on a date.”

“Oh,” she smirks, crossing her arms. “So this is a date?”

He smiles back, the kind of smile that makes her stomach flip. “If you want it to be.”

She pauses, teasing him with a mock-serious expression before finally grinning. “Give me twenty minutes.”

She’d be ready in less. 

[sapphic-coded]

I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

You grew up in Ohio with your father, brother, and sister. Your family was small and strange. Because of that, you were picked on relentlessly at school. Until another weird kid showed up. Her family moved in across the street from you. It wasn't long until the two of you became friends. Your friendship became the light in your life. Until it ended suddenly. Rumors followed your friend's disappearance. Russian spies. You didn't see her again until you crossed paths at work.

Series Masterlist

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Reader is a messed up assassin and did not choose her codename. Childhood trauma hanging out in the background. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 5.3k

Author's Note: When writer ADHD hits, it hits. Sorry for the wait friends. Been working on this for a comically long time. Thank you for all the love and support for this series. I love that you love this. Enjoy!

Taglist: @natsxwife @iliketozoneout @newawakening9 @natasha-1million @ilovemcuff @taliiiaasteria @alowint @yerisdumbass @natashasilverfox

Chapter Seven: You Don't Know Me

Mount Vernon, Ohio – 1993

You counted the small rocks in your black gloved hand. Neither one looked the same. All were varying shades of gray. A few were smooth and round while others were rough with sharper edges. It was the best of what you could find around the neighborhood. You looked up when you heard the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow. 

The ends of Nat’s blue hair spilled out of her dark gray knitted hat. Her black puffy jacket swallowed up most of her body. In her white gloved hands was a single stick. It wasn’t very long. Hardly more than four inches. Some pine needles still hung off of it. You watched as she approached while the chill that hung in the air after the first snowfall stabbed at your cheeks. 

“Aren’t we supposed to use a carrot?” you asked as she came to stand next to you. You were also pretty sure that you were supposed to use coal instead of rocks. 

“My mom already cut up the one we have,” Nat replied. 

You certainly didn’t have any carrots lying around at home. Your refrigerator and Nat’s were so different that it was jarring the first time you saw it. You hadn’t realized how much food one refrigerator could hold when you didn’t have to make room for your father’s weekly experiments. 

You looked at the headless snowman in front of you. You had spent the better part of the last two hours alongside Nat and her younger sister building the snowman in front of their house. The snowman’s base was large, round, and a bit lopsided. But it supported the slightly smaller packed ball of snow on top of it. You and Nat had done your best to brush off any dirt or blades of grass that stuck to the snow. Now you waited for Yelena to return with the snowman’s head. 

You heard Nat shift next to you while you stared at the empty spot where the snowman’s head will go. You wondered what kind of person this snowman would be. It was a shame when your brother told you years ago that snowmen don’t actually come to life after they are built. There’s no singing or dancing. It was as your father put it when he overheard your conversation:

“It is a byproduct of man’s lust for godhood.”

But maybe they did come to life. In secret. Perhaps at night. You read about all kinds of supposedly fake creatures coming to life in secret in your sister’s books. If it was possible, would this snowman end up being a good person or a bad one? Would the lack of a carrot make a difference? 

“Are you going somewhere?” Nat asked. 

You looked at her and found her looking across the street. You followed her gaze. Outside on your driveway was your father. The trunk of his station wagon hung open while he shoved a couple large bags into it. His back remained toward you and you hoped it would stay that way. The freshly plowed street put enough distance between him and you that you felt like you could breathe normally without him noticing. 

Your gaze landed back on Nat. “My father is attending a convention. It’s a tradition.” 

“What kind of convention?” she asked. 

You shrugged. “One for people like him.” 

He would come back giddy from talking with his fellow scholars. You knew that when he returned you and your siblings would be forced to spend at least three hours trapped at the kitchen table with nothing to eat but plenty to listen to. If something particularly interesting happened, you would definitely be trapped at the table for five hours. 

“You’re not going with him?” she asked. 

You heard the trunk of your father’s station wagon slam shut. You looked over your shoulder and watched as your father started back up the driveway. You looked at Nat and shook your head. “Kids aren’t allowed.” 

Yelena hurried around the house from the backyard carrying a mostly round snowman sized head. It was pretty impressive when she reached you guys. Since you both were taller, you and Nat carefully took the soon to be snowman head and set it on top of its cold, round body. You pushed one smooth light gray rock into the snowman’s left eye socket and then pushed a square black rock into its right. You let Yelena help you set the rest of the rocks into a wide smile. Nat pushed the stick into the middle of the snowman’s face. Then, all three of you stepped back to admire your work. 

“We should give him a name,” Yelena said. 

You tried to imagine the snowman’s rock eyes blinking. You imagined puffs of white mists slipping from between his rocky lips. You tried to imagine him with a carrot for a nose. “He looks like an Ian.” 

You heard Yelena giggle and when you looked at Nat you saw the beginnings of a smile curling her lips. 

Triskelion, Washington D.C.  – 2012

Being part of a team sucks. There are rules you have to follow. Sure, there were rules back when you were working for your father. But those rules were different. You could bend and shape them into whatever you needed. As long as the job was done, your father was content. Maybe he’d nitpick if the job got messy. But you had the freedom of choice. There were so many ways to kill people. Some days your imagination would run wild with new possibilities. You had yet to surprise a target in their bathroom and drop a toaster into their bathtub while they were bathing. Then there was the old classic you had yet to try. This idea demanded the perfect costume, but tying a target to train tracks and watching a high speed train obliterate their body into nothing more but tiny bloody chunks would be great fun. 

You loved that part of the job almost as much as you loved watching your target’s life drain from their eyes. But now that freedom is gone. You don’t get to decide how you are going to do your job. You are told. Ordered. The worst is when you’re not even allowed to kill your target. You remember the first time you were given that bizarre job. You remember how punchable your target’s face was. You remember how easy it would have been to just push the ridiculous man over the edge. No one would have known. But you couldn’t. You watched that opportunity pass you by and you wanted to scream. 

You did scream. At Rumlow. You cornered him and demanded to know why. Why did they keep fucking with your head? 

He reminded you of your role. The chains that kept you bound to these nonsensical rules. You work for SHIELD. You don’t kill targets unless SHIELD wants you to kill them. You keep to your role and you don’t raise suspicions. You live out the story Rumlow crafted for you. He found you on one of his missions. He saw your potential and peeled you up off the ground like some frozen, sick, dying, abandoned mutt. He molded you into the weapon you are now. A weapon he happily handed to SHIELD. 

You hate that story. You hate it more than the stupid suit he forces you to wear. The black tactical suit covers every inch of your body from your neck down to your feet. It had taken a while to get used to the added weight of the black body armor attached to the suit. You still don’t like it. It makes you feel as if you are a child running around with pillows tied to your chest and a foam sword in your hand. But it’s the mask that feels the most suffocating. Despite being able to hear clearly from within the black helmet, you feel cut off from the world. The black tinted visor that conceals your face is full of fancy technology that often gets in the way when you are just trying to watch your target die. You hate the stupid suit. You hate that you can’t do anything without having to wear it. The only time you can strip the stupid costume off and breathe in lungfuls of air conditioned air is in your bunk buried beneath all the levels of SHIELD and fake SHIELD and real HYDRA. 

But if you could choose, you’d stick with the stupid suit if you could craft a different story. Preferably one that didn’t include anyone molding you into anything. But that freedom is gone, and all you have is a boatload of memories to distract you from how angry you are. That anger burns deep inside you. It fuels your every step as you walk alongside Rumlow down a bright, busy hallway. You ignore all the data that blinks across the inside of your visor screen with every SHIELD agent that hurries by. In the beginning you had been curious, but now all the data was familiar and boring. Mostly low level clearance agents with spotless records because they never did anything but sit at their desks or hurry around places looking busy. 

You walk out into a large hangar and board one of the waiting Quinjets. You spy two empty seats in the cockpit and a black duffel bag resting on one of the seats in the cargo bay. Rumlow hands you a small, black flash drive. You roll your eyes despite knowing that he can’t see your face. If he let you take off the damn helmet you could read the mission briefings perfectly fine. You didn’t need to clog up your visor’s hub with all the unnecessary tidbits of information on your targets. You hate this role. 

“This one is routine,” Rumlow begins as you insert the flash drive into the slot along the backside of your helmet. Almost instantly, information clogs up your interior visor screen. “Your target is Tomek Sikora. He’s an arms dealer that SHIELD has kept an eye on.” The picture of your target fills up your visor. Tall, muscular build. Short, dirty blonde hair. Blue eyes. Mid thirties. “We have good intel that he’s operating out of an abandoned storefront in Bardstown, Kentucky. His main clientele is HYDRA.” 

Your visor floods with images of your target standing with or shaking hands with other important looking men and women. A few of the faces look familiar, but the images scroll too quickly across your visor for you to be certain. 

“Your objective is to shut down Sikora’s operation,” Rumlow says. “SHIELD would prefer Sikora alive, but if you have no choice, do what is necessary.” 

The coded orders hidden behind his words brings a small hint of relief. A nice simple kill. You know that if you read more into the file scrolling across your visor that you could piece together why real HYDRA wants Sikora dead. But you don’t care. All you care about is watching your target die. All you care about at this moment is that you won’t be forced to watch your target walk away breathing. A straightforward mission is exactly what you need. Something easy. Sikora will probably put up some kind of fight. You’ll engage and end it when it feels right. 

You pull the flash drive from the slot at the back of your helmet. Your visor clears. 

“Rollins will accompany you on this mission,” Rumlow says. 

Eh. It could be wors–

“Slight change of plan.”

Both you and Rumlow turn towards the open cargo bay door. You see her clearly through your visor screen. You feel the chains of your boredom lift. That familiar energy that buzzes right beneath your skin awakens. You haven’t seen her since you put a bullet through Erik’s head. Even then, you can’t count that as your official last parting. You were buried beneath your costume. She didn’t know you were there. Because if she did, she wouldn’t have let you go like that. 

The weight of the costume you wear now feels heavier as you watch her ascend up the Quinjet’s ramp. She’s dressed in civilian clothes. You love the black, leather jacket that she wears over her red shirt. Dark denim jeans cover the length of her legs, and a gun sits in a black holster strapped to her right thigh. You’re envious of her clothes. You want to look into her wardrobe. You want to strip out of this stupid suit and wear anything else. 

“Agent Romanoff,” Rumlow greets. 

Nat. Your teeth bite into your lower lip. You know you can’t say anything. The rules of your role have been drilled into your head. You don’t speak. You only act. If anyone asks questions, Rumlow has your pathetic sob story ready to share. You know all this. You know you must comply. But you really want to say something. 

Her olive green eyes settle on you as she steps into the cargo bay. You instantly miss the recognition as she looks at you. Her eyes travel up and down the length of your body, taking in your forced getup. You want her to see right through it. You want her to say your name and rip the damn mask from your face so the chase can resume. 

“What’s the update?” Rumlow asks. 

Her attention shifts to him. “Rollins can’t make it. He’s in medical. I’m filling in.” 

Now you really really want to say something. You watch as she walks over to where the black duffel bag sits. A smile stretches across your face. You had wanted to start slow. A coffee date scheduled on a day that neither one of you needed to even think about work. But if you can’t have that, then you will happily take this. 

“That’s not necessary,” Rumlow replies. 

Your smile drops away, and you turn your head to give Rumlow the most threatening glare he will never see. He ignores you as Nat zips up her duffel bag and looks over at him. 

“I’ll get one of the other guys to fill in for Rollins,” Rumlow continues. “It’s a routine operation, and you’re needed for more Avenger missions.” 

You wonder what would happen if you punched Rumlow in the face. If you swing hard enough, there is a good chance you could knock him out. That would give you a couple seconds to say something to Nat before all hell breaks loose. You’d definitely apologize for the stupid thing you said before. And if Rumlow didn’t go down in one punch, you could always follow it up with a solid kick. 

“Fury disagrees,” Nat replies. 

The name sparks two recent memories of the Director of SHIELD. Both memories consisted of you standing in this stupid suit and staring at the bald man with an eyepatch while he interrogated Rumlow about you. You played the part of a lost puppy well enough despite wanting to smash your head into the closest wall. 

“Besides,” Nat looks first at you and then back to Rumlow, “I’ve been dying to meet your new sidekick.” 

Oh god. That one hurt. 

“They’re not much of a talker,” Rumlow says. 

You have so much to say. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Nat replies. 

Rumlow shakes his head, but finally relents. He looks at you. “Stay focused. I expect results.” 

You watch as he steps out of the cargo bay and descends down the jet’s ramp. For a moment, you can’t believe your luck. You thought that Rumlow would have done just about anything to rip you away from Nat. He had made sure to keep you as far away from her as possible. But the reality of your amazing luck settles when Nat comes to stand next to you. 

“Has he taught you how to fly one of these?” she asks. 

You shake your head. 

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll fly. You fill me in on the mission.” 

This is the greatest day of your life. 

The Quinjet, Kentucky Sky – A Short Time Later

You pull the flash drive free from the tablet’s port. The tablet’s screen goes blank while the hub screen built into your interior helmet visor lights up with a selection of unnecessary data about the tablet. Battery at 68%. No security update needed. Software version 3.8.27. You don’t understand why you are forced to tolerate the random extra tech. Rumlow told you it was to make your story more realistic. You still didn’t understand how something only you see makes others believe you more. 

You look up from the tablet, and the extra data clears. Bright sunlight floods the cockpit. The sky outside is so blue that it is almost painful to look at. You are sitting in the co-pilot seat. The various buttons and screens stretched across the dashboard mean nothing to you. Nat has been doing all the flying. All you’ve done is find a SHIELD issued tablet and plugged in the flash drive so Nat could review the details of your mission. So far she’s asked you easy questions about the mission. Your answers are simple nods or a shake of your head. You want to say more. You need to say more. But you stay quiet. You comply with your role. 

But there is sweet happiness in your forced silence. You look over to the empty pilot seat next to you. Nat left a few minutes ago to change after switching on the autopilot. You are tempted to lift up your helmet and sniff the pilot seat. You want to know what she smells like. You want to peel your black gloves off and touch the cushions of the seat. Feel the warmth left behind by her touch. A couple different scenarios float through your head and each one is far more entertaining than sitting in silence. But at least you get to be near her. You don’t have to hurry off and leave her. Despite all these stupid rules, you’ve discovered a piece of freedom that kept eluding you before. 

You turn your gaze forward when you hear Nat emerge from the tiny bathroom directly behind the cockpit. She settles back into the pilot’s seat. Her casual clothes are gone. You miss the leather jacket, but the black catsuit is a warm familiar memory. You tuck the flash drive into one of your suit’s many pockets. 

“Shouldn’t be long now,” she comments as her green eyes dart across the various screens and lit buttons. “About fifteen minutes out.” 

There’s a moment when you taste that bitterness of disappointment. You don’t want this to end. The two of you up in the sky without anyone else to distract you. But that moment ends when you remember what’s to come. For the first time you won’t be on opposing sides. Sort of. Not exactly. But it sends a thrill through you. 

“So,” she looks over at you, “Silent Type.” 

You frown at the stupid codename. You know she can’t see your face, but she sees something because she starts to smile. The tablet’s screen comes back to life as you navigate to the application you need. A virtual keyboard pops up along the lower half of the tablet. Your gloved fingers are quick as you type your message. You turn the tablet around so she can read it. 

Rumlow’s idea. Not mine. 

Your answer seems to amuse her more as she nods. 

“That does sound like a name he would come up with,” she says. 

You turn the tablet to face you again and delete what you wrote. Your fingers are quick to tap out another message. 

Did you choose your codename? 

Her smile falls a bit as she reads your question. “What did Rumlow tell you about me?” 

It doesn’t take you long to delete your question and type out your reply. 

Avenger. 

“That’s it?” she asks. 

You lower the tablet and nod. It’s not entirely a lie. Rumlow had spent most of his time preparing you for this stupid role. That meant filling your head with a bunch of random bullshit about fake SHIELD and real HYDRA. He trained you to remember your story. He did his best to polish off the grime of freelance and make you seem more refined. He rarely brought up Nat. And when he did, he never let you think about her for long. 

“I guess we’ll need to get to know each other better after this mission,” she says. 

More time with Nat? This day just gets better and better. Your fingers tap against the tablet’s digital keyboard again. When you lift up the tablet, you are very interested in her answer. 

What did Rumlow say about me?

“You’re his pet project,” she says as her smile returns. 

You frown. You want to somehow clarify that you are nobody’s pet project, but one of the buttons on the dash lights up and steals Nat’s attention. You watch as she turns off the autopilot and takes control of the Quinjet. 

“We’re approaching our target,” she reaches up and flips a switch. “I’ll set us down somewhere close. With our stealth systems engaged, they shouldn’t be able to spot us.” 

You turn your head and look out at the bright blue sky. While you love the quality time with Nat, you also need to come up with a plan for this mission. Rumlow’s coded orders had been clear. Kill Sikora. If Rollins had joined you on this mission, you wouldn’t have needed to do much thinking beyond when to kill your target. But Nat’s fantastic presence complicated things. You doubt that she’s part of fake SHIELD. Which meant putting a bullet in Sikora’s head outright wouldn’t go over well. Especially if your target decides to surrender. 

Your plan starts to take shape within your mind as Nat guides the concealed Quinjet towards the ground. It’s a simple plan. Draw your target away from Nat and kill him where it is just you and him. It would ruin the foreplay. You probably wouldn’t have much time and would need to kill Sikora quickly. But you’d get to talk to Nat later which seemed like a generous trade. 

The bright onslaught on sunlight fades as Nat sets the Quinjet down in a clearing surrounded by eastern white pine trees. Based on the data you had skimmed earlier, the abandoned storefront your target is operating out of is just north of your location. When the Quinjet’s engines fall quiet, you stand. You leave the tablet on your seat as you head for the cargo bay. You approach a metallic box bolted onto one of the walls. Your gloved fingers type in a code on the keypad fixed to the front of the box. The front panel unlocks and opens to reveal a small armory. 

Smaller than usual. No fancy explosives. Your usual selection of guns has been paired down to one: a single black Glock. You suspect your limited selection is thanks to Rumlow. You figure this has something to do with your training, but you don’t really care. You’re more disappointed in how the gun feels in your hand. You miss your Beretta. You don’t feel the same without it. 

You slide the Glock into the empty holster at your right hip and turn when you hear Nat enter the cargo bay. She holds the tablet you left behind. Her finger slides across the tablet’s screen, and you watch the way her head tilts slightly as she reviews the mission data. You imagine that she looked exactly like that whenever information on you ended up in her hands. Your smile starts to return as you grab the tactical knife left in the armory and slide it into place on your belt. 

She turns off the tablet and sets it down next to her black duffel bag. She lifts her hand and speaks into her wrist. “Comms check.”

You hear her voice flood your helmet and you don’t want it to stop. When she looks over at you, you nod. Her smile threatens to break you. You want so desperately to say something. You want her to look at you like she knows you. Like she did before whenever she appeared on one of your jobs. But your mouth stays shut. You comply. 

It’s quiet when you both exit the Quinjet. As you make your way through the cluster of trees, you can’t help but think back to your last freelance job in the middle of nowhere. The sound of gunshots ripping apart tree bark. The smell of sweat and blood on your target’s body. The feeling of her hand around your wrist. 

