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unholyhelbig · 1 year ago

Note

Can we have the last chapter of oversight??

Title: The Oversight [Part 7/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 7200

Warnings: Blood, (a lot of blood) Gun violence, childhood trauma, a shoot out, murder, and horrible grammar.

[A/n: This is it!! I wanted to thank everyone so beyond much for sticking with this story. I do suck at endings, so I'm sorry if it doesn't live up to expectations (I'm also writing this after the worst case of covid I've ever had). I'm more than happy to continue reader and Nat's story in some oneshots if you want to request some!]

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Sheets of warm spring rain soaked into your clothes. Despite its tepid temperature, you were chilled to the bone. By the time you had taken Ronnie from her car seat in the back and coaxed a drowsy Darcy from the front seat, there was no dry part of you. A light wind had picked up and you were positive that your skin was pale, cold. Your lips are blue and shaking. It felt right to knock.

It was Yelena who answered the door, and she did so sparingly. It was just a crack at first, letting out a stream of golden light that caught the storm in its clutches. Then it was flung open entirely, and you had to squint against the brightness.

Darcy had a good grip on Ronnie’s hand, blinking away the last of her exhaustion as she started into the massive foyer and the house that was built around it. Yelena wore a bubblegum pink robe that was fuzzy. It looked warm. Her collarbone was littered in a smattering of blue and purple bruises. She dragged the two ends together to cover her skin.

“Y/n, it’s late.”

You were well aware of what time it was. This was Yelena’s odd way of asking if you were okay. She stepped to the side and allowed the three of you to enter, sopping wet. That was a good sign. Despite her abrasiveness, Natasha’s sister had more than one soft spot. One was for Kate, another for you, and even a small one for Clint.

“Holy shit…” Darcy whispered.

“It’s impressive, no?”

Yelena frowned, glancing up to the second level. The hall light flicked on, and you knew that Natasha had stirred. You’d awoken the dragon, not something that you were against doing. It felt stupid to have the worry of Ronnie being here in the back of your mind. This was an emergency situation.

Your heart started to pound faster and you shivered into yourself when she appeared at the top of the stairs. There was worry in her fern-colored stare. Why were you there? Why was your misfit family with you? It was late.

None of those questions came with Natasha, however. Instead, she wrapped you in her warm embrace. Your skin was frigid against her own, damp with the brutal attention of the storm. She had no objections to letting you sink into her embrace, wetting her pajamas.

“Dorogaya, chto sluchilos'?”

You pulled back, her fingers still digging into your waist. Yelena had been teaching you Russian, though you only picked up on a few words a time, you understood exactly the tone of her voice. “Carol… she was waiting for me at home.”

A hardness returned to her stare as she glanced at Ronnie who was overly interested in the tile pattern of the floor, and Darcy who was trying to work the pressure from her head with small touches to her nose.

“Did she hurt you?” her voice was a low growl “any of you?”

You shook your head. “Drugged Darcy, but it seems to be wearing off. Ronnie is alright. Carol said she was a friend and shit, Nat, I taught her about stranger danger, but she came straight to the door. I didn’t prepare her for anything like that.”

Yelena had wandered in her silent, cat-like way. She seemed to spawn back into the foyer with warm towels that felt like heaven against your skin. Your fingers were numb along with your emotions. Carol had entered your home. She entered your home.

This fact seemed to sink into Natasha’s bones. While she still held a strong grip on your shoulders there was a certain type of anger that edged through her from top to bottom. A storm brewed behind her eyes and threatened to shatter her cool confidence.

“Lena,” the word broke against her tongue “Will you please take Ronnie and Darcy to a guest room upstairs. I’m sure they’re exhausted.”

There was no objection from any party. You were once again left alone with Natasha, a charged feeling in the air that pulled the two of you together. She pressed her forehead against yours, breath warm on your collarbone.

“I’m going to kill her.”

“Nat,”

“I am. I don’t have another choice. There are clear lines that can’t be crossed and she just cut every single one of them.” Natasha hurriedly pushed strands of wet hair behind your ears, clearing your eyes. “She did this as a statement.”

“And if it’s a trap?”

“It most certainly is, darling, but that won’t stop us from walking into it.”

Very carefully, you thought about your next words, your next actions. It was easy to throw Natasha off, despite her resolute standing when she made a final decision. You felt her body pressed against yours, innate in its comfort and warmth. It would make you ache if she pulled away.

The words came out as a whisper “I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

She attempted to step back, but your hands were tight against the silk of her robe. You held her there and she didn’t resist the tension. It was the first time you had really studied your own hands. They were different, entirely so, from those that serviced strangers at the diner.

There were soft bubblegum pink scars on your palms, and harder, darker ones on your knuckles from the countless hours you’d leaned into the pain of each punch. Natasha’s shoulder against the sand-filled bag as she stood against the strength you mustered.

A bruise from the last time you’d entered the shooting range bubbled under the surface of your palm, and it was this that Natasha stared at the hardest as you gripped her with an intensity she had yet to see.

“Did I ever tell you about my second foster father?” You asked, having released your hold, but keeping your hand splayed on her chest. You weren’t sure if you were holding her steady, or yourself. She shook her head. “Deputy Sheriff Edwards. He was a high school quarterback in Minnesota before he blew out his knee and would never let you forget it.

“And mostly… mostly he was a good guy. But, he worked long hours and had a mean streak that would show itself after a beer or two. If he had more, it was worse. He’d stumble in and find one of us kids to go out for shooting practice in the acreage behind the house.”

Natasha swallowed thickly and clenched her eyes shut for a moment. She hadn’t asked you about your familiarity with a gun and considered it a small blessing that you didn’t’ shy away from the weapon. Not only that, but you were quite nearly an expert shot once you got over the nervous familiarization.

“Locking the bedroom door, it worked sometimes, but not always. I had to pick and choose the nights when I wasn’t up for it. Usually in the winter. Minnesota gets cold, below freezing when the sun goes down behind the horizon. So cold that it burns your lungs to breathe, and you have to force your eyes open.

“Deputy Sheriff Edwards, when he couldn’t have me, he would go for my foster brother Andrew. I could hear the pistol going off, over and over again for hours. There was a distinct change in sound when the bullet actually hit the tin cans and it was… that night it was scarce. When you missed- when you missed, he got angrier.”

Natasha let out a shaky breath and pressed her forehead against yours. She was impossibly comforting, and you wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around her and bury your nose in the small of her neck to stave off the cold. But you had to make her understand that you could handle this.

“That night, Andrew missed one too many cans and each shot was pockmarked by a hit to the temple. It was right outside my bedroom window, and the snow, the snow makes everything so much louder.” It was you that pulled in a desperate breath this time, greedy and hungry “a boy can only take so much before he aims the gun at something other than a can and pulls the trigger.”

She had reached up and used her thumb to wipe away a tear you didn’t know you shed, spreading it against your cheek. “Malysh, I can’t bare to put you through more pain.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” you whispered back, reaching up and wrapping your fingers gently around her wrist. “Whether you like it or not, Nat, you’ve spent the last six months training me to be the protector that you’ve needed. It would be a crime not to have me by your side through this, after she came into my home and threatened my family. This anger, this rage, will do nothing but serve us.”

Natasha let out a watery chuckle, “alright, Summer Sentient, stay on my six.”

There was a shed at the edge of Natasha’s large property that you rarely entered. There were too many memories attached to the location. The first time you had opened the door and clocked the coloring of the floor and the coolness of the structure, you knew that it wasn’t a place you wanted to return often.

When you had first stirred months ago with your arms tied behind your back, your mouth fuzzy and tasting of blood- it was here that they had taken you. Through your exhaustive haze, you figured it was a larger place, a storage unit or even an airplane hanger at the edge of a runway. Instead, it was a simple one-room shed that was kept ice cold and made to look infinite through mental manipulation and large intense lights.

Kate Bishop seemed to sense your simple unease and moved to help your fumbling fingers with the gun holster that was secured around your chest. Like always, Natasha organized a united front and a pep talk before going into a situation that none of you could truly prepare for.

“It’s going to be okay, you know” Kate murmured after she fastened the buckle, clapping you on the shoulder. Her eyes lingered on Natasha, on Yelena as the two of them spoke in hushed voices near a small counter that you hadn’t realized was there in the dark.

“Am I that easy to read?”

“Like an open book. It’s obvious how much you care for one another, and nothing is obvious with this family.” Kate moved to the other side of you, you tracked her with your eyes. Clint, in turn, watched the two of you interact from his perched spot near the far wall. “It took two years for Yelena to show any type of affection towards me.”

“Jesus Christ, I know she’s stoic, but shit.”

