#sometimes i leave the letter on the kitchen table; sometimes i put it in a bag and forget to take the bag. or i take a different bag

[beaft]

adhd means a lot of things to a lot of people, but what it mainly means for me is that every day for the past 2 weeks i have left the house with the intention of posting an important letter and every day i have categorically failed to do so

[simp-ly-writes]

Pinning Me Down

─────── · · A TDOTJ FanFic

Pairing: The Jackal x F!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You were a private investigator known as "Operator Grey" for working both sides of the table, police and the underground equally. You pull the strings to narratives to maintain work yet not everyone appears happy with your puppeteering work as an "admirer" of sorts has you watching your back while not knowing they already have it in sights.

─ · · TAGS: second person perspective used, female-pronouns used, enemies/rivals to lovers, fluff and angst, scenes of stalking, blood, violence, injury, guns, and obsessive behaviours, hurt/comfort, arguments, lying, HIGHLY SUGGESTIVE THEMES, kissing, the Jackal being a ultra charismatic mf, not beta read or edited.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,668

─ · · A/N: thank you for all the Jackal asks! I know its been a little while, still hope you guys want to read a Jackal fic!

─────── · ·

─ · · As a personal investigator and private operator for high profile clients your job was simple on the surface level; gather information with no questions asks and leave undetected with the evidence or blackmail your client requested and stare at the generous pay check afterwards before putting it to use.

─ · · People paid for how 'simple,' swift, and effective your operations appeared- always providing the results the client wanted (sometimes even needed) and you did not shy away from going above and beyond, disguising yourself while providing encrypted information, hacking into government servers, following your targets across boarders and seas without a sweat, and occasionally offering your friday night for a round of drinks with your favourite clientele (though before anyone got too touchy you would politely excuse yourself).

─ · · But that was just what your job appeared on the surface; a simple woman with a love for luxury that gained her wealth by blending into crowds and documenting evidence for deep pockets... the thing is... you didn't care for any 'side.'

─ · · Light or dark, the legal or illegal, you operated in the grey space as the "Grey Operator," or simple "Grey." Infiltrating and networking on the surface and all throughout the underground networks on a global scale.

─ · · Anytime anyone would come close to putting you behind bars, all spy agencies and police around the world knew you, knew that you helped them as much as the people they were chasing like a puppeteer pulling all the strings and slipping just enough information for the endless cycle of cat and mouse between criminals and cops.

─ · · Yet it appeared not everyone was too pleased with being "bossed" around as it appeared recently that all the targets you got requested to look over were 'sadly' deceased upon your arrival, a simple rose planted in each of their mouths, a letter in their hands always addressed to you- "Miss. Grey." Tearing open the paper, a dozen rose petals fall from the paper and one to two lines appear underneath. Some have a snarky remark or simple observation about your habits, others a clue for where they buried the information you needed in order to finish your mission.

─ · · Your chuckle at how they remove the 'operator title' from your ails and the way in which they boldly assume you're not married; it charms you as it equally infuriates you that someone is watching you in the same way you do for everyone else, simply pulling you along their intended trail with every new contract you receive and every corpse you discover.

─ · · But your humour did not last for long as your reputation was starting to take a hit. It was all fun and games to start as you observed the stack of letters by your bedside and the singular withered rose you had in a vase within your kitchen... but you did not want to be pulled along any longer.

─ · · So you took a new job, the last one your 'admirer' you tagged them to be had requested you take in order to continue to follow their trail. The catch though? You held no plans on carrying through with this mission, instead you went to a lab, tracing back the rose to its origins alongside the ink, paper, and writing-style used, anxiously waiting back for the results for a potential slip up.

─ · · You tapped your foot anxiously against the tile, eyes flickering between your watch and the clock on the wall, debating which one was running faster (both were timed the same) but it did well to somewhat calm your nerves.

─ · · Feeling increasingly restless, you unpinned your hair, sighing and ringing your fingers across your sore roots while circling the room. You picked up various test tubes and dada sheets left by the last worker within the space, nodding your head along before a 'ding!' had you dashing back across the room and eyeing the screen.

... INK: BRITIAN

PAPER: SPAIN

FLOWER: PORTUGAL

PRINTING: NOT IN DATABASE, ENTER RESULT? ...

─ · · Your brows furrow as you press your face closer to the screen in hopes of discovering a newfound answer within the code only to come back empty handed. The person who had been sending you these... 'gifts' had to be rich in order to buy the various materials and travel to plant them and by the meticulous craft of every shot between the eyes, you had already narrowed them down to being a sniper-of-sorts but they still leaved hundreds of possible candidates if not thousands...

"I'll be honest, I was disappointed you didn't even try and go see my newest gift," a man voice sounds from behind you making you still, gripping the edge of the table. You begin to tilt your head over your shoulder yet their stern tone stops any further movement, "Stay where you are, Miss. Grey and tell me the little image you have imagined me to be before seeing the real thing."

You let out a quick breath through your nose and roll your eyes at the ego of the man behind you. Standing up straight and smoothing out your shirt, you try and squint at the computer screen to catch their reflection. "I won't strain your eyes, love, only your mind, now tell me."

You humourlessly chuckle, "You won't 'strain my eyes-hm?' So a man of murder, ego, and vanity, quite the impressive and if I may say horrifically 'attractive' man I'm building an image of," you strike while rolling your shoulder back.

You listen as the man shuffles footsteps that clack against the tiles, dress shoes, once distant now appear closer, a chair scrapes against the floor before they've taken a seat behind you, "I will only admit to one of those sins. I'm afraid the other are abhorrently wrong, Miss. Grey. Do try again but this time, use more of your brain."

Slamming your fist against the table you are vibrating with anger as the comment slips in through your ears and to the front of your mind, clouding any rationally you were holding onto after being quite literally stalked for the past few months and watching as all your long-standing clients ran from you without another word, all because of this man, you think to yourself, scrunching up your nose before taking a deep breath- squeezing your eyes shut.

"Middle-aged male, European- most likely British descent from the accent yet sounds too forced to Birmingham slang making me think you're actually from London," you tease hearing man grunt but before he can send his come-back you are already speaking, "you had military experience, a marksman or sniper... leaning towards the latter by how well you disguise yourself. I would know you if you worked over the table so you're an underground operative and to know my connections you must be working for someone well-established... and with deep pockets," you conclude, "cleared to turn?"

"You are cleared," they reply, tone appearing to disregard how impressed the man was by how well you could read into him by what little evidence he gave.

Turning around you see a middle-aged man, head tilted up to observe you in a similar way you do him, from the shoes up until your eyes meet and you squint, "contacts and your nose is peeling," you whisper, biting your lip and taking another step forwards, one hand trailing behind yourself with nonchalance while in reality you were feeling for the cold metal of your weapon.

Seeing your little slide of hand you watch as the man raises an eyebrow, "no need to get violent, Miss. Grey. You wouldn't want to be hurting a grade school teacher now would you?" Your eyes narrow at the fake badge that dangles from his chest pocket, a cheery-fake smile with animals stickers cluttered around it. "Well, 'Mr. Richards', I highly doubt that you even have a formal education let alone are teaching a group of forty children when you spend your Friday afternoons in a lab with random women."

"You think yourself to be random?"

"No. But I will be in a moment."

"Is that so? Then why do I have you pinned to a room so easily?"

"You? Pinning me?" you giggle, taking a few steps back and starting to back up your gear, throwing the rose by his feet, observing how it crumbles across the white tiles, little red petals all splattered about like blood. "I would like to see you try," you tease before sharply darting out of the room hearing as the dash after you yet you know these halls like the back of your hand, dashing around a corner and bursting through a window you know to be able to fall through at a safe height into a pile of trash.

Standing up with a hull, rolling your ankle while looking up, you cast 'Mr. Richards,' a wink before walking off with the rush-hour crowd of those getting of work and sink into the subway system without a trace.

─────── · ·

─ · · You would like to say that was your last time running into said man yet he always found another way to you no matter where you seemed to turn or who you worked with... it was as if they were tracking your every move as you made it, that would be impossible though.. I've swapped phones at every stop and gotten all new passports.

─ · · The man, you know know to be as "The Jackal" in one of his recent entries to you still helped you with your work (as in doing it for you and offering you the entire pay check with his added 'gifts' again). You didn't know weather of not to feel disturbed anymore or intrigued to learn more as the notes became longer, the killing of your clients less frequent as he apologized for taking away your work while explaining he had his own jobs to fulfill in the past, and you with every city to ventured to, you thought to see his features pop up in the most crowded of places that made your heart race.

─ · · The Jackal would occasionally greet you in-person (of course when you least expected it). Take the club for instance when he ordered you a drink at the bar before spinning you for a dance and leaving at the sound of the next song like a mere figment of your imagination. How about that one time he waved you goodbye at the airport before boarding a separate flight or that time he acted as waitstaff to an event you were infiltrating.

You remember that night vividly, feeing as his longer slender fingers grabbed the coat from off your shoulders, draping it across his forearm before quickly leading you inside and into a discrete corner to offer some... advice? Before commenting on how beautiful the shade of blue made your complexion look and leaving before you could process his words and went back to hyper-focussing on your mission.

─ · · You hate to admit to yourself now how smoothy that mission ended up going with his feedback and escape plans and how well you both seemingly worked together like a seamless... effortless transition every time your paths would cross again. Just like to puzzle pieces falling together.

─ · · That once irritation now infatuation by how quickly he could rile you up with just a few words and how equally quickly he could calm you and crazily enough, you found yourself relaxing to his presence. Even looking forwards to it and waiting, hoping for the random face in a crowd to be his... you felt pathetic by how fast your heart was running before your brain. Any initial concern going out the window when the moment he complimented your work so earnestly, eyes so wide and welling with truth that you couldn't hold yourself from falling and forgetting parts of yourself in the process as you spiralled and fell into his arms, felt his kiss to your forehead, heard his voice calling your name in the private of one of your homes or felt how his hand gripped your thigh as he drove you both across seaside roads to soak of the sun.

─────── · ·

─ · · You shake the feeling of an over looming stare you never seem to find off of you before turning into your motel room. You had found yet another successful job and were ready to reap the rewards with a five-star vacation away from all the stress you had been experiencing.

─ · · Knocking off your boots and flinging off your itchy wig you sigh, feeling overwhelmed by all the layers of clothes you wear before stepping into the bathroom but the door appears to be... locked?

You jiggle the handle, "just a minute, Miss. Grey," a voice sounds from the behind the wood that has your hand stilling on the metal handle before being flung forwards and into a warm chest as the door is ripped open sending you with it, "good to see you again too," the Jackal teases, lazily casting an arm around your waist as you huff and pull away, feeling his lingering touch against your skin haunting your bones as you walk backwards and sit upon the bed.

The Jackal smirks, crossing his arms and leaning against the hallway arch, staring at you, "It has been some time since we've last seen each other, I thought you'd be all over me by now" he teases, eyes crinkling at the way you scrunch your nose up just like the first day he met you- watching as you foot taps against the floor as you think of a retort.

"Me? All over you? I think you have these roles revered, Mr. Jackal-sir," you smile, hands drifting back on the covers as you lean backwards, drinking in his relaxed appearance.

The Jackal slowly stalks forwards, standing before you before crawling over top of you as you fall back against the mattress, smiling up brightly as he traces your jaw, "and to think," he leans in slowly, breath hot and heavy against your ear as you squirm beneath him, "you'd say I'd never pin you down." He bites your earlobe before leaving a trail of kisses down your neck, across your collarbone and back up to your lips where he settles with a groan as you wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles around his lower back and smiling into the feeling of his lips on yours.

You both pull away breathless as you reach up, fixing a few golden curls that bounce across his forehead- pulling them back and leaning forwards for another kiss, "Don't make me eat my words now or you'll be left with your hand for the night," you warn, starting to pull away.

The Jackal simply places more of his body weight on you, casting you a glare, "like you'd be able to form words if I had my way with you."

"Wanna bet?" you trail one finger from his lip, down his jaw and neck before feeling his chest and the rapid beat of his heart- watching as his eyes darken to your words, "what does the winner receive?"

"Well why don't we ask them at the end? I'm sure she'll come up with a fair answer," you giggle, starting to pull at the neck of his shirt in a silent ask for him to remove it.

The Jackal does not budge, simply staring deeply into your eyes before briefly flickering down to your parted lips, "She-hm? Well I don't think he has ever lost a bet."

"It would be a pleasure to be the first one to hold one over you then."

"We'll see about that."

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: I would lose- wait who said that?? lol

─ · · JACKAL TAGLIST: @swiftietevitdrewjew @groovyponypatrollamp @alelo23 @apaperflowerreader @itz-stuts @moonlightmvrvel @nadixq

[lay-z]

This is for you, ma boo @arabellasfvv 🩷 Graves Nation arise!

× READ PREVIOUS PART HERE

Sometimes you wonder how you didn't see the signs, all the red flags, right from the beginning. How you managed to be so goddamn blind when Phillip first started approaching you.

But whenever you're not too tired to have a moment of clarity, you remind yourself that he's a master manipulator, a cruel narcissistic—and that makes you feel better.

You're a victim and he's a monster, and you never stood a fucking chance.

Not when he made you move in with him, give up your job, made you give up your banking account while you were swooning with the prospect of finally being taken care of for once. He put a ring on your finger after seven months of relationship, made you both write out your vows and speak them at church.

A ring much more expensive than your first car. It's gold and shiny, engraved with his name in delicate letters. The engagement ring secured behind it on your ring finger; diamond twinkling obscenely, so everyone can see. Always.

And gush how generous and loving he is. It nearly makes you gag at the mere mention nowadays.

Now the weight of it all pulls you down while you fight your hardest to stay afloat in the flood and not drown under his presence every damn day.

Sometimes you want to let go and drown, but despite everything, you do love your toddler son; even if Hunter looks exactly like his daddy.

Looking at your son makes your gut clench sometimes; a mixture of guilt and hatred squeezing your heart so tightly until your air gets caught in your lungs, and you have to force yourself to ease your arms around his little body, when his sweet voice finally manages to break the brain fog clouding your head.

"Mommy, it hurts."

And you always cry in the guest bathroom downstairs, muffling your sobs with a fluffy towel, after putting him down for a nap, utterly disgusted by your own thoughts and behaviour.

Phillip might as well put a collar on you already, use his belt as a leash whenever he doesn't use it to spank your ass raw.

At least the cheating has stopped after he realized how little it affects you anymore, and he has the audacity to announce it to you like he's doing you a favor.

Once again, turning the tables on you.

"Want me all to yourself, hm?" His steel blue eyes glint coldly, his wicked smile not reaching them as he bothers you again while you're trying to wash the dishes in the spacious kitchen—even though you have some fancy dishwasher, but Phil demands you wash everything by hand, claiming it looks better and you shan't become too lazy. Right, darlin'?

"Of course," you press forward, words burning like acid in your mouth, elbow-deep in sudsy water as he embraces you from behind. He fumbles with the knot of the pale blue apron, wrapped and tied at your front.

You know what this implies. He's never going to leave you alone, and you will fall pregnant again soon since he refuses to finish anywhere but inside your cunt.

His head dips down, nosing along the curve of your neck, up behind your ear, inhaling the new perfume he bought you and makes you wear—the one that escort used.

Phillip hums low in his chest, "That's what I thought. You're a greedy 'nd jealous little bitch, ain't'cha?"

You can hear the evil smile in his voice and your fingers curl around the butter knife under the foamy surface as you stiffen, feeling the clear evidence of his swelling cock against the curve of your ass as he presses closer.

"Hunter down for his nap yet?" His voice drops to a low growl as the knot unties with a flick of his wrist, hands coming up to sneak underneath the apron, cupping your tender breasts and squeezing possessively as you arch reflexively.

"Yes!" you squeak, eyes squeezing shut as your mind fights your body's reaction, though it's an ongoing losing battle.

The knife slips out of your grasp, floats to the bottom of the sink as you grasp the edge of the counter, fingers slippery.

"Good." He nips the side of your neck, tongue dragging over pebbling skin. The delicate buttons of your blouse pop open one by one as he rips it open, one hand snaking around to fumble with the zipper of your jeans.

"Now bend over before I lose my shit, honey."

[strayheartless]

Things in Zack’s ADHD apartment that are necessary for him to function (as implemented by Angeal.)

His toothbrush lives on his nightstand. Not in the draw, not in a cabinet over the sink, not in a little pot on the sink. On. His. Nightstand. Because in Zack’s brain, if the first thing he see’s in a morning is his toothbrush he thinks “I need to remember to do that, I’ll do it now” and then gets to the bathroom and thinks “I might as well shower and do my hair too…. Hey I need to pee!”

Everything he needs for meal prep goes in a little container in the fridge and is labeled with the days they are to be consumed by. Even the stuff that doesn’t classically live in the fridge go in to these cubbies. Angeal checks them every week and if there is left over stuff he takes it away, makes small lunch portions, freezes them and leaves a note on Zack’s fridge that says lunches are already there for him.

Speaking of, there is a dry erase whiteboard on Zack’s fridge door. It has a grocery list side and a calendar on it. Cloud tends to be the one who updates it when Zack forgets (which is a lot).

Zack’s game consoles are in a cupboard with his games to stop himself getting distracted while he typed up his reports. This was Zack’s own solution and it works semi well.

His sword hangs on a peg on the back of the door now.

Shoe rack. It’s messy but he can see all of his shoe options.

Files on his shelf that are clearly labeled: “pay checks, bills and taxes”, “letters from home”, “bills part 2”, “commission certificate and graduation paperwork”, “legal thingies”, “passport, birth certificates, and other Identification stuff”. The files were Genesis’ idea. They are written in fun fonts and in colourful felt tips, so he knows where they go.

If he forgets to put things in files they are usually on the coffee table and Sephiroth (the filing fiend) usually does a weekly sweep and sort of his documents.

Laundry basket hoop. Doesn’t always work but sometimes it gives him the dopamine.

A physical letter box on the wall by his front door. He gets a dopamine hit from using a key to check his mail…. Nobodies willing to question it.

The worlds most irritating alarm clock.

Cloud. Just Cloud.

Bottles and kitchen tools all hung at eye level.

Spiny spice rack. He could have had a shelf but the spiny one entertains him.

The smart watch Lazard had Reeve make him. It reminds him of basically everything.

Stamp the dog hydration app that makes sad puppy noises when he needs to drink water (he was irritated about it but he doesn’t actually like upsetting the dog.)

A roomba with googly eyes on it called George. George is on a timer.

Electric air freshener and automatic air filtration.

Kunsel.

[devinescribe]

The Kinda Guy To…

Richard Grayson version

- Loverboy. There’s no other way to put this. He’s a loverboy.

- Literally giggles and kicks his feet thinking of you.

- Always invites you to galas, and matches you. While blue is definitely his color, he’ll wear whatever you wear. Makes him happy to see you happy.

- Has screamed at a person trying to flirt with him that “IM A TAKEN MAN!! TAKEN I SAY! BACK YOU WENCH BACK!” Like the drama loving man he is.

- He’s really good with kids. Like really good. However, he doesn’t think right now is the best time to have kids given the fact he’s a vigilante and just how dangerous the city is.

- You will never have to pay for a thing again. Ever. Never. Don’t even think about trying to sneak off the table to the hostess stand to pay saying you need to go to bathroom, because he already handed them his card before the date started. Don’t play with him.

- Loves spoiling you. He knows what you like and what you don’t, cravings and problems if you looked too long at a pair of shoes in the store, but didn’t buy them? They’re on your bed later that night with a note.

- Speaking of he loves breaking and entering into your apartment to leave you love letters and little notes.

“…Richard Grayson.”

“…Y-yes?”

“Stop breaking into my house! You have a key Dickie!”

- While he loves spoiling you, his favorite love language is physical touch. He lovessss touching you. Holding hands, hugs, a hand on the small of your back to lead you through crowds… all of it!

- Dick Grayson is not meant for casual. He can’t do casual would rather die than do casual actually. He cares deeply for you if you’re his, you’re his one and only.

- Needs you to get along with his family. Sure, they have their disagreements and their moments, but they are his family. And he loves them, and he needs you and them to at least get along.

- You do. He loves how you take time to get to know his family. You talk about ethics with Bruce, talk about classic novels with Jason, you talk about… well almost everything with Damian, you help Barbra and talk to her about her favorite things, you help Alfred in the kitchen. It’s like you were meant to be there.

- No one really understands how hard dating a vigilante is. Really. The night’s staying awake wondering if he’s coming back, where he is, if he’ll come back just to bleed on your carpet. So many unknowns. But he keeps you looped in, making sure you know what he’s up to.

- Public displays of affection are a must. But not in a gross over the top way. More in a … hand on your waist, always next to you. He gives you forehead kisses in press things and any carpets you walk.

