#dare i say… because that’s who she feels safest with after maria

[unreliableforecasts]

i’d like to talk about how kamala had to nudge carol to hug monica but she basically threw herself into valkyrie’s arms

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: None Yet

Word Count: 1,583 Words

Summary: Maria and Mercury tell stories of the pasts.

Warnings: Self-Deprecation Mention, Abuse Mentions, Child Abuse Mention, Amputation Mention, Death Mention, Weapon Mention, Food Mention, let me know if I should tag anything else.

Shadows Are Made Of Light: Chapter 3

Mercury was amazed while Maria was telling the story of her past. The most powerful Silver Eyed Warrior and someone he looked up to as a child, he respected her. But the story also infuriated him on her behalf. How dare they take her eyes like that? Is that what Salem would do to him if she found him?

"But I wasn't. I went into hiding soon after." Maria explained.

"I can't believe it. You. You're the Grimm Reaper. You were a legend. And then you disappeared." Qrow looked startled, shocked, appalled. It all made Mercury nearly laugh at him. He behaved like a obstinate child in front of his idol.

"How exactly does a legend disappear?" Oscar asked.

"You never used your name, never showed your face. Lots of us thought you were just laying low. Eventually we came to accept that you were probably dead. But the stories about you, I based my weapon off of yours. I wanted to be as good as the Grimm Reaper." Qrow spouted.

"Well, I'm nothing but a disappointment. So you're well on your way." She announced with a huff.

"How can you say that?" Blake asked. Mercury shook with rage. His idol, sitting here, criticizing herself.

"Child, a huntress is supposed to protect others to the bitter end. But after I lost my eyes, I only ever looked after myself. Even after my surgery, I was too afraid to fight, afraid someone would find me again, finish what the others started. You shouldn't aspire to be like me, especially when some of you are clearly stronger already. It's comforting seeing that your generation seems up to the task of inheriting this world. I'm just sorry I didn't do more to leave it in better shape."

Maria wistfully looked out over the ground they were passing over. Mercury felt rage subside slightly, she was scared, he understood that. That was exactly why he'd run after Beacon, run away to hide in Mistral only to find out that Lionheart was a traitor and he had to run again, to a place with no primary headmasters like Argus.

"When I was thirteen, I found a little girl when my father took me on one of his missions. Pretty young, a baby no older than her first few months, couldn't even walk yet. I named her Chrome because she didn't have a name. Father called her my sister but I cared for her more like a parent to a child, she was my daughter by all account. He didn't like my attention being drawn off elsewhere besides him so he only got worse toward me and her." Mercury looked at the pitying looks on the faces of team RWBY and Oscar and Qrow, even Maria looked sad.

"One day, I decided to run away from him with her. I managed to get to the next town over and I gave Chrome to a group of training huntsmen that were visiting the town from Atlas who promised to take care of her and I and take us to Atlas, since they were returning to their homeland that night. I knew he couldn't get to Atlas, so Atlas was the safest place to put her. That was until his friends found me and dragged me back home. He took my legs that day for defying him and getting rid of his only chip left to bargain for my obedience. He eventually got mad after about a week that I could no longer act as his personal maid enough that he gave me metal legs to replace the ones he took but, when he did that, I ended up killing him." He kept his composure. After all, Maria hadn't lost her cool when she was explaining.

"I would have hid too, probably found Chrome again afterward if Cinder hadn't found me there, looking for him. I would have run away and hid just like you did if she hadn't threatened me with knowing about Chrome. Because there's nothing wrong with hiding after something bad happens. It doesn't matter what you promised or who you promised it to. When you're hurt or scared and you want to hide, you do it because the person you need to save also has to be yourself sometimes."

He refused to look at the pity on their faces anymore. But he could feel the tension in the air loosen somewhat. Maria gave a little laugh.

"Thank you, Mercury." She looked at him smiling.

"Thank you for sharing something that personal, Mercury." Oscar whispered.

"I also have happier stories if you depressing bastards want something happier." He smirked.

"I think we could use happy after stuff that heavy." Ruby told him.

"Well, there was this one time Chrome decided to braid my hair as practice for her own. My hair was in tiny braids for over a week while I tried to get them out." He laughed.

"I can imagine that, that's the worst part." Yang cackled from the front.

"The great Mercury Black with dozens of tiny braids in his hair for upward of a week." Ruby chuckled. And, even if they were laughing at him, he was happy that the tension was gone now. The heaviness left in the air from those nightmares in Brunswick Farms was finally gone.

"Oh, I was thinking, Maria. Maybe you could teach me to use the Silver Eyes the way you did?" Ruby asked.

"Given I'm already training Mercury here for that same thing. It shouldn't be hard. I've always looked for other Silver Eyed Warriors to train, to teach the next generation of Silver Eyes and give hope back to this world." Maria smiled.

"You have Silver Eyes?" Ruby asked.

"How did you think we got out of that basement?" Mercury asked.

"I thought it was me?" Ruby seemed confused.

"You did the first one. The one where it got those nightmares away from Blake. I did the second that gave us time to get out." Mercury told her.

"Silver Eyed buddies then." Ruby lightly punched his shoulder.

"Hey, don't go stealing my metal limb buddy." Yang joked.

"I'm not. I'm not." Ruby stuck her tongue out at her sister. Then Ruby's scroll beeped and she brought it out. "It's Jaune!" Yang even stopped her bike.

"How?" Yang asked.

"The city?" Ruby asked. "Wait." She took the scroll from her ear and looked toward the direction that Yang was driving to find a path that led up a mountain. Argus. Yang made quick work of getting up the mountain to announce they'd arrived in Argus. Finally, this nightmare was over. They were safe.

Once there, Yang locked Bumblebee in a storage garage for vehicles. While the others waited for...something. Mercury didn't know what. He was just hoping they'd planned out a place to sleep at.

"Cute boy Oz!" Mercury looked toward the sound only to see a streak of pink as something tackled Oscar, though he helped steady them from falling on the ground while everyone else greeted team JNPR or, well, JNR. Mercury got a pang of guilt again. He had been part of the plan orchestrated that resulted in Pyrrha's death.

"Wait, who is this?" Nora asked.

"Mercury." Yang smiled proudly.

"WHAT!?" Jaune snapped.

"I've defected. I ran away. Salem would have killed me."

"Why would she kill a henchman besides you being expendable?" Jaune took out Crocea Mors, intending to use it against him.

"Because I have Silver Eyes. She kills people with Silver Eyes so I ran away and hid in Mistral. I left on the Argus train after Haven Academy was shut down." He told him.

"Why should we trust you?" Jaune asked.

"I have a daughter in Atlas. I'm trying to get to her. She should be turning six in a week." Mercury told him.

"You have a kid? A real kid?" Jaune asked, putting Crocea Mors away but laughing in his face.

"Yeah. I have her picture if you don't believe me." he angrily snapped.

"Yeah sure." Mercury pulled up the few pictures of Chrome he'd managed to get over the time he had his scroll.

"She looks just like you." Jaune hummed.

"I know, surprising considering she's adopted." He smirked.

"Alright, we can keep the stray you guys found." Jaune told them.

"Hey!" Mercury wanted to feel insulted but, honestly, it was kind of funny being referred to as a stray like he was some cat they'd found on their journey. They went onto the transit and Mercury just followed them around to Jaune's sister's house.

Mercury would absolutely not fawn over the baby Saphron had. He totally wasn't. Nope, not at all. He absolutely wasn't and no one had any proof that he was soft toward children, no sir. Mercury did take the food offered to him by Nora.

"C'mon, eat up. You can't be passing out on us." Nora shoved the sandwich into his mouth to stop his argument. It was then he realized he was actually really hungry.

He listened to their discussion this time while he ate. He wanted to know what would be happening. He wanted to make sure he could help at least. Mercury had a bad feeling, like something bad would happen to impede their journey like those damned nightmares.

"So we kinda already tried that and it didn't go super great." Jaune admitted.

"Come on, it couldn't be that bad." Yang laughed. Mercury had a feeling that she would regret saying that.

[chalantness]

fic: Here, On the Edge of Hell (4/6)

Rating: M Word Count: ~13,400 (part four) Characters: Steve/Natasha Summary: mafia au. She knows her father hadn’t been lying when he said that Uncle Howard wanted her to keep an eye on Steve, but if this was simply about protection, he wouldn’t have put her on the line at all. Especially not with all of the heat Steve Rogers is getting from the other Families, which means that her uncle has another reason for Natasha to be involved.

He just won’t tell her what it is. 

Read On: [ ao3 ]

A/N: I'M SORRY THIS TOOK THREE WEEKS TO POST! There are about a dozen reasons why it got delayed but none of them are all that compelling or dramatic, but here it is now and I hope it's at least half-worth the long wait? Also, for those who didn't catch my progress updates, I'm going to keep the chapter count at 6 and these last chapters (this one included) will be longer.

“I know you aren’t nearly as chatty as Tony or Peter, but I’m starting to feel offended by how quiet you’ve been today.”

Natasha turns to find her Aunt Maria watching her, her eyes glinting as she sets a fork back down on the table arranged with plate settings. To her credit, the woman hadn’t acted the least bit surprised when Natasha asked if she needed help planning next month’s Stark Industries gala, even though Natasha had never shown much interest in her aunt’s role as an event planner before. And yes, her aunt could’ve had someone take over for her decades ago, but the woman loves it too much to give it up anytime soon.

Natasha gives a small smile and a shrug that she knows her aunt will take as an apology, and the woman exhales a laugh. “You think I would’ve learned by now that waiting for you Starks to offer up your problems is a lost cause,” Aunt Maria comments dryly.

“You’re a Stark, too, you know,” Natasha points out.

“By marriage, darling. I don’t have the same stubborn gene as the rest of you, no matter how much your uncle and cousin like to claim otherwise.” Natasha’s smile widens as she shakes her head, and her aunt comes to stand in front of her, reaching up to brush a few stray strands of Natasha’s hair behind her ear. “If you were my son, I’d have to ask thirty questions before he ran out of witty remarks and finally confessed,” she adds, “but my much more sensible niece wouldn’t put me through that game, would she?”

“No, she’ll just keep her confessions to herself,” Natasha retorts, though her voice doesn’t sound as nonchalant as she’d intended.

She knows that her aunt notices it as well because her eyes twinkle. “Does this have anything to do with you spending all of your time with Steve Rogers these days?”

Despite herself, Natasha breathes out a laugh. She’s not particularly surprised that her aunt latches onto this of all things, but she’ll admit that it’s a nice change in pace from having to talk about “Sarah Rogers” or theories on who the hell drove a car through the front of the club.

“Does that seem like something your niece would ever be distracted with?” Natasha asks.

Aunt Maria shrugs as she admits, “I didn’t think you could be distracted at all. Even as a toddler, you were so focused. It was a little unsettling for your parents.”

This makes Natasha pause. “They’ve never told me that.”

“Most children don’t know much about their parents in that sense,” her aunt points out as she perches herself on one of the many sample chairs artfully draped in chiffon and ribbons, patting the seat beside hers for Natasha to follow. “We tell you fun stories and we tell you about what you were like growing up, but we don’t necessarily tell you all the little things we had to learn, or how worried we were every hour of the day. Your parents were much better at hiding it than Howard and I, but they were no exception.”

Natasha exhales a chuckle. “Honestly, it’s hard to picture my parents with a child at all, even if that child was me.”

It’s not the first time the thought has crossed her mind, though she’ll admit she doesn’t really know where the sentiment comes from. She’s never once felt as if her parents regret having her, or would choose any differently if they could. She knows they love her and she’s never once doubted that. Seeing her mother in that photo with Joseph Rogers had been shocking, but it also felt a little bit like something had finally clicked into place. At least now she understood why something always felt off about their story.

It wasn’t something that was brought up much to begin with, but considering the circumstance as to why, Natasha hadn’t felt it was suspicious. The only reason her father and Uncle Howard had gone to Europe to begin with had been because her aunt and uncle were having problems with their marriage, though they’d never shared what the fighting had been about, nor had they really shared why the brothers had stayed on another continent for an entire year before Uncle Howard came back to sort things out with Aunt Maria. All Natasha knows is that her parents had met early into this trip and had Natasha overseas, and they’d gotten married only days after her father brought her mother back to the States with him. Natasha and Tony had always found the whole story odd, but they didn’t have any real reason not to believe what their parents told them, either.

“It was certainly a surprise when your father came home with you and your mother,” Aunt Maria says, and Natasha turns just in time to catch something flicker in her aunt’s eyes—amusement, maybe, though it’d been far too quick to tell. “He’s never been impulsive.”

“Neither has Mom,” Natasha points out. “And yet, she met Dad, had me, and moved to an entirely different country within the same year.”

“Your uncle likes to take credit for having that one influence over your father in that sense.” Her aunt smooths a hand over Natasha’s hair, her smile softening. “I know it seems like that year is something we want to forget, but without your uncle and your father taking that trip, we wouldn’t have you. I wouldn’t want things to be any different.”