“Shit is right. I was head over heels for her within the first week. Mind you, I was suffering severe trauma and thrown into something much beyond myself. But I chipped away at her overtime, wore her down until she was comfortable enough telling me what she feels. But with the Romanoff’s, it’s not just about what they feel. It’s how they feel.”

You lifted both of your eyebrows at her. Kate handed you the jacket that was draped over a nearby chair, you toyed with it in your hands, moved your fingers over the brass buttons. It was much too warm in here to put on yet.

“Natasha is one of the scariest people I have ever met and It’s not because of her dripping ledger. It has everything to do with how much she cares. And she cares about you, y/n. It’s why she’s so reluctant to bring you along to something like this. To the end.”

“Thank you, Kate. For leading me through all of this.”

“Anytime, y/n. Can’t have you dying on us, can we?”

The plan was simple; there was no plan. A deal was supposed to met in a quick and clean way. Much like the restaurant, Natasha just needed you to simply be there to back her up. There was neutral ground at the edge of the shipyard that was far away enough from the unassuming population. Carol had agreed to meet there; tentatively.

There was something so civil and political about a business that was saturated in black sticky blood. You had a jarring feeling that tonight would be it for you, the moment of no return. Once you entered in a united front behind Natasha, your life would never be the same.

You didn’t want it to be.

Natasha Romanoff drove you absolutely wild, but had a way of calming that storm all the same. Though she’d never allow it, you would take bullets for her. But, you’d also take bullets for the little girl that you struggled to confront now.

The leather binding against your chest suddenly felt too stuffy. You’d often hid it behind the guise of a jacket or slid it into your glovebox before you trudged up the rickety stairs to your apartment. Now it was hugged as tightly as Kate could get it, pinching the fabric of your shirt.

Ronnie had looked up from the book she’d curled up with at the end of the sofa. She stared at it with quiet eyes. Everything she did was quiet but this time it felt more judge mental than usual. Natasha sidled up behind you, one ringed hand pressing calmly into the small of your back.

“Remember what I told you on the Ferris Wheel?” Natasha asked.

“She’ll talk when she’s ready.”

“Mm,” Natasha gave you a soft kiss behind your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I know that look. She wants to talk.”

The mafia boss gave you a little shove forward before making herself comfortable leaning against the doorframe that you had just vacated. She was begrudgingly right. Veronica had scooted over deliberately and given you room next to her.

Ronnie allowed you to get comfortable next to her, running her small fingers over the leather of the holster. You stopped her before she could reach the sheathed weapon, gently lowering both of your hands to your lap.

“Natasha?”

The woman stood up straighter, looking into the expectant eyes of your daughter. She patted the empty seat on the other side of her and you watched as your girlfriend struggled not to flounder under the weight of the request. Eventually she joined the two of you on the couch, nervously twisting the closest ring around her finger.

“I’m not stupid” Ronnie said.

You frowned “No one said you were stupid, baby.”

Your daughter was glowering at you. It took years to read her facial expressions, but the one that was on her features now was loud and clear. “You can’t come home with bruises like that and expect me not to notice.”

You blinked at her dumbly. Yes, kids were perceptive, Ronnie more than others. But no part of you wanted to expose you to the life you’d been thrown in. Guilt was weighing down Natasha’s shoulders, she glanced at you sheepishly.

“You weren’t supposed to join the mob. I know why you did it, though.”

Good god, she was smart. Smarter than you’d ever give her credit for. Everyone wants to believe that their child is special but there was a certain pride in your chest that rivaled your fear. She pulled her little hand from yours and placed it on the spine of the book.

She seemed to lose interest in you altogether and turned her attention to Natasha. “Don’t let her get hurt.”

“I…Are you giving me the shovel talk?”

“I don’t know what that means, just make sure my mom’s okay.”

Natasha swallowed the dryness in her mouth, it was nearly audible. “You don’t have to worry about that, kid. I promise.”

There was an innate fear coiled in the center of your stomach, and the cacophony of footfalls against weathered docks did nothing to ease your pitfall of feelings. Clint towered over you in height, walking with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets to ward off the chill of the summer wind.

Kate and Yelena stalked behind you both, their shoulders hunched, their conversation a hushed whisper. Six docks altogether led into one hexagon platform, that at one point, must have held a fair much like the one you attended in the early summer.

From the other stretch of docking came five others. Their silhouettes were fuzzy, black against the night sky. Carol held herself with a confidence that rivaled Natasha’s. You could make out Monica amongst the crowd, a man that you’d seen around town that you were sure went by the name Fury; particular to his deeply embedded rage.

A circle of wood in the center of the land stood between the two groups like a buffer. Hands were on guns, puffs of air streaming into the lone portlights drilled into soft wood. The scent of the sea itself seemed to assuage you into flexing your fingers, the salt in the air made everything feel filmy and frigid.

It was Carol who spoke first. Her voice was carried by the wind. “I must admit, I didn’t expect you to call a meeting like this.”

“You violate my trust as if it’s nothing Miss Danvers. It’s clear you wanted to invoke something other than a slap on the wrist.”

“Well, there’s been talk around town that you’ve become smitten with your little pet project. Forgive me for wanting to test the theory myself. If the big bad Romanoff sisters are going soft, don’t you think I should know about it?”

Yelena shifted behind you and in turn, so did Monica. No one reached for their weapon, though you itched from the inside out. Natasha even lift an eyebrow at the statement.

“You wanted to discuss the Maroni property. I’m willing to sell, but only with the proper conditions.”

Clint had sat you down a few weeks after your first excursion. The two of you sat at the end of the very diner that you had quit. You never really tried the food but could stomach the fries- even admit to yourself that they were the best in town for their price point. The Maroni property was nothing more than a vacant lot, but it held more than that. It would make Carol the owner of 60% of the town instead of the meager 50% that split everything equally.

If there was any objection to her offer, no one would show it. Peace of mind would not be worth giving up her hold, but you were. Yelena could kick her frustrations out at home later, Clint and Kate were none the wiser to do anything but trust blindly; and you were right there with them.

“And what conditions are those?”

“The same conditions our parents have abided by all these years. There’s an honor in what we do and what we control and when you start crossing lines like the ones you did last night, you pour gasoline on an already raging fire.”

Carol tasked and took a step forward. This time the handle of your gun was in your palm. You held your stance. “So poetic, Natasha. You have been since grade school. I’ll take the land, but you’re mistaken if you think I’ll pay full price.”

Natasha clenched her jaw, her eyes darting to the rolling darkness of the sea. The waves were crashing violently against the wooden support beams. There were whitecaps miles from the shore and a storm was brewing that you could almost taste.

“Seventy-five. I won’t go any lower.”

“Alright, Seventy-five.”

Carol stuck her hand out over the circular center of the docks. It was a show of good faith, but your palm grew slick with sweat. You watched her with more care than you ever have before. Clint was rigid with tension, and you could practically hear Kate breathe nervously behind you.

Eventually, Natasha took the woman’s hand. She held it for a moment before leaning closer, whispering something that you couldn’t’ hear over the screeching of the waves. You could, however, see Carols face shaded by the port lights. The golden yellow color enveloped the stark coldness in her stare, the anger that flashed behind hazel irises.

When the gunshot sounded, Natasha’s back was to Carol and those who flanked her sides. It was such a quiet and muted sound that made your ears ring, but it was also a familiar sound. One that flashed back to that snowy night in Minnesota, the spray of pulpy blood on the startlingly white snow.

When Andrew had pulled the trigger, he looked Sheriff Deputy Edwards in the eyes and you had always wondered if the fear cut through the haze of alcohol that night. The split second where the bullet left the chamber, was there penance to be made? He’d dropped to his knees and let out a choking sound that you heard through the paned glass windows.

There wasn’t a wall of insulation, and wood, and glass to garble the sound of the gunshot that rang out tonight. The waves seemed to swallow up your own scream and the commotion that stretched into being.

Carol had waited until Natasha broke the handshake and turned away before she fired her weapon. Something so strong and ever-present was dropped to the sun-bleached wood in a matter of moments. Natasha didn’t make a sound.

“Get down!” Clint yelled next to you.

You caught the anger in Monica’s stare, the way that Carol had moved her target from Natasha, directly to you. At this specific point, with Natasha crumpled at your feet and the woman who had pulled the trigger sneering at you, was when something snapped within you.

A good shot, you had always been a good shot. Not only that, but you’d been efficient too. Clint had given up trying to drag you away and instead made quick work of those that were backing Carol. Kate and Yelena were gone; in the throws of darkness, into hand to hand combat. It left you alone with the woman that made everyone cower in fear.

Natasha’s blood had sopped onto your shoes. Tears threatened to well up in your eyes. She wasn’t breathing. You couldn’t tell if she was breathing. She had curled into herself and hidden her face from you and while you wanted to pull her into your arms at this very moment; that wasn’t possible.

