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unholyhelbig · 6 months

Note

I have a request as I see they are open! I enjoyed the last Oversight AU! Could I request a one shot of Kate’s imitation / first meeting with Natasha? And maybe go into the specifics of the Eli situation? I love to see the badass protective side of Natasha!

Title: Dig Your Own Shallow Grave [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff (Technically, this is one part of a bigger story)

Summary: Kate Bishop is known as the ex-heiress that was welcomed into Natasha's fold long before you. You learn pieces about her everyday, but never the full story. Not until today.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): physical violence, handcuffs, thunderstorms, threats, mentions of death, mentions of jail, incarceration, cheating, toxic relationship dynamic, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, horrible grammar

[a/n: This one is different! I don't know anything about the Elijah that's portrayed in the MCU, just the Young Avengers Eli and I can't stand the dude.]

Check out the full Oversight universe

The large leaden handcuffs seemed like an unnecessary and overzealous precaution to Natasha Romanoff. They rattled as if the young girl was nothing more than a ghost of Christmas past. They were sinched at her waist, both hands balled into fists until her knuckles were a sickly shade of white.

There was red around her eyes, making a charcoal gray hiss into something muddy and sad. There was a flash of confusion and then disgust that fell over her features when she caught a glimpse of herself in the large two-way mirror that stood parallel.

Natasha turned in her seat, made eye contact with the guard. They had a silent understanding. The cameras that were situated at the corners of the room had been shut off- technical difficulties, they would say.

She collapsed into the chair adjacent to Natasha, never taking her eyes away from the only other distraction in the room. The chain connecting her cuffs were bolted to a hook in the table, but her feet were left free. Unless she was an Olympic swimmer, which she wasn’t, that would be no problem.

The guard nodded before he left them in the room and locked the door behind him. The mechanism in the metal door was loud and sighed with age when turned. The light above them swung back and forth within its cage. A circle of yellow enveloped them both.

Her hair was unkempt, nearly feral. They must have kept her separate from the other prisoners but that didn’t ease her tossing and turning under the fluorescent lights. Natasha had been in holding cells, she’d been stripped of her clothes for testing, and her dignity for much less. Something inside of her broke for this girl. This heiress.

“Who are you?”

It was clear that her voice had gone unused for at least a day, maybe more. She shivered and shrunk into herself at the sound of it. Natasha’s features softened ,that break in her soul cracking just a little further. Her file said she was twenty-two, but the girl in front of her was nothing more than a scared child.

“The woman who is getting you out of here.”

“Please don’t talk in riddles,” She moved to press her fingers against her temples. Her hands were pulled back viciously by her binds. “That’s all my mother does. Did. She talks in circles until I’m too confused to find the start.”

“I suppose that’s fair. You’re Eleanors daughter. Katherine?”

“Kate, but yeah. I’m her daughter.”

It was said with so much bitterness. They weren’t being held at the same facility. Kate was in a deep blue shirt made out of something that was less like fabric and more like paper. She wore the pants to match, her clothes being tested for gunpowder residue.

Eleanor was in a large brick jail in an orange jumpsuit. Natasha had considered going to her but found much more interest in her daughter; the one brave enough to stand up against Wilson Fisk and his incredible size. Bishop took King and destroyed a good amount of property in her district in the process. She’d have to pay thousands to get the folded storefront fixed.

“My name is Natasha Romanoff.”

The sentence was simple and conjured fear. She could see the look in Kate’s face. The girl threw her back against the metal chair, and it screeched from the force. “Why are you here?”

“You smashed my window, and a few displays, and I’m pretty sure you set off an explosive.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“With what, Kate?”

She paled at this. It was apparent that not only had her assets been frozen, but her mother’s as well. They barely had enough to cover legal fees, much less cosmetics that suffered the aftershock of the blow. She sighed and stared at the cold metal table. It was too scratched to show her reflection.

“I didn’t come here to make you feel bad, Kate. Calling law enforcement on your own mother is a ballsy thing to do. It also makes you a snitch. If you get charged, if you get locked up, it’s not something you’ll make it out of.”

“I know that.” She whipped her head up, eyes hard with anger. They softened after just a moment, to something scared. “I know.”

A silence fell over them both, one that Natasha let settle heavily on her chest. Kate was a spitfire, she was a spoiled girl who had a moment of clarity and turned her mother into law enforcement. She was regretting that now, shivering into herself, having to wait until after the holidays until anything could move from the stone it was trapped in.

Natasha had influence with the guards, and with the chief of police in this district. They had an understanding, and she fully intended to walk out of here with Kate Bishop under her wing. Not for free, of course. Natasha was charitable, but even her good deeds stretched so far.

“I’ve already paid your bail and they’re more than happy to release you into my custody.”

She scoffed “Your custody? I’m an adult.”

“You might be an adult, but you’re one without money, without a home, and I’m guessing everyone that’s still alive and free in your life isn’t too keen on taking you in.”

“Fuck you.”

“Okay,” Natasha said in a breath, staring hard at the girl across from her. She looked so washed out under the harsh lights of the room. Despite her anger, her poisonous words, she reminded Natasha of a dog that broke free from her leash and had almost too much freedom to handle.

The woman stood, her chair sliding elegantly compared to the horrid noise that Kate’s had produced. Natasha moved to pull on her coat, covering the deceivingly hard muscles in her arms. Kate had pretended not to stare; but it was fruitless. All she could think about was what those hands had done, what they could do.

Of course, she felt some veil of safety with the cameras being here. Surely, someone would come in and pull Natasha back the second she started to advance on her, if she started to advance. The distance between them was closed and she sat on the edge of the table. Kate pushed herself flat against the back of the chair.

Natasha didn’t do well with being told ‘no’. She also didn’t do well with expletives directed towards her instead of because of her. Natasha’s slender hand wrapped around the cold chain attached to Kate’s wrists, she pulled forward and Kate’s sore ribs collided with the edge of the table. She let out a dissatisfied grunt.

She grabbed the back of Kate’s head and slammed her cheek against the cold surface with a dull thud. Natasha didn’t’ let up on her weight, instead, she held her in the perfect position to maintain control.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Natasha knelt down, making eye contact with Kate. She pushed against the hold, but Natasha had the leverage. Kate flexed her fingers, still in chains. “You destroyed my storefront, and while I toyed with the idea of killing you for that alone, you’ve impressed me.”

“I’ve impressed you?”

Her words were smushed, drool pooling from her lips. It was almost comical, but Natasha pushed harder on the back of her neck, making her cry out. “I’m talking. When I’m talking, you’re not.”

She was met with silence and figured that was as good as she was going to get with this one. Her spit-fire reminded her a bit of Clint when he was younger. It made Natasha gravitate towards him, but this girl had a lot more to learn than her closest friend.

“You’re a spoiled little brat who crumbled one of the oldest clocktowers in the city. The habit didn’t’ seem to improve when your mother cut off your credit cards and that’s a dangerous thing. Getting the shit kicked out of you in jail might serve you well. So, by all means, you can try your luck, or you can follow me out of here so I can correct your behavior.”

Kate swallowed hard, but she didn’t’ say anything. Natasha’s first lesson seemed to be sinking in. After a few moments, she released the girl who sprang up like a jack in the box. She was giving Natasha the same look that she was used to, one of absolute fear. Her face was red and when she moved to wipe her chin of drool, she was stopped once again by her chains.

Natasha took pity on her, for just a moment, and used her thumb to ebb away the line of spit. Kate knew better than to pull back, instead she looked up at Natasha like a kicked puppy, making a small noise in the back of her throat.

“Anyone who stands up to Wilson Fisk is too valuable to kill for some property damage. But let me be clear, Kate, this is not a get-out of jail free card. You work for me. You belong to me. And we’re going to fix that attitude of yours.”

He had moved to the city during Kate’s senior year and wasn’t much for talking. Eli Bradley was as mysterious as they came. He was lanky and had deep brown eyes that were so dark they were nearly black in color. Eli wore a gold hoop in one ear, and while Kate would usually find something like that off-putting, it worked on Eli.

She played cello in the orchestra, first chair with pride, and he was modest with a viola. She made a point to make eye contact with him at least once a day, and eventually he started to return her small smiles. She thought the subtle way his lip quirked up at the corner was nothing but endearing.

In early October of that year, when the air was still crisp but not exactly cold, Kate had sat in the courtyard until the sun threatened to dip behind the horizon. She was avoiding going home to get ready for a party her mother was hosting and had worked it out so she could take the last bus uptown.

“Isn’t it a little dangerous for a pretty girl like you to be out here all alone? It’s getting dark.”

Kate frowned, but quickly retracted the expression when she made out the form of Eli Bradley and the silhouette of his viola case. It hung at his side like a briefcase filled with important papers. Instead, she hiked herself forward and leaned her elbows against her knees. He’d never spoken to her before.

“I’m a 9th degree red belt in Jiu Jitsu, and I have pepper spray. I think I’ll be fine.”

“Impressive,” Eli grinned “I guess it would be pointless to walk you home then, Kate Bishop.”

“I think I can make an exception, Eli Bradley.”

Kate did find herself making exceptions for Eli Bradley over the next few months. She would let him order for her, even if she didn’t find the dish he chose at all appetizing. She had to gently remind him that she was, in fact, allergic to shellfish and if she ate the pasta he insisted on she’d need an epi-pen.

He made up for it by being a gentleman and opening the car door for her when they pulled up to said restaurant.

Kate stepped behind Eli one winter evening when it was the type of dark outside that breeds bad behavior. A woman in a hoodie stepped out from an alleyway, twitching and with a wild look in her eyes. Kate could have easily disarmed her, could have gotten her someplace warm. Eli had delivered a hit to the stomach and pulled Kate along. It was a blur. But she’d never felt fear- just regret.

He made up for it by holding her tight that night, his warmth and sturdiness eventually lulled her to sleep and convinced her that maybe she could live with herself. Maybe she could live with Eli.

Clint Barton glowered at her over his bowl of cereal. Natasha didn’t know if it was some sort of interrogation technique, but it even made her uncomfortable. It was much too early in the morning and Kate’s wrists were still an ugly purple from how tight her cuffs had been. Natasha may have pulled a bit too hard, aggravating the already raw area.

“Your cheerios are going to get soggy,” Yelena entered the kitchen in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, scratching the exposed skin of her stomach with a stifled yawn. She stopped for just a moment to regard Kate, who sat up with a rim-rod quickness. “You always dump them down the sink and it makes the drain smell.”

Clint looked towards Natasha for help. She shrugged, adjusting the reading glasses on the bridge of her nose. She had pulled the paper in this morning and was very careful to remove the front page story of Kate’s mother and her set trial date. She may be cruel in some aspects, but psychological torture was Yelena’s department.

“Who is this?” Yelena asked, voice muffled by the chill of the refrigerator.

“This is Kate. She’ll be here for a while, and if she behaves well enough, she’ll be here longer than that. I expect both of you to regard her well and teach her everything you know.” Natasha took a sip of her steaming black coffee. “Hand to hand combat should not be an issue, isn’t that right, Kate?”

Kate waited a moment, remembering the sting of the table against her cheek. Natasha had asked her a question so it was okay to answer, right? It must be. She had a tendency to not stop talking once she started but it was clear from the prying eyes in the room that she was expected to reply.

“Yes,” She found her voice easier than she had in the jail. “I’m advanced in Jiu Jitsu, hand-to-hand combat, fencing, sword fighting, archery, kick-boxing. Once I used a set of staves from this really nice woman named Bobbi…”

She trailed off when she realized Clint had stopped fishing for the last cheerio and Yelena had cracked open a bottle of juice like she was snapping the neck of a small animal. Her cheeks turned a bright pink, and she averted her gaze.

Natasha smiled softly and took another long sip of her drink. The blonde woman, the one with the chiseled jaw and the striking green eyes, let out a hum. Her stare raked up and down Kate’s form, even while she was shrinking into herself.

“I will train her.”

“That’s not an option, Yel. I want to utilize her, not kill her.”

Kate’s head shot up at the word. She caught Clint’s stare, and he gave her a dejected shrug before pushing the little life-raft of a cheerio under the milk once more. He had no interest in eating it, just drowning it.

Yelena was smiling wolfishly, lilting her head to the side like it was the most innocent thing in the world. “Kill her? Sister, I would never. She’s clearly an asset. If you let Clint train her then she’ll be regressing.”

Kate watched the tension bounce back and forth between the two like a sadistic game of ping-pong. Yelena had just hit the little orange ball with enough force and trajectory to burn a hole directly through Natasha’s paddle.

She’d never dream of pushing Natasha in the slightest, much-less the way that Yelena did right now. Her body language was relaxed and quiet. The two of them stared at each other, and the newspaper was folded, discarded in favor of the stand-off.

“I will not kill her,” Yelena reassured, yet somehow, Kate hadn’t been assured the first time, nor the second time. “Give me a chance.”

Susan Bishop had a harder stare than Eleanor. She had inherited it from her, Kate was sure, but knew how to work it like a double-edged blade. Rarely would she look at Kate. Even rarer so was the two of them being in the same place for more than six minutes at a time.

Kate had her eyes downcast, pretending to read the same paragraph of the same book over and over again. Once she felt the sharp stare of her older sister on the side of her face, it shown brighter than the sun above them.

She’d been stretched out on a poolside chair, just enjoying the pungent scent of chlorine and the occasional low hum of a car passing their large home. It was too chilly for her to actually swim, but she had a fuchsia bathing suit under her long-sleeve shirt and jeans nonetheless.