- Not jealous, because he trusts you. He just knows the same way he steers away from anyone who tries to flirt with him, you’d do the same for him.

- Jason tried to jokingly flirt with you once.

“Hahahahahahaha Jason you’re so funny…. Stay away from my girlfriend or I will make sure you die for real this time.”

“Richard!”

- he makes a playlist for both of you to add songs into. It’s called something like “For Us” or “Love You.”

- When he’s not out on late night patrols, he loves to make you dinner and just stay in, talking about nothing and everything. From:

“D’you think aliens ever look at us and think… wow they’re doomed?”

“If Haley(his doggy) could talk what do you think she’d say?”

To

“Sometimes I wonder why you stay with me… like it can’t be the easiest thing…”

“I feel bad that… my well… vigilante stuff… gets in the way of our time together… like when I had to leave our anniversary just to… fight some stupid crime alert… I feel like I miss out on a lot of… important things.”

- He doesn’t want a grand life. He just wants to do well by others, especially you.

- Arguments are normal in couple life. But he doesn’t like to argue. He has a policy, a rule if you will that if something is bothering either of you, you bring it up in a mature discussion. No yelling, no shouting. Just talking, and working out a plan to make it better.

- Grand gesture kind of guy. But it’s not always a huge thing. Sometimes a grand gesture is a trip he planned, so you don’t have to lift a finger or worry your pretty lil head about it. Sometimes it’s 100 of your favorite flower. Sometimes it’s your favorite candy restocked in your cupboard.

- if you watch a show with him, you BETTER not watch new episodes without him. That’s a form of betrayal right there. Absolutely evil. He will cry.

- Dances with you in your kitchen at night. Just soft music in the back, swaying with you.

- If you cry he cries 😭

“No no no baby don’t start crying-“

“B-but the chicken *hic* t-the baby *hic* h-he loved it so much-“

“Baby if you cry I’m gonna cry-“

-A few minutes later-

“H-he just loved h-him so much Dickie-“

“I-it’s so sa-sad!”

- Knows how your feeling just from stepping into your space. It’s crazy.

“…something’s not right here…. Babe? You- *gasp* you’re on your period, in lots of pain, and are craving a Baja blast and Mexican food-“

“How’d you know that. That’s freaky Dick. I’m scared-“

“Shhh… imma take care of you my love… cmon up you go… let’s go get some food.”

[skay-ali]

A love lost in a great desert

Bad attempt at yandere

You fell first, but when you walked away, you left him so damaged and distraught, he couldn't imagine living without you.

Yandere Orter Mádl x reader

They were two brothers who loved and supported each other constantly.

He was part of the police academy... his dream of saving and protecting lives ended up being what ended yours.

You ended up alone after your brother's death.

Or that's what you would have preferred.

But then something had to happen...

The man you knew from a few outings with your brother was his coworker, a promising two-line magician.

The great Orter Mádl. In reality, you had few interactions.

Interactions where you ended up being a complete young woman in love.

In reality, you were blinded by a crush.

Still immature and dreamy at your age, you believed you would achieve something, that if you tried, that if you tried hard enough, at least the man would notice you.

Of course, you were still worried about scaring him off, about displeasing him forever. If you didn't succeed with your silly little plan to win his heart, at least you'd end up as an acquaintance, or even a friend.

You made an effort to learn what the man liked. You read the books he read, practiced manners, had thousands of conversations filled with academic topics, learned about ethics and politics.

You tried giving him some of his favorite desserts and even food.

You gave him shy smiles, even tried to talk to him despite his stoic demeanor.

But that wasn't enough.

In fact, this seemed to really bother the man.

One day, he exploded.

When your brother had left to get something from the kitchen, he left you sitting next to the man at a table in his backyard.

You timidly tried to talk to the man about his work and daily life.

You waited for him to talk. He adjusted his glasses in an elegant and calculating manner.

"Enough, I'm getting fed up with your childish games."

"All you're doing is embarrassing yourself and causing me great annoyance."

His voice was cold, his eyes piercing, filled with something very different from the lack of kindness and respect he showed your brother.

Your lips trembled at the sound of it; you wanted to speak and express your feelings.

"And that's not the worst of it. I hate seeing you break the rules of decorum. You don't even respect your position."

With that, you finished, leaving the table, but not before throwing him the letter you'd worked on for so long to express your feelings and take a weight off your shoulders.

The worst part was that you had to lie to your brother.

He appreciated Orter; he was one of the few people he could consider a friend at work.

"Something's up, sister," you looked at him, worried. He put the desserts aside, not caring that they might spoil, to come closer to your side.

"No, nothing happened. I just think I feel a little sick. Maybe it's a possible cold," you lied, hiding your feelings, still holding back the tears in your eyes.

"Are you sure? You know, Orter can be a complete bully sometimes." His hand gently placed on your shoulder.

"No, I'm fine. Maybe I just need a break." You hugged your brother for a moment before releasing his grasp and walking away to your room.

"I'll be fine for dinner." You climbed the steps to the second floor, to your room.

You didn't leave your room, even when your brother's visitor left.

You couldn't bring yourself to leave your room and face reality.

The truth is, he wasn't just a crush.

For you, he was your first love. He was actually a great man, despite his attitude.

A magical prodigy, a genius, a skilled fighter.

He was very kind to you when your brother introduced you.

He was so beautiful in your eyes.

And now he'd stabbed you a thousand times in the heart. Not only that, but he'd also shown that feeling of superiority he felt toward other people.

Despite your family's stable position, you were against the great gap that existed between people with one line and those with two, even those without.

Everyone had the right to live... no one was superior. But hearing his words... It was like a bucket of cold water.

You eventually healed.

Your brother found out, well, only the part about you loving a boy and him being cruel to you. You made up a tall tale so he'd never suspect it was his great friend and classmate.

If only he knew who he was inflicting the thousands of insults that came out of his mouth on.

It was you and your brother.

Outings with new friends.

The new dream you were forming in your head about your future. Being a teacher at Easton Academy, in the elementary grades.

Which you achieved, along with a double job as a guidance counselor, due to the "low-key" class you taught. And your soft demeanor and young age, one of the many excuses the teachers gave for not having to work more and designating you as the appropriate person to deal with students.

Yes, because according to many, communication and social skills weren't that great. What would they learn from a class where they were taught to respect other classes, even those below them?

It was there that you met Wirth Mádl, Orter's little brother.

A promising young man, who, with his great effort and boundless dedication, was a great student. Someone with an obsession with being worthy.

Despite his defensive attitude toward your attempt to help him maintain a healthier lifestyle, you managed to become his friend, or someone he could talk to about his worries while playing a board game.

"Hey, now that I notice, your glasses are the same as your brother's." "And..." You saw him maintain a disinterested attitude, but he seemed to be trying to hide another emotion.

"Oh, I think they look much better on you."

"You look really cool."

"You really used that word."

"It's not that old-fashioned!"

"Ha, it's super outdated. You can see you're getting older."

Although some students were a pain in the ass and some despised you, you actually liked them both... you truly appreciated them, maybe even had your favorites, the outcasts of the academy.

You knew it was difficult for them, which is why you were proud that they continued working hard at their studies and trying to improve themselves.

As your teenage years wore on, all your memories fell away; you matured as a person, even your old crushes and your broken heart.

Well, that was until your beloved brother passed away.

It was a small funeral, just close family and friends.

You were so broken that you didn't mind seeing that silhouette you hadn't seen in person for years, that silhouette of a man you had come to adore in the past.

You suppose that with the pain, he became insignificant.

It's a shame it was like that for someone else...

The same silly words, about realizing what you lost too late, hit the nail on the head, even though those same words were ridiculous to him.

In his life, the only thing that mattered was his job, the money he received, and the good results he achieved.

In fact, when his colleague introduced him to his sister, he didn't think anything bad about that ordinary girl.

To him, you were just a normal girl he could tolerate.

Maybe you could have been friends...

But you kept pressuring him. So did his family, his superiors, some acquaintances.

You only wanted friendship and something more. The others wanted power, alliances, or things; he couldn't fathom how he could tolerate such things. Then he exploded.

He couldn't keep it to himself.

And he hurt you.

The letter you threw at him in anger before disappearing was the only thing left of you, the only woman who looked at him normally, who treated him familiarly and always supported him, even leaving your brother aside.

"Hey, we're supposed to be family, ____"

"Yes, but Orter is worse off than you."

"Seriously, I doubt it."

"You're a crybaby." You stuck your tongue out at your brother.

While you and his friend were fighting, you treated him gently, treating his wounds. It wasn't serious, but you had caused a huge scene when you saw him hurt.

"You know, you have to eat."

"I'll do it later."

"You have a big job; to fulfill your duties, you must be healthy." You handed him a basket of food.

He hesitated to take it, but with your insistence, he couldn't refuse.

Of course, your pitying face and hopeful eyes had nothing to do with it... of course not, nor did the big smile you gave him, as radiant as the sun.

"I don't think I'll make it."

"Oh, come on. Everyone in the family wants you to go, not just my brother."

"I'll be with my brother."

"Boo... why don't you bring him? He'll definitely have fun with the other kids."

"My parents won't accept him."

"It would be nice for you to break the rules sometime." He heard your melodious voice laughing.

Sometimes later, he also regretted not going to the big family dinner you'd tried so hard to invite him to, after your brother gave up.

But you were just his friend's sister.

You were just a girl... So why did he feel a great pain in his chest?

A pain that left him thinking for hours about what he no longer had.

A letter he always read and recorded every word of. Which he kept with the utmost care, like a treasure.

Why does he miss you?

Why did he feel he couldn't live without seeing you?

Because he desperately watched over you from a hiding place.

He lied to himself, thinking he didn't want to see his friend sad if something happened to you.

Because when he saw his friend take his last breath, he promised himself to become strong and fix the world, to keep you safe?

It wasn't just a promise; something inside him insisted he should do the impossible.

Orter Madl, the new divine visionary.

Thus he was named, and many people began to praise him.

Good for him, you thought the first time.

You continued to balance your life with the void left by your brother. Appreciation, before you.

A normal day for you, a short break from the academy and its busy surroundings.

You were interrupted from your tea break by a knock at the door.

Humorlessly, you tried to ignore the knock.

Too bad the person knocking was persistent.

You opened the door humorlessly, faking a smile and biting your tongue to keep from insulting anyone who dared to upset you about the massacre of the pastries you bought, your brother's and yours' favorites.

"Yes, do you want something..."

Your face faltered when you saw who was knocking at the door.

For a moment, you hoped it was to see your brother, like he always did in the past, when your brother was still around.

But he wasn't there, and you weren't in the mood, so you quickly pushed open the door.

It was better to close it, forget about the visit, and get on with your day.

Unfortunately, a foot stopped the door.

"We need to talk."

"You and I... I don't think we need to talk," you mocked.

You had to relax somehow.

This man kept his serious demeanor, and it seemed to get worse.

"I feel the same," Orter confessed out of nowhere.

"What's wrong with this guy?"

"Hahaha, now you're bothering me with your jokes?" You were annoyed by his interruption in your home.

"I'm serious." His hand pulled out a piece of paper, which he held very delicately.

Oh, you recognized it instantly.

The funny scribbles on the outside of the envelope helped.

"How do I keep that... Ah, no, how embarrassing."

"Well, it's late, too late." You calmed your anger and looked at him with resignation.

Would things have been different?

Maybe if you hadn't insisted so much.

Or maybe if the man you loved hadn't been such a huge idiot.

"So, why don't you leave?" Enough of the sentimentality, you repeated to yourself.

It was time to take out the trash.

You're not going to cry again.

"You really don't understand..."

"I'm not interested," you interrupted.

"But,"

"No, no, and no, you need to leave my home." On the way out, as you pushed the man out.

Something stopped you.

It wasn't your feet, or the man's strength or his stamina.

It was sand, sand that held your feet tightly.

"No, the conversation isn't over yet." The man broke free from your grasp and stood in front of you.

His eyes were looking at you, examining you meticulously.

You felt so judged right now.

"I'm serious." His tone was still serious, his movements extremely meticulous.

"I've realized since the last time we spoke." He took a step closer to you.

"It's not just a feeling of affection." Another step.

"I can't stop thinking about you." Another step.

"Even with all the time that's passed, you're still on my mind."

"I can't imagine another day without you by my side, ___." His touch was cold, his hands gently caressing your cheekbone.

It sent shivers down your spine, and you tried to squirm away.

This man... this man had truly gone mad.

I don't expect answers from you. He dragged you with him, to who knows where.

Annoyed, you fought with him endlessly. But he only accepted your blows and insults.

He took your wand away.

He even threatened to break it.

You tried to escape from the large house where he had locked you. But some spell always stopped you, until Orter found you and brought you back home.

"Our home," he said in such a terrifying voice.

"How did you find me?" You asked curiously.

You were sitting next to Orter, his arms holding you close to his side, keeping you in place.

You were supposed to be reading, but you couldn't concentrate with his arm around your waist and his hand playing with your skin, pinching it.

Damn, how you hated that action.

"Funny you think I lost sight of you," his voice was unsettling.

"What?"

"Besides, I had a little help, helping you adapt to our home."

"Don't worry, when you're ready, he'll be able to visit." You had a small idea of ​​who it was.

You didn't want to believe it, but some things in the big house showed it could be him.

Only he knew your tastes, from the many conversations you had. Wirth Madl.

The boy with whom you thought you'd formed a friendship, whom you tried to support on his journey.

Did he betray you?

"Are you seriously asking me for help?"

"...."

"You're not only a bad brother, but also a monster," he mocked his older brother.

"But I'll do it, not for you... I'd hate to know that one of the few people I care about is going through a bad time or is in danger."

"Even if it means I have to be in your care."

"I know you were the one who broke my sister's heart."

"But... I ask you to take care of her."

"Take care of what I love most in this world."

The spirit of his friend can assure him that the man kept his two promises.

[sunschay]

An Unwanted Guest || Natasha Romanoff x Male Reader

You return home after two years serving in the American army, having been forced by your father to enlist. But you didn't expect to have another stepmother in such a short space of time.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: Inappropriate language, swearing, sexual tension, age gap (Reader is 21, Nat is 42, she's a milf ugh), Bruce is a terrible and disrespectful husband. *

Also, this is not fully proofread yet, so it may contain some minor spelling errors.*

Word count: 10k

You wake up to the sound of banging pots and pans and a loud bell ringing in the back of the dormitory. It must be about five in the morning, but that's the time everyone here is obliged to wake up anyway, as early as possible. Sleep isn't important, but your work and your duties? Without a shadow of a doubt. You hear the recruits getting up from their bunks and putting on their uniforms, berets, boots and belts before retiring to the mess hall. You get dressed as well, brush your teeth and splash cold water on your face and almost jump with fright when you turn around and see a man standing in front of you.

“Private Banner. There's new mail for you at the post office outside the base.” Sam Wilson says, almost like a robot, the dark circles around his eyes giving away his bad sleep during the night.

“Thanks, Wilson.” You press your lips together and nod, retreating to the cafeteria.

It's an ordinary cafeteria, at least 30 to 40 square meters, with 25 tables and chairs scattered around. The canteen is a rather small kitchen that houses large pots and pans, two built-in stoves with four burners each and a huge fridge taking up almost half the space. The soldiers form a queue with trays everywhere to eat.

“Combatant Banner, how's your day going? There are three letters and correspondence from Mr. Banner waiting for you.” Your most familiar and talkative friend, Steven Rogers, greets you with the same smile as every day.

“Hey mate! Thanks for that, really. How's your day going?” You reply and give him a brief hug. “Good so far, no women around unfortunately.”

Steve is a good man, he's also an excellent and extremely competent soldier, unfortunately life (in this case, the top lieutenants) has placed him as a letter carrier indefinitely supposedly because Rogers doesn't reach the level of skill and strength as other recruits. But he's still a nice guy with his straight-edged blond hair, his friendly smile, his blue eyes and his pumped-up muscles.

“Thanks for this, Steve. I bet my old man is just asking me how things are going. He should know by now that I'm coming home tomorrow.” You snort and pick up the thick envelopes, seeing that the other letters are from your 13-year-old brother, Derek.

It was probably one of his drawings that he's always sent you since you joined the army.

“I hear you've got a new hot stepmother- I say, I hear you've got a new stepmother, comrade. You know, Derek tells me everything. I love that kid.” He gives you a nervous wink and you choke on air.

“Stepmother!? Wait, bloody hell! That's the fourth woman my old man's taken in two whole years.” You shake your head in disbelief.

“Come on, Y/n. He's single and still a bit young, a man should celebrate his freedom as he sees fit. But sometimes, with a new woman comes new problems.” Steve laughs lightly, finding your nervous expression amusing.

“The thing is, he's been having fun with several women for a long time, Steve, and he always gets into trouble with all of them because he doesn't know how to deal with break-ups. I bet she's a bitter old woman with a bunch of kids. Thanks, man, I'll have to accept another little woman wanting to boss me around anyway. See you in the cafeteria.” You roll your eyes and say goodbye to Steve with a high five.

After picking up the tray, you sit down and start opening the cards, barely touching the food in front of you. As soon as you finish opening the first letter, a long sigh leaves your lips before you start reading.

"Hey, my firstborn, how are things going over there? If I remember correctly, you're just finishing your service and will be going home soon. Derek misses you, I helped him send you his many drawings of dinosaurs and of you painted next to him in a soldier's uniform. He can't stop talking about you. I've also heard that you're as strong as a big Nutcracker doll. That's my boy. On the other hand, I imagine that Rogers has already told you everything. Son, yes, I'm in a relationship with another woman. Natasha is the most incredible and fascinating woman I've ever seen, and it's the best thing that could have happened in my life, I think you'll like her. We can't wait to see you, firstborn, come home soon."

Running your hands through your hair, you let out a heavy, tired sigh, taking a few bites of the not-so-juicy apple on the tray and looking at the mashed potatoes mixed into a soup with a strange texture. The food isn't always the best, but there's nothing to complain about, at least you have something to eat.

“I told you, new stepmother, new problems.” Rogers giggles as he enters the cafeteria and then laughs when he sees your frown.

“At least I hope this one doesn't try to burn our house down.” You say with a frustrated half-smile, eating with some effort.

“Relax, she must be a good woman.” Steve places the tray on the table, looking away for a moment.

You continue eating and frown when you see that he's practically drooling, staring in the opposite direction. Your head turns slowly and you see Second Lieutenant Stark and Agent Carter enter the cafeteria, walking together as they talk. She's pretty, with short brown hair, light eyes, a light button on her lips and a military uniform, wearing high boots. Agent Carter is actually the first General of the United States Women's Army, so basically, she's a well-known woman around here and sometimes makes a visit to the men's military base to do "research", evaluations and things like that.

“I'm going to have to get a bigger bucket if you keep drooling over her like this.” You smile, feeling Steve throw a stuffed potato at you.

“Ew, I wasn't even looking like that. Mind your own business.” He scolds you, fiddling awkwardly with his food.

“Oh, the one who spoke is no longer here.” You laugh and finish eating, getting up when the lieutenant calls you to run around the courtyard.

This time, you wake up before the bell rings and the noisy pots start banging to wake up the rest of the soldiers. Today is "vacation" day, if you can call it that. You're coming home after two years away. Finally. You'll be able to sleep when you want, when you want, drink, do all the rebellious shit you share with Steve. As you enter the bathroom, you pick up a razor and fit a new blade into the razor, washing your face with warm water and spreading shaving foam over your face as you shave. After removing the loose hairs from your face, you wash it thoroughly and face the new pencil moustache covering your skin, all the rest of your skin shaved and clean.

“It's not so bad.” You whisper, running your fingers over the moustache.

As soon as you've finished the rest of your hygiene, you pick up your farewell uniform, putting on your camouflage collarless shirt, pants and boots. You run your fingers through your black hair and comb it gently until it's neatly aligned, then you put your beret on your head. When you return, the dormitories are already empty and the commanders take the rest of the conscript soldiers outside to catch the bus home. You wouldn't take a bus home if Bruce came to pick you up, but with a brainless father like him, it wasn't good to risk being late. You stand in the queue and immediately feel someone tugging your ears back slightly, turning to see Steve right behind you.

“Hey, buddy, you look like you've just stepped off a modeling cover. If I were a woman, I'd be wet just looking at that moustache.” Rogers jokes and you roll your eyes, joining in.

“Yeah, and you look like a nomad with that much beard, the girls will love that.” You put your hands behind your back and he sighs. “I wish.”

“Private Y/n Chase Banner, 21 years old, British, sergeant correspondent. You may board.” The man hands back your papers.

“Sometimes I forget you're British. It's a bit ironic, you don't even like a cup of tea.” Steve says, straining his accent and making you laugh. “Why tea when we have whisky and beer in America?”

