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natsaffection · 3 days ago

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Redline. Bonus 6 | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!RacingDriver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), Mention of sex, fluff, fluff, fluff

Word count: 8,7k

A/n: First of all, I added Yelena again! Totally forgot her in the last bonus :,) Second, I wish you could see the thoughts/pictures in my head while writing and rereading those scenes. And third? I want a marriage. Immediately.

The sheets were a mess. The pillows were barely holding shape, pushed to opposite ends of the bed like casualties. Somewhere on the floor was your sports bra, one sock, and the remote that Natasha swore she wasn’t going to lose again.

And she was grinning. Natasha shifted slowly, lifting herself from between your legs with the unhurried satisfaction of someone who had definitely proven a point. Her hair was a mess, strands clinging to her cheekbones, and her lips were still a little swollen, glistening just slightly with a kind of shine that wasn’t from the lotion.

And you groaned. A soft, wrecked sound. Not from pain. From everything else.

Your arm fell lazily across your stomach, your chest rising and falling in the afterglow of something that had burned slow and deep, like it always did with her. Natasha was climbing up the bed, moving slow like she had nowhere else to be. She nudged your thigh with her knee as she crawled over you, her smirk lazy and knowing and a little proud, even.

You let out a tiny laugh, breathy, exhausted. Your fingers reached weakly for her, as if even the strength to pull her close had been…extracted.

“Hey.” she whispered, pressing her lips gently against your temple.

You made a noise that could have meant hi, I love you, or please let me die peacefully right here. She smiled again.

“You’re unbelievable..” she murmured, dragging her fingers lazily along your arm. “You know that?”

You barely moved. Maybe nodded. Maybe not. “Fast on the track..”she said softly, her voice almost smug, “but this…this is where you really shine.”

Your body jerked, just slightly, in something like laughter. Or embarrassment. Your lips moved but you didn’t form words. Your lashes fluttered once, twice, then stilled. Natasha kissed your bare shoulder. Let out a breath she didn’t even realize she’d been holding.

You didn’t need to say I love you. It was stitched into the air between you. Into every breath. Into the way your legs stayed tangled, the way your nose brushed hers in the dark, the way your body turned toward hers even in sleep.

She kissed your jaw, then your temple. “Sleep.” she whispered, voice like silk now. “You’ve done enough for tonight.”

And you did. You melted into her, mouth slack with peace, fingers loose over her ribs. And Natasha held you until morning.

The light broke slow and quiet over the horizon, filtering through pale curtains that hadn’t been drawn fully shut. Outside the window, the paddock was already waking, distant engine testing, someone shouting about a torque wrench. But up here, in bed, the world was still.

Natasha stirred first. Her body shifted against empty sheets, the absence of warmth beside her immediate and noticeable. For a moment, her muscles tensed, not fear, not alarm, just that deep-seated instinct to look, to check.

But then, from behind the half-cracked bathroom door, she heard the soft rush of water.

She exhaled, and relaxed. Her hand slipped beneath the pillow automatically, pulling out her phone. The screen glowed bright in the half-dark.

7:42 am.

Her calendar buzzed softly.

9:00 – Sponsor call (Zoom)

12:30 – Fitting (Race jacket)

15:00 – Strategy meeting with Willow + trackwalk

20:00 – Dinner with Y/n? (optional - ask)

She added a mental note next to that last one: Definitely. She smiled, thumbed the phone off, and turned onto her side to face the bathroom. Moments later, the door creaked open.

And there you were. Hair up in a messy bun, one of Natasha’s old team shirts hanging halfway off your shoulder wrinkled, oversized, clearly slept in too many times. Your legs bare, skin soft with fresh lotion. A toothbrush sticking out the corner of your mouth, and that squinty, just-woke-up look still clinging to your expression.

You stopped when you saw her awake. She didn’t say a word, just smiled, slow and warm, like you were the first sunrise she’d ever seen.

You mumbled something that sounded like “morning.” around your toothbrush, disappearing again into the bathroom.

“Come here.” she called softly when she heard the faucet shut off.

You reappeared, sleepy but obedient, and padded over to the bed. “Still got foam in my mouth..”you muttered.

“Don’t care.” You crawled up onto the bed, and Natasha pulled you in the second you were close enough, an arm around your waist, a hand at the back of your thigh, guiding you into her body like it was muscle memory. You fell against her chest with a sigh, your forehead pressing under her jaw.

“Gonna fall asleep again..” you warned, mumbling into her skin.

“You better.”

She kissed your temple again. Ran her fingers down your spine. You let out a tiny, happy sound. She smiled into your hair, her other hand smoothing lazy circles over your hip. She could feel your breathing begin to slow again, your body going heavy, limp in that exact way it only did when you trusted her completely.

She closed her eyes too, content, but then- The door flew open.

“Well!” came a too-familiar voice, “I leave the country for four months and this place smells like sex and sleep deprivation.”

Natasha groaned. Yelena was standing in the doorway, suitcase still in one hand, eyebrow raised. You flinched violently and tried to sit up.

“No..!” Natasha muttered, dragging you back down with a grumble. “Ignore her. She’s a fever dream.”

“I’m a gift!” Yelena shot back, stepping inside like she lived here. “I came to see if anything changed while I was gone.”

Her eyes swept the room, the messy sheets, the tangled limbs, your shirt (her sister’s shirt), your sleepy face tucked into Natasha’s neck. A grin spread across her face.

“Nope.” she said. “Still filthy.”

Breakfast happened the way it always did the morning, quiet, slow, and mostly carb-based.

You moved around the kitchenette barefoot, still in Natasha’s shirt, flipping pieces of toast one-handed while yawning so wide your jaw cracked. Yelena had made herself at home already, slouched at the table in an old hoodie, tearing through the box of cereal she found in the cabinet with zero shame.

Natasha leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a mug of black coffee cupped between her palms. Her eyes didn’t leave you once.

Not when you burned your finger on the pan and hissed. Not when you leaned over the counter to grab a plate and the hem of her shirt lifted almost too high. Not even when you caught her watching you and rolled your eyes with that dopey, affectionate half-smile she’d come to love.

You moved like you belonged there..Because you did. She watched you set a plate down in front of her and brush your fingers across her shoulder as you passed behind her. Something about the way you touched her in passing, without thought, without fear, made her chest ache in the softest, cruelest way.

You were just there. Always. And lately…she couldn’t picture anything without you in it.

“Eat, Romanoff.” you said over your shoulder, grabbing your own coffee.

It was maybe twenty minutes later when your phone buzzed on the table. You glanced down, read the message, then stood up.

“That’s Willow.” you said, already downing the last of your coffee. “Track run starts early. She wants to warm up before the trainers get there.”

Yelena lifted an eyebrow. “It’s Sunday.”

“She’s got a competitive streak.” you said, stretching your arms over your head. “And apparently, so do I.”

Natasha caught your wrist as you passed her. You paused, turned, leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Back by lunch.”

“Wear sunblock.” Natasha murmured.

You gave her a look. “Yes, Mom.”

She smacked your ass lightly as you walked away. Yelena made a dramatic gagging noise. The second the door clicked shut, Yelena spoke, flat, direct, amused.

“You’re planning something.”

Natasha looked up from her coffee. Blinked. “What?”

“You’re planning something.”

“I am drinking coffee and existing.”

Yelena’s eyes narrowed slightly, scanning her face like she was reading engine telemetry. Natasha stared back, blank and unimpressed.

“Natasha.”

“I’m serious.”

“You haven’t blinked since she left.”

Natasha opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked down. Yelena tilted her head. “You’re so obvious. You’ve been staring at her like she’s made of diamonds since I walked in.”

“She is made of diamonds.” Natasha muttered.

Yelena’s face broke into a wide, knowing smile. “Oh, my God. You’re in love love.”

“I’ve been in love love.”

“Yeah, but now you’re..wait. Wait. Wait.” She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. “Are you proposing?”

Natasha jerked like she’d been slapped. “What?!”

Yelena gasped, fully standing now, pointing like she’d caught her red-handed. “You are!”

Natasha groaned. She stood abruptly and walked toward the kitchen door. She locked it. Then turned around slowly. Yelena was watching her like a cat who’d cornered a bird.

And for the first time that morning, Natasha’s shoulders dropped. Just a little.. She leaned against the door, silent for a long moment.

Then, quietly, “…I’m thinking about it.”

Yelena blinked. Then slowly, slowly grinned. “Holy shit.”

“I haven’t told anyone.” Natasha said, voice low. “Not Willow. Not Mom. Not the team.”

Yelena placed a hand on her heart. “I feel so honored.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late.”

A beat passed. Then Natasha said, “I was watching her this morning. She wasn’t even doing anything. Just making toast in my shirt. Talking to you. And I just…I couldn’t stop thinking about how there’s no one else. Ever.”

Yelena softened a little, finally. “You’re sure?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything.”

“Then do it.”

“I want to.” Natasha said quietly. “I just…want to do it right.” Natasha just smiled, staring off into the middle distance, already planning.

The day burned fast under the late-afternoon sun, laps, drills, strategy sessions, hydration reminders barked over headsets. Heat shimmered off the asphalt like water. The trainers looked ready to drop by hour five.

You didn’t. Neither did Willow, who had started pushing the pace in your second run just to see if you’d flinch. You hadn’t. You’d smirked and gone faster. Somewhere between the second cooldown and the post-run debrief, Natasha had shown up.

Silent at first. Leaning against the fence, sunglasses on, black polo hugging her shoulders like it was designed just for her.

She hadn’t spoken much, just corrected Willow’s hand placement during turn 7 corner drills, nodded once when you passed your time mark, and pointed silently toward the brake zone when you clipped it too late in the simulator review.

Classic Natasha, no fanfare..just presence. By the time the sun dipped behind the last of the temporary paddock structures, the track was empty again. Lights buzzing. Water bottles half-drunk. The air smelled like rubber, sweat, and the wind-down of something intense.

You made your way through the garage and up the stairs to her office, muscles aching, tank top clinging to your back, sun just barely kissing your shoulders.

You didn’t knock. You never knocked anymore. Natasha was at her desk, glasses on, typing something into her laptop with one hand and scrolling through telemetry with the other. The light from the screen painted her in soft gold and navy, the faint shadows under her eyes more from focus than fatigue.

You leaned your shoulder into the doorframe. “Day’s over.”

She didn’t look up, just tapped one last key, then reached forward and shut the laptop in one clean, casual motion.

You blinked. “You don’t even want to save that?”

She shrugged. “Autosaves. And I trust the system.”

“Liar.” you muttered, stepping inside.

She was already watching you now, elbows on the arms of her chair, legs slightly parted, expression unreadable except for the faint, quiet pull at the corner of her mouth.

The kind she saved just for you. You crossed to her without thinking and slid around the desk. And then, like you’d done it a thousand times before, you climbed onto her thighs, knees bracketing her hips, hands coming to rest on her shoulders. Her palms found your waist instantly. Like gravity.

You sat like that for a second. Breathing the same air. Then you dipped your head slightly to meet her eyes. “How was your day?”

Her hands flexed a little against your sides. “Better now.”

You smiled, warm and a little smug. “Sappy.”

“Accurate.” she replied, deadpan.

You leaned in and pressed your forehead to hers. She let out a breath, steady and long, like she’d been holding it all day. Like this was the only part of her routine that really made sense.

Your thumb stroked the edge of her jaw. “You showed up today.” you said softly.

“You noticed?”

“You didn’t say much, but I always know when you’re watching.”

She smiled again. This one softer. “I’m always watching.”

You kissed her. Once, slowly. It wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t about the thrill. It was just there, true and quiet and deeply, completely familiar. Her hands moved from your waist to your back, then up, then down again, sliding under your shirt, just enough to feel your skin.

You let yourself relax into her body. The office was warm, and the hum of the vending machine down the hall was the only thing filling the silence. Eventually, Natasha murmured, “Come to bed.”

You nodded, curling closer. “Yeah.” you said, yawning into her neck. “Okay.”

She didn’t carry you, but she guided you, hand at the small of your back, thumb idly tracing patterns on your side as you walked side by side down the hall and toward her suite. Neither of you spoke much. There was nothing left to say tonight. At least not yet.. But Natasha’s hand didn’t leave yours for a single step.

The morning came like any other. You were standing in the bathroom, towel-wrapped, holding a toothbrush in your mouth while mumbling something about how if Willow made you run laps before 10 am again, you were going to rearrange her face.

Natasha watched you from the bed. She was already dressed, black slacks, clean white shirt, sleeves rolled once at the forearm, hair down but combed neatly. There was something quietly put-together about her, like she was going somewhere important. But she didn’t say anything yet.

She just sipped her coffee. Watched you move around like you belonged in every inch of her space.

“You look nice today.” you called out, voice muffled by toothpaste. “Business call?”

Natasha didn’t even flinch. “Mm. Something like that.”

You popped your head out of the bathroom with a grin. “Tell the sponsors I’m cute and deserve a raise.”

“I’ll forward them your highlight reel.”

“Make sure it includes the clip where I lapped that Red Bull junior last season.”

“Obviously.”

You disappeared again, humming off-key. Natasha glanced down at her phone, checked the time. 08:19. Her GPS was already loaded, address blurred at the top of the screen. She’d spent an hour the night before staring at it, just…thinking. What if they said no? What if they didn’t trust her? What if she didn’t deserve to be trusted?