You stop when you reach the treeline. Roughly fifty yards ahead of you is the bland backside of the abandoned storefront. The back door is unguarded. You don’t see any cameras either. It’s no wonder why HYDRA wants Sikora gone. The lack of security is almost offensive. It’s as if your target is inviting you inside. 

“We’ll split up and sweep the area,” her voice is low and when you look at her, you nod. 

Perfect. As long as you find Sikora first, this mission should be easy. 

“I’ll take the upper floor while you secure the lower,” she says. 

As you nod, you hope that you’ll find Sikora in the storefront’s basement. If you don’t, you don’t know exactly how you’ll get your target far enough away from Nat. 

You both step out of the treeline and make your way towards the storefront’s back entrance. By the time you reach the back door and press your back against the wall, you notice that both you and Nat have drawn your guns. You bite your tongue to hold back a laugh at the thought that instantly springs to life within your mind. This must be the first time you both have a gun in your hand and you’re not pointing them at each other. Now would be a great time to take your helmet off. 

Nat reaches for the door handle, and it’s unlocked. You decide that it’s your target’s inflated ego that left the door unlocked and not stupidity. Or a trap. You try not to let that last thought get you too excited as you follow Nat through the backdoor. 

You enter a narrow hallway. Directly ahead of you is a wide open doorway that reveals a large empty room. Remains of what was clearly a counter mark the worn looking floorboards. Dark colored wallpaper peels from the walls. The room itself is lit only by the light that spills out from the hallway. Large, thin boards are nailed across the windows. Littered about the floorboards is trash, random dark wet spots, and the occasional clothing hanger. 

To your right is a set of stairs leading to the upper floor. To your left is the remains of another door. You see the hinges, but the door that clearly once occupied the space is gone. Beyond it is another set of stairs leading down towards the basement. You turn to your left and start to descend the stairs. You hear Nat ascending the stairs behind you. You force yourself not to look back as you lift your gun and keep going. 

Your footsteps are quiet on the stairs. When you reach the bottom, you find yourself alone in an empty room. The lights are on. Boxes and crates are stacked against one of the walls. On the other side of the room is another doorway, but this one still has a door attached to it. As you walk further into the room, you hear a loud thud shake the low ceiling. You feel a tiny spike of jealousy that Nat found her targets while you are alone in a basement. Another loud thud shakes the ceiling again. That lingering spike of jealousy flees when the door on the other side of the room opens. 

You pull the trigger the second you see someone fill up the space in the doorway. You see the person drop and no one else comes out. You move towards the open door. One quick look down at the man dying on the basement floor at your feet confirms that they are not your target. You step over the dying man and into the room. It’s a small break room with a fold out plastic table that eats up most of the space. Sitting on the table, directly in the middle, is a small, square television. It’s on and playing an old western. 

When you return to the dying man laying in the doorway, you find him dead. The man’s lifeless eyes stare up at you. His mouth is slightly parted. His hair looks greasy. He looks about as old as any average college student. The sounds of the western playing on the television fills up the quiet as you stare down at the dead man. The sounds of shouting pulls you out of your odd stupor. 

You step over the dead man and hurry back towards the stairs. You quickly climb back up into the narrow hallway and start towards the stairs that would take you up to the upper floor when you see it. You are standing at the base of the stairs when you see a body falling. You see their arms first as they come up, and you see how their legs trip over each other. You notice a mop of dirty blonde hair right before it smashes into the first uppermost step. The body falls hard down the stairs with a series of sickening crunches. You take a few steps back when you notice the body picking up some speed. When the body finally reaches the bottom of the stairs, it rolls over once and stops. 

Sikora lays at your feet. His neck is bent at a terrible angle. His blue eyes are wide open. You see a piece of bone poking out from his forearm. Your gun lowers at the sight of your target’s still body. You feel numb at the sight of it. No satisfaction. No sense of pride. Not even relief. You don’t know how to feel when you step over your target’s body and ascend the stairs. That strange feeling persists as you find Nat standing near a table. Littered across the floor are six bodies. You can’t tell if some are alive or not, but you feel the corners of your lips curl into a smile. Nat doesn’t have a scratch on her. None of the bodies scattered across the room were a challenge for her and you just want to run up to her and kiss her and hug her tight because it makes sense. One piece of your life hasn’t changed. She’s still your friend even if you can’t act like hers. 

As you walk further into the room, carefully stepping over fallen bodies, Nat closes up a black laptop that is sitting on the table. Her smile melts away any lingering numbness hanging on from seeing your target’s body. 

“Good work,” she says. “SHIELD will be here in ten to clean up.” 

You savor her praise before looking at the laptop again. 

“Just a little side project,” she says after following your gaze. She picks up the black laptop and moves towards you. “You ever have bourbon from here?”   

You shake your head. 

“Then we’re making a quick pit stop before we head back,” she says. 

You follow her, and you can’t help feeling like you are back in Ohio. It’s as if school is finally letting out and you two have the rest of the day ahead of you. You want this day to last forever. You’d rather her know it’s you, but if this is all you can have, then you’ll take it.

[thisliminalspacedaydreams]

Author Interview

thanks for the tag @veryinnovative you already all my life story but let's go at it again

How many works do you have on AO3?

47. Because I have no chill whatsoever.

What's your total AO3 word count?

818,546.

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes: Collars and Croissants 

Runaway Groom 

Le Mange Dieu et le Dévoreur de Mondes 

The Brew 

Goldeneye 

Do you respond to comments?

Not really… I don’t know, I feel like writing my story is my comment and the readers’ comment are their reaction to the work ? I tend to build friendships tumblr more so that ao3 (which I don’t consider to be a social media per se).

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Heartless. It was not planned like this at all, but when it came to write it, that’s what needed to be done.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Most of my smutty oneshots I would say. It’s harder to have a happy ending when you put your characters through horrors…

Do you write crossovers?

Haven’t yet, but I’m not opposed. I love the idea of a Jayvik/Jegulus story set in Harry Potter where Jayvik from Arcane timetravel like in episode 8.  It just makes so much fucking sense. God I would like writing that so much.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

A few people strongly hate I am the moved on. 

Do you write smut?

I’m a theoretical whore 🥳

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not exactly.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yep ! The Dark!James one shot is available in Russian. And someone is working on Runaway Groom in French.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yas. Love a co-writing baby. I have co-written a few published ones, a few unpublished ones, and I am currently writing with 3 people, 4 different fics. I just love a cowrite. There’s nothing like it. With the right people, it just ✨makes sense✨.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Nothing will ever beat Naruto/Sasuke. Although BKDK is really hitting something in me as of late.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Echoes in Eternity. I have been toying with the idea of writing a bullet point final chapter with what I had planned. But if I do then I fully give up… and I don’t know if I am ready.

What are your writing strengths?

My singularity. I don’t write traditionally, and people either love me for it or can’t stand it. I don't mind being a divisive writer. I don’t want to appeal to everyone, but I want a few people to stumble upon my shit and I be blown away. I want everyone else to think « wtf » and click out. The more I learn, the crazier I want to experiment. 

What are your writing weaknesses?

Description of people and things. I’m into the mental a lot, and I forget to tell people where they are. How they look. Mostly because it’s something I personally don’t care for while reading

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I don’t have a real opinion. It depends on whether I feel like it’s necessary or no. But then I’m not really bothered either way.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

Arcane and My Hero Academia. I wrote a really shitty mha start, but since then I had an idea so I need to rework it.

What's your favorite fic you've written?

They’re always my favourite when I’m writing them . But if I had to pick, then Heartless.  Which is also imo the most underrated one. I re-read it and I still think it slaps. It's not perfect but it's my baby. It's my fav. It's the one I would save in a fire.

I wrote it during a special time in my life and rereading it is always an emotional adventure

I don't necessarily know you all very well, but I enjoy you guys as writers, so....

@twisted-tales-told (I know you very well obvi, my couch has your name on it whenever, you know that right?)

@sophsicle (I don't know you, but your writing is very special to me)

@suixcausa (we have bonded over bookbinding (I swear imma send you your copy of SEMI, it's just cold outside and I have to go to the *post office* and I don't like itttttt)) and also mha dragon fucking... I mean what's not to like. Can't wait to physical meet you one day)

@majjale (we spoke on tumblr briefly but your immortal baku AU fic ended my life and re-started it, and I am endlessly curious).

Cheers

[wandafiction]

It's Real To Me - Just Us Chapter 29

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 2211

Series List | Chapter 28 | Chapter 30

================================

"Hello ladies, and Yelena." I join them at the table sitting myself next to Wanda, Natasha sitting next to her sister.

"I am a lady too Y/n!" Yelena holds her hand to her chest feigning hurt as the other three women laugh and I shake my head pointing my finger at her as I speak.

"How old are you Yelena?" She mumbles something under her breath, I catch her swearing in Russian but not much else.

"Yelena!" I gasp as I look at the children. "Watch your language there are children about." 

"Blyad!" (Fuck)

"You just swore again. Surely you're too young to be cussing." Natasha is laughing at her sister now, her hand resting on Yelena's shoulder. Wanda pinches my leg under the table telling me to behave, while Sharon joins in on mocking Yelena.

"Yeah Yelena! I'm sure your mother would love to hear that you're cussing someone new out and in front of her younger brother."

"Oh shut up will you." She folds her arms and pouts, but can't hide the smirk that grows underneath as she looks up at me. Oh this is going to be good. I rest my arms on the table rubbing my hands together, curling an eyebrow as I wait for a response. 

"Well at least I didn't have to climb down a beanstalk to get here today." The three women look at Yelena confused as I give her a smirk. "You know, because she is so tall. Jack and the beanstalk, the giants live, oh never mind." She waves her hands dismissively. 

"It's okay Yelena I got it, maybe I could take you to my kingdom one day. I heard there was a goose that lays giant golden eggs or something." She gives me the middle finger as she scoffs. "Hey I'm just saying." 

"Well I bet someone like you does have a goose that lays golden eggs. For all we know you have one of those fabergé eggs." 

"Not worth the money." I shrug dismissively. Wanda places her hand on my thigh trying to take my attention away from Yelena as Natasha gives her sister a pointed look telling her to stop. Unfortunately she doesn't see, Sharon is just enjoying the show which I can't blame her for.

"Not worth the money, oh Miss self righteous I give money to poor people because I can." I take in a breath, placing my hand on Wanda's taking control of my emotions so I don't react. She isn't the first person to say something like this, she isn't going to be the last but if it's going to create tension between her and me then I might say something. I don't want to ruin what I have with Wanda because Yelena is butt hurt I have money. 

"Yelena stop." I hear Natasha hiss in her sister's ear, so I know Yelena heard it. Luckily the boys are too preoccupied with chasing one another to notice what's going on.

"No, I want to know how some 22 year old has a fu...has a business and all this money. We don't even know who she works for!" Yelena throws her hands in the air aggressively as she gets more wound up, at least she stopped herself from swearing so she has some control. "I mean she turned up in a brand new G-wagon, she lives in a penthouse according to Wanda, has a few expensive cars and a house. Now you tell me, how someone who is my age can have all of that! I bet it's not even hers. She is probably just another trust fund kid who shows off mommy and daddy's money."

"My mom and dad own an ice cream parlor, how on earth would you expect them to have enough to have a trust fund let alone a multimillion dollar trust fund." 

"That's not real though is it?!" Her eyes widen and she says it, the other three women's jaws drop as their heads whip around all of them glaring at Yelena. She seems to shrink under their gazes, her sister hits the back of her head seemingly the most angry with her. 

"Yelena that's enough." Wanda's voice is scarily calm and even, but her head tilt and eyes tell a different story: I would hate to be on the receiving end of this Wanda. 

"I'm sorry Y/n. I didn't mean, I shouldn't have said that. It just came out before I could stop myself." Well fuck!

"It's okay Yelena." My eyes meet hers as I give her a smile, one that I know doesn't meet my eyes, but my voice is soft and calm.

"It's not though. For what it's worth I am so sorry, I really didn't mean to say it." 

"But you did." 

"I did." She drops her head, disappointed with her own actions which already lets me know she is truly sorry but I just need a minute.

"I'm just going to the toilet." I stand gently from my chair, giving Wanda a peck on the forehead as I make my way inside.

I hear Natasha's hand make contact with the back of her sister's head as she chews her out once again. I close the decking doors behind me, taking a deep breath to compose myself before making my way to what I assume is the bathroom so I can splash some water on my face. I assume correctly as I walk into the rather large bathroom immediately locking the door behind me so no one can interrupt me. I place my hands either side of the sink as I look up into the mirror.

Like I said before, I have heard those words before and so much worse so I am not angry or upset that I heard them. It just stings a little to hear them come from one of Wanda's friends. I get she said it in the heat of the moment, but she still said it. 

It isn't real? Of course it isn't fucking real, they are my adoptive parents so no it ain't fucking real. But it's a real as it is going to fucking get when both your blood parents who were meant to love and cherish you don't, well maybe my mom still does but I can't be sure I haven't visited her in a while. And my dad, well he is not my fucking dad. Clint is my dad. Clint is my real dad. I chose Clint to be my dad so surely that makes it real, it makes it all real. Right? 

I'm brought out of my thoughts by a quiet knock on the bathroom door, I almost don't hear it.

"Y/n it's Yelena. Can I please come in?" 

I let out a small sigh as I unlock the door, only to be knocked back when it swings open and Yelena jumps at me, wrapping her arms around me, squeezing me tightly. I turn my body to kick the door closed, and lock it because no doubt the other three women are going to want to eavesdrop, so I lock the door just so they can't watch it. I feel Yelena's shoulders shaking against my torso, a wet patch leaking through my shirt. She's crying. 

I move backwards so I am leaning against the counter top, allowing my feet to slide along the floor a little so I am at an angle where Yelena's head is resting on my chest and not on my stomach. She is tiny too, just like her sister, cute.

"It's okay Yelena." I feel her shake her head against my chest.

"It's not okay. I hurt you." I hate the way her voice croaks with emotion.

"You didn't hurt me that bad. I've heard worse."

"Well you should have never heard it in the first place. You didn't deserve it. Not one bit." I let out a small sigh, moving my body to stand up detaching Yelena from me. 

She lets out a surprised squeak when I pick her up, putting her on the counter top so our eyes are almost level, I take a few steps back to make sure there is space between us. I know I locked the door, but I do not want to have to deal with another angry Russian let alone an angry Sokovian if they were to catch us in that sort of position. Sharon's like Switzerland, very neutral, knows when to speak and when to let things just happen: she is a peacekeeper. 

"Can I ask you something?" Yelena furrows her brows in confusion, but nods her head nonetheless. "Why did you get worked up so quickly? We were joking around and then it's like a switch flipped and you completely lost it."

"I don't know, not really. You just sort of said that fabergé eggs are not worth the money, and something just flipped. I think that's the way I interpreted it."

"How did you interpret it?"

"That you were saying they were such throwaway things. Like you were just able to spend all that money, which is not even a big spend for you, and then you were like 'no I don't like it'." She shrugs. "I don't know, it's hard to explain."

"Well try." She huffs out a laugh looking up at me unamused.

"I think maybe it's because I'm living with my sister."

"Well it can't be that bad that you lose your shit at a practical stranger. A stranger that's dating a Sokovian woman by the way."

"Yeah I know. She did the head tilt thing and I swear I nearly shit myself there and then."

"It was pretty scary." I laugh along with Yelena's giggles.

"I know right?" 

"So why do you think living here caused the outburst?"

"What are you my therapist now?" 

"Amuse me."

"Okay Dr Y/n." She smirks at me as I giggle a little, but nod for her to continue. "It's not just living here, it's not having a job here either. I mean I am relying on my older sister for pretty much everything and I am struggling to get to the interview faze of so many places. No one wants me." 

"So that's it." I speak softly as I look at Yelean who lets out a defeated sigh as I take all the information in. "You think your not needed, not wanted and that you are going to have to rely on people all your life and yet here I am at the same age as you living some people's wildest dreams."

"No offence but I hate how you can have everything in the palm of your hand yet here I am living with my sister with no job." I perk up when I get an idea.

"What sort of jobs are you applying for?"

"Uhm, anything and everything. But something that pays more than $10 just because I need to start putting money behind me. Why?"

"What does your CV look like? I could maybe help you put something together if you would like help. I've read so many, and done so many interviews that I sort of know what to look for and what not to look for. And if they are going to read the first two lines and chuck your CV or phone you up." Yelena's jaw drops at the idea.

"You would do that? For me?" Her bottom lip quivers a little. "After what I said out there."

"All is forgiven Yelena. You need to stop beating yourself up about it. It was in the heat of the moment, and we all say things we don't mean."

"That would be like so fucking amazing if you could help me. Like you don't even know what this means. So yes, please could you help me with my CV?" 

"Of course I will. I will give you my number and email and we can start on it tomorrow or something, but for today let's just relax and have fun. Oh by the way you are going to be on mine and Nats team for a water fight, but don't let the others know I brought water guns. I wanted to surprise the children." 

"Thank you so so so much Y/n. You don't even know what this means to me! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She jumps off the counter to give me another hug, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist as I wrap mine around her shoulders draping them over her back lazily. "Me, you and Natasha are going to win the battle by the way." 

"Of course we are. Now let's head back out there, maybe have a drink and then we can have a good afternoon." 

Yelena let's go of me heading straight to the door, but as she grabs the handle with her hand ready to unlock it she turns back around to me: keeping her hand on the handle.

"Me and Natasha are adopted too, so I know it's real because it's real to me too." I smile softly and nod in understanding at what she is saying, as she turns to unlock the door so we can leave the bathroom.

She is right.

It's real.

================================

[aloneinthehellfire]

saw my tumblr notification for your previous anon and OH MY FUCKING HELL I WOULD LOOOOOVE TO GET THE BATHROOM SCENE FROM STEVE’S POV 💖💖💖

I’ve already told you before that your writing is STELLAR and I know that no matter what you write, it’ll be absolute gold. *chef’s kiss* 🤌🏻

I have to say also that GOH is absolutely KILLING ME in the best ways. love love love the slow burn and the mystery behind what’s been happening in the latest chapters, aaaaa. :’) keep up the amazing work, my friend, and please make sure that you take breaks should you need them!! 💕

I got a lot of requests for this so I hope my anons find this one <3

RAINING HELLFIRE (READER'S VERSION)

Word Count: 3672

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drugs, mentions of torture

Set in RH3: Chapter 12: Uncle Jack

Find all Raining Hellfire works here <3

Summary: While you try and find your previously abandoned radio in hopes of contacting help, Steve and Robin slip away from their cinema experience to end up in the bathroom, sharing truths about their lives they never admitted before.

[A/N: Welcome to our new little series I am calling 'Raining Hellfire (Reader's Version)' where you can request a scene that I either hadn't written into RH originally or a POV of a different character :) shout out to the nonnie that suggested this &lt;3]

RH3: STEVE'S EPIPHANY

“The ceiling stopped spinning for me.”

Robin’s voice echoed out as Steve flushes away his latest creation, stomach lurching while he wipes away the clinging spit.

“Is it still spinning for you?”

Steve rests his back against a ceramic tiled wall and tilts his head upwards. He focuses for a second.

“Holy shit.” He sounds, still feeling light-headed. “No. You think we puked it all up?”

“Maybe.” Robin says from the cubicle beside his. “Ask me something. Interrogate me.”

“Okay. Interrogate you, sure.” He tries to straighten himself a little, ignoring the dull pain in his face. “Um… When was the last time you, uh… peed your pants?”

“Today.” She responds quickly, voice airy.

“What?” Steve smirks.

“When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw.”

