#thread : kate + open

[nxttheendxfthestxry]

“So... yeah, the reports of my death may have been greatly exaggerated.”

[prettymvgic]

closed starter for @grav3encovnters

she   had   teased   him   all   night   and   now   she   finally   had   him   in   his   bed   ;   and   handcuffed.   she   straddled   his   waist   for   a   moment   knowing   she   could   have   him   anyway   she   pleased   but   she   didn't   want   that   -   not   him,   she   wanted   his   money   &   she   knew   that   he   had   plenty   of   it.   with   a   wide   grin,   she   lowered   herself   down.   

"now,   don't   take   this   personal   but   ...   where's   the   safe?" 

[morethanweseem]

"I thought you were gonna remember where we parked."

[lcstloyalty]

( Kate ; open starter -- mutuals only )

        ❝ I haven't... uh, I haven't smiled like that in weeks- months, maybe. ❞ A small smile curled the corners of her lips, her eyes downcast. ❝ Thanks for that. Really. ❞

[savingthrcw]

@fantasywritten asked: ❛ can’t you see how much you hurt me? ❜ (Sawyer to Kate oof)

Kate's heart dropped, and she felt the usual feeling of wanting to crawl out of her own skin, to leave all the wrongness behind. She knew she was toxic, especially when she forgot to keep distance, because his presence alone brought up everything she wanted to forget about herself. "Yes." God, she didn't need this. She needed them to fight, she needed him to be a jerk, to be Sawyer, to make things easier for her - not this guy, not the one who looked at her like that, like he would actually play house with her after everything he had seen. Why did he keep trying? "It's what I do. You know that."

She should have left then, with that half accusation that he knew what he was getting into. Hand on the door handle, she should've gone back to Jack like he had said she would, to someone safer who wouldn't make her question everything. It's what I do. I run.She looked at the door, but didn't pull the handle. "I don't want to."

[ssahotchnerr]

Can you even imagine Hotch’s little girl grabbing his phone and sending random pics to the bau group chat LOL. And it’s all candid pics of reader 🥲🥲🥲🥲 but of course the team is like “oh so you’re WHIPPED” 🤭

a good morning

PLEASE cw; girl dad!aaron, set in s10, fluff <3

At promptly nine, Aaron entered the roundtable room. As he settled into his seat, Dave didn't hesitate to toss him an extremely amused, cheeky expression.

"You feeling alright there?"

"You had a good morning."

Aaron's eyebrows quirked at his statement, quickly recalling his day so far. Getting himself up, getting the kids up, heading out the door. Nothing out of the ordinary, other than the fact he actually had the time to sit down and eat breakfast. "I suppose I did, yeah."

Kate snorted a laugh. "You 'suppose?'"

Aaron's quizzical expression lingered, his gaze shooting to hers. She clarified further - her face just as smug as Dave's.

"Your texts."

Confused, Aaron pulled his phone from his pocket. He opened messages, taking notice of the time in the corner - the most recent activity in the group chat about an hour ago. He tapped it open.

"Oh," He chuckled, a soft smile forming on his face as he saw its contents. "Ellie had my phone."

He hadn't noticed she had been taking pictures. He remembered giving her his phone - in attempt to refrain her from throwing her Cheerios onto the floor. Her tiny hands had struggled to hold onto it, it thudding against the table a few times besides him, as he ran through a short multiplication practice with Jack - who had a test today. Evidently she must've secured a firm grasp, and took photos in the process.

"She sent those?"

Aaron nodded, the grin on his face growing slowly as he scrolled through the thread of pictures, his heart warming. They mainly consisted of you: smiling, placing a bowl of cereal in front of Jack, preparing your coffee at the counter; all candidly taken. His family in its most natural, loving state. "She must've."

"When'd she learn how to do that? Ellie's what, four?"

"Three." Aaron answered Derek, a chuckle shaking through his chest and he placed his phone back into his pocket. "And your guess is as good as mine. Jack probably, or from watching us. We don't allow her screen time."

"Well, you should take notes from her." JJ gave his shoulder a squeeze as she passed by, en route to her chair. "We don't nearly get enough of them."

[naturally-recklessly]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ  y u l e ’ s   t a g   d u m p .

[sixbillicnsouls]

( ❛ ╾  OPEN && KATE )

     “Tell me who I am, guess I don’t have a choice.”

starters inspired by sp.otify w.rapped; cause i liked a boy

[fans4wga]

'Why creatives are seeking residuals' - thread by Stefanie Williams

[Tweet thread by Stefanie Williams @/StefWilliams25

TRANSCRIPT:

Why creatives are seeking residuals vs. "do you pay the mattress maker every time you sleep on a mattress?" A thread. I keep hearing over and over again that writers/actors/creatives don't deserve residuals for the work they create. "If I build a bathroom in a house, I don't get paid every time someone uses the toilet."

TRUE! However, your bathroom build has a set market value. Art does not. No one knows what makes one TV show an overnight success, and another a flop. No one knows what makes one song a hit, and the other a dud. If they did, trust me when I say record companies would be churning out Taylor Swifts over and over again. Studios would be making nothing but Stranger Things.

But that isn't the case. No one could predict Stranger Things would be a massive, billion dollar hit. No one could predict Taylor Swift was going to be a world wide phenomenon who literally could record herself reading Aesop's Fables and make millions of dollars. Which is why residuals are important. The pay structure protects both the creators and the publishers/distributors.

The easiest way to explain it is by referencing an author writing a book. Sure, an author might get a very modest up front fee, but the author is banking on royalties to really make money on the book — for every book sold, the author gets a piece of the pie. This protects both the author and the publisher—because if the book is a flop, the publisher doesn't go broke on a financial promise they made to the author that didn't pan out, and if the book is a mega-hit, the author didn't give away a massive, million-dollar book for 20k.

It's a sliding scale that is required for a product that has no set market value. What makes an actor's work on a hit show more valuable than an actor's work on a show that gets canned after five episodes? The market value for art almost always comes after the fact, so residuals account for that reality. They make sure the creator get compensated at a fair market rate. A person who builds a bathroom knows, upfront, what the market rate for a bathroom is. That bathroom won't suddenly be worth 1000 times more than you built it for in six months. It doesn't have the potential to be built for 20k and generate 20 million.

Residuals are a pay structure that simply account for an unsure market value. Trust me, we all wish we could quantify art in terms of dollars. But art is unpredictable. So studios and streamers -- which literally REQUIRE content to stay viable -- have to account for that unpredictability. And for studios (or record labels, or book publishers) it's always trial and error. The only way to get a hit, is to go through a few flops.

For every Whitney Houston, there was a singer you never heard of. For every Sopranos, there was a show that got scrapped mid season. For every Titanic, there was a movie that bombed. For every Twilight, there was a book about vampires that went nowhere. Residuals are kind of a reverse market valuation. They pay a fair wage for a product than can only have a set value once it's been created and effectively consumed.

And even then, shit changes. Anyone think Kate Bush would spend weeks on the top of the charts in 2022? Residuals account for unpredictable markets. And in order to have accurate residuals, streamers and studios need to be transparent and open about their data, which is one of the MANY things the WGA and SAG are both fighting for.

[hotjaneaustenmenpoll]

Semi-Final Two

Propaganda...

Mr Knightley (2009):

Johnny Lee Miller as Knightley is JUST SO. I mean the way he says "if I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more" IS JUUUST. The dance scene. The tentative shy smiles. The fact you can see in his eyes the entire time " I am completely in love with this woman. She'll never love me back BUT I DO NOT CARE I'LL LOVE HER FROM A DISTANCE ANYWAY" IS JUUUUUUST

We need to appreciate Mr Knightley more for both his snark and for those soft eyes just so full of love for Emma

GIF by dearemma

I was just going to send in the actual dance but the little panic he has when Emma says she knows his secret is just soo charming. There was some thread on twitter a few years ago about how a romcom man's most important quality is knowing how to look at a woman and JLM is just the master of it in this Emma

I really feel like the pictures say it all. He stands there, head tilted to one side. He is listening to you. His posture is relaxed. His gaze open, frank, candid. He's not trying at all. He just is.And that's why he is Knightley.

GIF by night-unfurls-its-splendour

Some propaganda, not just for Jonny Lee Miller, but the general interpretation of 09 Knightley. I have some excerpts here from my review of the 09 adaptation:

What I really think is great about the 2009 interpretation of Mr. Knightley is what an easy and comforting presence he is, without being apologetic when he scolds Emma. I think this is communicated especially well by how often we are actually shown Mr. Knightley taking his almost-daily walks to Hartfield, how smoothly he comes and goes, and how happy Emma is every time she sees him coming up the path (usually, just at the perfect moment when she needs something to put her back to rights.)

Here is Emma, feeling lonely after Miss Taylor's wedding. And in the background, walking up to Hartfield--there's Knightley. He's always been there for her, and he always will be.

And also this Mr. Knightley is as understated as ever, but I wanna highlight this outfit and why I love it: This is Knightley’s first appearance in the series and it’s the perfect establishing shot that shows the viewer everything they need to know about Emma and Knightley’s relationship and how it has always been. He sort of materializes, out of focus in the background, but Emma immediately knows he’s there. And to accentuate how much Knightley is part of her home and scenery, his clothes (similar shades of pale tan, white and minty green to the wall behind him) almost camouflage him and make him seem at one with the moulding of her home.

Additionally, Jonny Lee Miller captures Knightley’s playful qualities, and his exasperation is so endearing

GIF by christophernolan

GIF by sashajames

GIF by christophernolan

I can’t be the only one tickled by this Knightley’s frustration with Emma! JLM FTW!

Jonny Lee Miller is mesmerizing in any role he inhabits. It’s 2009 Knightly all the way.

no but can you actually go vote for mr knightley he was FOUNDATIONAL for 16 year old me my favourite portrayal of my favourite austen man cannot fall at this hurdle!!!

He is my ultimate Austen Dream Man, I'm with him until the end. Honestly this adaptation is my very favorite of them all (P&P 1995 is a VERY close second) because it made me fall in love with Emma as a story? Honestly no other adaptation or indeed even my reading of the book made me love it quite as much. My crush on JLM goes back to 1995 and I do think he is one of the better actors of his generation - his range alone is just impeccable. The fact that he can go from Sick Boy to Mr. Knightley to Sherlock to Jordan Chase is really something. Of all the actors I know, his range is the most impressive. But i love how bright and sunny this adaptation is. The colors, it is as vibrant as Emma should be! The Kate Beckinsale Emma is dark and terrifying to me, not at all suitable an adaptation. I like the Paltrow Emma a lot, but it's got the same issue the 2005 P&P has for me -- it's just too short. This is tonally just right, and the casting is lovely, and JLM is just at his dashing best. His face is so expressive, he is so capable of communicating so much without saying a word. His open jealousy of Frank Churchill is delightful to watch. His face when Emma tells him his secret is out at the ball! JLM is maybe the most underrated actor of his generation and I LOVE that he has been multiple Austen heroes. I maintain that in a future adaptation of Pride & Prejudice, an older JLM would make an EXCELLENT Mr. Bennet. He would convey the right amount of grumpy but fond beautifully.