An ongoing war was raging around you. Gunfire and screaming, and oddly enough, the pungent scent of fire. Carol watched, confident in her protection. She smiled at you, a wolfish and inhuman grin.

“Now, you can’t tell me this hasn’t changed your perspective.” She said, sweeping her arms out as if this were her kingdom- as if this chaos, this reign of gunfire and screams amongst the people you loved, was what she wanted all along.

“It has,” you raised your gun, pointing it directly to her chest. To her credit, she didn’t flinch. “I just watched you shoot a woman in the back. What’s noble about that?”

She cackled “Noble? That’s the problem with you Romanoff’s, there is nothing noble about this business. To win, you have to play dirty. To win you can’t be afraid to take what you want, and I can’t exactly do that through handshakes and good will. Can I?”

“I suppose not, but how are they supposed to trust you, hm? All of those you’ve promised the world to, the ones fighting for your wellbeing as we speak?”

“I would never betray them.”

“Oh, now, I don’t believe that.”

She frowned at you and readjusted her hold on her gun. In any other world, she would have fired her gun by now, but there was something deep within Carol that had been curious about you. About how Natasha seemed to soften around your presence. Still, she didn’t understand, but she wanted it all the same.

Her finger adjusted on the trigger. You watched every movement she made. There was another, calmer, war in her mind. She could kill you right here if she wanted to, but you couldn’t tell if she did or not.

Natasha let out a wounded noise at your feet; a wet choking sound as she struggled to pull air into her lungs. Carol lifted both eyebrows and glanced down at her. “You can save her or kill me. I don’t think you’re quick enough to do both.”

Kate let out a guttural scream from further down the dock that was followed by two more blows and flashes from a gun. Most of Carols lackeys had been incapacitated in one way or another. You clocked Clint’s trembling form as he kneeled between two dark masses. You couldn’t see Yelena, couldn’t’ even hear her, but she leaned into her silence, her rage.

By the time your eyes had met with Carol’s once more, she had made her choice. She pressed further down on the trigger, and in your blind edge of confidence you fired first. Both bullets were aimed at her stomach, and both hit their mark before her single shot found it’s way to your shoulder.

The pain shot through your arm, down the numbness of your fingers. A deep sound escaped the back of your throat. The force of the blast nearly brought you to your knees. Nearly. You’d felt the heat of the bullet rip through the gore of your shoulder- enter and exit in a clean way that would hiss in pain later, but it was no match for the adrenaline.

Carol let out a groan, one that bubbled with pain. You kicked her weapon away from her, letting it slide against the wooden dock. She blinked up at you dumbly, her hands pressing against the slowly growing crimson spot in the center of her stomach.

The color dripped from the wound on your shoulder, over the silver of the casing. A singular drop of red succumbed to the pull of gravity and landed against the smooth expanse of Carol’s collarbone. When she grinned, her teeth were stained with rust.

“Tell me, Carol, what do you see?” You pulled back the hammer, ignoring her sloppy chuckles and the frothy blood that foamed past her lips. “A broken waitress, or a trained killer?”

“Now you’re getting it…” she swallowed thickly, trying to quell the pain “It’s all about perspective.”

You pulled the trigger for a third, and final time that night. You were so trusting in your aim that you refused to look when you administered the final blow. Her head dropped to the side, the bullet finding it’s way right between her eyes.

Silence seemed to fall over the docks. You could hear the crashing of the waves and the seagulls that circled above at the scent of shed blood. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and the gun you wielded was dropped to the dock.

She’d been killed so easily. This big, hulking demon that loomed over the town, and over your life. It took nothing but a rage-filled trigger pull to end it all. Your heart was in your throat, blood rushing past your ears.

And then there was Natasha.

Natasha had shifted onto her back, her hand outstretched in your direction. You could hear the painful wheeze in each breath. Her skin was pale, a bloom of red at the corner of her lip. You wanted to kiss it away, to pull her as close as possible, but you were afraid to move her.

Your knees dug into the coarse wood, your palm finding purchase on her cheek. “Nat, baby, I need you to stay awake, okay?”

“The stars, you can see them so well out here.”

You frowned, glancing up at the velvety blue sky. The constellations were bright, making little pictures of lions, and archers, and long stretches of water. It was hard to see them with the perpetual glow of the city. But out here, just like the mansion, they made a map.

“Yeah, baby, you can.” You reached blindly for her hand. It was cold. “You can’t go to sleep. Just keep looking at the stars, for me. Clint! Lena!”

Your voice broke on the second call. Your face was damp with tears as you kept track of Natasha’s stunted breathing, and the tight grip she still held you with. She refused to let you go, and you did the same, pressing the warmth of your lips to her white knuckles.

Yelena was by your side. She was pale and shaking herself. There was a gash above her eye, dripping blood and drying against her cheek. There was a split in her lip, a forming bruise under her chin and against the length of her neck.

“ne ostavlyay menya, sestra. Ty sil'neye etogo. Drat'sya.”

“Should we call an ambulance?”

“No, no hospital.” Yelena shook her head “we do this on our own, just like we always have.”

Your fingers were caked in blood, a dried brown color that was ugly against the beauty of your shared bedroom with Natasha. You wanted to scrub them clean, watch as the water was tinted a toxic orange before it circled the drain, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

A glass of water was set on the small table next to you, and you fought back the urge to startle. You hadn’t heard anyone enter. There was a familiar spiced scent to Darcy that you picked up on before registering her presence. She nudged the glass closer to you and lowered herself into the other chair.

“You should really let Yelena look at that shoulder.” She said.

“It’s fine.”

You picked up the glass and considered swallowing down some of the room temperature water, but thought better of it. You held onto it because you could. It grounded you, the cloudy glass stained with coppery fingerprints.

“The news… they’re saying that a wealthy businesswoman snapped. Allegedly, she lured her employees down to the docks and killed them all before turning the gun on herself.”

“Tragic.” This time you did take a swallow of the water before setting it on the table.

Darcy watched you carefully. She wasn’t being judgmental, or at least, that’s what you wanted to believe. Her eyes were still darkened with exhaustion but filled with a deep kind of worry. She hesitated, moving to put her hand on your knee, but thinking better of it.

Instead, she directed her attention to Natasha’s unconscious form on the bed. Yelena had called in a private doctor, stubborn in her efforts. He worked mostly alone, and had hushed conversation with those in the room that could comprehend better than you could in your fuzzy state.

Kate had attempted to patch you up, but you pulled away with enough intensity for her to focus on licking her own wounds. Natasha was stable, she was alive. They weren’t sure if she would make it through the night- but you’d remain by her side until they were sure.

“I can’t lose her,”

The admission was whispered and shattered. You didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility of Natasha not pulling through. She was the first person you’d met in years that not only accepted you, but pushed you to be a better version of yourself. She had a softness for Ronnie, a commanding nature to her presence.

Darcy cracked a small smile, “leave it to you to fall in love with a loan shark that has a pension for bullets. Something tells me that’s she’s more stubborn than even you. And if that’s the case, then she’ll make it.”

You reached out and grasped Darcy’s hand, allowing her to ground you. Pain ripped through your shoulder, the bandage that you had allowed Kate to apply was dotted with the wounds efforts to gush. Still, you squeezed as hard as you could manage, listening to the heart monitor that hummed in time with the grandfather clock in the corner.

She stayed with you while you fought to stave off sleep. At one point, Clint came in with a tray of food that lay mostly untouched on the dresser. Your eyes burned as you stared at the simple rise and fall of her chest, both feet planted on the floor.

Sixteen hours had passed. You’d paced the room, and at one point, finally allowed someone to address your wounds. It throbbed in time with your heart, which in-turn, mirrored Natasha’s. It was hour twenty when you saw any sign of life, and you nearly missed it, the fluttering of her eyes as they adjusted to the sun streaming into the room.

You’d rolled your head back, trying to quell the stiffness of your neck, the hushed growl escaped your lips. “Oh… fuck.”

“That’s a beautiful sound.”

To hell with your aching body. Natasha’s voice was so meek that you’d nearly missed it altogether. You were treated with a startling blast of green color. She stared at you inquisitively, trying to prop herself up on her elbows. You were quicker than her in this state, using your palm against her chest to gently force her back onto the mattress.

“Don’t try to move,”

“I don’t do well with orders, y/n.”

“God damn it, I know.”

She gave you a small smile at this, but allowed you to coax her back into a laying position. She let out a protest of pain as you placed your ear flush against her chest, assuring that this was real, that her heart was beating strong and consistently. And it was, it really was.

Natasha chuckled, and worked her hand through your hair. “It’s okay, Zaychik. I’m alright.”