“Oh my god.” Steve chuckles and Robin laughs.

“It was just a little bit though.” She giggles and Steve shakes his head in amusement.

“Yeah, it’s definitely still in her system.” He mutters, rubbing the eye that hadn’t been battered by Russian spies. Of course Dustin’s brilliant plan involved yet another concussion.

“All right, my turn.” Robin announces after her laughter died down, a smile in her voice.

“Okay, hit me.” His head was starting to throb and he was seriously missing his truth serum right about now.

“Have you… ever been in love?”

“Yep. Nancy Wheeler. First semester, senior year.” He says, not really putting much thought into the answer. He imitates a gun with his fingers and shoots at his heart.

“Oh my god.” He could practically hear Robin’s eye roll. “She’s such a priss.”

“Hm.” Steve nods, remembering a time when he thought the same. “Turns out, not really.”

“Are you still in love with Nancy?”

“No.”

A wave of shock struck him when he answered without a thought, reeling in his own response. Was he really over her?

“Why not?”

This time, his thoughts are swirling around like the ice-cream machine they rarely ever used, clouding his eyes with one image. One very specific image. And he smiles.

“I think it’s because I found someone who’s a little bit better for me.” He chuckles. “It’s crazy. Ever since Dustin got home, he’s been saying, you know, you gotta find your Suzie, you gotta find your Suzie...”

Steve blinks and the image reappears again. Dustin’s rant about Steve finding love had never left his mind.

“Uh, I guess I don’t totally know what I’m looking for.” Steve states, staring through the binoculars and being anything but covert. But Dustin could be on to something and he desperately needed a break from slinging ice-creams all day.

“Evil Russians.” Dustin replies simply and he roll his eyes.

“Yeah, exactly.” Steve nods, “I don’t know what an evil Russian looks like.”

“Tall. Blonde. Not smiling.” Dustin offers as Steve continues to navigate the binoculars. “Also, look for earpieces, camo, duffel bags, that sort of thing.”

“Right, duffel bags.” Steve repeats. He takes another moment before letting out a breath. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?”

“Anna Jacobi’s talking with that meathead Mark Lewinsky.” Steve complains, staring as she cosies up to the worst player he ever teamed with in his life.

“Dude, if you’re not gonna focus, just gimme the binoculars.”

“Aw, Jesus Christ,” Steve continues, ignoring the boy next to him, “Whatever happened to standards? I mean, Lewinsky never even came off the bench.”

“Dude, you are the worst spy in history, you know that?” Dustin reaches out and snatches away the binoculars, resulting in a small fight as Steve struggled with the strap around his neck.

When Dustin won the binocular war, he places the binoculars in front of his eyes. “I don’t get why you’re looking at girls, anyway. You have the perfect one in front of you.”

“Seriously,” Steve sighs, already knowing where he’s going, “If you say Y/n again-”

“Y/n.” Dustin says anyway.

“No, don’t. No.”

“Y/n, Y/n, Y/n.”

“Stop, no.”

“Y/n.” Dustin repeats over and over before throwing a curveball. “Robin?”

“No- Robin?” Steve raises his eyebrow. “Really?”

“Right.” Dustin nods. “‘Cause you like Y/n.”

“I don’t-” Steve takes a breath, noticing Dustin’s unimpressed look. “No, man, she’s not my type. She’s not even… in the ballpark of what my type is, all right?”

“What’s your type again?” Dustin asks with a side-eye. “Not awesome?”

“Thank you.” Steve sarcastically smiles, suddenly wondering where you were right now. You had said something about spending the day with Max and El, but that was all he had heard from you since last night. He remembered that smile you had given him before you drove off, a small wave as you promised to catch up on the ‘little Russian espionage’ later.

“Hm, right.” Dustin smirked and Steve looked back to him. “That lovesick face says it all.”

“I’m not-” Steve lets out a frustrated sigh. “She’s not my type, okay? Just friends.”

“Let’s see.” Dustin lowers the binoculars to count on his fingers. “Funny? Check. Smart? Check. Pretty? Double check.”

“Still in love with her ex? Check.” Steve says and Dustin’s face falls.

“What? No.” He pouts and Steve nods.

“Yeah, well. Good for him.” He looks ahead, trying not to think about how much that hurt him.

“At least you’re not in high school anymore.” Dustin shrugs and Steve looks at him.

“How has that got anything to do with anything?”

“Look, Steve.” Dustin gestures to the mall in front of them and Steve looks… confused. Dustin sighs. “There’s a whole world of girls out there. Instead of dating somebody you think’s gonna make you cooler, why not date somebody you actually enjoy being around? Like me and Suzie.”

“Yeah, you mean, ‘hotter than Phoebe Cates’. Yeah, that Suzie.” Steve recalls with a snarky tone, “And, uh, let’s think about- how exactly did you score that beautiful girlfriend? Oh, yeah. With my advice. Because that’s how this works, Henderson. I give you the advice, you follow through. Not the other way around, all right, pea-brain?”

“And how’s your advice working for you?” Dustin challenges, his eyes narrowing in his own amusement.

“Wait, who’s Suzie?” Robin asks and snaps him back into the moment. He blinks, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s some girl from camp, I guess his girlfriend.” He shakes his head, trying to push away the growing beating of his brain against his skull. “To be honest with you, I’m not 100% sure she’s even real.”

“But that’s not- that’s not really the point. The point is this girl, you know, the one that I like, it’s somebody that I… I lost touch with in school. And I don’t even know why.” Steve continues, sighing. “Maybe ‘cause Tommy H. would’ve made fun of me or… I wouldn’t be… prom king. It’s stupid. I mean, Dustin’s right, it’s all a bunch of bullshit anyways. Because when I think about it, I should have been hanging out with this girl the whole time. First of all she’s hilarious. She’s so funny. I feel like ever since last November, I have laughed harder than I have laughed… in a really long time. And- and she’s the only person in this whole world I feel like will understand me, you know? Not judge me.”

“Really?” Robin chirps up with a smile in her voice. “Sounds like she loves being around you.”

“Yeah...” Steve’s face slowly falls.

Steve closes the space, resting his head against your forehead. His heart raced faster as he pushed aside his fear. “I love you, Y/n.”

When you don’t respond, he moves his body closer, lifting his head to search your face for something to give him hope. “Please, say something.”

Every second you didn’t react was agony. He could see the tear trickling down your cheek, his brows furrowing.

And then you reached out, placing your hands over his. That little jolt of electricity, the one that give him hope, the one that never failed.

Until now.

You gently unclasp his hand and take your keys, never raising your head, never meeting his eyes.

“I..” You start, lips squeezing together. “I don’t feel the same way about you. Never have. Never… never will.”

Steve feels his entire soul shatter into a thousand pieces.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper as you turn from him, getting in your car without so much as a second glance.

He’s stood there, paralysed in his own heartbreak. He thought… you and him…

How could he have been so stupid?

“Steve?” Robin calls out and he clears his throat.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” He nods, rubbing his eye. “It’s just… I thought, you know, this girl was… everything. And…”

“And?”

“And she wasn’t even real.” He spoke, lowering his head. “I really should have taken Dustin’s advice. The kid knows zilch about love but… but he knows people better than I do sometimes. Told me Nancy was out of my league. Not in a bad way just, like…”

“Like you weren’t meant to be together?” She suggests and Steve hums.

“Yeah, exactly.” He laughs after a moment, “You ever… you ever had that?”

He rubs his face again, looking to the cubicle wall that separated them. She’s being quiet and he frowns, tapping on the plastic. “Robin? Robin, did you just OD in there?”

“No.” She finally says, sighing. “I… am still alive.”

“Did I say something wrong?” He asks and she lets out another sigh.

After another block of silence, he can’t take it anymore and scoots over to the wall, gripping onto the underside and pulling himself through, slow enough to avoid crashing into Robin on the other side. He decided it best to ignore how wet the floor felt on his back.

“The floor’s disgusting.” She comments as he sits back up, facing his friend.

“Yeah, well, I already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so…” He waves his hands, brushing it away. “What do you think?”

“About?” She blinks, but he knows she’s aware.

“Destined to fail romances?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “You ever had that with a guy before?”

“Something like that.” She says and he groans.

“Come on, you don’t have to be all mysterious.” He laughs, nudging her knee with his. “I can tell when you’re being weird, I’ve known you-”

“That’s it. You don’t.” She interrupts, brows knitted. When he frowns, she bites her lip and leans forward. “Look… you don’t really know me. And if you did, like – like really know me… I don’t think you’d even want to be my friend.”

“No, that’s not true, no way is that true-”

“Listen to me, Steve. It’s shocked me to my core, but I like you. I really like you. But I’m not like your other friends.” She shakes her head. “I’m not even… I don’t…”

Steve leans forward, “What’s going on?”

“Do you remember what I said about Click’s class? About me being jealous and, like, obsessed?” Robin questions and he slowly nods. “It isn’t because I had a crush on you.”

He blinks, holding his breath. Now he felt really foolish for even thinking it.

“It’s because…” She continues, and he keeps his silence. “She wouldn’t stop staring at you.”

“Mrs Click?” He frowns in confusion and she laughs, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Tammy Thompson.” She finally says, nodding. “I wanted her to look at me. But… she couldn’t pull her eyes away from you and your stupid hair. And I didn’t understand, because you would get bagel crumbs all over the floor. And you asked dumb questions. And I watched you fall in love Freshman year with a girl you ended up treating like shit because you wanted to be a douchebag. And- And you didn’t even like Tammy Thompson and… and I would go home and just scream into my pillow.”

“But Tammy Thompson’s a girl.” Steve shook his head, the drug still wavy in his brain.

“Steve.” Robin says softly and he slowly feels his face fall, realisation finally hitting him in a moment of clarity.

“Oh.” He finally sounds, blinking.

“Oh.” She repeats, laughing sadly.

“Holy shit.” He leans back. Talk about deja vu.

Steve didn’t realise how silent he was being. It wasn’t because of shock or hatred or anything like that. It was because he was taken back to Skull Rock all over again. Sat beside you. Your fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of your sweatshirt, a scared look in your eye. The relief on your face when he said he didn’t care who you liked, just who you were. A happiness in your trust.

That shattered image when you found out he had taken that trust for granted.

He didn’t want it to be like that this time. No wrong words, no broken promises. He didn’t want to make anyone feel that destroyed ever again.

“Steve… did you OD over there?”

“No, I just, uh… just thinking.” He slowly nods, “I mean, yeah. Tammy Thompson, you know, she’s cute and all, but… I mean, she’s a total dud.”

“She is not.”

“Yes she is. She wants to be, like, a singer. She wants to move to, like, Nashville and shit.”

“She has dreams.” Robin tries but he’s shaking his head.

“She can’t even hold a tune.” He expresses, trying to think of a descriptor. “She’s practically tone-deaf. Have you heard her?”

As Robin laughs, he mimics Tammy’s voice in the school choir, making it as nasally as he could.

“She does not sound like that-”

“She sounds exactly like that. That’s a great impression of her.”

“You sound like a Muppet.” Robin comments and Steve laughs.

“She sounds like a Muppet. She sounds like a Muppet giving birth.” Steve chuckles and Robin can’t help but agree, giggling. “Literally ask anyone, ask Y/n, she was there. It was an hour of torture, like, even the Russians couldn’t beat that.”

“Okay, okay.” Robin clutches her stomach, shaking her head. “You’re right, okay? She sounds horrible.”

“Thank you.” He grins, head resting against the wall, “You could do so much better.”

“Like Y/n?”

Steve practically jolts, eyes wide. How did she know? Did he tell her? Was he rambling about it and didn’t realise? When did-

“Steve.” She smiles, tilting her head. “I know who ‘the girl’ is, I’m not dumb.”

He mentally lets out a sigh of relief before focusing on her comment. “It’s not… I don’t know.”

“God, you two are in love with eachother.” She scoffs, meeting his unconvinced eyes. “Seriously. It’s suffocating being around you two, it’s flirt city.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore.” Steve sighs.

“No shit, there’s no way I’m going back to work after that, they don’t pay me enough to be interrogated by secret-”

“No, Robin, I mean me and Y/n.” He says quickly and she stops, frowning. He sighs again. “It… there wasn’t…”

When he couldn’t find the words, Robin leaned forward.

“What happened between you two anyway?” Robin prompts and he furrows his brows, shaking his head.

“What-”

“Last night. Or… heck, I don’t know how long it’s been.” She shrugs. “When Y/n ran out. After that really intense moment of her talking about being taken advantage of – which I totally agree with her by the way- but... she was clearly upset about something. And you followed her. But when you came back…”

She takes a breath.

“You looked…”

“I looked?” He asks, stomach churning.

“Heart-broken.”

“I don’t feel the same way about you. Never have. Never… never will.”

“There.” She points at his face and he bats her finger away. “Right there. That look.”

He covers his face with a groan, resting his head in his hands.

“I mean… if there would be any time to open up to me, it would definitely be after I just told you I’m a lesbian.” She snickers and he can’t resist the laugh, “Don’t tell me… you’re also gay?”

“No.” He chuckles and she smiles, leaning back. “But I am definitely going to be alone for the rest of my life.”

“I don’t believe that.” She scrunches her face as if the thought was stupid. “You’re Steve Harrington. Any girl would be fantasising about spending their life with you.”

“Not the one that matters.” He admits quietly and she straightens, her eyes wide. Steve takes a breath. “When I caught up to her…”

“Please, say something.”

“… I…” He sighs, rubbing his face. “God, I am an idiot.”

“Why?”

“I told her I loved her.” He finally blurts, wincing at the silence that ensued.

“Woah.” She comments, nodding slowly. He simply nods with her, eyes fixed on the black mark staining the wall behind her. “And I’m guessing she didn’t…”

“No.” He purses his lips, sniffing. “It’s fine, though. At least I know now, right? Won’t be… won’t be wondering that for the rest of my life.”

“She lied.”

His head whips up. “Uh, what?”

“She lied.” Robin repeats, looking serious. “I may have only just met her at the beginning of summer, but I like to think I know her. I see how she looks at you. I can even hear it in her voice when she talks about you and… and there’s a reason she hasn’t been dating anyone.”

“Because she’s still hung up about Eddie.” He sighs and she whacks his knee. “Ow!”

“No, dingus! Because she’s hung up about you!” She exclaims, “God, you are both so oblivious, it actually hurts.”

Steve rubs his knee, shaking his head. “She still likes Eddie.”

“And yet, she chose you.” Robin expresses with her hands and he frowns.

“What do you mean she chose me?”

“Because of the-” Her face falls. Either she was going to puke again or she had just realised something important because her skin started to pale a shade. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“No, Robin, tell me.” He inches forward slightly, eyes wide. “Because of what?”

She bites her lips, obviously trying to hold something in.

“She told you something, didn’t she?” He interrogates, watching her face go paler from the strain of keeping a secret. “What didn’t she tell me? Robin. Robin!”

And with that, she snaps.

“You’re kinda maybe one of the reasons she and Eddie aren’t together anymore but it’s also not your fault ‘cause there was no trust between them in the end anyway, and she was never going to let your friendship die again especially since you guys apparently went through so much together last year and she’s already lost you twice because of some petty arguments or something like that so she decided to let Eddie go so she could keep you because out of everyone, you make her feel the happiest she has in a really long time.”

Robin takes a long breath as she physically deflates against the wall, chest rising heavily.

“If she ever asks… it took a lot more than that to get me to spill.” She grimaces, waiting for his reaction.

You had never told him why you and Eddie broke up. Not truly. He remembers the first time you told him, sat on a bench outside the high school, your eyes threatening tears. You told him that you think you broke Eddie’s heart, but you weren’t ready to talk then. Ever since, you just alluded to the idea that you weren’t right for eachother, that it was better for you both to be apart. Never did you admit it was because of Steve.

And now he was conflicted. How should he be feeling about this? Angry? Confused? Sad?

“How am I… the reason?” He asks softly, fixated on his shoelaces.

“I don’t know the full details.” Robin says, “But I know that she has to love you too.”

“Rob-”

“No, just listen.” She interrupts and he takes a breath, meeting her eyes. “Don’t give up. Considering all the weird shit that just happened back there, and the fact that neither of you seem at all phased by the fact we were tortured by Russians living underneath us, I can only assume that she had a lot going on. Give her time, okay? Take it from someone who has an exceptionally sad life of watching other people fall in love, you two are made for eachother.”

“Right.” Steve nods before shaking his head again. “What if she meant it? That she didn’t… what if-”

Robin lets out a groan. “Just stop being a dingus and take my advice.”

“Not sure how I feel about taking advice from someone who had a crush on Tammy Thompson.” He retorts and she looks offended.

“Wha- hey!”

“We’ll be holding on forever!” Steve imitates Kermit the Frog and she buries her face in her hands, laughing.

The bathroom door bursts open and two kids walk in, one looking severely pissed at Steve.

“Okay, what the hell?!” Dustin frowns, hands on hips.

Steve draws his eyes back to Robin’s and they burst into laughter again, uncontrollably.

“It’s not funny!” Dustin stresses, only making them laugh harder. He shoots a glare at Steve before Erica steps forward.

“Y/n is missing!” She shouts and the two finally quit their giggling.

“What?” Steve chuckles, unsure if he heard her right.

“Y/n went looking for help about twenty minutes ago.” Dustin explains, and Steve’s heart races faster. “And she hasn’t come back.”

“So we better stop chit-chatting like little girls at a sleepover and get the hell out of here before the Russians find us.” Erica remarks, rolling her eyes when nobody moves. “Now.”

“Wait.” Steve scrambles to his feet, Robin slowly but surely following his action. “Y/n-where- where did she go?”

“Her radio.” Dustin sighs, pulling a face when Steve shakes his head. “Jesus Christ, we don’t have time to explain everything to you, she went out to get her radio but she hasn’t come back.”

“Let’s go, we’ll find her later.” Erica stresses, already opening the door and motioning for them to get out.