Look. Do people realize JLM hates wearing period clothing AND hates dancing? And yet in Emma he's sashaying around in pink jackets looking amazing and is THAT convincing? That's called BRILLIANT ACTING!!

A tiny bit of Mr Knightley 2009 propaganda but I love that they put in that bit from the book where he looks like he's going to kiss Emma's hand when he's saying goodbye but then he hesitates and doesn't and I just...it's such a tiny detail but conveys so much!

GIF by myforeverworldofmovie

It’s the only Emma adaptation that really hits the romance notes well. Knightley’s crowning moment of awesome really feels like it (when he rescues Harriet from humiliation) and his subsequent dancing with Emma does make you feel a shift in their relations. Love this adaptation. - This Knightley and Emma in particular are equals. They quarrel, not because he’s telling her off, but because they can have an argument because they know each other, trust each other and care about each others opinions, and there is never a sense of domination of one over the other. This adds so much fire to the romance, and it’s so unusual for a romance of that era (or even one written today!!). - Emma is rich, clever and beautiful and as powerful as a woman of her age and situation could be at the time and she married Knightley for no other reason but because he’s her best friend and his company for the rest of her life will enrich her. - He even leaves his house to move in with her!

Captain Wentworth (1995):

Ciaran Hinds has that perfect ruggedness yet friendliness to his face that makes him the perfect charming Wentworth. And all of the longing that he manages to convey in his eyes is so hot.

Wentworth may be angry/resentful with Anne but in general he is charming and the best friend you could ever have. Ciaran gets the pleasant parts of his character and brings them out, while keeping a guarded coolness (protective camouflage) with Anne.

GIF by molinaesque

I dunno if this counts as propaganda or not, but Ciaran Hinds has a face that looks like it was jackhammered out of a shale cliff.

If a line like 'I am half agony...half hope' comes out of a face like that you know that man has a soul for poetry.

I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in

F. W.

I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening or never.  

This is propaganda for the next round because I need my boy to be a finalist! But this letter is all the persuasion I need to know that he is a winner

Ciarán Hinds in this is a whole other level of "a good man" He makes Anne's decision at the end so much more perfect.

[milf-murdock]

Well, I’m about to hop out of the bath, and unfortunately I did have to stop just before things got ~juicy 😔 but here’s a lil WIP to hold ya over

Kate Laswell x Wife!Reader

Warnings: gross men being creepy, but Laswell comes to your rescue 😘 canonical swearing, and just a lil nsfw (I might keep writing if there’s an audience for it lol) I do owe you some Top Laswell, anon

Truth be told, you hated coming to base. It was all so rough and rugged, a veritable Good Ole Boys Club that smelled like cigars and gunpowder. You keep your head held high as your step across the gravelly terrain, the small heel of your shoes adding a slight wobble to your step. You catch the eye of a couple of soldiers and ignore their thirsty gazes as they stop to gawk. Picking up the pace, you hurry to your destination: the bar. Just past the far edges of the base, it was obvious the foul-smelling, secluded establishment was less intended for civilian patrons and catered more to offering a place for military officials to take the edge off. You hated this place even more than you hated the base itself, but you know Kate loves a beer right after a job, and John had texted you to meet them here, which could only mean one thing—Kate was back.

The pungent smell of stale beer and cigarettes floods your nostrils as you open the heavy door. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, but you find your way to the bar. Once again, you keep your head held high, pointedly ignoring the men who don’t even try to pretend they’re not checking you out.

You adjust the hem of your skirt as you take a seat on the bar stool, anything to keep your hands busy. It’s only a matter of moments before a slurred voice comes from behind you, and your shoulders stiffen.

“Well what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”

Despite your better judgement, you glance over your shoulder to see a tall, older man in uniform. You can smell the beer on his breath, and you don’t even bother to hide your grimace.

“I’m waiting for someone,” you respond curtly, turning back around.

“Hey now, don’t be like that. Just give me a smile and I’ll be on my way.”

You ignore him, busying your hands with a stray thread at the edge of your skirt, tugging to pull it loose.

You hear a scoff from behind you before you feel a rough hand on your shoulder. “I’m talking to you, bitch,” he growls.

Your breath catches in your throat, completely frozen under his touch.

And in the next second, you hear another voice—a female voice, low and full of a threatening malice.

“I suggest you take your fucking hand off my wife.”

Relief floods your body, your eyes fluttering close as the weight lifts from your shoulder.

“Shit, I- I didn’t—“ the man stammers, hands raised as he takes a step back.

Laswell steps closer. “And if you ever call my wife a bitch again, you will find yourself on the fucking street with nothing but a dishonorable discharge to your pathetic name. Is that understood?”

Without a word, the man turned to flee the bar, not even passing a glance to his group of encouragers, who all found themselves instantly fascinated by their pint glasses in hand.

“Katie!” You exclaim, leaping from the bar stool to throw your arms around her neck. Her laugh fills your ears, and it sounds like rays of pure sunshine.

“Hi, bun,” her voice is low in your ear as she holds you close. “Told you I’d be back before you know it.”

You squeeze her even tighter, standing on your tiptoes to match her height. “Every minute apart from you feels like an eternity, Kate.” You can’t stop the slight break in your voice as tears well up. “I’m so happy you’re home.”

Kate pulls back just enough to press a fierce kiss to your lips. Your mouth parts in surprise at the passion; typically Kate’s kisses are on the more reserved side in public. Kate uses your parted lips as an opportunity to slide her tongue into your mouth, immediately taking dominance. You melt like putty in her hands, falling into the kiss. All too soon, Kate breaks the kiss, leaving you breathless and your lips swollen.

She smiles down at you with a tenderness only reserved for her wife, one hand coming up to brush your cheek. “Let me take you home, bunny.”

You struggle to put together a coherent thought after that damned kiss. “But don’t you want—you usually like, uh,” you blink furiously, trying to think past the rising need taking over your body. “Beer?” You finish lamely, feeling the flush in your cheeks as your gaze bounces between Kate’s lips and her bedroom eyes.

Kate chuckles, leaning in close to whisper in your ear. “Fuck the beer, sweetheart. I have better plans.” A shiver races down your spine and you can feel the wetness pool between your legs.

Kate pulls back just a bit, her lips hovering above your own. “Does that sound ~good?” She’s teasing you, her sweet breath fans over your face, and you can’t help but imagine that breath elsewhere. Your cunt clenches, and you bite your bottom lip, holding back an audible moan as you nod your head eagerly.

Kate has you eating out of the palm of her hand. And she fucking loves it.

“After you, my love,” she coos as she steps aside and lets you lead the way back to the car. You stumble across the bar, looking for all intents and purposes like you were the one to overindulge, though you hadn’t had a sip of alcohol. But Kate knows how you get when she’s gone for long periods of time. She knows how you get when the need is absolutely eating you whole, that fire of desire coursing through your veins. It turns you into a puddle, nothing more than a weeping mess entirely at her mercy. Kate clenches just thinking about it as she watches your ass sway in that perfect fucking dress she knows you wore just for her.

[nxttheendxfthestxry]

"Really, I don't care how I'm viewed. I know who I am, and that's good enough."

[alittlerobin]

Elbert/Kate/Alfons

tags: nsfw; threesomes, m/m/f; dubious use of Alfons's power word count: 2.3k

Elbert rarely went on long missions, unless it was with Alfons—and now Kate—at his side. This time had been an exception, needing his status, but both Al and Kate were otherwise occupied. So he’d gone without them. 

Now, he walked down the castle halls to his bedroom, his steps at an unusually hurried pace. The whole time, he’d wanted to see them, wanted to go back home to them, wanted to be with them, wanted, wanted, wanted. He was used to his greed going unfulfilled, but not when it came to them. And going from being able to have them both to not having either… it had been driving him crazy. So much so he might’ve rushed the mission, simply so he could get back to them sooner. 

Finally, he placed his hand on the doorknob to his room, only to freeze. Because he heard them both inside. 

Except… 

“Ahhh… El. Elbie, p-please…” 

“Please what? I want to hear you say it.”

“Please, El… More, nghhh, I’m so close—”

Kate was moaning his name.

Was this what it’d sounded like to Alfons, months ago, when he’d walked in and finally joined them? But even so, why was she moaning his name now and not Al’s…?

He pushed open the door, slipping inside without a word, and took in the stunning sight awaiting him. Alfons and Kate were both in his bed, beautifully nude, their clothes scattered haphazardly along the floor. Kate’s back was flush against Alfons’s chest, his lips on the crook of her neck and his arms looped loosely around her waist. One of his hands was on her thigh, spreading her legs open as she rode his hard cock, while the other worked at her clit, his gloveless fingers slick with her nectar. 

“El, ahhh… ah, you’re so good, you feel so good…” 

Kate’s eyes were closed, but she kept moaning his name as she bounced herself on Alfons’s cock, her thighs quivering and her skin tinted a lovely pink. Elbert took one step forward, then paused when Alfons’s ash-grey gaze captured his own. “Did you…”

“She missed you, Elbie,” Alfons purred. He spread the fingers that’d been playing with Kate’s clit, parting her glistening folds to give Elbert even more of a show. “And you were gone for so long. Do forgive me for indulging her a little."  

So the reason she was moaning his name was because… right now, in her mind, it was him inside her and not Alfons. It was his cock filling her up, his mouth marking her skin, his fingers bringing her close to climax. 

Kate’s dark lashes lifted, fluttering open. Her eyes were glazed over, unfocused and filled with Alfons’s illusion. She blinked, furrowing her brows as she looked at him—the real him—and then back at Alfons.

With a chuckle, Alfons swept his fingers over the nape of her neck and the confusion visibly cleared. A second later, recognition flashed across her face, only for it to be immediately replaced by a gasping pleasure when Alfons snapped his hips, driving his cock deeper inside her. 

“El—ahhh, f-fuck, nghhh, A-Alfons…”

“See?” Alfons said with a smirk, dropping his hand to Kate’s breasts. He took hold of one, massaged it and pinched her perky pink nipple, eliciting another lewd moan from her lips. "It's you she wanted, my dear Elbie. Are you going to make her wait?" 

Elbert crossed the room faster than ever before, kicking off his boots and throwing aside his sword, before sliding into bed and hooking his arms under her legs. His mouth went straight to her wet cunt, greedily devouring the sweet nectar flowing from her. 

She gasped and grabbed his hair, fingers threading through almost painfully, but he hardly noticed. He ate her out with abandon, licking between the folds spread by Alfons’s cock, and sucked on her swollen clit. Her whole body convulsed, legs clenching around his face as she mewled and tried to push herself against his tongue, her juices gushing out of her as she came. 

“El, oh god, hhgnnn…”

Her nails scratched gently at his scalp as she quivered, her soft moans alternating between both of their names. And it just made him want more.

Aflons tried to thrust up but Elbert grabbed onto his thighs, digging his nails into Alfons’s flesh. He pinned Alfons’s legs to the mattress, holding him down with Kate still impaled on his hard cock. “No. You don’t move.”

“Oh? In that kind of mood, are you? I’m thrilled.”

The tone of Alfons’s voice was teasing, testing, like it always was. But Alfons always knew exactly what he wanted and strived to give it to him. So when Elbert dropped back between Kate’s beautifully soaked thighs, his “attendant” obeyed and kept his hips still.