She swallowed that down now. No room for it. Not today. You reappeared a moment later in leggings and a cropped team hoodie, sleepy but glowing from your shower, eyes still a little soft at the corners. You leaned down to kiss her before pulling your shoes on.

“Track with Willow.” you said. “Want anything on the way back?”

“Just you.” Natasha said automatically.

You blinked. Then smiled, slow, crooked. “You’re being sweet.”

“I’m always sweet.”

“You’re always rude, and then sweet when you want something.”

She reached out to tug your hoodie down, smoothing a wrinkle over your stomach. “I already have what I want.”

You paused at the door. Then shook your head and grinned again. “You’re gonna make me late.”

Natasha watched you leave with something unspoken in her chest. When the door closed behind you, she finally let out the breath she’d been holding since she woke up.

The drive was quiet. Her playlist on shuffle. City traffic melting into suburban roads. She kept one hand on the steering wheel and one on her thigh, thumb tapping out an anxious rhythm that only got faster the closer she got.

She sat in the car for exactly thirty-five seconds before getting out. Her boots clicked against the stone walkway. The door opened before she could knock.

Your mom stood there in a sweater and jeans, her hair pulled back, eyes widening in pleasant surprise. “Natasha?”

Natasha cleared her throat. “Hi.”

“Oh my God, come in, come in.”

She stepped aside and Natasha entered, carefully wiping her boots on the mat like you always told her to. The house smelled like coffee and old wood and something warm in the oven. Your father appeared a moment later, smile already forming.

“This is a surprise.” he said, offering his hand.

“I hope it’s a good one.”

“It is. It’s just- what brings you?”

Natasha hesitated. She folded her hands in front of her for a moment. Unfolded them. Smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle on her sleeve. Then looked at them both.

“I was wondering.. “she said slowly, “if I could talk to you…about something important.”

Your mother exchanged a glance with your father. Then gestured to the living room. “You want coffee?”

Natasha sat on the couch. Hands on her knees. She tried not to fidget. She was good at being composed in high-stakes situations. But this? This wasn’t business. This wasn’t strategy. This was you. And somehow, that made it harder.

So when your parents returned and sat across from her, mugs in hand, Natasha met their eyes and did something she almost never did: She let herself be nervous.

“I love your daughter.” She said. There was no preamble. Just the truth.

“I think you know that. I think maybe you’ve known it longer than I did. But I’m here because I want to do this the right way. She’s strong, and independent, and stubborn as hell, but…she still believes in things like respect. And tradition. And family.”

Your mom’s eyes were glassy already. Your dad didn’t speak, just watched. Natasha kept going. Soft now.

“I want to marry her. And before I ask her…I wanted to ask you.”

Your dad set down his coffee. Exhaled slowly. Looked Natasha in the eye. “She’s always been intense. Impossible to sway once she decides on something.”

“I know.” Natasha said.

“And hard to love, sometimes. But the right person…” He smiled faintly. “Makes it look easy.”

Natasha’s throat tightened. Your mom reached across and put her hand on Natasha’s.

“We’d be honored to have you in the family.”

The breath she let out wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t shaky, it was simply relief. Pure and honest.

“Thank you.” She said, meaning every word.

——

You were halfway through a breakdown of tire compound degradation when you realized Natasha hadn’t said a word in almost three minutes.

“I’m just saying..” you continued, hands flailing as you paced barefoot across the room, hair still damp from your shower, “Pirelli has got to be cooking something illegal because that soft compound today? Willow said it felt like she was skating on frozen yogurt.”

Natasha didn’t respond. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, phone held casually in her palm, thumb flicking upward in slow, deliberate motions.

Totally silent. You slowed a little, narrowing your eyes. “Are you even listening?”

“Hm?” she said without looking up.

You stopped mid-pace, towel still draped over your shoulder. “What are you doing..?”

“Nothing.”

“‘Nothing’ never looks that intense on your face.”

She tilted the phone slightly away from view, subtle, smooth, practiced. Which meant guilty.

You squinted. Natasha glanced up at you then, and for a split second, just one, you saw it. That little shine in her eyes. The slight pink at the tops of her cheeks. The way the corners of her mouth were tugging up like she was sitting on a secret the size of a small country.

You narrowed your eyes further. Stepped forward. “You’re way too happy right now.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are. You’re, like…glowing.”

“I’m just sitting.”

“That’s the problem. You only sit like that when you’ve made a decision.”

She didn’t answer. You sat beside her on the bed, thigh pressed to hers, and leaned in to peer at her screen. She pulled it back slightly, but not too obviously.

Your brows lifted. “Nat…”

“Hm.”

“…What are you doing?”

She looked at you then, really looked at you, and the grin that threatened to take over her face barely made it to the surface before she smothered it like a match under water.

“Nothing important.” she said smoothly. “Just… planning.”

“Planning what?”

You were playful, curious. Almost a little suspicious, but not in a real way. And she didn’t lie. She didn’t say “email�� or “strategy notes” or “logistics.” She just smiled, slow, unreadable, dangerous, and leaned in to kiss your cheek.

“I’ll show you when it’s ready. I promise.” she murmured.

You groaned dramatically, throwing yourself backward onto the mattress. “You’re so mysterious..” you complained, one arm flung over your eyes.

Natasha looked down at you. You, in your hoodie and bike shorts, legs still slick with lotion, hair damp, skin warm from the shower, heart beating in the same room as hers. She glanced back at her phone. There it was: the search bar still open, photos scrolled halfway down the page.

Custom rings, understated but personal.

Nothing was quite right yet. She’d seen diamonds, vintage cuts, silver, gold, even motorsport-inspired ones with carbon fiber edges, but none of them looked like you.

She’d know it when she saw it. And when she did, she was going to ask you a question that would change everything…But not yet. For now, she just smiled again, quietly, and set the phone down facedown on the bedside table.

Then she lay beside you. Her arm tucked beneath your neck. Your body curling into hers without hesitation. “Wake me when you’re ready to stop being mysterious..”you mumbled.

“I’ll keep you guessing forever.” she whispered back. And you didn’t see her grin as you fell asleep.

——

The lights above the track glowed red in sequence: one, two, three, four… And then the roar.

The engines launched forward in a deafening scream of velocity, tires burning against asphalt, two cars slicing through the opening straight like they were being pulled by gravity itself. You were already pushing. Willow was behind you, not by much, but enough to make it personal.

Natasha stood on the pit wall, arms crossed over her black headset, mouth set in a tight line of focus. Her eyes flicked between monitors, her voice low but sharp over the comms.

“Y/n, adjust your entry on Turn 6, your angle’s too wide.”

“Willow, settle. Let her take the corner. You’ll lose time fighting it.”

“Copy.” came Willow’s voice, crisp and unbothered.

“Got it.” you said, your voice tight with focus, breathing controlled, jaw locked. You weren’t losing this race to your own teammate.

The pit team scrambled behind her, the buzz of radios and tire updates filling the background. The pace was fast, clean, brutal. Everything was going according to plan. Until Natasha’s phone lit up on the pit desk.

Natasha’s eyes flicked down, barely a glance…and froze. She stared at the number for a second longer than she should’ve. “Yelena.” Natasha said, her voice sharp in her headset’s private channel. “You’re up.”

“Copy.” Yelena answered immediately from the control stand behind her. “Taking lead.”

No confusion. No hesitation. This was protocol. They’d trained for it. Natasha pulled off her headset, handed it off, and stepped back from the pit wall like a ghost disappearing from a battlefield.

You took the chicane tighter than you had all season, DRS humming behind you. Willow was still in your mirrors, but you’d started to gain tenths.

Then your radio clicked. Yelena’s voice came through, “Y/n, brake modulation is drifting into early lockup on sector three. You’ve got one, maybe two pushes before you burn the tires. Stay calm. Adjust on the straight.”

You blinked under your visor. It wasn’t the instruction. It was the voice.

“…Where’s Natasha?”

“Handling something. You’ve got me for now.”

“…She handed off pit command mid-race?”

“Focus, brat. You’re not that special.” That earned a tight smirk from you, but the unease didn’t fade.

Natasha never stepped away during race hours. Not unless someone was bleeding. Not unless something was burning. You kept driving, but your brain wasn’t fully in the cockpit anymore.

Meanwhile Natasha pressed the phone to her ear and turned away from the track noise. “Thank you for calling back.”

“I had a feeling it wasn’t a business visit when your assistant asked for a full day’s access to the main building.”

Natasha didn’t say anything at first. “I want it empty.” Natasha said. “No press. No drivers. Just a few quiet hours.”

“You’ll have it.”

She closed her eyes..and smiled. It wasn’t just a win. It was a statement.

You and Willow didn’t just take first and second, you owned the circuit. Her defending while you overtook on the inside of Turn 8 made the replay highlight reel within minutes. The crowd had been deafening when you crossed the line with a lead wide enough to start waving to the mechanics.

The champagne was still in your hair when Willow wrapped her arm around your shoulder and yelled, “One–two, baby!” into the camera crew’s mic.

Natasha hadn’t been in the post-race picture. Which… wasn’t that unusual. She hated media. But it still felt strange. You found her twenty minutes later, by the garage office, wiping something off her tablet screen like she hadn’t just watched her team win the day.

She looked up just as you approached, her face calm, but there was something in her eyes..an intensity you couldn’t quite read.

“We did it.” you said breathlessly, your fireproof suit half-peeled down, a medal swinging from your neck. “I mean..we actually did it.”

Her mouth twitched upward. “I know. I watched.”

You stepped closer. Noticing how her tablet screen was off now. Locked. Her headset on the desk.

“Why did Yelena take pit for the last ten laps?” you asked. “You’ve never handed it off before.”

Natasha paused..just a breath. “There was a call I needed to take.”

“Important?”

She met your eyes.

“Yes.”

That one word. Was Honest and final. But vague. You wanted to push, but didn’t. Not when she looked like that. Not when her hand rose to touch your back in the exact spot that always melted you.

“Okay.” you whispered.

And she exhaled like she was relieved you hadn’t asked more.

A Few Days Later

The air in Natasha’s office always smelled like iced coffee and motorsport stress. You were halfway leaned over Willow’s shoulder, both of you reviewing telemetry data from warm-up laps, while Natasha sat at her desk, tapping absentmindedly at her tablet, occasionally nodding along.

Yelena stood in the corner, flipping a pen in her hand, pretending to be uninterested while keeping an actual checklist in her mind of every bolt she’d personally tighten later.

“Alright.” Natasha finally said. “Start warm-ups in fifteen. Willow, check brakes with the new cooling setup. Y/n, monitor throttle feedback- if it jitters again, pull out. Don’t push it.”

Willow saluted sarcastically. “Yes, Coach.”

You threw her a smirk. “Race you to the garage.”

“Always.”

You both left laughing, arguing about who had the better turn-in last race, your voices fading into the hallway.

The door clicked shut, and Natasha waited one more second, then reached into the locked drawer of her desk. She pulled out a small, black velvet box.

Yelena stopped flipping the pen. She watched as Natasha turned it slowly in her hand…then opened it.

The ring caught the light, not flashy, not oversized. Sleek platinum. Matte center. A tiny diamond, pressed low into the band, like it belonged there, not showing off. There was something engraved on the inside. Yelena couldn’t see it from here.

Yelena whispered, “Holy shit.”

“I know.” Natasha said quietly. “I kept thinking I’d mess it up. That I’d pick wrong. But when I saw this one…I just knew.”

Yelena stepped closer, voice soft. “You’ve already rehearsed what you’re going to say, haven’t you?”

Natasha looked away, just slightly. “Sort of.”

“Oh, wow. You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re fidgeting.”

“I don’t fidget.”

“You’ve been blinking in threes.”

Natasha let out a low breath through her nose. “Yelena.”

But Yelena just grinned, tilting her head. “I’m serious.” she said. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you nervous and not holding a tablet.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and gently closed the ring box, tucking it back into the drawer with care like it was fragile.

“I’m not nervous.” she repeated, quieter now. “I’m just…ready. And I have to wait.”

Yelena’s teasing faded at the edges. “You okay with that?”

“I don’t have a choice.” Natasha said. “The track isn’t clear until next week. I’d propose tomorrow if I could, but-“

“You’re waiting for the right place.” Yelena finished.

Footsteps. “Hey, I left my-”

You stepped halfway inside before pausing, eyes flicking between them. Yelena froze where she stood, clearly mid-sentence before you’d entered.

And Natasha, without even looking, cut the air with a single word: “Don’t.”

Yelena’s mouth snapped shut instantly, blinking twice like someone had unplugged her. You raised a slow eyebrow, stepping farther into the room. “Should I come back?”

“No.” Natasha said smoothly, already recovering. She turned, leaned one hip against the desk. “We’re done here.”

Yelena’s hands shot up. “All I wanted to-”

Natasha shot her a look, and Yelena’s hands dropped. You eyed them both suspiciously, then pointed a finger in Yelena’s direction.

“You’ve got the worst poker face.”

“Disagree.” Yelena said, already backing toward the door. “I am the epitome of calm under pressure.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Something’s going on.”

Natasha only smirked. Then crossed the room and kissed your cheek, cool, easy, perfect Natasha.