“Nat, you were shot in the back twice. It’s going to be a long road to recovery. You’re lucky that it didn’t shatter your spine, hell you could have lost the ability to walk altogether-“

She cut you off, grabbing your chin and leading your lips to hers. She tasted of blood, of the slightest bit of antiseptic and artificial cherries. She tasted like home. You fretted to pull away, knowing that she had kissed you to ultimately shut you up, but really, did that matter?

Natasha frowned into the kiss and pulled away, her fingers had found the bandage on your shoulder, running across the cross section where your skin met gauze. “You’re hurt. She hurt you.”

“She got a good shot in but had terrible aim. Nothing but a flesh wound.”

“Flesh wounds can be dangerous, Malysh.”

“Mm, so they can.” A few moments passed, your forehead pressed against hers, happy to be in her presence. “What did you say to Carol… right before she…”

Natasha let out a deep sigh and winced at the exhalation. She laid her head on the pillow and glowered at the painted ceiling above you both. You remembered staring up at it after Natasha had exhausted you on more than one occasion. Right now, she was trying to find the words, just like you had tried so desperately to find your solace.

“I threatened her family the way she threatened mine. I thought better of her, I suppose, than to shoot a woman in the back. Though, I would have done the same with the threats I laid out. I just needed to be sure that she wouldn’t… couldn’t hurt you… Ronnie.”

“You don’t have to worry about them anymore.”

“Maybe not the Danvers family, but there are more just lurking in the shadows waiting for their chance to swoop in. They’re scared now, I’m sure. But fear only goes so far.”

“I’m in this for the long haul, if you’ll have me, of course.” You tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, careful of her wounds. “I don’t care if it’s the Russo’s, or the Sarkissian’s, or any other psycho family that tries to take your power away from you. They’ll have to go through me.”

Natasha chuckled, “Alright, quickdraw, don’t get too cocky. We’ll lay low for a little bit. Heal. Then we can talk about the future.”

Somehow, that was enough for you. Natasha waking up, speaking and smiling, and laughing would always be enough for you.

“Drop the gun,” Kate’s voice was shaking, her hands outstretching in front of her in the ultimate sign of surrender. She looked vulnerable, the sun beating down on her shoulders and her stormy eyes catching the reflection of the water. “I’m unarmed, this isn’t cool, man.”

Her protests didn’t’ seem to matter one bit. Cooper pumped the front end of his gun and aimed the ice cold water directly at Kate’s stomach. His action was a silent call to the brigade of children that ascended on her; some carrying water guns like Coop, and others nailing her with neon colored balloons.

“Ah, the inhumanity!” She fell to the grass, scooping Ronnie up in the process. “Shield me, kid!”

You watched the girl with fondness, fighting back until the end. Clint chuckled behind you, flipping the burgers that had browned evenly on one side. The scent was intoxicating, and though you wouldn’t’ admit your hunger outright; your mouth was watering.

Yelena had ascended on the situation, taking a super soaker and dousing the clan that was attacking, and winning, Kate. She tucked Ronnie under her arm like a football and started to dash away towards the fence, out of earshot.

Clint’s wife, Laura, was pouring a glass of lemonade for Darcy. The two of them watched the scene from poolside chairs with as much amusement as you carried. They spoke with smiles on their faces, cheeks flushed from the heat of the day.

Warm arms wrapped around your midsection, a chin resting on your shoulder. The scent of sunscreen filled your lungs. You had always felt innate safety in Natasha’s embrace. She kissed behind your ear once, and then the side of your neck.

“She’s good with them.” Natasha purred.

“I think it’s because she’s a kid at heart.”

“And you let her protect your assets?” Clint tsked as he loaded the burgers onto a nearby plate. “Seriously, without Yelena training her I never would have taken the safety off her gun.”

“I can hear you!” Kate called back, shifting Ronnie to her other hip. “They are being so rude. I’m more than capable of being a degenerate.”

“Degenerate,” Yelena scoffed “Kate Bishop, you’ve invented the word.”

You shook your head, turning in Natasha’s arms before you draped your own over her shoulders. She wore that same black bikini that she had on when she proclaimed your new rank in her little empire. It seemed so long ago- and she was certainly marred with new markings to prove this. Your fingers tracing gently over the healed scars on her stomach.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips against hers, “Thank you for this.”

“Mm,” She hummed into the embrace “For what, detka?”

You deepened the embrace, whispering against her “resolution.”

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanov x reader #Natasha Romanov x you #Natasha Romanov x y/n #Kate Bishop #Clint Barton #Yelena Belova #Katelena #Marvel #Mafia au

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yandere-paramour · 1 month ago

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When Vivien Throws His Back Out

The fucking African Violets.

Streptocarpus ionanthus. African Violets. Blue, Purple, Pink, White, Red, and Multicolored, all with fuzzy leaves. Likes lots of light, although not direct. Lots of water and warm, humid conditions. Do not get the leaves wet.

Realistically, Vivien knew this wasn’t his fault, but he still felt like it was his fault.

Sunny days were perfect. Vivien would arrange the pots in the wooden beds outside under the awning. Sunlight, only a little bit, would shine on the leaves, making them dapple in a beautiful green mosaic. The swirling colors would brighten the street, drawing people inside, and Vivien would make approximately 15% more just from these walk-ins.

Rainy days did the opposite. When it was pouring, Vivien had to lug everything inside, straining under the weight of 30 pound pots. Customers would hurry past the shop, only taking a second or two to enjoy the dryness of the awning and not even thinking of coming in. It was hell to deliver. Overwatering could easily damage live flowers and would drown delicate bouquets.

But this was unexpected.

Vivien knew the shop was old, a little one-story that sold houseplants and bouquets but contracted with a company that sold larger, hardier vegetation, but he thought it was sturdy. He hadn’t had any problems until today. When he came in that morning, his balls had dropped to his toes, fearing the loss of profits from the loss of the fucking ceiling.

Over night, the rain must have overwhelmed the ceiling, and part of it caved in, causing a large slab of roof to fall directly on the peace lilies. Luckily peace lilies were the kind of plant you would bring as your tap-out in a boxing match; they were perfectly fine, covered in dust from plaster. The problem was the African Violets. A tiny trickle of train had fallen on them, ruining every single one.

It had been hell spending the entire day calling repair companies, cleaning and apologizing to the peace lilies for his oversight, and cursing the goddamn heavens for ruining the sensitive snowflake African Violets. The thought of unnecessary plant death saddened him, and mostly, Vivien was mad at himself.

By the time he got home, he was in no mood to be cheerful.

But you were there.

You had gotten home first. Vivien had honed, acute hearing, and he heard you through the apartment door before he unlocked it. You must have started dinner. His heart ached. As angry and upset as he was, his love for you shimmered and roiled in his lower gut. His dick twitched, swelling with blood that would be better spent in his brain. Vivien shook his head, adjusted himself, let himself inside.

The kitchen smelled like garlic and thyme, and you were in the center of it, watching TikToks on your phone. You looked up as he walked in, and the growing smile on your face made him weak in the knees.

You went to him immediately, wrapping your arms around his thin frame, “You’re back! I missed you! I started dinner and-“

Vivien wanted to melt into your arms, to kneel at your feet and worship you the way you deserved, but the second your hands clasped around the small of his back, he hissed. You dropped your hands immediately and stepped back immediately, worried.

“No wait,” Vivien tried to pull you back, “I’m sorry-“

“What happened?” You looked concerned, trying to move behind him to see his back, “Are you hurt?”

“There was-“ You lifted up his shirt to poke at him and Vivien wanted to sob, “I hurt my back at work, but I’m fin-“

“Come on,” You shut that shit down immediately, “Go shower. I’m gonna put the chicken in and then I’ll come to you, okay? Let me help you.”

Chastised, Viven just nodded his head and shuffled toward the bathroom. Direct, concise orders. He could do that.

Vivien turned the shower as hot as it would go, stripped, and gingerly stepped in. The bundles of eucalyptus and lavender over the shower made it smell both medicinal and relaxing, and Vivien’s shower ferns perked up at the promise of fresh steam. He hissed as he stepped in. This was hot, way hotter than he preferred, but he hoped and prayed the heat would help loosen the tense muscles in his back.

Every step hurt like hell as he agitated the sensitive muscles. He was in so much pain that he would probably have to break into his stash of pain medicine as well. He hadn’t even taken the opportunity to jerk off, that’s how much pain he was in.

Vivien collapsed onto your bed face-first in just a towel. The shower had helped a little but it still hurt. Muffled, he heard you coming in the room and grunted so you knew he was there.

“I brought you something to drink,” You held a straw to his lips and the sweet peach-passionfruit concoction he had mixed on Sunday filled his mouth, “Are you okay? Should I bring you the pills?”