“Elbie, w-wait, please, I just—ahhhh!”

His gaze swept up her body, watching the heaving movement of her chest and the enraptured expression painted across her gorgeous face. Her long hair fell messily behind her shoulders; Alfons’s normally neat raven locks similarly mussed. He’d watched them indulge in one another enough times to know exactly what it would’ve looked like without him there. The sweet gasps, the wanton touches, the breathless kisses, and the beautiful blushes that colored both their cheeks when they were ready to fall apart.

He wanted that again and wanted it now, but with him in the mix. His mouth sought out the spot where they joined, where Alfons’s cock sheathed inside her, tasting them both together. Alfons twitched, his muscles straining against the temptation to move. Instead, Kate moved for them both, arching up and then bringing herself back down. She ground on him, rolling her hips to push herself onto Alfons’s shaft and Elbert’s tongue. 

More. 

I want. 

Without pulling back, he pushed two of his fingers into her alongside Alfons, and smiled when her toes curled into the sheets. He fucked his fingers into her as his tongue lavished her clit, the rest of his hand curled around the base of Alfons’s cock, stimulating them both. She came twice more on his tongue, almost shouting—and the second time, Alfons’s cum seeped out of her as she finally pulled away. 

“H-hold on, please… I need a minute.” Kate gasped as she rolled off Alfons and away from Elbert’s incessant assault, collapsing onto the bed sheets beside them. The rise and fall of her chest was rapid, muscles in her thighs still twitching as spasms continued to run through her, and her full lips remained parted to breathe out the most beautiful little exhales. 

“If I may—”

Elbert didn’t give Alfons a chance to finish his sentence. He seized Alfons’s hair, grabbing a fistful at the back of his head, and slotted their bodies together. 

Alfons’s smile flickered for only a second, before spreading wider. He hooked one of his long legs around Elbert’s waist, hitching him even closer. "Oh my, what a welcome surprise." 

"You took advantage of her."

"Please, Elbie, you know us better than that. She wanted it. Asked for it.” Alfons’s devilish smirk was far too attractive to be anything but sinful. “Begged for it."

Elbert looked over at Kate, who nodded her head in confirmation. “I missed you…” she whispered. 

He’d missed them, too. But without them there, he didn’t have the privilege of abusing Alfons’s power to make himself believe they were with him. 

If Kate went away for a while, though, could Alfons do the same for him? Offer himself up as her substitution to satisfy his master’s unending need? If he asked… well, he was certain Alfons would simply laugh a little and then grant him exactly that. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Both of you…” Elbert muttered in confession, his heart flipping in his chest when they both smiled at him in response. “Al, I want…”

“We’re here, Elbie.” Alfons looped his arms around Elbert’s neck and danced his fingertips along his nape. “Whatever you want.”

Maybe, sometime in the future, they could try it… But right now, he wanted to savor the real thing. Still gripping Alfons’s hair, he crashed their mouths together, greedily drinking in the groan that rewarded him. With his other hand, he took fingers still dripping with the mix of Alfons’s cum and Kate’s nectar and slid it between Alfons’s legs, down past his cock. 

Beside them, Kate’s breath hitched and came followed by the sound of her fumbling with the bedside drawer. A moment later, she pushed a vial of oil into Elbert’s hand. Oh, she was absolutely perfect…

Fingers made slick with oil and with traces of them, Elbert pushed them in past the tight ring of muscle and fucked Alfons open on his hand. 

It was always stunning, watching Alfons come apart. He was usually so composed, so perfectly tailored to play the part of a well-bred gentleman. So when he let that all go, when the facade fell away to expose his true self, it was beautiful. 

The flush built along his fair skin, his cock filling out yet again as Elbert continued to drive his fingers in and out of him, stretching him. 

“Are you going to tease me for long, Elbie?” Alfons’s voice was breathy, betraying his put-on words. He dropped his hands, hooking his fingers into Elbert’s belt. He gave it a playful tug, then made quick work of discarding it so he could draw Elbert’s straining length out into the open. “Or are you going to fuck me properly, like you want to?”

He did want to. His eyes strayed for a moment, looking at Kate lying beside them. Her breathing had calmed and when he reached out to her, she shifted closer. “I’m here.” She leaned against Alfons’s side, her hair splayed over their pillows. “He wants you, El. Let him have you.”

Driven by her gaze, Elbert spilled more of the oil onto himself and slowly guided himself into Alfons. Kate watched them, her eyes focused on where they joined. As Elbert started on a slow pace, thrusting gently, her fingers slid down her body and slipped between her own legs. 

“Come on, Elbie. I won’t break. Give me more than that,” Alfons encouraged, only to visibly bite back a gasp when Elbert fucked all the way into him. “Y-yes, like that…”

Kate laughed softly beside him, touching a kiss to Alfons’s shoulder before reaching over and tipping his face toward hers. The sight of them kissing was always beautiful. More so now, after a week away from them and with Kate leading. Her delicate fingers caressed Alfons’s cheek as she moved her pretty lips against his, welcoming his tongue into her mouth. Elbert could watch them kiss forever, watch how Alfons drew her lower lip into his mouth and sucked on it, biting it gently. Except… he wanted it too. 

He snapped his hips, driving himself into Alfons so hard that he separated them. And before they could come together again, he swooped down, stealing deep kisses from them both. Kate tempted Elbert’s tongue into her mouth, meeting it with her own. Then a moment later, he was moaning into Alfons’s mouth as he chased his tongue, greedy for it. 

They never stopped him, never scolded him, or tried to limit him, not in bed like this. They welcomed him between them, taking turns kissing him breathless. When he finally pulled away, he saw that their hands had drifted to one another. Kate’s fingers were around Alfons’s cock, stroking him, and his were back at her slit, fucking into her at the same pace set by Elbert’s thrusts. 

Gorgeous, stunning… beautiful. 

He still doubted himself at times, but never when it came to them. 

Kate arched her spine, biting back a moan as Alfons rubbed her clit. Her own hand faltered, but then she circled her thumb over the tip of Al’s cock and smeared the precum beading there. And Elbert felt how Alfons clenched around him in response, tight and hot and maddening.

Alfons tried to fuck into Kate’s hand, bucking up, but Elbert grabbed hold of his hips with bruising strength and held him steady. Instead, he sought out Al’s mouth again as he drove his cock deep inside him, fueled by the muted moans spilling from Alfons and the pure ecstasy of his heat constricting around him. 

It didn’t take long for them all to reach the edge. Kate’s breathy pleas mixed in with Alfons’s swear as they found theirs together. Elbert gripped Alfons’s hips as he fucked the orgasm out of him, practically purring as Al came in spurts. He pulled out of Alfons’s spasming body, palming his own cock until his cum joined Al’s in painting his stomach. 

And then, the bedroom was still and quiet for a moment, as they all caught their breath together.

All the wonders in the world and there was nothing—nothing—that he wanted more than this: the three of them, together.

Kate spoke first, drawing Elbert into her and pecking his lips with a smile. “Welcome home.” 

Beside them, Alfons chuckled and then leaned over, starting the careful work of undressing Elbert. “Yes, Elbie. Welcome home.” 

When the first sliver of his skin was unveiled, Kate’s fingers found it immediately, her touch as sweet and as gentle as ever. And right beside hers came Al’s, firmer, more demanding, guiding them back onto the tangled bed sheets. 

Welcome home, indeed. 

Trapped between the two of them, he had never felt more satisfied.  

Dividers by @natimiles

Thanks for @judejazza for the event, been devouring fanfic and wanted to spread the sandwich agenda 💕

[dancingtotuyo]

11. up from the dust, inconceivable love

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Ellie learns the truth. Your family gains a member.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy related things, angst, hurt & comfort and no comfort?, self worth issues, canon violence, anger, child birth, spoilers for TLOU 2 (we’re entering the timeline that starts to burrow things for part 2 of the game)

Notes: huge thank you to my constants, my rocks @ramblers-lets-get-ramblinand @janaispunk for beta reading and letting me yell and scream and break their hearts.

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader! The final part is out now!

Words: 5352

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

“What do you think of Peace?” You ask, propped up in bed, hand over your swollen stomach. You’ve gained more weight this time, probably because you’re not in the throes of grief. 

“I mean, I’m a fan. I hope everyone is.” Joel says, trimming his facial hair with the bathroom door wide open. 

You bite your lip, admiring the expanse of his bare back. If getting out of bed wasn’t an event, you would be behind him right now, kissing his shoulders. 

“No, as a name for a girl,” you say. Joel turns around looking at you like he’s contemplating checking you into a psychiatric ward if those still existed. “A middle name, not a first name.” 

Joel sets his trimmers down, leaning in the doorway shirtless. “And what would her first name be?” 

“Willow.”

Joel furrows his brow stepping into your bedroom, your shared bedroom. “Darlin, I know we live in a commune, but we’re not hippies.”

“You bring me wildflowers and we walk barefoot through the fields. I wouldn’t be so sure.” You can’t help but laugh. Joel cracks a smile. “Do you have suggestions then?”

“Thought about naming Sarah- Katherine.”

You make a face. You know one too many Kates and Katies even in Jackson.

“It’s not a bad name,” Joel chuckles. 

“Neither is Willow.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re a hippie?”

“Would you leave if I said yes?”

Joel shrugs “I don’t know, but I knocked you up so I guess I have to stay.” He crawls into the bed. His head is level with your stomach as he watches for movement. 

You roll your eyes. “How romantic.”

He grins up at you and then his eyes are back on your belly. He rests a hand at the top, staring, waiting in wonderment. Neither of you can believe this is all real. Your baby moves around all the time, kicking your bladder and lungs, signifying life. A life you did not think would make it. 

You thread your fingers through Joel’s soft brown hair. The outline of a foot appears and then disappears. Joel’s eyes sparkle and he kisses the same spot. He’s soft and gentle. In these moments, all your anxieties are carried away like leaves on an autumn breeze. This is your peace. 

“What other names did you have picked out for Carter?”

You bite your lip. “We didn’t have any other boys' names.”

“And if he’d been a girl?” He’s still enthralled with your stomach as if there’s been an enchantment cast over it. 

“Sarah.”

His head snaps up. 

“Tommy and I talked about her a lot when I was pregnant. She was on my mind… being a part of Sarah’s life made me realize I wanted a family… even in this world where I had no right to do so.”

You keep playing with his hair. His eyes go glassy making you wonder what memory is playing behind his eyes. You stay like that until Joel is ready to talk. Eventually, he sits up, clearing his throat. His lips touch yours. 

“What about Willa?”

You tilt your head to the side. You don’t really see how it’s any different than Willow, but you’re not going to bring that up. “I like it.” 

“And Miles for a boy.” His smile returns. He doesn’t tell you that he’s positive you’re having a girl.

“Miles is an old man's name!”

“Good, then he’ll grow to be an old man.”

You take in a sharp breath. It’s just an offhand comment, but it carries so much weight. It’s a stark reminder of the heaviness of the world, and the twinge of guilt you feel bringing another child into it. 