“I’m not leaving this mall without her.” Steve promises, wiping his lip and heading for the door, more determined than ever.

if you would like to request a new pov scene for the Raining Hellfire universe, please feel free to put it into my ask box and I'll get to it when I am available :)

[mossynebula]

The boys learning each others languages

Jiang (Chinese/Korean)

K struggling to speak Chinese but Swan is great at it

Jiang constantly having to correct Skov on the inflections in Chinese

Swan helping Proko with the alphabet in Korean cause he can't for the life of him wrap his head around it

Skov and K arguing about certain Korean words whilst Jiang sits back knowing both of them are wrong

Proko genuinely tears up when Jiang passes him a list of basic words in Chinese

K laughs at him

Jiang comforts him and says he doesn't have to learn Chinese

Skov says its not fair and get hit in the eye with an eraser

Swan can hold basic convos in Chinese with Jiang but cant read it

Skov learns as many insults as he can in both Korean and Chinese

everyone gets excited when they finally recognise some of the words Jiang says to his mum on call

They all agree to collectively throw Chinese out the window and just learn Korean

Kavinsky (Bulgarian)

They all know a few words due to Kav blasting Bulgarian rap all the time

All of them (except Jiang) know/ understand the Cyrillic alphabet

Skov learns all the swear words first

Swan is ready to punch him

Proko learns the history behind the language and ends up learning old 12-16th century words

K is ready to punch him

Jiang stared at the alphabet for a solid 5 mins in confusion

" what the fuck is that?" *points at Ж*

K downloads (in a totally legal way. yup.) primary school lessons for Jiang

J actually uses them

Its one of the easier languages they learn together

Skov (Ukrainian)

Skov starts by teaching them how to cuss someone out RIGHT in Ukranian

J mixes up Ш and Щ

K says its far too easy (he forgets simple words)

Proko learns the history behind it again

he also learns the national anthem on a dare and hums it to himself often

Skov is a shit teacher

Swan takes over

Jiang thanks him endlessly

Kav switches the tv subtitles over to Ukrainian and they all realise its way easier to learn a language like that

Proko now knows exactly how to argue back with Skov and everyone is ready to bury them both

along with Bulgarian, Ukrainian is the easiest language they learn

Proko (Russian/Belarusian)

we all what Skov is going to do by now (he already knows a lot of swears in Russian)

Proko does a crash course in the history of the languages and their roots/links to other slavic languages

everyone is actually interested

K becomes obsessed with Russian pop and rap songs

Jiang is getting really good at Slavic languages now and he's really proud of himself (the others are too)

Swan excels at both as usual (smart motherfucker)

Jiang finds himself using Russian the most out of all their languages (except his own ofc)

Skov prefers using Russian cuss words cause he says they sound more aggressive

Proko and Skov decided to put different anime and cartoons into Russian dub and couldn't stop laughing and trying to copy it

K was unimpressed

Jiang asks Proko to teach him the history behind the other slavic languages they've learned

Belarussian is used less frequently between them all but they hear it from Proko when his dad calls

K learns Belarussian first cause he likes Prokos dad

Swan (English/French/Quechua)

Swan helps the boys in English class with essays and such

Proko and Jiang mix up their grammar sometimes and Swan helps correct them

K likes to ask him what random words mean, he thinks it annoys him but Swan enjoys teaching

Skov makes fun of him if he accidently misspells something

"you don't know how to spell something in your own language?!"

Skov misspells words in Ukrainian all the time but denies it

Proko hears Swan speaking French to his mum and falls in love a little

Jiang asks Swan to translate random sentences into French, just to hear him speak it

K hates learning French, calls it "stupid fancy English with shitty letters"

Jiang struggles with learning the silent letters and sounds

Its the easiest language they learn, but they almost never use it except with Swans mother

Swan only speaks Quechua with his dad (his dad is from Peru)

He refuses to teach the boys Quechua

[busybecomingbones]

softie (cod mwii)

A/N: this was supposed to be something stupid so I could get into the groove of writing again but for some reason half way through I decided it would be a good idea to start like five other wips so this is coming out way later than I wanted

w.c: 1.6k

summary: obligatory cat fic I write for every new fandom

warnings: probably some swearing lmao, also my indecisive ass didn't know if this should be a ship fic or platonic so I tried hinting at ghost x reader but didn't commit

“This is the safe house?” 

Your tone is incredulous as you take in the house- no you think shack is a better word for it- in all its glory. The building is in the middle of nowhere, some abandoned acre of field, deep in the Russian countryside, and you’re surprised it hadn’t collapsed in on itself yet. Each plank of wood siding is a deep brown color that makes you think that all of them are definitely rotten, a few of the windows are broken in, and some of the roofing is no longer on the roof but is instead hanging off the clearly handmade gutters. 

Someone shoves past you and makes for the door. “It’ll have to do.” Ghost’s voice is gruff as he twists the doorknob and walks inside. He clears the entrance and signals for you and Soap to follow. You both pull out your guns from their holsters and trail after Ghost as he goes further into the house. As you all split up to clear different rooms, you let yourself feel a little relief since the interior isn’t half as bad as the outside. It’s dusty and cluttered, but you aren’t worried the floor is going to be falling from beneath you. 

It doesn't take long to clear the entire building. It’s small, one story with a wine cellar outside by the backdoor. You meet up with Soap and Ghost in the cramped living room. They come in together through an entrance in the front of the room while you enter through a small doorway on the side. Noticing the way Soap is beelining for the tiny, green corduroy couch, you vault over the arm and stretch your body across its entirety before he has the chance to claim a seat. The cushions smell somewhat of mildew yet you can’t find it in you to care. Its the most comfortable thing you’ve lain on in the past month. 

Soap immediately starts grumbling but switches course to the sunken-in recliner residing in the corner but not before muttering, ‘Fuckin’ roaster’ and settling into its beige seat. Naturally, Ghosts takes posts near the main doorway to the living room, where you assume he has a view of the front entryway.  

With the threat of Soap gone, you attempt to get comfortable. You roll onto your back and try to ignore the way the lumps and attachments on your tac vest dig into you. Despite the discomfort, your body seems to sag in relief as you finally allow the tension to leave your muscles. The mission had been kicking your ass from the get-go and you were going to savor every moment of peace you could get your hands on. As you feel your eyelids start to get heavy, you force yourself to move your head until you face Ghost. To your surprise, he’s already looking at you. If he’s in any way affected by you catching him he doesn’t show it. 

“How long are we gonna be here?” 

He breaks eye contact to glance out of the nearest window, there's a round hole in one of the panes from what you assume was a stone being thrown through it. Like always, his voice is gruff as he responds, “Until Bravo Team RVs here.” 

“So you don’t know.” 

“No.” He huffs. “I don’t know.” 

You only yawn in response. There's a few minutes of silence that follow, the only noise being the tinny sounds of metal hitting metal as Soap disassembles his handgun and cleans it. The quiet is broken when a dull thump sounds from the kitchen. It’s so soft that if you didn’t have years of experience being constantly on edge with your eyes and ears peeled, you never would have noticed. You’re not the only one who heard it either. Ghost’s posture stiffened and Soap halted his movements. There’s a pregnant pause before there’s another soft thump. This time you all spring into action. Ghost moves first, bringing his gun up and disappearing down the hall towards the kitchen, you’re quick to follow with Soap on your heels. However, you aren’t able to get very far because the doorway into the kitchen is blocked by Ghost’s hulking frame. 

“Ghost, what the fuck is it?” You hiss. 

His responce is a little irked. “There’s a buncha fuckin’ cats in here.” 

You and Soap are completely in sync as you lower your weapons and spit out a sharp, “What?” 

Ghost simply moves further into the tiny kitchen and slides to the right so you can get a better look. Sitting on the white countertop are four kittens that couldn’t be more than a month or two old and on the floor, what you assume, are their mama and another kitten. The two thumps you’d heard were probably from them jumping from the counter to the ground. The mom wasn’t very old either, scrawny but not mangy. Naturally, she seemed apprehensive of the three of you, her ears pulled back and tail puffed up slightly but she didn’t seem aggressive. Of course, that could change the minute any of you got closer to one of her babies.

“There's so many.” Fighting the urge to walk right up and scoop each and every little ball of fur into your arms is almost physically impossible. 

There’s a soft hmph from beside you as Soap puts his knife away, “How’d they get in?” He moves into the kitchen to stand beside Ghost. You don’t miss the careful way he walks, his steps are a little gentler than his normal stomping gait like he’s trying not to frighten the cats. 

Ghost nods his head towards a paneless window directly above the sink, “There. Reckon we can scare them off and board it up.”

You scoff. “Why scare them off?” In the time you’d been standing and talking, the mom must have decided that none of you were a threat because she’d shifted from a defensive position to sitting and eyeing Soap curiously. 

“They’re vermin,” is his deadpan reply. 

“It’s a litter of kittens, not a buncha rats. Besides,” you gesture towards the other man in the room, “Suds over there doesn’t seem to mind.”

Soap was leaning over and running his gloved hand along the older cat’s back, and you could hear her purring from the handful of meters between you. His attention is pulled away when he angles his face up to glare at you but he never stops giving the cat affection. Seeing that their mother seemed to trust the new strangers, her kittens jumped off the counter to investigate. 

Most of them made their way over to you, but the smallest one scampered over to Ghost. He merely glared down at its gray, fluffy face.

“Mom’s definitely a stray, there’s no way a feral cat would cozy up to someone like that. And I don’t think Soap is especially approachable.” As you speak, you bend at the waist and start pulling off your gloves. There was no way you were missing out on feeling them with your bare hands. “Babies are barely two months- their eyes are still blue.” After petting each- now incredibly rowdy- kitten, you take one in each hand and straighten. Immediately, you’re met with Soap’s quirked eyebrow and what you can only assume is Ghost’s stony expression. Your cheeks warm in embarrassment. “I worked as an assistant vet in high school!” 

The two kittens you’d left on the floor swiftly turn their attention to Ghost. His eyes harden again as they run over to him and join the runt who hadn’t left his side, meowing as loud as their little lungs would allow. 

Soap barks out a laugh at Ghost’s stiff posture. “You scared of a couple a’ cats L.T?”

“I don’t usually make it a habit to associate with pests.” The taller man eyes the kittens you’re holding. “Probably got rabies or something.”

You hold them tighter to your chest, at least as close as your tac vest would allow, like it’ll protect them from Ghost’s irritated glare. “Actually, it’s pretty rare for cats to-” 

It's then that the cats sitting on the ground decide they’re sick of the mask-wearing man ignoring them and promptly launch themselves upward and cling to the worn denim of Ghost’s jeans. They begin climbing him like he’s some incredibly stoic, aloof tree and he flicks his eyes between you and Soap. 

“Get them off.” He grunts. 

Humming, you meet Soap’s eyes and pretend to think about it. 

“No.” You and Soap say at the same time, once again in sync as you start to make your way out of the kitchen. Just as you turn on your heel to leave, you point at the ground near Ghost’s boot where the runt is still staring up at him, “And don’t forget the little one.” 

It’s only a minute later when you hear someone muttering under their breath and the familiar heavy stomps of military-issued boots. As you set some of your gear on the beat-up coffee table you see Ghost turn into the room out of the corner of your eye. You have to fight a laugh when you see the two kittens still hanging onto his pants. Except, when you study the rest of him you notice that something is missing and you’re instantly turning around to tell him off for leaving the other kitten. Before you can manage, you’re interrupted by Soap’s bark of laughter. 

“Never thought of you as a softie.” He says, a bit hypocritically if you might add since he has his now ungloved hand buried in the mom cat’s fur. She’d curled up there the second he had sat back down in his recliner. 

You inspect Ghost again and this time you see what you miss; a little gray face peeking out of one of the bigger pockets on the chest of his tactical vest. This time you do laugh but you slap a hand over your mouth to stifle it.

Ghost’s glare jumps between you and Soap, “Say a word to anyone and I’ll gut you.”

[mactavsh]

Follow the Bird [John “Soap” MacTavish x Reader] Part One

It wasn't unusual for a mission to go sideways, hell you'd grown to expect it at times. Going into an op alone was dangerous, but you knew the boys had your back. Soap would fight his way to you no matter the cost.

Warnings: violence, swearing, mentions of blood/injuries

also on a03.

I like to imagine Soap is the suavest guy ever until it's someone he's actually interested in. Then he's completely clueless.

This is my first reader insert so please let me know what you think! The callsign Bird was inspired by "Underground" by uselsshuman on tumblr. Highly recommend their work!

Chapter One - Emerald

Price had called you Ghost and Soap in for a meeting. Task Force 141 had been trying to track down Makarov for months, hitting dead ends at every turn. Something in your gut told you this time was different. Either Price was being cautious calling in just the three of his most trusted or you were overthinking things. Either way, it was better than sitting on base and waiting.

As you walked to the conference room you ran into Soap. You smiled seeing him and he did the same when he saw you. The two of you had always been close. Working some missions together early in your careers before both being recruited by Captain Price for the 141. As partners, you were a force to be reckoned with. Working as one you made quick work of any obstacle thrown your way. Add Ghost into the mix? The three of you were unstoppable. Other men often referred to your team and Bird and the Boys. The moniker “my boys” was something you loved to use with them and neither argued. Ghost was the brother you never had and Soap, well, Soap was something more you couldn’t quite put into words. The lingering glances always made you wonder if he felt the same way but in your line of work you tried not to entertain those thoughts.

“Think we’re going to get something solid this time?” He asked as you both matched paces, shoulders touching briefly.

“No idea. I am curious about the skeleton crew though. Why just us?”

“We’re the best, obviously.” Soap smirked and you lightly elbowed him in the side. You both approached the room and Soap opened the door for you. “After you, Birdy.”

You smiled and walked inside. Bird was your official call sign and the only people allowed to call you Birdy were in this room. Though that honor was mostly reserved for Soap. He, after all, coined the nickname.

“Soap, Bird, glad you both made it.” Price spoke from the head of the table gesturing for the two of you to sit. Ghost was already there, Soap sat next to him smacking him lightly on the shoulder as he did. Ghost rolled his eyes at the Sergeant. Watching the two act like annoying siblings always warmed your heart. You smiled and sat next to Soap. Once everyone settled, The Captain began.

“You three are headed to Russia. We got intel that says one of Makarov's top advisors, Igor Kuznetsov, is attending a gala in St. Petersburg.” He sets a photo down on the table as he speaks, an older heavy-set man sporting a large white beard. “Naturally our normal tactics won’t quite work here. Lucky for us I know someone with spy experience who is fluent in Russian.”

All eyes turned to you. “You want me to, what, get all dressed up and kidnap a man?” You questioned.

Price laughed. “Not quite. According to our intel, he carries around a flash drive at all times. Supposedly it contains privileged information. I’d like to know what that might be. Y/n will go inside, Soap and Ghost you’ll be positioned on opposite rooftops as backup.” Price laid building schematics on the table, pointing to a large room he continued. “The reception hall is surrounded by windows; a sniper's best friend. You both will keep an eye on Bird as she secures the drive. Igor doesn't often bring a lot of men to these events so you shouldn’t meet much resistance. He also loves getting drunk at these parties. A little sleight of hand and you’re home in time for supper”

You nod and look to your right, Soap has a look in his eyes you can’t quite place. “She’s going in alone?” He asked. Price nodded.

“She’s more than qualified. Two of the best snipers I know will be watching her the entire time. Plus do you know how many weapons she’ll be able to hide under a dress?” The Captain smirked. “Your plane leaves at 0400. Any questions?”

“No sir.” Came the chorus of replies.

“Good. Watch out for each other. Dismissed.”

—

The flight to Russia was uneventful. You caught up on some sleep before the pilot informed you all that he was beginning his descent. Soap was sitting across from you, you notice him staring before he quickly diverted his gaze. Ghost was next to you and must've noticed as well.

“Think he’s worried about ya.” Ghost spoke so only you could hear. “I don’t love it either but Price is right, you're more than qualified.”

You smiled at the compliment. “Thank you, Ghost. He was right about another thing, I have two of the best snipers to keep an eye on me.” Ghost winked in response.

The plane landed and the three of you headed toward the awaiting car. Soap drove the three of you to the safe house to go over the plan one more time and wait until night.

When it came closer to go time you stepped out of the room to don your dress. It was a simple yet elegant gown. Silky emerald green fabric covered you with an asymmetrical neckline over your right shoulder, a belted waistline, and floor length skirt. You didn’t often find yourself in situations where you were able to dress up but you allowed yourself a moment to enjoy it.

Snapping back to reality you started strapping on various holsters. Price was certainly right, you can hide many weapons under a dress. You finished by hiding a live mic under the fabric on your shoulder. Wearing an earpiece would be too obvious so you settled, this way the boys will be able to hear everything going on. You threw your hair up into an elegant bun and went out to meet them.

They were both at the table checking weapons when you walked in, Soap was the first to notice. He looked at you completely entranced, Ghost noticed and followed his gaze. The taller man smacked him on the back of the head. “You look lovely, Birdy.”

Soap snapped back to reality. "Stunning," was all he could blurt out.

You blushed ever so slightly at the compliments. "Thank you, boys. Ready to roll?"

"Absolutely." Ghost replied, grabbing his gear as he followed you toward the door. He opened the door for you and waited until you were outside to yell back at Soap, who was once again frozen in place. "Are you coming or are you going to stand there all night drooling?"

Soap tensed, quickly grabbing his gear and heading outside. "Fuck off, Lt."

Ghost smirked under the mask and closed the door behind him.

—

"I've got eyes on target." You spoke discreetly as you sipped champagne. It wasn't hard to find Igor in the crowd. The only problem was he had a bigger entourage than expected. Lucky for you they weren't armed guards, just businessmen blowing smoke up each other's asses. Typical. You thought as you made your way over.

You walked right past the man, head held high, sipping champagne. That was all it took, he shooed away the men near him and followed you.

"[Excuse me miss.]" He spoke in Russian, stepping in front of you. For how heavy-set he looked he was surprisingly fast.

You put on your best smile while handing your empty glass to a nearby waiter. Act the part. "[What can I do for you?]"

"[No miss it's what I can do for you.]" He reached out, grabbed your hand, and kissed it. You fought the urge to vomit.

Act the part. You reminded yourself. You stepped forward placing a hand on his shoulder. "[So polite, what did I do to deserve such attention? ]" You smiled trying your best to flirt despite wanting desperately to just punch the man, grab the drive and run.

"[That's a wonderful question, little Bird.]" Your stomach dropped, you've been made. "I don't much like people crashing my parties." He spoke in broken English. The lights went out briefly then back on revealing the other party guests to have been soldiers, now ready to fight. This whole thing was a trap. You allowed yourself only a moment of worry for Soap and Ghost before refocusing on the army in front of you. After all, they were much safer than you were at the moment.

Quickly you punched Igor. Stunning the Russian long enough for you to reach your hand into his coat pocket, grabbing the drive. You turned to run only to see you’ve been surrounded. You stashed the drive in your bra and grabbed one of the knives you stashed.

It wasn't unusual for a mission to go sideways, hell you’d grown to expect it. You were quick on your feet ready to fight your way out. Just as you were about to attack the room was locked down, and metal began to roll down covering each window. Before they fully closed shots rang out, and half of the men fell dead on either side of you. A moment of relief washed over you knowing they were both okay. Thank you boys now it's my turn.

You flipped the knife in your hand and stabbed the man trying to attack you from behind. You turned, pulling your pistol out and shooting three of the men closest to you. The soldiers had a similar idea, a few pulling their pistols out as well. You ran toward cover but not quickly enough. Pain seared through your left shoulder as a bullet ripped through the muscle.

“[Get her!]” Igor yelled at his men as you ducked behind an overturned table. Realizing the odds were not in your favor you pulled out the drive and stashed it underneath a floorboard, scratching a faint symbol into the wood with your pocket knife. Just enough for someone who knows what they’re looking for.

They all surrounded you once again. You shot a few before you ran out of bullets. Pulling out another knife you lunged at the one nearest but you were quickly overwhelmed. One shot you in the thigh knocking you down and you dropped your knife in the process. You reached out for it on the ground only to have one of the soldiers stomp his boot on your wrist. You concealed a wince as Igor approached.

“I told Makarov this was a good plan.” He gave a crooked smile before he signaled to one of his men. The soldier quickly brought down the butt of his rifle to your temple and everything went dark.

part two here

[wicked-futures]

Project Minx [One]

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word-Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Misogynist creeps, Drug use

Summary: You are sent on a solo mission to track a rouge scientist to his supposed home base where he distributes drugs.

Notes: Since this is the first chapter, there is no Ghost yet... Sorry babes.

Read on AO3

People lined the street waiting to get into the club, most in varying states of intoxication. You felt out of place, not having been to a place like this in many years. The so-called ‘dress’ you were wearing did nothing to help. It was just a small piece of black fabric that left very little to the imagination. It made you feel incredibly exposed, even with the years of training you had stashed under your belt.

Somehow, you still had a pistol and a knife strapped onto your body. A chill breeze suddenly hit you, causing goosebumps to spread. A New York club in the dead of winter was not your forte, and you wanted to get this mission done as soon as possible.