Susan had settled into the seat next to her and let out a deep sigh as she typed quickly on her cellphone. Kate had cast her a sidelong glance, but quickly pretended to lose interest. They were going back and forth like this for a long, pregnant moment.

Eventually, Susan sighed and softly closed the book in Kate’s hand, not regarding the page that she was on. Kate didn’t mind much. Her older sister never did anything softly. Kate’s heart thrummed in her chest when their eyes met.

“Hi?” Kate cautioned.

“Hi. We need to talk.”

“What do you want?” There wasn’t anything Kate had that Susan didn’t. Hell- she could ask Eleanor for anything and would instantly get it. There were no rules for the eldest, responsible, child. All of that strangling focus was on Kate.

“I don’t want anything. I just want to talk. Sister to sister.”

“Right… sister to sister.”

“You need to break up with Eli.”

The statement through Kate back. It was like Susan had kicked her directly in the diaphragm. The oxygen in her lungs deflated and she stared at her sister in disbelief. Then in startled rage. What did right did Susan have to meddle in her relationship like this?

Kate wanted to tell her just that, but nothing came out except for the last squeeze of air that could be interpreted as a noise of discontent, but Susan never was good at reading signals and Kate needed a fleeting second to catch her train of thought after it had been so violently derailed.

“I get the appeal of the student athlete, I’ve had plenty of them myself, but Eli is not the man for you. You can do better.”

“Seriously? Is this mom speaking or you?”

“This is all me, sweetie.” She didn’t’ say it in a condescending way. In fact- Susan actually reached out and gently touched Kate’s bare arm. She tensed under her, but the hand wasn’t removed. Not even when dark grey eyes looked at her incredulously. “I don’t like the way he changes you.”

“Changes me? You think Eli changes me?”

“I think he makes you shrink and Bishop women are never meant to shrink.”

“That’s all mom has ever done.” Kate bit back venomously.

“Wrong. Mother has full control over Father, she just makes him think that he doesn’t. She’s the decision maker and if she has to keep a hand on his shoulder to do that, then so be it. The world listens to men, and looks at women. It’s how society is. But Eli? He’s binding your hands, not taking them.”

Kate shoved Susan’s hand from her arm and placed both feet on the ground. She didn’t have to listen to this… this practical stranger. Susan didn’t’ know what she was talking about, and neither did Eleanor. They were both ignorant to the way she felt about Eli and the way Eli felt about her. He wanted to the best for her.

Sometimes- she just had to remind him that she was allergic to shellfish.

“Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.” She gritted before standing. She disregarded her book, not that interested anyway, and began walking to the patio doors. Tears had started to sting her eyes. First out of sadness, and then maybe a mix of malice.

“He’s cheating on you.”

Susan said it so softly that could pretend she hadn’t heard it. The water filter for the pool was loud enough to drown out the statement. But she’d stopped with one foot on the bottom step of the patio and the other planted firmly on solid cement. Her nails dug stinging half-crescents into palm.

“You’re wrong.”

“Ask him.”

“I won’t,” She turned, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “Because I trust Eli. Maybe you could grant the same to me.”

Her childhood home held onto the darkness like a vice. A place that was once so maintained and bright was past falling into lawn decay. The pristine shrubbery had springing curls of foliage and the grass hadn’t been painted like her father insisted upon each year.

The structure stood strong, only a few months and some change abandoned. A small strip of tape on the mahogany door was the only indication that this had been an active crime scene at one point. The FBI had taped an order against it before they shattered the wood with a battering ram and raided the home.

Kate hadn’t been back since. She’d been living out of her Aunt Mira’s apartment and wearing her eccentric clothing. But the elder woman would be back soon and eventually she would need to get her own belongings back. If she didn’t, then squatters would when they realized just how vacant the home really was.

Yelena let out a low whistle as she peered up at the home, as if they didn’t live in one with the same amount of wealth. Even the tone she produced sent shivers down Kate’s spine. It had been four months since that day in the precinct.

Each day was spent from dawn to dusk in Yelena’s presence, and it never became easier for Kate. She was a bumbling and incompetent mess around the woman but had grown some kind of comfort in her presence. Kate no longer believed she was in danger at her hand specifically.

That didn’t’ mean that her body didn’t ache from the constant hell that Yelena had been putting her through to put her in ‘the peak performance state- Kate Bishop’. Yelena only said her first name and barked it at her if her pace lessened on one of their multiple-mile runs, or grueling weight training sessions.

Kate didn’t want to admit that she was entranced by the tone of Yelena’s muscles. She chalked it up to admiration, because that’s all it was. Admiration. And a bit of resentment. But Kate’s chest puffed out proudly when she noticed the way her own body began to change under Yelena’s tutelage. Enough that she was ready to go back to her old home for some closure, for some clothes.

Natasha shoved her keys into her pocket and fell in line on Kate’s right side. She peered up at the expertly crafted wood. It had begun to chip. Kate thought that was ironic; it had always been so pristine, but the more she thought about it, she’d often duck under a ladder to step into the foyer.

Bad luck all around, and a simple patch job that would crumble if not properly cared for.

“We can just buy you new clothes,” Natasha urged in that flittingly careful way that made Kate know she really did give a damn, but not if you asked. “You don’t have to go in there.”

“And add to the debt I already owe you for busting me out of jail?”

“I think she has to do this.” Yelena said firmly.

She was right. Kate had to do this. She was always handed everything in life so easily and it made her reckless, but far from undisciplined. It just took Natasha slamming her face against the cold metal of an unclean table for her to get some sense knocked back into her.

Kate had called the police on her mother. She’d done it after the knowledge of crimes committed festered and grew in her mind. It bred resentment in her mind until she came face to face with the fact that she wasn’t putting her mom away, she was putting a monster away.

Stepping through these doors would humanize her and it would cut Kate deep enough to draw blood. But then, she felt Yelena’s fingers on the small of her back. A light touch that was telling Kate that she wasn’t as alone as she thought she was.

The door let out a whine of protest when she pushed it open. They were met with a stale scent and a soft glow that ruminated from what Kate knew best as the living area. There was a grand piano that was mostly untouched, and large oak bookshelves that had multiple editions of old encyclopedias bound in leather.

She and Susan used to flip through them and try to pronounce the words by phonic spelling. They’d trace their little fingers over the inked illustrations and giggle if they had found something even remotely obscene. She remembers the word ‘Dam’ making them laugh until they couldn’t breathe.

Natasha’s hand darted out and pressed against Kate’s mid-section. Her other one grabbed the gun from the back of her pants. She shot the girl a sideways glance. “You left that on?” she mouthed.

Kate shook her head, her fingers itching for her own weapon. She didn’t have one. While Kate was an expert at professional archery and her aim wasn’t in question by anyone in the room- her familiarity with handguns with the serial number scratched off was minute. Yelena had pulled her own weapon, jaw firm.

Maybe squatters had broken in, and if they had, she’d gladly allow them to have the place. She just needed to stuff a duffel bag full of items and the small sentimental necklace she had gotten from her father as a child, and then she would be on her merry way.

Natasha stepped around the corner and raised her gun, screaming something that was drowned out by the startled yells of another. Kate recognized that yell, that rasp. She frowned, letting the tension in her shoulders drop before she got a good look at the living room herself.

It was incredibly lived in and lit by a single lamp that had it’s shade discarded. It was blinding and left spots in her eyes, but not enough to disregard the box of white sticky rice that had spilled all over the floor like maggots.

There was a makeshift bed on the couch and a few of those encyclopedias strewn about as if they were bedtime reading. In the center of it all; Eli Bradley with his hands up and a fork between his lips. His mouth dropped open and it fell to the floor with a dull thud.

He was shirtless, in a pair of boxers that Kate was pretty sure was her fathers. She was thankful she hadn’t eaten before this because the simple fact was enough to make her gag.

“Elijah?” She exclaimed.

“You know this guy?” Yelena asked, voice tight. She lowered her weapon, but Natasha kept hers in the same position it was before, trained right at his genitals and ready to shoot at a moments notice.

Kate wished with her entire body that she didn’t. His boxers held his athletic thighs, his deep brown eyes flashing to the guns aimed at him. Yelena was never a patient woman but somehow, in this moment, Kate knew deep down that she would be patient here. Her mouth was dry and her throat like sandpaper. It was incredibly hard to swallow.

“I’m her boyfriend.” Eli sounded out, his fingers twitching “I have a key.”

Yelena looked at Kate with pleading eyes, to which she received a nod in return. Kate supposed she hadn’t officially broken up with the man in front of her. The aimed weapons were lowered to the floor, but Natasha kept her hold. One false move and she wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet through his bare foot.

“Yel, idi soberi yey sumku.”

Kate didn’t understand a lick of Russian, but she knew that Natasha’s tone was not to be questioned. Yelena holstered her weapon and slinked up the stairs. She’d be able to guess which room was Kate’s. The trophies and medals and photos tacked up to bulletin boards. It was the only room Kate was allowed to personalize, and even then, it was meant to be spotless.

Natasha must have caught onto the tension in Kate’s stance. She shoved her hands into her pockets, shoulders hunched and eyes submissive. It wasn’t something she wanted to see in her young trainee.

It wasn’t at all the woman that sat across from her in an interrogation room. Not even with her face her neck in Natasha’s grip. Something was wrong, and it was something stronger than Kate being back in her childhood home. That warranted sadness. But compliance? Absolutely not.

“Katie, baby. Who is this?” Eli asked. “Come on, you can tell me.”

When Kate opened her mouth to speak, Natasha held up a hand, instantly silencing her. The woman lilted her head to the side, unripe eyes taking in the scene in front of her; the discarded take-out containers, the balled-up socks in the corner of the room. The rain that had begun to pound against the roof and slather itself across windowpanes.

Natasha’s voice came out as a snarl “I’d love to introduce myself, but first, could you ask your little friend to come out from behind the curtains?”

Kate’s stare hardened and she whipped her head up accusingly. Still, she didn’t say a word. The wine-red Versailles fabric shifted; the view blocked by the grand piano but not enough for Natasha to ignore. Kate’s mother had spent hours looking over Swatches that would fit the room, and eventually chose the option that brought the room into a gothic elegance.

Kate didn’t need to wait to know who it was. Cassie Lang. Best friend, confidant, and exactly who Kate caught in bed with Elijah weeks before. But this was different. This was her home. It had already been violated by law enforcement. Torn apart just for two of her friends, people she trusted and loved, to take advantage of its vacancy.

“That’s better,” Natasha purred. Cassie was shaking because of the cold, wearing only a silk robe that belonged to Kate’s sister. “Now, let’s all have a chat.”

“Kate, Katie, it’s not what it looks like. Just… tell your friends to leave and I’ll explain everything.”

Eli attempted to step towards her, hands no longer raised in caution but reaching towards Kate. Natasha felt a surge of anger lick against her skin. She stepped between them, splaying her hand out on his chest before shoving him recklessly onto the center of the couch.

He sprung back onto his feet, voice dripping in venom “Back off lady! I’m trying to talk to my girlfriend here!”

Natasha let out a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest before turning her gaze to Kate. Something about this situation was juvenile, but so important. Though she only had the girl under her care for a few weeks now, she felt nothing but warmth towards her.

She’d mislabeled her as a rich, undisciplined trust fund baby. Natasha didn’t’ often admit her mistakes but that had been one that weighed heavily on her. Sure, Katherine Bishop had a bit of an incorrigible sass to her, but it wasn’t unwarranted. Her boasting was backed up by actions true to her words. Strong, determined, actions.

Natasha hated how she was shrinking. Hated how this man had chipped away at her until she was hugging her mid-section to stop the thrumming pain of betrayal. She couldn’t’ find the words, they were lodged in her throat. There was the strong suspicion that if she hadn’t sent Yelena away, they’d be scrubbing blood from an imported carpet.

Something tole Natasha that Kate never got a choice in this relationship, and she wasn’t about to continue the toxic pattern that had led to her demure state.

“Ketrin,” Natasha’s voice was soaked with her native tongue “Would you like me to take care of this?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again, almost like a fish. Words escaped her. Natasha’s soft exhale brought her back to the room. Everything was fuzzy around the edges and reminded her of the first time she had pushed herself too hard in competition. She never lost consciousness but came close to it.

Yelena had successfully pilfered a duffel bag, having removed the sabers that resided there and filled it with whatever clothes she could find. Kate felt her stomach flip at the naive idea that the Russian woman had gone through her underwear drawer.

She flicked her eyes back to Eli, his chest heaving up and down as he eyed the gun still in Natasha’s grasp. Cassie was still like a statue, rubbing her palms on the silk fabric of her robe. She had the decency to look guilty.

“Take care of it.”

The words were barely more than a hurt whisper. She didn’t trust herself right now, not with the sharp pain that coursed through her veins. Tears had stung her eyes in the back of the detective’s car, but she didn’t know if that was on account of Eli or Eleanor.

Kate silently excused herself as the silence that settled over the room became thicker, palpable. Yelena’s deep stare was on Kate in a way that made her squirm. But she remained at the head of the stairs, even stepping to the side when Kate began to trek to a room that had already been rifled through. There was an unspoken agreement. Natasha would take care of it.

“What’s your name?” she asked, directing the question towards the girl.

“Cassie.” Elijah answered.

Natasha held her hand up to him again, fingers barely ghosting his shoulder. He shivered at the near touch but snapped his mouth shut. “I wasn’t asking you. I was asking her. Sweetie?”

“It’s Cassie… Cassie Lang.”