“Please?” His voice sounded a bit more pitiful than usual and Vivien’s ears burned, but you were gracious enough not to comment.

You brought him the pills and he swallowed them eagerly, gulping them down with a swig of juice.

“Are you hungry?” You stroked his wet curls.

He wasn’t, not by a long shot, “Uh-“

“Vivien,” Your voice had a note of warning.

“N-No… I’m sorry, I know you cooked and it smells great but… it hurts,” His voice shook.

“It’s alright,” You stroked his cheek, “I’m not mad. You know I won’t force you to eat.”

Right. Right. You wouldn’t force him. You would never do that. He wasn’t there anymore.

“Right.” Vivien closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath, “Sorry. Got caught in a weird place there.”

“Can I touch your back, love? I want to make sure you’re not hurt too badly.”

Vivien’s breath hitched as you slowly pushed the towel down his waist, exposing his lower back and the beginning crack of his ass. As much as he wanted you to touch him there, now wasn’t the time. But you wouldn’t hurt him. Not on purpose.

“Is it bad?” He asked, fearing the answer.

“I’m not seeing anything, but your muscles are tight. Did you lift something too heavy?”

“… probably. Sorry…” Your fingers on his back hurt, and he bit back some pained groans.

“Wait here.” You left him for a second, disappearing in the steamy bathroom and coming back with a small tube.

“W-What’s that-“ He started to move, to turn over, but you, pressing a hand at, thankfully, his shoulder, kept him down.

“Stay still. I’ll be gentle,” You gave a few comforting rubs on his back as you popped open the tube, “It’s gonna help, I promise. Just relax.”

As much as he wanted to jump up, to roll over and fight and protect himself, Vivien forced himself to stay down, submissively staying on his belly. As instructed, he held himself still, but he couldn’t make himself relax. He hoped you wouldn’t be mad about that.

You didn’t even mention it. He loved you so much.

“Good boy,” You praised, taking a glorious glob of the cream and applying it to his back.

Vivien bit back a moan. He knew what this was! This was a glob of the numbing cream, the expensive cream. The cream you sometimes used on his hole or that he used on yours after you both had sex. It was $20 for the tube, and you were using so much, massaging the gel into his back as you murmured soothing things to him. As the pain died down, Vivien relaxed into the pillows with a sigh.

You kept up the massage for a lot longer than was necessary, coaxing Vivien’s tense muscles to loosen and his mind to quiet, “Better?”

“Mhm. Thank you.”

You applied a heated wrap to the area, wrapping the sticky sides around Vivien’s thin hips. Preventing a snake in the grass from poking you in the ass later, you pulled some boxers on him. He was quiet now, his earlier panic melted away into a dreamy relaxation as the lidocaine cream and heated pad soothed him. The lines in his face relaxed, making him look younger than he was, like a child.

“Tired?”

“Mhm.... that okay?”

“Of course. Do I need to set your alarms?”

He slowly shook his head, “Day off.”

“Alright,” You stroked his drying hair, “I’m gonna eat and get the kitchen cleaned. Try and rest and I’ll bring you some more juice in an hour or so.”

Vivien nuzzled into your head like a puppy, but he moved to lay properly on his side of the bed. He was already half asleep, and the pad was heating up nicely. With the cream and the ibuprofen, he would be healed by morning. You flipped on the tiny tv and turned on The Office, something he had seen a thousand times and could probably recite by now. Michael Scott would be a good companion to doze to.

As Scott yelled something about turtles, you covered your boyfriend with the blanket and he murmured his thanks. Quietly, you turned off the light and left the room, leaving him to rest.

African Violets. Devotion, faithfulness, and loyalty. All seemed applicable in this situation. If he could, Vivien would have dropped to his knees and kissed your feet. He was always trying to take care of you, but once again, you caught him off guard, swooping in to take care of him so kindly and effortlessly, like it wasn’t any hassle at all to comfort and soothe his fear and pain.

He would have to get you something as thanks, something small to serve as the proxy for showing how grateful he was for your presence and love. Almost immediately, he began scrolling through his brain to search for the right flowers to show his appreciation and acknowledgment.

As long as it wasn’t African Violets, the fucking pansy-ass flowers.

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linked-maze · 1 year ago

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.:It's about Time:. part 1

A story behind how Navi and Time found each other! enjoy!

It was a cold hazy morning in the forest, after a whole night of rain. The small beam of light from the morning sun was shining through the leaves, warming up the air that was fresh and with an earthy smell. A tiny blue fairy emerged from a hole in a great redwood tree. Butt in the air, she yawned and stretched her whole fuzzy body, shaking the sleepiness out of her and flapping her wings awake. She raised her snout to sniff the air and letting out a sigh of relief. After months of winter, spring was finally settling in, and Navi couldn’t be happier about that. The forest was alive with all her favorite snacks, spiders, grasshoppers, and more! So, no time to spare! She set out to search the environment for some breakfast.

Navi flew through the cold air, the sun hitting her from above. The floor of the deep forest was filled with big old stones with beautiful carvings all over the place with moss and ferns covering the ground completely. A river close by, water flowing steadily. Navi took a glance for any danger in the area, but all seemed fine. She decided to start her hunt here. Flying down to land on some of the wet stones, almost slipping but caught her balance. She skipped along from stone to stone, stopping a bit to sip some water from a nearby plant that was dripping from the rain. Then, in the distance before her, she saw a delicious grasshopper! Navi ducked down quickly, and without making a sound she sneaked up to the prey behind the ferns, slowly approaching, ready to pounce any second now. However, suddenly a disturbance from the distance echoed throughout the deep forest. The grasshopper hopped away in fright. Navi attempted to go for the kill, but it was too late. It got away. “Tch…” Navi sighed in disappointment. She flew up to one of the tree branches high above, away from any danger. What in the world was that sound? Monsters did live in these woods, maybe it was one of those awful wolfos striding around the area, looking for their own prey. Or maybe it was one of those atrocious stalfos beating up a tree somewhere for fun. Suddenly the sound was back! It sounded like thunder rumbling! This was no wolfos or stalfos. This was something huge and dangerous. Navis curiosity got the best of her, and she set out to solve this. Navi got closer and closer to the mysterious rumbling. She flies above an ancient, overgrown temple ruin. Walls, Pillars, and statues broken down over time, greenery taken over the place completely. She has been here many times for the amazing apple trees that grow here. It has always been such a peaceful place. But not today, birds flying away in flocks, frightened by the ruckus. It sounded like a huge fight was going on!

Navi quietly landed on one of the big ancient statues, hiding behind it to get a peek in on what was going on, but nothing could have prepared her for what was making all that sound. It was a Goron! Out in the middle of the forest throwing around huge rocks, destroying them into small pieces. The Goron looked angry yet saddened, mostly getting his frustrations out. What was a Goron doing so far from home? Was he lost? Did he lose something? Whatever it was, he was making a commotion. Navi rolled her eyes. She had no time for this. She was about to set off again, but something stopped her. She took a glance at the Goron. Something about him seemed familiar but she couldn’t put her paw on what it was… it was like she had seen those eyes before, the right eye barring a huge scar across it. Navis memories sparked for a moment, the eyes resembling her dear old friend, but there was no way this was Link, this was a Goron. Navi felt a little bad stalking this poor Goron. So, she decided to let him be. He clearly didn’t want to be disturbed. Why else would he do his outburst deep in the forest far from home. Besides, Navi still needed some breakfast. She set off as quietly as she came. Back home, Navi was digging for worms in some dirt right underneath the redwood tree. It was no grasshopper and Navi loved the hunt of it all, but it was tasty, nonetheless. continued her day with small tasks and gathering fresh leaves for her nest. Walking down to a little puddle nearby to wash her paws clean after an evening of work, she couldn’t stop thinking about the Goron. And Link… it has been years now, but she still missed him deeply. The day she left him after completing the Dekus trees dying request, she was supposed to move on with her life. Finally reuniting with her great fairy and all her sisters in the forest. Living life with all her sisters was nice but she felt empty inside every single night, wondering what Link was up to and if he was okay… so one day she decided to go look for him! The hero she was meant to be with! But… he was nowhere to be seen. No one in Hyrule knew where he was. But that didn’t stop her! She searched for days, weeks, months! But with no luck… It was like he was gone… dead. Navis hope grew thin over the years, and she settled down in the deep forest, Abandoning her quest. But no matter what she did, she could never let him go in her heart. The day went by, and the sun started to set at around dinner time. Navi laying at the opening of her redwood tree hole, still in thought, and was not feeling like hunting. She felt restless and couldn’t focus. So, she decided to go to sleep early this time. Letting her mind rest. to be continued~

#linked maze #linkedmaze #tloz #zelda au #lm time #lm navi #fanfiction #worked really hard on this!#got a bunch of help from my friends from discord!#so credit to them!#im not the best at writing but still wanted to try it out! :D

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unicoo · 4 months ago

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0 We Have Guests

The air on verdara simmers with the scent of rain drenched ferns and the faint hum of silver-throated birds flitting through the canopy. Last night marked the tenth night of rain storms on the planet of Helsin, it was as if even her ancestors knew of the disaster soon to come. It had been announced over a week ago, by Count Calloway Corrino that his uncle the Emperor would be coming to the planet.