“Nothing yet.” she murmured into your skin. And Yelena, thankfully, kept her mouth shut.

The plan was set.

Track was cleared. The manager had sent a confirmation message. Yelena had helped prep the excuse: a “private team meeting off-site.”

The ring was in Natasha’s bag, tucked inside an old glove case, the same gloves you used to wear when working pit crew for scraps and long shifts.

Everything was ready…and Natasha was falling apart.

3 Days left.

She woke up before you. Lay there in the dark, eyes open, staring at the ceiling while you slept with your arm flung over her waist, your cheek pressed to her shoulder.

You shifted in your sleep, murmured something about Willow snoring in the simulator lounge. She didn’t laugh. Didn’t move. Her fingers twitched once. She thought about reaching for the ring. Just to hold it.

Instead, she exhaled and slipped out from under you. She made coffee and didn’t drink it. She sat in the kitchen with the lights off.

2 Days left.

You noticed. Not in a loud way. Not with suspicion. Just that slow, quiet sinking feeling when the person you love starts looking at you like they’re thinking too much.

Natasha wasn’t cold. She just wasn’t present. She’d nod at you during meetings, touch your waist when you passed, give you small, soft looks like she was thinking about something, but she wouldn’t say anything.

And that silence started to hurt. That night, as you stood at the sink brushing your teeth, you caught her watching you.

“Did I do something?” you asked, foam in your mouth.

She blinked. “What?”

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You spit. Turned toward her. “I know when something’s in your head. And I’m not mad. I just..don’t want to feel like I’m losing you in it.”

That.

That almost cracked her. Natasha stepped forward, hands brushing your hips, lips finding your forehead.

“I’m right here.” she whispered. And for a second..you believed her.

1 Day left.

Yelena found her sitting in the simulator bay, lights off, helmet bag beside her. “You look like someone shot your dog.”

Natasha didn’t respond. Yelena stepped forward, leaned her back against the opposite wall, arms crossed.

“She’s starting to wonder.” she said gently.

“I know.”

“Why aren’t you telling her?”

“I want it to be perfect.”

“She doesn’t need perfect.”

Natasha looked up. Her eyes were rimmed red, not from crying, just lack of sleep.

“She deserves it.”

Yelena softened. “You’re making her feel like you’re slipping away.”

Natasha closed her eyes.

“I know.”

Hours later, you curled up beside her in bed. She held you, arms tight, jaw resting on the top of your head.

You whispered: “Just talk to me.”

But she didn’t. And you fell asleep not knowing why your chest hurt. And she stayed awake listening to your heartbeat, counting every second she had left to fix it.

The day started too quietly for Natasha, which was dangerous. Stillness meant thinking, and thinking meant spiraling. So she planned every hour. She laid out the day like a race strategy: nothing left open, nothing unstructured. Not for you, and definitely not for herself.

You woke still curled against her side, warm and half-asleep. Natasha smiled against your temple, kissed your hair, and murmured, “Up. Big day.” You didn’t question it. Just smiled, rolled over, and reached for the nearest shirt like it was any other morning.

Breakfast was at a café she’d remembered you mentioning weeks ago, one you thought she’d forgotten. You lit up when you saw it, all soft surprise and sleepy joy, and she pretended like it wasn’t a big deal, even though your smile was the only thing keeping her breathing evenly. She picked at her toast while you ranted about tire data and Willow’s “cowardly” approach to cornering. She barely said a word, but you didn’t notice, not with jam on your cheek and sunshine on your face.

Midday, she roped you into a “gear review” with Yelena at the supplier garage. You were suspicious for about five seconds before Yelena started arguing passionately about zipper strength, and you gave up, laughing. Natasha just stood back and watched, arms crossed over her chest, every muscle tight with the effort of looking casual. When Yelena slipped and said “big day” Natasha shot her a look so sharp it could’ve stripped paint. But you were too busy trying on windbreakers to notice. Barely.

You noticed, just a little. The way she stared longer than usual. The way her fingers tapped her own arm when she thought you weren’t looking. But you didn’t push.

The day stretched into golden hour. You were brushing your hair out in front of the mirror, debating whether Natasha was planning a surprise dinner. She hadn’t said a word about your evening plans. And then your phone buzzed.

From Natasha:

“Meet me at my car in ten.”

You smiled. The answer was yes: she was planning something. Probably a dinner reservation or a rooftop or something ridiculous and romantic. You grabbed your jacket, a little bounce in your step as you took the elevator down to the private garage.

She was already there, leaning against the black SUV like it was a magazine cover shoot. Jacket clean, sleeves pushed up, sunglasses off. She looked calm. Effortlessly cool. But you knew her. Her shoulders were too stiff. Her jaw too tight. Still, she smiled when she saw you. That rare, quiet, completely yours kind of smile.

“Date night?” you teased as you approached.

She opened the passenger door for you, smooth and confident. “After you.” she said.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re being suspiciously charming..”

“Is it working?”

You rolled your eyes, but got in anyway. She shut the door behind you gently. You adjusted your seat, glanced toward the side mirror, and froze for just a second.

Yelena was standing by the car behind you, arms folded, leaning against the hood like she had no business being there. And when your eyes found hers, she grinned.

Then lifted both hands and crossed her fingers slowly. Your stomach did a slow, warm flip, turned toward the driver’s seat.

Natasha slid in beside you. You watched her hands on the steering wheel. She looked at you sideways, almost like she could feel your stare.

“…What?” she asked.

You shook your head, smile creeping up your face. “Nothing.”

But your heart was suddenly beating louder than before. And somehow, you knew, without knowing why- Tonight was going to change everything.

The drive started like any other. You were curled sideways in the seat, one leg tucked under you, gesturing wildly as you told some ridiculous story about Willow and a protein shake exploding in the locker room.

Natasha nodded occasionally, gave soft mhm’s, eyes focused on the road. Her hands on the wheel were steady, knuckles just barely flexing when the streetlights caught them.

You barely noticed. You were too busy rambling, laughing, reliving the way Willow had shouted. You were mid-sentence when something shifted. You frowned, mid-laugh, and glanced out the window.

“Wait.”

Natasha didn’t look at you. You sat up a little straighter.

“Did you just miss the turn?”

“Hmm?”

“To the restaurant. You just passed it.”

Natasha gave a tiny smile. “Did I?”

You blinked. “…Yes?”

“Guess we’re going somewhere else.”

You stared at her for a second, caught between confusion and suspicion. But she didn’t say anything else. Just flicked the indicator and turned onto a quieter road, the city slowly thinning behind you. You watched her out of the corner of your eye. She looked completely relaxed. Too relaxed.

“Nat..” you said slowly, “are you kidnapping me?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst date idea.” she murmured, eyes still forward.

You rolled your eyes. “Seriously, where are we going?”

She didn’t answer. You turned back to the window, half to check the road, half to fight the weird flutter in your chest.

Then you saw it. The building. And your breath caught.

“…Wait..” you whispered.

Natasha glanced at you just briefly, a flicker of warmth in her expression. You turned your whole body toward the glass now, heart starting to race for entirely different reasons.

“That’s-”

“Yeah.”

“My old track?”

She pulled into the narrow lot beside it, the tires crunching softly on old gravel. The buildings looked the same, faded, boxy, industrial and somehow still comforting. You could see the rows of open garage doors. The empty tower. The half-painted line where cars used to queue before testing.

You hadn’t been here in years. Not since before Romanoff Racing. Before Natasha. Before everything..

She cut the engine. You turned to her, breath catching just a little.

“…What is this?”

Natasha’s voice was soft. “Come with me.”

She stepped out, walked around the car, and opened your door for you like it was sacred. You blinked up at her, heart thudding, and took her hand without a word.

The moment your feet hit the pavement, the memories came back in waves. Sweaty days in overalls. Oil under your nails. The first time you adjusted a suspension without double-checking the manual. Your first test drive.

You followed Natasha toward the open garage. It was cleaner than you remembered, maybe freshly prepped for her. But the bones were the same. You could almost see your younger self crouched near the back, tightening something with your whole body, muttering under your breath.

“I used to live in here..” you whispered, eyes wide.

Natasha didn’t speak. She just looked at you. Let you take it in. Then gently reached for your hand and gave it a tug.

“Come on.”

You walked behind her toward the platform above the test track, the one overlooking the straight. You hadn’t stepped foot on it in years. She climbed the stairs first, steady and slow, and you followed.

When you reached the top, the breeze hit your face, light and familiar. You gripped the rail instinctively, eyes scanning the stretch of road. And then you turned.

Natasha wasn’t looking at the track. She was looking at you.

“This is where I first saw you.” she said softly.

You blinked. “What?”

She took a step closer. “I came here scouting test drivers. Just one random day. I didn’t know your name. I just remember watching you storm out of the garage, You were in the car. And the second you hit the throttle…” She shook her head, smile soft. “I knew. Right then.”

“Knew what?”

“That I wanted you on my team.”

Your throat went dry. You blinked again. “And then later..” she added, quieter now, “I realized I didn’t just want you on my team.”

Her voice almost broke there. “I wanted you in my life.”

You stared at her. She reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Her hand lingered on your cheek. You leaned into it without meaning to.

The silence wasn’t empty.. It was full. Your chest felt tight. “Natasha..” you whispered. “What are you-“

But she was already stepping back. Her fingers slipped from your face, and moved toward her jacket pocket.

You felt it before it happened.

The way her eyes softened. The way her hand hovered near her jacket, hesitant, shaking just a little, the kind of tremble no one else would ever notice, but you knew her. And in that flicker of silence, that split-second where the air pulled still and the whole world felt like it stopped moving- You knew.

“N-Natasha.” you breathed, barely a whisper.

She didn’t speak, her eyes didn’t leave yours. Her hand slipped into her pocket. Pulled out the small, velvet box. Turned it once in her fingers.

And then.. She dropped to one knee. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t planned for cameras or theatrics. It was real.

You covered your mouth with one hand, your breath catching so hard in your chest it almost hurt. Your knees went weak. Your heart jumped into your throat and refused to come down.

Natasha looked up at you. Her mouth opened, but nothing came for a second. She blinked, swallowed, and let out a tiny, self-conscious laugh, barely audible. Then she breathed, and started to speak.

“You’ve always scared me.”

You blinked, tears already stinging, but you didn’t look away.

“Not because you’re loud.” she went on, voice steadying. “Not because you’re fast. But because the moment I saw you, I knew. And knowing scared the hell out of me.”

She turned the box in her fingers once more-, still closed.

“I watched you work on a car like it was an extension of your body. Like the bolts were part of your pulse. You didn’t care who was watching, or if someone told you no. You did it anyway.”

Her voice went soft.

“And then I met you. And it only got worse.”

You laughed through your hand, trying not to cry.

“You are stubborn. Reckless. Beautiful. Frustrating. Brilliant. And you are the only person who’s ever made me feel like I could stop running.”

She finally opened the box. The ring wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t meant to be. It was yours. Simple, elegant, crafted like a racecar part, clean lines, sharp setting, engraved words just barely visible inside.

You always win.

Natasha’s voice broke, just a little as she looked up at you.

“I don’t want a life without you. Not as your team leader. Not just as your partner in this sport. But as your person.”

She held the ring like it was fragile. Like it might vanish if she moved too fast.

“I want to be the one who sees you first. Every morning. In every win. In every fall. I want to be the hand that never lets go.”

Silence.

You didn’t move. You were crying now, shaking, lips parted but no sound coming out.

And then..Finally- she asked.

“Y/n, will you marry me?”

It felt like the entire world had narrowed down to three things: the sunset bleeding into the edges of the track, the ring in Natasha’s steady hand, and the sound of your own heart thudding in your chest like it didn’t know whether to race or stop completely.

She was on her knees. Natasha Romanoff, your team principal, your partner, your anchor..was on her knees, holding everything she felt in the smallest, simplest gesture. And her eyes..God, her eyes. They didn’t just look at you. They searched you, waited for you, told you every unspoken thing she hadn’t been able to say for weeks.

And you…You were stunned. You turned in place slightly, like you were trying to ground yourself, eyes flicking to the track below, the garage behind, the platform beneath your feet. You remembered this place through grease-stained fingers and long nights. Back when you were just a name no one remembered and she was a rumor you didn’t believe.

Now she was this. Right here. Asking for forever. And all you could do was stare. “I…” you started, but it came out more breath than sound.

Natasha didn’t rush you. Didn’t speak. She just looked at you, still and open, like she’d stay in this moment as long as you needed her to.

You blinked hard, breath catching. Your knees wobbled beneath you and you lowered yourself slowly, instinctively, kneeling in front of her without even realizing you were doing it.

Still no words. Just your hands finding hers. You looked down at the ring, simple, beautiful, exactly right- and then back at her. The woman who terrified you with how deeply she knew you. Who made silence feel like safety. Who made love feel like a fight you wanted to win every day.

“I don’t know how you…” you whispered, your voice tight, almost breaking. “You did all this?”

Her lip twitched. She looked like she was about to smile, but didn’t want to break.

“I didn’t want perfect.” you whispered again, “I just wanted you.”

Natasha breathed in softly, like that one sentence was the only air she needed. You lifted your hand. Pressed your fingertips to her jaw. She closed her eyes for half a second and leaned into the touch like it hurt not to.