Natasha gives her a small grin. “That’s because you and Uncle Howard like to pretend that I’m your daughter,” she teases, tilting her head as she adds, “though Uncle Howard definitely fusses over me as if that were true. Maybe even more so than my actual father.”

There’s a pause before Aunt Maria asks, “Does that bother you?”

Natasha shakes her head. “He’s been that way my entire life, Aunt Maria. If it bothered me, I would’ve said something by now.”

“But something is bothering you?” her aunt asks, and Natasha almost smiles at the tone of her voice. It’s one that she’s heard Aunt Maria use with Tony all his life; one that says she already knows the answer is yes and is expecting an explanation instead.

Natasha hesitates. She knows that Aunt Maria is willing to keep a secret for her if she asks, but her aunt would draw the line at staying quiet about Natasha potentially having a stalker, especially after what happened at the club. Honestly, Natasha is very well aware the two could be related, and then there’s also the possibility that “Sarah Rogers” may be tied to everything as well, but she’d rather have more to go off of before worrying the family. As soon as they know, they’ll be even less willing to let her out of their sight, and she’ll need as much time without one of them hovering over her shoulder as she can manage to find so she and Steve can look into her their parents’ connection.

And no, she doesn’t even consider asking about that, either. She’s almost certain that her aunt and uncle have already known about it, and if they’ve all been intent on keeping quiet about it, Natasha knows that her aunt will tell her parents as soon as she suspects Natasha may have found something out.

Still, there’s one thing her aunt may be willing to keep a secret; and if not, Natasha won’t mind if her uncle hears about it.

“I still find it a little odd that Uncle Howard would ask me to look after Steve,” Natasha admits with a slight shake of her head, because yes, that is still something that crosses her mind despite everything else she has going on. Or maybe even because of all of it. “I know that he and Joseph are close and that’s a big part of why he asked me to reach out, but he’s always been a little overprotective of me, too. I guess I still find it strange that he’d want me around Steve when he knew there would be a lot of heat on him.”

Aunt Maria gives her a little grin that almost looks amused. “If anything, I think you might have been safest with Steve. His two friends are cops, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but Uncle Howard has never trusted cops,” Natasha points out.

“And yet he’s relieved that Steve’s friends have been there for Wanda ever since that drive-by,” her aunt says, and Natasha feels herself pause, surprised. “Joseph Rogers is someone very few would dare to threaten and he’s still missing,” Aunt Maria reminds gently. “Things are changing, darling. Your uncle just wants to keep you safe.”

Natasha holds her aunt’s stare, feeling her chest tighten ever so slightly. “Because I’m in danger?”

Aunt Maria hums, giving Natasha’s shoulder a squeeze. “Because he loves you,” she answers simply as she stands, turning away. And Natasha knows that, at least for now, that’s all her aunt is willing to share.

... ...

Steve is more than used to watching his sister flit around his kitchen, but seeing his best friend standing beside her, barely fighting off a smile as Wanda walks him through a recipe for vinaigrette dressing, is certainly a sight Steve couldn’t have anticipated a week ago. Before seeing it for himself, though, Steve knew that the two of them would’ve gotten close. He knows his sister, and he knows there’s no way Wanda would’ve let Bucky and Sam watch over her without wanting to form a genuine friendship with them.

Although, it’s starting to become clear that Bucky and Wanda are far more comfortable with each other than Steve first thought.

“You keep making faces like that and those lines will stay that way,” a voice teases, pulling a grin from his lips as he turns to look at Natasha perched on the barstool beside his. Her eyes are twinkling, her cheeks flushed from the almost empty glass of prosecco in her hand and her hair a little wild from being let out of the braid she’d had it in.

Beautiful.

It was the first thought to cross his mind the moment he saw her, and it’s the same thought that’s lingered in his head ever since. Sometimes it still catches him off guard, just how stunning Natasha is. Yes, part of it is because she’s almost always put together, but even then, that doesn’t mean much. She was still every bit as beautiful when he saw her first thing in the morning after she’d spent the night, sweetly rumpled and a little disheveled in Wanda’s pajamas; just as she was every bit as beautiful when he bumped into her and Maria on their morning run, her hair wild and windblown and her skin flushed from the exertion. He knows Natasha puts on appearances in the same way they all need to most of the time, and Natasha can definitely be a lot harder to read when she wants to. Still, Steve knows that most of her beauty is because she’s effortlessly herself.

She laughs at her own jokes, and runs around with the kids during parties, and doesn’t give a damn about polishing off two cocktails before they’ve even ordered dinner.

He doesn’t think he’s seen every part of her just yet, but he’s pretty sure he’s seen most, just as he’s pretty sure he’s seen a hell of a lot more than she’s ever show someone who wasn’t her family.

He knows that when she lets him see every last part of her, he’ll be a goner. He’s more than halfway there, anyway.

“I’m not making faces,” he retorts, feeling his grin widen ever so slightly.

She arches an eyebrow, pressing her lips together and not quite trying to fight off a grin of her own. “Really?” Her voice is soft as she tips her wine glass to point at Bucky and Wanda, the two of them too distracted by each other to notice him and Nat. “So that doesn’t make you uncomfortable? Your best friend and your little sister?”

“If anyone would be good enough for my little sister, it would be my best friend,” he retorts.

“He watches her very carefully.” Her green eyes are bright and glinting playfully, almost giddily. Fucking beautiful. Even in his own thoughts, he’s breathless. “I’m sure they spend a lot of quality time together.”

“Nat,” he says, though it’s nowhere near a warning.

“Everyone falls for their bodyguard.”

“Nat.” He laughs as he shakes his head, something warm humming in his veins.

Natasha sits up straighter, taking a nonchalant sip of her wine, but the amusement just under her playfully composed expression gives her away. “Still not uncomfortable?”

He lets his eyes fall to her lips, and unlike every other time when he’d stolen a glance, he lets his gaze lingers. They part ever so slightly, and he can practically hear the soft, quick way she inhales. He knows she’s holding her breath, just like him, even though nothing about her body so much as shifts an inch to give it away. “Not exactly the word I’d use,” he murmurs, his voice coming out rough, even to his own ears, and he lets his gaze slide back up to her eyes. He can practically count every one of her eyelashes.

And then the doorbell rings.

For a fleeting moment, he Steve a genuine look of annoyance tug at Natasha’s expression, and his grin turns wry as he slides off of the stool. “Got it,” he announces to Bucky and Wanda, his gaze lingering on Natasha as she takes a gulp of her wine. He nearly chuckles as he shakes his head, walking out of the kitchen.

He’d known that Wanda and Bucky invited Sam to dinner, so Steve isn’t surprised to see him.

He’s a little more surprised to see Maria, though.

“Fine,” Maria says, her voice sounding almost resigned even as genuine amusement flickers in her expression as Sam turns to smirk at her. “We should’ve recorded his face.”

Despite his confusion, Steve chuckles. “Good to see you, too, Hill.” Maria only hums in response, but her grin widens, her eyes bright and almost playful as she glances back at Sam—and, really, Steve shouldn’t expect any less at this point. He gestures between the two of them as he asks, “Did you need a bodyguard, too?”

“He asked, but he couldn’t afford me,” Maria quips dryly, stepping inside, and she gives Steve’s forearm a quick squeeze in greeting as she passes him.

Sam steps in, too, his gaze lingering on Maria as Steve shuts the front door before turning to him, his mouth hitched at one corner. “We bumped into each other when I was leaving a witness’s place,” he explains, and though Steve knows that the spark in his best friend’s eyes is certainly nothing new whenever he talks about Maria Hill—admiration only thinly-veiled with annoyance—the amused smirk on his lips is definitely a first. Steve has always known there more to the way Maria had gotten under Sam’s skin over the years, that it wasn’t just a detective annoyed by the thorough efforts of a private investigator and her uncanny knack for constantly crossing his path both on and off duty.

He never really anticipated that Sam would ever act on it, though. Every cop in the city knows who the Families are, and Sam would’ve never risked a job he loved so much for a woman that came from the world the police is trying to shut down.

But that world is now Steve’s world, too, and that made a difference to Sam. That gave him a reason to look closer, or maybe it gave him a reason to finally make a move.

Steve knows the feeling.

His grin widens as he comes up next to Sam, patting his shoulder, and, because his best friend can read the amusement in Steve’s expression, Sam shakes his head. “It’s just dinner,” he says. Steve’s grin shifts into a smirk and Sam breathes out a chuckle. “Oh, it’s like that now?”

“It’s like that now,” Steve replies with a chuckle of his own, letting his hand drop as they both head into the kitchen.

Maria is sitting in the barstool beside Nat that he’d just occupied, a glass of wine already in hand, and Natasha glances over her shoulder as he and Sam join them at the kitchen island. He doesn’t know quite what compels him to come up right behind her, but he does, letting his hands find the curve of her hips, and she lets him pull her back just a little so that she’s resting against his chest. She’d refilled her own wine, too, and she takes a sip from it, glancing up at him as her tongue sweeps over her lower lip.

“Uncomfortable?” she mouths, and he gives her a gentle squeeze that makes her laugh softly against the rim of her glass.

“Where’s your other half?” Sam asks Wanda, and Steve catches the way his sister hesitates for less than a second, almost glances over her shoulder at Bucky.

“Working,” Wanda replies, angling a teasingly sly sort of smile at Sam, and there’s not an ounce of apprehension or wariness from Sam as he nods. Her eyes sparkle as she uses the wooden spoon that she’d been mixing the salad with to gesture between him and Maria, asking, “When did this become a thing?”

Steve half-expects Maria to reply with a denial of some sort, but instead, she answers almost nonchalantly, “We’ve been teaming up on a few things.”

“Figured we’d have all our bases covered between the two of us, illegal or otherwise,” Sam adds, his expression turning a little wry at the corners. “We’re looking into who might’ve been following you the day of the drive-by,” he explains, and then, turning to Natasha, he adds, “and who’s been sending those pictures of you.”

Steve pauses, feeling Natasha sit up just a little straighter against his chest. “Pictures?” Steve asks, tilting his head to look at Nat. “What pictures?”

Something too quick to catch passes through Natasha’s expression as she looks up at him and it makes his chest tighten, hard.

Instead of Natasha, though, it’s Wanda who speaks up next, drawing everyone’s attention on her, and that pressure on Steve’s lungs seems to compound as he sees his sister’s entire body stiff with tension. “You got one, too?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper as Bucky cups a hand over the back of her neck, giving a comforting sort of squeeze as his thumb rubs over her pulse. Wanda eases, but only a little, and when Steve glances at Sam and Maria, neither of them looks as surprised as Steve feels.

“When did you get yours?” Maria questions.

Steve is seconds away from asking why the hell he seems to be the only one that doesn’t know what’s going on, but then Wanda is pulling her phone out of her apron pocket and swiping at the screen before setting it faced up on the island and sliding it over. A picture of Natasha is on the screen, sent from a blocked number last night.

It’s taken from a distance and at an angle, and it’s pretty damn obvious that Natasha wasn’t aware of a camera being pointed at her.

That low, warm hum in his veins has turned to a frantic sort of buzz, and he can his every muscle going taut. “What is this?” he asks, so low that he half-wonders if anyone other than Natasha had been able to hear him, and something akin to guilt flickers in Natasha’s eyes.

Fuck. Fuck.

He flexes his fingers at her hips because he’s dangerously close to squeezing too tight. He doesn’t think he’s capable of feeling any more tense than he already is, but then Maria says, “Someone has been watching Nat for the last few days and I’m almost certain it has something to do with the ‘Sarah Rogers’ from the coffeehouse.”

The complete surprise he feels is mirrored in Natasha’s expression as she nearly slams the wine glass down, head snapping around to stare at Maria. It’s clear that the latter had been news to her, too, and she almost starts to ask a question when Steve yanks his hands from her hips. She whirls back around to face him, and the fleeting look of hurt that flashes in her eyes is what stops him from taking a step back from her. She’s upset and it kills him, but at the same time, he’s pissed. He knows Natasha can be a bit secretive, and he knows she’s used to doing things on her own most of the time. He’s not pissed that she might have needed a day or two to process whatever the hell this is.

But Maria said it’d been days, and she’d clearly been in on it, too. Even if Natasha didn’t know Maria hadn’t also involved Sam, she still kept it from Steve.

He’s seen her every day for almost a week and she never told him any of this. Not even a hint.

And if that in itself wasn’t enough of a reason to be pissed, there’s also the fact that Maria is tossing his mother’s name into the same conversation as someone who’s been watching Natasha.

He stares down at her, fingers twitching at his sides. Oddly enough, he hands to touch her again, wants his hands back on her hips and wants her pulled right against his chest. And no, he’s not so pissed at her as he is at the situation at hand. Someone is following her and she didn’t tell him.

She doesn’t need his protection, but she also knows that he’d give it to her without question or hesitation. She already has it, has him, in the palm of her hand.

“I wanted to be certain first,” Natasha tells him, facing him completely, and even though everyone else is only a foot or two away from them, all he sees is Natasha.