“Okay, Cassie.” She kept her voice soft, cajoling. “I want you to go home and get some rest. And under no circumstance are you going to call law enforcement. I’ll be informed immediately if you do so. Do you understand?”

She nodded frantically, keeping her head down as she moved to smooth past Natasha. The woman grabbed her sleeve, holding her in place for just a moment. She was so close she could smell the sex on her, see the sweat against her brow and the fear in her stare.

“Sweetheart. I suggest you learn to keep better company.”

Cassie let out a squeak that almost bled into a whine before taking advantage of Natasha’s loose hold. She darted with a quickness unseen, the door slamming behind her, the roar of the rain hissing to a muffled stop.

“And you?”

“What about me?” Elijah asked in a nauseatingly confident way.

Natasha let out a long sigh and studied him. Everything from the way he stood to the faux dog tags that hung against his chest bled fury. This was exactly the type of man that would attract someone like Kate with a level of badger-like charm before clamping his jaw down on her throat.

Thankfully, Kate’s mother had fantastic taste in artwork. A bronze Clyde Ball piece lingered by the entryway. While he was known for his extensive statue work and abstract designs, Natasha liked that he used a heavier metal, one with a base that was easily grasped.

With a sly swing of the hand she connected the corner of the object with Eli’s temple. A flash of blood instantly stained his skin and splayed against the floor when he collapsed. Natasha dropped the artwork next to him. She let out a hum, figuring that a Clyde Ball may be worth purchasing after all.

His truck had kicked up a rut in the normally spotless lawn. Eli had barely missed the mailbox with his erratic driving- which was bold considering the amount of unmarked and marked police vehicles that encircled Kate’s property.

Kate was sitting on the front steps, the concrete cold and unwelcome against the small of her back. They’d handcuffed her and her fingers were numb. Still, she flexed them when the commotion caught her attention. They didn’t’ bother with police tape, but a man in a wrinkled suit stopped Eli.

It took her a few long moments to realize that Cassie was in the passenger seat of the truck. She made eye contact with Kate, a look of sorrow forcing her to glance away. She was wearing Eli’s lettered jacket and naively, Kate convinced herself for a fleeting moment it had something to do with the busted heating vents in the old vehicle.

She knew better.

She’d smelled Eli’s specific spicy brand of cologne and deodorant on Cassie the last time they embraced. His lips tasted of the bubblegum ChapStick that Cassie had worn everyday since the six grade when Kate landed on her during a game of spin the bottle. Admittedly, she felt more during that kiss than anything she’d ever shared with Eli.

Kate adjusted her shoulder against the hold of the cuffs. They were uncomfortable, digging into her wrists. Even if she wanted to break out of them, she couldn’t. She was a nervous fidgeter and Elijah was using some degree of charm to weasel his way past the officer blocking him. Just as he’d weaseled his way into Cassie’s pants.

“Oh my god, Katie.” He rushed out when he got to her, kneeling down on the damp sidewalk. It was unnaturally cold and they hadn’t let Kate pull on a jacket over the tank top she wore for her morning run. His hands ran down her thighs and squeezed her knees. “Fuck, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Kate’s stare brushed past Elijah blankly and to the fogging up window of his truck. If Cassie hadn’t already been wearing his jacket, she was sure he’d offer it to her, an offer she would vehemently deny. All of his charm, his commanding power, had been washed away with her mothers as she ducked her head and settled into the back of a squad car. One that probably had heat.

“Jesus, I heard that this place was swarming with cops. What did you do?”

“What did you?”

“I don’t… Katie, babe, come on.” He glanced back at the car and when he turned to face Kate once more, their eyes locked. He didn’t’ need to say anything and neither did she. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Kate felt the warmth of Detective Brigid O’Reilly behind her. She wasn’t a stranger to Kate, but she acted like one when she tightened the cuffs around her wrists. Temporary informant or not, Kate was still a Bishop and they weren’t trusted in this town.

“Miss Bishop. It’s time to go.”

Her forearm was gripped and she was pulled to her feet with a grunt. Her legs were numb, needles rushing through them. Part of her was grateful for being dragged away. The other part was terrified, sad, hurt and angry. They’d all betrayed her.

“Where are you taking her?”

“Fifteenth precinct. Don’t waste your breath, kid. She’ll be indisposed for a few hours. Take your little girlfriend home.”

He winced at the detective’s words and averted his stare to the ground. Kate let herself get let to the unmarked Lincoln town car. At least she’d save the humiliation as the whole lights and sirens routine.

Most of the time, they didn’t wake up screaming, but Elijah did. His senses were overwhelmed, and his body instantly registered the cold and the slickness of muck beneath him. Even over the brutal beating of falling rain, he could hear the cars that swept past on the highway.

His head was pounding, and the headlights of vehicles passing over the highpoint of evergreens only served as something more disorienting. It was only when a crack of lightening flashed across the sky did he notice the woman standing over him, a shovel slung over her shoulder.

So, he screamed, and he swore she smiled at the sound.

He turned over on his stomach and coughed into the mud, his toes not finding purchase in the mud. Natasha’s boot came down on the center of his back and he found himself sprawling, tasting a mix of metal and dirt. He realized that he underestimated the situation Kate had gotten herself into.

“Good morning, Elijah.” She crowed, dropping the shovel next to his face, barely missing his brow. He flinched and shrunk into himself. “I have a job for you.”

She used the tip of her shoe to flip him over onto his back. The falling rain that had gotten through the pine needles above him hit his face in a cooling effect. He saw another set of headlights, eyes darting towards the road. Maybe if he yelled loud enough, all of this would be over.

“I need you to dig a hole.”

“What?” He panted out, his breath leaking out in puffs of condensation. “a hole?”

“Mm, glad I didn’t rupture an eardrum. It needs to be a big hole. How tall are you?”

“I don’t… What?”

Natasha knelt next to him, a sadistic smile falling from her lips. Instead, it was replaced with something darker. Almost as if a flip was switched. Her deep red hair was adhered to her forehead from the rain, her jaw clenched and unclenched.

“I don’t know you, Elijah. But, I know Kate and that girl has been through hell and back. She’s guarded and hides behind her humor to deflect the pain that she’s experiencing. And to me… it seems like you’re a big catalyst here.”

His breathing had become shuddered. Natasha grabbed the shovel before standing and delivering a swift kick to his side. His ribs instantly ached and a cry escaped him. She wanted him to right himself and to safe another deadly spark of pain, he complied.

She had, in fact, started a small divot where she expected him to dig. Tears were running down his face, small sobs muffled by his determination to put on a front. She didn’t’ find any admiration in his sniveling. Instead, she let him scoop out three frothy loads of dirt before she continued, circling like a lion.

His hands had started to bleed.

“She believed in you enough to trust you and you turn around and fuck her best friend?” Natasha got close, yelled over the rain. He stuttered in his movements, clenched his eyes shut. “Don’t stop digging! Was she not enough for you?”

Elijah stuck the tip of the shovel back into the soup of rainwater and mud. It was a black slush at this point, something he could drown in if he laid facedown for long enough. “She was… she was.”

“Then why did you do it, huh? You took everything she was and whittled her down to nothing before discarding her for someone else you could break. Is that it? Did that make you feel more like a man?”

He didn’t’ respond, instead, moving another round of slop to the side of a hole that was starting to look more and more like a grave. He was up to his knees in cold, unforgiving water. His toes flexed in the icy earth.

“Answer me!” She yelled with enough anger to split earth. However, Natasha didn’t give him the chance. She dug her nails into the back of his neck and shoved him forward into the muck. He could taste dirt, words bubbling.

Elijah groaned and brought himself to his knees. His ears were ringing, his heart pounding in his throat. He was crying loudly now, sitting back on his heels. Natasha was above him, standing on the edge of the grave he had just dug. Headlights flashed over her cold stare.

“If you’re feeling helpless, Elijah, so was she. Kate needed you, and you weren’t there for her. She was suffocating, and everyone could see it, but you kept her just out of reach, didn’t you?”

“Yes! Yes,” He groaned out, digging his fingers into the soft earth. “Fuck, yes. I hurt her, I know that.”

“Lay down.”

“What?” His voice broke.

“You’re going to lay here until morning.” She knelt down “You’re not going to move a muscle.”

“I’ll drown,”

“You might.” She growled, taking account of the heaviness of the rain, the way the tires of passing vehicles sloshed around in the collected puddles. “But at least you’d understand how Kate felt.”

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

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanov x y/n #Natasha Romanov x you #Natasha Romanov x reader #Mafia au #Yelena Belova #Kate Bishop #Clint Barton #Reader insert #request #natasha romonova #Bishlova #kate bishop x yelena belova

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zarnzarn · 4 months

Text

"You used to smile more," Lamb says.

Narinder flicks a ear to dispel the flies and looks out at the fading sun. "I used to have things to smile about."

"Am I not a thing to smile about?" Lamb teases. Narinder huffs and hits them in the arm, rolling his eyes, lips quirking.

"No, not that," Lamb says, an odd note in their voice. Narinder looks over. "These smiles I know. Amused, fond small ones or half-smothered flustered ones, or smug, annoying smirks. But you used to smile big in the Gateway, remember?" They stretch their cheeks with two fingers pointedly. "All teeth!"

Narinder shrugs and turns back to the sky. "Used to."

A few beats pass. Then, in a smaller voice than Narinder has ever heard it, "Do I not make you happy?"

Narinder sighs and closes his eyes. He had guessed where the conversation was going to go, but it didn't make it any easier to navigate. "Lamb..."

"Do you not enjoy my gifts?" They demand. "My compliments, my offerings, my touch? I have tried everything, Narinder, everything. But no matter what I do, not once in three hundred springs have I gotten that same easy smile from you, my one."

"Well, demanding it isn't going to get you one," He snaps back, irritation rising.

"Well then, what is?" Lamb sits up, crossing their arms. "What can I do to make you happy, Narinder?"

"I am happy," Narinder protests.

"Are you?"

Narinder thins his lips. "I am content."

"But you're not happy," Lamb says, raw and miserable, pushing themselves up to look down at him. "I- I understand you didn't like me taking the crown, I know your pride was hurt, I know you don't like being mortal, but how long are you going to sulk over it?"

They've raised their voice by the end of the sentence, face screwed up in repressed anger, cruel in the way they spit out the accusation. Narinder vaguely feels a pang of hurt at their words, but also mostly feels a whole lot of nothing. Mild resignation, maybe.

"I mean, seriously, the other Bishops are in the same place as you, but I'm out here playing knucklebones and ring toss with my murderers, and I'm still stuck at square one with you? What the fuck, Narinder, what do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," He replies honestly. Even thinking about drudging up a smile, a fake one, makes him feel more tired than an entire month's labour ever had.

"Do you want the Red Crown, even now? Is that it? Then, here," Narinder's chest squeezes painfully at the inhale he takes when Lamb aggressively pulls the crown off their head and holds it out. "Take it. It's yours."

Narinder stares at them with wide eyes. Looks to the Crown, which looks just as taken aback as him, at the easy surrender. For a minute, fire itches behind his teeth, craving the familiar force of the Red Crown behind his movements and the joyful annihilation that came with it, the peaceful passing of souls he used to help with.

Then he remembers white, and looks away. Besides, the humiliation of being handed something won off him in fair laws out of pity was too much, even for his tattered dignity. "I do not want the crown, Lamb."

A surprised inhale. "So then what?" Their voice cracks. "What do I need to do to make you smile at me again?"

"Lamb-"

"I used to make you so happy," Lamb's voice breaks with tears. Narinder pushes himself upright in worry, painfully wondering how long they'd been holding this in. "I used to make you grin ear to ear just by being there, I used to make you laugh, you used to like my jokes and my songs and my stories and my antics, and now, even on our wedding renewals your eyes barely crinkle. What can I do, Narinder, to make you love me again?"

The wound in his chest pulses agonizingly. "I do love you, Lamb."

"How, if you're not even happy?" They demand, tears rolling down their face. "I miss you so much, Narinder, every day- because deny it or not, I remember what you were when we met, and I know i only hold a part of you now. I'm asking you again, how do I get the rest of you back?"

"I-" Narinder can't think of anything to say. Can't find the words to fix this, stop the tears.

Lamb's face falls as the silence stretches. They straighten up, out of reach. "I see."

Narinder grimaces and reaches out, missing as the other stands up and takes a step back. "Lamb."

"Never mind, then." They walk away, a hand to their face and shoulders shaking.

"LAMB!" He shouts, but they're already gone. Narinder groans and collapses back onto the grass, a hand over his eyes. He'll have to track them down later now.

How to tell them that he hadn't truly smiled since he'd fought with his siblings, all those centuries ago? That what they had seen was- sickness or madness or something, fuelled by the prospect of finally being free, of revenge, of a vessel he loved always so eager and excited to see him? That being happy was something that sat well on him, but joy had always taken over his mind and body and drove him to smile with too many teeth and burn those around him when it came?

That every time he felt happy enough to smile, all he could think of was the knife in his chest as his siblings clawed out his heart, and the axe in his ribs as the sheep he loved did the same thing again a thousand years later.

How to tell them that the only way he still could was if they weren't next to him to watch?

He knew Lamb would fall to pieces if he admitted that he thinks he could smile, had smiled, with people other than them. Their history had been messy and stained even when they first kissed, even before it had been subjected to the usual strain of a century-long relationship and Narinder had no intention of finding out whether this was the thing that finally did them in.

With a sigh, he lets go of the misery for now, resolving to find words to explain later. No need to borrow from future worries, as they say.