You gave a breathless laugh. It wasn’t disbelief anymore. It was joy. A kind of wonder that turned your whole face warm and wet and alive.

“…Yes.” you said.

Her eyes opened. You smiled, shaking, overwhelmed. You let it sit there, thick and true.

“Yes..” you whispered again, barely holding it together now. “Yes! Of course I’ll marry you.”

Natasha didn’t move for a second. Like she had to be absolutely sure this wasn’t something her heart made up. Then she reached for you.

Her arms came around your back as you leaned in, the ring still forgotten between you, and your bodies met halfway in a kiss that was slow and fragile and full of trembling, aching relief.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a movie scene. But it was yours.

When you pulled back, your forehead rested against hers, and your hands slid up to cup her face. She exhaled through a quiet, shaky laugh. And for once, Natasha Romanoff looked like the most undone woman in the world.

“…I love you.” she said, so softly it almost broke you.

You closed your eyes. And said it back without hesitation, without fear, without air.

“I love you more.”

Forever had never felt so right. You stayed there a long time. Neither of you said a word. Natasha had tucked her arms around your waist, your body folded into her lap, the two of you pressed together on that platform like you’d never need to leave it. Her head rested against your shoulder. Your hands tangled together over your chest. The ring still sat between your fingers, catching the soft orange glow of the setting sun.

Her breathing had finally evened out. Her heartbeat was slower now, steadier, but still there, fluttering against your back like it was trying to believe this was real. She pressed her nose into your neck. Closed her eyes, and suddenly, she was somewhere else entirely.

“The blue car! Who’s behind the wheel?”

“I want to meet her.”

“Are you sure? She doesn’t look like she wants to be found.” Natasha’s gaze hardened. “She’s already been to hell.” she murmured. “She can handle me.”

The present came rushing back in, the warmth of you pressed against her, the faint smell of your shampoo, the tiny little sound you made when you yawned and tried to hide it.

“I was so mean when we met.” you whispered, not even looking at her, just smiling.

“You were terrifying.” Natasha murmured into your shoulder.

“I remember yelling at you...”

“You yelled at me several times.”

You turned just enough to meet her eyes. “Still picked me, though.”

She kissed your temple. “I never looked at anyone else.”

The sun was almost fully down by the time you pulled out of the lot. You were holding her hand on the center console, your body turned slightly toward her in the seat, that dopey, dreamy little grin still plastered on your face. Natasha glanced at you once, then again..and gave the smallest shake of her head.

“You’re staring.” she said.

“I’m admiring.”

“At what?”

You didn’t answer. You just held up your hand, the one wearing the ring, and wiggled your fingers with a soft gasp like it was still the first time seeing it.

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek, clearly holding back a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m engaged to you. You made me a fiancée. I am going to be insufferable.”

She squeezed your hand. “Noted.”

“I need to call everyone. I need to call my mum, my dad, oh, my grandparents!!”

You giggled and stared at the ring again, gently pressing your lips to the back of her hand.

“I’m marrying you.”

She glanced over at you. Voice soft, and certain.

“You are.”

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov x reader #dom!natasha x reader #nat x reader #natasha smut #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha #natasha romanov smut #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut

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bonefall · 7 months ago

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"How big should a Clan territory be?"

For the dozens of people who have asked this over the last couple of years!

This question comes in a lot of forms; "How big are the Clan territories?" "How much space does one Clan need?" "How much land should I give my Clans to exist in?" The answer is a bit complicated, and depends on the type of land, what you're going for exactly, the setting, so on.

But, broadly, there's TWO particular factors at play here; How anthropomorphic you're portraying your warriors, and how productive the land is.

Factor 1: The Anthro Scale

I'm starting with this one because it could you the simpler answer. The Erins write Clan cats like humans in cat bodies, with massive social units and communal living. Realistic feral cats don't act like Clan cats. They are only semi-social, due to domestication.

See, a Clan cat will "share" territory between all of its members, and some Clans have canonically hit populations of over 50 individuals. Real feral colonies consist of "overlapping circles" of somewhere between 2 - 15 cats, most of them related females.

This is relevant because, even in densely populated areas with as much food as they can eat, truly feral colonies will have about 2 cats per 5 acres, capping out at about 15 members. Queens will hang out together and raise their kittens communally, but they will hunt and patrol in their own "circle." These boundaries are violently enforced against outside cats, especially if it's too crowded.

(Toms have circles 5x as big as a queen's, overlapping several territories. They're also considerably less social.)

So, if you wanted to incorporate some cat behavior into your Clan's mindset about how big their territory should be, while still being willing to sacrifice a bit of "realism" for groups over 15-ish members, simply take Clan population and multiply it by 2.5 acres.

30 cats = 75 acres. That's a little under 57 football fields, if you're American, or 50 football fields, if you're European.

Extra reading: How realistic cat territories work. Contains the numbers I'm referencing.

It's also very important to know; feral cat density is completely tied to food availability, the big numbers numbers are for cats whose needs are met. Cats are solitary hunters, and when they feel like they have to work for their food, they become VERY territorial. The density of cats in rural areas can be as low as 1 molly per 15 acres, even lower for toms, and they will leave if hunting is not easy.

THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD NOT FEED FERAL CATS. Please GOD they are SO invasive, please do not give colonies food, they still hunt when they're full so you just end up concentrating a ton of predators in one place. They are not warriors with a law against disrespecting food, they are just kitty cats with silly kitty instincts

I have a suspicion that most of the people who are asking the question aren't really looking for a "realistic cat" answer, though. We LOVE our big cat Clans with their complicated politics around here. You're probably wondering how much land you need to feed your population!

Factor 2: Land Productivity

The exact amount of space is going to vary a lot, because it's more about productivity of the land to sustain a prey population than it is raw size. Remember what we learned back in Warrior Bites: Dietary Needs; a 30-cat Clan will need approximately 3 pounds of meat (10,500 calories) per day, which is about 2 rabbits, or 105 mice.

Here's some visual examples of what I mean. This one (1) acre homestead...

Has 20 patches of high-value crops, plus an orchard, AND livestock pens. This territory alone could attract enough crows, mice, rats, rabbits, and sparrows to feed all those cats daily. That's not even counting the humans themselves, who may be friendly enough to the colony to toss them kibble occasionally.

(this is why cats domesticated themselves. Even without the free food from the humans, farms are extremely productive hunting grounds.)

Meanwhile, the Edmonton Mall, which is a whopping five (5) acres...

Would be utterly barren. Best food you're going to get out of this wasteland is the leftovers humans toss out, and maybe the rats and pigeons that scavenge as well. It's 5x the space, and yet, infinitely harder to feed the same amount of cats.

So, the most helpful bit of advice I'm gonna give you is this; DON'T ask yourself "how big should this territory be?" You're starting with the wrong question. Start with a real location, and think about how you'd find 3 pounds of meat a day in that area.

It will be a LOT easier to think about the logistics in those terms, and this will lead you to the waaay more productive (and fun) worldbuilding questions. Such as;

"Where would the good hunting spots be?"

"What kinds of animals would they be eating? What sorts of beasts can threaten them, here?"

"How many of these animals would my 30 cat Clan need to hunt a day to equal about 3 pounds?"

"Where would these animals be getting THEIR food?"

"Is there enough habitat in the area for the prey to breed and nest? If not, is there more land beyond the territory that the prey is coming from?"

"Where would infrastructure like dens, walls, and dirtplaces go? What would these be made of?"

"Are there any neat spots for the cats to casually hang out on?"

"What would make for a super cool arena for my climactic narrative boss fights?"

"Does this area have unique stage hazards that my cats would have to learn to deal with?"

"Which sorts of plants and herbs would they encounter?"

If your Clan is tool-using, like BB!Clans are, then you can ask even more advanced questions. Like, where you'd find kindle for fire, what objects you can use as crafting materials, and what might make for unique trade goods.

Think about other things related to your Clan's biome-- in a tundra or desert, there will be less for prey to eat, so the territory will be large to cope with the low density. If there's a major body of water, they might have a constant supply of aquatic prey from upstream. Hunting grounds might change based on the seasons.

Also remember not to underestimate how fast small animals breed, and how many of them there can be in one area. Even using low estimates, 1 female mouse has 6 pups, 7 x 6 = 42, 42 x 6 = 252, 252 x 6 = 1,452. It takes only 4 months for mouse population growth to get exponentially ridiculous.

Finally, remember that prey can vary. A well run Clan would be able to generally understand when they've been overhunting one particular species, and start shifting gears to lift the "pressure" off that population.

(In my cultural expansions series, this management task is assigned to one of the new roles-- the Head of Hunting.)

#Bones gives advice #Clan Culture #How much territory does a clan need?#warrior cats #How big should a Clan territory be?#This is an answer to like 8 people who have asked this question #It's a MEGA popular one and I totally understand why #It's just difficult to answer in a straightforward way because of everything discussed!#So it took me a long time to be able to figure out how to answer it.#clan territory

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snowysosturn · 3 months ago

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Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Finale

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: angst, tension

I stand there, frozen, not knowing how to feel. I’m confused.. upset.. Angry? Was this planned? Am I the idiot here, or is Christina just being a complete weirdo?

Judging by the looks on the boys’ faces on stage, it’s definitely the latter. Nick’s eyes widen, and Chris immediately turns to Matt, his expression somewhere between confused and concerned. The whole crowd starts buzzing, some gasping, others laughing, waiting for Matt’s reaction.

But how Matt responds to this? That tells me everything I need to know.

He shifts his weight, glancing at the screen where Christina’s face is still on display. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just looking at her with an unreadable expression. Then, he lets out a dry laugh and leans into his mic.

"Wow. Uh.. bold move. Really bold move."

Chris covers his mic, turning slightly away to hide his laughter, while Nick just mutters, "Ain’t no way" under his breath. The crowd? Losing their minds, some gasping, others laughing, a few already chanting “Nooo way”.

Matt tilts his head, as if considering his words carefully, but I can see the smirk creeping onto his face.

"Christina, I gotta give it to you, you are persistent. Really committed to the bit, huh?" He pauses for dramatic effect, the crowd eating up every second. Then, he shrugs. "But listen.. I think we both know this isn’t some sort of rom com. No dramatic third act reunion, no ‘I’ve changed’ moment. That ship? Yeah, it’s not just sailed, it sank. And I, for one, am not tryna go deep sea diving."

Chris fully doubles over laughing at that, and Nick lets out a low whistle. The audience erupts, a mix of cheers, gasps, and “Ohhh shit” reactions.

Matt leans back from the mic, shaking his head with a smirk. "Appreciate the confession, though. Real brave of you. But me? I’m real good where I’m at."

He doesn’t say my name, doesn’t need to. His eyes flicker toward where I’m standing in the wings, just for a second. But it’s enough.

Christina forces a laugh, nodding like she’s unbothered, but I see her face drop for a split second before the screen cuts away.

And just like that, I exhale.

Matt handled that perfectly.

He lets out a quick laugh, shaking his head as he steps back toward the mic.

"Well, damn.." he says, rubbing his jaw like he’s trying to process what just happened. "I thought I was the one with the surprises on this tour, but clearly, I got that wrong."

The audience erupts, some gasping, others laughing. Nick and Chris are both grinning like they can’t believe what just happened.

Matt exhales, still smirking. "Uh, yeah.. that definitely caught me off guard. Not exactly what I had in mind for tonight, but hey, at least y’all are entertained." He tilts his head toward the crowd.

There’s a pause, and for a second, I wonder if he’s going to say anything serious. But then he shakes his head again and glances toward Nick and Chris.

"You know what? I was gonna drop my own surprise tonight, but I think I’m gonna save that for somewhere a little less.." He gestures toward the big screen, where Christina’s name has finally disappeared. "Chaotic."

The audience loses it, cheering, laughing, shouting out guesses about what his actual surprise could be.

Chris claps Matt on the shoulder, still grinning. "Yeah, I think that’s a solid call, man."

Nick just shakes his head and mutters, "Only on this tour."

The boys wrap up the show section and transition into the meet and greet. As they come off the stage, Matt makes a beeline straight for me. His face is pale, his jaw clenched, he looks like he’s just seen a ghost. And honestly, I know exactly what’s haunting him.

Before he even gets a word out, I sigh. "Matt, I know."

His brows knit together. "I swear I didn’t know she was gonna do that. What the fuck is she even doing here? That was-"

"I know" I cut him off, reaching for his hand instinctively. "You handled it really well. You didn’t entertain it, you didn’t make it weird.. if anything, you made her look dumb."

Matt lets out a breath he must’ve been holding, nodding slightly. "I just-" He shakes his head. "I didn’t want you thinking for a second that I had anything to do with that shit."

"I didn’t." And that’s the truth. As messy as things got before, I trust him now. Christina pulling something desperate like that only confirmed how little of a shot she really had.

His shoulders relax a bit, but I can tell he’s still frustrated. "You sure?"

I squeeze his hand. "Positive."

A flicker of relief crosses his face before Nick calls over from across the room, reminding him they’ve got a line of fans waiting.

"Go" I tell him, nodding toward the meet-and-greet area. "We’ll talk later."

Matt pulls me in for a quick but meaningful kiss before he heads off toward the meet and greet area. But just as he’s about to walk away, he suddenly stops, turning to one of the tour staff.