“Sounds like this is the first you’re hearing Maria’s theory, so try again,” he counters.

She narrows her eyes ever so slightly. “Don’t be patronizing,” Natasha warns, the first flickers of her own anger simmering in her expression at his tone. “I wasn’t going to throw around your mother’s name over something that could have very well been a coincidence.”

“You don’t believe in coincidences,” he argues, hands sliding over her hips again, rubbing his thumbs into her skin as if attempting to ease the climbing tension in her body even though he’s the damn reason for it, just as she’s the reason for his. He feels as if he’s trembling, he’s so pissed. But she doesn’t flinch away from his touch, not once.

“I was being careful,” Natasha insists. “I noticed the name on a receipt by pure chance, and we only just found something that could be a lead. I was handling it first.”

“Like you’re handling your mother?” Steve fires back, and he watches her inhale sharply. He hates that he’s the reason for it, but he has to know. “Would you have told me about that if you’d found out on your own, just because my dad is missing? You’d still risk being around your mother, knowing she was lying, without telling me anything?”

Her voice trembles ever so slightly. “She’s my mother.”

“Exactly.” His gives her another gentle squeeze. “It would’ve surprised me, and yeah, it probably would’ve upset me. But I’d want to know, no matter what. Even if it was the most illogical, inconceivable fucking theory ever, I would’ve wanted to know. I would’ve trusted you and what you had to say about it, even if you thought you were wrong.”

Natasha swallows lightly, lips parting, but the chime of phone cuts off whatever she’d been about to say, the sound almost jarring in the tense quiet of the kitchen.

Steve almost considers not looking at all, but his eyes flit over to Wanda’s phone on the counter, still close enough to read the text message from Clint—and, when his entire body goes stiff and cold, he’s vaguely aware of Natasha reaching up to touch his cheek as he reads the words over and over and over again in his head.

Ambushed. Pietro got hit. Get here now.

... ...

Ironically enough, Natasha has never spent much time in hospitals. No one in the Family does, or they try their damn hardest not to.

She goes a few times a year for check-ins here or there, just like anyone else would, but anything serious – anything that could lead to too many questions and to the cops possibly being tipped off – are handled discreetly. The Families have their own doctors that they pay a pretty penny to make sure they make themselves available as needed, and the Families provided all the equipment and supplies they’d need, too—so the fact that Pietro was rushed straight to the ER means that it looked serious enough that Clint wasn’t taking any chances or wasting any time. The silver lining is that, because the Families are so infamous in this city, the staff didn’t hesitate to make Pietro their priority.

The hospital also ushered them into a separate corner of the ER to wait, and though it isn’t exactly a private room, it’s as close as they can get. Natasha doubts it would’ve bothered Steve at all if they had to wait with everyone else, and it’s probably for the hospital’s benefit, too, to keep them being here as quiet as possible. Still, Steve manages a small smile to the nurse that offers the space to them and thanks her after she promises to personally check in with them every half hour and give them updates on Pietro.

“He took a shot aimed at me,” Clint had explained when they first got to the ER. “One of our guys was just a second too late with disarming him.”

Clint hasn’t said a word since, other than when he’d stepped aside to take a quick phone call from Laura, but Natasha hadn’t anticipated any differently. The noises of the hospital filter in, but otherwise, the only thing to fill the quiet of the room is Wanda’s occasional whimper or shuddering inhale. She hadn’t even wanted to sit down at first, but at the first sway in her steps, Bucky had pulled her onto his lap and kept a gentle but firm grip on her when she tried to stand back up, and her resolve crumbled in seconds.

Steve, however, has yet to sit down. He’s stayed standing right next to Natasha’s chair in the corner, his body taut, though not in the same way it’d been when they were arguing in his kitchen just hours ago. Then, she could feel the frustration just under skin, threatening to burst.

Now, though, he’s almost entirely still, his body facing the door and his arms crossed over his chest as he leans one shoulder against the wall. She’d only attempted to get him to sit once with a gentle tug on his forearm, but when he’d given her the ghosts of a smile and the barest shake of his head, she knew to let him be. He wants to be alert, and with his gaze always aimed toward the door, he’d been in front of the nurse within seconds of her walking into the room in the handful of times she’s checked with them so far.

He almost does so right now, though this time, it’s Maria that steps into the room. She and Sam had stayed to clean up the kitchen while the rest of them went to the ER, and after that, she’d texted Nat to let her know that the two of them were heading to the scene so Sam could talk to the officers that responded to the shooting. The only other thing that Sam learned was that an Asgard car was seen nearby, driving away as the officers headed there, though it couldn’t be determined just yet if that was a coincidence.

It’s almost ridiculous to consider that idea, but that conversation can wait for now.

Natasha stands as Steve leans off of the wall, his hand curving over her hip and drawing her close, and, despite everything, Natasha almost smiles. Their argument from earlier is far from being resolved and they both know it, yet he doesn’t hesitate to seek her presence, to need her comfort.

“We’ve got every eye in the city squeezing out the shooters, and Sam’s got every cop in Manhattan on the lookout, too,” Maria informs as she comes to stand beside them. She glances at Wanda, her expression softening as she adds, “and the Families are on their way,” and Wanda nods once, turning to press her face into Bucky’s shoulder as she burrows herself against him as close as physically possible. Bucky wraps his arms around her again, tucking her head under his chin as he murmurs something into her hair.

Wanda has always been far softer than the rest of them, but she’s still her father’s daughter. She was still born and raised in the Family, and just because she always has a sweet smile on her lips doesn’t make her any weaker or less dangerous. Honestly, Natasha is pretty damn sure she’s the strongest of them all.

Seeing her this shaken up is more than just unsettling, and the fact that the Families are getting together to be here for Pietro is no small thing, either.

Steve nods once, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the screen. “Seems like they’re already starting to arrive,” he says, showing a text from Nick, and he gives Natasha’s hip a gentle squeeze. “I’ll meet them outside. I should get some air, anyway.”

Natasha peers up at him. “Do you want some company?”

He gives her the softest sort of smile. “Yes,” he admits quietly, but he’s also shaking his head, leaning in to whisper, “but can you stay here?” His eyes flicker to Wanda for a moment, his careful, collected expression cracking at the edges, and Natasha knows what he’s really asking. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Bucky or Clint or even Maria to be there for his sister, but if he has to leave her side, even if only for a few minutes, he’d prefer Natasha stay behind in his place, to know to comfort Wanda the way he would.

“Of course,” she tells him, and she feels his lips curve against her skin, his smile growing just a fraction as he brushes a kiss to her cheek.

Then he steps away, giving Maria’s arm a gentle squeeze as he passes her, and Maria watches him go for a moment before turning back to Natasha. “I didn’t think Sam would mention something right away,” she tells her. It’s not an apology, necessarily, but that’s because she knows Natasha wouldn’t want one from her. She doesn’t blame Maria for her fight with Steve, nor does she blame Steve or herself, really. It’d been unfortunate for him to find out something so serious the way he had, especially since she knew that it would be worse to hide it at all. She hadn’t meant to wait for so long, and Steve he didn’t bring up her mother simply because he was pissed and trying to get back at her.

“I know,” Natasha says simply, her mouth hitching at the corner, and Maria gives her a small smile in return. “I didn’t mean to put you in that position to begin with.”

Maria’s smile widens just a little, and for a moment, Natasha thinks she might have some witty retort, maybe even a teasing line. But, when the moment passes, her expression fades altogether as she presses her lips into a tight line.

And, because Natasha knows her best friend, she knows what that carefully composed look means. “You found something out,” Natasha says.

Maria nods. “My father found out that I was looking into Sarah Rogers, but when he approached me about it, he’d already assumed it was Steve’s mother that I was looking into. He thought that I was just looking into Joseph again, like he’d asked me and Carol to do when he first went missing, and Dad said—” She stops herself, and, maybe for the first time that Natasha can remember, Maria looks hesitant, but she continues on. “He’d told me that when Joseph Rogers moved to the States, he’d scrubbed his past.”

Natasha feels her entire body stiffen, feels her breath hitch in her chest. At the corner of her gaze, she watches Wanda sit up, her cheeks still wet with tears as she furrows her at Maria in question.

“Scrubbed?” Natasha echoes. “When was this?”

“He was thirteen when he moved here, and he was adopted, but there are no records of that, either.” The surprise clear as day in Maria’s voice as she turns to Wanda. The girl looks just as stunned as the both of them, glancing between her and Natasha as the hand that’s holding onto Bucky’s shirt tightens. It’s clear that this is news to her, too.

Thirteen.

Natasha’s mind flickering back to the photograph of her mother and Joseph Rogers, the two of them clearly young. As soon as she’d seen them, she thought they would’ve barely been in high school, if even that.

Joseph Rogers had been adopted. He’d moved to the United States, and he’d known her mother before that happened. No one mentioned anything about Joseph being with her Uncle Howard and her father on that year-long trip across Europe, but Uncle Howard has known Joseph Rogers since high school. He had to have known Joseph Rogers wasn’t born into the most notorious Family in New York. In fact, every Family had to have known about his adoption the moment Joseph Rogers had come into the picture.

“There’s something else,” Maria adds, and the tone of her voice makes Natasha’s chest tighten as she glances at Wanda.

... ...

He was lucky, the doctor told them. If Pietro had been a second slower, he might not have even made it to the hospital in time. Those words alone had been enough to make Steve feel pretty damn lightheaded, but the fact that his brother is fine, that he’s expected to make a full recovery, keeps Steve from swaying on his feet.

Wanda’s eyelashes flutter shut as she exhales slowly, leaning into Steve’s chest as a shiver rolls down her spine, and Steve tucks her in close as he brushes a kiss to her hair. He catches Natasha’s gaze over Wanda’s head, his fingers twitching to pull her in, too, but they both know that he won’t. Not right now, when they haven’t even talked about what this is, and especially not with the rest of the Family in the same room. He doesn’t think she’d push him away, but he doesn’t want anyone asking questions right now.

He’s got enough to deal with as it is.

And he’s glad that Howard, Nick, and Odin are standing with him to actually catch whatever the hell the doctor is saying about the operation itself, because Steve can barely catch his breath, let alone understand more than a few words at a time. But that’s why they’re there, why everyone in the Family has been here the entire time that Pietro’s been in surgery, to let Steve and Wanda deal with coping while they take care of everything else. That’s one thing about the Families that still surprised Steve from time to time—just how much of a family they truly are. Steve hasn’t spoken with Odin nearly as often as he has with Howard and Nick, but he’d still come with Frigga and everyone else in tow, and even if it’s just to save face with Howard and Nick, Steve appreciates it nonetheless. Almost half of the men searching the streets right now answer to him.

And even though his sister clearly has an issue with Steve, and his brother isn’t nearly as welcoming, Steve isn’t all that surprised that Thor and his wife, Sif, have been hovering nearby all night long. Like with Odin, Steve has only spoken with Thor a handful of times, but the man is hard not to like. He seems to take after Frigga more than Odin, and he’d gotten a smile out of Wanda and eased some of the weight pressing on Steve’s chest for a short while without completely disregarding the mood altogether.

Steve glances across the room, his gaze falling on where Hela has been sitting the whole night.

She’d kept to herself, barely glancing in Steve’s direction when their family first arrived, and she’d hung back with Loki when Odin, Frigga, Thor, and Sif had come to talk to Steve and Wanda. He supposes that’s as close to civil as she was going to offer considering she hasn’t made her contempt with Steve a secret. She doesn’t strike him as the type to only talk behind one’s back, either, so Steve doesn’t doubt that Hela is under strict orders from Odin and Frigga to keep quiet if she can’t find anything tame to say.

Still, Steve’s thoughts drift back to the text Natasha had gotten from Sam and Maria a few hours ago, about an Asgard car being near the scene.

Even if Hela had wanted to make a move against Steve, using Wanda and Pietro to do so would’ve been a stretch, even for her. Maybe she thinks they should head the Families instead, especially with Steve in his father’s shoes for the time being, but Hela wouldn’t have much to gain from that kind of move. The Families each have their boroughs that they run, and even though they don’t draw the lines on a map, Steve knows the control is fairly evenly split. Steve learned fairly early on that his father’s supposed title of running the Families is mostly just that – some kind of title. He made the decisions, but nothing was ever decided without consulting the other families.

Steve can’t see it being worth it to Hela to get to him through Wanda and Pietro, not when there would be hell for her to answer to from the rest of the Family. Orchestrating raids on their shipments and deliveries doesn’t make much more sense, either, when she directly benefits from those profits.

Still, he can’t exactly shake the feeling that she’s involved somehow. It just may not be as obvious as it seems.

“You alright?” Natasha asks, standing close enough and keeping her voice low enough for only him to hear, even with Wanda, Clint, and Howard just a few steps away.

He hums, catching her arm in his hand, just above the elbow, and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Walk with me?” he asks, and she nods.