Steve laughs and takes the documents out of his pocket, handing them to the driver. Quickly all the soldiers board and you press your head against the hard seat, looking out of the window as the base slowly moves away and the bus accelerates. You hear Steve chattering non-stop next to you about Agent Carter, saying how divine and beautiful she was, and saying how much he wished he had a chance with her. The trip from Kentucky to Washington DC would take at least 8 hours and something more, it was still early in the morning and you'd be arriving in the afternoon or even evening, so you just answered Steve with nods and brief 'um, yeahs' as you drifted off to sleep.

“Hey, buddy, this isn't bedtime! Wake up!” Steve shook you, making you jump in your seat slightly.

Your fingers rubbed your eyes and you shook your head, gradually adjusting your vision. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, delivering a warm and muggy evening, the clouds gradually disappearing as the larger group of soldiers began to get off the bus at the Washington terminal. Steve laughed as he commented on your sleepy face and you grabbed your backpack, following him off the bus. It was clear that Bruce hadn't made any effort to come and see you in Kentucky, so it annoyed and irritated you at the same time, but there was no point in wasting time with your grumpy old dad.

“You're coming to dinner with me. That's not a request.” She joked with him as they started walking together.

Your house wasn't three blocks away, it wasn't that far, so it would be nice to walk.

“If it's to meet your hot stepmother, I'm always up for it.” He said and you punched him in the bicep.

“How do you know she's hot and not some old lady with a herniated disc who's obsessed with plants?” You opened a packet of mints, handing him another.

“Derek told me she's not old. And I know Mr. Banner doesn't date old ladies. Come on, Y/n, it's only been three times.” He replies, making you let out a laugh.

“Three times describes my father's character very well, Steve. Well, let's face it, there are a lot of hot old ladies out there.” You blink, feeling his critical gaze on your back.

“You're a fucking pervert. I didn't know you liked old ladies, man.” He laughs, pushing you slightly.

“I didn't say I liked old women! I'm just saying that there are some older women, in their forties and fifties, who are hot, depending on the individual. There was a friend of my father's, I think her name was Wanda, something like that, and she was in her late thirties or early forties. She looked like she was in her twenties, I swear to you, she was crazy as hell! Of course, not all women get to that age looking good, it's a question of grooming and vanity, you know.” You explained, kicking a few stones along the way.

“To me, that's like saying: 'I'm definitely into fucking an older woman's brains out', there's no limit to that, bro, you're an adult and single.” He winks and you laugh out loud. “Wait, why do I feel like something happened between you and this Wanda?”

“She gave me head in the bathroom at her nephew's birthday party. If that answers your question.” You smile mischievously and Steve shakes you like he's made a great discovery. “I knew it, you tricksome pervert! If she really is that hot, then I understand you.”

“You say that as if Carter wasn't a little older than you." Your eyes narrow and he shrugs.

“That's another matter, Banner.” He smiles smugly.

As soon as the two of you arrive, you stop to look around the house. It looks the same, but at the same time it looks like a different house. As if you didn't belong here. The house is still surrounded by orchids and tulips that you planted years ago in memory of your mother, something you did every year to remember well what she liked to do when she was alive. The house had worn-out paintwork, ajar windows and a tall lawn, which made you wonder if Bruce was so useless as not to mow a simple garden lawn. You walked up to the front door and knocked lightly against it, hearing some loud voices talking from inside.

“Just a minute!” A female voice shouted from inside and you slowly turned to face Steve, who had a small smile on his lips. “Time to meet Mom, Banner.”

You rolled your eyes deeply and tried to ignore him, scratching your moustache nervously as footsteps approached the door.

When the door opened, the first thing that came into your mind was that Steve was probably right. She wasn't old at all. Or she was Bruce's own age and she was fucking well preserved, which you thought, fuck, that's got to be it. The vision lit up before you, with a redhead opening the door of your own house with sweet wavy red hair down to her shoulders, big curious green eyes analyzing you as if she already knew who you were before you even said a word, her face as delicate as pieces of porcelain, her nose turned up and the most beautiful lips you could find. She was much shorter than you and than Steve, which meant that you had to look up to meet your eyes and that you had to move your head down to see her.

A black dress falls over her body with delicacy and a deafening elegance. There are a few buttons from the opening, which shows a little of her pale neck, to the middle of her waist, which has a belt around it. It's a simple garment. But it doesn't exude any kind of vulgarity, although this woman... she exudes lust through her eyes. She has slight expression marks under her eyes, almost imperceptible, but which give away the fact that she is much older than you. And she hasn't even said a word to you. A pearly necklace is around that elegant slender neck and you hold your breath, locking your jaw before you speak.

“May I ask who you are?” Your whisper is precise and firm, and you can see out of the corner of your eye that her cheeks are flushing.

“Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. You must be Y/n. I'm your father's wife.” She answers you just as firmly, although her nervousness shows through a little and Steve's eyes widen behind you.

You would never have thought that your father would get married so quickly, even if it was his way of getting into bed with any woman for one night and then telling you that he was in a relationship with her. But he had married her! That was too much.

“It's me, yes.” That's the only answer that came out of his mouth and Natasha seemed to swallow with some bewilderment.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Romanoff. I'm Y/n's friend, Steve Rogers. I hope you don't mind my presence, it may have been a little unexpected.” Steve greets her with a light handshake.

“It would never be a bother to receive you, please, the house is more yours than mine.” She smiles and turns to you.

Without a word, you lean in as Steve pulls away from her hand. Her nails are painted a bright red, which contrasts with her red hair. Your hand brushes against hers, which makes Natasha almost gasp and electricity runs through her body when your hand gently squeezes hers. Without further words or affirmations, this is much more than Natasha would have expected to feel. You raise your head and she quickly moves to the side, making room for you and Steve to enter.

You won't admit it, but you're fascinated by Natasha's beauty. You also know now that you were wrong to think that she was older than Bruce, he only went out a few times with some noble ladies full of money with arrogance stamped on their faces.

“Y/n!” A weak, childish voice shouts at you, and you laugh as you feel little arms go around your legs. “Hey, big boy.”

You greet Derek, feeling him cling to your neck and hug you tightly, as if he hasn't seen you for decades. Well, he hadn't seen you in almost three years, so it made perfect sense.

“Doesn't anyone miss me?” Steve mocked. “Stevie!”

You laugh and let them talk, quickly answering a few of Derek's questions before seeing Bruce off down the stairs. He's got his black hair tangled and all out of order, his glasses are crooked on his face and he's wearing a white coat, with a scruffy beard. He looks a mess, with dark circles under his eyes and a breath of something like campari. You look him up and down with judgment and press your hand on the strap of your backpack.

“Hey, big boy.” He approaches you and gives you a firm hug.

“Hey, old man. I thought you'd see me at the Fort.” You say, frowning with annoyance masked as irritation.

“Well, you're already a big man, Y/n. Not to mention I was looking after your brother, he needs to brush his teeth and do his homework.” He says, turning away and fixing his glasses.

“Of course, you're always worried about my brother stinking of pure alcohol.” You say firmly, your jaw locking with some force.

“Is that any way to talk to me, kid?” He looks at you, slowly approaching as Natasha comes back into the room.

“Oh, I believe you're both hungry. I'm making an apple pie before dinner, love, can you help me?” She grasps Bruce's shoulders, who turns away from you. “Of course, darling.”

Your eyes roll back and Natasha gives you a look as if she's analyzing you. It's a fact that, although much older, Bruce is shorter than you, and his bone structure is even smaller, as if you were the older one here. You cross your arms earnestly, feeling the tension start in your broad shoulders and work its way down your burly biceps. Yes, you really have become an even bigger man than your father and Natasha seems to be looking at this before turning her face away and entering the kitchen.

“Hey, man. Relax, let's just enjoy the night.” Steve grabs your arm, visibly tense, and pulls you over to the sofa.

You sit down with him, try to relax but it's almost unavoidable. Bruce Banner has always been the kind of guy who is a compulsive alcoholic. He goes to support groups every weekend to try to get some support from other people who suffer from the same problem, but he keeps drinking as if he depended on it. He wasn't exactly a friendly father to you, it's as if he was always there but absent. He didn't teach you how to shave, so you learned on your own – with support from Steve who has a great dad – he didn't teach you how to pick up girls or how to flirt or how to drive, let alone how to listen when you had any doubts. He's like a ghost who breathes, eats and sleeps. But he's never really there for his children.

That's probably why your mother divorced him in your teens before that accident. Bruce is a difficult person to deal with, something you clearly took from him, but you're completely different. You're a good man, you're there for Derek, you're good with children, you're civilized, patient – when you want to be – and you're everything your father would like you to be.

“Look, I drew a picture of my school friends, Uncle Stevie and Y/n/n!” He says, handing you a drawing.

In it, Derek is drawn wearing the same blue sweatpants and plaid shirt at the actual moment. His hair is messy and slightly disheveled, his round glasses are crooked and you straighten them on his pale face, seeing that there is a blond boy next to him and a girl in a pink dress with long red hair.

“Who's that, little guy?” You ask as you stroke his hair.

“That's my friend, Emily!” He says between jumps and Steve looks at you with a smile. “Friend, huh?”

“Do you fancy her, mate? It's okay to talk to us, it's boy talk here, we won't judge you.” You ask and then smile, listening to Steve chatter something. “Fancy? Is that any way to say you're into a girl? You Brits are funny.”

“Give it a rest, Steve, it's noble English. You can talk to me, mate." You stroke Derek's hair and he laughs nervously.

“I think so... Dad says that when you like a girl a lot, you start admiring her, praising all her tastes, her hair, her expressions and everything about her, I see Emily like that. But I'm afraid she likes another boy.” He closes his expression into a sad little beak and you lift him onto your lap.

“Listen, you're a young boy. You're handsome, you've got nice hair like the bloke here.” You look at Steve who starts bragging and you interrupt him. “Maybe Emily is your first love, but you're still very young, you've got a lot to live up to. You've got to finish school, get a good job, make new friends, find a hobby, something you enjoy doing. Life isn't just about girls or love, it's about you and how you want to live it. And if Emily ever lets you down with another bloke, send her home to the grumpy toad.”

“What's the Grumpy Toad's house?” Steve blinks in confusion and you lean in to whisper. “A polite way of telling someone to fuck off. He can't swear because he's still a polite little boy.”

“You're unpredictable.” Steve laughs, disbelieving what he's heard.

The conversation between the two of you continues between laughter and irresponsible advice from Steve, who makes you laugh every second at the absurdities he tells you about past relationships, and from Derek, who starts showing you a folder full of his drawings. Lovely doodles. Natasha enters the room after a while, pressed between the doorway and shyly clears her throat.

“Hi guys, I don't mean to interrupt, but dinner's ready.” She says and you stand up, ruffling Derek's hair. “Go brush your teeth, kid. Girls don't like guys with breath.”

Derek mumbles something but climbs the stairs to the bathroom, determined to follow any of your advice, because you're the oldest and he sees tremendous wisdom in you. When you enter the kitchen, you sit down and Steve sits right next to you at the square table, and Bruce is there, scribbling something down. Always working, never with time for his children. Or too drunk to care.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He says, and barely blinks as Natasha places a plate of food in front of him.

“No problem, my love.” She says and her gaze settles on Natasha, who moves gracefully.

Is it wrong to be completely attracted to an older, more experienced woman who is unfortunately your new stepmother? Most likely, but you can't help it. Everything about Natasha is too sexy. Her light-lipped smile, her curves, which even covered by that very covered dress, manage to be somewhat naked. Her legs, the way her knees bend to grab something from the tallest cupboards in the kitchen. You can imagine the way her knees can bend in front of you... and fuck. Stop it, you tell yourself.

“How was your time serving, Y/n?” She asks you, and seems to be talking, or trying to.

“Same as always.” Your answer comes, it's short, but not rude, just disinterested.

The best thing is to look like you're disinterested in her. Not out of rudeness or rebelliousness. But because you feel the adrenaline in your veins that tells you it's dangerous to be so enamored of your stepmother, knowing that this is also something immoral and incorrect. You don't want to lose control.

“Men giving orders. Proud men doing what they want to do. Discipline masquerading as arrogance.” You prolong your answer, and you don't expect Natasha to understand, after all she is a woman and has never been in need of serving her country.

Natasha, on the other hand, is struggling to stay focused on getting more plates and cutlery to distribute to you and Steve during dinner. She's fascinated. Shocked. Silently drawn to you. The difference between you and Bruce is glaring. While he seems sloppy and uncivilized, you speak so calmly and politely that you don't even sound like his son. You're both very similar in appearance, hair, face, expressions, eyes a little, but the difference in size from your father to you is absurd. You're like a wall of muscle compared to him, who clearly makes sense as a fatally alcoholic and careless man.

She rubs her thighs discreetly as she places a plate in front of you and fork and knife on either side of the embroidered plate, hoping you haven't noticed her indecent act, but you're even watching the way her throat moves when she breathes. She feels impure, filthy. She shouldn't look at her husband's son as prey, as if she had never seen such a beautiful and majestic man, a man who, as soon as he entered the house for the first time, left her breathless.

No, you were younger. Perhaps more naive, too young. And you were her husband's son. Her stepson.

“If I may ask, does that make you uncomfortable? Taking orders?” She asks, placing her plate and cutlery in front of Steve.

You lick your lips slowly. Natasha stares at you. She likes that. An act so simple and ordinary that it made her almost drool all over that table. She was a depraved and incorrect woman at that moment. Natasha loses herself in you at that moment. The intense green gaze flees from your calm lips to your drawn jaw, sculpted beyond her comprehension. Your eyes are wild yet calm, they exude...a hard life. A life full of challenges. They're dominant and Natasha doesn't like the way they intimidate her without you even realizing it. But that's you, a mystery to her, silent and solid. A black ocean with no comprehensible answers.

“I only do what I'm asked. It's my job.” Her whisper comes, quiet, yet icy.

“A man who works without complaining becomes a good worker. I think that's what I taught you.” Bruce speaks for the first time, taking a bite of his food.

In front of you, the smell of food fills your stomach and you barely notice Natasha serving you as you are busy facing even the worst fears of her soul. Your hands move nimbly and you cut off a piece of meat, putting it in your mouth and chewing slowly. It takes her a few seconds to realize it's a stew and the salty broth with potatoes, carrots and peas melts in her mouth perfectly.

“First of all, you cook perfectly well, that's great, Natasha.” You say as she sits down to eat and you see her pale cheeks develop a slight blush. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

No one had talked about her food in a long time, not even your father.

“Secondly,” You take a few more mouthfuls, managing to eat half the stew in minutes, and then look at Banner with a certain disgust. “Is that why you sent me to the army? To teach me your own kind of passivity?”

“You seem to like offending me sometimes, kid.” He laughs dryly, helping Derek to sit down and assemble his plate. “What's wrong with being passive?”

“Nothing, nothing wrong with it. Except that whenever someone confronts you, all you know how to do is roll over and show your belly like a puppy.” You cluck your tongue, listening to Bruce grumble.

“I think we'd better calm down a bit here-” Steve begins, still starting to eat when you cut him off. “No, I won't calm down.”

“I sent you to the army to control your rebelliousness and lack of control!” Bruce replies, starting to get upset.

“My rebelliousness? Don't fuck with me, Bruce.” You spat, completely disbelieving that you had heard such a thing.

“You've always acted in a problematic way, breaking laws, coming home late without giving explanations, disrespecting your own father! What did you want me to do? Shake your hair and tell you how to act, as if you were actually going to listen to me?” He shouted back, pointing a finger at you.

“You never cared about me yourself. You send me to the army to control me by saying I'm a rebel and all that shit and now you treat me like some fucking bum you don't even know. You sit on your ass here all the time, you only go out to work or to drink like you always have, you think you're an example of something?” Your hand hits the table and Steve gets up next to you, trying to stop anything worse from happening.

“You shut up when I talk to you, kid!” He growls and Natasha grabs him by the shoulders. “Bruce, please, let's put this aside. Derek's here, sweetheart.”

“Enough, please, let's calm down, man.” Steve puts his hand on your arm, suddenly getting serious.

Your chest is rising and falling through the camouflage uniform, hitting your ribcage with some violence. Natasha is frightened, even though she tries not to show it, it's quite transparent. She's heard Bruce's stories about you, that you had the same explosive temper as him even though you were different, that as a teenager you got into fights frantically and that you were suspended from school for 'vandalizing' the bathroom walls and things like that. Most of that was true, but the only friend you had was Steve, you were both often chased by the good-looking guys and bullies for being "skinny and weird" and ended up being extremely excluded and beaten up at the time. As if the confusion came to you both on purpose.

In any case, Natasha didn't know you and became involved with Bruce shortly after you officially joined the army, where you were promoted to the rank of Private E-2 a year later. Although Bruce was her husband, he generally behaved unpleasantly some of the time, especially when he got drunk in front of Natasha, which also discouraged Derek and made him sad, wishing he had more time with his father. She wanted to get to know you better, she felt that you had a good heart and she didn't really want to believe all the absurd stories that Bruce told her as if he wanted to make you a bad son for his wife.

“I wish I didn't have to look at your face.” Your answer came, harsh, indifferent.

Bruce didn't move, however, as if it hadn't hit him. He really didn't care about you at all. You felt an extreme pang of guilt when you saw Derek at the end of the table, hunched over with his hands on his head. He hated arguing and shouting, and it often happened between you and Bruce, but you avoided fighting in front of the boy as much as possible to prevent that kind of thing from happening to him there.

“All right, darling, come here.” She called to him, hugging him and trying to calm him down.

The rest of dinner was a terrible, deathly silence that pressed down on her throat, absolutely wanting to break Bruce in half. But you wouldn't, you already felt bad enough for scaring your little brother. When you'd finished eating, feeling Steve stare at you in fear of another fight breaking out, you got up and put your cutlery and plate in the sink, emptying a glass full of orange juice that you'd barely touched minutes before.

“Oh, Y/n, you don't have to do that, I could really do it-” Natasha intervenes, but you respond subtly. “It's okay, I don't mind.”

She stops in place, her lips parted in shock. It was rare for a real man to be there to do something as simple and minimal as washing dishes without her having to ask. Because for that very reason, Bruce wouldn't do it on the grounds that 'he worked too much' and Natasha had to take care of the cleaning and everything else in the house on her own. But it weighed on her, she felt alone there, even if it seemed silly. Bruce Banner described himself as an old-fashioned man, but something about him pointed more towards a misogyny hidden under the carpet. You really were different from the man she married.

“Oh, all right.” She sighs, the corner of her lips curving slowly.

Putting a little detergent on the yellow sponge, you subtly scrub the plate and then the cutlery and glass. You turn on the tap and wash everything silently, watching a few bubbles of foam disappear down the drain and everything become clean, then you take a dry cloth and dry everything, placing it inside the cupboard in the proper places for each object. You knew how to do everything apart from washing dishes. Washing your father's rusty car, cleaning the whole house, absolutely everything that would be considered 'women's chores' that your mother taught you before she died. And he silently despised you for it, but it didn't matter, because there had been a helpful and very useless man in this house and now that man was back.

“Are you staying for dessert?” Natasha asks as she watches you dry your hands and Steve also wash his dirty plates and cutlery quickly.

“No, Steve and I are going to stay in my room for a while. We can eat later if there's anything left, thank you very much.” You shove your hands in your pockets, watching her nod a little tensely and pick up all the remaining dirty dishes when Steve gives her a nod.

The two of you climb the stairs and soon reach your room. It's not a small room, but it's spacious enough to hold everything you like. Philosophy books, art books, porn magazines that you used to swap with Steve when you were teenagers, – yes, this is kept secret – some toolboxes in case you needed them when something broke in the house, a collection of old CDs by the Beatles, Led Zeppelin and a thousand other bands and singers from the 70s and 80s. The room is still tidy, with a single bed lined with thin blue sheets and a gray pillow. There's also a desk and a medium-sized cupboard in the corner next to an old window.

The smell of your room and nostalgia is cozy, almost intoxicating.

“Hey, man, do you really keep them all? No kidding!” Steve laughs, picking up the magazines with the half-naked women on the covers.

Although you didn't have an addiction to this kind of thing, you and Steve were once two curious teenagers with hormones running wild in the middle of puberty. You'd get excited and buy these magazines on the sly, but even so, you weren't the type who needed to see a naked woman's body to get completely turned on. No, you were better than that, and you knew that real bodies worked better, were beautiful and much more objective.

“Of course, I left the army and ended up forgetting all this garbage.” You laugh, opening the drawers and leafing through some superhero comics, watching Steve laugh as he sees a cover with a blonde woman on one of the covers wearing pink lingerie. “No, no! Fuck, man that was the worst, I remember you gave it to me with the pages sticking together, you fucking pervert!”

“Sorry, man, I couldn't help myself! I still remember the look on your face when you got it full of life.” He says and you rolls your eyes.