The outside of “The Den” seemed like any other stereotypical dance club in the area. A basic black brick building, accompanied by blacked-out windows. Loud bass could be heard from the outside, which made you cringe internally. The constant loud background noise would make it hard for you to focus at points, especially when trying to listen to intel from your team.

Anything to get your paycheck and leave, maybe finally to take a vacation. After years of being under different contracts with different agencies, you were exhausted from the work. Yet you felt guilty for wanting to take that break since there was always another problem to be fixed. Always someone fucking up the world for the rest of everyone.

This time, it was a rouge Russian scientist. Dmitri Volkov, also known as “Wolf” had specialized in pharmaceutical sciences with their military. His career was spent researching different ways to make pain medications work faster for those on the field, and ways to help with shock. A year prior, he completely dropped off the radar.

Many ruled it suicide, but a body was never found. Authorities searched his labs, he was gone without a trace. Even odder, so was all of his working gear. Shortly after, people in the party scene in Russia started mass ODing. The drug was never found in people's systems, yet clear signs of overdosing were shown on their bodies.

Different groups sent in decoys to find the drug, or find any information on it. The off-white powder was sold in small baggies, with a wolf emblem etched onto them. Not many were aware of the ties of the ‘dead’ scientist and the drug, but that was where you fit in. It was your job to scope out the aptly named party club, “The Den.” As a partygoer, it was your job to weasel your way into the underground system. You needed to be trusted by the higher-ups and get to Volkov.

“Minx, do you copy?” The hidden earpiece spoke, jolting you from the surprise. The familiar voice of your partner helped with the nerves. Jessica Salvatore had been one of the only females in your basic training, and you stook together ever since. Even when you took the solo route when she found out you were involved with a mission, so was she.

Friends were rare to come by with your lifestyle, so you never took Jessica for granted. She knew you liked working alone but somehow weaseled her way into your ‘team’ and your life. 

“Affirmative, waiting for the club to open up. I’m freezing my tits out here Jess,” You heard a chuckle coming from the other side of the comms, making you roll your eyes. She wasn’t the one in stilettos outside a club, dressed sluttier than you ever had been in your life. Even during your party days, the outfits had never been this extreme.

“I can see you, by the way, don’t forget I also have a job to do,” She mentioned, and you could practically hear the sarcastic grin in her voice. By her words, you could bet the security cam system of the club was well into your team's possession by now.

If there is one thing Jessica “Cybernaut” Salvatore was known for was her expertise in computer systems and hacking. She spent most of her teenage years behind a screen, cracking codes and creating her own. She took interest in using her skills for military use instead of becoming an IT or whatnot. You thought that was blasphemous, as Jessica could be well off by now.

But that wasn’t her lifestyle, and neither was it yours. You were never that phenomenally interested in anything during high school, drifting from club to club. Granted you weren’t terrible at them either, but nothing ever stuck. All you know is you wanted to help people, and you were also extremely competitive. An existential crisis hit halfway through senior year, and you ended up joining the military.

You quickly found out what you had been missing all those years. Learning how to fight and use weapons filled some holes you had been missing in your life. With that newfound knowledge, you pushed yourself year after year. After thousands of hours of practice, your combat skills improved tremendously. You became a lethal weapon, paired with a pretty face. 

After a while, you got bored of it all. You needed a change in scenery, a different job perhaps. Multiple groups took interest in you, but you decided to be a lone contractor by yourself. This meant you picked what missions you went on, who to help, and when. It was stressful, especially with the high risks.

Most days you didn’t know if you were going to make it home alive. 

The name “Minx” was slapped onto you during one of your first missions. The name seemed stupid to you at first, even sexist. Yet, you learned to love it once you realized how you could use your beauty as a weapon. Deciding to not let it get to you, you knew the name had a double meaning. It was just a part of you, alluring yet dangerous.

You noticed the line starting to move, which made your nerves inch up a little bit. A lot was riding on your shoulders tonight, and you wanted to prove yourself. 

The height of your heel seemed lethal enough, you were surprised you could even walk in them. After most of your life spent in combat boots, tall stilettos were a massive change. Your feet hurt a little, but the cold numbed them slightly which you were thankful for. 

With the line moving, you could finally see the door to the club in front of you. You mentally went through all of the goals in your brain, making sure everything was sorted. You focused on what you needed to do, turning off the rest of your brain. The coldness and nervousness drifted away as you were put into a focused headspace.

The bouncer scanned your ID, making sure everything matched. There was no way he was going to know it was a fake, especially since it was made by some form of government. You didn’t care who you were working with, a job was a job. As long as you worked for the ‘good’ guys, all was well. You shot him an excited smile, hoping to play the part of a partygoer well. The bouncer glanced at your body before giving the ID back, shooting a creepy smile in your direction.

“Don’t have too much fun,” He winked, a flirty tone to his voice. You tried not to cringe at the man, instead nodding at him. A quick thanks was muttered from you, and then you were off. The club was already packed when you entered, people crowded in every nook and cranny. You thanked whatever god there was that you were trained for this type of situation, and knew what to do in case hell broke loose.

You took a spot at the bar and instantly looked around the club. The whole thing was very cliche, and looked like any other bar in New York. Ordering some random cocktail off of the menu, you did your best to blend in with the crowd. While mentally taking note of every possible exit, you noticed what looked like a regular partygoer come out of an unmarked door. It might have been innocent, but it piqued your interest anyway.

“Pick up the pace Minx, we haven't got all night.” A voice spoke into your earpiece. You fought the urge to roll your eyes, you couldn’t get the whole mission done in five minutes.

Finishing your drink, you decided to join the crowd on the dance floor. You needed to see this drug in action, and what its users looked like. The dance floor met you with people who were visibly intoxicated by either drugs or alcohol. A woman in front of you was dancing by herself, filling the air with giggles. The flashing lights and loud music obscured her appearance from you, but when you caught a glimpse of her it was hard to not stare.

She noticed you watching her after a moment, turning to face you as she smiled. The woman looked like a corpse who had wandered onto the dance floor. Her ghastly pale skin seemed as though it was going to flake off any moment, and her eyes were incredibly sunken in. Even with the state of her appearance, the woman looked like she was having the time of her life.

Her eyes seemed lively yet so incredibly dead at the same time, the stark contrast threatening shivers down your spine. She was a living zombie, as were many others around her. You looked away for a moment, noticing many others that looked exactly like her. A piece of your brain clicked, remembering the symptoms of those on the drug.

Whatever was in this drug was killing people from the inside out.

“You’re really pretty, what's your name?” The corpse woman slurred, her uncomforting stare meeting yours. You smiled in return, giving her your fake name for the night. She told you her name was Becca, and she invited you to dance for a while.

“Are you bored?” She asked, her drugged gaze freezing you in your place. You nodded in response, hoping this was the lead you needed. Becca took your hand into her cold and clammy one, yanking you off of the dance floor. The earpiece you wore crackled to life again as you were whisked around the club.

“Do what she says, we’ll get you out of there if need be,” Jessica spoke, the farewell message leaving a sour note on your tongue. You decided to ignore it and noticed the woman brought you to the unmarked door you saw earlier. She turned around and opened the door, ushering you in. 

The pitch-black stairway was lined with rainbow LEDs, switching between different colors. You thanked the lights for being there as you tottered down the stairs, being led by Becca. For a moment, you let your mind wander. You wondered what the young girl's life was like, especially before she got hooked on the drug. Did she have a family? A significant other? Did she abandon it all for her addiction? The thought gave you goosebumps, and you immediately went back on track

“So what have you done before?” Becca asked when you entered the basement. The whole thing was massive, looking like a whole separate club. The landscape was different, giving off a much darker vibe. The people in the basement also looked different from the rest of the clubgoers, many of them visibly rich.

“Not much, I did coke once if that counts,” You responded, trying to seem interested in the whole ordeal. It was hard to focus on the girl in front of you when there was a whole black market happening in front of you, the dangerous drugs being passed around like candy.

“This is gonna be so much better,” Becca smiled at you, and chills ran down your back. Her uneasy stare, her lifeless eyes, she looked soulless. Becca held out her hand to you before waving a man over, expecting you to pay. You pulled a twenty out of your bra and gave it to her as she grinned, visibly excited for her next hit. 

She exchanged with the man, giving you the small tablet. The size of the drug was concerning, it was minuscule. It was shocking to you how small it was, and how much damage that tiny thing could do. Remembering what Jessica said, you hesitantly took the drug. You knew there were about five minutes before it started setting in, so you had to get out as soon as possible. 

The last thing you remembered of that night was feeling incredibly nauseous and dizzy.

“Good morning,” A voice called from a few feet away as you finally came too. You felt as if you got hit by a semi-truck, maybe a few of them. A migraine ravaged your head, and the rest of your body felt like sludge.

“They did some tests on your blood, there's some scary shit in that drug Minx.” Flickering your eyes to the voice, you noticed Jess was sitting next to you while typing on a computer. She had a bunch of her gear and overall looked exhausted. You reckoned that you probably looked worse, having been drugged.

You didn’t ask questions about how you got out of the club, but you also didn’t care since you made it out safely. There were other objectives to worry about, like Volkov himself. He was never shown inside the club, even though that was tipped off as his headquarters. The scientist was smart, he could’ve been anywhere. 

You were disappointed in yourself for not finding out more information other than securing the drug itself. It felt as if there was more you could’ve done, more contributions you could’ve added. Sitting silent in the bed for a moment, you contemplated what was going to happen next.

With security cam footage and audio recordings to back you up, you could prove how big of an issue the drug was becoming. After the testing, it was clear what was in the drug itself and how it was so addictive and dangerous. Jessica typed on her computer for a little while longer, leaving the room in silence. You assumed she was finishing the review on the mission, letting the higher-ups know you were alive and well. She sighed as she heard her phone buzzing, excusing herself into the hallway for a second.

Hospitals were nothing new to you, a painful memory of a life before. Nights spent sobbing next to a bed, praying to whatever god would listen. When your mother died, a piece of you died with her. You just hoped she was proud of what you made of yourself.

“I’ve got news for you,” Jessica re-entered the room with a grim expression on her face. You expected something extremely bad or unfortunate based on the last 24 hours.

“Higher-ups think this Volkov shit is getting way too out of hand, thinks we can’t finish it alone. They’re gonna do some more digging themselves, but in the meantime they want us to team up with a task force.” The news wasn’t all that terrible to you, more of a nuisance than anything. It had been so long since you worked with others that weren’t directly associated with you, so the idea of meeting a new group excited you.

“They’re gonna send us some info on the group ASAP, you’ll probably be up and ready to go by then. If we want to continue working on this case, we can’t do it alone.” The short timeline wasn’t anything new to you. You were used to a fast-paced lifestyle, never staying in one place long. You raised yourself into a sitting position, ignoring the protest of your limbs.

“Well, let's get started then.”

[aphrodite-made-me-write-it]

Habits - Part 1

(A/N) oh hey, it’s the comeback (cumback?) fic i didn’t intend to be the comeback fic. i really did want to update stuff and post this other yelena fic i have that’s actually cute and has a real plot to it but instead i read Come Back To Me by reminiscingtonight and it was just so goshdarn good that it got me to write this garbage instead! her fic is extremely good and it has 3 parts to it!!! hotdamn!!! i read it at work and it made me happy. anyway, hi! i had to cut this into two parts! expect inconsistency! i’m back to a 6-7 day work schedule with the holidays but i do have something kinda planned for december! ok enough rambling! let’s do this!

Rating: E (literal p0rn without much plot) 18+ Only!

Warnings: fuckboy!yelena (lowkey tho lmfao); protectiveAF!natasha; hella smut; ye olde ‘best friend’s sibling’ trope; nat and yelena are only 2 years apart in this bc it makes me feel better abt age gaps and ill be honest math is not my strongsuit; yelena basically fucks ur brains out idk what else to say; oh, also, reader’s parents r shitty and manipulative; mentions of past abuse, but super brief; really the parents dont pay too much of a role in this half

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader; Natasha x Fem!Best Friend!Reader; Natasha x Wanda Maximoff (i love redheads)

Chapter Word Count: 7.2k

Total Word Count: 30.1k

Synopsis: It’s been a few years since you last saw your childhood best friend, Natasha, and her little sister, Yelena. Transferring colleges leads to you needing a roommate, and that roommate just so happens to be Natasha. Not much has changed between you, you’re still thick as thieves. Her sister, however, is a completely different story.

| Part Two | Part Three | Part Four |

gif source

 Russian Translations: Malyshka - babygirl; Milaya - darling; Dorogoy - sweetheart |

You’ve known Natasha Romanoff for, practically, your entire lives. Your friendship was sealed the day she pushed Jason Grey off of the swingset for calling you ugly in the first grade. You were basically inseparable after that. 

Yelena is adopted when you and Natasha are nine, and she is seven. Melina and Alexei had adopted Natasha before leaving Russia, and were apparently keen on adopting the little toddler young Natasha couldn’t stand to leave behind. It took a few years for the paperwork to go through, and the payoff, it seemed, was worth it. The second they’re reunited, Yelena and Natasha are sisters without a doubt. It may not have been by blood, but that didn’t matter.

Of course, Yelena is also adopted into your friendship with the redhead soon after. Yelena was curious while she adjusted to her new life, always inquisitive and asking questions. Eventually, her curiosity turned into complete headstrong foolishness. Sneaking home lizards and the like. 

You didn’t mind, though. 

In all honesty, you preferred their house to your own.

Your dad was a very busy person, and your mom wasn’t the best company. She was a perfectionist, through and through, and often expected the same from you. The pressure was really put on you when you started middle school. You needed the best grades, the highest place in whatever after school activities you chose. It was grating, exhausting, and their fights that rode late into the night never helped things.

Still, Yelena and Natasha were your distraction from it all. The more pleasant side of life, the side you couldn’t stand leaving.

Until, of course, you had to.

You’re fifteen when it happens, the threat of it. The word felt so ugly and obscene at the time. Divorce. You spent hours in Natasha’s room crying, both sisters helplessly holding you until you ran out of tears. 

That Christmas, your mother actually left until February. That was when your father really began to spiral. He lost his job. He started drinking. He started yelling at you. Started hitting you. You could have told someone - you should have. You only told Natasha and Yelena, though, forcing them to swear to never tell a soul. It was stupid of you, really.

You’re weeks away from sixteen when the shoe finally drops.

He hits your mom. She grabs you, and you’re driving out of town before you can even process it. The image of Natasha and Yelena following your mother’s car has, naturally, haunted you every waking moment since it happened. Your mom was always very anti-social-anything. No cellphones, no email, nothing. Contact with your best friends was hopeless. Gut-wrenchingly hopeless.

You’re grown-up, now. At least, on paper. The rest of high school was spent all the way in New York City, and you didn’t make many friends. You dated a few people here and there, but mostly you focused on your schoolwork the way your mother demanded you to. It became a saving grace, the idea of getting somewhere far away from her.

You don’t get far for long, though. Your first two years are spent at a college you can go to from home. You hate every second of it, and it takes a long while to convince her to let you transfer to another school where you won’t have to be watched like a hawk.

That leads you, at last, to Temple University. Philadelphia. Sure, it’s just a few hours’ drive away but that distance is fucking gold to you. You had originally searched for a roommate through a variety of social medias, looking for friends of friends you could possibly bunk up with - and that, miraculously, lead you back to Natasha.

The reunion is the happiest you’ve felt in so long, you cry. You spend hours catching up among the unpacked boxes, when Yelena is brought up.

“She’s coming a week after me. I transferred from Ohio State, and she’ll be a freshman. God, she’s gonna be thrilled to see you. She spent, like, months crying over you when you left.” 

You snort. “What, and you didn’t?”

“How could I when she was inconsolable?” Natasha scoffs. “It did suck, though. We missed you. I missed you.” She squeezes your hand tightly. “And now we can finally get drunk together like we planned for your sweet sixteen.”

“I didn’t get a drop of alcohol until I got to college,” you gripe. “Mom became like, the grade demon of my worst nightmares.”

“Your dad still lives there. Why didn’t you visit?”

“Yeah, joint custody didn’t last long.” You cringe. “He, uh, got one supervised visit with me in New York and sort of strangled me.”

“Dude, what the fuck?”

“It’s chill, now,” you lean back against the sofa, the only piece of furniture in your living room that’s accessible. “I mean, it’s whatever. He’s a deadbeat, anyways.”

And for the next handful of days, you and Natasha become as close as you had been before you left. Some bonds just transcend years like that, and you’re glad it was this way for you and Natasha.

The week before school leads to Natasha wanting to throw a party to celebrate. You aren’t surprised she’s already made friends here - she’s always been the more social type - but she seems very giddy when she explains her reasoning.

“Does this have to do with that Sokovian chick?” You ask when Natasha finishes cleaning the place for the millionth time since she’d woken up this morning. (Which, by the way, was six o’clock, because Natasha is fucking insane.) “Wendy?”

She glares at you from over her shoulder. “Wanda,” she corrects. “And, no.” 

You laugh at the flush on her cheeks. “So if she shows up to the party I should tell her it’s invite-only?”

“No! Don’t be an asshole!” Natasha whines, throwing the paper towel she’d been using to wipe the bookshelf. It’s not even dirty, but you smack it away with a squeal. “And, by the way, there’s another surprise guest coming, but it’s a secret.”

“Ooh, my favorite actress wrapped in a nice little bow for me?” You ask with a dramatic fluttering of your eyelashes.

“Don’t be gross.” Natasha scolds. “You’re worse than Yelena.”

“Little innocent Yelena?” You cackle, knowing full-well the blonde had been nothing short of troublesome and clever when you left. 

“I have it on good authority that she was being a fuckboy when I moved away.” Natasha tuts. “She was just waiting ‘til I left before she started fooling around with people. Typical.”

“Could it be that anyone interested in her was terrified of her big sister roasting them alive?” You inquire teasingly, tapping your chin as if you were truly considering what other options there could be.

“Very funny.” Natasha rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t ‘roast them alive’. They’d scream too much, I’d get caught immediately.”

The seriousness in her tone makes you laugh. “Yeah, I wouldn’t be caught dead or alive looking at your sister like that.”

She sticks her tongue out in response, quite childishly. You really, really missed her.

- - - - -

Okay, fine, surprise surprise, the girl with the strict mother is a lightweight. So what. 

You aren’t hammered, you’re more aware of yourself than that. You’re two drinks in, though, so you’re chattier than usual and a bit too bold. Natasha says you’re a riot when you’re drunk, so that’s something, at least.

You’d just disengaged yourself from a conversation with a guy named Steve - who was strangely old-fashioned but incredibly sweet - to get a drink when you slam into a body. Off-balanced from the rush of blood to your head, you’re lucky that the person steadies you with strong arms before you can fall flat on your face.

You look up at your savior and immediately lose all ability to speak and think and breathe. She’s got blonde hair and gorgeous green eyes, the smirk on her face smug as she watches the way you take in her muscular body. She’s damn hot, a ripped band t-shirt underneath a red flannel, cuffed jeans and combat boots - this is a woman who also likes women, which happens to be one of your favorite type of women.

“Don’t tell me you’re already wasted,” the Russian accent surprises you less than the husky richness of her voice. Oh fuck. She’s really hot. You should say something cool, probably.

“No, she’s just a fucking lightweight,” Natasha’s voice is a saving grace. You look at her with a desperate, silent plea. “(Y/N), meet our secret special guest: Yelena.”

Holy shit.