Joel takes your hand, kissing your palm. You see it in his eyes too. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’tve-”

“It’s okay.” Your fingers comb through his hair. He leans into your touch. His grays are more noticeable than they were a year ago, but the brown still outnumbers them. 

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” he asks.

“I don’t know… I- I haven’t really let myself think about it until today.” It's true. The fact of the matter is you’re within a month of your due date. You and Joel are so close to welcoming this baby into the world and are wildly unprepared. 

“We’re getting close… We need a crib.” 

“The one I used for Carter is in the attic.”

“I can bring it down in the morning.”

“I need to get some baby clothes. I traded all of Carter’s.” 

“Looks like we have a bunch of work to do, Mama,” Joel smiles, kissing your forehead. He still hasn't told you about the swaddles and onesies tucked in the back of his drawer, but it seems you’re finally ready for them.

You cock your head to the side, contemplating the nickname. There’s a mix of emotions with it. You’re already a mother. Joel is a father, but this is a life you’re bringing in together. It’s uncharted territory for both of you. Sarah’s mom was out the door before she was six months old. Neither of you have done this part with a partner before. 

A sharp knock on the front door pulls your mind from its wandering. Joel’s brow furrows, rolling out of the bed. People don’t knock on your door often. They usually barrel right in, unless it’s bad. Your stomach drops. 

Joel is out of the bedroom, shrugging on a shirt. Dina’s voice calls through your home. “Hello?” She sounds worried, desperate. 

You swing your legs over the side of the bed. It takes more time to stand these days. If you try too quickly, your head rushes making you feel dizzy. 

“Dina? What’s wrong?” Joel’s at the bottom of the stairs now, but his voice carries. You have to stop at the top of the stairs to catch your breath. 

“Ellie is gone.”

You freeze, grabbing the railing for stability. “What?”

Joel turns around, worry etched in his face. “Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. She mentioned something about the Fireflies and a hospital, but she wouldn’t talk to me.” You make out the flicker of hurt in Dina’s face. Those two tell each other everything, or most things. You’re not sure Ellie has told her about her immunity. You all keep that one pretty close to your chests. 

“Shit,” Joel mumbles. He glances between you at his back and the front door in front of him. You see the push and pull. He needs to go after her. He needs to be here for you. 

His eyes settle on you. Your hand settles on top of your swollen belly. He’s looking for permission. You want to give it, but what if he’s needed here before he gets back. 

“She’s been off lately. I don’t know why. She won’t talk to me.” Dina seems to sense the silent conversation going on. “I can go after her, but-“

“No, I need to go.” Joel swings back toward the teenager, both hands placed on his hips. You try to bite back the panic rising inside you. He’ll be fine. They’ll both be fine. “Do you know when she left?”

“Probably sometime before the sun came up. Shimmer isn’t in the stable.” 

Joel lets out a ragged sigh, hands running over his face. You try to keep the tears away, your hormones making it difficult. 

“Will you let Maria know I’m going after her? I need to pack.” 

Dina nods, her eyes flickering up to you before she’s gone in a flash of dark curls. Joel turns around, hand resting on the banister at the bottom of the stairs. You swallow and walk back into the bedroom. 

It’s silent at first, nothing but the sounds of draws opening and closing and the soft slaps of his leather saddle bags. You sit in silence at the edge of your bed, chewing on your lip as you watch him. Ellie needs him. It echoes on repeat in your brain. 

“I can probably catch her. We’ll be back in two weeks if I don’t.”

You stare down at your ever growing belly. You could easily be pregnant when he returns, but what if you’re not? You’re fairly certain you’ll have this baby sooner rather than later, but Ellie needs him too.

“Why does she want to go back to Salt Lake?”

Joel freezes for a second, like he’s contemplating his answer. It sets an uneasy feeling in your bones. “I don’t know. Maybe she thinks some of the Fireflies are still there? That this whole cure business is still an option?”

You nod, thoughts drifting to her face when you looked at her blood a couple months ago. She looked desperate. You hadn’t seen her like that before. It was almost unnerving, like the need to be needed by humanity had returned tenfold. It made you wonder if you’d been there for her enough these past few months.

“I have to go after her.”

There’s a desperation you don’t quite recognize in Joel’s eyes, sending a thread of dread through your body. Is he leaving something out? Not telling you something? You nod, biting your lip. “I know.”

He lays his hand on your bump, fingers stretching out over it. “We’ve got time.”

You nod. “Hurry back, and be safe, okay?”

Joel kisses your forehead. “Always.”

He rides out thirty minutes later. 

You try to stay busy while they’re gone, cleaning the clinic and the house thrice over as the nesting and anxiety sets in. You ask Tommy to get the crib out of the attic as you prep the corner of your bedroom for the baby, wiping it free from the dust and cobwebs. 

Maria hosts a small get together for you pulling together some semblance of a baby shower, something you hadn’t had with Carter. It's nice, but you feel like they skirt around the questions nagging in their brains. Where did Ellie and Joel go? Will they be back in time? You don’t have answers. You have the same fucking question. Will they be back? 

The braxton hicks kick up, so much so you think you’re in labor ten days after Joel rides out. The fear that courses through your body is so paralyzing that you just lay in bed. Your body tenses with the memory’s of Carter’s labor. It’s not the physical pain of it, but the emotional rollercoaster you went through, alone. You’re not supposed to do this alone this time.  

Then, the contractions stop with no explanation and you fall into a restless sleep. You miss Joel, his warmth and comfort. His unspoken love that fills the room. You’re becoming more comfortable with the idea of it. 

You miss Ellie too, worried about what she’s going through. Providing it’s still vacant, Salt Lake won’t hold any answer for her. What lengths will she go to? How many miles will she travel in search of answers you believe don’t exist? How will she handle reality? 

You see the differences in Carter too. In his mind, Ellie and Joel have always been here. Two weeks without them feels like a lifetime to him, and to you. 

On day twelve, your front door flies open as you come down the stairs. Ellie bursts through looking frantic and frazzled. Her short cropped hair sticks up in certain places. Dirt smudges her forehead. You’re too relieved to see her to worry about her appearance. If anything, it’s expected after two weeks of travel, but your relief is short lived. 

“Did you know?” She yells. The door stays wide open behind her, rage flaming in her eyes. 

“What?” 

“Did you know?”

“Know what?” You step toward her, reaching out, but she backs away like a wild animal.

“He killed them! All of them!” 

“Killed who? Ellie, take a deep breath.”

“Joel! He killed the fireflies! They had a cure!”

Your breath catches. It’s not that Joel has killed people. You know about the years he spent as a raider. You know the cost of surviving in this world, but this isn’t the story you have been told about Salt Lake. When you asked him why she would go back, he lied. He knew. Knew the story hadn’t lined up in Ellie’s mind. 

“So he lied to you too!”

“Ellie!” Joel is stern as his frame fills your doorway. 

She spins around, the week of silence she spent next to him on the road back, wrath bubbling over and focused on him. “Tell her! Tell her, Joel!” She steps toward him. “Tell her what you did!” She shoves against his shoulders. 

“Ellie…” He repeats her name, softer this time. 

“Don’t do that!” She turns back to you, tears streaming down her cheeks. “They were going to make a cure from me, and you stopped them! You slaughtered them!”

“They were going to kill you!”

Your eyes widen, and it makes sense. Why Joel hasn’t talked about it. Why he needed to go after her. Why Ellie feels so useless. She’d been promised the cure. He’d taken that from her with a facade of an excuse.

“You should have let them!” Ellie screams until she pushes past him, rushing out of your house. 

Joel lets out a sigh, defeat evident across his features. You can’t even enjoy their homecoming, their safety, your head spinning too much. 

Joel shuts the door behind him, stepping closer like he’s expecting an embrace, but you step back, a mother’s anger building in your bones. He looks surprised. “Sweetheart…”

“You lied to her.”

“I protected her.” Joel’s eyes narrow. He’s tired and irritable. Neither of you expected a fight to ensue the moment he got home. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“You’ve watched her struggle with this for years!” 

“They were going to kill her!”

“Have you listened to anything she’s said?” 

You almost don’t recognize the Joel in front of you. He looks like a shell of the assured, warm man you know. You wonder if this is the version of Joel Tommy used to speak of. The one Joel has told you about during those late night chats when you spilled the depths of yourselves to each other, or you thought you had. The one who floated through his days, barely living. 

“I couldn’t lose her!” 

“Except you did!”

Joel straightens, shoulders setting in denial. “She’s alive! That’s what matters.”

“You’re missing the point!”

“You’re saying I should have let them go ahead with it! Let them cut open her head for a cure you don’t believe is possible!” 

Fire blazes in Joel's eyes. You see it. There’s no rationalizing with him about this. In his eyes, there were no choices to be made. He did the only thing. It doesn’t matter what else he has to sacrifice, she’s alive and that’s all that matters. “That’s not-”

He scoffs, cutting you off. You see the pain and hurt ripple through his body, causing him to step back from you. “Sure sounds like it.”

“Joel!”

“Don’t.” He yanks the front door open. “I can’t be here right now.” 

He disappears across the threshold in the blink of an eye leaving you with a mountain to process and a growing tension across your stomach.

Joel knows he’s in the wrong. He knows he shouldn’t have lied to Ellie, held the truth from you. He’s a grown man, of course he knows what’s right and wrong, but that admittance doesn’t do anything to calm him. He needs to get out. Out of the house. Out of the walls into the open. It doesn’t matter that he just came from two weeks out there. 

He sneaks over the wall with more ease than he should be able. Instantly, he feels the tightening in his chest begin to ease. He paces the outside of the wall like a caged animal, the series of events reeling through his mind. He doesn’t realize how much he’s been pushing it back since they left Salt Lake. Her words, her pleas, over and over. She’d given him every opportunity to tell her the truth and he kept the lie going. 

There was no cure. The words he’d utter to her after they found that couple, one dead the other infected while out on patrol. 

He’d almost told her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t lose her. Couldn’t risk it.  

His pacing becomes more frantic as he remembers the fear he felt at the thought of losing Ellie, the fear that pushed him into wiping away every firefly that crossed his path. The same fear that put lies in his mouth before he had time to think, that kept him from telling her the truth. He knew this would happen one day, but hadn’t been enough. He’d kept it from everyone, including you. 

Tell me, she had pleaded with him, begged him and he still felt the pull to replace his lie with another. 

She’d had to poke and prod to get the words from his mouth. Had to threaten to leave before she got the truth. That hurt almost as much as the fallout. Everyone thought he was a better man than he actually was. Ellie, you, himself, but when it came down to it. He failed that test. Good men don’t make someone threaten to leave to get the truth. 

I’ll go back, but we’re done.

Joel wears a path in the fresh grass beneath his feet, letting the spring chill take over when the sun sets, leaving him in darkness. Ellie had kept her word. He’d never heard her stay quiet for so long. The loss had begun to settle in with her riding next to him. 

Joel’s muscles ache from two weeks out on the road. He misses you and Carter. He hasn’t even touched you yet. Will you let him? 

Getting over the wall from the outside proves more difficult than it had the first time. Which is a good thing, but had Joel feeling every one of his 59 years. Embarrassment creeps over his cheeks with each step toward your home. The one he shares with you, but he feels like a guest as he climbs the steps. He doesn’t catch a glimpse of you or Carter or anyone else through the windows. 