Steve steps forward, waiting until Wanda notices him a few seconds later as to not interrupt Clint and Howard. “I’m going to grab some air before they show us to Pietro’s room,” he tells her, and Wanda nods, offering a small smile. He knows she isn’t exactly in a rush. She’d put up a fight at first when both Howard and Nick insisted that she and Steve go home to rest after they’ve sat with Pietro for a short while, but he knows she’s exhausted, and she conceded when Clint reminded her that the Family would be with Pietro all night and would call if anything urgent comes up. Pietro will likely be asleep until morning, anyway, and the doctors seem confident that he’ll make a quick recovery.

Natasha lets him take her hand as they turn the corner into the hallway, threading their fingers and lifting her hand up to brush a kiss to her knuckles.

They don’t step outside of the hospital – there are more men keeping watch, but it’s still risky, especially this late at night – but he walks them down a few hallways until they’re mostly alone and don’t seem to be in anyone’s way.

He leans back against the wall, sliding his hands over her hips and tugging her close, and he only catches a glimpse of the smirk tugging at her lips before he slants his mouth over hers. He tells himself it’ll just be a gentle, comforting brush – something selfish but quick – but he knows he’s not fooling anyone, especially not himself.

Natasha doesn’t flinch or stiffen in response, not even for half a second. Instead, she makes the softest sort of sound as she parts her lips, and within seconds, the kiss is deeper and it’s harder and it’s just more. He pulls her tightly against his chest as her hands slide up between them, draping around his neck, and he feels both exhilarated and exhausted all at once. Their argument in his kitchen felt like days ago, and sitting next to her on the barstool, drinking wine and flirting, felt like it’d happened weeks before.

Slowly, eventually, the frantic hum in his body ebbs into something softer, his mouth easing against Nat’s until she pulls back, just a little, reaching up to touch his jaw.

“I’m sorry for reacting the way I did,” he murmurs against the corner of her lips. “I trust your judgment, Nat. You were just being mindful of me.”

“I’m sorry I waited too long to tell you myself, because I was going to. I wanted you to hear all of it from me.” She pulls back a little more, just enough to really look into his eyes, and even though he knows she can probably read his every though, he still nods at her in encouragement and in reassurance. Because he believes her. He knows she’d been planning to tell him and she was just waiting for the right time, when she had enough of a reason for it to make sense to herself before she got him involved on it, too.

He doesn’t know if he would’ve taken it better or worse if she’d told him right away, when it was just a nagging thought that she decided to follow up on. He’d like to think that he would’ve handled it well enough, but then again, bringing his mother up to any extent even after all these years is still a little hard for him.

He doubts he would’ve had any rational reaction to hearing it in this context, in a theory that someone with the same name as his mother was stalking Natasha.

Steve exhales, dropping his forehead to hers. “We don’t have to talk about it now,” he promises softly, turning his head to press a kiss to her temple. “I can barely keep myself upright, but I just wanted us to at least talk about this, and I wasn’t sure I’d have the energy to do it once we got home. I don’t like you thinking I don’t trust you.”

He hears the smile in her soft laugh. “I know you trust me,” she promises. “I don’t think I could even attempt to explain it right now, so it’s better if we get back to it later.”

He nods once, pulling her in close again as he lets his head fall into the curve of her shoulder. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been gone, but he doesn’t want to go back just yet and Natasha seems to share the sentiment as her body melts against his, her lips brushing against the pulse in his throat.

... ...

Bucky is the one to drive the four of them back to Steve’s from the hospital, and, considering it’s just after one in the morning by the time they step into the brownstone, it’s a given that he’ll be spending the night just as Nat is. Wanda lends her another set of pajamas to borrow, and Natasha thinks the girl is attempting to make a joke at first when she asks Natasha if she’ll be sharing a bed with her or Steve—but then Steve gives her this little smile when she looks at him and Natasha feels something warm start to unfurl in her chest. He tells her that it’s her choice, and that Bucky can take the couch if she doesn’t want to share a bed at all, but Natasha doesn’t even have to pause to consider.

Wanda lends her another set of pajamas to sleep in and Natasha gives her a hug goodnight, and then watches as Wanda walks up to Bucky to give him a hug, too, lingering a beat longer before giving him a small smile and then stepping into her room with Steve.

Natasha’s eyes flit to Bucky when the girl’s door clicks closed, and he exhales, “Don’t even start,” before she can even draw a breath.

His lips are twitching as if fighting off a smile of his own, though, so Natasha is willing to bet he isn’t nearly as uncomfortable with it her teasing as he acts.

Natasha breathes out a laugh. “I think it’s cute,” she says. Bucky sort of squints at her as if trying to determine if she’s teasing about that, too—and yeah, maybe she was. But then she catches the flicker in his eyes as he genuinely studies her, and she knows that he’s looking for something, though maybe he doesn’t even realize it for himself.

If anyone would be good enough for my little sister, it would be my best friend.

Natasha feels herself smile as she remembers how easily Steve said those words. She doesn’t necessarily think Bucky is looking for validation in this moment; she doubts he would’ve ever made a move on Wanda if he thought it would genuinely upset Steve, or if he thought he wasn’t enough for her.

Still, she lets the amusement in her smile fade at the edges as she peers back at him. “You were exactly what she needed tonight,” she tells him, her voice soft. If he’s surprised by the sentiment from her, though, he does a pretty damn good job of not letting on as he nods, a grin tugging at his lips. “Good night, Buck.”

Bucky’s chuckles follow her as she slips into Steve’s room, and she heads straight into the hallway bathroom to change.

She doesn’t realize just how damn exhausted she is until she has the door shut behind her. The nerves of waiting while Pietro was in surgery had kept the fatigue at bay back at the hospital, and though a little of it crept back in when she and Steve were alone in that hallway, she’d caught somewhat of a second wind when they walked back to wrap up with Uncle Howard and check on a sleeping Pietro in his private room. She doesn’t know how long Steve plans on talking with Wanda – probably not long at all since the two of them are likely wrung out by now – so Natasha is quick to change and wash up, just in case Steve plans on waiting on her before he turns the light off and passes out.

In fact, she’s doesn’t doubt that’s what he’d do.

The door to his bedroom is open partway, giving her a glimpse of Steve as he walks out of his bathroom, so Natasha switches off the hallway light behind her before slipping inside. He pauses in the middle of setting the throw pillows aside when he hears her, looking over his shoulder, and she lets her gaze trace over his body. She’d never felt as if he was reserved with her before, but it seems that, after their kiss, whatever little semblance of polite restraint that’d been between them had dissolved. Rather than a mild glance, she takes her time to look at him, her eyes sliding across his broad shoulders straining against his white tee, over his sculpted biceps and down to the cinch of his hips.

When she brings her eyes back up to his, she finds a small grin on his lips, one eyebrow arched. She nearly has to bite back a smirk.

“I’m disappointed.” She tilts her head as she walks over to him. “When you said you usually get warm at night, I was hoping that meant you went to bed shirtless.”

He chuckles. “Actually, I usually do.”

She raises her eyebrows, this time letting her smirk tug at her lips. “Well, don’t stop on my account.”

She’s only half-teasing, and she knows he can hear it in her voice because he pauses, just for a second, as his eyes flits down to her lips, his gaze shifting into something a little darker and a little stormier. He reaches for the hem of his shirt, catching her gaze once more as he cocks his head ever so slightly in question—and though there’s a quip on the tip of her tongue, she doesn’t really want to make light of this moment between them. She doesn’t want, not even for a second, for this to feel any less of what it is.

They’ve both waited too damn long for this.

She grasps at his shirt, pushing the material up his body, and he helps her pull it over his head before letting it fall to the floor. She holds his stare as she places her palms flat against his chest, and when he reaches up, gently grasping at her wrists, she knows he won’t pull her, nor is he afraid that she may suddenly change her mind.

He simply wants to touch her, and so he does, stroking the pads of his thumbs ever so slightly across her skin as another small grin pulls at his lips. “You can tell me if this is too much, too fast, Nat,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper as he leans in closer.

“Considering this should have happened weeks ago, it’s not fast enough.” She narrows her eyes at him, her smirk widening. “If you don’t kiss me, Steve—”

He’s laughing as his mouth slants over hers, and Natasha feels that same flutter of warmth in her chest as she had when he’d kissed her at the hospital.

He pulls her arms around his neck, guiding her back until he’s wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting her onto the bed, deepening their kiss as he lowers her against the mattress. His teeth graze against her lower lip right before he nips it, making her mouth part a little more against his as his tongue sweeps inside. It only takes seconds for his gentle yet firm kiss to shift, growing just a little bit rougher, just a little bit harder, as one of his hands comes up to cup her jaw. She can feel the slight tremble of his thumb across her skin, turning into a shiver that rolls down his spine as he presses them together, and she knows that every ounce of emotion from the day—hell, from just the last few hours—is crashing back over him, rushing through his veins. He’d done a good job at tamping down all of his anxieties at the hospital, but now they’re finally bursting free.

She knows he won’t want to just forget everything that happened today, and it’s not that he really wants a distraction, either. He just needs something to do with all of the raw emotion humming restlessly through his body, and she knows one thing that might work.

Her hands slide out from around his neck and slip between them, gently dragging her nails down the contours of his chest until she grasps at the waistband of his sweats.

But then he’s grasping at one of her hands to stop her, parting their kiss and lifting his head just enough to peer into her eyes. “Let me help,” she whispers.

He ducks his head, kissing her throat, nipping at the pulse in her neck, and she exhales a sigh as she arches up against him. “You are helping,” he insists, his voice soft but sincere as his lips brush across her collarbone, dips between her breasts just above the dip of her tank top. He grasps at the hem, pushing it up to bare her stomach, and she threads her fingers through his hair as he places a kiss just above one of her ribs. He hooks his thumbs under the waistband of her shorts, pausing. “You can tell me to stop.”

Her eyelashes flutter closed as she smiles like an idiot up at the ceiling. He doesn’t know how he keeps surprising her, but she likes it a little too much.

“Is this for you, too?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer. He’d said it just seconds ago, even if not in the exact words, and she absolutely believes that Steve would want to focus on her pleasure alone as a way to channel all of the excess energy radiating off of his skin.

Still, her stomach does a little flip when he hums his reassurances against her hipbone, nipping her skin there, and she lifts her hips off of the bed so he can slide her panties and her pajama shorts off. He presses his thighs apart, his eyes flickering up along the length of her body to catch her gaze right before his tongue sweeps against her.

Oh.

She sucks in a breath, spine arching just a little bit off of the bed, and he pulls one of her knees over his shoulder as he opens her up a little wider, glides his tongue against her a little harder. She’d already been damp from the few minutes they’d been kissing, and it doesn’t take long for her to grow wetter, her skin flushing all over as he takes his time tasting her. He licks through the slick folds of her sex, finding her little bundle of nerves and sucking on it lightly, too lightly, and she lets her head roll to the side as she exhales heavily. He’s driving her crazy, leaning every inch of her, teasing at her entrance until she’s twisting her fingers into his duvet and rolling her hips against his mouth.

Then his tongue slips inside, curling, and she lets out a soft moan as her hips buck ever so slightly against him. She swears she feels him grin.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he sweeps his tongue inside of her, then up through her folds, flicking at her tight bud before dipping back down, repeating the cycle and yet somehow teasing her enough with sudden quick sucks or lingering licks so that she can’t fall into his rhythm.

She feels ready to burst, her body lightly slicked with sweat and her breaths coming in shaky and haltingly. It almost feels as if the more she squirms under his tongue, the longer he draws it out. Her hands find his hair again, twisting into it and all but holding him in place, hips jerking as she chases the climbing pressure low in her stomach—

Then he catches her clit between his lips, sucking it into his mouth and letting his tongue dart out against it, and she bows off of the bed as she finally, finally hits the edge.

One of his hands digs into the flesh of her ass, holding her to him as she rides out the waves of her high. He groans against her, sounding every bit as delicious tortured as she feels, and, god, that makes her come just a little bit harder, hearing how much pleasure he gets out of her pleasure.

She feels the tease of his fingers a second before he slips two inside of her with ease, curling, his tongue still working over her tight bundle of nerves, and this time her moan is a little louder when it spills from her lips.

Her second orgasm comes right on the heels of her first, harder and headier, and longer, the thrust of his fingers dragging out every ounce of pleasure from her as he can. She doesn’t know if she should feel embarrassed by how easily she falls apart for him or impressed by how quickly he reads her, but as the white-hot waves burst through her, she can’t find it in herself to care about either. Especially not when Steve’s body is moving over her again, his hand wrapping around his hard length as he dips down to kiss her.

He groans into her mouth, letting her taste her sweet musk on his tongue as she shivers under the ripples of her orgasm, and, very faintly through the thrum of the blood rushing through her, she can hear the wet slide of him working his hand over himself, chasing his own high.

“Nat,” he breathes into their kiss, and even through the haze of pleasure smothering her, she knows what words he can’t quite find, knows what he’s really asking.

She nods, almost frantic, reaching up with trembling hands to cup his face. She can’t quite find her words, either, so she just kisses him even harder instead.