“Jesus, that was disgusting. I'm going to throw it all away anyway, unless you want to keep it as a souvenir.” You laugh quietly and he makes a vomiting noise.

“No, thanks.” Steve shakes his head, walks over and picks up some comics to read too.

You put on a band CD while you lose yourself in conversation with Steve, remembering everything. You both laugh out loud when you remember the time Steve put a live frog on the head of a girl who was terrified of frogs, because she just thought it was funny to make fun of your worn-out shoes and said you couldn't afford new ones. He's never been so furious, no one could mess with you, only each other and all in jest, of course.

It was a great pastime for you to play pranks on bad students and grumpy teachers, or to skip important classes to drink cheap beer while listening to a small radio given to you by Steve's father. Those were incredible times, which only got old in the best way when Steve and you decided to enlist for the first time at the age of 18, getting kicked out because of arguments you had with some of the lieutenants. Anyway, you both found a way to get into the American army through the Kentucky fort, and obviously, together.

So Steve and you knew each other practically from your mother's womb. Joseph and Bruce met during high school before they got involved with their respective wives. They both served in the army, but only Mr. Rogers decided to make it a career, although he didn't succeed and decided to go into medicine. They were extremely close throughout your and Steve's adolescence, until one day they drifted apart over a mysterious fight in which you never really found out the motivation.

Even so, you and Steve could fight for centuries and still remain good friends.

“Hey, there's someone at the door.” Steve yawned, signaling the light knocks on your bedroom door.

With a light sigh, you put your comic aside, turning down the volume of a small, still-functional radio that was playing Black Sabbath in the background. When you opened the door, you saw her again.

Natasha. Your 'lovely' stepmother. She was standing right in front of the door, with two pieces of pie on a large plate and a tense, apparently shy look on her face. You still didn't understand why she looked at you as if she was going to dismount at any moment. She was wearing a beige apron over her dress and her hair was now slightly wavy at the ends, her face flushed.

“I know you may not be that hungry anymore, but I can't help trying. The pie is still warm, it's apple with caramel on top and blackberries and you know, I'm sorry about Bruce. Your father didn't have a good day, Y/n.” She sighs, looking away for a moment.

“Did I hear the word pie!?” Steve jumps out of bed already excited.

“I appreciate that. I'm sorry about the argument. I think he always tries to take it out on me, but that's okay. How's Derek?” You blink slowly, trying to ignore the feeling of Natasha staring you down to the core.

“Fine, I guess. I fed him dinner and some pie, got him to brush his teeth and now he's sleeping like a newborn after reading your stories about bigfoot.” She laughs softly, making you smile.

“He'll end up having nightmares about it. Thank you, Mrs. Romanoff.” You say, your voice already husky and slightly sleepy.

“Natasha, call me Natasha. There's no need for formalities here.” She replies, licking her lips slowly.

“Natasha.” You whisper back, hearing Natasha's breathing increase as you spell her name perfectly on the tip of her tongue.

“Have a good night. If you need anything you can call me and I'll be in the next room.” She says, almost stuttering, and nods as she walks away. “Good night, Natasha.”

“God, I thought you were going to eat each other and leave the pie behind!” Steve grumbles, picking up a piece with one of the forks and takes a bite, closing his eyes. “Wonderful!”

“Bloody hell, Steve, she's my father's wife!” you laugh incredulously, taking a piece of the sweet pie. “It's really good, it's fucking delicious.”

“But I know that. She's still got the hots for you, don't you see?” He shrugged, starting to devour the pie in seconds. “And even if she wasn't your father's, it must be worth losing yourself...you know, in that woman.”

“You're absolutely shameless. And I would never do that, no matter how much my father deserves it.” You roll your eyes, taking another piece of pie and Steve smiles. “I'm paying to see how badly this goes.”

Your wristwatch reads at least 6:10 in the morning. You don't know why you woke up so early on a Monday when you were on vacation from work, so to speak. Perhaps waking up at 5 a.m. every day at the Fort to paint walls and curbs, patrol, and other exhausting military services has made you accustomed to waking up at those times as if you were an uncontrolled robot. So you took a shower, brushed your teeth and ate an apple before going to Steve's house to pick up some cans of paint.

Your house was in a deplorable state, with the paint on all the walls outside peeling off, the garden with its extremely high lawn dirty with leaves thrown over it since last fall, dead plants and flowers everywhere and the appearance of the house itself sad and gray. You had to do something about it, since Bruce hasn't done it in two whole years.

Wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, the clock now reads 7:19 in the morning. You finish running the roller full of paint up to the top of the back wall of the house, not even needing a ladder because you're so fit. In an hour you've managed to paint the whole house and now you're going to rip down the wooden fences and put up new, clean ones.

“Y/n! What are you doing? It's so early and it's roasting hot out there!” You hear a familiar feline voice and drop the paint roller on top of the empty can.

You step away from the can and container and wipe the excessive sweat from your chest, your skin was probably all sunburnt, exposed to the bare torso and shapely legs on display. Natasha is at the door, dressed in a red sweater. Holy shit. You turn your face away, feeling deeply warmed, and run your paint-smeared hands over your face, clad only in baggy shorts and barefoot.

“I'm painting the house, Natasha.” You answer simply and matter-of-factly, watching out of the corner of your eye as she puts a thin blouse over it, certainly embarrassed.

“At 7 in the morning! You must be dying of heat! Have you applied sunscreen?” She asks, approaching quickly.

You missed the maternal concern and affection, but considering the current situation, it was totally inappropriate.

“We didn't use sun cream during our time in the army. Especially during patrols on the patio with direct contact with the sun, or anywhere else where it was necessary. They simply didn't hand out sunscreen to us.” You say and shrug, discarding the empty tin and the rest of the used items.

“That's horrible, you could get serious burns!” She replies and puts her hand to her head, making you laugh. "I'll be back in a minute."

Natasha leaves and you wash your hands in a sink at the back of the house, removing as much of the gooey paint as you can and wetting your head and chest to try and cool off. As soon as you've finished, you go down to the basement and get a box full of new fences that haven't even been used before. First you get the rest of the tools and put everything in the garden, then you get a lawnmower, which luckily isn't rusty.

You push the lawnmower as soon as the blades shoot out, starting to cut the grass quickly. Your hands are steady and nimbly, you're finishing off the first row of grass. Pressing the button on the side of the mower, you snort and sigh deeply, resting your hands on your waist.

“I'm going to melt like this, my Lord.” You say to yourself with a laugh.

Going round to the back, you find a sack and a shovel and start gathering up all that grass and throwing it into the sack. It could be useful or reusable at some point.

“Hey you! All right, take a break from that and come and eat properly.” Natasha appears as soon as you've collected all the grass in the sack and walks over to you gently.

She's now wearing a black tank top, which emphasises her perfectly marked collarbone and her pale neck, which is as delicate as any detail can be. On her legs are a pair of denim shorts, neither short nor baggy, but you can still see how her shapely thighs look so perfectly...thick in them. And she looks so natural, nothing forced, just there, for you, carrying a plate with a cut sandwich, a glass of juice and a bottle of water. I mean, your father was lucky but he was an idiot, why on earth would he deserve someone like that?

“Natasha, really, you didn't have to do that. I don't want you to bother with me.” You say, feeling your face very red, from the sun - and from a certain effect it has on you - and sweaty.

“I'm not bothered at all. I'm not going to let you die of dehydration in this heat, it must be 30 degrees or more!” She exclaims and you carefully pick up the plate, cautiously dropping the other equipment. “Wait, open your arms a little, don't let go of the plate please.”

You frown and open your arms, pushing the plate as far away from your torso and body as you can. Natasha approaches you, taking a plastic bottle from the pocket of her shorts and opens the lid, pouring some kind of cream onto her fingers. You stare at the words written in blue and white, trying to decipher the smudges, and your jaw drops in disbelief. It was sun cream.

“Natasha, look, it's okay, I've got used to the sun-” you say, but it's too late.

The woman is smearing sunscreen on your face, and you're so red that even under the sunscreen, you can see how flushed and hot you look. Oh, shit.

“The sun doesn't get used to any of us, though. Once when I was half your age, I went to a beach in Miami, Florida, with my parents and some friends. I slathered sunscreen all over my body except my buttocks and um... I definitely couldn't sit up straight for a week after that, the burns weren't kind to me and it wasn't the sun's fault.” She laughs lightly, gently rubbing the sun cream into her cheeks and forehead.

The heat in your cheeks spreads even more violently and you gently bite your lower lip, something that Natasha notices and strangely makes her legs wobble. I wonder what else makes her unable to sit down for a whole week. Fucking stop it, you cut off your thoughts before they spread, but they're dirty all the same.

“That must have been hard.” You answer, and your voice slowly begins to die.

What is she doing now, my Lord?

Natasha finishes spreading the sunscreen on your face and neck, her fingers still smeared with protector trailing down the start of your chest. Your skin is burning, but that's not what fascinates her, it's the hard, burly, extremely rock-hard flesh of your pectorals, covered in a very thin, sparse line of hair. She gasps as discreetly as she can, trying her best not to grab his every muscle and touch and squeeze. In fact, she knows now that you look like more than a wall, it's as if you were made completely of muscle and only a little 'skin' covering everything.

Romanoff's hand slides to the end of your chest on the right side, and she doesn't even know what she's doing, for her, she's just spreading the rest of the sunscreen on her fingers. But you feel it, you feel her grip, her electrifying, mundane, specific touch, as if she wanted to scratch every part of your skin as well as touch it, as if she wanted to do everything you could imagine there.

“I'm sorry.” She says, swallowing dry and trying to swallow her own shame as well.

But she still feels your warmth. She feels your minty fresh breath, pleasant and peaceful, she feels how affected you were by a single touch of her delicate, soft hand. You want more and maybe she knows it, but that's wrong, it's inappropriate.

“You can leave the sunscreen somewhere, I'll put more on after I've cut everything here.” You say and she nods quickly, hugging her own body.

“This is going to be a lot of work.” She says and you nod, taking a bite and moaning slightly.

The sandwich is a spicy mix of tomato, toasted wholemeal bread, smoked turkey breast, mayonnaise, a little mustard, bean sprouts, cheese and a spicy dressing. As well as being kind, intelligent, seductive, completely attractive, the woman cooks like hell, what more could Bruce want? Absolutely nothing.

“Fuck, this is fucking divine, the work will be worth it. Thank you so much.” You thank her without knowing what else to say, the scouse accent making Natasha wince.

She had time to notice your accent and your voice as soon as she arrived with Steve at the residence yesterday. She, however, had no idea that you were British or anything. Not least because all Bruce ever really said about you were the most unpleasant compliments in the form of criticisms. He proved to be a good father to other people, but it was different with you. You could see why.

“No need to thank me, really. I hope you didn't forget your sunscreen.” She says, raising an eyebrow as she tries to look serious and you laugh. “Sure, no problem.”

Your bites are precise and hungry, and you can tell that a single apple an hour ago would never have satisfied you. You finish eating, drink all the pineapple juice and hand it all to Natasha, taking the sunscreen again and spreading it on your fingers, your hands flying across your sweaty pecs, ribs and abs. Natasha walks away towards the house, her gaze lingering on you several times.

She's a married woman. Married to your father. That's not right, it's far from it.

But just taking a look is okay, right?

You hurry, organize everything and start up the machine again, cutting another row of grass. Then another, another, until you've finished with all that tall grass that could end up with some animal hiding there. You put all the grass in two sacks and put them in the corner of the garden, then you start to remove and tear down the old, dirty and soft wooden fences, which are practically falling apart.

After marking out the right height for the fences with lines and stakes, you make a quick calculation and grab a spade, digging the holes where the picket panels will be. It takes about some hours, between quick breaks, your feet are dirty with dirt and now your body is really bathed in sweat, but after lining up the pickets, checking that they're all in the same vertical position, digging non-stop and cleaning dirt off your grass, everything looks perfect. You even do a quick and precise finish, and smile when you see that your work has turned out perfectly.

“Great. I just need to replant the plants soon.” You whisper, feeling tired.

After putting away all the equipment, cleaning up all the grass and briefly painting the fences, you walk away and enter the house, dripping with sweat from head to toe. You wipe your feet on the carpet, imagining that Natasha is the kind of woman who will freak out if you get dirt all over the house and yell at you for hours. Now, however, she's sitting in the living room, with Derek by her side as she appears to help him with his homework.

“Looks like I'm late.” You smile, adjusting the black cap on your head and her gaze quickly falls on you.

She has to control herself, she has to. She's in front of a child.

But it's inevitable.

Bruce would probably show off if he looked like that too, but he's got the typical 40-something dad-beer-belly physique. You, on the other hand... you're majestic, even though you're completely sweaty and give off the classic manly odor of a man who does everything for his family, your muscles being highlighted by sticky sweat, probably swollen from working outside the house. She is silently awestruck, the heat rushes through the blood in her cheeks and her thighs rub together painfully.

“Y/n! Nat said you were painting the whole house.” Derek jumps up, running to hug your legs and you wave.

“I just went to give this house a new look, it was looking sloppy and abandoned. I painted it, put up new fences and now it looks decent, all that's missing is a few details on the inside. And you, big boy, go back to Aunt Nat and do your homework.” You kiss his forehead and the boy runs back to the woman.

“Aren't you hungry? It's practically lunchtime.” Natasha starts talking, looking tense.

“Maybe I'm a bit too hungry, but I need to take a shower and get rid of that skunk smell. Where's Bruce?” You cross your arms, looking around the house for your old father.

“He's gone out to sort out 'work matters', he said he'll be back in the afternoon. You can take your shower, when I've finished here I'll make you something to eat.” She says, smiling gently and you sigh.

You're definitely not used to this motherly treatment. You've always looked after yourself, but Derek first, and Bruce second. You always prioritized family, but that didn't mean you were at ease with Natasha doing it all for you. After all, you've never had anyone really care like that. Natasha seemed to want to take care of you like a newborn baby and that seemed strange, but you didn't want to give her so much trouble. You could look after yourself, so why worry so much?

You didn't want to be so close to her either. You were afraid of what might happen when you were alone, because that sexual tension was evident, it was dry and eager. She looked at you the way you looked at her, with silent desires that even without emitting sound, understanding, could be understood just by looking at you, by searching for you.

The warm water falls over your body, relaxing every tense muscle from your back to your exhausted chest. You lean your forehead against the wall and relax for a moment, allowing yourself to enjoy the feeling of relaxation and calm.

“Fuck.” You whisper softly, feeling a wave of warmth hit your body.

No. No dirty thoughts about an older woman. The problem wasn't that she was older, it was that she was your stepmother.

The foam-filled sponge glides over your stiff, tense body, your eyes closing as you imagine... Natasha on her knees, or lowered to the floor, or bent over with her face buried in the pillow as she smiles at you. A grunt leaves your lips and the blood rushes violently to your semi-hard member.

“Jesus, no.” You say, washing yourself and running some shampoo through your slightly overgrown hair, wiping away all that sweat.

After taking a few more minutes in the shower to get rid of a possible erection, you wash your face and leave the bathroom, drying yourself with the first towel you find there. You're still hot, but you have to control yourself. You want to take her right now, admit it. Your head shakes and you climb the stairs to your room with the towel around your waist, hoping you've been unnoticed, and enter the room, drying yourself quickly.

Passing through the open door, you put on sports shorts and boxer shorts underneath, quickly finishing drying your hair while putting on a tight compression T-shirt. Just wearing it makes you realize how much you've really grown physically.

“Hey, it's time to take Derek to school.” Natasha says as you walk down the stairs with running shoes in your hands.

“Sure, I can do that without any problems, my dad didn't use the car to go out today. Are you coming?” You ask, trying to understand the blush on her cheeks.

“I'd love to. I'm just going to finish tidying him up.” She smiles tensely, and you see your brother waving frantically as Natasha changes his clothes.

Derek then turns around, his hair combed back like his mother used to do with hers, the backpack a little bigger than him slung over his back and wearing a simple blue shirt and shorts, the sneakers identical to yours. Well, Natasha really was a good stepmother. You just couldn't see her the way you were seeing her, because that was incorrect and dirty, but it was almost inevitable.

“Ready?” You lick your lips and the two of you nod quickly. “Good, let's go.”

The road is quiet, peaceful. Natasha tells you where Derek goes to school because he was transferred not long ago and you drive along calmly, listening to them chatting about random, common things. Your hands turn the steering wheel skillfully, and through the rearview mirror you feel Natasha's gaze on you, although you can't say why.

The car stops and you park it in a wide parking lot, turning off the engine and taking off your seat belt. Stepping around the car, you help Derek out of his seatbelt and open the door for Natasha, who looks ecstatic about something but climbs down next to your brother, stroking his hair.

“Professor Carter!” Derek says, and runs out to a female figure standing a few meters away near a silver golf.

Natasha closes the door, giving you a grateful look, and the two of you approach the scene gingerly. Derek is hugging an older woman, she wears a long dress just below her knees in a wine color and her hair is straight blonde and well aligned, her brown eyes surprisingly calm, welcoming the boy and leaning down to hug him back. She... She's familiar to you.

“Hey, pretty boy, how are you? Natasha, good morning. Oh.” She greets the redhead and then looks at you, a surprised look filling her face.

More than a few years ago, you and Sharon Carter had a little fling together. You grew up together and had a lot in common. Steve introduced you to her at a party when you were 16 and she was 19. She's not that much older than you, and that didn't seem to be a problem, until Sharon said she'd fallen in love with you. And indeed, Sharon has fallen in love with you.

But you were the classic bad boy who liked to drive without a license, who spent the early hours of the morning away from home because your father constantly found any reason to fight with you, to complain about you as if it hadn't been his choice to have a son. You weren't the typical nice guy Sharon needed, like Steve for example, and you didn't know if you were in love with her, but you two had sex often, and that made her even more attached to you.

When you disappeared with the simple warning that you were going to serve in the army and didn't know if you'd be back any time soon, Sharon was disappointed. She wanted to spend time with you more than anything, but you had gone to serve your country and she had a career ahead of her, which she chose to become a teacher even though she wanted to be a psychologist. She liked you, she really did, but sometimes you acted like a bomb about to explode, just like Bruce did.

“Surprised to see me? Yeah, I knew you were going to become a teacher, Sharon. You always knew how to get along with children.” You say and squeeze Sharon's hand with a gentle but firm touch, which she blushes at before replying.

“I thought you were going to spend even more time in the army, Y/n. It seems to have done you a lot of good.” She says, biting her lip discreetly and smiling.

Natasha crosses her arms, an impassive expression on her face. She can already completely tell that the two of you know each other, that's for sure, but for some reason, the way Sharon looks at you and acts towards you makes Romanoff feel a big pang of discomfort in his stomach.

“Teacher, I have to show you my new drawings!” Derek says excitedly, hugging the woman tighter by the legs.

“Of course, darling, I'll look at them all, okay?” She says, running her hand over his bangs. “I thought Bruce was coming today.”

“You know how he is, always 'sorting out work stuff. Thanks for taking such good care of him, Sharon.” A minimalist smile curves your lips without showing your teeth and Sharon nods.

“No need to thank me, apart from being my job, it's a pleasure to look after this little one. We should have a coffee together one day, perhaps.” She says and makes you sigh, grabbing the car keys and giving Derek a kiss on the forehead.

“Yeah, maybe one day. Good morning, have fun, we'll be going for now, see you soon.” You nod and she agrees, expecting more from you, but turns and walks into the school with the boy.

As soon as you get into the car, put the key in the ignition and adjust the windows, Natasha gets in. Her face is slightly twisted with frustration, perhaps? That, and a hint of discontent. It looks like someone has stepped on her toes, but why?

“So, you and the teacher...” She says calmly, although her eyes seem distant and indifferent to you.

“What?” You turn the wheel, steering the car out of the parking lot and back onto the road.

“There seems to be something between you.” She replies and you laugh awkwardly, shaking your head.

“There's nothing between us.” You say and look at her out of the corner of your eye, Natasha's face turned completely towards you.

“She made it sound like there was, you know.” She shrugged, seeming not to want to bother you with the subject.

“Steve and I have known her since we were teenagers. Teenage parties, drinking, drugs, you know. Sharon was a fling of mine. If I can call it that.” Your voice answers quietly and you look at Natasha discreetly.

"Well, she doesn't seem to have forgotten you. You know how it is, when a woman loves, she's willing to do anything to make up for lost time, but it doesn't just depend on her." She says relaxed, still trying not to let her jealous face overflow.

“Sharon isn't in love with me. At least I don't think so. Even if she was, I'm not what she's looking for.” You say and on the one hand, Natasha reassures herself.

“And what is she looking for?” Romanoff looks at you from the passenger seat.