“Y-Yelena?” You stammer, stiff as a statue as the blonde hasn’t moved her hands from your waist yet. 

“Long time no see,” she grins.

You step away from her, hoping to clear your head a little. “Y-you, uh, you grew up.” She’s taller than you by a few inches, now. 

She chuckles. “I have,” she confirms, the amusement in her tone telling you that she hasn’t forgotten the way you’d eyed her like a piece of meat moments before.

Natasha looks between you for a moment, an unreadable expression on her face, before she jumps and looks down at her phone. “Wanda’s almost here. I’m gonna go meet her outside. Keep this one out of trouble,” she points at Yelena, who pouts at the accusation of being troublesome.

You make a whipping sound when Natasha walks away, joining Yelena in gut-twisting laughter when Natasha flips you off.

And then you’re alone.

With Yelena.

Out of things to talk about.

“D-d’you wanna drink?” It comes out rushed and awkward, because now that Yelena is looking at you again you feel extremely nervous. 

“Sure,” the blonde is smirking again. You’re starting to dread that smirk.

You lead her to the kitchen, fighting hard to keep your mind from going anywhere but the blonde behind you. What the fuck was WRONG with you? This was Yelena. Little Yelena, who Natasha had just said she’d kill people for and you have absolutely zero doubts in your mind that Natasha Romanoff could get away with murder.

You and Natasha had been reunited for little more than a month and you were thinking of her sister in ways you absolutely, totally, should not. 

It’s not until you’re in the kitchen that you remember it’s a closed off room, unique to the apartment complex, effectively trapping you with Yelena, without any other partygoers.

Shit.

“S-so, what’s your poison?” You ask, turning to the several bottles of liquor you and Natasha acquired for the party.

“I think I’ve already found it,” she’s way closer than you’d expected. She leans against the counter barely a foot away; close enough to be in your space, but not so close that you’re brushing skin. It’s still too close, you think. 

“Nat made sure we had that- that, uh, jet fuel you Russians call vodka.” You reach for the bottle with slightly shaking hands, amazed at how much she’s affected you by just being near you. You feel like a stupid, horny teenager and she literally only touched you once to keep you from falling over.

“I’m not talking about vodka.” Yelena steps forward and you suck in a sharp breath. She’s way too close now. “You know, I always had a bit of a thing for you, growing up.” She says it so casually, you actually don’t process the words at first. “When you left, it was my first real heartbreak.”

“Yelena-” you start, but she keeps talking:

“And just when I thought you were gone forever, Natasha tells me you’re her new roommate.” She licks her lips, and your stupid eyes can’t help tracing the motion. Her smirk widens. “I knew I couldn’t pass up the chance.”

“The chance to- to what, exactly?” You squeak, eyeing the door behind her. Is anyone going to come in here and save you? Do you want them to?

Yelena raises an eyebrow, cocking her head to the side. She’s leaning closer. You find yourself quite frozen, unable perhaps unwilling to move from your spot. “I saw the way you looked at me. You want this just as much as I do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You lie. You’ve never been a good liar.

Yelena laughs. “Ha! You’re still a terrible liar.”

“And you’re a brat.” You mutter, and then she’s got you pinned to the counter, the edge digging uncomfortably into your back. Both of her palms rest on either side of you. You’re trapped. You’re definitely going to die here.

“Oh, am I?” She teases, amused as she leans in close enough for her breath to ghost your lips. “What does that make you, then?”

“Natasha’s best friend.” You put your hands on her shoulders, pushing lightly to keep the distance between you and hopefully encourage some more. “Who does not want to die a horrible, bloody death for having Natasha finding her pinned against a counter by her little sister.”

Yelena hums, a thoughtful sort of sound that’s very low in her throat. “Who cares about what Natasha thinks? I don’t.”

“You should.” You sound suddenly hoarse as Yelena’s eyes flicker down to your lips.

The front door opens. You push Yelena harder than you’d intended, but she doesn’t budge much. Holy fuck she’s strong. She moves aside though, chuckling lowly as you put a respectable distance between you.

Natasha bursts into the kitchen, Wanda Maximoff in tow while the pair giggle scandalously. Your best friend pauses, looking at you and then Yelena, apparently picking up on the tension that still remains.

“Oh, is this your girlfriend?” Yelena asks, successfully erasing whatever the fuck that was.

You’re in trouble.

You’re in deep, deep fucking trouble.

- - - - -

The next morning, you stumble into the kitchen sleepily. Wanda spent the night in Natasha’s room, but luckily you were out like a light the second you laid down. Yelena took up the couch with two of your four blankets - why Natasha couldn’t spare her own sister some blankets, you’re too frightened to ask - and the mass of blonde hair splayed over the armrest tells you she’s still sound asleep.

You breathe out a sigh of relief once you’ve made a cup of coffee, and it turns soft moan of appreciation when you take your first sip.

“Morning,” a voice startles you, making hot liquid spill over your fingers. You wince, setting the mug down as you turn to face the intruder. Your words get caught in your throat when your eyes find Yelena. Yelena who, apparently, slept in a sports bra and Natasha’s old sweatpants last night.

When your eyes move back to Yelena’s face, she’s wearing that stupid cocky smirk again.

“You know, for someone who denies eye-fucking me, you seem to do it an awful lot.” Yelena sneers. Your cheeks warm considerably. You take your mug and move to the kitchen table, too cowardly to duck out of the conversation and too afraid of her bringing it to the living room where Natasha most certainly could hear it.

“I’m not eye-fucking anybody,” you huff.

“That must be why you’re the color of a tomato.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh,” her smirk widens, “is that an offer?”

You scoff. “Holy shit, you really are impossible.”

“Maybe you should just admit the truth to yourself.” She begins making her own cup of coffee. You’re relieved to not have those piercing eyes on you anymore, but you don’t let down your guard. 

“And what truth is that?” You ask, hoping to sound casual.

“You’re just as into me as I’m into you.” She answers simply, throwing a look over her shoulder. “It’s alright, I don’t mind waiting. I’ve waited this long.”

You grit your teeth. “Jesus, Lena.”

“I’m just being honest.” She joins you at the table, looking calm as ever even though you’re practically having a meltdown internally. “I’ve wanted you since I could want anyone like that.”

“You really shouldn’t say shit like that.”

“Why?”

“Because-”

“If you’re gonna use the best friend excuse again, it’s a shit one.” Yelena rolls her eyes, sipping her coffee. You cross your arms defiantly, earning an amused grin from the blonde. “If anything, she should be happy. She already likes you.”

“That will change the second I touch you.”

“So you do want to touch me?”

You bite your tongue. How the fuck does she keep coming at you so fast like this? You haven’t even finished your first damn cup of coffee. It’s too early for this.

“Yelena-”

“Oh! Sorry!” A familiar voice pulls your attention to the doorway. Wanda is standing there in one of Natasha’s shirts and a pair of pajama pants. There are hickeys all over her neck, her hair clearly messed up from a long night. “I didn’t hear you guys. Kitchen’s practically sound-proof.” She chuckles awkwardly, eyeing the coffee pot. “Is- is that fresh?”

“Yep, help yourself.” You nod and she quickly makes two cups of coffee. You and Yelena share a meaningful look, united in your opportunity to tease Natasha later.

“So, Yelena,” Wanda begins, cutting the silence. “Natasha said you got a scholarship here for lacrosse. That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Yelena leans back in her seat, grinning. “Been at it since freshman year of high school. My grades were fine, but this was the only offer that was a full-ride.”

Wanda hums, eyeing the door with a soft expression. “That’s nice. I’ll see you guys later, yeah?”

When she leaves, you’re once again emerged in that strangely charged atmosphere that seems to gravitate between you and Yelena.

“I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not stick around to hear Natasha and Wanda go for round two.” She says, wrinkling her nose.

“Dunno, the kitchen is pretty soundproof apparently. This could be our only safe space for a few hours.” You say it flippantly, meaning it entirely as a joke, but suddenly Yelena looks like the cat who caught the canary.

“And what do you suggest we do to pass the time?” She asks.

“You’re right, a day out sounds great,” you stand so quickly the chair almost falls over. Yelena is cackling at you, but you ignore her. “Get dressed, jerk, we’re going into the city.”

- - - - -

“Ooh, this is cool,” Yelena eyes the vest with a hungry expression. 

You snort. “What, are you enlisting?”

She rolls her eyes. “Do you not see all of those pockets? I could fit so many things in there, you wouldn’t even know.”

You’ve been out with Yelena for the better part of three hours, and in that time you’ve come to realize how much you’d missed her. Not that you weren’t aware of it before, but it feels like the world was somewhat dull without her presence. Her sarcasm, her cleverness, her mischievous grin. 

She’s too endearing for your own good. 

And beautiful, too. You think that’s the worst part. You often just find yourself looking at her, in awe of how she looks and speaks and acts. Still so confident in herself and everything she does, in the most mundane situations. Right now, as she pulls on the vest to look at herself in the mirror, she looks lovelier than ever. 

Oh no, you think distantly. This was not a good idea! 

“What do you think?” She asks, giving herself a long once over before turning to look at you. “I look good, right?”

You smile, unable to resist it. “You look very cool.”

“I knew it!” She hisses under her breath, turning back to the mirror. She really is cute. She catches your gaze through the reflection, winking when your eyes meet. You blush, deciding the floor is very interesting and a thousand times cooler than anything else in the store.

“Damn, it’s thirty-six dollars,” Yelena sighs. 

“I’ll buy it for you,” you offer without thinking about it.

Yelena throws her arms around your neck and for a horrifying moment you brace yourself for her lips to meet yours. Instead, she hugs you, and you have to force yourself to relax again.

“You’re so sweet, thank you,” she gushes.

You’re in deep shit, you just know it.

Natasha calls you around two to ask where you and Yelena were. By this point, you’d made your way to a little cafe, where you ended up talking about what happened in your years of separation. Yelena is relentlessly flirty, apparently keen on proving to you that you’re attracted to her and you certainly aren’t making a good case for yourself what with all the blushing and, admittedly, occasional flirtatious comment.

When you tell her where you are, Natasha says she and Wanda will join you.

“Aw, and I was enjoying our date,” Yelena pouts when you tell her the news.

“This was a date?” You ask with an amused snort.

“Of course it was. You bought me this nice vest and breakfast, and you also just bought me coffee.” Yelena rolls her eyes, as if it were obvious.

“Do me a favor and don’t ever call this a date in front of Natasha. I like my blood inside of my body.” You warn.

“So you agree, then?” Yelena brightens. “This is a date?”

“Yelena-”

“I’m just repeating what you said,” she bats her eyelashes innocently.

You sigh, rolling your eyes and pointedly not responding. She seems to take this as a victory, since she’s still in a happy mood by the time Natasha and Wanda join you.

“Cool vest,” Wanda compliments, sitting beside Yelena while Natasha takes the seat beside you. 

“Thanks,” Yelena grins, “(Y/N) bought it for me.”

“What, did she ‘forget’ to bring her wallet?” Natasha scoffs, earning a pout from her sister.

“It’s a few belated birthday presents,” you excuse, heart warming just a little more when Yelena’s eyes meet yours again. Her lips are ever so slightly curved upwards, an almost unnoticeable smile.

You spend another hour or two at the cafe before Yelena complains about having to stay at a dorm her first year. 

“Moving in with you guys would be so much easier,” she sighs. 

“We only have two bedrooms.” Natasha snorts. “I’m not sharing my bed with you, you’re a violent sleeper.”

“Am not!” Yelena gasps, clutching her chest. “That is a baseless accusation.”

“You literally punched me in the face once.” Natasha scowls.

You burst out with laughter. You were actually there for that one. You were all still pretty young, so you managed to squeeze into a small tent in Natasha’s backyard. Yelena practically begged to be between you, but Natasha was right: she’s a violent sleeper. She kicked a lot, but she was always facing away from you, so it was always Natasha who got kicked. When Natasha tried to turn Yelena over to face you because you were laughing at Natasha, the blonde woke up and suckerpunched Natasha with such impressive accuracy you couldn’t stop laughing.

“Keep laughing, (Y/N),” Natasha warns, “and I’ll start thinking you two are up to something.”

You have to fight the very sudden rise of panic in your chest. What the hell are you worried for? You aren’t up to anything! This wasn’t even a date!

“You’ve caught us,” Yelena recovers, casting you a sly smirk. “We’re conspiring against you.”

“I fucking knew it.” Natasha throws a balled up napkin at her sister.

- - - - -

It’s the last Saturday before school starts. Since the party on Wednesday, Natasha and Wanda have been entirely consumed with one another and Yelena has decided that tormenting you is her favorite pastime. When she drops by unannounced, she makes it a point to tease you and flirt with you when Natasha isn’t watching or listening.

Even worse, when you go to sleep, you keep dreaming about her. Yelena has become a permanent fixture in the back of your mind, always a second-thought. You hate yourself for it. You should be thinking of Natasha first, and how goddamn betrayed she’d feel if you went off and slept with her baby sister.

You’ve decided tonight is going to be a good night to get absolutely wasted. 

It’s not going well.

You’re on drink two and you’ve moved to the dancefloor at the behest of Natasha. She’s introducing you to someone whose name you don’t quite catch. She’s hot, sure, but you’re too confused and stressed to really listen. 

The more Yelena hung out with you, the more you were starting to question what it was, exactly, you were feeling about her. She’s Natasha’s sister, yes, and you’ve known her for years. Practically grew up with her. Her friendship was always a valued one, even if she was younger, but suddenly all of that is fogged up by this… great, big something she’s implanted in your brain. 

You want to scream. Or cry. Or forget yourself.

Yes, that last option is too appealing right now.

It’s easy for a while. You let the woman - Carol - dance with you provocatively, her hands gripping your waist in a way that, typically, you’d definitely enjoy. Even when you can feel her hard muscles moving against you, you can’t quite stay in the moment long enough. You keep picturing Yelena behind you, arms around you, hands moving from your waist to your sides. It feels good - you’re definitely turned on - but it’s not what you want and that’s all the more frustrating.

Carol, swaying her hips flush against yours, leans down until her lips brush against your ear. “Wanna come back to mine?”

You should. You should definitely go back to Carol’s.

But you can’t.

“I’m actually feeling a little, uh, lightheaded,” you separate from her, trying not to wince at the kicked puppydog expression on her face. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she recovers quickly, smiling. “Need a ride to your place?”

You shake your head, swallowing your agitation. “I’m fine. I could use the fresh air. Thank you, though.”

“Can I at least get your number?”

Because you feel guilty, and because you can feel Natasha eyeing you questioningly from a few feet away, you give Carol your number before slipping through the dancing bodies. Natasha catches you by the wrist before you go, raising an eyebrow in a silent question.

“Just nervous about school,” you lie smoothly. “I’ll see you at home?”

“I’m going to Wanda’s after, actually,” Natasha smiles fondly at the woman still rolling her hips in time with the music. “But I’ll see you at some point tomorrow?”

You nod, giving a polite wave to Wanda before finally escaping the club.

The night is blissfully cool on your overheated skin. You can’t believe how worked up you’d actually been. Maybe you should go back and take Carol up on her offer-

No, that wouldn’t be right. Carol is definitely into you, and she seems really sweet. You shouldn’t just fuck her because you can’t stop thinking about wanting to fuck your best friend’s sister.

Oof.

You don’t think you’ve actually finished that thought before.

God, I’m a horrible friend. You think bitterly, beginning the short walk back to your apartment.

Your mind isn’t any clearer by the time you get home, but you become very sober when you realize the lights are all on and the TV is making noise from the living room. Grabbing the baseball bat you keep by the door, you creep towards the living room on high alert.

“Do you really think a serial killer wouldn’t remove the only weapon you have by the front door while breaking in?” A familiar voice makes you go rigid. Of course. Of course that’s exactly how your night would go. Perfect. Fucking perf- “Are you just gonna stand there like an idiot or are you going to put the stupid bat down?”

You blush, setting the bat aside while muttering several expletives under your breath. Sure enough, Yelena has made herself perfectly at home on the couch. 

“It’s a Saturday night, don’t you have a life? How did you even get in?” You ask, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorway that leads from the front hall to the living room, the edge of the kitchen door tempting you to just hide until Yelena leaves.

“Well, I heard Natasha and Wanda were going out, so I figured you’d be home alone.” She shrugs. “And Nat gave me a key.” She dangles the object with a grin.

“What, you thought I wouldn’t go out to a club with them?” You shake your head with a scoff. “I’m not a total shut-in.”

“You totally are, but whatever.” She snorts, scooting over and patting the spot next to her. You eye her with blatant suspicion and she laughs. “What?”

“Nothing,” you mutter, reluctantly sitting beside her with a decent amount of cushion space between you. She’s watching some classic movie no doubt from Natasha’s collection that she keeps hidden in her room.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull it out, withering further into the guilty haze you’d left the club in.

Hey, it’s Carol :) If you change your mind, don’t hesitate to ask ;)

“Who’s that?” Yelena asks, peering at your phone.

You shove it back into your pocket with a scowl. “Nobody important.”

“Bullshit. You know you’re not a good liar.”

You glare at her, but it does nothing. She holds your gaze evenly, almost patiently. It makes you even angrier at her, at yourself, at the way your stupid body won’t fucking listen to reason. “Just a girl I met at the club tonight. She’s a little… eager to see me again.”

There’s a brief look of hurt on Yelena’s face, but it’s so brief you almost don't notice it. “Oh? What’s her name?”

“Carol.”

“Danvers?”

You shrug. “Maybe.”

She scoffs. “You can do better.”

“Yelena,” you begin warningly, disliking the abrupt change in atmosphere. 

“What? I’m being honest.”

“She seems… nice.”

“Just ‘nice’?”

“We didn’t exactly talk much.”

“Oh, so you were-”

“I wasn’t doing anything because I couldn’t stop thinking about you, actually.” You snap, unable to control yourself. You want to sound angry, but really you just sound tired. “Fucking Christ, Yelena. I can’t get you out of my head.”

Her expression brightens considerably at this. She moves closer, and you’re once again snared by those damn green eyes and that dumb cocky smirk that you’ve come to associate with Yelena. “Really?”

“We really, really shouldn’t do this.” You state, hoping you sound stronger than you actually feel.

“And why’s that?” She tilts her head, amused. “Because of my sister? She should give you her blessing. Who else would be better for me than someone she already approves of?”

You don’t like how reasonable she sounds when she’s breathing the same air as you, her eyes searching yours. 

“She’s going to kill me if-”

“If.”

There’s something magical about the word ‘if’. Maybe dancing with Carol had you more worked up than you’d thought. You wish you could blame it on the alcohol but with Yelena so close you’re achingly sober. Maybe there are no excuses for what happens next. 

Yelena’s lips find yours with absolute raw lust. Part of you hoped that just doing this, just kissing her, will satiate the longing for her that plagues your mind. (The rest of you knows better than to be stupid enough to believe that.)

Like with everything she does, Yelena kisses like she has something to prove. Maybe she does. You don’t care because it’s making your mind go completely blank and your body is buzzing with a million galaxies being born under her attention. You drink her in like a woman starved, drowning in her scent and her taste and the feeling of her hands curling into your hair and pulling you closer, closer, closer.

She’s on top of you, you aren’t sure how it happened. Her lips and her teeth and tongue are on your neck, finding places that pull quiet sounds from the back of your throat. You can feel her smirking against your skin, god- 

You are a horrible, horrible best friend.

(Why is it getting harder to care?)

You shove aside the guilt. You want this. You need this. 