He groans again, his body shuddering as he rushes over that edge, too, and she feels the warmth of his release start to wet her stomach. She nearly shivers, biting down on his lower lip and then licking at the indent of her teeth, and she doesn’t even care that their kiss has grown messy as he rides out his high.

Fuck. Fuck.

She parts their lips as her lungs start to burn for air and his head falls forward into the curve of her neck. She really, really shouldn’t be smiling like an idiot right now, but she couldn’t care less his body shivers through the last tremors of his orgasm.

He kisses the thrumming pulse in her neck once, twice, three times, and then lifts his head enough to stare down at her face. His hand is wet with his release when he touches her, but then again, so is she. He licks his lips before they hitch into a boyish sort of grin, and her stomach flips as she returns it with a small grin of her own.

If she thought she’d been exhausted before, she’s very nearly about to pass out now as Steve slides off of her and heads into his bathroom. Even then, though, this kind of fatigue feels warmer and lighter, and she can see it in his face, too, when Steve returns with a handful of tissue and damp washcloth. The heaviness that’d been in his eyes is no longer there as he methodically works to wipe her off with the tissues, disposing them into a small waste bin by his nightstand before running the washcloth over her skin.

When he heads back into the bathroom and returns a second time, he pulls the duvet back for them to climb under and then switches off the light. He reaches for her in the same second that she slides closer, and she smiles against his skin when he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

She knows she must’ve fallen asleep in the very next second, but she still hears his murmured, “thank you,” into her hair as she drifts off.

... ...

Steve has never been a deep sleeper, which is likely the reason he’s almost always up before dawn. But he knows before he’s even entirely awake that he’d gotten more rest last night than he has in a long while.

He also knows before he’s even opened his eyes that Natasha isn’t in the bed with him. He doesn’t feel the gentle press of her body against his or her hair falling across his shoulder, but he can still catch her scent clinging to the fabric of his sheets, something soft and sweet and just a little bit spiced, too. He can hear her, though. It’s faint and muffled and honestly something he thinks he could be imagining at first, considering he’s only really half-awake. But her laugh lilts through the air, mingling with Wanda’s giggles as it floats into his room. The sound makes a smile tug at his lips as he blinks his eyes open, squinting against the early morning light filtering in from the windows.

He can’t remember the last time he slept in until sunrise.

Another giggle floats through the air, a little louder this time, and, now that he’s almost entirely awake now, Steve can hear someone moving around in the kitchen. Probably Bucky. He knows the guy has to be at the precinct soon, and Wanda will want to leave early as well so they can get back to the hospital. Honestly, he’s surprised that his sister didn’t come straight into his room to wake him as soon as she was up herself, but it seems that she’s content and distracted enough by Nat to give him a few more minutes.

He finds the door wide open when he steps into the hallway, the two of them perched on the bed and huddled close together, and Steve’s gaze catches on Natasha. She put her panties and her pajama shorts back on, of course, but just the sight of them pulls him back to last night and to the look in her eyes when he’d peeled them off of her and tossed them to the floor. Part of him had wondered as he drifted to sleep if it would feel different in the morning. If he’d wake up and realized they maybe should’ve waited.

But he doesn’t think that, not even for a second.

Because Natasha had been right about the fact that they’ve been dancing around this, them, for weeks. Just because they’d fallen into bed together only hours after he’d kissed her for the first time doesn’t mean they’d rushed through anything.

And just because he hadn’t been inside her doesn’t mean he didn’t want to be. But they’d both been exhausted – mentally, physically, and for damn sure emotionally – and he’s glad he’d waited. He won’t be forgetting last night anytime soon, but when they finally sleep together, he doesn’t want an ounce of fatigue clouding his memory.

Wanda catches sight of him in the doorway, her smile brightening, and Natasha follows her gaze onto him. “Good morning,” she greets, a small smirk pulling at her lips.

“Good morning.” He bites back a smirk of his own, shifting his gaze onto Wanda to find her eyes practically sparkling. “Sleep well?”

“Not as well as you, it seems,” Wanda replies, wrinkling her nose at him. He nearly shakes his head, but then she’s sliding off the bed and onto her feet and coming over to him, wrapping her arms around him with a squeeze, and, yeah. He can wait until later find out what the two of them were giggling about.

“You okay?” he whispers, and she presses her face into his chest, humming. Steve glances at Nat, her smile softening as she nods. “Come on. Let’s go make breakfast.”

Wanda unwinds her arms from around him, letting him brush a kiss to her temple before stepping into the hallway, and then Natasha is stepping passed him, too, glancing over her shoulder to shoot him a grin. He reaches forward and gently grasps her arm, pulling her until her back is pressed against his chest, and he ducks his head to press a kiss to the skin right next to her ear. Her grin widens as she exhales a light chuckle. “Well, you’re awfully chipper for someone who had quite the stressful night,” she muses.

He chuckles, too, giving her arm a slight squeeze. “Not all of it was stressful,” he points out, releasing her arm, and she tips her head back so he can brush a kiss to her lips.

He keeps it quick, only lingering for a beat before drawing back, but it’s still enough for a warmth to unfurl in his chest, making his blood hum softly. Natasha’s eyes are glinting as she turns away from him, and he grins as he follows her down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Wanda is already perched on one of the barstools at the kitchen island, spooning some sugar into her mug, and Bucky is drinking his own as he stands beside her. Steve is willing to bet that the guy’s burning his mouth right now as he gulps down his mug, but he’s already cutting it close to when he should be at the precinct.

“You guys going to be at the hospital all day?” Bucky asks as Steve opens a cabinet and pulls down two more mugs.

“Yeah, probably,” he replies. “We may run out once or twice in between, but we’ll be there as long as we can. I doubt they’ll be discharging him today, anyway.”

Howard had text him sometime last night to let him know that Pietro woke up twice and seemed coherent as he talked to the doctor, but he’s been asleep ever since, still lethargic from the surgery. There was another text from Nick, too, telling him that they hadn’t caught who else had been at the shooting, and honestly, Steve didn’t think they would. It’s clear the ambush was planned, like every other ambush the Families have dealt these last few weeks, so it isn’t surprising that they covered their tracks well.

Bucky nods. “Let me know,” he says, and Steve knows that he’s already planning on meeting them at the hospital after his shift, or he’ll meet them back here instead if they’ve already left. Bucky pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time, muttering under his breath before draining the last of his coffee. “I should get going,” he tells them, loading his mug into the dishwasher, and then he’s heading back over to Wanda, pausing just a second to flash her a small grin, and then dipping down to kiss her.

Her eyelashes flutter in surprise, but he pulls back before she can so much as blink, turning to Steve and only barely fighting back a wider grin. “See you later, punk.”

“Pretty sure you’re the punk in this moment,” Steve replies dryly.

His best friend knows that he’s joking, though, so Bucky just chuckles and shoots Nat a grin on his way out.

Wanda’s cheeks are a little flushed as she cradles her mug with both hands, taking a sip of her coffee and catching his gaze over the rim, and there’s something hesitant in her gaze that makes him pause. He knows she’s not necessarily embarrassed by that kiss, even if he’d been there to see, but he can tell something about it is bothering her.

Natasha can see it, too, because she slips onto the barstool beside Wanda’s and brushes her hair behind her ear. “Everything okay?”

Wanda rubs her lips together, giving her a wry sort of smile. “I just don’t want to get too attached,” she admits, her voice soft as she peers down into her coffee. Steve furrows his eyebrows, sharing a confused glance with Natasha, but Wanda continues before they can ask why. “It’s one thing for us to be close because I’m his best friend’s little sister, and maybe it’s okay if we just stay friends. But it’s another thing for him to be involved with me,” she points out, lifting her head and shrugging one shoulder.

“Because he’s a cop and you’re a mafia princess?” he guesses. She nods and he walks over to her, sitting on the other barstool beside her. “Quite the Romeo and Juliet setup.”

Wanda breathes out a laugh as she rolls her eyes. “Please don’t use that as an example of a love story. It’s a poetic tragedy at best.”

Despite everything, Steve chuckles. “I wasn’t going to, because this isn’t a tragedy,” he promises, and the wry amusement fades from his sister’s expression as she gives him a long look. He cups the back of her head as he kisses her temple. “If that’s the only thing you’re worried about then you two will be fine. Buck won’t let that get in the way.”

“He shouldn’t have to risk his job, either,” Wanda argues. “I know it’s an issue for him and Sam to be so close to us. Maybe not you since you knew them from before, but—”

“Wanda,” Steve interrupts gently, giving her a small smile. “Bucky is one of the best detectives in the state. His job isn’t in any more danger than it was before, and he hasn’t even gotten a word of caution from his higher ups, which he would’ve if he was being scrutinized because he’s good friends with his captain. Trust me, and trust him, too.”

His sister nods, but the hesitation doesn’t quite leave her eyes. “I don’t want him to always be scrutinized by the Family, either.”

“You’d be surprised,” Natasha says, and Wanda turns to her, furrowing her eyebrows. “Uncle Howard is relieved that you’ve had Bucky with you all this time.” Wanda blinks and Natasha offers her a grin and a shrug of her shoulders. “Trust me, I was surprised when Aunt Maria told me this, too. But things are changing,” she reminds, glancing at Steve for a moment. “They came around to your brother. They’ll come around to Bucky and Sam, too. Not all of them, but the ones that care about you will. Just give it time.”

Wanda smiles a little, the tension ebbing from her shoulders as she nods. “Okay,” she promises, resting her head against Steve’s shoulder. He glances over her to catch Natasha’s gaze again, grinning when she winks at him before she sliding off of the stool to retrieve their coffee.

... ...

They’ve been at the hospital for a few hours when Steve gets a text from Maria saying that she and Sam are picking up lunch for them—and honestly, Natasha had pretty much forgotten Maria’s revelation about Joseph Rogers until this moment.

It must’ve slipped Wanda’s mind, too, because Steve would have mentioned if his sister had told him that their father was adopted and had every trace of his life before New York wiped clean. Maybe he could’ve already known himself, but it seems unlikely. And Natasha would’ve preferred for Nick to be here so she and Steve can ask him about it directly, but his consigliere, Coulson, came to take his place last night, and Natasha isn’t going to wait this time to tell Steve, especially not with something this important.

“I’m assuming Maria knows what you two will eat because she didn’t ask for any preferences,” Steve tells Natasha and Wanda with a chuckle after reading the text.

Natasha smirks. “She does, but knowing Maria, it could be a complete surprise, too,” she quips, her gaze flitting to Wanda, and she sees the shift in the girl’s expression as she recalls the revelation that Maria dropped on them last night. Her eyebrows furrow and Natasha nods once before turning back to Steve, not surprised to find him watching their exchange curiously. “Maria found something out from Nick, but when she told me and Wanda last night, she didn’t know much,” Natasha says, and Steve lifts his eyebrows.

“Dad wasn’t born here, in the States,” Wanda tells him, her voice soft but still clear in the quiet of Pietro’s room. “He had his past erased.”

“Erased?” Steve’s hand tightens ever so slightly where it’s perched atop one of Natasha’s knees, his jaw tightening a little. He doesn’t look entirely surprised, though, and Natasha is willing to bet that’s because something along these lines might’ve already been in his head ever since they’d found that photo of his father and her mother.

“Nick said that our father was adopted, but there are no records of it,” Wanda adds. “He came here when he was thirteen and anything about his past before that is gone.”

Natasha slides her hand over his, squeezing, and Steve turns his gaze to her as his forehead creases in a silent question.

“My mother also had parts of her past wiped out,” she tells him, and again, Steve doesn’t seem as surprised as you might’ve expected. Honestly, after the initial shock had gone away at Maria’s words, Natasha knew that the thought had already been in her head, too. Maybe she could never have guessed it exactly what Maria had told her, but it was clear ever since the night she and Steve had seen that photograph that their parents (and probably most of the Family, too) had been hiding something all these years.

He nods, lifting her hand to brush a kiss to the back of it. “You okay?” he murmurs against her skin, and, despite everything, Natasha nods.

Because it’s true. Natasha may not like that her parents – and likely her aunt and uncle as well – have kept something from her for so long now, but at the same time, she doubts that anything her mother could be hiding is something that would make Natasha see her differently. And yes, Natasha would be lying if she said she hasn’t become a little warier around her parents since finding that photo, but still, she can’t quite bring herself to put any real distance between them or cut them off. They’re still her parents.

“Well, that’s definitely new,” a voice drawls, and Natasha looks up as Maria and Sam walk into the room. Maria glances pointedly at Natasha’s hand in Steve’s before lifting her gaze up to Natasha’s, arching an eyebrow as a smirk plays at her lips, and Natasha is smirking, too, as she rolls her eyes.

“Man, we’re gone not even for a whole day and we miss out on all the fun,” Sam quips, setting two plastic bags of takeout on the table.

Natasha’s smirk widens. “I don’t know, I feel like you two must’ve had some fun of your own,” she retorts as Maria drops into the chair beside hers. “Have you even left each other’s side since last night, or before then, for that matter? You did show up to Steve’s together, if I recall correctly.”