Her lips are pressed together, her breathing seems slightly unregulated. She's frustrated, yes. She's jealous, yes. She hated the way Sharon looked at you as if you were a toy she could ride on top of. Absolutely. Yes. But why should your stepmother be jealous of you? That was wrong, immoral, maybe a bit problematic, she'd only just met you anyway. It made your skin hot, but the hairs on the back of your neck were rising and your fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to focus on the road before your eyes.

“What most women are looking for, I believe. A protective, self-assured, confident man. She wants a man who is one hundred percent there for her at all times. I didn't learn to be like that.” You brake at a red light and buckle up, your head resting against the seat.

“Don't you think she's the right woman?” Romanoff swallows, trying her best not to sound intrusive.

If anyone else were asking you these questions, it would be a different story. But her, she brought you comfort. She was...good. She was a good woman, as Steve assumed.

“I'm not in love with her, Natasha, even if she was right, what good would it do?” You look at her, and she nods quietly.

You've never found someone who makes your heart soar as if you were in one of those cheesy movie clichés, who makes time stand still around you, who makes you feel like the luckiest man in the world. No, you've never experienced any of that. You've only had nighttime adventures with older girls or even girls your own age, adventures with kissing, sex without commitment and conversations thrown away to be remembered. You never knew what love was.

And the only person who could teach you that was right there beside you, annoyed for some reason at the possibility of you falling in love with someone other than her.

“All right.” That was the only answer Natasha gave you, watching the car pull into the driveway of your house.

When you got in – and there was still a certain murderous silence in the air – you just took off your shoes, sat down on the sofa and picked up the remote control, looking for a live American soccer program, trying to distract yourself. Natasha went into the kitchen to do something, and the door creaked open a few minutes after you arrived, revealing Bruce's early arrival. He looked at you, but overcome by pride, said nothing and passed through to the kitchen.

“Hi, darling. How was work?” Natasha's distant voice said to him, who caught her kissing him, answering disconnectedly. “It was business as usual. I've never waited so long to get home and have my wife all to myself.”

You rolled your eyes, lay back on the sofa and turned up the volume slightly, watching two American league teams fight for a title. For some unusual reason, the sound of wet kissing bothered you deeply. You shook your head and tried to focus on the match, then you heard footsteps approaching the room and Natasha's warm hand touched your shoulder, making you turn almost instantly.

“Hey, do you want something to eat?” She asked, her lips slightly swollen and her face flushed.

You'd love to see her like that, but you'd love it even more to have that effect on her.

“No, thanks, Natasha. I'm going to take a nap, you can relax.” You replied and she nodded, smiling slowly before heading up the stairs, Bruce right behind her.

Your head pressed into the pillow and you let out a short curse, feeling uncomfortable and disgusted by the situation. It was your father's house too, but you were still there. Anyway, you forced yourself to sleep and it worked, your eyes became heavy and you completely relaxed your muscles against the not-so-spacious sofa, knowing that you would wake up with a sore neck as soon as you woke up.

“Fuck.” You cursed, rubbing your tired eyes.

The house was the same, but the afternoon was beginning to fade, making it clear that it would soon be dark. You grabbed the black clock on the table, seeing that it read 5:48 in the afternoon. There was still an hour or so before Derek would be released from school, so you were relieved to see that you weren't late to pick him up.

“What?” You sat groggily on the sofa, listening to a lot of noise coming from upstairs.

There were sounds coming from upstairs, and at first you thought there was something wrong there, since you were still groggy from sleep and tired. But gradually you noticed. The creaking of Bruce's bed, the loud sounds of skin hitting skin, of the headboard hitting the wall. They were having sex.

“Fuck, holy shit.” You say, completely lost in disgust and cover your head with your hands. “This can't be serious.”

But you could still hear it. It completely disturbed you. But it was also wrong, being jealous of your stepmother when she's married to your father. It's not as if Natasha hadn't been upset with Sharon about you too.

But she was married, you weren't. Still, that seemed contrary to morality.

“Fuck.” You cursed to yourself, getting out of there and going to the kitchen.

There was a case of beer in the fridge. You hated looking like your father, because whenever something bothered you or upset you, you always drank too, but not like him, he was worse. You grabbed two bottles and opened the caps with your teeth, spitting them into the trash can. Five minutes passed, and you emptied half the bottle of beer, lying on the sofa when Natasha came downstairs.

Your head turns subtly in the direction of the stairs and there she is, walking down the steps like an art exhibition that could never be bought. A misunderstood muse. Yet not something that could be conquered, but touched, felt. A woman, with a deceptive young girl's face, with an older woman's mature soul with gifts you could never guess. Married to your arsehole of a father. He didn't deserve her, that much was clear, but what could you do, if not mourn in the corners of the house, silently wishing this woman was yours?

Her skin was pale, although tanned by her own sweat. Her impeccable red hair was now dishevelled and out of order, falling in light waves to her shoulders. Her body, which could reveal to you many dangerous curves and paths to the most silent sin, was covered in a long black dressing gown, and you could see that she was wearing a baggy T-shirt that wasn't hers on her body. Her lips were swollen, dry. You could see a glimpse of her shapely legs, and wow, what legs. Although you knew exactly what she and your father were doing up there, she didn't look pleased. Her eyes looked confused, troubled, even sweaty, she was unhappy. And how could she not be unhappy with Bruce Banner?

But you couldn't look away. She was so well preserved, my goodness.

“I'm sorry, Y/n, I thought you were still asleep. I didn't want to appear like this, I must look like an unnatural stepmother.” She laughs, and it's so natural that you want to hear that sound more often.

“Yeah, well, I just had a nap anyway. It seems my father didn't take care of his work properly. I heard it, without meaning to, but I heard it.” You say, and as soon as you realise what you've said, you swallow bitterly.

Natasha looks at you deeply, she doesn't feel offended. But embarrassed? To the extreme. Bruce doesn't even look after the house, imagine if he could handle wife when they're in bed? He was an arrogant arsehole – and sometimes you were a bit arrogant yourself – but he was terrible at a lot of things. That made him a complete failure.

“Y/n. I wish you wouldn't comment on my sex life with your father.” She says, and she's not blunt, but firm and offhand, even.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to.” You reply calmly but you want to say much more to her.

Yeah, if I had you, you'd really moan, Natasha. In fact, you wouldn't even be walking unless your legs were completely weak and you wouldn't even be thinking. That would be having a real man.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you grab it, seeing messages from Steve inviting you out for a drink at a newly opened bar. It didn't sound too bad. And you weren't going to stand there listening to your incredibly hot stepmother having sex with your slacker father who didn't even know how to treat a woman. You answer Steve quickly and grab a camouflage jacket, put it on over your shirt and change your shorts for trousers and shoes before heading back down to the living room.

“I'm going for a walk with Steve, we're going to a pub with an old high school crowd. When I get back, I'll probably bring Derek from school. So don't worry, I'll take care of everything.” You say and walk across the room, but Natasha holds your arm.

“Hey, don't drink too much. You're driving and you're bringing your brother, Y/n.” She says, her green eyes clouded with worry.

“I won't. You can relax.” You whisper firmly, and the smell of her sweat hits you.

It's something like vanilla, but at the same time mixed with a specific sweet, fruity flavour. Delicious. She's delicious. Even when sweaty, her scent remains impeccable, and you've noticed it ever since you first saw her. You see a slight bite mark on her neck and you want to touch it, but something bothers your stomach, because you know it's not you who's caused it. And you can't. Natasha sighs, she knows you're so close that just by looking at you she could stop breathing, because you're like a masterpiece hidden deep inside her genius mind.

“I get it. You take care.” You say, forcing yourself to get away from her before you do something thoughtless.

Natasha regrets your departure. She wants you to stay, but it's your choice and you want to be with your old friends, it's your right, so she just watches you walk out the door. Your words are still jumbled and struggling in her mind. Bruce really wouldn't know how to satisfy her. But what about you? How deep could you go for her?

The place is cosy like being in an old cottage in the middle of a field away from everything, but it's a pub nonetheless. A pub, with the appearance of a pub, of course. With lots of chairs and tables spread out in an orderly fashion, with decorative signs with drink brands, with people laughing and exchanging small talk with each other, with a woman carrying more mugs of frothy beer than you can count. The smell is pleasant, a mixture of burning wood and live alcohol seeping through the walls, as well as jazz and blues playing in the background. Now that should be a lifestyle. You stick your hands in your pockets and catch up with Steve, who is chatting distractedly to Private Wilson, none other than Maria Hill and James Barnes, a school friend who has disappeared from your sight to go live with his parents in Germany.

Maria was a great friend of yours and Steve's, and he even told you that she liked you a lot, but you only saw her as a sister, something that annoyed her, but she would never push it.

“Hey, look who's here! When Steve said you looked like a wall, I couldn't believe it, I had to come and see for myself.” Barnes laughs and hugs you, patting you on the back. “And you look great, mate, if you were blonde you'd be considered a German citizen straight away.”

“You're impossible.” Maria laughs and hugs you too, as tightly as if she hadn't seen you for years, which was true.

The five of you get lost in conversations between the past and the present. Maria, who was a classmate at the school where you and Rogers studied, had completed her studies and was studying law for some time, something she was very proud of. Barnes, who was now living in Germany but took time out to see old friends, had opened a workshop in Stuttgart, one of the country's most influential industrial cities. Wilson was certainly in the army, as you already knew, but according to him, he planned to finish another year of service and open a carpentry shop to honour his late father's memory. Even Steve was planning to leave the army, he said he'd like to become a 'police chief', which didn't sound too bad. You, on the other hand, weren't even sure what to do.

All you knew was that you wanted your own car, to move out of your grumpy father's house and find a place of your own, even if it wasn't in the city centre.

But you would still happily visit Derek as often as you could.

“Hey, baby! Why don't you come round and give us a bit of attention? Let's have some fun!” A bald guy with yellow teeth exclaimed from the table a few metres away from yours on the left.

This guy was with two other men at his table, one of them had spiky hair and wore dark glasses, the other had gel-slicked hair and blue glasses. They were all wearing jackets and dark clothes, with helmets on the floor under the table where they were standing. They all looked fucking weird, though, and were already staring at Maria in a completely uncomfortable and sexual way that was putting you off. She paid no attention for the first few minutes, of course, trying not to care, but they were becoming increasingly unbearable to put up with.

“Hey, mate, stay cool. She's with us.” Steve said, noticing your shoulders tense with nervousness.

He didn't want to risk it, he knew you had a certain problem with anger but Steve was a man of order and hated arguments unless he felt it was 'necessary'. You, on the other side, had already downed three shots of straight whisky and were ready to blow the ugly faces off those ogre bikers.

“And who said I asked you anything, hero hair?” The frizzy-haired guy asked and stood up, passing behind Sam and subtly squeezing Maria's shoulders, who was startled. “Could you please take your hands off me?”

"You don't like it, do you?" He laughed and approached her.

You practically jumped out of your chair, using both hands to push the man's chest, who staggered backwards with your violent force and almost fell to the floor. He growled a dry laugh and approached you again, punching you in the air as you nimbly sidestepped him. Your group laughed and whistled in your direction, making him even angrier, and you drove your fist straight into his nose, hearing something break and fresh blood splatter on your skin.

“She said to let go of her.” You grunted, hardly caring about the pain.

“What the fuck, man!” One of them shouted and you felt the thud of something glass against your face. “Y/n!”

You punched the same man and kicked him in the stomach, hearing a loud grunt of pain, blood staining the refinished wooden floor. The second man approached and you head-butted him hard, feeling his blood splatter on your forehead and nose. The bald man pushed you, making you stumble with a bleeding part of your face, noticing that he had smashed a fucking glass bottle over your head. Fortunately, there was a single deep cut on your eyebrow going halfway down your pale cheek. He nearly blinded you. Steve pushed him hard and kicked him in the stomach, and you elbowed the third man who approached you in the face.

“That's enough! Out of my pub, NOW!” A middle-aged man with a full moustache said and Steve and the others pulled you out.

“Bloody hell, mate, you nearly fucked your face up for that! That was insanely crazy!” Barnes shouted, trying to analyse your bruise.

“It's okay, it's just a bit of blood.” You sighed heavily.

“What were you thinking! Jesus, Banner, you could have hurt yourself badly or something worse!” Maria grabbed your shoulders, visibly worried.

“Exactly! We need to take care of this.” Steve pointed to your bruised face.

“I wasn't going to let that disgusting worm harass you, Hill.” You whispered furiously, your fists shaking.

“And I didn't want you to get hurt because of me, Banner! God, you're so impulsive.” She shook her head.

“All right, Hill, I'll take care of it from here. Don't worry.” Rogers touched her shoulder and Maria nodded nimbly.

“Wilson, Barnes and I were thinking of going to a party a few blocks from here, are you coming? It's a friend's birthday.” She asked, brushing a lock of her fringe out of her face.

“I can't right now, I have to pick Derek up from school. I hope you have a good time, though.” You say and pull her into a tight hug, which she returns.

“And I'll be keeping an eye on this tough guy. Good night, take care, gentlemen and...lady.” Steve says goodbye to them and you look at him out of the corner of your eye. “Don't give me that look, you know I won't let you drive alone in this state.”

And Steve does. He drives to school as soon as you've said goodbye to the rest of the group, looking at you every five minutes as if you might jump out of the car if you had a mental breakdown. You were still bleeding, no matter how hard you tried to stop the bleeding, the cut had left a wide scar on your eyebrow sliding in a crooked loop to the beginning of your right cheek. It stung like hell, even, and there might have been a few shards stuck in there, but you'd convinced yourself to put up with as much pain as possible and Steve not to drag you to the nearest hospital.

“Stevie! Y/n!” Derek ran towards you both, hugging you and jumping into your arms.

“Hey, little brother.” You ruffled his hair, hearing voices all over the car park, parents gathering with their children and kids everywhere.

“What happened to your face?” The boy held your chin, his black eyes wide.

“Well, what can we say, mate? Your big brother took on a bad guy to protect a friend of ours and ended up with a war wound.” Steve smiled, crossing his arms as he looked directly at you.

“Hey, that's an honourable act. Let's just say it's what separates the men from the boys.” You shrugged, opening the passenger door for your brother and sitting him down, helping him buckle his seatbelt.

“In other words, he's a tough guy.” Steve laughed briefly, getting into the car and you patted Derek on the shoulder. “And we say...”

“We should always protect and look after women, sir.” The boy said before you could even think and you nodded positively, sitting down next to him and pulling on your seatbelt as Steve started to drive. “That's my boy.”

The journey home is a bit hectic. Derek tells you and Steve that the girl he's supposedly tremendously in love with, Emilly, has taken a liking to a guy who certainly loves to pick on him. She also seems to be ignoring him. You and Steve try your best to comfort the boy, who is quiet for a few minutes only until you mention that Natasha must be preparing something for him to eat when he arrives. The boy jumps out of the car as soon as you park it and helps him with his seatbelt, and you joke about it with Steve as you approach the house after locking the car.

“You're here, baby! How was class?” You hear Natasha's voice from inside and sigh.

The first thing that unfortunately crosses your mind is that she literally fucked your father while you were awake listening to everything.

But it's okay, because apparently Bruce didn't get the job done, but he should be calmer now.

“It was great, Nat! Emily kicked my arse, but it's okay because Stevie told me I'm a big guy who deserves better things and now I'm starving. Look at that, Y/n's got a new war scar!” He exclaims, pointing at you as you enter the room.

Natasha is now wearing neutral-coloured baggy trousers, a striped T-shirt and slippers that you've never seen before, but which make her even more adorable considering the situation. Her red hair is tied up in a messy bun and a few strands fall across her face, making her look completely and fucking ten times hotter than before. But no, you shouldn't see your stepmother like that, mate.

“What? My God, Y/n! What's happened?” Natasha moves away from the cooker where she was standing and switches off the fire, running over to you.

“Natasha, it's no big deal, just-” You try to explain yourself, but Romanoff is quicker.

“Oh, God. What's wrong? I told you not to drink, especially as you had to bring Derek back home! Say something, how did this happen?” She exclaims, practically on the verge of collapse.

You almost laugh at the situation, because you find the way she cares for you subtle and kind, but your smile falters when Natasha is so close that her breath brushes your face. Her fingers are on your jaw, some run over your ears, and you smell her, feel how close she is now, and her touch is simply the icing on the cake. It lights you up.

“It was just a silly bar fight, Natasha, it's fine. Steve and I were with some friends, Maria, our friend, was being bothered by some weirdos and I had to take action.” You explain, swallowing.

“And by that he means: he took on three men practically on his own and got his head bashed in. That's why he's bleeding.” Steve commented, not looking threatened by your fatal stare.

“Jesus Christ. You've got to be out of your mind, you should be in hospital right now! Hang on, I'll take care of it.” Natasha said, moving away to rummage through the cupboard drawers.

Just then, Bruce appeared, coming down the stairs. He had his glasses in his eyes, his hair crumpled and dishevelled, a crooked posture and a grumpy, grey look in his eyes. He didn't look very friendly for someone who'd had sex this afternoon. Well, it's not as if he's the type who knows how to leave a woman satisfied. It seemed to make sense.

“Leave the boy alone, Natasha, he can look after himself, he's practically a grown man.” He said and she replied. “No, he's bleeding, he won't know how to look after himself.”

“You're stubborn, just go and serve the dishes and stop voicing your opinion-” Bruce said rudely, but she cut him off.

“Shut up, Bruce. Sit down. I'll take care of Y/n's wound first.” She practically grunted, bringing with her a first aid kit.

Bruce looked static, probably furious that his wife had hit him for the first time, but he went to sit down at the table and remained silent.

“Natasha-” You sighed, feeling her sit you down in the living room armchair and shake her head.

“No Natasha, Y/n. You're hurt, the least I can do is clean it up and hope it gets a bit better, but if you were in hospital, you'd probably need a few stitches.” She shakes her head, opening the small suitcase. “And that's going to hurt a bit.”

You close your eyes and shake your head subtly, trying to ignore the way her breath was practically in your face and judging that her full breasts were so prominent inside her striped shirt, she was probably without a bra. Fuck, don't look over there, kid. Natasha takes a piece of gauze, her hands already clean and sanitised, and presses it gently on the cut, trying her best to stop the bleeding without hurting you.

“You know, I was a nurse when I was about your age. For a few years. I served in the army in Manhattan. I was good at what I did, but I didn't think it was for me.” She whispered softly, her eyes fixed on every part of your face.

“Can't stand the smell of blood?” You asked rhetorically.

“Not just the smell. I don't like seeing the consequences caused on the body of a man who is trying to defend his country. I didn't have the stomach for it.” She swallowed dryly and you nodded softly.

“What do you do now?” The question escapes her mouth faster than she realises and Natasha pulls out the bloodstained cotton wool, fiddling absent-mindedly with the case.

“I make cakes, sweets in general, it's been a long time since I married your father. I was unemployed anyway, so as I'm almost obsessed with baking, I put one thing together and that's what happened.” She replied, bending down to wipe the dried blood from her brow.

“Do you make them and have your own shop or?..” You stared at her.

“No, well, I cook them and prepare everything myself. Young Thor, from next door, delivers them on his bicycle, and I pay him accordingly. He's a great kid.” She says simply.

Your jaw clenches, the fingers of your hand squeezing the seat cushion indiscreetly. Annoyed? Certainly. But why? She's your stepmother, she's married and well-off, even though she has your idiot father for a spouse. Apart from that, you shouldn't be jealous of her.

“Got it.” Your eyes flash dangerously and Natasha suddenly blushes, looking away.

“I'll put a saline solution over the cut to make sure it's cleaner. Then I'll cover it with gauze, but please make sure you go and see the doctor, Y/n, I don't want you to get an infection or anything.” She asks and you nod.

Romanoff leans over and with a new piece of damp cotton wool, she dabs it over his still open cut with the utmost caution, cleaning the area as best she can. A grunt comes out of your mouth as the wound burns all over, the blood running cold through your veins. Natasha notices and pulls her hand away slightly, feeling your gaze on her.

“It's all right. Take a deep breath.” She says and you do as she says, your chest rising and falling.

She moves closer again, and feels your hand on her wrist, which makes her breathing increase slightly, intimidated by you. But you follow her every move, and she cleans the wound as much as she can, pulling away when she's finished. With a clean towel, she carefully dries around the wound and takes a piece of gauze, making a few improvised cuts because of the angle of your wound. She quickly covers the area and sticks the cotton fabric there, making sure it sticks well but also doesn't cover or obscure your vision.

“Thank you. That wasn't necessary.” You say, your heavy accent making Natasha's legs tremble discreetly.

“It was necessary. And please don't get into any more fights if you want to kill me and your father with worry.” She says, and her hand accidentally brushes against your broad shoulder.

“I'm sure he doesn't mind, but I really appreciate it, Natasha.” A crooked smile curves her lips.

“I care about you.” She says simply.