Standing at the edge of a shattered balcony, in jungle infested ruins of what used to be the Alucar family stronghold, is a figure draped in dark red and brown. The scarf wrapped over the figure’s head hides luscious brown curls and their mouth, leaving the rest of the face visible. The young woman glares through the thick and unruly rainforest, left for neglect in favor of the areas that surrounded the temples and palace.

Dark eyes focus across the once beautiful and flourishing land. Corrino banners, gold and white, snapping in the breeze over the palace where the royal family’s crest once flew. Fingers curl into fists, nails biting into the palms until blood wells. This was her home, her birthright, until they took it. It was her people inside those walls and beyond that still kept this planet running and the universe dripped in lavishness, even in their enslavement.

The Imperial ship had arrived late last night, after dinner had taken place and the palace had begun to retire for the day. The Count and his precious family were sent reeling as they were forced to quickly prepare for the sudden arrival, which they hadn’t been expecting until the next midday. Unlike the rushing highborn family, the people of the land that took care of this place had been prepared. The floor meant for special guests had been prepared and the palace cleaned immaculately, something that was always a given.

The people took pride in the place of their birth land, even now, especially now. They felt as if they at least owed that to those who came before them, as well as those who fell trying to protect this very place. Their pride and love was all they could give as of now, but that would soon change. The past twenty years had been spent preparing to bring an age old prophecy to fruition. It had been drilled into the woman’s head since she was old enough to understand, eighteen years it had been now.

The tight grip she holds her hand in slowly releases and the familiar tingling sensation can be felt in her palms. When the feeling subsides, she moves to take hold of the broken bannister on the balcony, something that was once so strong, now felt unstable in her grip. The irony, the symbolism. She bitterly chuckles to herself, shaking her head before looking to the sky. Those dark eyes focus on the planet’s second moon, Lazara. The moon goddess reminds the young woman of her late mother. There was not much to remember of the women who birthed her. Liana was her name, she had brighter eyes than her daughter, but darker hair. When Liana smiled, she never hid her teeth, proudly displaying each and every one of those pearly whites that she could. She was tall, with soft curves and firm muscles, gained over years of hard work and life. Her skin was marked with their ancient runes, a sign of power. Liana’s voice was melodic and alluring, as well as strong and powerful, it made sense that singing was her gift.

The young lady remembers that her mother would sing to her, stories within a song. There are memories of dancing in the rain with her and the walks around the planet they would take. The memories are fuzzy when it comes to everything else. Well, almost everything else. For how little the daughter can remember of her mother, the day she died is still a vivid picture. She can still see her mother’s body, feel her cold and hard skin, her lifeless eyes were engraved within her daughter’s head.

Whenever the young woman closed her eyes, she would see it all. Her mother, their people, their blood, and those stupid fucking banners. She seethes with anger, the grip around the railing tightens, until the metal crumbles into pieces. The small shards fall onto the stone beneath her feet as those watchful eyes close. One small hand cups the other before they are both brought under the scarf, until they press against her chest. The sound of the calming breaths lingers in the air, until they are interrupted by the sound of engines. The foliage around the stronghold blows about in the large gust of wind created by the ship. As the large oddly shaped thing passes over her head, she catches sight of an unfamiliar crest.

“Harkonnens.” A voice from behind her says, turning around to know who it is, is unnecessary. The dark skinned man takes a step forward, his tall and thick body inches behind her. His bright gold eyes flicker across the sky, watching the ship with his hands folded behind his back.

“Tell me more about our surprise guests Ezil.” The words are smooth like honey as the woman looks over her shoulder at Ezil. He had been Liana’s guard once upon a time. When everything fell he had been tasked with getting those who had bounties on their heads out of dodge. Upon his return the family he was sworn to protect was gone, all that was left was the child before him, and the man inside that palace. Ezil is one of the few resistance members left, the past twenty years had not been kind to them.

“They are some of the best warriors in the imperial, one of the more powerful houses. They are also cunning, sneaky, untrustworthy, hateful, brutal-” His deep baritone is effectively cut off by the raise of a hand. He watches as the child he once knew tilts her head to the side. Silence settles between them, before a hum leaves the young woman’s throat. Together the two watch the Harkonnen’s ship land, miles away in one of the four temples surrounding the palace.

“I best not be late, I would hate to miss the fun.” The lady whispers, her eyes locked on the landing temple. The guard presence is lower than it had been these last few months. Their numbers were dwindling, but not fast enough. The number of those men still outmatched that of the native people. Her people would not last much longer if they did not act soon and they did not need anything or anyone making things harder. They were so close and she would not fail now.

“Be careful Princess.” His words are the last thing heard before she walks straight off of the balcony. Ezil listens to the leaves sway and watches as the birds fly into the sky at the sudden company. The sound of a long howl carries into the air as she moves through the treetops.

It doesn’t take long for the young woman to reach the edge of the forest. From where she stands she can see the courtyard, full of beautiful sculptures. Some made from stone, others from gold, but her favorite were the ones made from the hedges. The beautiful flowers of her world would continue to grow throughout the sculpture, adding to the beauty of the art. Armed guards stood deeper in the courtyard, their bodies spread out along the many stairs that lead to the palace. Unlike the world beyond this spot, the walls surrounding the palace were wonderfully kept. The tree stayed trimmed, the weeds pulled, the rivers on either side were always fished clean of any impurities, and the stones visible enough to see were scrubbed. As she stood there now, she could see people working. Mostly men and boys, for most of their women had been wiped out many years ago.

The sound of rustling leaves causes a few highly trained Sardaukar to turn. The warriors had been on constant alert as of late. The best in the known universe, scared of a few rebels. How pathetic. She scoffs as she goes off towards the landing temple, hoping to catch a glimpse of these new people. There are more armed Sardaukar here, then there were in the courtyard, a stupid decision if you asked her.

These Harkonnens must be very, very important indeed. Her feet glide over the ground as she moves around to the side of the temple. Her small body disappears within the shadows, right by each of the armed guards, including some she would guess to be Harkonnen forces. Their dark uniforms stand out against the earthy tones around them, just like the idiots in light colors they come to stand next to. She keeps dipping in and out of the shadows until she enters the temple.

“How diplomatic of them, they send their slaves to greet us.” The voice is so raspy, it scratches against her ears, harder than it does the unknown man’s vocal cords. Her gaze moves across the room, she can see their ship being unloaded. Women and boys trek across the temple, carrying the belongings to the palace. It is easy to notice that not all of them are Helsin natives, their skin is pale which gives them away. They are all shaved bald, while the style is not unusual here, it is rare. As the word ‘slave’ rolls over the man’s tongue, she finds herself seething, her teeth bared in annoyance.

“Our lord the Count awaits you in the dining hall, he thought such an occasion should be greeted with a joyful feast.” The young woman recognizes the voice immediately, Vald. Once upon a time Vald had been a Count himself, as well as her grandfather’s most trusted adviser. As of now he was one of the last living beings who knew the art of the priests and priestesses. He had been kept alive, but humiliated as his position was lowered greatly and his life tied to the servitude of the man who had plagued his home and people. Vald’s smooth and aged voice is her guide as she drifts through the darker spaces around them.

“He should find better things to celebrate, the weak idiot is practically serving us this planet on a platter.” The words are spoken by the same man, though he has lowered his voice to only be heard by those surrounding him. Watchful irises move down the stone walls marked in runes, across the golden floor decorated by stories of old, and over the towering statue columns. When those orbs finally look upon the group, she takes them all in from her spot deep in an alcove. The man who disrespects her people is in the middle, because of course he is. Her eyes move along his grotesque figure. Large and unshaped, simply a mass of man. He wore a dark grey, nearly black, long robe that dragged against the grown, despite his height.

“He is weak indeed, uncle!” The man’s nephew spoke from behind him on the left. This one was quite large too, except it is clear he has some muscle to go with his fat. His head too was a clean bald, matching his uncle’s and everyone else that came with them. He wore black tactical gear, his boots thick and his footsteps heavy. Over his beating heart sat the crest from the bottom of the ship.