Wanda giggles softly as Maria shakes her head. “Oh, no,” she argues. “If we’re not talking about you and Steve, we have something more exciting to discuss instead.”

Sam shoots Maria a smirk as he crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall. “I wouldn’t exactly call the Russian mob exciting, but alright.”

That makes Natasha pause. Of all the things for these two could’ve brought up, she certainly hadn’t been expecting this. “What about the Russian mob?” Natasha asks.

“Turns out, some members of the Petrovich mob are here in New York, and they have been for weeks,” Maria answers, the amusement fading from her eyes as she shakes her head. “I don’t know how the hell that managed to slip under everyone’s radars for so long, but I suppose the Family has otherwise been preoccupied. The best part?” Maria arches an eyebrow. “My father found out that Yuri Petrovich is here with them. Quite a long way for the son of the head of the Petrovich mob to travel without a good reason.”

Natasha hums, sharing a glance with Steve. “Any ideas on what that reason could be?”

Maria shakes her head. “They have associates that they work occasionally based in New York, but a simple transaction or negotiation wouldn’t involve the heir of the Petrovich mob making the trip here in person,” she points out.

“Could they be here because of the Families?” Wanda asks, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly. “All of the ambushes and shootings, and the crash at the Stark club…”

Steve squeezes Natasha’s hand. “It’d be one hell of an accusation without any real connection,” Steve points out, though he doesn’t sound as if he’s doubting his sister, either.

Natasha presses her lips together as her Aunt Maria’s words from the other day float through her thoughts once more.

Things are changing, darling. Your uncle just wants to keep you safe.

Her aunt never addressed it when Natasha asked if she was in danger, and, at the moment, she’d simply thought it was because of what happened at the club. The whole family has been on edge ever since, even though Natasha has been in her fair of danger before, but she decided not to push the matter. It’s not as if they’ve never been concerned for her before, and just because they tried not to let her see their worry as much before doesn’t necessarily make it suspicious that they choose not to hide it now.

Unless, of course, they had a reason to be worried beyond a foreign mob being in New York. Unless there’s a connection, as Steve had put it.

Her mother is Russian, and most likely Joseph Rogers is, too. And Natasha is willing to bet it isn’t just a coincidence that they not only ended up in mafias, but the same mafia.

“Speaking of connection,” Maria continues, drawing Natasha from her thoughts as she pulls out her phone. “You’ll never guess who I happened to see yesterday.”

She swipes to a photo on her screen and hands it over to Natasha, and the first thing her stare catches on is the long, golden blonde hair swept into a ponytail. Sarah Rogers. Or whoever the hell this woman actually is, but it is her—the very same woman that had been at the coffeehouse that morning. Maria had done a quick scan of the plates on the cars parked outside of Natasha’s apartment the day Natasha had told her about seeing a black compact car, and one had come back registered under Sarah Rogers’ name.

“Is this her?” Steve asks, his voice a little gruff in Natasha’s ear, and she nods as she hands him the phone. She watches his reaction, just in case there might be some echo of recognition, but she isn’t surprised not to see any.

“She’s sure as hell living up to her alias, too,” Sam chimes in, making Natasha and Steve turn their gaze onto him. “We saw her go into your old apartment in Brooklyn.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows. “That apartment was empty when we went,” he says, glancing at Natasha. “Maybe we should’ve checked the other units.”

“Or maybe we need to go back,” Natasha says. It’s one thing for this woman to happen to have the same name as Sarah Rogers, and maybe it could have been a simple coincidence for Natasha to have noticed her in the first place. But her car being parked outside of Natasha’s apartment for weeks would be hard to just write off, and seeing her heading into the abandoned apartment where Sarah Rogers had lived is even harder to ignore. And if that’d been intentional, then Natasha doubts this woman would’ve been able to find the exact address without also determining the apartment number, too. Maybe she simply hadn’t found it by the time Steve and Natasha had gone there.

Maybe they’d simply missed her.

“Buck will be bummed to miss out on all the fun, but after lunch, I’m good to go,” Sam offers, patting his stomach with a smirk. “Can’t fight on an empty stomach.”

Maria fights off a smirk of her own as she rolls her eyes. Natasha hesitates, but Maria shakes her head before Natasha can get a word out. “Don’t even start,” Maria tells her. “Either you’ll need back-up in case this woman really has been stalking you, or you’ll need extra eyes to help search the building. Either way, we’re coming with you.”

Beside her, Steve turns to look at Wanda again. “You’ll be alright here for a few hours?” he asks, because he knows as much as Wanda would want to help, too, it’ll be hard for her not to be with Pietro. She knows he’d woken up overnight, but she has yet to see for herself that he’s truly okay.

Wanda gives him a small smile as she nods. “Of course,” she answers, her eyes shifting to Natasha. “And I know you don’t need this said, but be careful, okay?”

“Don’t worry,” Steve answers instead, and, despite everything, Natasha feels a smile tug at her lips as she peers up at Steve. “I’ll have her back.”

[kuuderekweenfics]

Coalesced

Well hello everyone~

I wrote a short piece. It honestly took everything to get this out of me. I got bit by the nasty writer’s block bug and drained all the motivation out of my body. But I managed to make it sweet, despite having a cold, empty void of a heart. 

Because my headcanon of Levi is that he is actually super warm in the sheets (pun DEF intended).

There is deffff some violence in here. So yeah. Let’s do it.

Sweltering steam plows into you, hot and heavy. The spray of blood misses you by a fraction of an inch as you maneuver your way to the nearest, safest rooftop. No one ever talks about the smell: the putrid decay that emanates from oversized, severed napes. They told you it would get easier to bear over time.

After a few years of wearing death’s perfume, you conclude that it really doesn’t.

You check the gas on your ODM gear. Halfway through and your blades are still intact. You take the small reprieve to stretch out your back before scanning the area for your next move.

It’s surreal, seeing Wall Maria claw at the edges of survival; people run every which way to avoid the onslaught of infiltrating titans.

A surprise attack, you had been informed by your squad leader, Zoë Hange, had devastated the defense. It collapsed under the siege of two abnormals: one, larger than any titan anyone had ever encountered in recent history, and two, an armored titan with incomprehensible speed. Hange had directed you and the rest of their squad to clear as many people into safety as possible. Thankfully, the emergence of titans was concentrated to one location, leaving a large portion to find shelter within the inner walls. But those in the Shiganshina District and around its immediate perimeter were not so lucky.

“Yo, it’s time for us to move out,” Lauda barks. Your mission was to save as many lives as possible, not to eliminate titans. You were told orders were final. You were told not to engage once the call was made to clear out. To continue fighting titans was pointless, Hange had said. Not when there wasn’t a single ray of hope to reclaim Wall Maria.

The hair on your neck raises as you hear the high-pitched cry. You are obedient, by all means a great soldier, but you simply cannot ignore the shrieks made by a child. Two stories below, no older than five or six, is a jumping boy, his desperate attempts to reach you failing with each hop. Your eyes connect with his, distressed but hopeful, and he reaches out his arms up toward the sky, toward you, his only willing savior.

To your agitation, you are not the only one to notice the boy. A titan crawls its way over, eyes hollow, appetite insatiable. A small string of curses come out a huff from your lips. You look over your shoulder, Lauda a distant star in the late afternoon sky among the rest of the survey corps. You drop down in the opposite direction, aiming your grapple-hooks into a crumbled wall and fly forward, then swivel immediately left, aiming steel to neck. Because the titan is a crawler, therefore completely exposed, your kill is quick work. You run to the boy, reaching your hand out to take hold of him, eager to get back. Only, his tearful smile is obscured by large teeth that clamp down on him, spattering your dumbstruck face with his blood.

No. No, no. No, no, no, no.

You can feel the hot breath of the titan, an overwhelming smell of corpse, as it hovers over you. It’s too close. You quickly glance to the right and left but all you see is its flesh.

Think. You have to think. Don’t focus on the poor boy you failed to save. Don’t worry about his blood dripping from your hair and cheek.

Move.

Live.

You shoot your hooks into its eyes and propel yourself up to avoid its mouth. You find purchase on its nose and grab a lock of hair, heaving yourself up for an opening to escape. You know its hands will be on you soon, your muscles screaming as you pull yourself up, up, up, racing against time. An opportunity presents itself. Hooks launch and lock onto the wall and you spring to your freedom.

_____________________

“You disobeyed orders.”

“I was trying to save a kid,” you retort.

Hange pouts, their brows furrow with obvious sympathy, but they stand their ground. “I know it’s hard seeing people die. Children die. Hell, I would have probably done the same thing.” They cross their arms. “But Erwin made the call. You were reckless. Some are blaming your previously pampered lifestyle.”

You scoff. Of course someone would bring that up. It was a constant reminder among the Scout Regiment.

Yarckel, the western-most district of Wall Sina, was quaint and content. While it was not as lavish as other areas of the innermost wall, it was an extremely comfortable place to call home. You squashed your mother’s heart the day you told her you had no intention of marrying an old, stuffy politician and all the resolve to enlist in the Survey Corps. Your dear mother nearly turned into a titan herself with how earnestly she chewed you out, spitting names like “wretched girl” for having “silly thoughts of chivalry” in your head.

But you couldn’t imagine yourself locked away in a gilded cage, ever so often forced to be held by too-soft, weathered hands and bred to deliver another generation of vain and greed.

You’d rather die free.

“What’s my punishment, then?” You concede, there’s no way you’ll get out of this one when Erwin has the last say. Hange grimaces.

Uh-oh. This won’t be good. “Let’s hear it then.”

“Latrine duty. For a full month.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. Latrine duty is, by far, the worst assignment when living with barracks almost completely inhabited by men. You cringe at the mental image of what you found the last time you were tasked to clean the toilets.

You hold back the bile that threatens its way up as you nod your head. “Anything else?”

“Levi will come in each week to approve your task completion.”

Fuck. “May I ask why a Captain is overseeing my work? Doesn’t he have more pressing matters to see to?”

“I think you know why,” Hange chuckles. “Make sure to get into every nook and cranny. I won’t have you making me look bad. Otherwise, Levi will come badgering me.”

______

This might be worse than facing titans.

You scrub the inside of the toilet bowl in the spot most often neglected: the underside of the ring. Grime flakes off in chunks, and you cant help the gag that makes your way up.

The smell burns your eyes. It could also be the sweat. But you’ve decided against touching any part of your face while you’re forearm is deep in toilet water. When you sit in front of the fourth and final stall, you’re thoroughly convinced the northern barracks’ latrine is utilized by heathens.

You’re busy brushing the hinge of the toilet seat when you hear the door swing open. You’re sure you placed the sign on the door barring entry. “Sorry, still cleaning in here.”

The calm tap, tap, tapping of the boot heel sends a shiver down your spine. This isn’t the footsteps of some eager scout who waited much too long to do their business. You keep your eyes forward, staring at the porcelain which provides a full view of what’s behind you in its shiny, white reflection.

You hear him enter the first stall. Each second feels an hour long. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until your lungs sting for air.

The second stall is next. Then the third. And finally, after an eternity in limbo, he steps behind you. By this point, you had gone back to brushing, mechanically moving your arm back and forth without the same gusto you had earlier. Your heart threatens to break out of your rib cage with each thunderous beat.

“Are you having a heart to heart with each toilet before you clean them? I thought I’d given you enough time to finish up with these.”

“I wanted to make sure I did a thorough cleaning, Captain.”

He clicks his tongue. “Step aside and let me check your work so I can get the hell out of this dump, Scout.”

You stumble out, scraping your back against the edge of the stall; he doesn’t move from his spot and you don’t dare touch him.

As he inspects the last toilet, you hear the soft “‘hmm” roll from his mouth, and you hope this is a small sound of approval.

He walks toward the exit, but turns to you with a recognizable disgust that scares you more than the stare of a titan.

“Good work. I hope you can apply the same level of cleanliness to yourself,” he rumbles. “Look at you. You’re absolutely filthy.”

You should be angry. You should be boiling over at the insult. Instead, you attempt to keep your smile contained.

And all at once you began to enjoy your moments with the Captain, infrequent as they were.

The small exchanges in the mess hall.

The glances in one another’s direction as you file out of meeting rooms.

The quiet, strained growl in your ear as he penetrates you in his quarters as the moon makes its way over the horizon.

It all happens so, very quickly; Levi’s one-off encounter with you. One second you were discussing various teas and which best suited a savory meal, the next you’re hungrily lapping up the precum from his stiff cock, ever acquiescent and flushed.

You bob your head, each time pushing your boundaries as he hits the back of your throat; every gag only adding to his pleasure.

And before you have the satisfaction of watching Levi, Captain of the Survey Corps and Humanity’s Strongest, unravel in your hands (or mouth, rather) he takes hold of your elbows and shoves you on the bed.

He’s surprisingly gentle. The way he manhandles even your own boss makes you think he would be more aggressive, unrestrained.

And while he does hold you with a vice-like grip that will surely leave your hips bruised tomorrow, you realize it’s to assure that each meticulous thrust hits the switch that lights up your brain, igniting your nerves and sending a wave of pleasure crashing through your entire body.