Still. Narinder holds a palm up against the sun, watching his fur turn brown at the edges, warming his bones. Away from others, from all the tumultuous relationships and bitter mistakes and traitorous loved ones, he smiles, properly, at the gentle light, gentle warmth. It was tiring, for the anger and shame to still have such a hold on him, after all these years.

Perhaps it was time to try harder. He had done so many impossible things in his life; how hard could loving without a heart be?

#bpd bf vs anxiety partner FIGHT #cult of the lamb #narinder #lamb #narinder x lamb #true devotion #my fic #OH YEAH ALSO. WHERE R MY NARINDER GOT HIS HEART RIPPED OUT TRUTHERS. DO NO EVIL!!!

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aealzx · 1 year

Text

The first thing Raphael learned about the new Mikey was that he was way more chaotic than their own Mikey. If he hadn’t seen the little guy bulldoze through a meta wall on his own, Raphael would have even called him foolhardy. But having seen Lil Mikey’s skill first hand meant that when he took off running down the hall after a purple EMP wave knocked out the entire base and their own communications, Raphael only followed. Which caused his two brothers to do the same, Don rebooting his tech on the way.

“Uhhhhhh, what was that??” Mikey demanded, speeding up to keep pace with Lil Mikey.

“DONNIE!” Lil Mikey called out once more, both in response to his counterpart, and to try and locate his missing brother.

“That answers absolutely nothing,” Mikey protested.

“Relax Mikey. It was just an EMP pulse. The other Donatello probably doesn’t know we’re here, so wouldn’t see the harm in setting one off,” Don calmed, brightening when his headset crackled back to life. “April?”

“Don?” Mom April’s voice came back laced with relief. “Thank goodness. I thought you’d been captured. I was suddenly kicked from the system.”

“EMP pulse. We’re back online though, and the backup generator just booted up. Can you tell us where Leo and the other Donatello are from us?” Don explained, cutting to the important details since they were already moving.

“I was able to release Leo from here, but it looks like he took a wrong turn while I was disconnected. I’ll try to lead him to join you since he’s familiar with our tactics,” Mom April explained, being able to relocate Leo in the cameras and place him on the map along with the other four. “The other one is no longer captured either, the containment room is empty, but I can’t get a location on him. There’s a deadzone of broken cameras in the area around where he was imprisoned. My guess is he’s taking them out- Don, look out! They rebooted the mechs in the room in front of you!”

To Mom April’s credit, she did try to warn them. But to their credit, they had one more team member than usual. As the sliding doors creaked open slowly because of the minimal energy provided to them the group emerged on a modest sized combat team made from a combination of Bishop’s soldiers enhanced with alien tech from the Shredder. There were four piloted mechanoids, and about ten ground soldiers with blasters, all trained at the door the brothers were coming through.

To the enemy’s benefit of the doubt, Lil Mikey wasn’t from their dimension. As soon as he noticed the weapons trained at them Lil Mikey’s first thought was to get cover for them. And since there wasn’t any readily available he created his own. Golden orange chains crashed from his arms into the ground below and ripped the metal flooring up like a peeled banana, effectively blocking the blaster fire. That was all he was able to get done before a powered up whine sent a pulse of headache inducing energy into the room, causing Lil Mikey to yelp and clutch his head.

“MAN! That is SO unfair!” Lil Mikey whimpered.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get them,” Don consoled, already pulling a mirror from his bag of supplies to use to locate the devices without risking poking their heads out. It didn’t take long to find the upright duffle bag sized machine whirring away near a mechanoid’s foot. “Raph-”

“On it,” Raphael responded, having been looking over Don’s shoulder. Popping over the barrier they had Raphael threw bladed stars at the device before covering his head with his arms, just in case, and dropping back down. There was a satisfying clang, pop, and fizzle as the device was damaged enough to shut down. Yet along with it came the fizz of more gas canisters being broken open and tossed.

“Hey! No peeking!” Mikey chastised when a ground soldier coasted around the side, trying to sneak up on them. A stunt earned them a metal nunchuck to the shielded face, and a quick kick to the side to send them away again.

“Thanks!” Lil Mikey chimed once again, shaking his head clear before bringing his chains to life once more. While several of them whipped into the soldiers, either bashing them to the side or stealing their guns, Lil Mikey stepped out from behind the barrier. The chains from his arms came once more, thrashing forward to wrap around one of the mechanoids moments before Lil Mikey whip cracked it into a different one.

With the blaster fire having been minimized, Don and Raph darted out from either side of the barrier as well, tiny electric mines in their hands. It was almost child’s play to dodge they’re way in and out of the remaining soldiers, snaking in a quick punch or kick on their way. The mines were attached to the remaining mechanoids, electricity bursting upon contact and crackling up the machines to fry the circuits.

Raphael would have given them full points for that fight, except after a moment Lil Mikey let out a series of soft coughs and put his hands back to the oversized gas mask on his face.

“Try not to breathe in the gas if you can. It might be good for you to stay back if there’s any,” Don immediately switched more to medic mode, resting a hand on Lil Mikey’s back and leading him to the exit while trying to fan the gas away with his other hand.

“Dude, that was INSANE! How are you able to just throw a giant machine like nothing? Can I learn to do that?” Mikey cheered, rushing to catch up to the rest after having given the remaining conscious soldier a kick to the head.

“Probably because we’re made to be super soldiers,” Lil Mikey commented offhandedly, giving a few more soft coughs before taking a deeper breath once they escaped the gas cloud.

The words didn’t quite register correctly in the others’ minds, their bodies moving on autopilot for a moment while their minds caught up.

“....What?” Raphael voiced shortly, not quite sure he understood that correctly.

“....Oh…,” was all Don could think to comment, filing that fact away for later analysis.

Mikey blinked as the construct in his mind quickly rearranged itself into an explanation that made more sense. If they were super soldiers, then they weren’t super heroes, right? “Khhk. Captain America, I’ve come to destroy you,” Mikey quoted, mimicking the static from a radio, then quickly dodging Raphael’s swatting hand.

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I was too lazy to try and make the image look any better =v=; not that great with getting the oomph in action shots yet

#my art #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #cross dimension kidnapping #rise+2003 crossover #writing #long post #I didn't think I would get nearly this far today

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whitedarkmoonflower · 1 year

Text

Kidnapped Part 3

Sihtric x reader

Authors note: third and final part of the requested fic about Sihtric’s wife being kidnapped by Heasten while expecting a child. My warmest thanks for requesting this. I genuinely enjoyed writing it and I hope very much that you will like it.

Warnings: angst, despair and losing hope mixed with a great portion of heart-warming fluff

Word Count: 4,119

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Tags: @namelesslosers

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“Heastens camp is located at Beamfleot, near the river. He has amassed some ten ships there, and they are preparing to march," Rypere continued his account once the commotions after the fuss regarding Sihtric’s family news and him being a father of two children had calmed down. Sihtric sat at the table, his face wearing a dreamy expression as he got lost in his thoughts.

“Our plan remains unchanged, but we must act swiftly. I expect all of you to gather in the tavern for the next three days, pretending to be drunk and spreading the word to anyone who will listen that Edward, under pressure from his mother and the bishop, has once again banished me. Spread the news that I have grown weary of the Wessex kings' ingratitude, and we are setting off for Northumbria to reclaim Bebbanburg," Uhtred responded.

"Sihtric! Hey, Sihtric! Are you listening to me?" Uhtred's voice jolted Sihtric from his reverie, and he looked up in surprise at his Lord.

“Yes, Lord! No, Lord! What did you say?” Sihtric stammered.

"You will be pretending to be drunk," Uhtred emphasized the word 'pretending' unmistakably. "Is that clear? Finan, Osferth, keep a close eye on our newmade father." Sihtric blushed in embarrassment but did not protest.

Everybody stood up and started leaving the hall.

“Sihtric,” Uhtred called his friend to stay behind, “Your mind is filled with myriad thoughts, I can see it. Sihtric, no reckless rescue ideas on your own. If I were you, the first thing I would want to do after leaving this room is to run to the horses and ride to her. Don’t do that! Stick to the plan!”

Sihtric looked up at Uhtred surprise evident in his eyes at how well he understood the wild turmoil of emotions consuming him, and simply nodded in agreement.

The next two days were an agonizing torment, the hardest Sihtric had ever faced. The weight of uncertainty had already been unbearable while waiting in Winchester, but now, knowing your location and that you had given birth to his children only to be left alone in a Danish camp, it was as if his heart had been torn apart, leaving him on the brink of losing all composure. He tried to hold on, to stay strong for the plan they had painstakingly crafted and discussed with Uhtred countless times, but the agony of fear of what might be happening to you were almost overwhelming.

The nights were the cruellest as he lay in bed, restlessly tossing and turning, dreading to fall asleep. While awake, he managed, with enormous effort of will, to keep his emotions and anxiety under control, but he couldn't control his dreams. Each time he closed his eyes and sleep finally overtook him, he was haunted by the same dreadful dream. In the dream, he was always searching for you amidst the ruins of a devastated and half-burned camp. Torn tents and overthrown wagons surrounded him. Among the debris and lifeless bodies, he called out your name in despair, but there was no answer—only silence and the suffocating realization that he had come too late, that he had failed to reach you in time. The weight of his failure and helplessness consumed him, and he would wake up a scream clawing its way from his throat, his heart pounding in his chest, and his forehead drenched in sweat.

Sihtric was a warrior and no stranger to death. He had faced it time and again on the battlefield. He had killed men, seen the life drain from their eyes, and heard the chilling sounds of war echoing in his mind. He had endured nightmares, especially after the battles, when the sounds of swords and axes clashing, the battering of shields, and the cries of the wounded still echoed in his mind. Yet, nothing had ever filled him with such deep fear and despair as this. The pain of not knowing your fate, the torment of feeling powerless to protect you, this was an anguish unlike any other. It filled him with a sense of angst and despair that cut deeper than any blade ever could.

Finally, the day of departure came. Uhtred had gathered all his men in the bustling marketplace, strategically choosing this location so that as many people as possible could witness them leaving. He hoped that among the curious crowd there might be spies from Heasten’s camp who would deliver a message confirming that they were leaving Winchester and Wessex. Uhtred casted a worried glance at Sihtric, who sat in the saddle with a pale and tense face, dark rings around his eyes. He knew Sihtric was keeping himself up in the saddle with the last remnants of his strength. Finan and Osfert had positioned their horses on both sides of their friend ready to offer support and keep their fiend steady. And so, they set off.

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The camp had suddenly erupted into a state of frenzy, resembling a startled anthill. There was a palpable anxiety in the air, but no one bothered to inform you of what was happening. Preoccupied with your two babies, you had resigned yourself to the fate of being a prisoner. Escape had never been an option, not when you were pregnant, and certainly not now with two infants in your arms. You had your children; they were healthy and strong, and this was all that mattered at the moment. There was nothing more important than to take care of them and wait for Sihtric to find you. That was something you never once doubted. You firmly believed that nothing in the world could prevent your husband from finding you. So, you waited.

“There she is. Not the youngest anymore, but still pretty. She was a whore. Must have been a damn good one, as one of her clients married her,” the tent flaps were suddenly thrust open, and there stood Heasten, accompanied by another man.

“I don’t want money for the pups, consider them as a bonus. You can never know whether they will survive,” he continued, and your eyes grew wide as you suddenly understood what was going on.

“You, heartless bastard! You are not selling me!” you shouted at him, your voice filled with a potent mix of fury and fear.

“Of course, I am. What did you think?” Heasten callously replied, “We are marching to battle, and you are nothing but a burden. I would have sold you before, but no one is willing to pay for a slave who might die in childbirth within a couple of weeks,” Heasten’s narrow eyes gleamed with malicious light while his words only fuelled your desperation, and in a moment of rage, you lunged at him, attempting to scratch out his eyes with your nails. However, Heasten effortlessly overpowered you, seizing both your hands and ruthlessly throwing you to the ground.

“Look at the little bitch, how strong and fierce she is. She will last long,” he taunted, addressing the other man and pointing his finger at you, lying on the ground, suffocating with tears.

“Please don’t do it!” you begged, tiers rolling down your cheeks. “I am begging you, please have mercy. You don’t have to take us with you. Just leave us here in the woods.”

“And lose silver this man is ready to pay for you?” Heasten smirked, turning away. Both men left your tent, leaving you crying on the ground. A suffocating mix of helplessness, anger and fear overwhelmed you, curling in your stomach and spreading throughout your body. Your hands trembled as you pulled your hair and screamed, releasing all your despair. “Sihtric,” you whimpered through your sobs, “Where are you? Why haven’t you found us?”

A terrifying thought washed over you instantly. “Is he still alive?” You had never doubted it for a single moment before. You were so certain that nothing would prevent your husband from finding and rescuing you, whatever the cost, except for one single thing - his own death. The horrifying feeling that had found its way into your heart grew stronger with each moment you dwelled on it. More than half a year had passed since you last heard from Sihtric before you left to visit your sister, and another two months had gone by in Heasten's camp. What if you were never to see him again? What if the only person in this lonely world whom you loved more than your own life was gone?

It felt as if the light had been withdrawn from the world around you, leaving you in a cold, dark, eternal night. Shadows crept from the corners of the tent, enveloping you, embracing you, and swallowing you from all sides.

"No!" you screamed, tears streaming down your face. "It is not true! I would have felt it! The bond between us is too strong; if he were to die, I would have felt it," you shouted at yourself, refusing to believe the horrifying thought that had taken hold of you, but shadows seemed to tighten their grip, making it hard for you to shake off the dreadful fear that had engulfed your heart. You remained crouched on the ground, crying out your helplessness.