“I almost find myself respecting Corrino, using his nephew to do his dirty work. Too bad the idiot has fallen into the trap of one of those witches.” From the way the uncle looked back at his nephew, his disdain was clear. His words carried a clear double meaning, he and Corrino were one and the same when it came to the usages of family members they deemed useless. Ezil was not wrong, though she never doubted him, cunning and untrustworthy indeed.

“The treacherous Atreides whore.” Another voice pipes in, this one truly catches her attention. It is raspy, as the big man’s had been, but it does not scratch against her ears in an unpleasant way. The way his vocal cords move reminds her how her people did. His tone was so similar to their accent, down to the underlying hiss that could be heard in certain words or when certain emotions were strong. Despite the rasp and the hiss, there is a softness to his voice that draws her in even more.

The owner of the voice is dressed in fine black garments. His black button up lacks wrinkles, the silver circles catch the rays of sunlight, and the bottom is neatly tucked into his black pants. Those too are without wrinkles, stiff straight against his firm legs, they stop just above the pointed toe, black ankle boots he wears. Over his left shoulder sits a golden medal and beside it is that same crest pinned to his shirt. On the opposite shoulder there is a dark grey half shoulder cape, that stops milliliters from the ground. He is taller than the man across from him, the disliked one, and he is also slimmer, but not small. The woman in hiding is sure that a better look would prove he is nothing but pure muscle.

“Atreides, Corrino, they’re all the same. Weak and unworthy wastes of space.” The massive man spat, his disdain for two of the more powerful houses clear as the diamonds mined on Lazara. Useful. A cunning grin takes over her lips as she remembers the saying the Count would tend to say, “The enemy of my enemy, can be my friend,”. That calculating gaze settles back onto the young man, he does not look that much older than her. His face lacks wrinkle lines and any other signs of age. His features are sharp and beautifully intimidating. The lack of hair takes nothing away from his striking physical appearance, if anything it makes him even more attractive.

“They walk to their own obsolescence, yet we continue to stand still as if waiting for our own.” His tone is calm, but his voice holds an air of authority and power she’s desperate to sink her claws into. His words strike a familiar chord within her, only furthering her interest in him. It is clear he yearns to be on top, to grasp the power that the undeserving and weak have somehow come to hold. From her spot, she watches him as he observes the temple around him. His highly alert eyes take in each person that passes him, the look he holds is one of indifference, she plans to change that.

“Have patience, my boy.” That annoying voice speaks again, this time his tone is careful. The hiding woman can tell it is not fear, but perhaps nervousness. Again her gaze moves over the three who have spoken, their resemblance is not uncanny, but it is there. The fact that they all wear the same crest lets her know they are all Harkonnens, family. If the big one is the uncle and the unliked one is his nephew, she is willing to bet gold that the other boy is his son.

“The game does not wait for winners, nor does it stop for losers.” If she had not been hooked before, she was now. He understands the universe they lived in. He has ambition, determination, and so much potential. She could see it now, him by her side. Their power spread across the known universe and even further. They share a hate that could be nurtured into unbridled power. She would have him, no matter what.

“Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. Glossu Rabban.” She commits the names to memory, matching their faces to the titles. Her head tilts to the side, watching as the Baron begins to ascend into the air. His body floats up and the overly long robes go with him, continuing to cover the mass of man he is. So he was the next in line, Feyd-Rautha. His name sounds so familiar in her head, but there was something blocking the knowledge from being recognized. She has felt this feeling before, the feeling of something being so close inside, yet out of reach. It was like a haze, she could not see through it, only gaze at the surface.

“I have been awaiting you.” That voice itches at a place within her that she cannot scratch. That voice had haunted these halls many times before, often that sack of skin would find her way to this planet, inside the palace, and into their space. Always with her plotting and scheming, her need to push further and further, her blatant disrespect of the people she takes for granted, but it was none of those things that drove the young girl's hatred. It was how that old hag looked upon the Helsin people, as if they were lower than dirt. The witch called them savages and abominations as if most of what she and her sisterhood knew did not come from this very land and its people.

She tries her best to keep her emotional reactions to herself, but once her teeth bare into a sneer, the hiss forces its way out. Her body sinks further into the alcove, her head tilts down and turns to the side as she hopes her sound has gone unnoticed. For the most part it has, the sound of whatever keeps the Baron afloat, mixed with the footsteps of moving servants masks her sound from the group before her. Except he hears it, his highly trained ears pick up on the new sound that comes from behind him. Those eyes move to the side, looking out his peripheral vision for quite some time. She can see how bright and blue Feyd’s eyes are from where she stands. Her own gaze keeps track of his movements, watching as his head tilts and his eyes focus in on the alcove where she stands. His jaw tightens and his hairless brows scrunch together.

“Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam.” The Baron greets, no warmth or respect in his voice as he does and it is clear as day. The young woman did not need to hear anything after that, she had all she needed. Though, she did take a few seconds to allow her gaze to linger. Her eyes moved over him again, from the top of his pale bald head, to the pointed toe of his black boots. When her eyes raise back to his face, she slides further into the space behind her. Dark orbs meet blue irises and the tension in his jaws loosens. If she did not know any better she would think he could see her, but she knew he could not. Or could he?

“Feyd-Rautha.” The skin on his head and the back of his neck prickle with goosebumps. A chill racks through his body and his mind goes hazy for a millisecond. His jaw tightens again as he takes a few steps towards where he heard the sound and where he felt the heat of watchful eyes come from. His intuition tells him someone is there, but his brain refuses to recognize something he cannot see. He turns forward again, his head lightly shakes before he follows after his family and the witch.

This shall be interesting indeed. From the shadows she walks out, her feet carry her over to the Harkonnen ship. There she begins to help her people collect the belongings to be taken to private chambers.

Chapter 1

A special thank you to @austinbutlerslovers for helping me get this story going! So very grateful for the help and encouragement 🖤

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jomiddlemarch · 2 months ago

Text

The Gefilte Fish Line

“Wait, you actually like gefilte fish? I didn’t think anyone liked gefilte fish,” you said, enjoying the expression on Robby’s face, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, which he was doing partly because you were speaking as if every word were italicized and partly because you knew what gefilte fish was.

“It’s not anthrax,” he said. He was leaning back in the blue plastic chair like it was your Bubbe Ruchel’s Barcalounger, more relaxed than he’d be at a bar. It felt like the ER staff lounge was his natural habitat and you wondered if his apartment was as basic as you imagined. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe he had a second-hand Persian rug in his living room and a collection of well-used cookbooks, a guitar leaning against the wall. Throw pillows on the couch. A big fern going feral in its hanging flowerpot.

Maybe you wanted to be wrong. Maybe you just wanted to know, to be someone he invited over for a drink.

“It’s gelatinous except where it’s I don’t know, sort of bony? Like, the bones are gone, but the memory of bones is still in the mushed-up wet fish,” you said.

“Are you implying gefilte fish is haunted?” Robby said.

“That’s a very creative and expansive interpretation of what I just said,” you replied. “It’s grey, Robby. That’s not a good color for a food.”

“It’s not that bad. My Zeyde Irving liked lung—”

“Gefilte fish is fish baloney,” you interrupted, because you weren’t about to get derailed by offal. Though really, lung?

“It reminds me of my grandparents and their house. Of being a kid and feeling like things made sense,” he said. His eyes focused on some point far beyond your left shoulder, the past he remembered, a time when he was called Michael instead of Robby. Instead of quipping gefilte fish is your love language?, you asked a real question.

“Did they do a big Shabbat dinner?”

“I don’t know about big, but yeah, most Friday nights, Bubbe Esti made a roast chicken, lit the candles, said the prayer,” Robby replied.

“You miss it,” you said.

He shrugged, the gesture entirely familiar to you, of course and who wouldn’t mixed with a little fuck, how’d I get so old. If you were at a bar, perched on a barstool next to him, you’d let yourself lean into him a little then. If you were at his apartment, you’d take a sip of the better-than-decent red he’d poured you and hold his gaze with your lips on the rim of the glass.

“It was a long time ago. Like another life,” he said.

“So, gefilte fish is your through-line? Robby, you’re killing me. I mean, it couldn’t be kugel? Mandelbrot?”

“You left out rugelach and babka,” he laughed. “I don’t like sweet things that much.”

“I’ve seen you destroy a Snickers in under seven seconds,” you countered. You’d seen a lot of impressive maneuvers in the ER, but Robby dispatching an entire Snickers was in the top five, top three when you factored in the lack of grossness. He was a neat eater and there were never any crumbs in his beard.

“The vending machines in my intern year had mostly weird, off-brand crap. I made it through that year on Snickers, coffee, and graham crackers from the nursing station. It’s not like they give me a lot of warm fuzzy feelings,” he said.