The house is silent when he enters, no signs of life except for the faint buzzing of light bulbs. His brow furrows. You wouldn’t have left the lights on if you weren’t home. Then a faint sound comes from upstairs, movement at the very least. He follows it, placing his hand on the closed bedroom door before cracking it open. 

Soft groans come from behind the cracked bathroom door followed by a whispered curse. Maria's voice follows. Joel’s throat drops into his stomach. His boots echo off the wood floor as he crosses the room. “Sweetheart?” he calls, staying on his side of the door. “Is everything alright?”

“Joel? Get in here,” you groan out. 

It sends some reassurance through him to hear you so clearly before he swings the door open. His eyes go wide at the sight of you in the tub, sweat staining your skin as Maria kneels next to you. “Shit, are you?”

“Make yourself useful and hold my hand.” 

He nods, kneeling beside you. Maria stands, grabbing a few instruments from the bathroom sink, she gives Joel a look that lets him know you’re near the end of labor. Your baby will be here in minutes. It sends a rush through him. “I’m sorry, Darlin.”

You grab onto his hand tightly. It’s wet from the bathwater sloshing around you as you fight to get comfortable. It’s a useless pursuit, but it doesn’t keep you from trying. “Can we do the apologizing later? I’m kinda busy at the moment.” 

“Yes,” Joel takes a deep breath, his heart pounding in his ears. He squares his shoulders next to you, giving an air of assurance you know he doesn’t have. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

“I think you missed most of it.”

“Not that you’ve had much to miss,” Maria says, stern. She pissed at him, which is more than fair given everything. You’d had some time to explain what happened. “We tried to find you. Her labor progressed pretty quick.”

“Speaking of which-” You let out a gasp, face twisting in pain. “I think the baby is crowning.”

“She must be in a hurry,” Joel says. 

“She?” 

“Just a hunch.” Joel smiles, kissing your head.

For the next few minutes, the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Your fight never happened because there’s only one thing on your minds, bringing your baby into the world. The world goes silent again, but not in a bad way. A way that makes you feel at peace, Joel’s warm hand in yours. It doesn’t take long until she announces her arrival with a fiery scream once Maria pulls her out of the water. 

You hold her close, tears of relief gathering in your eyes. Joel leans in, his forehead pressed to your temple, arms wrapping around you and your daughter as she pulls air into her lungs. 

“You did great, Sweetheart.” He whispers into your hair as he kisses your cheek, cupping your daughter’s head. “She’s beautiful.”

Your eyes flicker between him and your newborn. It’s the moment you’ve been envisioning for months, the one you thought you’d get with Gabe when Carter was born. A little piece of you mends. Your child soothes against your skin. 

After you’re both cleaned up, Joel helps you into bed, then settles beside you. She sleeps in your arms, tiny fist clenched around one of Joel’s fingers still curled up in your softest bath towel. You brush her cheek softly. 

“I believe we decided on Willa Peace?”

“Did we?” You tilt your head to the side, a grin verging on your lips. “I thought we weren’t hippies.”

Joel shrugs, tracing your shoulders. “I had a lot of time to think about it the past couple of weeks.”

“Joel…”

Dirt still traces over his face. He hasn’t had time to clean off since he got back. You catch the faint smell of sweat on his clothes and skin. “I know.”

“I would have done the same thing to save her. You know what I think about cures.” You keep your gaze on your child. It only reminds you what you brought her into. “You lied to her over and over when she needed the truth.”

“I was trying to protect her.”

“I wish you would’ve told me.”

“I know.”

“This only works if we’re open with each other.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” You bite your lip. “I’m going to need some time with this one.”

Joel nods, arm wrapping around you. “I know.”

You lean into him, enjoying the quietness that surrounds the three of you.

“Willa Peace Miller,” You smile. “Has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah.” Joel hums beside you. “Can’t believe she’s actually here.” 

“And we’re both okay.”

He nods, and neither of you can tear your eyes away from the precious little being in your arms. You hang on every rise and fall of her chest, everything micro movements, the soft flutter of her eyes that never quite open. It all feels so fragile, so sacred. 

You remember similar moments with Carter. When the grief and the world got too loud, you would lay on the floor or bed with him on your chest asleep. The weight of his small body was a tether that kept you from flying away. 

Even in this moment, as your heart inexplicitly expands, you feel that thread of fear winding itself through your body. Another person to love and protect. Another person to keep from the jaws of the world. Another person you can’t bear to lose. 

“You know,” you say, pulling Joel’s attention. “If you were ever gonna pull those baby clothes and blankets out of your drawer, now would be the time.”

His brow furrows and then eases with realization. “How long have you known they were there?”

You let out a soft chuckle. “I washed them the next time you went out on patrol. I wasn’t going to leave those filthy things in your drawer.”

“You were going through my things, I see.”

“Next time don’t try to hide something in your drawer from the person who washes your clothes.” 

Joel laughs, easing out of the bed to fetch the items from the drawer. “Got it, I’ll be sneakier next time.”

“Can you get the onesie with the yellow flowers?” You bite back a smile. He doesn’t know how you often pulled the drawer open and just gazed upon the items. It helped you visualize it all even when the fear threatened to take over. Another child, and here she was. You’d been most drawn to the little yellow flowers. 

Joel laughs, grabbing the onsie and the swaddle with little yellow flowers to match. You’re gentle with her as you work the small article of clothing over her tiny body. It’s a bit baggy, but you can’t complain. It just means she can wear it for longer. She sleeps through all the jostling as if she’s fully absorbed her middle name. 

She’s settled back into your arms when a soft tap echoes on your door. “Mommy?” Carter’s voice comes through muffled. 

“You can come in.”

The door flies open as your son bursts through the door, grin spread wide on his face. Ellie stands behind him, looking like the space might envelope her.

 “Aunt Maria said I have a baby sister.” 

“You want to meet her?” you ask. 

Carter nods eagerly, dashing toward your bed. Joel catches him before he can jump onto the bed beside you and potentially on you. 

“Daddy!” Carter’s eyes go wide. He hasn’t seen Joel in almost two weeks. 

Joel laughs, arms tightening around the boy. “Hey, bud.”

Your eyes meet Ellie’s. Her eyes are red, bags deep underneath. You motion her next to you. She hesitates before sliding onto the bed beside you. She’s timid, keeping to the edge, eyes flicking over you and Willa. 

“You can get closer.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I never got to hug you earlier.” 

She looks down, eyes scanning over your comforter like she’s reliving her homecoming. Once she’s close enough, your arm slips around her shoulders, tugging her close. She nuzzles into your side like a child seeking comfort. “You’re alright?” she asks.

“Yeah… we both are.” You say, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“But I’m still sorry you’re going through this.”

Ellie seems to sink into your further, eyes pinned to Willa. She doesn’t answer you. She doesn’t look at Joel as he sinks next to you with Carter, but you feel her tense when he does. 

“What’s her name?” Ellie asks. 

“Willa,” you reply. 

“Baby Willa.” Carter grins proudly. 

And the five of you sit there together in silence. You try to push it out of your head that it’s the last time you all might be together for a while. Even now, you feel the underlying anger rolling through Ellie’s body. This is a wound that’s been festering. It’s going to take time to heal. 

Eventually, Ellie slips from your side without a word to leave. She’s barely out the door when Joel goes after her. 

“Ellie,” Joel says, catching her on the front porch.

Her head whips around, expression set in stone. “I’m here for them, not you.” She keeps her voice low to not be overheard by nosy neighbors. “They’re my family. Do you understand?” 

Joel’s apology catches in his throat. He’s been apologizing the whole way back from Salt Lake. He knows there’s nothing he can say to rush this process. He made a decision, and these are his consequences. “Yeah… I got it.”

“Good.” 

She doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else.  

The bed is empty next to you, the sheets cool to the touch. Your eyes blink open. Cool moonlight shines through the window. You glance at the bathroom door. No light shines through the crease. Joel’s name is on your lips, interrupted by his voice. 

“Do you like the butterflies?” 

You turn to your side. Joel sits next to the crib, talking to Willa. She’s awake, moonlight reflecting off her big eyes. She’s content and still. 

“Your big sister liked butterflies. When they come out in the summertime, I feel her around me.”

She stares at Joel, mesmerized by his voice. Your eyes float upward to the mobile Joel made. He hadn’t explained it to you, but you already knew. Sarah had pinned them all throughout their Austin home. You keep one stuck to the window above the kitchen sink. There’s one tucked in his nightstand drawer. 

“I think she sent you to me.” He lets it sit there, contemplating the weight and depth of what he said. “I think she sent you to me, your momma, Ellie, I suppose she’s your big sister too, Carter. All of you.

“Her name was Sarah. She would have loved you.” He chuckles. “She used to ask me for a baby brother or sister. I didn’t know your momma yet… Well, I guess I did, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.”

You stifle a laugh unsuccessfully. Joel’s eyes lock on yours. He smiles, shooting you a wink. He looks younger under the moonlight, more at ease. The creases in his skin are less apparent. 

“Your momma, she’s quite a bit younger than me.” The smile stays pinned to his face. “It’s not so creepy now- least that’s what she tells me- but it would’ve been then, and I was a decent fella back before the world went to shit. Besides, between you and me.” He leans closer to Willa’s ear, but his eyes are still on you. “Your momma had a pretty big crush on me back then.”

You groan, heat flushing your cheeks. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, but it is. You chuck his pillow at him. Joel catches it, laughing. It’s the kind that sits deep in one’s chest and bubbles up with the purest kind of joy. You can’t help but smile. 

He slowly stands, grunting as he does. You hear the familiar pop of his joints. He leans into the crib. You notice Willa’s eyes have fallen shut. “I love you, my little wildflower.” He kisses her cheek before falling back into bed next to you. 

His arm wraps around your waist. Pulling you close, he steals a kiss on your forehead. “I’m getting too old to sit on the floor like that.”

“You’re getting too old to have a newborn, yet here we are.” Your fingers run through his hair. 

“Still can’t believe she’s here… you’re both healthy.”

“Neither can I.” You glance back at the crib. She’s just a few days old and already, you can’t imagine life without her. 

Tears well at the corner of your eyes. Your heart has grown so much. You thought you couldn’t open it to more people, yet here you are. The you of 4 years ago would be too terrified of losing this life to give it a chance, the price of pain too high. Yet here you are, embracing it, taking that risk, because this is living, and the love and belonging far outweigh the potential for pain even as it grows with every passing day. You fell into the trap,and it’s a crowded one, but it’s a happy one. 

Joel kisses your cheek. “You should get some sleep before she wakes up hungry.” 

“Mmm,” you hum as his hands move soothingly over your back. “Someone not named Willa woke me up.”

Joel chuckles. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart.”

But even now you feel your eyelids getting heavier. 

“Did you mean what you said?”

“About?”

You let your eyes fall shut as Joel massages out a knot in your back. You lean into it. ���About Sarah sending us to you.”

“I did.” He kisses your forehead. 