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They had ridden the whole night and the following day with maddening speed, pushing both horses and riders to the verge of exhaustion. The previous day, one of the boys spying in Heasten's camp had brought the devastating news that Heasten was almost ready to march and that a message had been sent to Beamfleot, inviting slavers to the camp. As the grim reality settled upon them, the men gathered around the flickering flames exchanged worried glances, their eyes eventually turning to Sihtric. Without a word spoken, he rose to his feet with a resolute look in his eyes and began packing his belongings. In that moment, there was no chaos or panic, not even a haste or commotion in his actions, only a steeliness and a firm determination.

The mere thought that his wife and children were about to be sold as slaves sent a sharp, physical pain coursing through Sihtric's body. It was unbearable. You had already endured enough suffering before he took you away from your life as a whore in a tavern. All Sihtric had ever wanted was to cherish and protect you, to surround you with a shield of his love and care like a soft, comforting blanket, helping you forget your painful past. To him, you were his missing piece, the one who completed him and gave a new purpose to his life. Thoughts of you, your image in his mind, were what fuelled him to survive battle after battle, fighting like a madman, all driven by the one single desire – to return home to you and sink into your arms, knowing that you loved and accepted him unconditionally, just as he loved and accepted you.

He had promised you that he would never let you suffer again, and yet he found himself unable to keep that promise. The weight of this failure, shame and embarrassment had consumed Sihtric’s mind all this time, but now in this very moment there was no room for such emotions, neither for the anxiety nor the fear that had haunted him in the past days. They were all gone, replaced by pure, seething anger that coursed through his vanes, bringing a frightening calmness and composure to him. It was a feeling he knew so well, one that came to him so often amid a battle, when chaos engulfed everything around him. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only one singular purpose in his mind—to fight, to survive. Only this time, there was another driving force propelling him, yet the empowering sensation of being capable of anything, of being unstoppable, remained unchanged.

No one attempted to speak to him or dissuade him. Words were unnecessary; everyone understood that if the captives at Heasten's camp were to be sold as slaves, the chances of ever finding them again would be close to non-existent. Determination etched on his face, Sihtric mounted his horse and cast one last look at the camp, searching for Uhtred with his eyes He didn't want a permission to leave; nothing Uhtred could say or do would stop him. He only hoped for a reassuring glance or nod from his Lord, signalling that the rest of the men would follow the plan as intended. To his astonishment, he saw ten mounted warriors ready to depart, their expressions mirroring his own stern determination.

“Lord?” Sihtric’s voice was hoarse as he looked at Uhtred, the unspoken question hanging in the air.

“Did you really think we’d let you leave without us?” Uhtred responded with a smirk, spurring his horse.

With not enough horses for everyone, the other men would follow on foot, without rest. This was a desperate race against time. They knew they would be tired and hungry when they reached Heasten's camp, likely unfit for battle. The only advantage they could hope for was the element of surprise if the news of Uhtred's pretended departure to Bebbanburg had reached Heasten. Despite the odds stacked against them, not a single man objected to the mad plan.

-------------------------------------------------------

As the evening started approaching, you were packed onto wagons with other women and children, bound for a clearing somewhere between the camp and the next city, rumoured to be Beamfleot, as you had overheard from the conversations of other women in the camp. It took a few hours before reaching the clearing, where you were forced to leave the wagons and herded into a small paddock. In the distance, you could see wagons with metal cages, an ominous sight that sent a chill down your spine.

The captives around you were mostly women and children from nearby villages, taken by the Danes during the latest raids. A kind young woman offered to help you carry one of your children and reluctantly you agreed. Exhausted and emotionally drained, you had no more tears left to cry. You were ready to embrace the unknown fate whatever it will bring with a stern determination not to allow it to break you. You will survive, and you will endure. Your children depended on you, and you were determined to be strong for them. There was no room left for self-pity. As you looked around at the other girls, children and women torn away from their homes and families, your heart ached for them. Some were crying, while others wore a stoic, indifferent expression, concealing their inner terror. The atmosphere was heavy with fear and uncertainty as everyone grappled with the terrifying prospect of what awaited them. And deep inside you knew that you were better prepared for this ordeal than any of them.

You watched as several men arrived with Heasten, engaged in a heated argument. Their wild gestures and animated discussions pointed towards the paddock, and it became clear they were bargaining over the captives. After a short moment Heasten nodded to his warriors, and the wooden gate creaked open. The captives were dragged out one by one, forced before the slavers, and then herded towards the waiting wagons. The scene was a nightmare of angst and desperation, with women and children crying, some attempting to resist, only to be met with merciless force and being knocked to the ground and dragged further, their pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. Tears welled up in your eyes as you felt a mixture of fury and helplessness, witnessing the depths of human cruelty and being unable to do anything about it. You felt sick and dizzy, reduced to a mere commodity, traded and sold as an object.

“Don’t hit them in the face, you idiots!” one of the slavers shouted. “I will not pay for a single bitch with a broken nose!”

The warrior, who had just knocked down a screaming and crying mess of a young woman, casted an annoyed look at the slaver, seized her by her hair and began to drag her along the ground. He managed to do just a few steps before he suddenly froze with a look of complete bewilderment in his eyes that instantly changed to a grimace of pure fear as he released the woman’s hair, fell to his knees, and collapsed face-first into the mud, an axe protruding from his back. The woman sensing the grip on her hair loosen scrambled to her feet, letting out a piercing scream of terror at the sight of the dead warrior behind her.

In that very moment an absolute chaos engulfed the scene. Women and children cried out in fear, slavers run to their wagons and tried to jump onto them, frantic commands filling the air. Heasten and his warriors yelled at each other, attempting to form a makeshift shield wall to protect themselves from the sudden threat that had appeared out of nowhere. Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to make sense of the unbelievable scene unfolding before your eyes. Who were these attackers? Was it the long-awaited rescue you had desperately hoped for? The thought filled you with a mixture of hope and trepidation. Your gaze darted around, searching for familiar faces in this chaotic turmoil.

Your eyes widened in a mix of hope and disbelief as you recognized Uhtred and Finan charging into the fray. With swords drawn, they, along with a handful of other men, smashed into the small shield wall that Heasten's warriors had desperately attempted to build. They broke through it with little effort. The suddenness of the assault had left Heasten and his men stunned and almost paralyzed, catching them off guard, with waves of fear rippling through their ranks.

As the battle raged around you, your heart pounded in your chest, and your breath came in shallow gasps. You frantically scanned the clearing, desperately searching for the one man you wanted to see most, the man who meant everything to you. Your heart almost froze in your breast as you couldn’t find him and you felt the dark shadows of doubt seizing you with their cold hands, threatening to suffocate you. All those evil whispers that had found their way into your thoughts this morning and that you had tried to ban, were back again, taunting you, telling you that your hopes were in vain, that he was gone, that he couldn't possibly be there to rescue you. The weight of uncertainty threatened to overwhelm you, and you felt your strength faltering. You sank to your knees, holding your child close, feeling the world collapsing around you and then you saw him. You saw Sihtric – your husband, your love – amidst the chaos and the battle. Relief washed over you like a tidal wave, and tears of joy streamed down your cheeks as you realized that he was alive, and he had come for you. In that moment, everything else faded away. The battle still raged around you, but all that mattered was the sight of your husband, the man who had promised to protect you, who had vowed to be by your side always. He was here, and nothing else in the world could compare to the overwhelming feeling of love and gratitude that filled your heart.

Your eyes remained fixed on Sihtric, and what you saw left you breathless. His face contorted with primal fury, he screamed incomprehensibly as he moved with a deadly precision, swinging his battle axe like a force of nature, leaping from one warrior to another. It seemed as if the god of war himself had descended upon that small clearing, delighting in each death he dealt to those who dared to challenge him and threaten what he cherished most.

The efficiency of his movements was awe-inspiring, driven by a mixture of raw power and madness that you had never witnessed before. You had always known that Sihtric was a warrior, that he was killing people if it came to a battle, but this had always been far away from you. It was just a distant knowledge with no real substance. Now, it was all too real, and you couldn't tear your eyes away from the terrifying, yet captivating sight of your husband in his element. His eyes glinted with the thrill of killing, a side of him you had never experienced, that you had never known it even existed.

As the battle gradually subsided, Uhtred's men swiftly seized the few surviving and surrendering warriors, including Heasten himself.

With a loud groan, Sihtric yanked his axe free from the fallen enemy's back. His gaze swept the area, searching for any remaining threat. Sihtric's breath were ragged and uneven, his body tense with adrenaline as he stood amidst the aftermath of the short battle, blood and mud covering his handsome face, his hair matted and dishevelled. His hands, gripping the handle of his war axe, trembled slightly, the knuckles turning white from the strain. In this very moment he was a predator seeking for his next prey, his eyes shining with anticipation and deadly precision, but there was nobody left in the small clearing, so his war axe remained lowered near his side as his eyes finally found you on your knees in the paddock pressing your daughter to your chest, while the woman holding your son stood next to you with absolute terror in her gaze.

As his eyes fell upon you, everything shifted. Sihtric’s face turned pale as he instantly recognised you. The layers of battle-hardened resolve melted away, revealing the raw emotion of a man who had feared the worst and now found the love of his life before him. The mad enraged look in his eyes faded instantly and turned into painful mixture of fear, anxiety, unending love and tenderness, his hands letting loose the handle of his war axe as he run towards you. His eyes never leaving you, he rushed to your side and dropped to his knees, taking hold of your face in his trembling hands and lifting your head to meet his eyes, his dirt-covered hand gently caressing your cheek, wiping away the tears that had mingled with the dirt on your face. Cupping your face gently, he showered you with tender kisses, tracing every inch of your cheeks, nose, and forehead as if reassuring himself that you were real and unharmed.

"I found you, my love, I finally found you," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, “I am so sorry that you had to endure this. I was so afraid that I have lost you. I …” his voice broke and for a moment he was unable to say anything, emotions overwhelming him and tears welling up in his eyes as he looked down at the small bundle in your hands.

“Gods, … is it true? Is it … ?,” he managed to whisper, “May I? …Would you let me? Please…” his words were a fragile plea, his voice trembling in anticipation and fear you might refuse him, deny him this simple happiness of holding his child. You smiled, your heart swelling with love for the man before you, as you gently extended your arms toward him, giving your silent consent and placing the fragile frame of your daughter into Sihtric’s arms. His eyes lit up with an indescribable happiness, his trembling hands carefully accepting the small bundle, cradling your daughter against his chest as if she were the most precious treasure in the world.

“Gods… I don’t deserve this,” he murmured, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I don’t deserve you,” he breathed barely audible looking into your eyes. There was no need for words, as his eyes were speaking for themselves. The fear of losing you, the happiness of being allowed to hold his new-born child in his arms, the endless love and tenderness, the uncertainly of the future and the silent plea for forgiveness mixed with pure bliss, an overwhelming sense of gratitude and wonder at this moment all mirrored in his gaze as you leaned in to kiss him, dismissing all his doubts, all his fears and insecurities. Your kiss gently brushed against his lips like a fresh breath of the wind, it conveyed more than words ever could—a profound reassurance that you loved him unconditionally, and that he was deserving of your love and all the happiness in this world.

“I love you so much,” Sihtric whispered, holding your daughter tightly, every breath in his body radiating a promise to protect and cherish you, knowing that he had found his true purpose in life—to love and be loved by you.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

#sihtric #sihtric x reader #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric fic #tlk #the last kingdom #tlk fic #sihtric x you

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the-s1lly-corner · 23 days

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bishops x reader who wants to sacrifice themselves?

Bishops x Reader who offers to sacrifice themselves

oooooo i love me some angst mweheheheheheh notes: reader is gn, any creature for the reader, did a coin toss on whether or not they agree to sacrifice you, tbh not really proud of this but i do kind of like kallamars part and shamuras... will be yoinking that for some imaginary scenarios later cws: sacrifice and death

LESHY

he agrees to it after thinking about it for a while, hes not exactly happy about it but you bring up good points for why it should be done

you get a grave, too, decorated in flowers and small statues and trinkets, you actually have a hand in decorating it as morbid as it sounds

his mouth feels sour during the preparations, like he feels hes making a mistake letting you go through with this... hes killed countless followers before, most not even being sacrificed... so why are you different?

asides from of course, you being one of his favorites- but even then he wasnt exactly gentle with his other favorites either... young god, not as experienced as his siblings but just as quick to snuff out life without much of a second thought... the sacrifice is done

HEKET

flat out refuses, and shes not going to be gentle about it. nothing you can say will change her mind, she still has use of you (code for her saying that she wants you to stay for just a little longer, or forever if you have a gold skull necklace)

besides- theres so much other use for you asides from giving your being up- like... working, and worshipping, and...!

doesnt like it when you bring it up and shuts it down anytime you mention it, shes stubborn and her words are final

shes so tense and harsh about it that it may put a strain on your relationship for a while until one of you caves- and its unlikely that the god of famine is going to backdown and admit defeat in this

KALLAMAR

he makes you a grave for when youre gone- hes always had that planned regardless of how you ended up going out... age, disease, an accident... but never did he ever consider you wanting to give your life to him to further his own

he wants to deny you right then and there but youre persistent, but he holds firm despite your begging to let you help him

there are countless other fathful followers that can be sacrificed, they can be chosen instead... and the proposition of using someone else seems to hurt you, just a bit... like you believed that you werent devoted to him enough

its a messy thing all around- you want to prove yourself to him and further his power and range... and he doesnt want to let go of you just yet- if it had been anyone else he would have let it happen without a second thought

SHAMURA

they dont take your request lightly, not at all... just by the look in your eyes and the tone of your voice they knew there was no changing your mind- and this wasnt something you offered up on a whim

that doesnt mean theyre... thrilled about it... they make sure the preparations leading up to the ritual are catered to you, this is your death afterall and they want to make your last few days as comfortable as possible

perhaps they are compensating for something that plagues their mind, a means to regain some control and regulate their feelings of grief

oh how theyre going to miss you... but faith is something that must be preserved, and if you want to preserve their power.. and their life.. who are they to deny you?