"Hey" he says, voice sharp. "Make sure Christina’s barred from all future shows. I don’t want her pulling this shit again."

The staff member nods immediately, and Matt doesn’t even look back, just nods in satisfaction before finally heading off to greet the fans.

I let out a breath and shake my head. As much as tonight rattled him, he handled it exactly how he needed to.

I catch his eyes one last time before he disappears into the crowd. "I’m gonna chill out on the bus for a bit while you guys do meet and greets" I call over to him.

"You good?" he asks, concern flickering across his face.

I nod. "Yeah. Just need a second to breathe."

He hesitates like he wants to say something else, but Nick pulls him along before he can.

I take that as my cue to slip out of the venue, heading toward the bus. A break sounds nice, but the truth is, I just need a moment to let everything sink in.

As I walk through the parking lot, just trying to get to the bus and clear my head, I hear someone call my name.

I freeze.

Is this bitch ever going to leave me alone?

I turn, and sure enough, standing by a car with her arms crossed and an infuriating smirk on her face, is Christina.

"Running off so soon?" she taunts, tilting her head. "Figured you'd want to stick around after that little show."

I exhale sharply, clenching my jaw as I stride toward her. "Are you actually out of your mind?" I snap. "Pulling that shit in front of thousands of people? What was that supposed to accomplish?"

She shrugs, feigning innocence. "I just told the truth. I still have feelings for Matt. And I think, deep down, he still has feelings for me too."

I let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah? Thats why he had security make sure you're banned from all future shows?"

Her smirk falters, but she recovers quickly. "Oh please. That’s just because you’re in his ear. We both know if I had more time, I could remind him of what we had."

My blood boils. "Christina, you lied about him sleeping with you. You’ve been manipulating situations from the start, and now you’re embarrassing yourself in front of thousands of people? Move on with your life."

She takes a step closer, lowering her voice. "You really think he’s done with me? Just like that?"

I don’t hesitate. "I know he is."

Her nostrils flare, and for the first time, I see it, she’s pissed. She was expecting me to crumble, to doubt, to let her words sink in and ruin what Matt and I have been rebuilding. But instead, I’m standing my ground, unshaken.

I take a step back, done with this conversation. "Stay the fuck away from us, Christina" I say firmly. "Whatever fantasy you have in your head? Let it go. Because Matt already did."

As I turn to walk away, Christina scoffs loudly. "Yeah, keep walking. That’s all you’re good at, right? Running after Matt like a lost little puppy."

I stop dead in my tracks. Oh, she wants to play.

I spin back around, crossing my arms. "You’re hilarious, Christina. Truly. It’s so funny how you’re out here, standing in a parking lot, after humiliating yourself in front of thousands of people, still trying to convince yourself that Matt gives a single shit about you." I tilt my head mockingly. "While I’m the one on the tour bus."

She narrows her eyes. "You think just because you’re with him now, it means you won?" She lets out a bitter laugh. "I’ve known Matt a lot longer than you have, sweetheart. He always comes back to me."

I snort, actually snort at the delusion. "Oh my God, you sound exhausted. You must be so tired from running all these mental gymnastics. Matt doesn’t have anything to go back to, especially not some desperate, lying, washed up one night stand who has to publicly confess her ‘feelings’ just to get his attention."

Her face twists in anger. "I am not desperate."

I let out a dramatic gasp. "Oh? So it was just, what, a casual public confession? Just for a laugh? Just throwing shit out there, hoping it sticks?" I take a step closer, lowering my voice mockingly. "Face it, Christina. You played yourself. You thought you could stir up drama, and instead, Matt shut you down and made sure you’d never pull this shit again." I smirk. "You’re not competition. You’re not even relevant."

Her mouth opens, then shuts, her hands clenching into fists. I can practically see the steam coming out of her ears, and it’s hilarious.

And with that, I stride toward the bus, feeling lighter than ever.

I shut the door behind me, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I lay back on the bus, pulling my phone out and mindlessly scrolling through TikTok, needing something to distract myself. But, of course, the algorithm is already on it. My entire feed is flooded with clips from the show, Christina’s confession, Matt’s reaction, and everyone’s very vocal opinions on it.

I tap on a video with the caption “NAH THIS WAS WILD” and watch as the camera captures the exact moment Christina’s name popped up on the screen. The crowd collectively gasping, people whispering, a loud “oh hell no” from someone in the back. Then there’s Matt, standing there stunned before recovering with his usual sarcasm.

I swipe to the next one. A fan recording from their seat “Matt’s face is FRYING ME, bro did not expect that at all.” The camera zooms in on him blinking rapidly before laughing it off, shaking his head.

Another video: “POV you just witnessed the most desperate confession in real time” with a slo mo clip of the moment Christina’s face popped up on the big screen, followed by someone yelling "Girl, be so for real."

I actually let out a laugh at that one.

Then I come across a reaction video. A girl sitting in her bedroom, mouth open in shock. "No, because Christina actually thought she ate with that confession. The way Matt shut that down and then looked off to the side.. Anyone else think he might have a girlfriend??"

I shake my head, almost laughing, I wouldn’t call myself his girlfriend. Not yet anyway. I continue scrolling past more and more takes, all dragging Christina to hell and back. The internet is not on her side.

I smirk to myself, locking my phone and tossing it beside me. Looks like the world knows what I already did, Christina just played herself, and there’s no coming back from that.

I get a buzz beside me and I glance down at my phone, seeing Matt’s message light up the screen:

"Can you come to my dressing room? Chris needs help with something."

I stretch, letting out a small sigh before pushing myself up from the couch. Chris needing help? Shocker. I slide my phone into my pocket and step off the bus, making my way back inside the venue.

As I turn the corner, I spot Matt standing outside his dressing room door, shifting slightly on his feet like he’s waiting for me.

I narrow my eyes. “You good?”

He nods quickly, a small smirk pulling at his lips. “Yeah. Just.. got one more surprise in me today.”

I raise an eyebrow, but before I can ask, he grips the handle and pushes open the door.

My breath catches.

The entire dressing room is decorated, soft fairy lights strung up along the walls, scattered rose petals on the floor, and in the center, the words “May I Be Your Boyfriend?” spelled out in red balloons.

I freeze, my brain needing a moment to catch up. “Matt.. what-?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking suddenly nervous.

I turn to him, still stunned, my heart pounding. “You-” I swallow. “You did all this?”

“Well, Chris and Nick helped a little” he admits, glancing at the setup. “But yeah.” His voice softens. “I wanted to.”

I look around again, taking it all in, warmth spreading through my chest. After everything, after the chaos, the drama, the absolute mess of the night, he still made time for this.

I turn back to him, eyes meeting his. “Yes.”

His lips part. “Yeah?”

A grin tugs at my lips. “Yes, I’d love you to be my boyfriend.”

Before he can say anything else, I grab the collar of his hoodie and pull him into a deep kiss, feeling him smile against my lips as his arms wrap around my waist.

Matt pulls back just enough to look at me, his forehead resting against mine, a lazy grin playing on his lips. His hands stay firm on my waist, like he’s making sure I don’t go anywhere, not that I would.

“I’m glad you finally found the place you belong in my life” I murmur, my voice just above a whisper.

His expression shifts, something softer settling in his eyes, like he’s soaking in every word. His fingers tighten slightly against my waist. “Me too.”

I nod, a small smile playing on my lips.

Matt exhales a little laugh, shaking his head. “Took me long enough, huh?”

I chuckle, nudging my nose against his. “Better late than never.”

He grins, then leans in again, capturing my lips in another kiss, slower this time, more deliberate. Like he’s savoring it. Like he’s making up for every moment before this one when we weren’t in this position together.

And in that moment, I know we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.

a/n : and thats all from me on the fic front for now!! (explanation here) i will miss writing but hopefully ill be back sooner than later! ive now 3 30+ part series done in 7 months and i cant thank you all for the love and support on them all, even the silent readers!! I cant believe the F&D era is over already but thank you all for sticking around and reading the last 12 weeks! im not leaving the app ill still be here so my inbox and messages are always open!! i love to give advice or just yap so you know where to catch me!! If you would like to be on the taglist for future fics when im back writing interact here!

lots of love,

Snowy <3

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

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ssa-dado · 9 months ago

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Symposium Series Masterlist

aaron hotchner x bau!fem!reader slow burn: you fell first, he fell harder

"Love is born into every human being, it calls back the halves of our original nature together, it tries to make one out of two and heal the wound of human nature"

- Plato, The Symposium

□ Timeline

□ Extras: Taglist

Colors of Symposium - Moodboard

Moodboard #1

Moodboard #2

■ Overture

0 - Symposium, definetely not Platonic love

■ Act One

1 - Orchids & Knots

2 - Early Birds

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ 2.01 - Annoyingly Yours

3 - A Philosopher and a Lawyer walk into a Café

4 - Thesis

5 - Antithesis

6 - Synthesis

7 - Cogito, ergo Sum

8 - Law & Self-awareness

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ 8.01 - Anaisthēsía

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ 8.02 - Covering Up

9 - Folie à Deux

10 - The Reaper Aftermath

■ Interlude

11 - May You Be Satisfied

■ Act Two

12 - Goodbyes & Partners

13 - Soulmates

14 - What Could Have Been

15 - Epistulae ad Lucilium

16 - Sapphire

17 - My Decline

18 - I'm Always Running to You

19 - Push & Pull

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ Act 2 finale visualiser

20 - Logic

21 - Physics

■ Prelude

22 - The Ship of Theseus

23 - Ethics

24 - Logos

■ Interlude

25 - New York

■ SympOneShots

Cat Equals Sign Of Integration: Aaron brainstorms with you how to tell the team you're together... while drinking wine

The Metaphysics of Love: set somewhere at the beginning of Act 3, one year after chapter 20

Three Stages of Truth: The differences between your public and private relationship with Aaron

Barbri Legal Handbook: set *REDACTED* years into the future). A little gift for all the suffering

Pride & Pettiness: you and Aaron reminisce of when somewhere in Act 1 your mentors made everything worse

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #hotch #aaron hotchner #criminal minds

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rangersoup · 2 months ago

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It started out I was just gonna ride this horse and make him work on being slow and collected, and she was gonna coach me so she didn’t have to ride him as much because she’s pregnant. She kept harping on the “keeping his gaits slow” thing. But then he started bucking when I asked him to go faster than a trot. And she went “scratch that. No more slow. Ride the piss out of him and don’t let him stop until he behaves.” And that’s exactly what I did.

I have graduated from being my horse trainer friend’s test dummy (making sure the horses she trains are idiot proof) to being the person who rides the fuck buck out of them for her.

#horse things #horses #horse talk #I rode the piss out of that little shit #and sat somewhere between 15-20 bucks #I’m gonna go to the farm next week and we’re gonna do it all over again #he’s gonna hate me when all is said and done #and I’m probably gonna end up eating shit at some point #after riding him my red adhd five year old seems like a perfect angel

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anniegraves-creates · 9 months ago

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How about some Simon Riley fanart? This painting took me somewhere between 15-20 hours in Adobe Photoshop using Lane Draws Photoshop Master Pack brushes. I started with the black and white image and then added color using gradient maps. NOT AI.

#digital painting #digital art #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #fanart #call of duty fanart #annie graves art

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remmys · 9 months ago

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🎃 TFTOBER 2024 !!

Hey there!! I really wanted to participate in an October prompt list, but seeing as I've been really hooked on TF2 for this entire year, I figured it would be fun to do a TF2 themed list!!

If you participate, feel free to tag your posts w/ #tftober !!! I'd love to see what other people do <3 This list should be perfectly doable for any medium (art, writing, sfm, etc!)

Below the cut is a list of all the prompts with some extra flavor text/ideas! Things are kept vague in a typical drawing prompt fashion

DAY 1 - Main

Who's your main? Who do you play most often?

DAY 2 - Hats!

It's not called a glorified hat simulator for nothing! There's plenty of cosmetics at your fingertips in the game!

DAY 3 - Relationships

Everyone knows someone. Whether it's a family member, a friend, a lover, or even an arch nemesis!

DAY 4 - Pyrovision

Put on the goggles and take a look at things with a new perspective!

DAY 5 - Battlefield

Probably where a mercenary spends most of their time

DAY 6 - On Break

Battles don't rage on forever. You've gotta take a break eventually

DAY 7 - Offense

The front lines. The moving force

DAY 8 - Defense

The back lines. Makes sure nobody gets too far

DAY 9 - Support

Everything in between! Perhaps even the foundations of some teams

DAY 10 - Teamwork

It's not called TEAM Fortress for nothing, right?

DAY 11 - Fem Fortress

Happy Friday! Give some love to the girls!

DAY 12 - Free Space

Draw, write, or SFM to your heart's content! Do whatever you'd like!

DAY 13 - Respawn

Nobody stays dead.

DAY 14 - Capture the Flag

That briefcase isn't going to steal itself!

DAY 15 - Backstab

Should've checked behind you.

DAY 16 - Mann vs Machine

Guns and bullets or nuts and bolts? Who knows what could be running through those metallic minds...

DAY 17 - Expiration Date

Teleportation and bread. What else can I say?

DAY 18 - Headcannons

Think a little deeper. What do you just know has got to be true about the mercenaries?