Taglist: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa

[sethvzekiel]

what could have been | 141 x cold!reader

a passing admission proceeds to completely take over his mind

141 x cold! reader. callsign azrael. gn! reader. mild angst + pining. multiple POV, no established relationship. flashback central, marked in red + italics.

part 1/same AU as this

Long hc/short fic. 3.6k words.

It was banter — really, just mindless chatter to fill the silence on the way back home. Something to wear off the adrenaline from the previous battle. It spilled from lips like loose threads, mindless ramblings about past experiences and feelings and army stories.

Stories like “LT, what do ye mean I wasn’t first place? That was a solid run I just did, solid!” and “When you were our age, Captain, they didn’t have telly,” between snickers and friendly insults.

You were the contractor, not one of them: a position you were keen on protecting as you kept to the far corner of the army plane, typing up your own report for Laswell. The chatter droned on in the back of your mind as you spared only the barest sliver of attention for emergencies. It was only when someone mentioned your name that you looked up from your laptop.

Gaz tilted his head at you, a spark of mischief in his eyes. He’d been getting bold lately, fully confident that he was your favorite comrade. Gaz did always have a sharp tongue, even for Price.

“Have you ever been in love?”

You scoffed, fully ready to get back to your report.

“What are we, schoolgirls at a sleepover? Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Someone closed your laptop. Soap.

“No, no, answer his question!”

“Scotsman. Get your hand off something that’s five times your salary, or I’ll remove it myself.”

You were only half kidding; the laptop was six times his salary. Merc money was a lovely thing.

Soap quickly retreated, muttering something about being on the wrong career path and “five times my fuckin’ salary, get off yer arse,” but nudged you nevertheless.

It felt as if the conversation was finally going to move on when another spoke.

“Answer the question, Azrael.”

This was a joke. You didn’t hide your disdain as you glared at Price.

“Really, Captain?”

Price took a long drag of his cigar.

“Answer it and I’ll tell Kate you’re on good behavior. She’ll be over the moon to hear you’re getting some social interaction.”

Unfortunately, he wasn’t lying. Laswell did not hide her hopes of getting you true comrades, not just contracted acquaintances, when she introduced you to the 141 — a hope you’d gone out of your way to quash for a long time. If a false reassurance from Price would get her mind off that ridiculous idea and focus on getting you more kill contracts…

Well, not a bad trade-off for pretending to be friends for one plane ride.

You let out a sigh from deep within your soul, opened your laptop again, and pulled up the report. Almost mindlessly, you spoke whatever came to your mind at that very moment, not knowing how badly it would change the 141.

“Sure.”

God, you could feel the whole plane lean in with anticipation.

“Never had the time to fall in love, but…” 

You mentally shrugged. This was fine to admit, right?

“... I was briefly interested in one of you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

You popped on your headphones, leaving the boys to dwell with that answer.

The plane couldn’t have gone any faster.

◈ GAZ

Interested? Like, interested-interested?

There was no getting you out of those headphones—he’d tried before, didn’t end well. The entire task force was stunned silent for a minute, each one picking apart your casual admission and grappling with the idea of Oh God, is it me?

It was Soap who broke first, exploding into a shocked yell that boomed throughout the tiny plane. That shook Gaz out of his stunned silence, but he still blinked rapidly as he tried to comprehend what you’d just said.

Interested. In one of them.

There was a one in four chance that it was him. Five, if Laswell counted, but he was certain that you saw her more as a mentor and confidant than a romantic prospect. Besides, she wasn’t even in the plane. It was between him, Soap, LT, and the Captain, and this was a battle royale he was keen on winning.

Gaz wasn’t blind. He was the first to notice the changing opinions of his teammates on you. Bearing the combined advantage of brains and emotional awareness, things the 141 usually lacked one or the other of, he picked up on Price’s constant attention towards you that increasingly felt less like a professional checkup. He knew about Ghost’s rivalry with you that brought a tinge of tenderness to his gruff exterior as he complimented your skill. And who could miss Soap locking onto you like a missile from day one?

But it had to be him, right? He was the only one you spoke to of your own accord, the one whose name you called when arranging for shared night shifts. The one who’s actually been to your room (he happily ignored the fact that he was just there to fetch a report for Laswell). The one who, at a drunken night out where you’d actually gotten tipsy for once, you’d stuck to like glue, no matter how rowdy the pub got.

Gaz was your first defender in the 141. When even Price was wary of your cold nature and mercenary background, Gaz was always up at arms, ready to express the simple truth that you were just a professional, and Price could look at Ghost for an example, couldn’t he? Always jumping the gun, fighting back even Soap’s teases at your expense simply because you weren’t present to defend your attitude and the unfairness of their assumptions felt real to Gaz. They didn’t see the you he saw. They just had to.

You were soft around him. Safe. And Gaz felt the same way, too. As much as you’d listen to his ramblings of whatever’s going on in his life, he looked forward to your own stories, hanging off of every rough-toned word as you shared your wisdom from past fights and your assessment of his skills, which he’d known was your way of caring for him. Making sure that he’d live long to fight good.

“In another world,” he’d said one night as you watched the last hours of your watch tick away. “Would you be back on the field again? If you had a choice to walk away from all this, live a normal life?”

Back then, your moonlit expression was intense, but sorrowful as you considered your answer. Gaz thought that you were only being sincere in answering him when you’d gazed deep into his eyes, but now, he couldn’t help but wonder if you meant something else when you replied:

“I don’t know. Where would you be?”

“Dunno either. Always wanted to protect people. Make some real change. Don’t think I’d handle being an artist or bloody stockbroker all my life.”

He was so fucking stupid. Why didn’t he actually listen to what you’d said when he was too busy imagining living some alternate life, when you were right in front of him and so close?

You smelled nice.

“Then I’ll follow you back to the fight, Kyle.”

“Aw mate, I’ll look forward to it, yeah?”

The memory, the regrets, and the what-could’ve-been’s swirled in Gaz’s mind and stung at his eyes.

He wanted to look at you again, but he wasn’t going to risk anyone seeing his face right now with how he’s feeling.

He was a bloody moron, and he lost his chance.

◈ SOAP

“Yer taking the piss!”

Laughter was always Johnny’s first response. Little Johnny-boy giggling nervously as his mother demanded to know where he’d been after playing outside until dark. Freshly-recruited MacTavish snickering as he far surpassed the other recruits in exercises, again, to their dismay. Sergeant Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish cackling with delight and adrenaline as he fired off the C4, lighting up the battlefield with plumes of orange fire.

Laughter was also a defense mechanism: difficult personalities, hard questions, bad days. Heal it or shrug it off, Soap was never one to make things more complicated than they should be.

This laughter… he wasn’t sure if it was one of joy or nerves.

You were interested. Were, he tried to remind himself, but his mind kept on latching onto the ‘interested’ part. One of them—which could’ve been him. 

He was delusional now, flailing around and being the jokester when it was all just an act to hide his inner turmoil. Fuck, did you know that he had it bad for you? It was his fault for not bothering to hide it and trailing after you, but he thought that you already shrugged it off as a joke. Did… did you take him seriously, after all?

Or worse, what if it wasn’t him? 

His glance went to Gaz, remembering how he’d fallen asleep on the truck that one time and accidentally leaned on your shoulder, how you stiffened, then slowly settled down, even adjusting your shoulder for the entire two-hour drive. How, no matter the situation or your mood, you always called upon Gaz with a decidedly softer tone than the one you used on him.

Surely, he wasn’t that attached to you. You were comrades, a passing fancy wouldn’t hurt anything.

He’d never seen LT smile, ever. Part of it’s the mask, but it was clear in his voice and the lack of crinkling around his eyes that smiling wasn’t his thing. But then Ghost and you had that sniper competition, dragged Soap in to referee, and when you hit dead-center for all moving targets, Soap wrenched his gaze away to catch a shine of something in Ghost’s eyes as he watched you.

Friends and professionals. That was all you were, right?

“Good health makes good men, MacTavish,” you said sharply as he sat up on his bed. Soap was forced into the medbay after a particularly grueling op. Long, sleepless nights, absolute hellfire, and blood loss all culminated in him passing out from shock mid-battle. His memories of the exact moment he collapsed were hazy, but he knew that he heard someone call his name in a choked scream.

Was it Gaz who screamed then? He was always the worrywart. Soap scratched his head, wincing as pain flared up his side at the simple motion. He shot you a shining, albeit weak, grin.

“Don’t lose yer head over me, was just the one time.”

Your glare narrowed.

“One time is all it takes, soldier.” 

Fuck, you were calling him ‘soldier’ now? You were pissed. Soap raised his hands in surrender.

“I give, I give. I’ll take my meds a day and all that shite. No trouble from me.”

For a moment, he was expecting more scolding, admonishments of his recklessness or a possible lack of skill. A “stop dragging the rest of us down with you,” considering your pride in your own battle prowess. But he got no such thing.

You sighed, looking a thousand nights older as you did, and he caught the marks of sleepless nights under your eyes. The roughness of your hands as you held his good shoulder. The miniscule caress of your thumb that he assumed (back then) was purely accidental.

“Make good on that, Johnny,” you whispered, gaze drifting off elsewhere. “You have to.”

Your voice was hoarse—why? When you left and the medic had taken your place, refreshing Soap’s bandages, he asked about how long he was out.

“Three days, sergeant,” the medic replied. “And your scary friend insisted on staying here for all of it. Tended to you like one of our own staff.”

“Psh, LT? Knew he was soft.”

“No, no, not the lieutenant. Your PMC friend.”

Without even thinking about it, Johnny laughed.

◈ GHOST

He definitely wasn’t paying attention to the mindless gossip, and anyone who’d say otherwise will have months of latrine duty awaiting them. Gaz calling your name piqued his attention, but only barely, and brought a tickle of amusement when he asked you such a ridiculous question.

He was much less amused at your answer.

It was sarcastic, he tried to reason. Spouting off bullshit to keep the boys off your trail and get back to work as soon as possible. That’s what you’re always like, and that’s what he liked about you.

He also liked your shots. The pride you took in your expertise. The devotion to your warcraft. How you always took his challenges as if your name was on the line. How you’d smirk if you won, or promise comeuppance if you lost.

He liked your loyalty to Laswell — and envied it. You obeyed him and Price, yes, but he would never forget the brief gleam of admiration when the boys asked you about Laswell over lunch. He liked and envied your closeness with Gaz: a sign that you might be a true ally of the 141 after all, but a closeness that he wondered if you could extend to anyone else. He respected your ferocious protectiveness of Soap when he’d (stupidly) collapsed mid-battle, but watching you tend to Soap for nights on end wrenched something awful from within his chest.

You were a shade more casual with Price. According to the captain, you had some snark to you when not in work mode: a privilege Price had gotten purely because you were both friends of Laswell. You bonded with Price like you were fellow leaders, people down similar paths instead of mere colleagues, and when planning missions, you and Price made up a tactical machine to be reckoned with.

It was whenever he’d deliver late night reports to Price’s office, that he’d listen before knocking on the door. Muffled conversation—most of it Price’s, but every so often, there was a quick chuckle that wasn’t his, or a quiet snark followed by Price’s gravelly laughter. The office would be thick with cigar smoke when Ghost was allowed in, but what was harder to swallow was the cigar hanging from your lips that you’d returned to Price, and he’d popped it between his teeth without question.