“I’ve thought about how you’d feel like this for so long,” Yelena breathes against you. You’re positive she’s just left a wicked hickey. It makes you bite back a moan. “How you’d sound,” she continues, fingers dancing along the edges of your shirt, earning a quiet whimper. You let her pull it off of you, and she’s already unbuttoning your jeans. “How you’d taste,” she purrs, kissing down to your collarbone. She moves between your breasts, placing deliberate, wet, hot kisses wherever she pleases, more often than not leaving a dark red mark behind. When she eases your jeans off of your legs, she kisses your thighs and you’re so fucking desperate your hips twitch involuntarily.

Yelena laughs throatily, tossing aside the clothes with such smug pleasure it makes your teeth itch. “So sensitive,” she notes, almost carelessly tracing the edge of your bra. “Or are you just that desperate for me to fuck you?”

“God, Yelena,” you rasp. This is very much not the rambunctious freshman that ran after your mom’s shitty old sedan. Time has turned Yelena into the perfect weapon against you. Go figure. 

Where the fuck did your bra go?

Your fingers curl tightly in her hair when lips wrap around one of your nipples. Finding it harder to keep your noises at bay, a small whimper escapes you when teeth graze against the sensitive skin. Yelena hums against you, eyes flickering up to meet yours. She switches to your other breast, one of her hands slipping between your legs to rub against you through your panties. 

Her smirk is wider than ever when she pulls away from your breast. “Fucking soaked, just as I thought.”

“Shut up,” you huff.

In an instant, she has your hands pinned above your head. You stare up at her, dumbfounded. “How the hell did you get so strong?” You ask, unable to resist doing so.

She bites her lip, fighting a smile. “You should mind your manners. For being so rude, I’m going to make you beg for it.”

You gape at her. “What? You’re the one who said you wanted to- that you’ve been wanting to-”

“Yes,” she hums, leaning down so that she can place more marks on your neck. How the hell you’ll hide those monsters in the morning, you’ve got no idea. “But I like taking my time. You, however,” she snaps the waistband of your panties against your skin, earning a hiss of pain and pleasure. “You don’t seem like you’ll last very long.”

Yelena brings a lot out in you, apparently. You’ve never really considered yourself ‘bratty’ or anything before. But the idea of doing exactly what Yelena doesn’t want you to do is so goddamn tempting. Maybe because you know she’s going to make it very much worth it in the end. Yelena has always been one to keep promises.

“No.” 

Your answer takes her by surprise, certainly, but she recovers quickly. She looks delighted, even, when she leans back just enough to look you in the eye.

“No?” She repeats slowly. “You sure about that, malyshka?”

You nod, mouth incredibly dry.

Yelena growls under her breath, returning to her assault on your neck while her free hand starts to massage your already sensitive breasts. You suck in a sharp breath, decidedly holding back any noises you want to make. Yelena catches on fast to your ploy by the time she pushes a knee between your thighs to put just enough pressure against your core to make your body feel like it’s on fire.

“Oh, don’t hold back, milaya. I want to hear those pretty little noises you make,” Yelena croons, rolling her hips so that a delicious friction temporarily relieves the growing agony between your legs. You hiss out a curse, hands straining uselessly against the one Yelena uses to keep you firmly in place. “Aw, you want more?”

“I want you in less clothes,” you huff impatiently. 

“You haven’t earned that yet.” Yelena tuts, her free hand now dipping beneath your panties. She finds the pool of wetness waiting for her there and hums lowly. A keening sound that doesn’t resemble any sort of sound you’ve ever made before escapes you, unbidden. “All you have to do is ask nicely, malyshka,” she drawls, “and I’ll make you feel so good.”

With another roll of her hips, Yelena has your resolve reduced to ashes.

“Please,” you whine. “Please, Yelena.”

“Please what?” 

You try not to roll your eyes. “Please fuck me. I need you to fuck me, I want you to make me-” you’re cut off by a long, deep moan that escapes you very unexpectedly when Yelena’s fingers plunge into you without warning. A new look of victory crosses Yelena’s face, lips quirking up into a grin as she watches you with rapt attention, taking note of what makes you break your internal vow of silence.

When she adds a thumb to your clit, you’re incoherently begging for more.

“More?” Yelena taunts. “Greedy thing, aren’t you?”

“Please, please, more,” you rasp. Pathetic. 

“Mm, I love hearing you ask so nicely,” Yelena praises. You’re trembling beneath her touch, now. “Beg me again. One more time malyshka.”

“Please, Yelena,” you meet her eyes desperately. “Please, I need more.”

“Okay, alright,” Yelena hums her low laugh into your skin, lowering herself until she’s between your legs. “You can have more, dorogoy. You can have everything you want if you keep being good for me.” You’ll do anything she fucking asks if she keeps-

With your hands freed, nothing stops you from grasping at Yelena’s t-shirt while a long, wonton moan rips itself from your throat. Yelena is eating you out like she was born to do it. It’s amazing how quickly she’s learned to make you fall apart - or maybe you’ve really just been anticipating this enough to make it feel that way - but it isn’t long before you’re reduced to mindless, senseless noises that could be full sentences but you aren’t sure.

Yelena hums when one of your hands grips her hair, hips trying hard to move against her. She uses the hand not currently pounding into you to hold your hips down, not allowing them to budge even an inch as she drives you closer and closer to the edge. When her fingers curl and press against a spot inside of you that makes you see stars, your orgasm hits you without warning.

The blonde is relentless. She doesn’t slow down, just focuses harder on fucking you deep, deep, deep until another climax ripples through you. She waits until you’re a sweating, trembling mess before finally slowing down enough for you to catch your breath.

Yelena places several kisses along your body while she returns to your lips, and this kiss is different from the others. Softer, less rushed. You dare even say it’s passionate. You return the kiss lazily, body limp between aftershocks of pleasure while Yelena slowly withdraws her fingers.

She only pulls back from the kiss to pop her fingers in her mouth, sucking on them obscenely before kissing you again and letting you taste yourself on her tongue. Fuck. Your hands move to her waist, pulling her flush against you. 

This time when she pulls away, Yelena is smiling. Not the smug, cocky smile that you’d been expecting. It’s a real one, a bright one that reminds you sharply of the little girl you grew up with. If you had any doubts before that she’s wanted this for a long time, they’re gone in an instant when you see the joy in her eyes.

Instead of letting the guilt take hold, you press a soft kiss to her lips and smile lazily at her. “I want to make you feel good, too.”

Her eyes search your face, like she can’t really believe that you’re requesting this, but she nods and starts working on her vest - the vest you’d bought for her, you realize with a shocking amount of satisfaction - and shirt. 

With every inch of skin newly exposed, you run your fingers along it or skim kisses in spots that make Yelena inhale sharply. She’s not as vocal as you are, but her hums of encouragement are damn hot so you’re not complaining. She seems very content to be on top of you, apparently, and that’s just fine. Once her pants and panties are off, you reach down between her legs while placing kisses along her neck and shoulder.

You both let out quiet moans when you find the wetness waiting for you there. You wish you could feel more smug about it, but honestly you’re just eager to make her feel something for the way she’s worked you up this week.

You make small, teasing circles against her clit, feeling her hips move in time with the motions. Your kisses move to her jaw, and when her mouth meets yours you slip your fingers inside of Yelena and swallow the resulting groan.

She rides your fingers with reckless abandon. She keeps placing purposeful kisses to your neck, your shoulder, your jaw, collarbone - Yelena is intent on making sure you don’t forget the occasion. When you add a third finger and curl your hand so that she can rub her clit against the heel of your palm, Yelena bites down hard. Without even being touched, you suddenly find yourself dangerously close to having another orgasm; a broken, strangled whine slipping free.

Yelena moans, her breath hot on your ear. She moves until her thigh is pressing against you again, her hips rolling freely against the fingers inside of her. It causes just enough friction to make you clumsy in your thrusts, brain and body fighting for control.

“Come with me,” Yelena murmurs, and just like that, you’re both teetering over the edge together. Your body has officially turned into a twitching, useless mass of limbs. Your breath lingers with Yelena’s as she quakes with aftershocks of her own climax, and when you’re able to breathe again she connects your lips.

It’s lazy, it’s messy. Your hands rest on Yelena’s waist now, the blonde’s body resting on top of yours while her arms rest on either side of you. You’re incredibly tired - and a little bit thirsty, but you’re way too comfortable to move right now. Yelena is warm, and it feels nice having her this close. 

When she ends the kiss, she places another quick peck to your lips before resting her forehead against yours. You already feel guilty, but there’s just too much coziness in the afterglow of this moment. Yelena’s eyes are searching yours for something, her smile tender.

“I really have wanted this. For a while.” She says quietly.

“I know.” You move one hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear. 

“I missed you.” She leans into your touch, never breaking your gaze.

“I know,” you repeat, kissing her gently. “I missed you, too.”

Guilt be damned, Yelena’s smile is worth it.

~ part 2 ~

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[fallatyourfeet]

Alfie working a day at your work would include: (Headcanon: Alfie Solomons x Female Reader)

Request

Hey, I saw your post about writing a fic about alfie solomons x reader, I have an idea about a bet of switching roles, reader controls the bakery and alfie does whatever the reader does, see who survives the longest, could you also make it funny? Thanks

This idea came through my messages. It's such a gem of an idea and I'm gonna give it a go 😁 But, be warned.... I'm not very confident with my humorous capabilities 😬🤞

Okay, so this got completely out of hand. It's nearly a 2000 word headcanon. It's really not much of a headcanon though, it's more of a one-shot in bullet point form. I didn't even get the whole request filled. It was supposed to be Alfie and the reader swapping jobs for the day (but I liked the idea of them seeing each other work, and that's why the whole thing got out of hand). Maybe if you guys like this one, the rest can be written in a part 2 ???

Word Count: 1946

Warnings: Swearing. It is very suggestive, but there's no actual smut.

Please feel free to send a comment/message/ask, I’d love to hear from you.

If you like this, then please feel free to head over to my blog and take a look around. You’ll find my masterlist in my bio.

• You and Alfie were a strange match, but somehow a perfect fit. Whilst you both may have started life in Camden Town, you took very different roads to success.

• Alfie earned his money doing things he would rather not talk about, at least not to you, and yet, you knew very well everything he was doing.

• You, on the other hand, worked extremely hard on the right side of the law, saving every penny to open up your own little boutique. At first, it was a tiny store way, way down a side street off the main shopping strip. And now, five shops later, you were located in the centre of the high street. A perfect little bespoke boutique that every designer fought tooth and nail to get their clothes into.

• And it was in that very first rather unimpressive shop that you met Alfie. He had been trying to coax his mother into the store to buy a dress for a funeral, but she refused in her thick Russian accent, “No, no. It’s too fancy here. I wear one of my old dresses.”

• To cut a long story short, you recognised his Camden Town accent (an accent you worked very hard to lose), went to offer assistance, instantly hit it off, and the rest is history. Now, back to the story.

• It started as a bet. One evening you were laying on the couch, your head resting in his lap, a peaceful silence lingering as he ran his fingers gently through your hair.

• When from nowhere you were overcome with dread at the thought of having to work in the morning, the thought manifesting into a rather loud and unexpected groan.

• In the very next second his fingers froze, his brows furrowing as he looked down at you with intent eyes, “What’s got you all suddenly pissed then?”

• You ran your hands across your face, “Just the thought of going in to work tomorrow.”

• Alfie almost snorted, “What... You can’t be bothered sittin’ down and sippin’ champagne, tellin’ fancy women how good they look when they try on your dresses? It’s gotta be the easiest fuckin’ job in the world.”

• You raised your brows, your eyes almost rolling into the back of your head. Mirroring his smart-arse tone, you replied, “You wouldn’t last five minutes. Those women would eat you alive.”

• And it was then that it occurred to you. Serving itself up on a platter, was the perfect opportunity to set your dear little Alfie up, realising that tomorrow you were hosting a private group of ladies at the boutique.

• All of them were invited to have an exclusive opportunity to purchase the new spring range a month before it was due on the shelves.

• It wasn’t going to be such a bad day after all. There would be champagne and strawberries and cheese platters galore, but there would also be a large group of ladies, valued customers, all of whom you knew quite well. Women that would indeed eat Alfie alive (if by chance, you instructed them to do so).

• With a sly smirk, you laid the bait. In one smoothly executed movement, you went from laying on the couch to straddling his lap, your arms entwined around his neck... and his expression told you, he thought he was about to score.

• He gripped you around the waist, but after a short heat filled kiss, you pulled away.

• His disappointment was adorable.

• Leaning back, you licked your lips and said, “You’re not doing anything tomorrow.” Then running your hands down his chest and up under his shirt, you offered, “If you can make it through just one day intact, doing what I do... then I will reward you in ways you can’t imagine.”

• Never had you seen someone so suspicious and hesitant agree to anything so quickly (Honestly, when you were straddling his lap he was like putty in your hands)

• In the morning he was already regretting it. Maybe because you woke him to a dapper grey suit laid perfectly across the bed, a tie and freshly polished shoes.

• He looked up at you with pleading eyes, but you cupped his cheek and replied, “I'm sorry, my love. But you must look the part.”

• Really though, you weren't sorry at all. By the time he was dressed he look so handsome that you already knew.... win, lose or draw, Alfie was getting his reward tonight.

• It was easy really. The group wasn’t expected until eleven o’clock that morning, so Alfie had an easy time organising the platters and polishing the crystal glasses, completely smug that he would make it through the day without a hitch. Calling for your attention he closed his eyes, his hands continuing to buff away a non-existent smudge from a china plate, “See, I can even do your job with my eyes closed.”

• You laughed, moving to him you pulled the plate from his grip, kissing him softly, “We’ll see.” And that was when the phone rang.

• His eyes popped open and you motioned for him to answer. His features crinkled as he made his way over and picked up the receiver, using the greeting he heard you use on the odd occasion he called you at the boutique. His silence followed as the muffled tones of a woman spoke from the end of the receiver.

• You knew exactly who it was, trying to suppress a smile as he fought to get a word in edgeways, his frustration evident, not used to being ignored. Biting down his frustration, he offered you the phone, “Mrs Fuller would like to speak with you.”

• This was turning out better than you expected.

• Alfie’s eyes narrowed, taking in your expression as he handed you the phone. Holding it to your chest, you spoke loud enough so Mrs Fuller could hear, “Alfie dear, please head down to the kitchenette and put the rest of the champagne in the cooler."

• (A side note: Mrs Adeline Fuller is a young married socialite, who much like you, was born without privilege. But a naturally elegant nature and disarming wit and charm, saw her marrying well, absolutely adored by her extremely wealthy husband)

• Adeline began speaking before you even had the chance to greet her, “Don’t tell me we are finally going to meet that brutish man of yours.”

• Normally such a sentence would have your face burning in anger, but you knew she meant no malice. You may have tried to dull down your Camden Town accent, but you were not one to hide away your past. You weren’t ashamed of your upbringing.

• And you certainly weren��t ashamed or secretive about your choice of partner. He was considered a brute by many, but with you, he was a rough and hopeless sweetheart, and so, you simply replied, “Yes, indeed you will.”

• You then proceeded to reveal your cunning plan (with no mention of the reward), and she was fully on board, ensuring that she and the rest of her party would make him earn his wages. And after confirming the booking for eleven, and adding two more attendees, Adeline concluded the conversation, “See you at eleven... This is going to be fun.”

• And it was. In all, there were fifteen women, all of them young rich socialites with money to burn, none of whom had ever met Alfie, but they all knew of him. Truth be known, in some indirect way, most of their filthy rich husbands/boyfriends were probably involved with him. And thanks to Adeline, all of them knew the little plan before they stepped foot inside the boutique.

• Initially, he greeted them by the door. Each one of them expecting their own personal greeting as they came through, you whispering their names seductively into his ear. His face was red before he spoke his first greeting.

• Once inside, he busied himself with the champagne, popping bottles and filling glasses as they all eyed him intently, their scrutiny making his movements awkward and rigid and his face beetroot.

• You wanted to laugh. It reminded you of a poor little cocktail waitress surrounded by a large group of men, all of them eager to slip a pound note in the top of her skirt.

• Now normally you weren’t used to seeing him so flustered, he was usually so confident and intimidating and in command, but these high-class women had him run off his feet.

• And foolishly, like an amateur, he kept their glasses flowing with bubbly, the result seeing them grow ever more comfortable with him, their hands brushing over his suit, admiring the fabric, an excuse to admire what laid underneath. Their brash and obvious flirting left his eyes pleading for you to rescue him. At least their inebriated state meant the till would be overflowing by the end of the day.

• When it was time to roll the racks of clothes out, the fun really began.

• From the change rooms they called for assistance, asking for dresses and lingerie in all different sizes, requesting hats and shoes by names and styles he didn’t understand. And they were playing hard, barely giving him a chance to think.

• It was perfect. But you had to give it to him... he didn’t give up... and he didn’t curse once.

• At one stage he had dresses strewn over his shoulder, lingerie hanging from his fingers and shoes piled in his arms, not to mention one of the hats perched precariously on top of his head.

• All while you sat back and sipped champagne. At one point he made a sly comment in your ear, “Havin’ fun sittin’ on that pretty arse of yours?”

• You just took another sip from your glass and shrugged your shoulders, “Well, according to you, that’s all my job entails.” Then you winked and turned your attention to Adeline coming out of the change room, “That looks beautiful Adeline, blue is definitely your colour.”

• When it was time for the gathering to finish up, it was just as amusing to watch him concentrate with great effort to wrap up and bag all of the sales, only for them to look like a pound of badly wrapped sausages. It was the only task that you had to take over, you couldn’t afford the expensive clothes getting ruined.

• When he farewelled the last guest, he turned with an expression of utter relief, but you squashed his spirits when you spoke with a smirk, “Now we just need to clean up and open the store to the public for the rest of the afternoon... and then we’ll be done for the day.”

• His poor little face shattered.

• And when it was time to shut and lock the door behind your last customer, he admitted, “That was fuckin’ horrible... I don’t know how you do that every bloody day.”

• Alfie had barely turned the open sign around to closed before you jumped into his arms and wrapped your legs around his middle. And the poor man who looked ready to collapse suddenly found a second burst of energy.

• Wrapping your arms around his neck, his lips began to assault your neck with exquisite torture, but somehow you managed to speak, “Well, my good sir, I think I may have managed to destroy your fierce reputation in one single day.” Then with a nibble of his earlobe, you murmured, “But now it's time to collect your reward.”

• Alfie almost growled, his grip tightening around your backside as he made his way to the back of the store, his voice rough and hungry, “You might have fuckin’ destroyed my reputation, but don’t worry, cause I’m about to fuckin’ destroy you.”

[moon3thereal]

bad girls get punished

pairings” wandanat x reader 

genre: no plot just smut

a/n my first smut fic lmao pls don’t judge too harshly 

summary: Natasha catching you touching yourself

warnings: smut, 18+ content, oral sex (r receiving), swearing, degradation, mommy kink 

word count: 1.3k

Out of your two girlfriends, Natasha and Wanda, Wanda was definitely the soft dom, she let you get away with misbehavior 99% of the time and couldn’t even think about punishing you no matter how much of a brat you were. however, the same cannot be said about Natasha, she’d always put you in your place no matter how small the misstep was and you always avoided breaking the rules when she was around

Which was why you were taking full advantage now that Natasha was on a mission, it was just you and Wanda and though you missed Natasha you were also grateful that she wasn’t around to see you right now, your ass would probably be seven different shades of red if she were. You were sprawled across the bed you shared with your girlfriend, one hand teasing your breasts and the other down your underwear, sliding your fingers over your folds slick with your arousal. Quiet whimpers and moans falling from your lips as you pleasured yourself

Wanda had let you get away with it every time and even helped you to your climax a few times, which is why you didn’t even bother to hide your needy whines that reverberated through the room. Natasha wasn’t scheduled to get home until a week later so you were completely safe.