Natasha's gaze on you is surreal. Everything about this woman is surreal, her eyes, her voice, her completely gentle and naturally full demeanour. Fuck, she should be unwanted here, but you're starting to completely ignore the very rules you've built behind the wall you're hiding behind, because deep down, you want this woman in every way possible. It doesn't matter if she's your stepmother, or a forbidden woman.

“Aren't you coming round for dinner?” Natasha smiled softly, a bite on the lower lip being enough to end your evening.

[g1rlsp1ckins]

𝓣HE 　333　 EVENT　!

by @bridalribbon

── .✦ 𝓛INGUA 𝓕RANCA ⭑.ᐟ FOR MY THE BEAR DR

— what words or phrases exist only in your dr ? what do you call things that don’t have names anywhere else ? this can be the little familect you developed over the years, or it can be an entire constructed language.

──────── 𓌉◯𓇋 ────────

• ghost corner

The cold spot by the freezer. Everyone avoids it without realizing why. I named it my first week working nights alone. Mikey laughed when I told him, but he never stood there again either.

Something about that space remembers things we’d rather forget.

• mikey’s elbow

A dent in the shelf. Barely noticeable unless you know it’s there. Mikey slipped and caught himself mid-rant one night, left a mark. He smacked it the next morning and said, “Proof I exist.”

Now I tap it like knocking on wood.

• the hum

There’s a moment in the kitchen when everything aligns — sizzle, chop, shout, repeat — and the air feels alive, like music with a pulse. I call it the hum.

When it hits, I stop thinking. I just am.

• eggshell hours

Before prep starts. After the morning ache fades. The quiet before everything goes sharp.

Coffee tastes better then. Regret feels smaller. The world hasn’t asked anything of me yet.

• offplanet

Carmen disappears sometimes. Not physically — he’s right there, eyes open, hands working — but gone. Orbiting something heavier than gravity.

“Offplanet?” I’ll whisper. He nods. I stay until he lands.

• anchor bite

The first bite of something that pulls you back to Earth when you’ve been spinning too long.

It’s not about the food. It’s about the pause. The reminder: I’m still here. I still taste.

I make them for him more than he knows.

• marsweather

Carmy’s word for me when I go too quiet.

When I’m not yelling but could. When the silence gets loud. When I’m holding everything together so tightly it starts to hum.

He says it like a forecast: “We’re in Marsweather.”

I kind of love him for that.

• burned letters

Things we can’t say out loud.

So we write them. On napkins, receipts, sticky notes. Then we burn them, rip them, throw them out.

It started after Mikey. We don’t talk about it.

But we keep doing it.

• heart crumbs

The tiny kindnesses people leave behind without meaning to — a second fork, a warm plate, a napkin folded neat.

I collect them. I live off them.

Mikey used to say, “You leave heart crumbs everywhere, Magpie.” I pretend I still hear him say it.

• threading

It’s what I do when I’m trying to keep everyone from unraveling. Quiet adjustments. Small stitches. A mug slid across a table. A station reset before anyone notices.

“You threading?” Tina asks sometimes.

Always, I think. Always.

• the pile

Everything we don’t say out loud.

The weight. The grief. The burned sauce and missed birthdays. The guilt.

It lives in the corner of the kitchen like a shadow.

When I say, “It’s getting heavy in the pile,” people feel it, even if they don’t get it.

• soft pocket

A person or place that doesn’t ask you to be anything but tired. But safe.

Once, after a long shift, I called Carmen that. Just once. “You’re my soft pocket and I hate you for it.”

He didn’t say anything. He just passed me the salt.

• muzzle that grief, baby

Mikey’s words. One night, I was crying into onion skins and he said it soft. Not cruel. Not distant. Just —

“Muzzle that grief, baby. It’s not going anywhere, so you gotta teach it to sit.”

I think about that every time I put my apron on.

──────── 𓌉◯𓇋 ────────

THIS IS PART OF THE 333 EVENT

[eimids]

NSFW alphabet: Top!Leah Williamson

All letters!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Leah is a sweet lover. She is treating you like a queen. She will whisper sweet nothings to your ear as she cleans you up. She will put some soothing ointments if she has been little more rough while spanking you.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Ass girl. Leah is the biggest ass girl. She just loves to grab, smack and fondle it. However she can touch it, she will. She loves to fuck you from behind just to smack your ass again and again with her hips.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Eats everything you have to give to her. Often times she is eating you out and you can just see her lower face covered in your arousal. She will keep going till she has licked you all clean.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

She lowkey loves to film you during a fuck and later on she will happily watch them and touch herself. (She has a polaroid of you naked body in her wallet)

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

She is like a sexgoddes. She knows what she is doing and is freakishly good. She surprises you every time how she knows your body so well.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Not necessarily a position but she loves to fuck you in the kitchen. She sucks at cooking so every time you make some food, she is there right behind you ready to fuck you. Her favorite is to just fuck you with a strap while you cook something.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

She can be quite humorous. She loves to tease you and give you her famous smirk after. She loves to laugh and just take things chill but that doesn't mean that she isn't serious. She is still serious but like focused.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Leah has very blond and thin hair down there so she just shaves it occasionally. She doesn't really care but usually doesn't let it grow too long.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

She can give you whatever you want. Sometimes it is very romantic and intimate, but sometimes, (like in the middle of a fight), it's more rough and not so romantic.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Ohh she loves to call you and make you masturbate with her. She wants to come at the same time or just see you do it but not let you cum. If she is away, she has an app where she can control your vibrator. That way she can still control your orgasms.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

(Secretly loves being called daddy), but other than that she is very into bondage. She loves tying you up in positions where you look so good and fuckable.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

As mentioned earlier one of her favorite locations is the kitchen. She love to just throw you on top of a table and fuck you or eat you out. Other than that, she loves just the bedroom. It's comfortable and she can do pretty much anything she wants.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Again as mentioned earlier, she loves to see you being her little house wife and every single time you cook, she just neeeeeds to fuck you. She loves when you are just doing cute stuff around the house.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There isn't a lot Leah wouldn't try but one thing she isn't very into is anal. Well anal on herself. She will gladly fuck you in the ass, but does not want that to be done on herself. And obviously like anything that could actually cause danger or leave permanent marks.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

She is a master of eating you out. She can have you weak in the knees in just a matter of minutes. So she is fucking good at it, and loves to show it to you. But one thing she likes more is to have your mouth on her. Like if it was up to her, she would have you always on your knees in front of her just lazily eating her out.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and rough. (I mean look at her does this need any more explaining?)

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Looooves to just quickly fuck you in some random bathroom. She will make sure that you are quiet (but if you are not the whoops). But yeah Leah will happily just fuck you quickly or on the other hand have you on your knees eating her out before prac.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Leah is a risk taker. She will (and has) tried pretty much everything and anything. She loves a risky fuck in somewhere quite public where someone could hear you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Leah can go all night (and has, so any times). Being a professional athlete gives her a very good stamina. She can take a lot, and she can give you a lot. That's all I'm gonna say.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Yes, yes, yes. She owns them, she uses them, she loves them. Leah thinks that sex is just so much better with the little toys than can make her and you feel just so much better. (Not saying that she can't please you on her own, because she definitely can)

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Leah will tease you relentlessly. She wants you to be a puddle of neediness before she fucks you senseless.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

She isn't very loud in bed or doesn't moan that much. She is more of a heavy breather but isn't scared to moan your name loudly. She is a big fan of dirty talk and constantly is saying something to you.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

It really depends. She could be wearing a strap, she could be wearing boxers, she could be wearing nothing or she could be wearing a sexy lingerie.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

She has a high sex drive. When ever, where ever, she will be horny.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As long as you are asleep, she will be asleep too.

[hemmingsleclerc]

A different story┃RAB

Summary: where regulus and james’ sister raise harry together

Regulus Black and Y/N Potter had survived the war. The years since Voldemort's defeat had been filled with joy and sadness. Joy, because they had each other and the opportunity to build a new life together despite what everyone thought about them. Grief over the loss of James and Lily, Sirius' imprisonment in Azkaban, Peter's death and Remus' disappearance, leaving Harry in their care. They had promised to raise him as their own, determined to give him the love and family he deserved.

From the moment Harry arrived at Grimmauld Place, the once dark Black manor was transformed into a warm home. Regulus, no longer the young man who had once followed Voldemort’s ideas, had found a new path in his new role as a father. Y/N, with her strong and characteristic Potter kindness, made sure to brought light to every corner of her new life.

Harry's childhood with Regulus and Y/N was full of moments of love that he would remember throughout his life.

On Harry's first birthday after coming to live with them, Y/N and Regulus were determined to make it special. They decided to bake a cake without magic. The kitchen quickly became a disaster, flour covering every surface and Y/N with frosting in her hair.

"Reg, are you sure you read the recipe correctly?" Y/N asked, laughing as she tried to save a crooked layer of cake.

Regulus, with chocolate on his cheek, smiled shyly. "I'm pretty sure it said four cups of flour. Or maybe it was one…"

Despite the chaos, the cake turned out perfectly imperfect. When they show it to Harry, his eyes lit up with joy. "Happy birthday, Harry," Y/N said, kissing the top of her head.

"Happy Birthday, kid," Regulus added

When Harry received his Hogwarts letter, the house was filled with joy and a touch of bittersweet nostalgia. Regulus sat Harry down, with the letter spread out on the kitchen table. "This is where your parents went, Harry," he said softly, his eyes shining with pride and a hint of sadness.

Y/N, who was busy in the kitchen, stopped to ruffle Harry's hair. "You'll love it there, bunny. Just like your mom and dad did and so does Reggie and I."

The day he was dropped off at platform 9¾, Regulus and Y/N stood side by side, watching Harry board the train. Y/N had tears in her eyes and Regulus, although he tried to be calm, couldn't hide his emotion from him. "Be good, Harry," Regulus shouted. "And remember, we're only an owl away."

As the train pulled away, Y/N squeezed Regulus's hand. "Our little boy is growing up so fast," she whispered.

Years passed and Harry often found himself receiving Howlers from his aunt and uncle. Whether he was fighting with a troll or sneaking out of his common room after bed time, Harry's adventures with Hermione and Ron often left Regulus and Y/N worried.

One morning in the Great Hall, a Howler exploded in front of Harry, Regulus' voice echoing throughout the room. "Harry James Potter-Black! What were you thinking? The Triwizard Tournament? And a dragon? Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you have any common sense!" while hours later he received another one but this time from Y/N ''Harry, forgive Reg, he is very stressed and worried about you, we both are, we want you to know that we support you in everything and we know that you didn’t put your name on the cup, we will be there to see you at the tasks, in the meantime take care of yourself darling, we love you'' leaving Harry with a smile on his face.

As Harry grew older, he began to talk more about his friends and the special people in his life. One afternoon in the summer after their fifth year, Harry and Y/N were sitting in the garden, enjoying the warm sunlight. Harry hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Mom, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, dear," Y/N replied, looking up from her book.

"It's about Ginny," Harry began, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks. "I think… I think I like her. A lot."

"Ah, young love, so beautiful" he said with a soft smile. "She's a lovely girl, Harry. Be yourself and everything will fall into place with her, after all traditions are never broken."

''tradition?'' Harry asked

“Yeah, some people called it a curse but that sounded awful”

“Potter curse?”

''Every male Potter has his redhead,'' Y/N recited with a closed smile

Later that evening, Regulus joined the conversation. "So, Ginny Weasley, huh?" he teased, nudging Harry with his elbow. "Just remember to treat her right buddy, or you'll have more than just her brothers to answer to."

Harry laughed, feeling a warmth spread through him with his cheeks burning red

Oh I loved how this turned out, I have so many ideas about this I hope u like it 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[themiddleofmichigan]

As a math major, I am simply enchanted by the idea of Neil Josten, Math Major. Please enjoy this collection of headcanons I came up with to cope with studying mathematics.

Neil is a pure math guy. There are two big camps of mathematics: pure and applied. Applied math is about applying math to other fields (physics, engineering, finance, etc.), while pure math is like math for the sake of doing math (read: a lot less employable). Neil picking the math major because he's good at math and kind of likes it is a very Pure Math thing to do.

Neil has a whiteboard, possibly multiple whiteboards. Whiteboards are the ultimate tool of mathematics. Sometimes Neil gets stuck on a problem for hours; hunched over his mini whiteboard, working through it over and over again. His fingers get covered in the expo marker residue and it leaves a black mark when he scratches his nose. Andrew huffs that he looks like a chimney sweep and rubs it off with his sleeve (he absolutely does NOT find it adorable, shut up, Nicky). Also, around exams Neil will drag Andrew to the library so he can do his practice problems on the Big Whiteboards. The other people in the library stare at them because this little ginger is filling multiple whiteboards with weird symbols and greek letters; Neil doesn't notice because he's oblivious, Andrew notices and it makes him a smug bf.

One time one of the Foxes asks him for help with their statistics homework and he gives it a shot, because how different could it be? They both quickly find out that he knows absolutely nothing about statistics. "What IS that?" "That's a matrix, it has the variances in it." "Well then why does it have an apostrophe by it?" "That means you flip it around." "That's TRANSPOSING and you notate it with a T" "Aren't you supposed to be some kind of math genius? Shouldn't you know how to do this?" "This isn't math, this is blasphemy."

Aaron has to take calculus for the MCAT and puts it off for as long as possible because he hates math. His TA for the course sucks and he struggles through it for weeks before Katelyn manages to convince him to ask Neil for help. Neil pretends to be annoyed, but he's secretly kind of looking forward to it because calculus is fun and it's nice to do math you already know for a change. When you're an upperclassman in a math degree, though, your brain gets warped by all the theoretical math, and it's hard to get into the mindset to teach something like Calc I. This leads to semiregular hostile tutoring sessions in the dorm, we're talking real Dad Trying to Help You With Your Math Homework at the Kitchen Table type energy. "BUT HOW DID YOU KNOW TO DO THAT?!" "It's a vector space, Aaron, I don't see what you're not understanding here." "A vector WHAT" Andrew chain smokes through these. He has to start leaving the dorm because he's pretty sure the calculus is going to drive him to lung cancer.

The statistics incident gives Neil a totally reasonable grudge against statistics. He eventually gives it up, but only so he can take an elective about sports statistics, because he has exy brain worms.

[k1ngpin42]

𝐹𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑒𝓇 𝒜𝒷𝒷𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝒶𝓃𝒸𝒽 o𝓌𝓃𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝒹𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇

Part 1: If you guys like it I can write part 2 (with smut)

@osteologistimpostor

@mitski-lovesems

A/N: Despite my VERY frequent Abby x female reader stories, I actually write original pieces too. This one isn’t an original piece- the character is still Abby, but I’m pushing outside of my comfort zone and I’m doing Abby x OC. It's also modern(ish) day Abby

So without further adieu:

Light drifted across the room, pouring onto the table where a rather unimpressed and not-very awake girl was seated. She chased the letters of the paper in her hand, paying more attention to the lack of colour more than how interesting- or rather, uninteresting- the words were. 

The view from the balcony was gorgeous, it’s serenity drifting through the house and offering enough “fresh air” to cure a lifetime of hangovers.  And still, it was lonely. Not the cleansing kind people often searched for when investing in large areas of land just to have 5 unneeded bathrooms with pretty tiles to be admired; but the desolate and painfully boring kind that was becoming all the more prominent to a woman new to adulthood with her whole life worth of dreams and ambitions with no aim or prospects to go about pursuing them. 

Of course any talk of leaving the nest was disregarded as swiftly as it was brought up by her rather reserved, single father, who was more protective of her than anything. This was unsurprising of course. She had great beauty and wit who would be sure to have people swooning over her had she been raised in the city, and this prospect was what scared him the most. 

“Good morning Clara.” Spoke a tall, scrawny brunette who grabbed the paper off of the table and sat beside her. “Anything interesting?” He questions, more to the paper than to her. The girl shrugs, using just as much energy to remain neutral as she did to bury the rather obvious deep seated resentment she held towards him. With most guilt, of course.

“Nope.” She replies quietly, getting back up from the table and walking over to the kitchen. 

“Coffee, dad?” The man is unresponsive, eyes drifting happily over the page. Clara rolls her eyes.

“Coffee-“

“Huh? Oh yes, yes thank you sweetie.” Clara nods, walking over to the machine and pressing a button, the espresso machine pouring out the rich smelling liquid with a loud and familiar noise.

“Oh, I hired a new ranch hand…by the way.” Explains her father in an awkward mutter. Clara turns her head with a force which very nearly gave her whiplash. 

“A ranch hand?” She exclaims, already forcing herself to believe it was just her mishearing over the sound of the coffee. Her father sighs. 

“Why don’t you bring that over here?” With a pounding heart, she obeys, bringing the coffee to him and sitting in the chair in front, fiddling with her hands and noting how the two textures feel as she rubs her hand on one another. The man takes a deep breath.

“I figured we could use the help just in case you…end up going to college. Sometime soon, maybe. And I saw this girls ad so I thought…” Clara doesn’t say anything, partly due to her state of disbelief but mostly because she believes saying something will break this reality in two, and that her dad would instead, change her mind and ask her to stay forever.

“Anyway, it’s just a trial run-“ Clara leaps over and hugs him. 

“Thank you dad. When does she start?” The man lets out a short laugh. 

“Tomorrow.”

***

Clara had spent the morning cleaning the dishes she had put off doing last night, watching TV in her bed and chilling on her balcony naked. She had been painting something out there and had lost motivation for it recently. As for the lack of clothes, she had a tendency of spilling paint on her clothes to a point she had decided just not to wear them since she was home alone. Or at least she thought that until she heard a loud thud in the barn. 

Flinching so high she almost saw the heavens, she knocks the painting, causing the stranger to reveal themself at the noise.

There she was. A beautiful, unfamiliar woman with long blonde hair braided ever so nicely down her back, black tank top revealing arms bigger than on any man she had seen, and a face so stunning Clara was blushing even before returning to the realisation that she was butt naked. 

The woman immediately covers her eyes with her hand and turns away from her.

“I…I…am sorry-“

“Who the fuck are you?!” Demands Clara, picking the painting back up and hiding as best she could behind the frame. 

“Uh…I’m Abby. I think your dad hired me. I take it you’re…Clara?”

“Fuck.” She says, taking a stabilising breath. “No, the new hire is coming tomorrow.”

“I decided to drive in early, I was going to start organising the barn to make it easier for myself when I start tomorrow. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to look.”

“No…No it’s my fault, I’m sorry Abby.”

“I can come back if you want to…keep painting.” She clears her throat awkwardly. “Naked.” she adds. Clara laughs softly.

“No I uh, think I’m done with that. Let me put some clothes on and I’ll come down.” Abby blushes, head still glued to the floor like the most interesting object she could fathom was there. “There’s no need for that miss-“ Abby blurted out, but Clara had already returned to her room. 

The second those doors are closed, Clara is hitting her hand over her head in dismay. Of course this would happen to her. Her first god damn impression with some tank, godess-of-a-woman stranger was that she’s some sort of farmer hippie who paints in the nude. It was only somewhat true, but regardless it made her want to move out and start a life as an actual hippie some place where no one will find her. In a scramble, she grabs a dress from one of her clothes piles on the ground. She couldn’t be sure it was clean, but it certainly looked better than her other shit. Thankfully she spotted a coat on the rack behind her door. Mind you, mildly clashy, but better than nothing. 

“Abby?” She asks warily. Abby steps out of the barn, face bright red. 

“Still here Ma’am.” 

“Oh. Yes…good.” Clara says, mentally kicking herself at each word. Abby nods, words failing her too. 

“My…dad said he saw your ad. That…you stayed with two seperate families from a young age.” Abbys expression bears much interest, allowing Clara to take her time with what she's saying.

“They kept you on for years so you must be pretty good at what you do. Why’d you decide to take this job instead?” 

“Change of pace. Mr and Mrs Harkin are lovely people but, both well into retirement. It was their families farm and they had a lovely house up their when they were newly weds. Had their own jobs on the farm. I guess now that they’re older, they’re less able to enjoy the space. Plus Mrs Harkins has a lot of medicine she needs to refill and…well there ain't many hospitals nearby and if I do it every day the sheep don’t get fed and…well they’re movin in to their sons house.”

“Must have been a shame…” Clara offers, eyes drifting up and down the taller woman. Abby nods.

“Yeah. You know, I’m surprised you live out here. Most of em’ farmers are old folk or entrepreneurs.”

“My dad’s an entrepreneur. Sort of. He sells like IT to big companies. He leaves often for work trips.”

“Leaves you here? I can’t imagine many babysitters being willing to drive all the way out here when you were younger. Did you go with him?” Claras eyes soften and she shakes her head.

“My mum stayed with me. When she was alive.”

“Oh…Miss I’m so sorry.”