DAY 19 - At home

Everyone comes from somewhere. Everyone has a home.

DAY 20 - Headshot

Looks like you stood a little bit too still.

DAY 21 - Alternate Universe

Emesis Blue? Lil' Pootis? A universe where the mercenaries are all alligators? The world is your oyster.

DAY 22 - Australium

A divine and valued substance rarer than gold

DAY 23 - Administrator

There's more to a war than just the fighters

DAY 24 - Pets

Some people have a soft spot for certain animals. Others choose to keep theirs around 24/7.

DAY 25 - Injury

An inevitability of war

DAY 26 - Control Points

A constant back and fourth

DAY 27 - Comics

Ink, panels, and pages. A story through words and pictures.

DAY 28 - Custom Class

Is nine really enough to cover everyone needed in a war? Probably not!

DAY 29 - Ubercharge

A miracle of medicine

DAY 30 - Sentry

Sometimes the best way to get good aim is to not be the one aiming

DAY 31 - Scream Fortress

Happy Halloween! Scream out to your heart's content and enjoy the spooks of the night!

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catchameme · 2 months ago

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𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐌𝐞: 𝐀 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐞

Get to know the person behind the blog through a series of varied questions!

1. Do you have any comfort movies or shows? If so, what are they?

2. What is a fragrance or texture that calms or brings you comfort?

3. What is a song that never fails to pump you up, inspire, energize, or make you happy?

4. Do you have a favorite flower? Is there a reason it is your favorite?

5. If you could sum yourself up in 4 characters, who would they be?

6. Do you believe in fate?

7. What is a sound that makes you happy?

8. Is there a texture you can't stand or dislike?

9. What is the first thing you think of or see in your mind at the sound of thunder and heavy rain?

10. Lots of pillows, or just one?

11. If you could recommend one game or one book, what would it be?

12. Are you a dreamer, a realist, or somewhere in between?

13. What have you learned about yourself this year?

14. What is / are your love language(s)? (note; this can apply to friendships as well)

15. Are you superstitious?

16. When you close your eyes, what color is the sky?

17. What is your favorite beverage?

18. Go out or stay in?

19. What are you most afraid of?

20. Do you have any talents or special hobbies / interests?

#inbox meme #rp inbox meme #roleplay meme #askbox meme #ask meme #ask prompt #roleplay memes #rp prompt #roleplay prompts #munday prompt #munday #munday memes #munday prompts #prompts for the mun #catchameme prompts

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room-surprise · 1 year ago

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How Old Is Thistle?

(EDIT: I've made a follow-up post to this one that goes deeper into the math and additional evidence that the 5:1 ratio is correct. You can read it here!)

I've seen people debating this and a lot of folks insisting that Thistle is a child, and since Thistle just debuted in the anime, I wanted to do a full write-up to help myself and others figure this out.

We don't know how old any of the Merini family members are exactly, so the best we can do is guess based on the information we have, but after carefully studying the manga, I think Thistle is at least a teenager, but much more likely a young adult, and definitely not a prepubescent child.

Here's what we know:

EDIT: Depending on what translation you read of some of the extra materials, Freinag implies that Thistle is the same age as some of his advisors.

Here's a detailed translation of this panel from my friend Fumi:

Elves age 5 times slower than tall-men.

16 year old tall-men in Dungeon Meshi's medieval time period are adults, they commonly join the military, get married, have children, etc.

An 80 year old elf is an adult. Pattadol is 82 and she's a lieutenant in a military unit. It's her first job and she's obviously a rookie, but Captain Flamela tells Pattadol to accomplish her mission or die trying.

Many fully adult elves look like what we might consider children or young teens, because they're short, petite, and have androgynous features.

An average elven adult is around 150-155cm tall (5 ft), meaning some are shorter than that, and some are taller. Thistle is 130 cm, which is short, but not unheard of.

Fleki is 130 (26) years old and she's 140 cm tall (4'7")

Otta is 137 (27) years old and she's 130 cm (4'5") tall, the same height as Thistle!

They are both women, but there's probably plenty of elven men in their height range.

Just so we can compare Thistle to some adult elven men, Mithrun and his brother are probably adults (or close to it) in the panel on the left.

Mithrun (in this image) is somewhere between 75 and 144 (probably in his 80's), and his brother is older than him (so he could be in his late 80s or 90s). As you can see, they don't look that different from Thistle, Otta or Fleki.

So, how old is Thistle?

(Spoilers below the cut)

Thistle was brought to the royal court as a child (found on the street, stolen or purchased, we don't know how they got him). At the absolute youngest I'd guess Thistle is 25 years old here (so about 5 years old for a tall-man.) He can already play the flute, and possibly the lute, and most children that aren't prodigies can't handle playing an instrument (physically or mentally) until they're around 5.

EDIT: We now know that Thistle is the same age as Freinag, the king that takes him in! So Thistle must be at least 25 years old in this comic, though realistically he could be anywhere from 25 to 40 based on how Kui drew Freinag.

He lived in the court for an unknown amount of time, Freinag hasn't changed much but Thistle appears to have aged a little, so let's say it's been 5 years and Thistle is 30 (6) when Delgal is born. More than 5 years could have passed, but I'm trying to keep the numbers low.

Delgal gets married and has a child. Delgal should be at least 15 at this point, but since he has a full mustache before his wedding, I think he's in his 20's, since teenagers tend to not be the best at growing robust facial hair.

(He has a full beard by the time Eodio's a young child.)

Thistle puts the kingdom inside the dungeon around this point, however, people are still aging: Delgal's grandson Yaad is born, and Eodio is clearly a young adult here, probably in his 20's. Therefore, there is NO REASON to assume Thistle stopped aging. "The dungeon lords don't age" is a common fan headcanon I've seen people spreading, but it has no clear canon basis.

Yaad ages until he looks about 13-15 years old, and at this point all of the people of the kingdom and Thistle appear to stop aging, and 1,000 years pass.

So, the youngest Thistle could possibly be, if he was 30 (6) when Delgal was born, if Delgal was 15 when he had Eodio, and Eodio was 15 when he had Yaad, and Yaad is 13 years old...

Is 73 years old, which would make Thistle about 14.6 years old by tall-man standards.

HOWEVER, I think it's VERY unlikely that all the characters are that young.

I think it's clear from Kui's drawings that Delgal and Eodio are not 15 years old when they become fathers, and that Freinag is at least 25 when he takes in Thistle.

If we assume Thistle was 30 when Delgal was born, and Delgal and Eodio were both at least 20 when they had children, even if Yaad is only 13 years old, that makes Thistle at least 83 years old (16.6), and makes him older than Pattadol, who is an adult at 82.

However, I think it's entirely possible that Thistle was anywhere from 40-50 when Delgal was born, and Delgal could have been anywhere from 20 to 30 when he had Eodio, and Eodio could have been anywhere from 20-25 when he had Yaad. If you use the maximum ages, and assume Yaad is 15, then Thistle could be as old as 120 (24).

I think a reasonable middle ground is assuming Thistle was 30 (6) when Delgal was born, Delgal had Eodio at 25, Eodio had Yaad at 20, and Yaad is 15... Which would make Thistle 90 (18) years old.

This of course says nothing about Thistle's emotional maturity or sanity, he's obviously stunted in some ways, but the point I want to make here is:

Thistle's age could be anywhere from 14.6 to 24 at the most extreme, but more realistically he's somewhere between 16.6 and 18.

And that's not even counting the thousand years that he's lived since then!

And that's all I've got to say about that 🙏🙏🙏🙏

(EDIT: Follow-up post with additional evidence here.) EDIT 2: I've seen a lot of people talking about the page Kui drew talking about elven earmuffs. It's considered just barely okay for Pattadol to wear them, but it's ok for Thistle to wear them... In which case I'd say Thistle could be any age younger than 83. That's handy as it knocks out some of the older ages!

So in that case Thistle's age is between 73 years old and 82, which makes him developmentally between 14.6 and 16.4!

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #Thistle #Thistle Merini #thistle dungeon meshi #thistle delicious in dungeon #sissel #spoilers #theories

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nicromancytarot · 1 year ago

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FIRST KISS WITH YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I do not charge for these readings, and I do not fake readings. I would tell you the cards I get for the readings, but I pull like 15-20 cards each reading and that is just slightly a strenuous task to write them all down lmao.

PICK A CARD TAROT READING

I asked my spirit guides how your first kiss with your future spouse is going to go, pick a picture to find out what they have to say!

Pile 1 ———> Pile 2 ———> Pile 3

PILE 1

During the time of your first kiss with your future spouse I feel like you guys will be feeling slightly insecure about the connection and situation you are in with your person, it may be that they don’t seem interested enough, or that you are having doubts about your connection. I see this coming at a time when your relationship (I’m assuming situationship or talking stage) is on the rocks and a little unstable. The kiss is cementing the seriousness of your relationship and it shows each other what you want, that you are one hundred percent ready for each other. You have both the lovers and the two of cups, so I think you two may begin dating after this kiss, as if no words needed to be spoken for you to realise how serious this is to be between you both. The moment this kiss happens, it sweeps you two off your feet, causing everything that has reached crossroad to end, and a new path emerges for you to follow.

The kiss itself will be initiated by the feminine energy, it could seem very random, and it will help either one, if not both of you with your self-love and perception. The kiss will give you answers, I’m assuming it’s quite spontaneous and random, it could happen when the masculine is talking about the future, or something to do with their leadership over something, the feminine will just swoop in with a kiss on random. Again, we have another heavy commitment card, so I don’t think much will be said between you during this kiss, however you will both know that it has elevated your connection.

I see this happening in a place someone doesn’t want to be, I don’t know if the second person was expected to be there, however they came anyways and the person who isn’t happy to be there is super excited to be able to talk and get away with the other. It could be a place of work, somewhere where a lot of people are and there’s lots of conversations. Also could be a party since I see strong energy of talking and aggressive energies.

PILE 2

During the time of the kiss, I see the feminine getting tired of the lack of direction between the connection of the two. There seems to be a lot of untold truths in this connection, and the feminine is tired of being left in the dark. I feel this is due to the masculine’s fear of opening up to people, they may be embarrassed of their feelings, or just nervous that the feminine won’t see them as strong, heavy on the strength, that’s how the masculine wants to be seen. The kiss happens at a time where the two of you are between total commitment and becoming strangers again, where you’re trying to build something, but the masculine keeps getting spooked and pulls back. This is definitely a connection which starts off as a hot and cold one, one second they’re all in, and then the next they pull away. It’s clear this becomes frustrating for the feminine as they just want a clean message without any hidden undertones. I think this will take place right after or during an argument, not one that is incredibly heated, however I see the feminine walking away and the masculine pulling them back and in for a kiss. It’s very spontaneous and unexpected.

The kiss itself is being described as “soul sucking,” it will make you both forget about the prior issues and disagreement between you both, and will bring an end to the confusion. The masculines lips taste like those of uncovered promises and words which they wouldn’t dare let leave, they are spilling their entire, darkest memories and truths into the feminine, letting them know each other inside out. The kiss is hazy, it’s dizzying and you may need to sit down after. It marks the beginning of stability and readiness for one another, your lips on theirs prove that you are ready to become each others.

This could happen outside, somewhere near water, perhaps one or both of you live near a beach or a body of water. I think some people may hear you argue, I did see a parking lot, so it could be right after a date or if you’re friends, then after you mentioned or asked for the answer of what you two were, and the masculine got a little hesitant to answer while walking the feminine to their car, causing the feminine to react and try to call quits to a relationship which had no answers or security.

PILE 3

During the time of the kiss, I think you guys will be in a relationship or at least committed to each other without the full on commitment. If you aren’t already in a relationship with a label, then you will use this first kiss to begin the start of your official relationship. You pile 3’s have very good stability with your future spouse even at this moment, you’re both very clear with where you want this to happen. I’m assuming you’re my pile of instantaneous love. The kiss could have you both laughing afterwards, finding it entertaining rather than passionate or super intimate, one of you may even crack a joke after and then get back to talking about what they were talking about.

I don’t think there’s an initiator in this pile, you both might just lean in while talking about something on the couch, catching your lips in a swift kiss to commit a silent prayer of worship before returning to the conversation at hand, it feels very natural and calming, you may just be watching a movie. This kiss will help you nurture your connection, it may make you feel a lot more comfortable too, since it’s the next big step in the connection. One of you could have had a breakup a while back, and haven’t kissed anyone since, this kiss is almost washing away the taste and touch of the before relationship, immediately associating intimacy and romance with the future spouse, rather than the ex.

I see this happening at a place of comfort, I assume someone’s home, somewhere where you can relax and wind down, and also a place you are somewhat protective of - or maybe they are. So heavy homely energy for you guys. The room could be in a little bit of a mess, and one of you may be embarrassed over the other person seeing such a mess, but the other person really doesn’t care about it.