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bullet-prooflove · 1 year

Text

Crazy, Fucked Up Kind of Love - Alexander 'Tig' Trager x Reader

Tagging: @mortal--soul @yourwinchesterbros @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @nessamc @thanossexual @anime-weeb-4-life @redpoodlern @ravencrow83 @nu1freakshow @the-wandering-lunatic @lexondeck @keyweegirlie @theplacewhereallthedemonsgo @poppyrose33 @belovedbastardremus @trublu2u @thebaileybugle @spngingerbread21 @tragerlover @yvette22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @callsignartemis @kmc1989

Tig finds the pregnancy test entirely by accident.

He returns a day early from the trip he took up to Santo Padre to discuss some business with Bishop Losa and his crew. That chapter of the Mayans are looking at getting out of the drugs game and moving towards more legitimate enterprises. It’s been a successful endeavour within the Sons so far and Bishop had wanted to pick his brain.It was meant to be a three-day thing, but they’d ended up covering everything they needed in two. He had been eager to get home because he hated being away from you for too long.

It’s when he’s washing his hands in the bathroom sink that he finds the white stick. The blue cross glares at him as he picks it up and studies it intently. He thinks he knows what it means but he goes through the bin and finds the packaging just to be sure.

Positive.

You’re having a baby.

His baby.

He’s going to be a father again at 50.

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry because a couple of months ago he got a vasectomy because the two of you had decided not to have kids. He’d taken a lot of shit off the guys about getting neutered, but it had been worth it because it meant you could come off your birth control. It had been fucking with your hormones and shit, messing with your mental health…

Tig thinks he can pinpoint the night that the baby was conceived. There was a small gap, just a tiny one between him getting the ‘all clear’ and you tossing away the birth control. He remembers the taste of wine on your lips, the music you had on in the kitchen when he went down on you, how he’d fucked you on the kitchen table because you in those pyjama shorts…

…it made him hard just thinking about it.

He carries the stick with him into the bedroom, setting it down upon the nightstand. He knows that you didn’t leave it for him to find on purpose. He can tell you were in a rush this morning, that you didn’t have your shit together. There’s a couple of shirts thrown onto the bed, and you’ve left the lid off your moisturiser. He sighs before returning the clothing to the wardrobe and resealing the container. He can’t imagine what must be going through your mind right now, you’ve just started to get back on track after everything that had happened with Clay.

When he thinks about that, about what almost happened, his heart feels like it’s being ripped out of his chest. If Clay had been successful, Tig would have lost both the woman he loved and his child. It would have completely destroyed him.

The thing is he wants this baby.

His first marriage to Colleen was an absolute shit show, he’d walked out on it by the time Fawn was five years old because he knew that both the girls were better off without him. He knows he can do better this time.

This baby would be born out of love. A crazy, fucked up kind of love but love no less.

Love Tig? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#tig soa #tig trager fanfic #tiggy #tig trager x reader #tig trager #alexander trager #alexander trager soa #alexander trager x you #alexander trager x reader

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gravehags · 3 months

Text

"Amore, you look as if you've seen a, hehe, ghost."

You toss your keys into the dish by the door and set your enormous water bottle down on the side table before lowering yourself into an armchair in a daze.

"I..." you begin, your voice cracking, "Did you...uh...did you know Papa Nihil works out?"

Copia lowers his Nintendo Switch from his face and gives you a wary glance.

"What...do you mean?"

You clear your throat and resituate yourself in the chair.

"I was um. On the treadmill in the gym the upper clergy use - you know the one you gave me the key for? Anyway. I'm like a half hour into my workout and...a tall gentleman I had never seen before comes in. Real--" there goes your voice again, "Real beefy. Y'know vascular. O-older guy. And he sits down and starts lifting weights like they're nothing and I'm thinking this is some cardinal or bishop I haven't been introduced to...I go to give him a good look and he looks at me a-and. It's Nihil. And he smiles at me? Like, for maybe the first time? Copia he looked good. Strong. I mean," you laugh, a little wildly, "You know more than anyone how I am about older men but," you whistle low, "Goddamn I think I get what Sister sees in him now. Who knew he was hiding all of that underneath his chasuble."

You turn to Copia and his face has turned white as a sheet.

"You think my dad is hot?"

"I mean...kinda? Now I know where you get your thighs because whew. The girth on--"

"I don't want to hear anything more about my father's...girth," Copia says, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Why, why did you tell me this, amore?"

"I don't know!" you half-shout, panicked, "Copia I had to tell someone, you can't expect me to live with this information on my own!"

"You think my deadbeat dad - who doesn't like you either need I remind you - is hot. Unbelievable."

Miffed, he rises from the couch and walks towards the kitchen while you follow him with your gaze, mouth agape.

"I mean technically Satan is your deadbeat dad but...oh come on, Copia. I think your mom is hot too but--"

"You what?"

"You know what, that's on me. I'm sorry I weirded you out by being attracted to my almost in-laws."

He turns his nose up with a pout.

"And they'll stay almost in-laws if you ever make me have this conversation again, capisci?"

"Capisco," you mutter, now with a pout of your own on your face. You look at your watch and wonder if Sister Imperator would be busy about now...surely this is a conversation she'd like to have.

"Hey, I'm um. I'm going back out, I left something in my office."

"No you didn't," Copia calls as he gazes into the open fridge, "Leave my mother alone, you horny little fiend."

Shit.

You stomp back to your chair and throw yourself in it, arms crossed.

Party pooper.

#curator reader series #rachel writes

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ily-fictional-women · 1 year

Text

Take Out, Maybe?

Summary: Not everyone can cook, and not everyone is meant to.

Pairing: Kate Bishop x fem!reader

Warnings: Minor mentions of blood

Word count: 1293

a/n: This is loosely inspired by that one Tom Holland interview where he mentions Zendaya tried to cook for him when he got back from a shoot. (Reblogs are welcome and critiques/advice are heavily encouraged, but please no translating.)

More often than not Kate will stay over at Y/n’s apartment, but with her apartment finally being fully remodeled after it caught fire it gave Y/n an opportunity to stay over there more. With Kate staying over at her place most of the time Y/n had gotten used to making dinner for the both of them. So when Kate came home from a mission Y/n started looking through what to cook with as she usually would.

Y/n hollers looking through the fridge, “Kate what do you want for dinner?!” Kate quickly jogs downstairs meeting Y/n at the fridge taking something out of the freezer. She shrugs, “I’m fine with anything.” Y/n huffs still staring inside the fridge, “There’s not much to cook with when’s the last time you went grocery shopping?”

Kate shrugs again giving a sheepish grin, “I don’t know. Why don’t we just order something tonight?” Sighing Y/n closes the fridge door leaning against it and looks at Kate. “I don’t really feel like take out though.” Kate looks at the makeshift ice pack she had pressed against her side holding it up to Y/n with a grin.

“We could heat up these pizza rolls then.” A small grin tickles up on Y/n’s lips, “What do you even cook here there’s practically nothing in the fridge.” Kate scratches the back of her head stammering, “I don’t really know how to cook, to be honest.”

Y/n’s grin fades as she looks more confused. “You do know how to cook though, you’ve made dinner before I come home from missions a few times.” Kate laughs awkwardly, “Uh, yeah. About that. Those times I cooked were just the food I ordered. I’d just put it in the pots and pans then put the containers and bags in the dumpster.”

Giggling Y/n similes wide, “Kate, my love. You are twenty-two. How do you not know how to cook for yourself? Have you just been living off frozen foods?” Kate groans in embarrassment. Walking over to one of the shelves in the kitchen though Kate grabs a box of mac and cheese.

“I can make this! I’m great at making this.” Kate shakes the box in Y/n’s face in a playful victory but Y/n just takes it from her placing it on the nearby countertop. “Congrats Ms. Bishop you can boil water.” Kate rolls her eyes at Y/n’s sarcasm, “Ms. Bishop is my Mom’s thing.”

Y/n shakes her head, “Whatever. Put a jacket on though.” Grabbing her own jacket Y/n stands near the door while Kate just looks confused crossing her arms. “And why exactly am I gonna put my jacket on?” Going up to Kate Y/n takes her by one of her arms pulling her closer to the door.

“We’re gonna go grocery shopping so we can make dinner together.” Kate just groans again making Y/n toss a jacket at her. “Stop being a brat and let's go Kate. There’s a mini grocery store in walking distance from here.” Reluctantly Kate puts on her jacket following Y/n out the door after putting Lucky on a leash to come with them.

Making it to the grocery store Kate watches and Y/n carefully selects different vegetables putting them in a plastic bag. Grabbing a separate bag she then watches Y/n put different fruits in the bag.

“What recipe did you choose exactly that requires blueberries?” Y/n shakes her head giving Kate a ‘are you stupid look’. “Kate. You barely have anything in your fridge. We’re grocery shopping in general. And you’re paying by the way.”

Kate’s eyes go wide in shock, “Alright fine. But I’m gonna go get a frozen pizza then for later.” Hearing the word pizza Lucky immediately barks in agreement making Y/n stare daggers at the dog and her pizza-loving girlfriend. Kate awkwardly fake coughs then shrugs, “Or I could just not do that, that’s cool too.”

Looking through the meat section for the main course for that night's dinner Lucky steals a steak on the lower shelf nearly pulling Kate away with him. Managing to stay in the same spot Y/n takes the steak from Lucky adding it to the other meats with the groceries.

“Y’know you spoil him too much Y/n?” Kate smiles as they make their way to the cash register. Y/n simply rolls her eyes at the woman, “Like you, we never spoiled.”

Finally making it back to the apartment Y/n lays out all the vegetables and meat that will be used in the dinner for the night while Kate finishes stocking up the fridge. As Kate finishes up stocking the fridge Y/n sets down a thick paper towel with some carrots and a sharp, and obviously unused kitchen knife right next to it.

“Okay, Kate, your first lesson in learning how to cook is one of the simpler ones. Learning how to chop vegetables.” Y/n holds onto Kate’s hands in the right positions from behind showing her how to chop properly. Kate smiles to herself, “This would probably be more romantic if you were taller than me.”

Y/n scoffs immediately letting go of Kate's hands. “You have like one inch on me Bishop.” Kate rolls her eyes laughing as Y/n starts searing the meat. Everything goes smoothly for the moment. Kate cuts the vegetables as Y/n takes care of everything on the stove.

Or that is up until the point Y/n hears a quiet “Dammit” from Kate’s direction. “What’s up, Kate?” Y/n asks not shifting her gaze away from the stove. “I accidentally cut myself a little." She hears Kate a lot more clearly this time turning around she turns Kate slightly to see the damage.

Looking at her hand, saying I cut myself a little would be an understatement. The cut started at the top knuckle of her thumb going down to the bottom of her hand. “Kate! Oh my god, you’re gonna need stitches.”

Grabbing a stray dish towel Y/n presses it against the cut putting Kate’s other hand on top of it to keep the pressure as she left to grab cash from her wallet for a taxi. “Baby it’s not that bad.” Kate tries to laugh through the pain of the cut.

Y/n looks at her worried but also confused, “Kate, do you know how to do stitches on yourself?” Kate stutters bleeding through the rag, “Uh, no. But-” Y/n throws her hands up in the air pulling Kate to the door. “Well I don’t know how to do stitches in general so let's go.”

As Lucky starts to follow Y/n in a panic tells him to stay rather aggressively. Kate gives the dog a quick pout before whispering to the dog, “I’m sorry Lucky! Your Mommy’s crazy.”

Making it out of the apartment building Y/n hails down a taxi making sure Kate gets in safely first before her. “Can you take us to the nearest emergency room please sir?” The man gives a quick nod noticing the bloody rag on Kate's hand.

It took about ten minutes to get to an emergency room, but once the women at the check-in desk say Kate was bleeding through the dishtowel she immediately got the two of you to see someone. After the doctor finished cleaning the cut she started stitching it up.

Kate manages to look over at Y/n with a huge grin, “Hey, Baby?” Y/n looks at her with a tired smile, “What’s up?”

“You still not in the mood for something else? Take out, maybe?”

“Yeah, takeout actually sounds good right now.”

#kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop #hawkeye series #kate bishop x female reader #marvel fancic #marvel imagine #kate bishop fanfiction #kate bishop fic #kate bishop fluff

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scarlettromanov · 2 years

Text

Business as Unusual - Chapter 2: The Contract

pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanov x Reader

word count: 4.1k

warnings(18+only): brief mentioning of Steve Rogers; eventual kate bishop; CEO! Wanda Maximoff; Brief mentioning of Stephen strange; Jealousy; Dom/sub; Domestic Fluff; Eventual Smut; Hurt/Comfort; Childhood Trauma; Mob Boss Natasha Romanov; Smoking; Food; Caffeine Addiction; mention of drugs; Alcohol; Mentions of Violence; mob wife Wanda Maximoff; Angst; NO CHEATING!; all parties communicate; brief Stephen strange slander

Chapter Two: The Contract

The afternoon sun drapes across you as you lay in bed. Absent-mindedly you flip through a copy of the newspaper. The driver said you could take it. You needed to prove to Wanda that you had read something right? The material is dry though. After flipping past the sports section you quickly look over the business section.