Ghost was in deep. He’d never admit it to anyone, not even to himself, but he was. That chilling, anxiety-inducing truth nudged at the back of his head as he silently watched Soap cackle and holler throughout the plane while you intentionally ignored them, eyes trained on your report like your life depended on it.

You and the laptop. A familiar sight when he’d pass by the rec room on late nights, where you’d be tapping away at the laptop with stacks of coffee cups and energy bars littered across the table.

“Bloody hell, that can’t wait until tomorrow?” He’d asked, exasperated, by the fifth night.

You took a moment more to work before responding.

“The mob won’t wait for tomorrow. This mission needs to go down tonight.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

He didn’t know why he stayed there with you, sharing the couch as he made tea for two and set a cup beside you without a word. He could have actually tucked in for the night, gotten some well-deserved sleep lest he be grouchier than ever for the next day’s training drills. Or popped open a book if he felt like it. Anything more productive than sit beside you all night as you silently blazed through reports and phone calls, arranging operations that he had no business in caring about.

You were exhausted, but you were determined and alert as you ferried reports on the trafficking ring takedown. The calm, effortless strength in your voice as you spoke—sometimes strongly—with operatives much higher up the chain than you, because you knew what you were doing and were going to see this op to the end. A flicker of silent gratitude as Ghost refilled your tea again and tidied up your makeshift workspace.

A call by the first sliver of sunrise made you sag into the couch with relief.

“Mission accomplished?” Ghost asked.

You slid your tired gaze to him, and this close to you, he caught your tiny, sleepy grin.

“G’job, LT,” you murmured, voice thick with lethargy. “Mmh… needta phone Kate…”

“I’ll do it.”

“Not your op.”

“Don’t think Laswell’d understand a word of what you’re saying right now. C’mon, let’s get you some rest.”

He beckoned for you to stand up, only to hear a soft, muffled snore. You… were sleeping, knocked-out dead, with a hint of your grin remaining, probably dreaming about a job well done. Disheveled, snoring, and surrounded in loose notes and coffee stains, you were far from the cold professional that you normally made yourself to be.

The rec room was no place for sleeping. Soap would be here any minute, booming and hollering as him and Gaz would raid the fridge, again. You needed to be anywhere else.

And if Ghost was going to carry you in his arms all the way back to your room and go through the trouble of arranging for your sudden day-off, then he was going to do it silently, and pretend it never happened when you approached him the next day.

◈ PRICE

That… was a surprise.

While Price was the most privy to your story as your commanding officer and, more importantly, Laswell’s friend, much of your life was still a mystery to him. Laswell only gave him a few pointers: “They’ve had a long life, John,” and “Trust is a double-edged sword for them.”

He could guess when you entered Laswell’s life. It was some years ago, when she was busier than ever, to the point that he’d considered staging an intervention alongside her wife when Laswell refused with fire in her eyes. She was fighting for something, he could tell, but he didn’t know what exactly until she told him about you.

Somewhere in the gaps between what little he knew about you, Price hoped you had some normalcy to your life. Enough memories on hand to look back fondly upon, to carry you through the darker days. Yet he had a feeling that you had little of such memories to yourself. Perhaps, that was why he decided to share with you some of his own.

Foolishness in his youth. Summers from his wilder days. Dreams he’d had and lost, but never mourned—the kinds of men he’d wanted to become before making peace with himself. You understood, somehow: you were an old soul, no matter your age, a wealth of experiences and wisdom in you with just as many unanswered questions.

You can be safe with me, his soul all but screamed in your nightly chats. The doubt and fear and sorrow layered on your shoulders like dust was easy for him to see when he could feel the same thing. You weren’t delicate, not by a long shot. You were one of the strongest people he knew, but there was nothing Price could do to stifle the yearning in his chest to hold you, let you rest in his shadow and believe for once that everything was going to be alright.

“Do you have any interest in living long, sir?” You muttered as Price brought out his first cigar of the night. He wouldn’t be smoking this early in the night, but he had to deal with higher-ups and red tape all day just for some damn clearance. You were the only person he’d actually looked forward to speaking with that day.

“Smoking won’t kill me, Azrael—” You scoffed, then. “—it’s the bloody Pentagon that will.”

“And the UN. And the UK.”

“If the boys don’t get to me first. Where’s my lighter?”

“Here you go.” You didn’t have his lighter, but you had your own up and ready.

“Picked up the habit, did you?”

“No. You’ve lost your lighter enough times that I bought one myself.”

He offered you a gruff thanks and sank into his chair, watching the smoke swirl up to the amber light. You leaned back on his desk, your body barely brushing his—something that he was used to by then that he was second-guessing now.

It was beautiful and terrible, how close his hand was to yours.

Stupid stories made you laugh, but not foolish ones. Your concern for the boys was evident even in simple retellings of the past; a fact that burned in his heart when he noticed. So he told you about how Gaz tried to fix a leaky shower only to explode the entire camp’s plumbing system, he clung to your brief chuckle like a lifeline. The mirth lighting up your face was going to be his second addiction.

“Want to try, soldier?” He asked as he held out his cigar, not for the first time.

“Just this once. If it’s ass, you’re not getting another light out of me.”

He was going to offer you a new one, but you’d taken the one he’d been smoking and casually placed it between your lips, as if the very sight hadn’t made the blood roar in Price’s ears. You frowned at the taste—he laughed, ignored the flush of heat across his body.

A knock on the door: Simon, turning in his papers. He froze when he saw you and Price, and though obscured by his mask, Price knew the lieutenant well enough to recognize the hesitation in his steps.

Why did he do it?—Price wondered now as he recalled that night, how you’d returned the cigar and he, without thinking, popped it right back to his mouth in front of Simon. And why did he feel proud?

But Price had to hold himself in check. As captain, he had boundaries that he mustn’t cross. The team’s well-being was his top priority, that was always the truth of it, and as he watched the boys dwell in the fallout of your shocking admission, he had no place in making this rivalry worse, no matter how he felt about you.

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

50 Shades of Red || Chapter 7

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

summary: Natasha drives Wanda home, where she meets Yelena and debriefs with Kate.

content warnings: none

word count: 3k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Natasha opens the passenger door of a large, black SUV. The windows are tinted, and Wanda glances around for a moment before smiling slightly at the woman and clambering inside. The interior smells like new leather, and the seats are wide and spacious. Wanda watches as Natasha walks around the car, her posture straight and her face impassive. 

Should she mention the kiss? Wanda doesn’t know whether to talk about it or pretend like it didn’t happen. Natasha hasn’t given any sort of clue that she was affected, her face impassive and lipstick firmly in place. Honestly, she could hardly believe it was real. Not to mention, that was her first actual, real kiss. 

Maybe she just imagined the whole thing.

No. Wanda touches her lips with a single, shaky finger. They’re still swollen from the kiss. She can feel the lingering aftershocks of electricity thrumming through her veins at the memory of Natasha’s soft lips pressed against hers. She didn’t imagine anything. Wanda feels like a changed woman. She wants Natasha, and from the woman’s actions, she wants Wanda too. 

The car door opens, and Natasha smoothly slides inside the driver's seat. She tucks in her shirt as she adjusts the mirror slightly, the movements practiced. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, Wanda takes her in. She’s her usual polite, slightly distant self. 

Great, now the whole thing is even more confusing than it was before. 

Starting the engine, Natasha puts the car into reverse and rests her hand on the back of Wanda’s headrest. A hint of cinnamon washes over Wanda, and she hopes she isn’t inhaling too loudly. Natasha’s pose is casual, her eyes vigilant on the road ahead of her. 

Wanda isn’t sure where they’re going, but she finds herself relaxing once the car pulls onto the highway. Natasha turns the radio on, and instrumental jazz fills the car. The volume is low, and the silence isn’t quite as awkward with notes filling the space between them. Feeling the music thrum through her, she listens. 

The harmonies blend together, the somber tone of a trombone filling the speakers before a piano interrupts in a major key. Wanda listens as the mood shifts, the song an emotional rollercoaster as the scenery flies past outside the car. 

“This is really good,” Wanda says, gesturing towards the radio when Natasha looks over. 

A small, pleased smile appears on her face. For a brief moment, the CEO looks her age; young, beautiful, and completely unburdened. Wanda gives a small smile of her own back, wondering if music was the way to Natasha’s true, genuine self.

She’s seized with the urge to know about the woman. To uncover the person beneath the stoic mask. Wanda is positive that she is intricate and complex, and she wants to spend the rest of her life unraveling the threads that made the tapestry of Natasha Romanoff. For now, she can start by understanding the music that moves her.

“Can we listen to that one again?”

“Of course, I’m glad you like it,” Natasha murmurs, pressing a button with a small smile on her lips as the song starts over. “It’s one of my favorites.” 

Wanda is content to listen in silence, and it seems the other woman is too. She glances over, her eyes catching the sight of Natasha’s hand casually gripping the steering wheel. Her other hand rests on the stick, her fingers drumming on it gently. For some reason, the sight sends a pleasant shiver down her spine. 

A ringtone interrupts the jazz, and Natasha hits a button on the steering wheel, her eyebrows furrowed. 

“Romanoff,” she says, her voice hard yet smooth. 

“Ms. Romanoff, it’s Smith. I have the information you were asking for.” A clear voice sounds out over the speakers, with a slight grain to the sound quality. It's jarringly different from the calm melodies that had washed over Wanda mere seconds ago.

“Good. Email it to me. Do you have anything else for me?”

“No ma’am.”

Natasha presses the button again, the call ending as jazz fills the car once more. Wanda blinks at the abruptness, suddenly very glad she hadn’t applied for her internship. She would hate to work with someone so cold towards their employees. Is this how Natasha acts in the office? The music cuts out again, a ringtone sounding out once more. 

“Romanoff.”

“The NDA you requested has been emailed to you, Ms. Romanoff.” A woman’s voice, this time.

“Good. That’s all, Sarah.”

“Good day, ma’am.”

She presses the button again. Jazz plays briefly, before yet another call comes through. Holy shit, is this her life? Just constant phone calls? Wanda doesn’t know if she’d be able to handle it.

“Romanoff,” she snaps. 

“Hey sis, did you get laid?”

“Hello, Yelena. You’re on speaker phone, and I’m not alone in the car,” Natasha lets out a sigh, and Wanda smiles slightly. 

“Who’s there?”

Those green eyes roll, glancing over at Wanda briefly. They flit down her face, resting briefly on her lips before Natasha remembers to answer. 

“Wanda Maximoff.”

“Hi, Wands!”

Wands?

“Hello, Yelena.”

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Yelena murmurs, her voice slightly raspy. Natasha frowns, her eyes glancing again over to her. 

Chuckling, Wanda replies, ”Don’t believe a word Kate says. She’s a filthy liar.”

Low laughter sounds out over the speakers. Wanda can hear Kate in the background saying something, but she can’t quite make out what it is. There’s the sound of a brief, playful scuffle before Natasha clears her throat. 

“I’m dropping Wanda off now,” Natasha emphasizes her name. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

“Sure.”