“I don’t think the rest of the ER staff would appreciate me bringing in gefilte fish for you as a pick-me-up. It’s not exactly work-place friendly,” you said.

Robby nodded and you thought, what the hell and how you were off consults next week, so if it went to shit in the next few minutes, you’d have no reason to see him for another four months, which was plenty of time for any lingering embarrassment to drift away, like the smoke from the blown wick of the Shabbos candles.

“There’s a new kosher deli across town, near my apartment. They have gefilte fish and knishes and brisket. If you wanted to come over on Friday night, we could try to do your Bubbe Esti proud,” you said.

“I won’t be able to eat all the gefilte fish myself,” he said, which was not a no. It was emphatically not a no and it was a clear invocation of a dinner with gefilte fish as a side dish and you would never have believed you could be so turned on thinking about gefilte fish in any way, shape or form. Robby was good with a scalpel—he could take care of serving it and you could admire the way his hands moved, the exquisite economy of each gesture.

“I have a cat named Gilligan who’ll eat any kind of fish,” you replied.

“After the Island?”

“No, Carol Gilligan. Ethics of care. Psychiatry over here, remember?” you said.

“I remember. Sounds like you can teach me some bioethics and I can teach you to like gefilte fish,” he said. “Or I can make a really good impression on your cat. Win-win.”

#the pitt #the pitt fanfic #dr. robby #michael robinavitch #robby x you #vignette #still writing without watching #jewish characters #flirting #gefilte fish #the gefilte fish line is a real thing #it's sweet on one side and savory on the other #shabbat shalom

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silhouetteofacedar · 6 months ago

Text

Halves

One of many little moments on a long journey.

AO3

The views along Washington State’s Cascade Loop are breathtaking, according to the brochures from the stand in the lobby of their motel in Chelan. Just past the pseudo-Bavarian enclave that is Leavenworth, Highway 2 hugs the curves of the Wenatchee River through Tumwater Canyon. The scenic byway is tucked between the churning waters and dramatic, towering crags of quartz crested with pines. It’s early spring, and the mountains slowly shake off their winter coats to reveal fresh leaves on the aspens and the first blooms of trillium creeping along the ground.

Dana Scully sees none of this.

It’s an unfortunate aspect of their work as federal agents; thousands of miles traversed across the continental United States, untold hours spent in anonymous rental vehicles with mysterious odors and pilling upholstery. She knew when she joined the Bureau three years ago that the travel involved would be less than glamorous, but there’s something particularly demoralizing about viewing America the Beautiful solely through a windshield splattered with insect carcasses.

Scully always falls asleep on long car rides; lulled into slumber by the hum of the engine, the murmur of tires on asphalt, the fact that Mulder sometimes stops talking long enough for her to drop off. She wonders if it’s because his jaw gets tired; in the relatively short time they’ve worked together she’s never known him to run out of things to say.

Her sleep thins on the edges as Mulder wakes her with a soft brush of his knuckle on the tip of her nose. She hears him say they’re still a few hours away from the Seattle field office, but he’s hungry and his long grasshopper legs need a stretch.

Scully hums in assent, eyelids still heavy as she rearranges herself into a more upright position in the passenger seat. They’ve arrived at one of those proverbial wide spots in the road that bears a “Welcome To” sign, as though that gives it a sense of place when it boasts little more than a gas pump and a convenience store.

Apparently, this place is called Cole’s Corner, and a hand-painted banner next to a particularly stubborn melting snow berm says there are world-famous milkshakes up ahead.

Mulder pulls into the gravel parking lot outside what looks like a small house with pink and teal trim. A neon sign advertising banana pancakes hangs in the window.

Scully is hungry and groggy from her nap in the car, her hips and legs stiff from sitting too long.

She gathers her coat around her and slips out of the sedan, the scent of wet pine and moss filling her nose. Droplets of mist bead the shoulders of her coat, clinging to the wool. She can feel her hair creeping into fuzzy curls at the nape of her neck, coaxed into a frizz by the damp Pacific Northwest air. It’s been about a year since they were first in this part of the country together, tearing through waist-high ferns in the dark cedar groves of Bellefleur, hands outstretched. That first case together felt like a rebirth, wherein she shed her old self like her red bathrobe in candlelight in front of her strange new partner. The rich scent of damp earth and rotting logs filled her lungs as she was baptized by the cold Oregon rain, forever changed.

Heavy droplets begin to fall, and she pulls her collar tighter as they ascend the steps to the diner’s front door.

The restaurant is small but warm, every inch of the walls covered in 1950s pop culture memorabilia. A jukebox plays Buddy Holly in the corner; an Elvis-shaped clock swings its pendulum legs in time. Something greasy and heavenly is sizzling in the kitchen, the aroma pulling her in. Scully smiles softly; leave it to Mulder to stumble upon the kitschiest restaurant in the entire state of Washington.

They settle into a small corner booth with sticky grey vinyl seats. They create an odd picture at the table in the midst of hikers in denim and windbreakers; two figures of dramatically different heights draped in layers of dark fabric, heads inclined towards each other with an intimacy that can’t be easily explained. They’ve composed this images together countless times in greasy spoons across the country, travel-weary and disoriented by differing time zones. Sometimes they talk; occasionally they argue. Often they get mistaken for a couple, which irks Scully primarily because she mistakes them for one too. It’s unconscious; Mulder’s warm, firm hand on the small of her back sends messages to her weary brain that her body frequently assigns to the Boyfriend category.

Mulder has that effect on her often. He bursts through barriers, occupying space that had previously only been inhabited by intimate partners. He crams himself into her psyche, poking through neatly filed expectations and burrowing into her soul, creating his own uniquely shaped spot in her being.

She tries not to think about it; tries not to notice his full lower lip, the charming mole on his right cheek, the way he leans in too close when he talks to her. How he curves over her, his warm voice in her ear. At the office, she feels alert and well-armed against her physical reactions, can easily take her thoughts captive before they get away from her. But when she’s drowsy, far from home, hungry, those base feelings rise faster than she can tamp them back down. He makes her feel small in the best ways and she’s in danger of losing herself in the cover of his wingspan.

She needs caffeine.

All the waitresses at this establishment have the same name tag; hot pink with the name “Flo” etched into the plastic. A cheery, bespectacled young Flo with blond braids takes their orders, pours cups of too-strong coffee. Scully chooses a BLT, light on the mayo. Mulder orders a grilled cheese sandwich with ham and tomatoes and a cup of chicken and rice soup.

Scully gazes out the fogging window, slowly warming and wakening in the cozy bustle of the diner. Johnny Cash sings of a ring of fire. Plates clatter in the kitchen, a spoon clinks in a chipped coffee mug. Raindrops fall.

Silence feels more friendly these days, a comfortable pause filling what little space remains between her and Mulder. Words have become only one of the many ways in which they communicate. Their hands carry on their own conversation as the waitress brings their plates; understanding and collaboration in the simple passing of a napkin or nudging the salt across the table.

Mulder picks up a half of his sandwich, toasted a golden brown and cut neatly at a diagonal. “You want a bite?” he asks, holding it out across the speckled formica tabletop, and Scully realizes that it’s the first thing he’s said aloud directly to her since they got out of the car. She hesitates, then leans forward and takes a small, crisp bite out of the corner. Their knees brush momentarily, and she sits back in the booth and considers the flavors of butter and melted cheddar on her tongue.

“Good, huh?” Mulder asks, taking a bite himself. “My dad made them this way, but not on a griddle. Open-faced in the broiler so the tomatoes could get browned.”

Scully nods, stirring her coffee and blowing on it gently. “I haven’t had a grilled cheese in years,” she muses. “It’s the perfect rainy day food.”

“We can trade halves, if you want,” he suggests.

A small smile creeps across Scully’s mouth. Her Mulder has a delightful boyish streak that she pretends not to find appealing. “Race you to the playground afterward?” she jokes. Regardless, she picks up a half of her BLT and places it on his plate, taking the remaining half of his grilled cheese.

He flashes her a brief, dazzling smile before taking another bite of his sandwich. Scully feels her cheeks warming slightly and turns her attention to her lunch. A full Mulder smile, with bright eyes and teeth, is almost too much for her to bear. A dart of sunlight spearing through a sky blanketed with soft gray clouds.

Maybe someday she’ll tell him how he makes her feel, how sometimes her heart tumbles in her chest at the sight of him. How his most annoying moments are simultaneously the most endearing, how she’s beginning to love him just a little in spite of herself.

Maybe he already knows.

But for now they’ll just trade portions of their lunches, pass the ketchup, pool the crumpled bills in their wallets when the check comes. Travel in silence as they drive over Steven’s Pass, the view ahead blotted by low-hanging clouds.

#not me rising from my grave after three years with no preamble #molzfic #xfiles #txf fic #msr

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