#tarot #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #tarot witch #free tarot #tarot reading #tarot cards #pick a card #pick a pile

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prettieangel · 3 months ago

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20 minutes

warnings: noncon, exhibitionism, suffocation kinda i think, pet names (pretty)

this could be anyone you’d like <333 (eunseok was in my head the entire time though) this is not proofread, so please cut some slack 💔 this is to keep y’all entertained so i can finally get these asks done, so i hope you all enjoy <333

the bus was always crowded in the mornings, children on their way to school and adults on their way to work. it was quiet, everyone either trying to get more minutes of sleep, listening to music, or on their phones. you were used to seeing this, your feet dragging across the aisle to find a seat or a place to stand.

it wasn’t easy. every seat was occupied and it seemed as if the entire walkway was too. it was one of those days. a busy monday. the bus jerked and moved forward, slow due to all the weight it was carrying. it made you impatient, hurriedly looking around for somewhere, anywhere, to sit or stand. but then your eyes met his. they were dark, hooded, but something flashed through once he saw you looking. amusement, maybe? you had no time to think, nor to care, squeezing in the spot next to him since that was the only place left, the uncomfortable feeling from his gaze leaving just as soon as it came.

the space between him and this other person in front of you was tight, stuffy, your breath being knocked out of your body with every hit of the brakes. just 20 minutes, then you’ll be able to breathe.

you didn’t notice the touching at first. you didn’t pay any mind since it was subtle enough to camouflage with the way the bus moved and with your body being pressed against two, maybe even three people. but then his other hand slowly crept to your mouth, clamping across your lips before other hand slipped into your work pants, finger hooking around your underwear before letting it go to make it snap against your skin.

the panic rose quickly, your heart beat speeding up and your eyes going wide. his fingers traced over your underwear, dipping into them again but this time, tracing over your cunt, pushing his fingers in, though not moving them. not yet. you were scared. scared to make noise. scared to do anything. what if he does something to you? you didn’t know what he was capable of.

he leans in close to you. breath tickling your ear and a dark, dry chuckle leaving his mouth. your panic was evident. it amused him, fueled him, smirk spreading across his face as you tried to move away. but it was impossible. 15 more minutes. 15 more minutes of this hell. 15 more minutes of this stranger violating you, touching you without your consent and with a smile on his face. “don’t make a sound, pretty.” he says finally, fingers moving in and out of you, slowly, as his other pulled you against his chest, his hand pushing harder onto your mouth in the process.

no one was looking. it was still busy, but quiet. full, stuffy, suffocating. “you don’t want to cause a scene, now do you?” his head tilts, eyes drifting down to meet your scared, tear filled gaze. you wanted to scream, hit at him, kick at him, but you could barely even move your hands, let alone your legs, the person in front of you only backing up more, pushing you impossibly closer to the stranger, the smothering only causing your hands to tremble and shaky muffled sobs to leave your mouth. you lost track of time by now, his fingers moving faster, deeper, beating into your cunt, leaving you in a terrified daze. if you were even trying to fight him off before, you knew now that you just gave up, just took it. it was only just a little longer.

“good girl. see how easy it is to just take it?” he coos, the sudden stop of the bus making his fingers move deeper into you, leaving your nearly limp against his chest, praying, hoping, that someone would see and help, but the chances were slim, since now you were barely noticeable, stuck in between two people like a sandwich, and especially since everyone was in their own world, fully ignoring their surroundings. you were in this all alone. “love when girls like you are good. maybe i should keep you, huh? all for myself, yeah?” he laughs, actually laughs as if this was the most humorous thing in the world. he was fucking sick.

“what do you think? by the way your filthy cunt is sucking my fingers in, you seem to love the idea. maybe i should.” he finishes, one more hard thrust of his fingers leaving you writhing against him as your body betrayed you, an orgasm being forced out of you before you could even completely comprehend it.

you didn’t notice when he finally pulled his fingers out of your puffy cunt, or when he finally moved his other hand away from you mouth, but you did notice when the bus came to another halt, the abrupt stop sending you bumping against the person in front of you, your wobbly legs failing to keep you up. you could barely get your mind to focus, but once you looked out the window, you noticed that you were finally at a familiar bus stop. your stop. the agonizing 20 minutes were finally over.

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briefinquiries · 3 months ago

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Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 22

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 22

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: Chaos unfolds during you and Tommy's reception, in the aftermath, you find some comfort in Small Heath.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language, mention of torture and vague, nonconsensual sexualization and touch, emetophobia warning

You didn’t even register the direction the gunshots came from�� just the chaos that followed. Screams erupted. Glass shattered. Someone dropped a tray with a crash that echoed beneath the chandelier’s sudden sway. The music stopped abruptly, a needle skidding off vinyl, and for a split second, everything stood still.

Then, another shot.

You grabbed Finn without thinking, your instincts moving faster than your mind. He’d been standing just beside the refreshment table, laughing, a slice of cake still in his hand. You yanked him down with you, ducking beneath the table just as chairs clattered and guests scattered.

His eyes were wide, panicked, and you could feel him shaking.

“We’re okay,” you said quickly, your arms around him, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s alright, stay low, don’t move.”

The tablecloth hung around you like a makeshift curtain, dimming the chaos outside.

Finn clutched your arm tightly. “What’s happening?” he whispered, voice cracking.

Above you, another loud bang– a third shot fired, but this one hit the ceiling, plaster raining down. You flinched, shielding Finn instinctively.

And then, through the noise, a voice bellowed across the room:

“A gift from Luca Changretta. Tell Tommy Shelby that his empire bleeds like any other.”

Finn clutched your arm tighter, his breathing shallow and fast. You pulled him in closer beneath the table, your body curled protectively over his, your hand cradling the back of his head to shield him from the falling plaster.

Around you, everything had gone still.

Not silent, there were still gasps and muffled screams, overturned chairs scraping against the floor, glass shattering somewhere across the room, but still in the way that fear locks a room in place, holding everyone in suspended disbelief.

You barely dared to breathe.

Footsteps thundered toward the exit, fast, heavy, purposeful. Then the sharp slam of the doors as the gunmen fled.

Gone, just like that.

No more shots. No more words. Just a trail of fear and smoke left behind in their wake.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you slowly looked out from beneath the table, your arm still curled tightly around Finn.

Polly’s voice rang out from somewhere across the room, sharp and panicked. Arthur was shouting orders. John’s voice followed, rough and urgent..

You pushed yourself up from the floor slowly, your limbs still shaky with adrenaline. Your hands found Finn first, gently helping him upright. He was pale, eyes wide, shoulders hunched in a way that made him look even younger than he was.

“Finn,” you said softly, brushing plaster dust from his jacket. “Are you alright?”

He nodded too quickly to be convincing. His breath hitched, and you reached for his face, cradling it gently between your palms. His skin was clammy, his cheeks flushed. You wiped a smear of dust from his cheek with your thumb, eyes scanning him for any sign of blood, any wound you might’ve missed in the panic.

“Look at me,” you said, steady but kind. “You’re not hurt?”

“No,” he rasped, shaking his head. “Just… hell– what was that?”

“Just breathe,” you murmured, still holding his face. “You’re alright. You’re alright.”

Your fingers lingered for a second longer, brushing through his hair before pulling him into a quick, fierce hug. He held onto you like a lifeline, his body trembling just slightly.

You heard Tommy before you saw him, the shift in the air, the magnetic pull. His voice was heavy. “Move– move!”

Before you knew it, Tommy was there, storming toward you, eyes scanning wildly– jaw clenched, breathing hard.

His eyes found yours and stopped.

“Fuck–” he breathed, his expression cracking, just for a second. “Are you okay?” His voice was low and sharp, breathless as he reached you, hands already skimming over your arms, your ribs, your waist.

You couldn’t speak. You just nodded your head, slowly.

But he didn’t accept that. One hand cupped the back of your neck, grounding you firmly in place. His touch wasn’t gentle now– it was firm. Urgent.

“Look at me,” he said, voice fierce. “Are you okay?”

Your lips parted, breath shaky. “Yes,” you whispered. “I’m okay.”

He closed his eyes for half a second, like the air had been knocked from him. When they opened again, they were darker, stormier. Rage and relief tangled behind them.

“I told you,” he said, voice hoarse and cracking as his forehead dropped briefly to yours. “I told you to stay put.”

Before you could even respond, he pulled away, his hands falling from your face, jaw clenching as he turned slightly, already scanning the chaos again. You stood there, stunned, the weight of his anger settling heavy in your chest.

You hadn’t meant to anger him. But the shame still twisted in your stomach like a blade.

Suddenly, you felt small fingers clutching at your arm.

Finn had latched onto you without a word, his arms winding around your waist. His face was pressed into your side, his entire body shaking with adrenaline and fear.

You blinked back the sting in your eyes and immediately wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close, cradling the back of his head. “It’s alright,” you whispered, holding him tightly. “You’re alright.”

He didn’t speak, just shook, buried against you, trying to hide the fact that he’d been terrified. You swayed gently with him, murmuring something soft, your hand brushing through his hair, grounding him in the only way you could.

Tommy, meanwhile, had already shifted gears.

His eyes were scanning the room, sharp and calculating, jaw rigid with fury. “John! Arthur!” he barked. A bitter breath hissed from between Tommy’s teeth. “Find out how they got in. Who let them through the doors. Someone knew. Someone fucking knew!”

John nodded tightly, already heading toward the front.

Tommy’s jaw flexed again as he turned back toward Arthur. “And I want names! Every single fucking guest who wasn’t on the list, where they came from, who they came with. Someone vouched for those bastards.”

Arthur’s mouth tightened. “You got it, Tom.”

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, pacing for a second before muttering, “They didn’t want blood… not tonight. They wanted fear.”

His eyes flicked toward you then, still holding Finn, still trying to slow your breathing, your expression dazed and unreadable.

And in that instant, his fury turned razor-sharp again.

“They came into my fucking wedding,” he yelled. “That’s their warning shot? They’re going to regret not pulling the fucking trigger.”

He paced in a tight line, hands clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing sharp and ragged. You’d seen him angry before– cold, calculating, precise. But this… this was something else. This was pure fury. Unfiltered. Barely contained.

“They walked through those doors,” he snapped, whirling around to face Arthur and John as they returned to his side. “They fired shots over our fucking heads– at my family, at my wife!”

His voice cracked on the last word, jaw tightening hard enough to make his cheek twitch. His hand went instinctively to his hip like he needed to reach for something– his gun, maybe, or just a way to release the rage bottled beneath his ribs.

“They wanted to humiliate us,” he growled, eyes dark and wild. “To prove they could get in and out without a scratch. That they could touch us without drawing blood.”

Arthur stepped forward, voice low. “Tom, we’ll find ‘em. You know we will.”

Tommy’s glare cut through the room like a blade. “Not good enough,” he snapped. “I don’t want their names. I want their fucking heads.”

You flinched slightly at the venom in his tone, but Finn still clung to your side, and your instinct to protect him kept you grounded.

“They made a spectacle,” Tommy continued, turning toward the ruined tables, the chandelier still swaying faintly overhead. “A statement. They want war? Fine.”

His voice dropped to a growl– cold, merciless. “Then we’ll give them war.”

Arthur nodded grimly, but John exchanged a glance with him, uneasy. Polly hovered nearby, watching Tommy with that sharp, calculating stare of hers, as if measuring how far gone he really was.

And then beside you, Finn let out a soft sound– not quite a whimper, but close. His hands were still clutching the edge of your dress where he’d held on during the gunfire, his knuckles white. He was staring at the floor now, eyes unfocused, jaw tight, like he was trying to swallow whatever panic was still clawing its way through his chest.

“Finn?” you asked softly.

He didn’t answer at first. Just kept shaking his head like he was trying to make the memory disappear. His breathing had gone shallow again.

“Hey.” You crouched a little, meeting his eyes, brushing his fringe back gently. “You’re alright, Finn. It’s over now.”

He nodded, too quickly, too forcefully, and then abruptly turned to the side and vomited into the corner.

Polly immediately stepped toward him, but you raised a hand gently. “I’ve got him.”

The sound of Tommy’s voice barking another order behind you made Finn flinch visibly. That was it. Your chest clenched, protective instinct kicking in fully now.

“Come on, love,” you said, steady and soft, already slipping an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get some air.”

But before you could take a full step, a firm hand caught your arm.

“You can’t go outside,” Tommy said sharply, eyes flashing.

You blinked at him, stunned. “He needs air, Tommy. He’s shaking.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. “It’s not safe out there. Not yet.”

“He’s going to pass out if he stays in here,” you snapped.

Without missing a beat, Tommy waved two of his men forward with a curt gesture. “Go with them,” he barked. Then his eyes flicked back to you, sharp and unreadable. “Don’t go past the gate. And this time, do what you’re fucking told, please.”

You stared at him, nostrils flaring, heat rising behind your eyes. It wasn’t just the words, it was the tone, the way he said it like you were one of the men under his command instead of his wife, who’d just been dragged through chaos on her own wedding day.

Your lips parted, ready to spit something back, but instead you just wrenched your arm from his grip, your jaw tight.

You turned your back on him and led Finn away, your hand steady at his back. The weight of Tommy’s stare burned between your shoulder blades, but you didn’t look back.

Finn didn’t protest. He let you guide him away, his legs a bit unsteady beneath him. You led him down the corridor and out through the side door into the cool night air, the chaos muffled now behind stone walls and heavy doors. The moment you stepped outside, you felt him exhale, just a shaky breath, but a little steadier than before.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just sat with him on the edge of the steps, rubbing slow circles on his back.

“I thought they were going to kill us,” Finn said quietly after a long pause.

You swallowed the knot in your throat. “I know.”