“Ah, don’t be. And yeah it is pretty lonely but, on the plus side, I can’t imagine painting in the nude being appropriate in whatever city you come from.” Abby laughs. 

“Utah.” Claras eyes widen. 

“Utah?” She nods with a smile that makes Claras whole body tingle.

“Salt lake city.” She explains. Clara nods.

Each breath that left the muscular woman seemed to ripple in the space between them, and Claras own breathing mirrored it, as if they’d fallen into a rhythm only the two of them understood.

“I hope the painting can still be salvaged.” Abby spoke after some time. Claras eyes widen. 

“What?” 

“Well, you kinda knocked it when you…”

“Yeah.” Clara interrupts, not needing the memory of her naked body being exposed to be rehashed. “Though I wouldn’t care if it was ruined. I’ve never been much into art. Too impatient. I paint when something drives me to. A feeling or something inspiring but, I’ve felt that less and less of late.”

“Hm.” Abby responds, examining Clara as if to squint in between the lines she had placed.

“If not art, then what? Surely a sweet thing like you has some big ambition. Art school maybe?”

Sweet thing like you. Repeated the voice in Claras head. Each word lingered in the air, thickening the atmosphere between them, drawing her in closer as if to shield her from the world. It was a delicate label, yet it bore an unexpected weight, making her feel seen in a way that both thrilled and unsettled her, like stepping into the sun after a long winter.

“Have I said something…?” Abby asks, her own nervousness becoming obvious as she talks. In truth she hadn’t expected such beauty. An old man and an already married daughter was what she had expected when Claras father had accepted the ad, not a scrawny, decently young man and his perfect fucking daughter. One who, from what Abby had seen on the balcony, had a physique that mirrored that of an angel itself. 

Fuck. Thought Clara at the realisation that she had no recollection of what Abby possibly could have asked her. 

“No…sorry I, what did you ask?” Abby smiles reassuringly. 

“I was just asking about your plans for the future, but…well I should probably get back to work. I’ve already wasted enough time as is just gettin’ you out here and…well I shouldn’t waste your time any longer.” Clara nodded shortly. 

“I’ll be in the house…my rooms just there if you need me.” She offers, stepping away from Abby this time.

***

It had been days without contact from her. Or at least, face-to-face contact. Clara had found herself on that balcony more often than ever. Waking up at dawn to the sound of tools being russled in the barn and the sheep making happy “baas” in response to Abby feeding them. She would look out and see her tending to the crops, sweat on her skin illuminated by the morning sun and bringing a colour that painted her like one of the finest artworks in creation. She had Claras mind coursing in ways that she would warrant was unhealthy. Daydreaming. Fantasising. There was a yearning that words couldn’t describe. 

She wouldn’t face her though. Their first conversation had an unspoken definitiveness to it. Like they would speak only as formalities when situations required them to. Plus it’s not like Clara had that kind of confidence. No, that kind of confidence was only discovered at the bottom of a bottle of alcohol most of the time, and thankfully her dad was away for yet another weekend trip, leaving his stash of expensive bourbon unattended to.

There was some point into her night where she had stumbled her way into the barn. It was her hiding spot when she was younger. Nothing much to do on a farm as a kid other than force your parents to play games, and now Clara found it offered her some comfort. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for when she opened up those barn doors. A quiet place to chill out that wasn’t the same four walls of her room? Or was it Abby? She couldn’t be sure. 

Clara climbed up the ladder to the top level of the barn, heading over near the small window where a desk and a beanbag was. She clambered onto the beanbag, forming a small ball and closing her eyes. That was till the a haybale dropped, pulling an audible noise of shock from Clara. Abby gasped.

“Shit, fuck Clara?? Are you in here?” Clara simply laughs at the reaction.

“Calling me by my first name? Not very professional-profess?” She asks, continuing to stumble around. “I profess myself in banqueting to all the rout…”

“I…Miss I don’t-“

“It’s Shakespeare ‘Miss’ Anderson. You know, Cassius? Othello?”

“Oh.”

Clara’s voice, playful and teasing, had an ease about it that left Abby feeling unmoored and unsteady. She could barely keep up with what Clara was saying, but the mystery of it, the way her name sounded from Clara’s mouth, filled Abby with a raw, delicate ache.

“What are you doing in here?” Abby asks gently, walking over to the ladder. Clara shrugs.

“I live here. What are you doing in here? You know my dads away right? What if you were like a burglar who…burgled.”

“Are you drunk?” She asks, though the tone lacks any sort of accusation. Clara sighs. 

“Come, look at the stars with me.” She hums. Abby sratches the back of her neck. 

“Uh….well I really shouldn’t be…”

“Oh come on. You gonna leave a ’sweet thing like me’ up here by herself?” Abby laughs at her words, giving in and climbing effortlessly up the ladder.

“You can do that one handed? That’s hot.” Clara remarks. Abby just tilts her head with confusion. 

“What did you just say?”

“I said that out loud?” Clara asks with a tone of genuine confusion. “Oops.” Abby blushes as she sits on the floor beside her.

“You usually get drunk like this? Just you?” Abby inquires. Clara shrugs, her smile fading a little.

“That over there, that’s Saturn.” Clara explains, shifting a lot in the beanbag. Abby looks at her, surprised. 

“Saturn? You sure it’s not a star?”

“Nope. Saturn is m’most….mmm” Abby laughs, using her middle finger to push some hair out of your face.

“You’re so drunk.”

“Do you like me?” Clara asks, a rather sudden and drastic shift in both emotions and conversation. 

“Well, sure Miss you seem uh, real nice.” Abby says simply. 

“No I mean…you saw me. Naked. Did you like what you saw?”

“Wh- I…I wasn’t looking. Honest.” She states, parting the wisps of her blonde hair framing her face away from her eyes.

“Oh.” Clara replies, feeling the drunken urge to start bawling appear. 

“Why do you care what I think anyway?” Abby asks, noting her expression and relaxing her tone as she spoke. Clara shrugged.

“I’ve been alone a lot. Thought I liked it, but…I watch all’em mmm….romances and the sit coms…never once been desired like that. Or desired…” Her words trail off, as if Clara is on the verge of sleep. She quickly snaps back into it. 

“Anyway…I don’t know why I’m sayinallthis t’you. You’re…big…muscly…pretty. Sure you’ve had your fair sure of desir-ara-bles?” Abby laughs harshly at this.

“I think we should get you some water…”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Abby’s gaze softens, confusion clear.

“My apologies, Miss. What did you ask?”

“Don’t give me that. You saw me, even if you said you didn’t “look.” what’s wrong? Y’don’t like girls? Or do you just not like me??”

“Clara, it’s simply something I don’t want to talk about while you’re not sober enough to know what you’re saying. I think you’re very beautiful, but I don’t feel comfortable talking about how I…looked at your body without your consent.”

“Fine.” Clara says, unbuttoning her comfy red flannel. Abby gasps, immediately covering her eyes with her hands.

“Jesus, Miss-“

“I consent now, just look.”

“I’m not gonna-“ Abby starts to say, the corner of her eye betraying her as she sees the outline of a lace, purple bra.

“Wanna see something else?”

“NO- no just…wait here, I’m gonna get you a blanket mkay?” Abby stammers, getting up in a rush. A solid grip quickly stops her. 

“I’m sorry.” Clara says. Abby smiles softly, turning to look at her face, (as well as she could) with reassurance. 

“Don’t be. Being drunk alone is…well, I’ve done that once or twice should we say.” Abby says, kind blue eyes staring into Claras green. “Tomorrow morning we can talk as long as you like.”

“You’r staying here?” Clara asks, bewildered. Abby shrugs. 

“If you’ll have me.”

“Yes.” Clara responds at an embarassing speed.“Though we are in a barn, don’t you want to go to my room?”

“Miss, I’ve worked here less than two weeks. What would your father think if he finds me on your bed with you?” Clara rolls her eyes.

“Fine, but you better grab me that blanket.”

“Be right back, your highness.” Abby teased. 

Claras eyes drift closed in Abbys absence, hearing faintly the sound of her heading down the ladder. Even while in a state of almost sleep, she can still sense Abbys presence return beside her—the steady rise and fall of a chest, the delicate sigh of a  muscular and yet still soft form settling in. A stray strand of hair slips across her cheek, stirring as she breathes, and she reaches up with barely a thought, brushing it aside before realising she’s also touched the woman beside her. Their hands meet, fingers resting in a quiet, unplanned tangle.

That’s how they wake up, too. Clara, who is usually as opposite to a morning person as one could fathom, wakes up before Abby, feeling dehydrated and disorientated. She moves to get up before feeling a body. A muscular body that builds her with the fear of the reality that she hadn’t simply dreamt of coming onto Abby while in the comfort of her bed, but rather that she had done that, and that it was rather thick, barn air she was smelling.

“Fuck.” Clara cursed under her breath, waking the other girl who calmly rubbed her eyes. 

“Morning.” Abby says. 

Fuck.

[angelnthsnow]

Back To You.

pairing: fernando alonso x reader

summary: you're invited to your best friend's party but she's married to Edoardo Bendinelli, which wouldn't be a problem, unless he wasn't your ex's, Fernando, best friend.

word count: 2,6k

warnings: angst.

authors note: i've been MIA, i know. hopefully this makes up for it, lol.

You were procrastinating in bed when you got the memo.

Lorena invites you to her 40th birthday party! was written in golden letters in a digital invitation.

Lori was your best friend, but she was also Edoardo's wife, which wouldn't be a problem, unless he wasn't your ex's, Fernando Alonso, best friend.

You and Fernando had broken up a few months ago, things had been tough for him at Aston Martin and he ended up things saying he couldn't go on with this. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

You thought about not going, making up excuses and rotting in bed for the entire weekend, but it was Lori, and there was nothing she wouldn't do for you. Trying not to overthink things too much, you accept the invitation, and that's how you find yourself at their house in Tuscany, the one with a few bungalows and climbing vines.

Needless to say, Lorena was a party animal, so it wasn't a surprise to you when she told you the party would last a whole weekend. You sighed, that meant more days having to look Fernando in the face, and honestly, you weren't ready for that, but you were also looking forward to spending time with her after so long.

Gladly, he first night was a success. The gathering had taken place outside, where they hung up fairy lights on the trees and put on a few wooden tables around the yard. Lorena called it a "Cocktail Welcoming Party".

She and Edoardo had managed to keep you and Fernando away from each other's paths and you relaxed, even if for a bit. But sometimes, when Lorena was distracted, you would look his way, and you'd find himself already staring at you, cigar between his fingers as he sipped on his scotch, mountain range stretching in front of him. You'd look away, bewildered. That happened a few times that night, and although no words were said, the looks he gave you somehow spoke louder than words ever could.

At the end of the night, everyone was drunk, but you were so exhausted you went to bed. That night, you dreamt of a better time with Fernando. That was, of course, until you were woken up in the middle of the night by screams.

"I have to tell her, Edo!" the man seemed desperate, slurring on his words.

"Fer, please. It's 4am. Let her rest, let it go." That was Edoardo, and by the name, you thought the other man had to be Fernando. Your Fernando, the one you were celebrating a win with in your head just a few minutes ago.

You froze, incapable of moving. You were so drunk you swore you were hallucinating, but it was all real. You hear one of them sniffing, and then Edo's voice.

"Come on, Fer. Let's get you to bed."

And just like that, their steps became more inaudible by the second, until the sniffing stopped, leaving you there wondering what had even happened. What was the thing Fernando had to tell you? Why did he sound so desperate? Wasn't he.. fine?

The thoughts kept you awake for another long hour, until you fell asleep over the tear soaked sheets.

The morning came in the blink of an eye, and you decided to keep yourself busy to not think about whatever the hell had taken place outside your bungalow yesterday. Getting up, you get yourself ready and make your way to the house's kitchen, where you find your best friend.

"Morning, party pooper." Lorena says, not looking up from her newspaper as she sipped on a cup of coffee.

"Good morning to you too." You roll your eyes, filling up your teacup with the coffee she had made earlier. "And I'm not a party pooper."

You rest on the marble sink, Lorena in the front of you sitting on a stool in the kitchen island.

"So you didn't went to bed early yesterday?" She looks up, and you see her eyes above the papers.

"Sorry, Lori, the trip killed me. I promise I won't leave your side today."

She rolls her eyes, smiling. "No, you won't."

You laugh and walk around the island, standing behind Lorena to hug her. She retributes and you kiss her cheek.

"Where's Edo? Haven't seen him today."

You sit by her side, resting your teacup on the marble. She sighs, ironically.

"Went to town with Fernando. They couldn't shut up about a surprise for tonight."

The mention of Fernando's name makes every single sound you heard last night come back to you in lightspeed. You close your eyes for a second. Lorena doesn't notice it.

"Right. Speaking of today, what are the plans?"

"Sleepover! Just like the old days." Lorena says, and you're reminded of the sleepovers you used to have when you were younger. Nights spent watching horror movies and eating gummies, easier times.

Although you were terrified of sleeping in the same room as Fernando again after months, you couldn't help but be excited for Lori. You hadn't been close to her like this in ages, and it felt good knowing that even after all this time, you were still best friends.

You set your teacup on the counter, next to the sink, and Lori invites you for a dip. You, her and a few of her other friends spend the day laughing, drinking, tanning and playing water games all day. It was all you needed. Without Fernando nearby, specially after yesterday, you felt like you could wind down, and you managed to spend the afternoon without thinking about him too much.

The night came soon, and everyone said their goodbyes as they went to their bangalows to get ready. You took your time relaxing in the bathtub and doing a face mask, which caused you to arrive fashionably late at the gathering in your David Bowie pajamas, the most presentable one you had.

Fernando was already there, of course. His pajama of choice was an old Ferrari shirt - which he probably found between the pile of things he left at Edo's - and linen pants. He glances at you, and then down.

Edoardo is dressed pretty much the same, except his Ferrari shirt has a different logo on it, which meant it was not from the same year as Fernando's. Lorena is.. well, Lorena. She's gorgeous, and she's glowing in an silk La Perla pajama set Edoardo had gotten for tonight, probably the surprise she had talked about earlier. They were all laughing, eating popcorn and waiting for you to join them to start the movie. You greeted everyone and sat by Lori's side.

The first movie chosen was a horror movie, which, knowing Lori, was no surprise. She was always a big fan of creepy stuff, much to Edo's dismay, he was terrified of it, and you could see him almost having a heart attack next to a smiley Fernando.

You tried not to stare too much, you didn't want to start a fight out of the blue for whatever reason, but you felt on edge, like you were going to burst at anytime. It was too much, too soon, too close..

You get closer to Lori's ear and excuse yourself to go to the kitchen, you needed a break. She nods and you get up, Fernando stares at your back, but you don't notice it.

After a few minutes sitting on the kitchen floor staring at the empty oven, you get up for a glass of water. As the liquid reaches the cup, a voice startles you.

"If I had known you were here, I wouldn't have come."

You sigh.

Great, just what you needed.

You could tell it was him even if he hadn't said a thing, his scent gave it away. You don't notice you're frozen in place until the water overflows, and you quickly turn off the drinking fountain.

"You can still leave, nobody's stopping you."

There's not enough courage to look at him in the eye, yet.

"I won't. I'm here to have fun and I will."

"Then stop complaining." you snap, turning around and finally facing him. Wrong decision.

Standing there, in front of you, illuminated only by the light of the moon and the refrigerator's screen, leaning on the kitchen island with his arms crossed, was Fernando. His hair was ruffled and his cheeks reddish from laughing too much at Edo earlier. He looked beautiful, not that that needed to be stated.

He rolls his eyes, but you can tell he was hurt by your harshness.

"I wasn't complaining, I just.." he stops himself and shifts on his feet. "It's hard not to think about the past looking at you."

"Fernando, please." You roll your eyes in irony, looking down as you itched your forehead.

You turn around and start organizing things that didn't need to be organized in that moment - a habit you developed with anxiety. You can hear his breathing and it's overwhelming. He stares at you, admiring your beauty and yearning over the way you were so close, yet so far.

He couldn't help but think about the past, and you could feel his penetrating gaze on you, a swarm of memories filling your mind.

"Not my fault if you're as beautiful as ever. It's not fair, really."

"You don't have the right to say those things, Fernando."

Your back is still facing him, incapable to look at him. Your eyes wander to the clock above your head, it's three a.m.

He gets up and gets closer, making you freeze. You can feel his presence behind you, he gets closer until his chest is almost touching your back, just close enough that he can feel your perfume. He breathes in, and you get goosebumps.

"Why not? If we were once a couple.." He says, mouth close to your ear.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. His presence there was too much, his scent intoxicating and the heat of his body everything you wanted to give in to but couldn't.

"Yeah, until you broke up with me."

He closes his eyes, lightly resting his chin over your shoulders.

"I know, I was an idiot. I'm sorry.." you sigh. He had said it a few times before, but this time it felt.. genuine? "I thought you wouldn't be able to keep up with the pace of.. well, everything. I didn't want you to come home to an empty house, to be forced to be alone even when you were in a bad spot just because I was away.. I couldn't do that to you."

"That wasn't your decision to make." you open your eyes, trying to keep your feet on the ground.

"I know, and I see that very clearly now. You're stronger than I am, and maybe that's the problem. I'm the one who was never capable of keeping distance from you."

You feel your heart skip a beat, even more when you feel his big, warm, calloused hands hugging your uncovered belly. His chest was now glued to your back, and you feel the need to grip the marble to steady yourself.

His beard brushes against your skin, making you shiver. You close your eyes again, gripping the marble harder. His voice was so soft and calming it's like he could guide you through any situation. Fernando's embrace was like going home.

You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding. "But it happened. It happened."

He tightens his grip on your hips, like he was afraid you'd run away.

"I know it did. It hurts me as much as it does you. There's not a single day I haven't regret that."

Your body feels so hot it's like you'll blow up at any minute, but you're incapable of moving. Refusing Fernando's touch after so long seemed like a nightmare you weren't willing to go through.

"Stop it." You shoot your eyes open."You have no idea what I've been through."

He's still glued to you, chest against your back, hands on your belly and hips, gripping it gently, trying to keep you still.

"I know I've been an asshole.." He pauses, leaning his forehead on your shoulder, while his hands caress your skin. "but I want to make things right, even if just for the night."

"You have no idea what I went through the past few months, Fernando." You turn around, finally looking him in the eyes, feeling a tear running down your cheek.

His face drops, and his thumbs meet your face to wipe the tear. "I can go away if that's what you'd like.." He smiles, sadly. "But.. you really think those past few months were easy to me? You're all I think about, Y/N."

You don't respond. Instead, you free yourself from his touch and turn your attention to the clock again, back facing him. 3:27am. Lorena's probably asleep if she hasn't come to check up on you.

Fernando leans against the counter, crossing his arms. He watches you attentively. He's sad and there's no reason to hide it anymore.

"Can I ask you something?"

You sigh and nod.

"I need to know if you too hasn't been able to get over us."

You close your eyes, licking your lips.

"I don't have to answer that." You turn to him.

His eyes are still fixed on you, like they were never anywhere else.

"At least answer this.." He ruffles a hand through his hair. "Do you still love me?"

You close your eyes for a moment, sighing.

"Isn't it obvious, Fernando?" It was, to everyone. Except him.

"I still need to hear you say it." he pushes.

"Yes." you don't think before answering, just blurt it out.

His face lights up in the blink of an eye, and he looks surprised as he tries to get closer to you again.

"That's all I needed to hear." He laughs, sadly. "You have no idea how many nights I woke up, out of the blue, because I had heard your laugh in my dreams." He cracks a smile. "I thought that if I was quiet enough, I could hallucinate it, and that would be enough. A hallucination of you would be enough, because it's still you, you'd be there, in my arms." His voice cracks, you don't want him to cry. "I haven't forgotten you, Y/N."

He sniffs, hugging you tightly, and you do the same, because it's your Fernando. The heat of his body enveloping you like it used to, there it was, your safe place. You rest your chin on his shoulder and his arms hold you like it's the last time they ever will.

He cups your face, his eyes glowing with tears, and pulls you closer, just enough for your foreheads to touch.

"I'm so sorry for everything. I've missed you so much.."

"I've missed you too, Fer." you laugh amidst tears, and his heart skips a beat at the nickname he hadn't heard in so long.

You breathe deeply, letting his scent invade your nostrils and make its way into your heart, from where it should've never left.

There, in Fernando's arms, you felt like you hadn't felt in months.

"Fer?"

"Yes?" he opens his eyes.

"What did you need to tell me yesterday night? You know.. when you were outside my bungalow."

He laughs, embarrassed.

"You heard that.."

You smile. "Yeah.. I did."

He looks at you, taking all of you in. He felt so unbelievably lucky.

"I.."

He gets closer, mouth next to your ear, and whispers "Love you."

You cup his face, laughing as you roll your eyes. He stares, again, like you're the most perfect thing to ever exist, and cups your face, kissing your forehead, your cheeks and, finally, your lips.