A picture of Natasha and Wanda stares up at you. Natasha’s arm wrapped around Wanda’s waist. Wanda wearing a red turtleneck sweater underneath a black blazer. Her hair is curled perfectly. Natasha wears a black jumpsuit, a deep v extenuating her figure. Their wedding bands are clearly visible. Wanda is staring lovingly at Natasha, and Natasha is staring straight at the camera with a small smirk. As if to say “don’t you wish you were me?”

Maybe- yes you would like to be Natasha, or Maybe you’d like to be Wanda. Both women clearly had an effect on you, but you couldn’t deny the small twang of jealousy as you stared at Natasha's hand wrapped around Wanda’s waist. You wished that she would hold you like that.

You sigh, and briefly skim the article. Sales were up 75% from the last year. You knew this. You crunched numbers for Steve all day. Although your salary was subpar, you felt a sense of pride knowing you worked for a successful company. After perusing a few more articles you flip to the funnies, and laugh at the latest Garfield comics. Truthfully, you wanted to look at the comics first, but you couldn’t report to your boss that you read The Song of Achilles for the fifth time. The business section seemed like the next best option.

The rest of the day goes by slowly. Your nap is cut short since you are unable to stop replaying the events of the morning in your head. Tossing and turning, you day dream about the way her fingers brushed against your cheeks. Running clumsy fingers over the bandage on your chin. It’s not until you wince from the residual pain that the daydream ends.

After failing to sleep you take a walk in the park, like Wanda told you to. The feeling of the sun hitting your cheeks has you feeling light on your feet. You really can’t remember the last time you took a leisurely stroll. If you were being honest with yourself, your life had become train ride after train ride between work and the city. Ever since your breakup six months prior, the weekends felt like long gaps of time filled with binge watching shows, and going to the laundromat. Speaking of which, you desperately need to do a load of laundry this weekend. You finish up the day with a good old fashion bowl of Ramen Noodles, and then settle into bed. The small dragonfly night light in the corner of your bedroom helps calm your nerves, as you drift to sleep.

The next morning you are dressed, and about to head out the door when the buzzer to your apartment goes off. You wonder if you should answer it, but decide against it. Absolutely not wanting to be late to see Wanda this morning. The elevator is out again, so you take the stairs two at a time down the 8 flights.

Stopping dead in your tracts you notice the very expensive Rolls Royce parked outside.

“Ms. Y/L/N?” A man in a suit asks as you attempt to sneak your way past him. Skidding to a halt, you turn and look at him. He wears a pair of ray bans that hide his eyes. His expression is unreadable.

“Depends on who’s asking?” You ask giving him the side eye. The dark haired man is about six feet tall, but you gazed up at him unafraid to back down.

“Ms. Maximoff ordered the car.” He says shrugging, jerking his thumb back at the Rolls Royce Phantom behind him. You peer around him at the sleek black car. Not comprehending what exactly was going on here.

“Wanda what?” The words falling from your lips in disbelief.

Just then your phone buzzes in your pocket. Instinctively you reach for it.

From: Unknown

Public transportation is unsafe for a good girl like you.

See you soon. Let me know what to have MJ pick you up from Russo’s. - W.M.

Your mouth falls open as you look up from your phone at wannabe Men In Black. Wanda ordered a driver to get you to work this morning? Swallowing, you try to find your voice, attempting to muster up some kind of confidence.

“Tell me your name.” You tap your phone against his chest lightly. He doesn’t seem phased by your nosiness. His medium length brown hair is scraggly at his shoulders. It doesn’t quite fit the rest of his persona at the moment.

“James.” He quirks a half smirk.

“James, thank you. Cars make me nervous, please get me to Wanda safe.” He fully smirks at you now, looking over the tops of his sunglasses. Revealing a set of sparkling blue eyes.

“You got it, Ms. Y/L/N”

He opens the door for you, and you slide in with ease. The smell of leather fills your nostrils. James ignites the engine, and pulls away from your apartment. Staring at Wanda’s message. You type one reply. Delete it. Type another reply. Delete it. Finally you hit send.

Not even a minute later your phone buzzes again. Your heart does a kick flip in your chest. Wanda sent another message.

You let her last message sit out in limbo. It wasn’t that you didn’t like breakfast. It was the fact that eating with Wanda made you feel like there were golf balls in your stomach. Resting your head back, you just hope that Wanda didn’t have pancake breakfast waiting for you.

Half an hour later, James pulls up outside of the office, and turns to look at you. He removes his sunglasses and gives you a smile. He’s pretty handsome.

“Have a good day, Y/N. Have Wanda call me if anything comes up.” You thank him, and open the door. You had to admit that you sort of felt cool rolling up to work on time in a fancy car. Co-workers probably thought you were ubering to work.

If only your clothes matched your little fantasy. Quickly you make your way into the building. Ignoring the anxiety that you felt knowing you were working directly with Wanda. You let the giddiness wash over you. Without hesitating you hit the elevator button and take the ride up to Wanda’s office. The doors of the elevator open, and you step out with more pep in your step than you felt in months. Absent-mindedly you chew on your lip from the subtle anticipation.

MJ was already at her desk, her brow furrowed as she squinted to read her computer screen. Her glasses sit perched on her head, and you wonder for a moment if you should tell her. She looks up at you, and her smile lights up.

“Good Morning, Y/N,” Her voice sounds chipper enough for 8:45 a.m. on a Thursday. Either way you are glad to see your potential new friend.

“Morning, MJ,” You smile back at her as you approach Wanda’s door.

“You take bright and early very literally,” She giggles, and you nod your head giving her a sheepish smile.

“I am a very dedicated employee,” You mumble, followed by a small laugh, before reaching up to give Wanda’s door 3 small knocks. Your skin is buzzing in anticipation. Heart sitting in your throat as you hear the clicks of Wanda’s Heels heading straight towards you. The door swings open, and her green eyes meet yours.

“Good Morning, Y/N. Come in,” She’s pleased with you being early. She gestures for you to enter. From behind you Wanda lifts the straps of your backpack from off of your shoulders, and lowers it to the floor next to her desk. Before you sit down at the desk, you hear Wanda’s heels retreating towards the coffee table and sofa. So you turn to follow her. She sits in the armchair opposite of you, and you eye up the array of fruit and croissants. Silently, you thank her for not getting pancakes. Attop of of a small black and red coaster you see it. Your black coffee. You lick your lips as you can smell its aroma in the air. Was it obvious to Wanda that you were a caffeine addict?

“How was your ride into town? Cozy?” Wanda asks with a smile. Her red lipstick looks fresh, and you wonder what brand she uses. The drugstore brand that you used on special occasions rubbed off almost immediately.

“Yes! Thank you again. You definitely did not have to do that,” You blush as her actions mean more to you than you think she realizes.

“Like I said, public transport isn’t safe. It gives me peace of mind knowing you’ll arrive here every day.” She crosses her legs, flipping her hair over her shoulder again. You notice that she does this whenever she wants to come across as nonchalant. You ignore her attempt to set you at ease. You desperately want to know why she cares this much about your well-being. For now though, you nod your head, and grab a few pieces of sliced kiwi from the tray. Wanda’s eyes light up seeing you attempt to eat.

“Is this alright? I wasn’t sure what you liked to eat in the mornings.” She gestures to the trays of food.

“Oh. Y-yeah. I’m not much of a breakfast person. I love fruit though,” You pause, and grab a croissant from the tray, placing it onto your plate, “And croissants actually are my favorite pastry. ” You smile, breaking open the pastry to reveal the dozens of layers of butter and pastry. They were fresh, and you could tell. Wanda eyes you with a warm smile. She reaches for her drink, and takes a sip. She closes her eyes, and you can tell that she’s enjoying this moment of bliss.

“What kind of drink did you get?” You ask when she opens her eyes again. To your surprise her cheeks turn the slightest tinge pink. Wanda Maximoff, embarrassed? You silently bask in how cute she looks when she blushes.

“Would you judge me if I said a lavender oat milk latte?” Wanda says, looking away from you. You giggle, it should have been obvious to you that she was drinking a beverage so queer coded.

“So you are judging me.” She quirks an eyebrow at you, and you try to stifle your laughter.

“No! No! I just should’ve known,” You wave your hands trying to let her know that you’re being playful.

“I’m confused,” Wanda’s Sokovian accent bleeds through for a moment, and you notice. Ignoring how adorable she’s being, you attempt to explain,

“It’s… you know… queer.” You do a little flick of your wrist. Hoping she understands the gesture, and that the age gap between you two isn’t going to ruin the moment. You take a sip of your coffee now feeling just how dry your mouth felt from the nerves.

“Well that would explain why I've had people slip me their number after I’ve ordered this drink.” You inhale suddenly from the way her words throw you off. Unfortunately you had been in the middle of sipping your coffee. Immediately you choke on the liquid. Wincing at the burning sensation in your throat. This is what you get for attempting to drink a scalding hot drink without waiting for it to cool. Wanda jumps to her feet to help you. You hold up a hand.

“I’m fine- I’m fine!” You assure her, but the look of worry doesn’t leave her eyes. Clearing your throat a few times, still trying to push down the giggles

“Is it that funny to believe that someone would hit on me?” Her voice is completely serious. Heart sinking into your ass and you fall silent. Giggles long forgotten. With burning cheeks you look down at your hands again. This is it, she’s going to fire you for being an asshole. You think to yourself. Shame filling your thoughts.

You bite your bottom lip, and then reply, “No, I can believe it.” Meaning it since you know you would hit on her if you had an ounce of confidence (and obviously weren’t already her employee).

“I’m screwing with you, Y/N.” Wanda’s replies, a smile in her voice. When your eyes meet she winks at you. Of course she’s screwing with you. Wanda always found a way to make you squirm. A small part of you knows that she loves to see you flustered. Your brain couldn’t help but short circuit when she would wink at you; make a joke at the copier, or by making faces at you during staff meetings ( when you both were clearly not listening ).

“Relax, Sweetheart.” Taking a few deep breaths you feel the blush disappear from your cheeks.

“So now that we’ve established that my drink is extremely gay. Let’s get to business.”

You nod, and stand to grab a piece of paper and a pen. Wanda reaches down to her bag, and pulls out a stack of documents. She leans forward, and places the document gingerly into your hands. It’s a nondisclosure agreement . Your eyebrows knit together, and you absentmindedly sit back down on the couch.

“Wanda, why am I signing an NDA?” Wanda places a few pieces of fruit onto her plate, and plucks a grape in between her thumb and forefinger. She eyes you with a look that you can’t quite understand. Her tone is serious when she replies,

“Do you trust me?”

You don’t hesitate before replying, “Absolutely.”

“Sign the document,”

You stare down at the stack of papers, and flip through it. Once, and then again for good measure.

“Always crossing your t’s and dotting your i’s. Very thorough,”

You didn’t know how to tell Wanda that your dad is an attorney. Growing up, despite his general dislike of you, your Father made sure to stress the importance of reading a document before signing it. Right now though, you push his words out of your head. Clicking your pen, you sign on the line above your name.

“Thank you,” Wanda says before taking the document to her desk. You can feel the questions dancing behind your lips, and she notices.

“You are my personal assistant, and data analyst for Natasha and I’s affairs.”

You raise your eyebrows. If you were Wanda’s personal assistant, what did that make MJ? That poor girl probably needs this job more than you do.

“What about MJ?” Your voice is full of worry.

“MJ is my company secretary, you will be filling in the gaps for any other needs Natasha and I have.”

Natasha? Your heart rate speeds up at the thought of Natasha telling you what to do, and when to do it. You mull over her words, honing in on her choice of words. MJ was her company secretary, does that mean your work was outside of company limits?

“What are my hours?” You ask, running a sweaty hand through your hair. Your palms are clammy, but you don’t want to jump to conclusions.

“You will be on call for me and Natasha. When we call, you answer. This isn't a company position, Y/N. You do understand that, don’t you?”

Does this mean you were fired from your old position? Picking at your cuticles, You cross your legs, squeezing them together. Feeling hot tears well in your eyes. You blink them away. No, not here, not in front of the one person you so desperately wanted to impress. She could not see you like this.

“I can’t believe I got fired.” Your voice is full of emotion. Self Deprecation setting in quickly. Wanda shifts in the arm chair across from you. You refuse to look up at her sudden movement. Your cuticle begins to bleed as you pull on a hangnail. The world grows smaller as you retreat into yourself. Wanda moves to the seat next to you. She places a reassuring arm over your shoulders. She smells of vanilla and honey. Her closeness comforts you.

“You’re not being fired. You have a choice. You can continue to work for Steve,” Wanda pauses, giving your shoulder a squeeze, “or you can quit and work for me and Nat. The choice is yours, dear.” You lean into her with a bit of your body weight. She doesn’t shy away from contact. If anything, the grip on your shoulders tightens. A choice between crunching numbers all day for Steve Rogers, possibly never moving up in the company. Stuck under someone else's thumb. This offer from Wanda felt like a step up somehow. And despite not being much of a materialistic person, you cannot deny that a chance of a raise sent a thrill through you. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, feeling the slow rush of excitement setting in.