The heat that burns in the pit of your stomach intensifies as he pistons into you, never losing focus on that area that surely makes you see stars.

And you beg for him to go harder, faster, as you clutch at the sheets desperately and push into him in a fruitless attempt to swallow him whole.

But he’s already there, deep within your core; the pumps connecting all the wires to push you both over the edge.

He sputters forward, his seed coating your walls hot and sticky. It’s all you need, his desire to fill you entirely, to drive you into your own divine pleasure. Your breath hitches with the final pump as you both settle on the bed.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

This is not love. Of course it isn’t. You are no fool. But for a few hours, you allow yourself to be tethered. Allow him to stroke your hair with a fondness that is so pure, so different from the usual Levi.

Your breaths in sync, the seconds of comfort engraved in your mind for the rest of your miserable lives. One fleeting moment cemented in time.

And in a blink of an eye, it’s gone.

So as you stare, wide-eyed and frightened, at the Titan who holds you captive in its clutches, inching forward into its acrid breath, you allow yourself to draw back into the depths of your memory.

Your mind takes you back to that night.

And you close your eyes and smile as you relive each second of the night that you and Levi Ackerman coalesced.

[moomingitz]

I have seen you be accused of having ableist views before because you said something about Helen from Sonic X about the nature of her disability and using the concept art as proof but I don't really see it. You don't really come off as ableist not even in an intersectional fashion. What exactly did you say to be accused of it?

I’ve been asked about this a number of times. So fine! I’ll finally speak up and say something.

I basically said that it feels she was made to be the most basic and generic idea of a paraplegic(at the time I actually I said “disabled”, when I actually meant “paraplegic”, but at the time I forgot that the term “disabled” is a very broad one, and I assumed that people weren’t petty enough to get what I was actually referring to and not have to hold people’s hands every step of the way); because it’s easier to squeeze sympathy out of viewers, and that she would basically just be Maria 2.0(a character we don’t even know next to nothing about to begin with), or just another perfect soft borderline-moe girl, if she wasn’t.

I also said that I wouldn’t be surprised if the decision to make the character into a paraplegic was something done at the last minute or it wasn’t originally planned, and I brought up how she is shown standing in a completely perfect stance in one of her concept sheets despite being shown in her wheelchair in another one that appeared to have been at later date. This is where I apparently pissed in some people’s Cheerios, to the point of being accused of having “ableist views”; because apparently feeling even a bit weary of creator’s intentions behind what they produced or feel like it’s a more superficial one, or even suspecting that something was possibly implemented retroactively, is the same thing as accusing a real life person of “faking” their disability.

The last time I have checked there isn’t really anything in the show, Sonic X, that has hinted or alluded to Helen’s disability(besides mention of going to the best doctors or something, but that’s it) being nothing more than the typical vague idea of a person with a disability: a perfect little angel who is tailor made to garner sympathy from it’s audience who can’t walk because she just can’t or something.

The “nature” of her disability is that of whenever usually neurotypical people make a character with a disability. They normally do so in the easiest and safest way possible, which is “some cute perfect, kid with non-descript paraplegia in a wheelchair”, and nothing really else actually concerning the character’s disability beyond that of checking off the boxes. If you took away her wheelchair she would just be another sappy Maria clone with not much to her character beyond just being a “nice girl” who was just too good for the mean one-dimensional cruel world(because the Sonic franchise just can’t get enough of this character archetype for some reason). I kind of couldn’t help but suspect that it may have even been something that was possibility implemented during the show’s production instead when the character was first conceived.

But, I will admit that I was wrong about it at least being a retroactive decision. After looking at newer released concept art with dates that do match up, and after someone explained to me(while not throwing accusations of me being a horrible ableist, at that) how characters, no matter what they are, are generally drawn standing upright in concept art for the purpose of getting complete references for height and scaling, which does make sense now that someone told me.

Funny how some of people who have accused me of having ableist views over this swear they’re the anti-SJW types who apparently hate the crap “SJWs” pull. But the second I don’t praise their favorite “best girl” character, and dare even relate to the the eeeevil “privileged” character Chris Thorndyke more, they seem to have no problem pulling the same dirty tactics they shit on SJW types for. Foaming at the mouth and finding anything to accuse someone of being a morally reprehensible person, because how dare someone doesn’t worship their pure favorite little baby or every single bit of representation; even when the person they’re snarling is the very kind of person they think they’re speaking on behalf of. Because even slightly suspecting the character’s disability may have been tacked on during a show’s production, is the same fucking thing as my mom not only being told that she’s just crazy or faking it despite having medical report after medical report showing that she does have EDS and suffers from short term memory loss after being in wreck back in 2001, but also tends to get dirty looks when she legally parks in a handicap spot or uses an electric scooter because even if she’s still capable of standing and walking she still cant do it for long periods of time. Or when some piece of shit lawyer used my mom’s disability against her in a family court case as if it was “evidence” that she’s an unfit mother. Or people saying that I shouldn’t be “allowed out in public” because sometimes my Autism makes it really hard for me to deal with things like sensory or other people in general. What do I know about ableism and people holding ableist views, right?

Thank you for showing me that ya’ll totally care about how people like me or my mom feel or think, and aren’t just pissed that I didn’t praise your precious fictional character to the roof, and dare even say that I thought the character you all hated was better or said I relate to them more, and weren’t just looking for something to try and use against me. You all sure did show those dirty SJWs!

[privilege-archives]

ADELAIDE FABRAY ➝ FOURTH SIBLING

I'M YOUR BIGGEST FAN

❖ FULL NAME: Adelaide Maria Fabray. ❖ PRONOUNS: She/Her. ❖ AGE: 21. (June 21st). ❖ BIRTH ORDER: Fourth. Quad to Second, Third & Fifth Fabray. ❖ GRADE: Junior. ❖ MAJOR: Web Design. ❖ SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Heterosexual. ❖ ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Heteromantic. ❖ FACECLAIM: Dianna Agron.

I'LL FOLLOW YOU UNTIL YOU LOVE ME

(TW/CW: religion, slut shaming)

Adelaide Maria Fabray had always been one to follow in the shadows of her parents, that was just her way. Since birth, you would see Ada floating around, watching and analysing the ways of the generations of Fabrays before her and learning their morals in hope of becoming a future replica of them. She was fascinated by the almost royal like galas and events that her and her family were dragged to at least once a month and while she was told to be “seen and not heard” she was more than happy to, just as long as she was apart of the event nonetheless.

Never had you seen a child so favored, so loved by her parents, there were even rumors going round that Ada had been given special treatment by her father, you see - Ada was quite obviously a Daddy’s girl and could do no wrong in his eyes, she used this to her advantage, blaming all the other girls for her mistakes, hoping that Russell Fabray wouldn’t notice her higher attitude towards any of the children, for in his eyes, Ada was nothing but perfect and she aimed to maintain that standard for the rest of her life. Perhaps if Ada had known what Russell was really like she may would have been less inclined to please him and see him as an idol, but she wasn’t made aware to the situation, living in peaceful ignorance, being the apple of her Daddy’s eye.

As the Fabrays were brought up Christian, it was no surprise that Ada, from a young age, was used to the church life. Attending church every Sunday seemed almost natural to her. Although it was almost second nature to her, and sort of a habit that her parents had forced upon her by christening her, Ada felt like she belonged within the Church community, and one might dare to say that she enjoyed attending church. It was no secret that Ada had felt the presence of the Holy Trinity in her life, she had made that clear throughout her middle and high school. People had just assumed that she was just following in the footsteps of her parents, and there was a rumour going around school that Ada was going to stay in Portland her whole life and become a Pastor’s wife, and although that would be the ideal life for Ada, she knew that the Lord had other plans for her and that she needed an exciting, wild influence on her life in order to balance her pure attitude out.

It had been approaching the end of high school, and while others picked colleges based on whether they were Ivy League or not, Ada knew that she would receive high results wherever she had went, and so stayed in LA in hope of experiencing the wild college life before returning back home to continue her prim and perfect life. Ada had picked her major based on practicality, for she was only looking for a degree and easy going job before finding the one and settling down to and becoming the perfect housewife. So she went on to pick a Web Design major, knowing that the industry was booming in the 21st Century and based on figures, there was going to be more jobs than ever due to the fact more and more people were living their life through the net. While she had hoped of getting rid of her morals just for a little while, it was just not possible for young Ada, she was still a very strong believer in Jesus Christ and keeping herself pure for her wedding night, as well as many other things. It would be hard for someone to make Ada change her mind about the Lord, and she wasn’t willing to risk of her father’s keenness for her vanishing and so perfect was still the word Ada would use to describe herself, although she was far from it.

Although failing to branch out in college, Ada did manage to gain one thing she’d always hoped for. Meeting Andrew Winston at the church that she found herself in the heart of Los Angeles was a moment she’d never forget. She was halfway through her Freshman year when she saw him for the first time, kneeling on a pew praying; not the most romantic place to meet someone, Ada admitted but after getting to speaking the two realised they both shared similar morals and standpoints in life. There were sparks, and Ada could feel them. Was it love? Most likely not, but she was willing to compromise in order to be in the ideal relationship that her parents would be proud of. It was only a year into dating Andrew it was announced that the pair were engaged to be married.

Andrew, who had graduated from Columbia the May before they met, was an up and coming accountant and was offered a full time position at a highly respected accountancy firm in Boston. Although originally hesitant to move, going back home to Seattle had always been part of her plan, Ada knew this was her duty as a fiancee.. It didn’t take her long to get herself set up as a Web Designer for a company and she finally felt happy. In reality, Andrew had begun to stay hours long after he was required in the firm and Ada had started to feel alone but she was too content in that bubble of hers to even admit that something could be wrong. In her eyes, the couple were ready to start a family and life was only going to get better from then on. She had become a well-established member of her church that the couple had picked out together in Boston, and were beginning to get settled in. That was the most important thing, right? She was no longer a singular person but a unit - she couldn’t just think of herself.

She’d only managed to spend 2 months in Boston during the Summer before returning back home to Los Angeles, she felt safest at Pacific State and knew she would have to stay there in order to finish college; after all, an uneducated woman was useless, and no man would find her attractive without a brain. After discussing it with her fiance and her priest, they came to the conclusion they’d simply have to make long distance work until Ada finished her degree, and could return home to get married to her beloved at the ripe old age of 22.

Judging was Ada’s main flaw, she refused to acknowledge anyone else’s viewpoint that didn’t match up directly with hers. While Vatican II taught good Christians to accept and not try to convert those of different (or no) religions at all, Ada still had hope for those non-believers in the hope of converting them. Ignorant? Of course, but Ada didn’t see it that way. She just saw it as spreading the message of God, and doing the right thing. Because of her lack of education in the world outside of the Christian community, she seems to have been left behind in the modern day world, still naive and unaware of the problems that sexual harassment has caused, and dare I say it, Ada goes as far as judging those who have been sexually assaulted or harassed, blaming it on the way they dressed or what they were implying. Although, others had hoped college might open her eyes as to what is going on and who she should be judging in the crimes taken place. This didn’t happen.

BABY, THERE'S NO OTHER SUPERSTAR

Ada has soft, well nourished golden blonde hair that flows to the top of her breasts. Her hair is always in soft waves, and never covering her face. Although never wishing to appear tacky, Ada sports a classic, elegant makeup look every day which includes natural eyeshadow and a soft pink lip, wanting to appear well put together but not too alluring for the other sex. Ada always dresses modestly, most typically in skater dresses that touch the top of her knee respectively and a pair of heels. Although having no tattoos and minimal piercings, Ada always wears her beloved Tiffany’s earrings, her engagement ring and her prized cross pendant on her neck proudly, feeling safe with Jesus constantly with her.

YOU KNOW THAT I'LL BE YOUR PAPARAZZI

Russell is a famous entrepreneur, who owns most of Hollywood’s big brand businesses. Judy is an Oscar winning movie actress, and the children had small roles in movies as children.

[chalantness]

This completely slipped my mind yesterday when I made the update, but since I always try to give a preview, you can find the full first scene of chapter four of the mafia verse below!

I’m hopeful I’ll have it ready by Friday or even Thursday, so thank you darlings for waiting!

chapter four sneak peek:

“I know you aren’t nearly as chatty as Tony or Peter, but I’m starting to feel offended by how quiet you’ve been today.”

Natasha turns to find her Aunt Maria watching her, her eyes glinting as she sets a fork back down on the table arranged with plate settings. To her credit, the woman hadn’t acted the least bit surprised when Natasha asked if she needed help planning next month’s Stark Industries gala, even though Natasha had never shown much interest in her aunt’s role as an event planner before. And yes, her aunt could’ve had someone take over for her decades ago, but the woman loves it too much to give it up anytime soon.

Natasha gives a small smile and a shrug that she knows her aunt will take as an apology, and the woman exhales a laugh. “You think I would’ve learned by now that waiting for you Starks to offer up your problems is a lost cause,” Aunt Maria comments dryly.