Or so you thought

You were so lost in your pleasure that you didn’t hear the door open and both of your girlfriends walking in chattering animatedly. The second you realized how much of trouble you were in was one you heard Natasha’s voice calling out for you and the Russian appeared in front of your open door. Your expression of euphoria was immediately replaced with one of fear when you realized that it was the redhead instead of the brunette and hurriedly attempted to hide yourself with your sheets

Natasha’s smile disappeared and her eyes darkened, an expression of pure lust streaked across her perfect features. Wanda was behind her telling you silently that you were seriously and utterly fucked.

After a few moments of Natasha simply glaring at your hand that was still in between your thighs and your sweaty figure, she raised an eyebrow “you thought it would be funny to let mommy come home to her little girl being such a needy whore huh” she was walking towards you while taking her leather jacket off at an agonizingly slow rate. You were staring up at her while shaking your head with your eyes wide.

The sokovian was on your other side raking her fingernails over your thigh. “words kotenok (kitten)” the redhead said gripping your jaw “n-no mommy” you stuttered out. Letting go, she kept her gaze on you “you know i don’t like people touching what’s mine, strip.” She said, her voice cold and you could tell that you were in for it. You hastily stripped off your thin camisole and the pink thong that barely covered anything in the first place.

“spread” Natasha’s voice left no space for any disobedience, Wanda coaxed your thighs apart exposing your glistening folds to your girlfriends. You whined when the witch’s fingers made their way up your torso and teased your painfully stiff nipples. Natasha rested two of her fingers on your bottom lip “open up slut” you whimpered taking her fingers into your mouth and swirling your tongue over her slim digits

Wanda was nibbling on the shell of your ear when Natasha abruptly pulled her fingers out and thrusted them into your dripping cunt pulling a gasp from you at the sudden penetration, she thrust her fingers in and out of you roughly “isn’t this better than playing with yourself krasivaya (beautiful), dumb little slut always needs mommy or Wanda playing with her pussy” you couldn’t do anything else but whimper in response. you whined when Natasha pulled her fingers out and held her fingers up to Wanda’s lips.

The brunette made a display of running her tongue up Natasha’s digits collecting all your arousal, letting out a moan at the taste of you “our pretty girl tastes so good” she said and pulled the redhead into a heated kiss, allowing her to taste you on Wanda’s tongue. Frustrated at the lack of attention, “please mommy” you moved your hips against Natasha’s hand earning yourself a smack to your cunt. Natasha glared at you with a perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised “don’t push it slut”

Standing up, Natasha headed towards your shared closet no doubt to retrieve the toys that she kept in the top drawer that would’ve scared the living daylights out of vanilla couples. Wanda was now positioned directly in front of your exposed folds, she ran her tongue along them and on your clit and you let out breathy moans of pleasure “oh right there wan” you breathed out  when she thrust her tongue into your hole, clenching around her tongue, you felt the knot in your stomach tighten and just when you thought that you would reach an orgasm, Natasha’s voice rang out “now now, we cant let our whore cum just like that wans” Wanda lifted her head off your now aching pussy “of course, I was just playing with her Nattie” the Russian was wearing your favorite strap and it stole your breath away.

For a few seconds, you simply lay there staring at her, until she snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor. You dropped to your knees so quickly it was embarrassing. Eyes straying to the sokovian you saw that Wanda was watching intently with her hand already in her pants “Get mommy’s cock ready for your pussy kotenok (kitten)” almost immediately, you took the length of the toy into your mouth, when it hit the back of your throat you gagged, drooling over the silicon toy, you could hear Wanda's soft moans and Natasha's groans.

Tears pricked at your eyes as Natasha thrust it further into your mouth “look so pretty crying and drooling all over mommy’s cock” she cooed and when she was satisfied, the redhead pulled you up by your hair and bent you roughly over the side of the bed. In a second, Wanda was in front of you, your jaw in her ring clad hand and she captured your lips in a kiss, you were so captivated by the sokovian’s plush lips that you were completely caught off guard when Natasha thrust the length into you and you gasped, your cunt pulsing around the large toy

Barely giving you time to adjust to the size, Natasha was already thrusting it in and out of you harshly, both hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. “such a needy slut hm? Just needed mommy to come home and fuck you like the dumb whore you are?” you mumbled incoherently and Natasha slapped your ass leaving a red hand print, forcing you to answer “yes m-mommy fuck feels so good” you released a series of incoherent moans and profanities. Between the combinations of Wanda nibbling on your bottom lip and the toy inside you and Natasha’s finger circling your clit in firm circles, you felt so close to your climax “I’m gonna cum mommy ah-”

You felt the toy leave your aching pussy and gasped. Your cunt clenched on nothingness and you whined desperately “oh come on Tasha, that wasn’t nice, you could’ve let our pretty girl cum” Wanda pouted but Natasha only chuckled “you’ll spoil her then, cant let her get away with being a brat now can we?” the Russian turned back to you “make Wanda and mommy cum, then, I’ll consider letting you cum my little fucktoy”

You were in for a very long night

[kapkanlover]

Spetsnaz headcanons (hcs).

The first thing I would like to say is that I work with a translator, so don't discourage me if there are mistakes in sentences. Feel free to point out any mistakes and typos to me as well, I'd be happy to!

It did come out a bit longer than planned... But still.

Enjoy your reading!

(Requests are open, but I write when I'm in the mood (rarely)).

***

Fuze | Shuhrat Kessikbayev

-This man though he seems taciturn and unsociable, but that's not quite true. Shuhrat is indeed stingy with words, but not with Timur. With him he becomes much more active, though only Tachankin and Kapkan have seen it. According to the men, it's even worse than when Blitz tries to make jokes (all Blitz fans, sorry, I really like him, it's just our Russian boys have a peculiar humor according to my headcanons :D). Yes, these "encounters" between Timur and Shuhrat are rare, but always so timely.

p.s: even during such clowning, Fuze still tells me nothing about himself.

- Shuhrat is a good cook and likes to do it from time to time, making every effort to make it tasty. Usually cooks according to recipes. It comes out worse without them. He was taught to cook Russian dishes from his childhood, and from his teenage years his knowledge was supplemented by Uzbek national recipes, which he quickly picked up.

- Fuze loves cats with all his soul and sometimes throws tiktoks/videos of cute and funny kittens to music to his coworkers. Try to change my mind.

- Shuhrat is the kind of person who would bother with gifts if you are close. More often than not, he would bring homemade items along with your favorite meal.

- He made his own mask based on a "Shark Raw" motorcycle helmet. Not cheap, but stylish. And he knows a lot about style, believe me...

Glaz | Timur Glazkov

- He has HUNDREDS of sketches of absolutely everything that comes into his field of vision. He does not need permission to sketch it, but if you ask not to draw you, he just grinned saying "yes, of course" and draws you, but in secret. Will he show it to you? HAHA, no.

- He likes bird's milk candy. Well, no... He LOVES them. If you buy him some, he'll carry you in his arms after this for a long time.

- When Timur is alone, he yells at objects he accidentally hits. He is very erratic and unpredictable, but that often bailed him out when he was young (still does to this day tho).

- Timur experiments in making desserts and different sweets, from his great love of sweets, of course. He knows how to make "bird's milk," by the way.

Tachanka | Alexsandr Senaviev

- The local Russian father, or, for someone, "daddy".

He knows his "status" and actively supports it, because for him it is fun and sweet, given the fact that he is actually the father of two children. He is flattered by this.

- Despite the fact that at first glance Sasha is a mountain of muscles with no brains, in fact it is not so. This man is kind and reasonable, always ready to listen and try to support and understand. His support is peculiar, it is, but know that if Tachankin tries to find a solution to your problem, if he swears and turns to aggression, says things directly - he cares. He is peculiar, but caring nonetheless, and it is felt.

- This man has a clear problem with aggression. If he's angry, you'll fucking know it. He's 99.9% likely to break something, and that's a good thing if it's not human bones.

- Continuing with the aggression thing. When he's mad, he goes to his trainings and gets as far away from people as possible, because he knows that he could hurt somebody intentionally. Yes, during special operations and critical situations he is calm and collected, just like everyone else, but in everyday life his aggression causes difficulties. It is much rarer now than when he was younger, which can't help but make him happy.

- He walks VERY fast. This "habit" appeared in him after the training in Moscow and missions, which required a high speed in spite of the equipment. If you're short, you'll probably have to run to keep up with him.

Kapkan | Maxim Basuda

- In addition to the thick borsh his mother used to make, Maxim loves meat. He eats and know how to cook all kinds of meat. He is a good cook. Yes, cooking is not what he would like to do, but one cannot deny the fact that he is a connoisseur of good grilling. He is usually put in charge of kebabs, which infuriates Maxim enormously (though he is not against it), but what can he do...

- Kapkan strongly suppresses emotions. He does not allow himself to smile or shout at someone, which eventually leads to violent breakdowns, during which he broke through the walls of his old apartment a couple of times.

- Bitter chocolate is also one of the man's predilections. As a child he hated it, but as he got older something went wrong and now it's his favorite sweet. He and Glaz fight for the title of "best candy." It's definitely not because he's a tough, grown-up Russian man. Lol.

- Paying tribute to @/LevaSoj and @/kikipeachywitch. Kapkan has a cat that he loves with all his soul. She lives with Max's parents in Kovrov, but he tries to visit her as often as possible. Most likely, his cat likes to get under his sweatshirts and other things when he is lying, sitting, or doing something. Fuze asks him to send pictures of the "baby kitten" when Max comes to he's parents home.

- Max is adored by animals, and he reciprocates them. He knows how to treat them, which he obviously helps in "understanding" each other.

Finka | Valeria (Lera) Melnikova

- She is always stressed lately, does not allow herself to rest. Working very hard. Things are so fucked up that Maxim and Sasha have started to notice it, at least because of the girl's requests to train with her more and her refusal of her favorite booze in favor of her health.

- Finka was good at hand-to-hand and knife fighting. She had someone to learn from, that's for sure. Whenever possible, she and Kapkan organize training sessions to practice new techniques that Max or Lera came up with.

- Lera is often on the clock in the lab so much that she falls asleep from exhaustion at her desk, right on the papers. Usually she is caught in this state by Doc, or by her friends, sending the girl to her room to rest.

- Finka really likes the desserts that Glaz makes! She is the first in line to try his new cooking experiments.

- On weekend evenings, if you don't find her on the training ground with Alexander, Maxim, or any of her coworkers, she's probably sitting in her room watching Russian melodramas that Fuze advised her to watch. And other movies, too.

***

Thank you so much for reading! It was hard for me to write headcanons on Finca since I don't know much about her, but it's a fun experience.

Have a great day!!! :D

[juicycoutureheaux]

Both Sides Now

Chris Redfield x Fem!Reader

AHS: Coven X Resident Evil Crossover

A/N

So I had to create a villain, I swear I looked up and down to see if any other Resident evil villains fit the bill, and I couldn’t find any. T-T. Anyway! Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think! Next chapter will have explicit sexual content, so be warned!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 4: How Deep it Goes

You and Chris were dragged into a holding area. You were both thrown into a cell and stripped of your weapons and communication devices.

Chris was seeing red.

This was HIS fault Y/N was dragged into this and he wasn’t sure they were going to make it out this time.

He turned to Y/N, she was hugging her knees anxiously. “Whatever they do Y/N, let me go first. I need you to get home safe.” he said shakily.

“Chris the team is going to be here, please don’t talk like that.” you begged.

You had never seen your captain like this.

Before you could exchange more words a large man in a tactical uniform entered the room.

“Redfield, what a delight.” the man said with a heavy russian accent.

“Anton Volkov,” Chris hissed.

“One of Umbrella’s leftovers, didn’t you learn your lesson from Wesker & Sergei?”

Anton only smirked, “I thought you’d learned your lesson too Redfield, what was her name? Jill? What a shame you had to bring another young woman down with you.”

That hit a nerve with Chris, “You bastard! Whatever problem you have with me, you leave her out of it!”

Y/N suddenly felt very small, this Anton person had acknowledged her. She didn’t realize it, but she was trembling; what was he going to do with them?

She felt a presence, she made eye contact with a young, frail woman in the corner of the room. “You can see me?” she said, her voice soft and veiled with a Russian accent.

Y/N tried her luck and communicated telepathically; “Why are you here?”

The young woman looked at her with sad eyes, “My younger brother, Anton. He’s gone down a dark path. I want him to stop.”

She took a shaky breath and continued. “He feels guilty for what happened to me, I was murdered when he was still young. I’m scared he’s going to do the same to you.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. It made sense, victims modeling the same behavior as their abusers.

He felt weak and powerless at one time; now, he wanted someone else to feel the same.

You had to get out of here. You remembered something Cordelia had mentioned to you in one of your classes at Robichaux.

“In times of duress, it's not unusual for witches to manifest other powers. Don’t be afraid to try Y/N.”

You smiled to yourself, she was always there for you when you needed her, This time was no different.

“Bring me the girl, I want to have a little bit of fun.” Anton remarked.

Y/N was thrown to his feet, he knelt down and grabbed her by the hair.

“Go ahead and beg for your life girl, I’m not going to show you any mercy.” You instinctively struggled against his grasp.

“Maybe I should let my men blow off some steam with you. You seem feisty, they’ll like that.” he said as his grip grew stronger.

“Anton! Let her go dammit! This is between me and you!” Chris yelled.

He had never felt helpless before, and watching you struggle against Anton’s grasp made him more desperate.

“She doesn’t want you to do this.” you said calmly to Anton.

He roughly yanked you up to face him. “What did you say whore?”

“Your sister, she was murdered. She wants you to know it wasn’t your fault and that killing me won’t make you feel better.” you said shakily.

Anton glared at you and threw you to the ground. “I don’t know what kind of intel you received on me, but this is a new low, even for you Americans.”

“She’s here with us, right over there! She’s been guiding you to do the exact opposite and you keep fucking up!” You said, frustrated.

Your cheeks grew red and you felt the sting of tears in your eyes.

Maybe a little bit of her energy was rubbing off on you.

Anton grew angrier “This one’s fucking crazy Redfield, are you that desperate for soldiers?”

“ It’s not too late to stop; you can help put an end to this.”

You started to beg. Tears were now streaming down your face.

How many more people would die?

How many more men and women were going to meet terrible fates at the hands of selfish people?

Anton ignored your pleas. He forced you on your back and pinned your arms above your head.

“I’m going to make sure you stay quiet permanently.” he growled.

You remembered Cordelia’s words.

You focused on drawing your power from the light, just as she advised.

You thought of all the times spent at Robichaux witnessing your sisters harness and grow their powers, you thought of your training with the BSAA and how Captain Redfield always made you feel stronger, even on the worst of days.

It was your turn to be the powerful one.

Then it happened. It was quick, like a lightning strike; Anton had been thrown against the wall. Hard. He slumped down the wall and fell to the ground. Blood started to pool around his head.

You quickly scrambled up onto your feet.

Volkov’s men started to fire their weapons, you used your newfound telekinesis abilities to stop the bullets mid-air. You then sent them back to the soldiers with an unnatural force, killing them.

You stood there, shaking. You had slaughtered other humans with your abilities. You wanted to fall to your knees, but there wasn’t time. You had to free your Captain.

Chris

Fuck. He had seen it all. You slowly turned around; you saw your captain, sitting against the wall of the cell. He was silent and his face was pale. The entity around him was larger than before. It started to manifest into a human form.

No fucking way. You thought

The man was tall and seemed to be in his mid 40s. He had blonde hair and sharp blue eyes.

You had seen him before, but where? It started to make sense.

You remembered the man’s face plastered on every single news outlet for weeks right when you joined the BSAA.

Albert fucking Wesker.

The man that had caused so much pain on earth was now still tormenting Chris in the afterlife.

You quickly grabbed the keys from one of the corpses and unlocked the cell containing your Captain.

You handed your captain his weapon and gear.

He didn’t say a word to you. His silence was deafening. You wanted to know what he was thinking about.

You had your back to him to try and figure out how to get the hell out of there, when you heard the click of the safety being removed from a gun.

Turning around, you saw Chris had his weapon cocked at you, aimed to kill.

“You’re one of them aren’t you?” He spat at you

“Chris, I don’t understand!” You asked shakily. “One of them?“ you gestured to the corpses.

Wesker’s apparition was amused. It was like he had some control over Chris; as if he was the one telling Chris to pull the gun on you.

“I saw it with my own eyes, Y/N! You killed them all, what kind of virus is causing you to do this!” He screamed at you, gripping the gun tighter.

“Chris! This isn’t you! Put the gun down please! I’ll tell you everything!” You pleaded with the captain.

If only you could get Wesker to disappear for good, maybe you could get Chris to safety and convince him this was all some kind of PTSD induced illusion.

Your eyes darted to the demonic entity in front of you. Did Satan himself create this motherfucker? Had to of, you thought.

“You need to let go of Chris and move on.” You told him firmly.

“Has it occurred to you that this is moving on for me?” Wesker replied in a matter of fact tone.

“Wesker, you ruined his life, why can’t you just let him be?” You asked him.

“Christopher ruined my plans in the mortal world; so, I plan to ruin his life until he dies.” Wesker said venomously.

Chris looked at you horrified. Who the fuck was she talking to? The man she was supposedly talking to was dead.

Wesker wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Y/N mustered up all her strength and began to pull from the light again.

The walls began to shake and the lights began to flicker. You began to draw your power from the energy around you.

You tried to remember what incantation to use. What was that one spell to release stubborn entities?

“Ego dimittam te ad inferos!” You said. You quickly felt a change with the energy in the room. It was as if he had weakened instantaneously.

You said it louder “ego dimittam te ad inferos!”

“Do you really think sending me to hell is going to do any good?”

“It’s what you deserve, you bastard!”

You said the spell with all of your might and caused all the light bulbs to shatter in the laboratory.

Wesker had dissolved into black ash and as far as you could tell, he was gone for good.

The sheer amount of energy sucked from the room caused Chris to fall to the ground. He still had the handgun in his hand, but it was no longer pointed at Y/N.

You rushed over to his side and grabbed your radio.

“L/N to Nivans, do you copy?” You said into the busted up radio.

“Copy, What the hell went down there L/N? Our equipment is going crazy, it seems like some kind of explosion.” Piers said aggressively into the radio.

You smirked. He hated not being in on the action.

“We’re okay Lieutenant, we have some casualties down here though, looks like the Captain was right about the building not being empty. The threat has been neutralized..” You said assuringly.

You looked over to Chris who was rubbing his forehead like he had a headache. You couldn’t imagine what he was going through right now.

“Lieutenant Nivans?” You said into the radio.

“Copy L/N”

“I have the body of a victim down here, do you think it’s possible we could transport him to his family?” You said self consciously. You couldn’t save Anton, but you could at least try with Parker.

“It’s possible, L/N” Piers spoke into the radio. “Let’s just get you and the Cap out of there first.”

You smiled to yourself. That meant yes coming from Piers.

There was a loud bang and a “Clear!” Shouted from the other side of the metal door. Your team had arrived just in time. You had never been happier to see "The Boys’ Club.”