Wait. Yelena is at her apartment? That means… goddamnit Kate. Wanda hopes she doesn’t find any bodily fluids from a passionate night around the apartment. 

The music turns on again, and Wanda glances over. Natasha is focused on the road, but now she has both hands on the steering wheel, and her knuckles are turning slightly white. Her jaw is clenched slightly, and Wanda admires the sharp edge of it before leaning her arm against the door and leaning her head against her hand, watching the other woman.

“I wouldn’t mind you calling me by a nickname.”

Natasha glances over, her green eyes softer than Wanda would have expected. When she speaks, her voice is warm. “I like your name, so I’m going to use it. It’s a very beautiful name, Wanda.”

Her voice drops lower when she says Wanda’s name. 

The car slows and pulls up to Wanda’s apartment, and she startles for a moment. She realizes that Natasha hadn’t asked her where she lived. How did she… oh.

Right, the books. The woman had tracked her cellphone like some sort of spy, of course she knew where Wanda lived. That, and the fact that her sister was currently in her apartment with her roommate. Wanda made a mental note to deep clean the couch. 

Natasha smoothly steps out of the driver's side, adjusting her shirt as she walks around the car. Flushing at the memory of the CEO’s lips on hers, Wanda wonders briefly if she’ll kiss her again. She would like that. 

Shaking her head slightly, Wanda steels herself. Now was not the time to be acting like some sort of lovesick fool. The image of blonde women in impeccably sharp skirts and neatly tucked blouses flits through her mind, and Wanda frowns. She refused to be yet another generically beautiful woman that Natasha seemed to surround herself with. She deserved more than that. 

Opening the car door, Natasha offers her hand, her fingers reaching out towards Wanda. 

Oh. 

As she takes her hand, Wanda recalls the short, clipped tone that Natasha had spoken to her assistant with. Maybe she was different from the rest. After all, she’d never been offered a hand as she got out of a car before. How chivalrous. 

Natasha’s hand is warm and firm, and her fingers clench around Wanda’s momentarily in indecision. She seems to almost debate with herself for a moment, stuck in limbo as she grasps Wanda’s hand. She doesn’t seem to want to let go, and Wanda hopes that she doesn’t.

She drops Wanda’s hand, her arm instead gracefully reaching around to shut the car door. Momentary disappointment floods Wanda’s thoughts, before the light touch of those same, strong fingers against the small of her back causes an involuntary gasp to escape her trembling lips. 

“Lead the way,” Natasha murmurs, her voice low and eyes warm. 

Wanda feels herself move towards her apartment, her steps as unsure as a newborn fawn while Natasha’s hand provides a steady pressure against her back. Just before reaching the door, her apartment key in hand, Wanda turns. 

Dark green eyes lock with hers, glancing down momentarily before the woman tilts her head in a silent question. The energy between them shifts, becoming charged with something so heady it's almost tangible. 

“I liked what happened in the elevator,” Wanda says, her voice steady. She smiles at the slight widening of Natasha’s eyes before inserting her key and walking into her apartment, the woman following close behind her. 

Ha. Take that Natasha Romanoff, she can flirt too.

Kate and Yelena are seated on the couch, their bodies practically on top of each other as they watch some reality television show. Wanda gets a glimpse of a woman in a two-piece bikini draping herself over a muscled blonde man before her roommate turns the TV off, whirling around in excitement. 

“Hi, Wanda!” Kate leaps up from the couch, hugging Wanda tightly before holding her at arm’s length to examine her. “Wow, last night wasn’t as rough as I thought it was.”

“No,” Wanda laughs, “It was, but I got some new clothes out of it.”

Smiling, Kate opens her mouth to speak again, before remembering who else walked in with her roommate. Turning slightly, she locks eyes with the CEO lingering just behind Wanda. 

“Good morning, Natasha,” she says, her tone bright as she smiles widely. 

“Miss Bishop,” Natasha responds, her voice a bit stiff, as if she isn’t used to speaking to college students, which, Wanda supposes she isn’t. 

“Oh my god, сестра, her name is Kate,” Yelena says, rolling her eyes as she smoothly gets up from her seat. She has a prominent Russian accent, and Wanda finds herself enjoying the sound of it. 

“Kate, then.” Natasha nods politely at her, before glancing at her sister. 

Yelena opens her arms, pulling Wanda in for a brief hug. Her arms are strong, and although she’s short, her posture and strength tell Wanda that she isn’t someone to be messed with. She misses the hardening of Natasha’s eyes and the way she sticks her hands into her pockets to stop from reaching out. 

Kate smiles at the sight, leaning against the couch and watching the interaction.

“Hi, Wands,” Yelena says, smirking slightly. She glances over Wanda’s shoulder, where Natasha is still frowning. “Good to finally meet sober you.”

Wanda likes her immediately and smiles as a chuckle escapes her. “I promise I’m not usually like that. Last night was a… celebration. A rare occasion, if you will.”

“I believe it.”

Clearing her throat, Natasha moves forward, taking her hands out of her pockets. She touches the small of Wanda’s back once more, her tone is apologetic as she speaks. “Yelena, we should probably go.”

“Sure,” she says, turning and pulling Kate into her arms. She kisses her, their lips lingering as the silence stretches on. Kate’s hands make their way to Yelena’s hair, the blonde’s hands tight around her waist as she presses herself fully into her. Wanda looks away, down at her feet. 

God, she never knew what to do when people kissed in front of her. It was so… awkward. Then again, she’d never been a fan of public displays of affection in her own - very short and few - relationships. 

“Bye, малышка,” Yelena murmurs, grinning widely.

Kate melts. “Yeah, um. Haha, uh you too,” She ends her rambling sentence with an awkward finger gun motion, and Wanda shakes her head as she lowers her hands. 

Natasha rolls her eyes, looking over at Wanda with an unreadable expression. The corner of her lips quirk up, as though she’s amused. Maybe she is, but Wanda can’t read her that well yet. One of those hands reaches up, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind Wanda’s ear. 

Hearing her breath hitch, Wanda is painfully aware of the other two people currently in the room, but can’t quite bring herself to care. Natasha’s eyes soften, her hand grazing Wanda’s cheek until her thumb just barely brushes her lower lip. It feels as though her nerves are on fire, but the feather-light touch is gone before Wanda can really process it. 

“Goodbye моя любовь,” she murmurs, a prominent accent shaping the last two words. The words confuse Wanda, and her curiosity burns as she sees Yelena’s mouth fall open slightly from the corner of her eye. 

Wanda decides then and there to start learning Russian. 

“I’ll pick you up at 8.” 

Natasha steps away, jerking her head at her sister as she opens the door to leave. Yelena follows her to the car, turning and blowing Kate a kiss that causes her to blush and wave awkwardly back. Wanda eyes her, raising her eyebrows as a flush appears on Kate’s cheeks. 

The door shuts, instantly blocking the view of the two sisters. Kate turns slowly towards her, eyes wide and lips stretched into a smile. It's contagious, and Wanda can’t help but smile back, her heart rate finally calming and slowing down to a normal pace.

“So… how did it go? Did she fuck you?” Kate asks, jumping on the couch excitedly and pulling Wanda down with her. 

“Why do you assume that she fucked me?

A loud laugh erupts from her roommate, and Wanda just grumbles and crosses her arms over her chest as Kate wipes fake tears from her eyes. “Oh please,” she says in between gasps for air, “You couldn’t top that woman even if you tried. She’s got a dominatrix sort of vibe going for her.”

A vision of Natasha in black leather and sharp heels standing over her flashes through Wanda’s mind for a moment. She locks that thought firmly in the back of her mind, where she can think about it later in the darkness of her own room while her fingers move feverishly under the covers. 

“Well no,” she says, a bit too sharp. “We didn’t… you know.”

“So you just had a sleepover?”

“God, you make it sound so juvenile,” Wanda exhales, her breath pushing thin strands of hair away from her cheeks. She swipes at them, tucking them behind her ear and remembering the heat of Natasha’s fingers against her skin.

“Even if I didn’t get laid, you obviously did,” Wanda turns her gaze to Kate’s face. The brunette is trying to suppress a giddy smile, and failing epically. 

“We totally did,” Kate says, wiggling her eyebrows. “We did it in the car, and in my room, and over the counter, and on this…”

“Stop!” Wanda covers her ears, swatting at Kate as her shoulders heave in laughter. “I don’t want to hear any more about it, spare me the explicit details.”

“And I’m seeing her again tonight!” Kate exclaims, clapping her hands and bouncing slightly on the couch. She can’t contain her excited energy, and Wanda can’t help but feel happy for her. 

“Natasha is taking me to Seattle tonight,” Wanda says, regretting it slightly as Kate’s excited eyes turn towards her. She leans forward, her hands grabbing Wanda’s tightly.

“Seattle?”

“Yes.”

“Will she fuck you then?”

“God,” Wanda can’t help the laugh that spews out of her. “I really fucking hope so.”

“Oh, so you like her then?”

“Obviously. What’s not to like?”

“No, what I mean is. You like her enough to let her fuck you?”

“Yes.”

Kate leans back, her eyes wide and an astonished look falling across her face. “I never thought I would see the day,” she shakes her head slightly. “Wanda Maximoff falling for someone, and it’s Natasha Romanoff the hot, sexy, dominatrix billionaire.”

“Oh please,” Wanda giggles. “Stop with the dominatrix bit, I’m going to start to believe it's true. Besides, maybe I’m just using her for her money.”

Kate glances at her before they both fall into a fit of laughter. “Jeez Wands, you can’t even joke about that. I’ve seen the way you look at her. You’re falling for her already.”

“I know,” Wanda says, her voice soft. She can’t get rid of the small smile on her face. 

“Has she at least kissed you?”

“Once,” Wanda says, and that’s all she offers. 

She wants more. She knows that much, but she can’t help but wonder why Natasha hasn’t kissed her again. Maybe she didn’t want to? Maybe Wanda was just a really bad kisser, and now she’d ruined any chance she had with the woman. 

“We’re going to make you absolutely irresistible this evening,” Kate exclaims, standing and pulling Wanda towards the bathroom. “And we’re going to start with a shower. I want everything scrubbed and shaved. She’ll have to kiss you again once you put in a bit of effort into your appearance.”

Stopping outside the bathroom door, Kate’s expression softens when she sees Wanda’s face. “Hey, listen,” Kate grabs Wanda’s hands again, locking eyes with her. “You’re incredibly attractive, anyone can see that. You’re also really kind and smart and now you have a degree. I can’t tell you how many people I know that have a crush on you. You. Can. Do. This.”

“Kate I-”

Shaking her head, Kate pushes Wanda into the bathroom. “If Natasha Romanoff can’t see what’s right in front of her, then she’s a fool.”

The door closes behind her, and Wanda lets vanilla shampoo and warm water take over her thoughts. She pushes any doubts out of her mind, instead focusing on remembering the way Natasha’s lips felt against hers, the woman’s strong body pinning her to the elevator. There had been no hesitance on her part, and Wanda clings to that as she prepares herself for the date later tonight. 

A thought hits her, and Wanda feels momentary panic as she remembers what Natasha had planned for her. God, Kate was going to freak out. 

What does one wear for a helicopter ride?

---

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