“You’re a Stark, too, you know,” Natasha points out.

“By marriage, darling. I don’t have the same stubborn gene as the rest of you, no matter how much your uncle and cousin like to claim otherwise.” Natasha’s smile widens as she shakes her head, and her aunt comes to stand in front of her, reaching up to brush a few stray strands of Natasha’s hair behind her ear. “If you were my son, I’d have to ask thirty questions before he ran out of witty remarks and finally confessed,” she adds, “but my much more sensible niece wouldn’t put me through that game, would she?”

“No, she’ll just keep her confessions to herself,” Natasha retorts, though her voice doesn’t sound as nonchalant as she’d intended.

She knows that her aunt notices it as well because her eyes twinkle. “Does this have anything to do with you spending all of your time with Steve Rogers these days?”

Despite herself, Natasha breathes out a laugh. She’s not particularly surprised that her aunt latches onto this of all things, but she’ll admit that it’s a nice change in pace from having to talk about “Sarah Rogers” or theories on who the hell drove a car through the front of the club.

“Does that seem like something your niece would ever be distracted with?” Natasha asks.

Aunt Maria shrugs as she admits, “I didn’t think you could be distracted at all. Even as a toddler, you were so focused. It was a little unsettling for your parents.”

This makes Natasha pause. “They’ve never told me that.”

“Most children don’t know much about their parents in that sense,” her aunt points out as she perches herself on one of the many sample chairs artfully draped in chiffon and ribbons, patting the seat beside hers for Natasha to follow. “We tell you fun stories and we tell you about what you were like growing up, but we don’t necessarily tell you all the little things we had to learn, or how worried we were every hour of the day. Your parents were much better at hiding it than Howard and I, but they were no exception.”

Natasha exhales a chuckle. “Honestly, it’s hard to picture my parents with a child at all, even if that child was me.”

It’s not the first time the thought has crossed her mind, though she’ll admit she doesn’t really know where the sentiment comes from. She’s never once felt as if her parents regret having her, or would choose any differently if they could. She knows they love her and she’s never once doubted that. Seeing her mother in that photo with Joseph Rogers had been shocking, but it also felt a little bit like something had finally clicked into place. At least now she understood why something always felt off about their story.

It wasn’t something that was brought up much to begin with, but considering the circumstance as to why, Natasha hadn’t felt it was suspicious. The only reason her father and Uncle Howard had gone to Europe to begin with had been because her aunt and uncle were having problems with their marriage, though they’d never shared what the fighting had been about, nor had they really shared why the brothers had stayed on another continent for an entire year before Uncle Howard came back to sort things out with Aunt Maria. All Natasha knows is that her parents had met early into this trip and had Natasha overseas, and they’d gotten married only days after her father brought her mother back to the States with him. Natasha and Tony had always found the whole story odd, but they didn’t have any real reason not to believe what their parents told them, either.

“It was certainly a surprise when your father came home with you and your mother,” Aunt Maria says, and Natasha turns just in time to catch something flicker in her aunt’s eyes—amusement, maybe, though it’d been far too quick to tell. “He’s never been impulsive.”

“Neither has Mom,” Natasha points out. “And yet, she met Dad, had me, and moved to an entirely different country within the same year.”

“Your uncle likes to take credit for having that one influence over your father in that sense.” Her aunt smooths a hand over Natasha’s hair, her smile softening. “I know it seems like that year is something we want to forget, but without your uncle and your father taking that trip, we wouldn’t have you. I wouldn’t want things to be any different.”

Natasha gives her a small grin. “That’s because you and Uncle Howard like to pretend that I’m your daughter,” she teases, tilting her head as she adds, “though Uncle Howard definitely fusses over me as if that were true. Maybe even more so than my actual father.”

There’s a pause before Aunt Maria asks, “Does that bother you?”

Natasha shakes her head. “He’s been that way my entire life, Aunt Maria. If it bothered me, I would’ve said something by now.”

“But something is bothering you?” her aunt asks, and Natasha almost smiles at the tone of her voice. It’s one that she’s heard Aunt Maria use with Tony all his life; one that says she already knows the answer is yes and is expecting an explanation instead.

Natasha hesitates. She knows that Aunt Maria is willing to keep a secret for her if she asks, but her aunt would draw the line at staying quiet about Natasha potentially having a stalker, especially after what happened at the club. Honestly, Natasha is very well aware the two could be related, and then there’s also the possibility that “Sarah Rogers” may be tied to everything as well, but she’d rather have more to go off of before worrying the family. As soon as they know, they’ll be even less willing to let her out of their sight, and she’ll need as much time without one of them hovering over her shoulder as she can manage to find so she and Steve can look into her their parents’ connection.

And no, she doesn’t even consider asking about that, either. She’s almost certain that her aunt and uncle have already known about it, and if they’ve all been intent on keeping quiet about it, Natasha knows that her aunt will tell her parents as soon as she suspects Natasha may have found something out.

Still, there’s one thing her aunt may be willing to keep a secret; and if not, Natasha won’t mind if her uncle hears about it.

“I still find it a little odd that Uncle Howard would ask me to look after Steve,” Natasha admits with a slight shake of her head, because yes, that is still something that crosses her mind despite everything else she has going on. Or maybe even because of all of it. “I know that he and Joseph are close and that’s a big part of why he asked me to reach out, but he’s always been a little overprotective of me, too. I guess I still find it strange that he’d want me around Steve when he knew there would be a lot of heat on him.”

Aunt Maria gives her a little grin that almost looks amused. “If anything, I think you might have been safest with Steve. His two friends are cops, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but Uncle Howard has never trusted cops,” Natasha points out.

“And yet he’s relieved that Steve’s friends have been there for Wanda ever since that drive-by,” her aunt says, and Natasha feels herself pause, surprised. “Joseph Rogers is someone very few would dare to threaten and he’s still missing,” Aunt Maria reminds gently. “Things are changing, darling. Your uncle just wants to keep you safe.”

Natasha holds her aunt’s stare, feeling her chest tighten ever so slightly. “Because I’m in danger?”

Aunt Maria hums, giving Natasha’s shoulder a squeeze. “Because he loves you,” she answers simply as she stands, turning away. And Natasha knows that, at least for now, that’s all her aunt is willing to share.

[privilege-archives]

Thank you for your audition, ANNA. We are thrilled to welcome you into the group as the Fourth Fabray who you have chosen to name ADELAIDE MARIA, with the faceclaim of Dianna Agron, and we truly cannot wait to meet them. Please send in your account in the next 24 hours, and read over the new members checklist before sending in your link.

ALL ABOUT YOU ➝

Anna (She/her)/19/GMT

YOUR ACTIVITY ➝

7/10 just finished all my assignments so aside from hard graft studying I’m all yours. I’d also like to ask that I may be excused from activity checks on a Wednesday as there’s no way possible I’m able to get online most Wednesdays

ANYTHING TO ADD? ➝

Removed.

YOUR CHARACTER ➝

Adelaide “Ada” Maria Fabray . Dianna Agron. She/her

AGE, ORDER & BIRTHDAY ➝

21. 21st June. Ada is the fourth Fabray and a quad to the second, third and fifth Fabray. 

GRADE & MAJOR ➝

Junior. Web Design major.

SEXUAL & ROMANTIC ORIENTATION ➝

Heterosexual/Heteroromantic

BIOGRAPHY ➝

(TW/CW: religion, slut shaming)

Adelaide Maria Fabray had always been one to follow in the shadows of her parents, that was just her way. Since birth, you would see Ada floating around, watching and analysing the ways of the generations of Fabrays before her and learning their morals in hope of becoming a future replica of them. She was fascinated by the almost royal like galas and events that her and her family were dragged to at least once a month and while she was told to be “seen and not heard” she was more than happy to, just as long as she was apart of the event nonetheless.

Never had you seen a child so favored, so loved by her parents, there were even rumors going round that Ada had been given special treatment by her father, you see - Ada was quite obviously a Daddy’s girl and could do no wrong in his eyes, she used this to her advantage, blaming all the other girls for her mistakes, hoping that Russell Fabray wouldn’t notice her higher attitude towards any of the children, for in his eyes, Ada was nothing but perfect and she aimed to maintain that standard for the rest of her life. Perhaps if Ada had known what Russell was really like she may would have been less inclined to please him and see him as an idol, but she wasn’t made aware to the situation, living in peaceful ignorance, being the apple of her Daddy’s eye.

As the Fabrays were brought up Christian, it was no surprise that Ada, from a young age, was used to the church life. Attending church every Sunday seemed almost natural to her. Although it was almost second nature to her, and sort of a habit that her parents had forced upon her by christening her, Ada felt like she belonged within the Church community, and one might dare to say that she enjoyed attending church. It was no secret that Ada had felt the presence of the Holy Trinity in her life, she had made that clear throughout her middle and high school.  People had just assumed that she was just following in the footsteps of her parents, and there was a rumour going around school that Ada was going to stay in Portland her whole life and become a Pastor’s wife, and although that would be the ideal life for Ada, she knew that the Lord had other plans for her and that she needed an exciting, wild influence on her life in order to balance her pure attitude out.

It had been approaching the end of high school, and while others picked colleges based on whether they were Ivy League or not, Ada knew that she would receive high results wherever she had went, and so stayed in LA  in hope of experiencing the wild college life before returning back home to continue her prim and perfect life.  Ada had picked her major based on practicality, for she was only looking for a degree and easy going job before finding the one and settling down to and becoming the perfect housewife. So she went on to pick a Web Design major, knowing that the industry was booming in the 21st Century and based on figures, there was going to be more jobs than ever due to the fact more  and more people were living their life through the net.  While she had hoped of getting rid of her morals just for a little while, it was just not possible for young Ada, she was still a very strong believer in Jesus Christ and keeping herself pure for her wedding night, as well as many other things. It would be hard for someone to make Ada change her mind about the Lord, and she wasn’t willing to risk  of her father’s  keenness for her vanishing and so perfect was still the word Ada would use to describe herself, although she was far from it.

Although failing to branch out in college, Ada did manage to gain one thing she’d always hoped for. Meeting Andrew Winston at the church that she found herself in the heart of Los Angeles was a moment she’d never forget. She was halfway through her Freshman year when she saw him for the first time, kneeling on a pew praying; not the most romantic place to meet someone, Ada admitted but after getting to speaking the two realised they both shared similar morals and standpoints in life. There were sparks, and Ada could feel them. Was it love? Most likely not, but she was willing to compromise in order to be in the ideal relationship that her parents would be proud of. It was only a year into dating Andrew it was announced that the pair were engaged to be married.

Andrew, who had graduated from Columbia the May before they met,  was an up and coming accountant and was offered a full time position at a highly respected accountancy firm in Boston. Although originally hesitant to move, going back home to Seattle had always been part of her plan, Ada knew this was her duty as a fiancee.. It didn’t take her long to get herself set up as a Web Designer for a company and she finally felt happy. In reality, Andrew had begun to stay hours long after he was required in the firm and Ada had started to feel alone but she was too content in that bubble of hers to even admit that something could be wrong. In her eyes, the couple were ready to start a family and life was only going to get better from then on. She had become a well-established member of her church that the couple had picked out together in Boston, and were beginning to get settled in. That was the most important thing, right? She was no longer a singular person but a unit - she couldn’t just think of herself.

She’d only managed to spend 2 months in Boston during the Summer before returning back home to Los Angeles, she felt safest at Pacific State and knew she would have to stay there in order to finish college; after all, an uneducated woman was useless, and no man would find her attractive without a brain. After discussing it with her fiance and her priest, they came to the conclusion they’d simply have to make long distance work until Ada finished her degree, and could return home to get married to her beloved at the ripe old age of 22.

Judging was Ada’s main flaw, she refused to acknowledge anyone else’s viewpoint that didn’t match up directly with hers. While Vatican II taught good Christians to accept and not try to convert those of different (or no) religions at all, Ada still had hope for those non-believers in the hope of converting them. Ignorant? Of course, but Ada didn’t see it that way. She just saw it as spreading the message of God, and doing the right thing. Because of her lack of education in the world outside of the Christian community, she seems to have been left behind in the modern day world, still naive and unaware of the problems that sexual harassment has caused, and dare I say it, Ada goes as far as judging those who have been sexually assaulted or harassed, blaming it on the way they dressed or what they were implying. Although, others had hoped college  might open her eyes as to what is going on and who she should be judging in the crimes taken place. This didn’t happen.

AESTHETIC ➝

Ada has soft, well nourished golden blonde hair that flows to the top of her breasts. Her hair is always in soft waves, and never covering her face. Although never wishing to appear tacky, Ada sports a classic, elegant makeup look every day which includes natural eyeshadow and a soft pink lip, wanting to appear well put together but not too alluring for the other sex. Ada always dresses modestly, most typically in skater dresses that touch the top of her knee respectively and a pair of heels. Although having no tattoos and minimal piercings, Ada always wears her beloved Tiffany’s earrings, her engagement ring and her prized cross pendant on her neck proudly, feeling safe with Jesus constantly with her.