You sat in silence for a long moment– just the two of you under the stars, the distant pulse of music and shouting still echoing faintly behind you. But out here, for just a little while, you could breathe.

The night air was sharp against your skin, cutting through the lingering adrenaline still humming in your veins. Your heart hadn’t fully settled yet, and Finn was still tense beneath your arm, shoulders hunched forward like he was trying to make himself smaller.

You rubbed a slow, steady hand across his back, letting the silence stretch between you like a blanket. You didn’t need to fill it. Not yet.

“I’m sorry I threw up,” Finn said after a while, voice barely above a whisper.

Your hand stilled for a second, then resumed its rhythm. “It’s okay, Finn. You don’t need to apologize for that.”

A few more minutes passed in stillness, broken only by the distant crack of glass, another door swinging open somewhere inside, a voice shouting orders. The tension of the evening hadn’t fully lifted, not even out here.

You weren’t sure how long you sat like that, just holding him steady, when the door creaked open again behind you.

You turned.

Polly stepped into the dim light of the courtyard, her silhouette sharp against the warm glow from the reception hall. Her heels clicked softly on the stone, but there was no urgency in her steps, just the same quiet gravity she always carried like a second skin.

She stopped a few paces away, her eyes scanning you both. Her gaze softened when it landed on Finn. She crouched down beside him then, resting a hand lightly on his knee. “You alright, love?”

“I’m okay,” he lied.

Polly nodded once, glancing between you and Finn again. “Arthur’s still inside trying to calm people down. Tommy’s… doing what Tommy does.”

You swallowed and gave her a faint nod of thanks.

There was a long pause before you spoke again, your voice low, tired. “When can we go home?”

Polly looked at you for a moment, really looked. Not just at your face, but the slump in your shoulders, the way your hand still gripped Finn’s sleeve like you couldn’t quite let go of the fear yet.

“Soon,” she said gently. “They need to be sure it’s safe first.”

You nodded, but it didn’t ease the restlessness curling in your chest. You were still in your wedding dress. Your hands still smelled faintly of gunpowder and champagne. And your heart hadn’t stopped racing since the first shot rang out.

You could feel the pressure building behind your eyes, that familiar sting threatening to break through. You blinked hard, jaw clenched tight, willing the tears not to come.

Polly stepped closer, brushing a bit of hair from your face in a rare, tender gesture. “You’re alright, sweetheart. You’re alright. You just need to breathe.”

You tried, but it caught in your throat.

“I didn’t even see it coming,” you whispered. “It was supposed to be– just for one day–”

“I know.” Her voice softened again, more mother than matriarch now.

You didn’t have the energy to say anything else. You just glanced down at Finn, who was quiet now, staring out at the street like it might tell him something the rest of you couldn’t.

Polly’s hand touched your arm again, firmer this time. “You’re safe now. We’ll get you home soon.”

You nodded once more, but the weight of the evening settled heavy in your bones. You didn’t feel safe. Not yet. Not really.

Polly returned inside, but you stayed there in silence, shoulders tense beneath the weight of your dress, heart still pounding against your ribs like it hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that the threat was over. You kept your eyes on the door, waiting for it to open again. Hoping it would be him this time.

Finn sat quietly beside you, hands clasped in his lap, gaze fixed on the darkened garden path ahead. He hadn’t said anything else, but he leaned into your side slightly, like your presence was the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

Minutes passed. Then, finally, the door creaked open behind you. Footsteps on the gravel.

Tommy’s figure cut through the dim light like a shadow cast from something solid and unshakable, but there was a new heaviness in his expression, tighter around the eyes, jaw still clenched hard. His tie was crooked now, shirt undone at the collar, blood still flecked faintly at his temple. But his gaze was on you.

“Come on,” he murmured, one hand in his pocket, the other beckoning you gently. “Let’s go.”

You nodded and turned to Finn, brushing your hand gently against his shoulder. “Come on, love,” you said quietly. “Let’s get up.”

He nodded, a little dazed, letting you help him to his feet. He leaned on you more than he probably realized, but you didn’t mind. Your arm stayed steady beneath his.

Tommy reached for him then, his hand landing firm on Finn’s other shoulder, steadying him silently. His other hand reached for yours without a word, fingers curling around yours with quiet purpose.

You glanced down at your joined hands, his fingers warm and certain around yours. The earlier anger– the sting of him snapping at you, the way he’d barked and shut you out, had dissolved somewhere in the chaos. You couldn’t even pinpoint the moment it left you, only that now, standing here beside him, all you could feel was the dull throb of exhaustion and the steady comfort of his touch.

Because whatever his temper had been, whatever sharpness had cut through his voice… you knew it had come from fear.

And now, there was only this, his hand in yours, grounding you again. The way it always did.

Tommy gave your hand a small, silent squeeze, his eyes flicking to yours for a brief second, just long enough to say everything he hadn’t said earlier.

Then, together, the three of you moved toward the car. Slowly, quietly. Away from the wreckage. Toward whatever peace the night could still offer.

The car ride home was quiet.

No one said it out loud, but there was a silent agreement between all of you, not to scatter off into separate homes, not to retreat behind closed doors where the silence could swallow you whole. Instead, everyone returned to the Small Heath house. It felt safer that way. Closer. Warmer, somehow, even beneath the weight of what had just happened.

You weren’t sure if it was instinct or desperation that led to it, but no one argued. No one left.

Polly took up residence in her usual armchair, a cigarette already between her fingers. Ada curled up on the couch, shoes kicked off, eyes tired but still sharp. Arthur poured drinks, heavily, and John paced the hallway like a restless dog while Esme tried to convince him to sit down. The house was buzzing beneath the quiet, like everyone was trying to act normal, but every small noise made someone flinch. Every knock, every footstep.

You glanced at Finn, he hadn’t said much since the ride. He hadn’t let go of your hand either. Now, he sat slumped in the corner of the settee, shoulders curled in, eyes wide and unfocused. His plate of untouched food sat cooling beside him, forgotten.

Your heart cracked a little at the sight of him.

You moved toward him quietly and lowered yourself beside him. “You alright?” you asked gently, though you already knew the answer.

He nodded quickly, but it was automatic, hollow. His lip trembled.

“Why don’t you head to bed, love? Get some rest?”

He shook his head before you even finished the sentence.

“I don’t wanna be alone,” Finn mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart clenched. You reached out, brushing your hand through his hair.

“Alright,” you said softly. “Then stay here with me a while.”

His shoulders eased just a little at that, like the weight pressing into him had lifted, only slightly, but enough.

Minutes passed, slow and heavy. You could hear Arthur and John’s low voices from the kitchen, the clink of glass, the occasional muttered curse. Somewhere down the hall, Tommy’s voice rumbled, low, clipped, issuing orders through the telephone. Polly’s lighter flicked in rhythm from her seat across the room, a steady little flame to match the storm still flickering behind her eyes.

Eventually, you felt Finn’s breathing slow. His body slackened slightly against yours, the last of his adrenaline fading into exhaustion. He was asleep– finally.

You stayed with him anyway, stroking his hair gently, letting your own head rest back against the cushion behind you.

Your eyes drifted closed for a moment, but your mind didn’t quiet. It circled endlessly around the night, around the chaos, around the gunfire echoing behind your ribs. The blood. The fear.

You exhaled slowly through your nose.

The door creaked open, and you turned slightly at the sound.

John stepped into the room, his gaze landing on Finn curled up beside you. He let out a low sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Poor kid,” he muttered.

You nodded quietly, brushing your hand once more through Finn’s hair before glancing up at John. “He finally fell asleep.”

John stepped closer, his voice softer now. “I’ll take him upstairs.”

You hesitated, just for a second– some part of you reluctant to let Finn go. But John’s expression was kind, steady. And maybe you needed a moment to breathe.

“Alright,” you said gently, carefully easing yourself away from Finn.

John nodded. “I’ve got him.”

You watched as he crouched down and scooped Finn up in his arms with practiced ease. The younger boy stirred only faintly, murmuring something incoherent before settling again against John’s shoulder.

You followed behind them to the doorway, pausing just at the threshold. Your eyes drifted toward the sitting room, where the low hum of voices carried down the hallway– Tommy, Arthur, and Polly, deep in discussion.

You could see them through the doorway: Polly pacing slowly, a cigarette burning between her fingers; Arthur slouched forward, elbows on his knees, face tense; and Tommy, standing tall, arms folded tightly across his chest as he spoke in that low, unreadable tone he always used when trying to mask the storm brewing beneath the surface.

You watched him for a moment longer, his words indistinct but his posture unmistakably rigid. Earlier, at the reception, he'd mentioned revenge. War. Against whoever it was that had caused all of this.

A message from Luca Changretta.

You didn’t know who that was, not really. Only that whoever it was, was bound to cause you all a world of trouble.

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides. You thought, for a moment, about walking in, about catching Tommy’s eye, about pulling him away just for a moment. But he didn’t look up. He didn’t even seem to notice you standing there.

The weight of it settled in your chest again. You were too tired to find out more. Too drained to dig into the shadows gathering around the edges of your wedding night.

So instead, you turned quietly and followed behind John and Finn up the stairs, your footsteps soft on the floorboards.

Whatever that conversation was, whatever came next, it could wait. Tonight had taken enough from you already.

You followed John into Finn’s room, the quiet creak of the door barely audible over the sound of Finn’s soft breathing. The room was dim, only the low flicker of a lamp casting a warm glow across the walls. John moved carefully, easing Finn down onto the bed with practiced gentleness, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders as he settled.

You lingered by the doorway for a moment, then stepped in fully, moving to the chair in the corner. It was old, the cushion a little worn, but it cradled your tired body easily as you sank into it with a quiet exhale.

John glanced over at you, his brow furrowed slightly. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded once, giving him a small, tired smile. “Yeah. I just… want to stay with him for a bit.”

He studied you for a moment, then gave a single, quiet nod. “Alright,” he said simply. “Shout if you need anything.”

You nodded again, watching as he turned and stepped out, pulling the door mostly closed behind him.

The room fell into stillness again. Just you and Finn.

You leaned back into the chair, gaze drifting toward him. His face looked softer in sleep– no longer clouded with fear or tension, just the slow, steady rhythm of rest. You swallowed against the lump forming in your throat and folded your arms across your chest, letting the quiet settle around you.

Your eyelids drifted lower.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep.

But your body had finally reached its limit, and before you realized it, the blur of candlelight and the soft rhythm of Finn’s breathing had lulled you into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

It was the quiet sound of your name that stirred you first, soft, low, spoken like a secret. Then the gentle sweep of fingers through your hair, brushing lightly behind your ear.

Your lashes fluttered, the warmth of his voice coaxing you back to the surface. You blinked up at him, disoriented for a moment, the dim room coming slowly back into focus.

He crouched beside you, one hand still lingering at your hairline, the other settling softly on your knee. “You’ll be sore if you stay like that all night,” he said, voice quiet and full of something softer than usual.

You sat up slowly, blinking away the heaviness from your eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you mumbled.

“It’s alright.” His voice was gentle. “Let’s get to bed.”

Your gaze flicked toward the bed, Finn was still curled beneath the blanket, breathing steady and slow. Safe. Asleep.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were still holding.

Tommy’s hand slipped down to yours, curling around your fingers. “Come on,” he said again, quieter now.

You nodded and stood slowly, glancing one last time at Finn before letting Tommy guide you out of the room. The hallway was dim, the house quieter now, tension still lingering in the air like smoke, but dulled beneath the weight of exhaustion.

You followed him down the corridor to the same spare room you’d taken care of Tommy in– the one you’d stepped inside a hundred times before, back when things were simpler. The sheets were clean but creased, the window cracked just enough to let the cool night air in. It wasn’t your house on the hill– but it was Small Heath. Familiar. Steady. Home.

Tommy shut the door softly behind you, then moved to pull the blanket back. “You alright?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at you.

You nodded, stepping toward the bed. “I just… didn’t want to leave him alone.”

“I know,” he said.

You slid beneath the covers, the sheets cool against your skin. Tommy followed a beat later, lying beside you with a quiet sigh. His arm found its way around you, pulling you in until your head rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you like nothing else could.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Just the sound of your breathing, the faint creak of the old house settling around you.

Then his voice, rumbled, low and rough against the top of your head. “I shouldn’t’ve snapped at you.”

You blinked, shifting just enough to glance up at him. His eyes were on the ceiling, jaw tight.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “I should’ve listened.”

He shook his head slightly. “You didn’t deserve that. Not tonight.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers lightly along his chest. “You were just trying to protect me. On our wedding night.”

His hand covered yours, warm and steady. “Didn’t exactly turn out how I pictured it,” he murmured with a rueful half-smile.

“How did you picture it?”

Tommy thought for a moment. “I suppose more champagne and dancing. Less… bullets and threats.”

You gave a soft, tired chuckle, resting your forehead against his collarbone. “Well, I am a Shelby now,” you said. “I can’t think of a warmer welcome.”

His chest rumbled faintly with a laugh. “I suppose,” he said, tilting his head down and brushing a kiss into your hair. "Mrs. Shelby."

You didn’t reply, just curled in closer, fingers curling loosely into his shirt. The storm outside might still rage, but here, in this small stretch of warmth and safety, it was just the two of you.

Mr. and Mrs. Shelby.

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