“I choose you and Natasha.”

“Good choice, honey.” She winks at you again before turning to wrap her arms around you. Your head rests briefly on her shoulder. Wanda pulls away, her hands resting on your upper arms, thumbs stroking back and forth. Your eyes lock for a brief moment, as you smile at each other. Wanda’s mouth hangs open the slightest bit with a smile.

Wanda’s office door opens, and you jump in your seat. It breaks you out of your trace, but Wanda doesn’t move. Her fingers are still stroking your arm.

“Good Morning, my love,” Wanda’s voice is full of love as you both look over to see Natasha. She is breathtaking in high waisted black trousers, and a low cut satin white blouse. The clicks of her stilettos barely audible as she moved. Her curly red hair pulled in a braid down her back. For a moment you felt like the world stopped as you took her in. Sure, Natasha had hired you. But if you were being honest, when you knew she was going to be in the office you would purposely stay glued to your desk. Steve would have meetings with her in his office, and she would always be sure to say hello to you.

“Good Morning,” Natasha’s voice is always throaty and low. She pauses before making her way over to you and Wanda, “I see that you’ve already started, I’m sorry for being late.” She leans down, and kisses Wanda. You divert your eyes, not wanting to seem like a pervert.

Wanda said nothing to you about Natasha being here this morning. Natasha settles herself in Wanda’s arm chair. Carefully she takes a manicured hand and picks up a strawberry from the fruit platter. Her cherry red lips wrap around the berry, and she hums in delight. Your hands, which are still on Wanda’s arms, tighten as you watch Natasha. She pats your arms with her hands, and releases you.

“Let’s get the paperwork together, and then we’ll get you settled.” Natasha sets the leaf of the strawberry on a napkin. Before sitting back in the chair. Her arms resting lazily on the arm rests, as she looks at you. Meanwhile you have a death grip on your thighs. Wanda holds up the signed NDA, making it clear to her wife that your lips were legally sealed. Natasha nods her head with a smile.

“So Y/N, how does it feel to be free of grandpa Steve?” Wanda stands, and passes by Natasha. Wanda ran a love hand up Natasha’s extended arm. You stare at Natasha, convinced that your face is the color of a cherry tomato. Her eyes clearly amused at your flustered state.

“Well, I don’t think I’m going to have to teach either of you how to work Excel. So it’s definitely a step up.” You mutter.

Natasha lets out a low chuckle. She is the picture of ease sitting in her chair. Her confidence radiates off of her, and part of you feels a bit envious.

“You’re right, Wands,” she says before taking a sip of her own coffee, “she is funny,” Wanda hums in response, as she carries another stack of documents over to you. She sits down next to you. Your legs brushing up against each other lightly. To your surprise it’s Natasha who speaks next. Your eyes lifting to meet her green orbs. Her features have gone completely neutral. So different from the playful woman who sat before you just moments before. Wanda lays the contract on the coffee table at your knees.

“Read the contact over, carefully,” Natasha waits for you to nod your head before continuing, “Your salary, living arrangements, days off, are your decision. However, I will not pay you over $150,000 a year, and you cannot take more than 3 months off a year. Your choice of apartment must be within two blocks of Wanda and I.” Natasha’s voice hangs heavy in the air. Has the room always been this humid?

You think you’re going to be sick from the rush of adrenalin. $150,000 a year and moving? You were barely making $40,000 in your current position, and your lease wasn’t up for another six months. Wanda notices the shift in your body language, and places a gentle hand on your back. Her thumb rubs circles into a knot in your lower back, and you fight the urge to squirm under her touch.

“Read it over, dear,” Wanda’s voice is soft in your ears, and obediently you pick up the contract.

This agreement establishes The Terms of Employment between the following parties:

Wanda Maximoff-Romanov and Natasha Romanov (Referred to as Party 1)

And

Y/N Y/L/N (Referred to as Party 2)

Party 2 is herein referred to as a “The Assistant’’ and is set forth to be available to Party 1 on a 24 hour; 365 day basis.

The parties hereby agree to the following provisions as the terms and conditions of The Assistants Employment :

The Assistant must live within walking distance of Party 1’s home apartment;

Party 1 is to help The Assistant settle into her live quarters under the terms of the contract;

Neither party may discuss the contents of the contract with any unapproved persons;

The Assistant is to keep all personal matters which involve Party 1 confidential unless Party 1 approves of the individual ;

Clothing

Food

Material Indulgences

Affection

Open Communication

You continue to flip through the Agreement, digesting that you will have to move in order to fill this position. What will your father think? You wonder briefly before you remind yourself that if your father wanted to have an opinion on your life then he would have to be an active participant. Rather than a judgmental asshole who swoops in to kick you when you’re already down. The reminder of his very existence has you grappling for a pen.

“Where do I sign?” You say with an air of confidence looking up at Natasha. Her red lips pull into a smirk. Her eyes darken, and she leans forward in her seat. Her elbow resting on her knee, and a hand holding her face. Wanda's thumb stills on your back, fingers tightening. You fight the urge to lean further back into her touch.

“Last page, sweetheart,” Natasha’s tone is warm, and you feel your insides fuel with excitement as you sign your name above the dotted line. The details could be sorted through later. Right now, all you could think about was the thrill you felt under Natasha’s gaze, and Wanda’s hand on your back.

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somber-sapphic · 4 months

Note

Hiya! if you are open to requests can I ask for a sick Carina fic set during a clinic day where Carina drags herself in despite Maya telling her to go home, but when shes there, s19 has to go on a call, by the time theyre back shes exhausted herself and barely awake (Maya finds her asleep on one of the beds)

"You've really got the sniffles today, haven't you?" + “If you sneeze one more time, I'm going to start getting worried." + "It's not like you to get this sick."

Clinic Daze

〖Summary: Sometimes Carina doesn't have any choice but to work while sick, luckily Maya (and the a lumpy bed) are there to help her〗

〖Word Count: 1.6k〗

〖Pairing: Sick Carina x Maya〗

〖Notes: After watching s7e9 I needed some comfort, thank you for this ask. Also my hand started cramping up while I was finishing this so that's fun

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Carina sneezed into her mask and sniffled, pushing a stray piece of hair out of her face as she tried to make sense of the chart sitting in her lap. She knew her report was hard to decipher; she just needed to be sure others could read it. She was done for the day, this was the last thing on her list and then she was going home, Maya had promised to take her home if she had to stay the whole day.

“Carina, why are you still here?” The brunette looked up to see her wife striding over, one eyebrow raised in disapproval. Carina straightened automatically, feeling as though she was a small child being scolded. Maya had told her not to come to work and had been telling her to leave between patients. She sneezed twice instead of responding, the bursts coming in quick succession.

“If you sneeze one more time, I'm going to start getting worried." The EMT said, her tone serious. When she had seen her this morning she had been slightly concerned for her health but as the day went on the ball of anxiety in her stomach grew.

“They couldn’t get anyone else, I need to be here,” Carina replied, her voice grating and weary. She had laughed at Maya when the woman suggested that she not come into the clinic today, she hadn’t felt bad at all, just a bit run down. Another sneeze rattled her body and she ducked away, shame coloring her cheeks. She had been so wrong.

“You’ve really got the sniffles today, haven't you?” Maya said sympathetically, offering the doctor a tissue from the box sitting next to her. She accepted and pulled the mask down, revealing a mess of snot and a bright red nose.

She tossed the mask in the trash, no longer having any use for it. The patients were gone and Maya was pretty much bound to get sick considering the two lived together, plus it had been ruined by her frequent sneezing.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Maya paused and glanced down at her phone, relieved to see 5:00pm flashing across the screen. “Okay, the clinic's closed. Finish up whatever you’re doing right now and I’ll take you home, I don’t want you driving like this.” Carina nodded in silent agreement and grabbed another tissue, blowing her nose with a gurgling sound.

Maya bent down and kissed her hairline, her lips meeting hot damp skin. The fever was an obvious next step but she needed to be confident it was there so that she could figure out what exactly she wanted to do to help her wife.

Just as Carina tucked the file away and was about to stand up an alarm sounded throughout the station requesting the truck and aid car. Maya looked up helplessly as her team began to gear up, torn between staying to take care of Carina and going to do her job.

“Bishop, we need you, let's go!” Andy shouted, noticing Maya’s hesitation. The captain glanced between her second and the obviously sick doctor and felt a prickle of guilt in the back of her neck. “Bishop, I’m sorry but we need you. Carina, go make yourself comfortable, we'll be back as soon as we can.”

“Go, it’s okay. I’ll wait here.” Carina rasped, punctuating the sentence with a grating cough. Maya pressed one last quick kiss to the top of her wife’s forehead and bolted towards the truck, gearing up at record speed.

Carina watched in admiration as she leaped into the fire engine and sped away. She felt a little safer every time she watched 19 work together, the way they all moved with such confidence made her feel better not only about the safety of the people of Seattle but for the woman she loved.

With a shaky sigh, Carina stood, wobbling slightly as she angled her body toward the stairs. It was technically a part of her job to clean up after clinic day but she was too dizzy and tired to think it worthy of her time. The firefighters could get in and out just fine which was all that she cared about.

The brunette stumbled her way up the stairs, needing to pause halfway up to sit and catch her breath. She hadn’t been walking around much the last few hours, opting to roll around the bay of the station in a wheely chair. It had done wonders for keeping her young patients entertained and had been far faster than walking would have.

The heat in her face and behind her eyes told Carina that she had a fever but she was freezing, her thin scrubs doing nothing to combat the chills raging through her body. The doctor in her knew that she should find a thermometer, take her temperature, and treat accordingly but the patient in her wanted to go crawl into bed and stay there until she felt better.

She lurched toward the bunks, stopping off at Maya’s locker to snag a sweatshirt on her way. She decided that a doctor would probably also tell her to sleep so she would be listening to the imaginary doctor for the time being.

After at least ten minutes of trying to remember which room Maya slept in, Carina found what she hoped was the right one and crawled into what she hoped was her wife’s bed. She figured that they couldn’t be too mad at her if she ended up in someone else's bed and if they were she could pull the fever card.

Carina pulled the sweatshirt over her head and buried her face in the front, pretending to be held in Maya’s arms. It wasn't anywhere near the real thing but at least she had some piece of the medic there, something to hold. She curled up in the hard bed, drawing the blanket over herself. Part of her was worried about intruding in a space she knew she wasn’t entirely welcome but she felt too sick to do anything else.

A sudden clap of thunder crashed outside, making the sick woman flinch. She wasn’t afraid of storms but it had caught her off guard and the sudden shift in weather was disorienting. Had she been paying more attention to her surroundings she likely would’ve noticed the clouds rolling in and the steady rain that had begun over an hour ago but her delirious mind hadn’t been worrying about anything but staying awake.

The thunderstorm came to be a welcome comfort that replaced her feverish thoughts about Maya’s safety and how cold she was. She wished that she had stolen a blanket from the laundry room before lying down. Soon that thought faded away too as the brunette sunk into the depths of sleep, her subconscious void of dreams leaving her in blissful quiet.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

When Maya returned to the station she expected Carina to be eating dinner, watching TV, and maybe even still charting. They had only been gone a half hour, the fire had turned out to be a smoking toaster and the injury a minor burn. After giving the woman who had called them a lecture on when it was appropriate to call emergency services they had taken their leave, driving off into the storm.

After searching every place she could think of Maya finally checked the bunks, wondering as she did so if her wife had left. She had never shown much interest in being in the living quarters of the station, actually taking great lengths to avoid intruding into the other firefighter's space. When she found Carina tucked into a little ball on her bed Maya understood how sick her wife must’ve been feeling.

“Oh bella,” She whispered, sitting down on the bed beside her. She rested a palm on Carina's forehead, sucking in a breath at the heat she felt radiating from the doctor's skin. She pulled the hood of the sweatshirt down taking great care to not wake her up. Maya was touched that Carina had gone looking for something of hers for comfort but also felt guilty that she had left her alone.

“Is she okay?” Andy’s voice floated into the room, pulling Maya from the thoughts swirling around in her head. She shrugged and stroked Carina’s hair, eliciting a small whimper from the sleeping woman.

“She will be. I wanted to give her a few more minutes of rest before I took her home.” Maya murmured, hesitating to wake her. Even on the uncomfortable mattress, wearing scrubs and a beat-up hoodie, this was the best she’d seen Carina sleep in weeks. She had been stressed about work and only averaging a few hours a night at best.

“You can let her stay here if you’d like, the beds aren’t the most comfortable but it’s pretty bad outside. I wouldn’t be surprised if we got called in for a flooding rescue.” The last sentence was directed more towards Andy herself as she mused on how prepared they would need to be to deal with extreme weather circumstances.

“Are you sure? I know she’s really not supposed to be here but it would be great if she could try to sleep some of this off uninterrupted.” Maya sat up a bit straighter, relief tinging her words. The idea of waking Carina up only to have to take her outside in the rain even for the walk to her car was something she would rather avoid.

Andy smiled slightly and nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll leave you two alone for now. Let me know if you need anything.” with that she walked away, leaving the blonde to care for the ailing doctor.

“It’s not like you to get this sick,” Maya said to her still-sleeping wife, noticing a bit of drool in the corner of her open mouth. The way she was lying with her mouth open and nose wrinkled up she would’ve looked so silly if not for her illness. “Oh, I’m so using that for payback.” She snickered and took a quick picture before wiping the drool away and pressing a kiss to Carina’s temple.

“Sleep well amore, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

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