And it felt so sweet, so right, like going home after so long and being welcomed by so many good memories. The beginning of yet another chapter of your lives.

"I love you, too."

[socksoffz]

During the short time Toby was at school, he was your classmate.. You wonder about him sometimes.

a.n: This was just a little concept I thought of, now that I’m on adhd meds I kinda have plans for this one.

Word count: 1k

content: mild bullying nothing crazy, some wholesome stuff and maybe a little creepy stuff.

While you were busy counting and coloring, Toby was right beside you. By coincidence of course, your last names had the same letter in the front so it was a given you’d be sat together.

When sitting next to someone you tend to notice things, little things. like the way Toby lightly tapped anything he was holding against the table. You also noticed the way his shoulder would jolt slightly, how his head would tilt to the side in some jerked motion. Your classmates started to notice too, it first started with the typical sneer and rude comment.

But once the entire class caught on, it was a game, the new entertainment was Toby. Toby and his twitches, Toby and his tics. Ticci Toby, it was incessant, over and over again. All While you sat beside him, unsure how you and you alone could make a difference. Sure, you’ve sat through the standard required bullying powerpoints and presentations. But when it was happening right in front of you, that’s when things changed.

It was particularly humid that day, The dark clouds were heavy with the impending rain that foretold your gloomy afternoon. For now your classroom was busy with glue, kid safe scissors and poster paper. It was mildly quiet that day, everyone murmured among themselves while they worked on their projects. You couldn’t remember when it started, what had made you turn to look at him. Obviously, the other kids were looking minutes before you.

“Ticci Tobys doing it again!”

“What is wrong with him?”

“It’s..scary..”

“Maybe if we pinch him or something he’ll stop.”

“Ticci Toby! Ticci Toby! Hey Ticci Toby!”

The chanting had gone far beyond the acceptable classroom level, before the teacher could even step in you’d already had enough.

“Stop it! Leave him alone!”

You shouted, trying to make your voice heard among the noise. You held your breath as a sudden deafening silence was all you got in return. What you thought would lead you to a wave of understanding and praise instead led to giggles and snickers at your expense. You put your head down on your desk, covering up your face with your arms as you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. You didn’t even bother to see if Toby was looking, you didn’t want him to remember such a failure of a hero.

To make things worse you’d forgotten to bring your lunch, sadly left on your kitchen counter during the hustle and bustle of getting to school. while everyone in your vicinity munched on their fruit snacks and tater tots, you were left with an ache, a stomach ache. Atleast, that's what you told yourself, you had to leave, knowing it wasn't just hunger you felt that was brewing inside of you.

This was the worst day ever.

You made your way to the bathroom, your legs moving swiftly. just so you could hide your involuntary, knee jerk reaction. You couldn’t avoid the tears welling up in your eyes no matter how hard you tried.

After several minutes you managed to pull yourself together, finally starting to make your way back to your seat. Or what you thought was your seat, you paused as you looked at your previously empty spot. It wasn’t just an apple or a candy bar, a full tray of food and more was sitting right in front of you. You looked around, for anyone, an explanation, something.

Your eyes caught a brown mop of hair at the table across from you, he was making a great effort to look at you. Turned all the way around in his seat, only to turn right back around once he realized he’d been caught. You stood there, stunned for a moment until he turns around again. He points to the tray of food than up to you, even adding a cheeky thumbs up for good measure. You couldn’t help the chuckles that escaped your lips as he quickly turned back around, Leaving you to enjoy your mountain of food.

Your classmates, as if they all had eyes and ears on the back of their head, noticed. Their noses could sense what was wrong, a sixth sense whispering to them what was incorrect. Since you started interacting with Toby, their little brains conjured up that there must be something terribly wrong with you too. And they had no problems reminding you, over and over again.

Recess was a pain now that you had been associated with ‘Ticci Toby’. You never seemed to figure out how to fit yourself into the little groups the kids would make in the first place. You were drawn to the swings of no expectations, and the ‘edges of the playground’ solitude.

Some days, like that special day, you felt yourself drawn to the fence of the playground. You wondered aimlessly, eyeing the untamed wilderness just a chain link away. You were utterly consumed, lost in thought. Until You felt something poke you, something persistent yet barely there. You turn around, your face contorting in confusion as Tobias stood in front of you, holding something in his cupped hands.

You hesitated for a moment before mimicking him, cupping your hands for whatever he plans to give you. You stood stock still as he approached with the mystery in his hands. Slowly, something damp, firm and slimy lands on your palm. It’s webbed feet was the first thing you felt, your eyes widened as you made eye contact with the amphibian sitting in your hand.

“A frog!”

It takes everything in you not to jolt in surprise at such a small thing suddenly in your grasp. Yet for those couple of minutes, the responsibility was yours. You kept your hand steady as your eyes glanced up to meet Toby’s in a momentary sense of camaraderie.

That was the last time you’d seen Toby Rogers.

Now you were sitting in front of your tv with your family, the news of the Roger’s blaring on the screen in front of you. All dead, one missing. Toby was missing, probably dead, people say, a kid like him wouldn’t be able to survive out there.

So why was it that when you retired to your bed at night, you could feel it. That sixth sense that seemed to come so easily to others now overwhelmed you as you tried to fall asleep. Something was wrong. As if an invisible string was pulling you, you found yourself standing up from the bed. Taking slow, cautious steps as you approached the window. It was almost a relief seeing your gnawing feeling confirmed. Except for the fact that the gnawing feeling was a tall shadow standing only a few feet away.

[serstolas]

Davrin Appreciation Week 2025, thank you @datvcompanionweeks on Tumblr for organizing this.

Day 5 Prompt: Woodworking, beastiary, singing

A Practical Guide to Monster Hunting: A Bestiary

Or read it on AO3

The walls of the living area of the apartment were lined with wooden carvings of different monsters and beasts. A number of the carvings were from Davrin’s time living in the Lighthouse and the monsters he’d hunted prior to joining the Veilguard and during his time with them. Other carvings had been made within the past few years, creatures that he’d heard rumors of or jobs that Griffon’s Monsters and Mysteries had taken.

Davrin had spent much of the past few months working with a publisher that Bellara and Neve had located for him to translate the wooden carvings to drawings that could be printed on a page. Sometimes he lamented that no printed page could ever quite get the full view and image of a creature that a carving could, but it was still better than renditions of creatures drawn by some mage or scholar who had drawn them from someone else’s description.

The last letter he’d gotten from his publisher informed him that they were putting everything together and would be sending the manual to the printing press soon. They’d asked him if he wanted to add a dedication to the beginning of the manual. 

He glanced up from the table that sat between their living room and kitchen. Neither of his partners were home right now, which was just as well because he wanted this to be a surprise. Carefully he dipped his pen to paper and wrote out the dedication. Of course was dedicating it to the Veilguard as a whole. They’d all been incredibly supportive. Lucanis had helped front some of the cost, Emmrich and Rook had helped with anatomy descriptions, and Lace and Taash had tracked down additional accounts of some of the rarer monsters he’d hunted. 

Satisfied with the dedication, he set the pen down and glanced at Assan, who was lounging on the giant leather cushion that Neve had acquired from someone in Minrathous for Assan to sleep on. Assan still tried to climb on top of the bed with them some mornings, a bed that was already crowded with a human detective, an elven Warden, and a qunari mourn watcher sleeping in it. They’d had to alter the door to their apartment awhile back because Assan was getting too large to fit through some normal doorways. It made Davrin wonder if they’d need to move elsewhere at some point.

“It’s finally finished and ready, Assan,” Davrin told the griffon, who opened his eyes to regard the Warden then padded over from his cushion and thrust his head into Davrin’s lap, demanding ear scratches.

Davrin chuckled, scratching Assan under the beak and behind the ears. Assan chirped happily. “I feel the same way,” Davrin murmured. He rose after scratching Assan for a few minutes. “Come on, let’s get this to the publisher. It’s the last piece they need.”

*********

Neve was alone in Griffon’s Monsters and Mysteries when the first advanced copy of the manual was delivered. The messenger handed her a cloth wrapped bundle tied with twine. They sketched a half bow and left her alone in the office. She ran her fingers lightly along the line of the twine and grinned. She made a quick check to ensure there wasn’t anything that couldn’t wait until tomorrow, and then gathered up the bundle and hurried through the streets from their Dock Town office to their apartment. 

They paid a bit more for the two room apartment to make sure there was enough room for all four members of their family, and had enough head clearance that Rook wasn’t constantly hitting his head on the ceiling. They might have been able to afford somewhere elsewhere in Minrathous now, but Neve didn’t want to leave Dock Town, it had always been her home, and Davrin and Rook were inclined to follow her lead on where to live in the city.

She unlocked the front door, opening it into the living area, a large room split into a kitchen and living area, and a table in the center that served as both eating space and work space. Davrin stood at the small kitchen counter, chopping vegetables for whatever he was making for dinner tonight.

“Davrin, it’s here,” she announced, voice vibrating. There was an excitement in her expression that often only Davrin and Rook ever witnessed. 

The Warden glanced over his shoulder and grinned when he saw what she was holding. “Rook, get your ass out here,” he called into the bedroom.

They heard movement in the bedroom and Rook emerged a few moments later, a large brush in one hand, evidence he’d been brushing Assan, and the griffon following on the qunari’s heels.

“Let’s see it then,” Rook said and followed Davrin over to the table.

Neve set the cloth wrapped bundle down carefully and Davrin leaned over, untying the twine. He opened the cloth, revealing a leatherbound monster manual, the cover embossed with claw marks.

“A Practical Guide to Monster Hunting: A Bestiary, By Davrin, Grey Warden,” Davrin read the title aloud, then carefully lifted the cover. He flipped through a few pages until he reached the dedications page.

Neve pressed closer, her hip brushing his as she leaned forward to read. “Dedicated to the Veilguard: Lace Harding, Taash, Emmrich Volkarian, Bellara Lutare, and Lucanis Dellamorte, and particular thanks to Assan, Neve Gallus, and Athos Ingellvar, my Lights in the darkness.” She glanced at him, “Davrin..”

“Davrin, darling,” Rook’s voice was thick with emotion. 

Davrin slipped an arm around her waist and looked between her and Rook. “You two and Assan, you do more than help me bring light to the world, you are my light. After Weisshaupt, I kept asking myself why I was still alive when so many other Wardens had died. You two reminded me there was more to my life than just killing darkspawn, than just killing an archdemon.”

Rook exchanged a glance with Neve as the qunari wrapped his arms around Warden and detective. “You’re our light too, Davrin,” he rumbled, and they could hear his voice deep in his chest as Neve and Davrin leaned back against him. “Even when Neve and I were in the darkest place.”

“When we were blighted, from Tearstone and from Elgar’nan, you gave us hope, that the future we’d talked about was still possible,” Neve added. 

Assan squawked an affirmative, bumping his head against Davrin. The Warden chuckled, letting the warmth of Rook at his back and Neve at his side sink into his body, and the small joy of Assan’s chirps as he scratched the griffon’s ears filled his ears.

“Well, hopefully getting this manual published is an auspicious sign for our future together,” Davrin said after a few minutes.

Neve smiled, kissing his cheek. “I’m sure it is.”

[watchandread02]

For the "Holidays with the Winchesters: A very Destiel Christmas Advent Calendar" by @archervale and @wormstacheangel

Day Seven: Stocking Stuffers

Ao3

Dean sneaks along the corridor clutching the stack of letters in his hands tightly. Moving past the Christmas tree, which is giving off the only light that’s guiding his way. Making sure no one is around, he moves into the Bunkers library, where they have hung up a string with stockings. They are filled with sweets, nuts and oranges already. He makes sure that no one is watching before putting the appropriately addressed letters to the corresponding stocking. Taking one last look at all the stockings, which seem way too many for him. How is it that they know that many people? The Bunker is currently filled with people in preparation of the holiday. Eileen, Sam and Jack are here, of course. But also Jody, Donna, Claire, Kaia, Alex and Patience have come up a few days before and are staying through to the beginning of the new year. And even Kevin, Gabe, Charlie, Benny, Bobby, Ellen and Jo have come to join them for a few days. Garth and his family arrived yesterday as well and Crowley and Rowena are sure to pop in tomorrow as well. So yeah the Bunker is pretty crowded and he wrote a lot of letters in the past few weeks, but he had to do this. For him. Because of him.

Having put all the letters in the stockings he puts the one addressed to him onto the table and moves up the stairs towards the door. Looking back one last time, he goes to the garage. He gets into one of the trucks he had made sure was ready to go, over the last few days.

And starting the engine, drives off into the night.

————

Sam is awoken by someone shaking him and screaming in excitement “Wake up!”

He blarely opens his eyes to find Jack standing over his and Eileen’s bed.

“It’s Christmas morning! Time for presents! The girls are waking up the others, so we can start as soon as possible.” Jack exclaims while practically vibrating in place.

Glancing at the clock and seeing it’s just after 6, Sam replies “We’ll be out in five minutes. Okay?”

“Okay!” Jack says, already running out the door. Probably headed towards the library where the tree is set up.

Turning to his left, Sam finds Eileen already looking at him. They sign ‘Merry Christmas’ to each other before Sam pulls her into a gentle kiss. They get up and head towards the library. They are dressed in their Christmas pajamas, that Jack had insisted they all wear.

What they find in the library is not what he had imagined. Everyone, but Dean has already made it, it seems. But Instead of a joyous atmosphere they are met with apprehension.

“What’s going on?” Sam asks.

“Dean’s missing.” Claire says, “I went to wake him up, but he wasn’t in his room. We already checked in the kitchen and the bathroom, he isn’t there as well. And I don’t think he would go milling around the Bunker at this moment. He also left his phone and keys in his room.”

“Why would Dean leave now? Nothing’s going to be open at this time and he also would have taken Baby if he left or at least left a note, right?” Jack asks with a worried look on his face.

Gabriel speaks up from where he was already pulling the candy out of his stocking, “I think Dean wrote all of us letters. Maybe that will tell us where he went?”

They all exchange worried glances before moving towards their respective stockings and pulling out the letters Dean wrote them.

————

Sam’s letter:

Heya Sammy,

I know you are wondering why I wrote you and everyone else letters.

I guess I just realized that I never really tell anyone how I feel about them. And I’m realizing that a big part of that comes from how Dad raised us, or more specifically me, I guess. Since you never seem to have any problems sharing your feelings. At least you were smart enough to tell Eileen you love her, before it was too late. You were always the smarter one out of the two of us.

I should have told you this years ago. And sometimes I think you kind of suspected it, but there was always a little, or pretty big, part (that sounds suspiciously like Dad) that was afraid you would react badly. But anyway. I am bisexual. There I said it, or wrote it, or whatever.

Why am I telling you this at all? Well it has to do with why I am writing these letters. I should have told you and Jack and everyone else as soon as it happened and they were back, but I couldn’t help feeling that it would make what happened more real, that Cas would be truly gone once I told everyone how it happened. I mean I told you the idiot sacrificed himself for me. He did it by summoning the Empty. Apparently he had made a deal to save Jack, like I already said, self-sacrificing idiot. The Empty would come for him, when he felt happiest. And Billy was after us. So we locked ourselves in the Dungeon, but we both knew it wouldn’t take long before she would get through. So he summed the Empty. To save me.

He told me he loved me, Sammy. And that I am not just a tool and killer. He was happiest by just making me feel loved and appreciated. I wasn’t even able to. I couldn’t say it back, Sam. Not at that moment. I was too shocked. And then the Empty took him and Billy, before I could really react and understand what was going on. I should have said it back. Pulled him into a hug and told him that he’s family and one of the most important people in my life. But I was too slow. And I’ve been miserable the last few weeks cause I’ll never be able to tell him. I’m never gonna be able to or make sure he knows that we - that I appreciate everything he has done for us over the years.

What I’m actually trying to say is, that I love you. Even though you can be a real pain in my ass sometimes. And you are probably right about me eating too unhealthy, like the smartass you’ve always been. But I’m so proud of you Sammy. And sometimes I’m really sorry that I pulled you away from Jessica and law school and the perfect apple pie life you could have had. And if I’m being completely honest I did mostly for myself, cause I was scared. Dad had been gone for a while and normally he would have at least checked in, it wasn’t unusual at that point for us to go a while without seeing each other. And I just wanted to see you again. To just have something familiar - other than Baby, of course - with me. And sometimes I hate myself that I pulled you back in again. But I also realize that I would probably have died a lot sooner, if it hadn’t been for you. So thanks for that as well. You’ve been the most constant thing in my life and for that I am so very grateful. Even if we have died on each other a few times. I guess even death can’t keep us from each other. I am so happy that you have found an amazing girl in Eileen. And I know that you’re gonna have an amazing future together. You are an awesome person and you deserve every bit of good that’s happened in the last few weeks. I mean we’ve both been through some really weird and shitty times - including multiple apocalypse’s. Our lives are crazy, man. But I hope you can finally find peace or as much peace as a Winchester can get.

Sorry I got carried away. But you deserve to know what an amazing man you are. And I guess I just wish you a very Merry Christmas, bitch.

I love you,

Dean

————

Sam looks up after having finished his letter and sees that everyone else seems to have finished theirs already. Through his own bleary eyes he notes that everyone sems to have gotten something similar to what he got, judging by the tear tracks and red rimmed eyes.

“Why would Dean do this?” Charlie asks, “he’s never been one to really open up about his feelings, so why now? And why all of us?”

Jody shoots him a worried look “You don’t think he would-”

“No, no, he wouldn’t. He was so excited to see all of you again. I haven’t seen him smile this much the last couple of months, ever since Cas-” Sam is quick to deny, before breaking off completely.

Everyone is looking at him worriedly, understanding what just went through his head.

“Guys! Look there’s one letter left on the table!” Jo exclaims holding it up so they can all see the name written on the envelope. Cas.

“Should we open it and find out what he wrote? Maybe it will tell us something of where Dean disappeared to?” Alex asks.

Jack speaks up before anyone else can say anything “We should let him read it himself.”

“Are ya-” Jack snaps his fingers before Donna can finish her sentence.

They have to close their eyes because of the blinding white light that fills the room. Once it dissipates, a person is standing in the middle of the room. The trench coat clad angel, is undeniably Cas.

Everyone is frozen in shock before Jack breaks the silence “This was supposed to be a Christmas present for everyone. I found a way to bring him back a few days ago and wanted to surprise you.” Jack says uncertainly at everyone’s silence.

Sam breaks out of his stupor first and pulls the angel into a hug. “I’ve missed you, Cas.”

Castiel returns the hug and says, “I’ve missed you as well Sam.”

After that everyone takes a turn hugging the angel, who seems a bit overwhelmed after everyone is done.

Castiel looks around before asking, “where is Dean? I would have thought he would be with all of you?”

Bobby answers the angel, “he’s been gone since we woke up this morning. We can’t find the idjit.”

“Dean’s gone?” Cas asks in a whisper.

“He left us all letters, but other than that we have no clue where he might be. Maybe you can find something in yours?” Garth says before handing the angel the envelope.

The angel takes it, staring at Dean’s scrawl of his name for a moment before turning it around and opening it. Everyone goes still as they watch the angels eyes flit across the words. There are tears slowly making their way down the angels cheeks, but when he comes to the end a smile takes over his face.

————

Cas’ letter:

Hey Cas,

Or should I start this the way you always did. Hello Cas. Okay no, that just sounds weird. Man, I miss your voice so much. I just- I miss you.

I know that you will never be able to read this, but I just have to get this off my chest. I never thought that everything would end like this. I thought we still had enough time. I thought I would be able to tell you once everything went down with Chuck. Why did I believe that I could get what I want? Fate has always fucked us over, hasn’t it? And now you’re gone. Again. But I don’t think you will come back this time. The kid said he’d be hands off. I’m happy we even got him to agree, to spend Christmas with us.

I can feel how Sammy looks at me. He’s worried. Rightfully so, I guess. Man, the first few weeks were horrible. I probably drank an entire truckload of alcohol. I just felt so, man I don’t even know how I feel. Sad I guess, though the company of the others has helped. They all miss you a lot, you know that. Maybe not. Maybe we should have made sure you really, truly felt accepted and loved by us. The alcohol helped to numb my feelings for a bit, but I don’t want your sacrifice to go to waste. Maybe that would make you come back. You would come back to life, just to kick me in the ass for dying after you sacrificed yourself for me.

And I’m also so angry. Because you could have told me. Why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me about the deal you made? We could have worked out a solution. Together.

I am not going to be angry about you sacrificing yourself for Jack, because I understand. I have done the same. Multiple times. And I would probably do it again. If I thought there was even a chance to bring you back like that. I would do it in a heartbeat. But I wish you had felt comfortable enough to tell me. I had hoped that I hadn’t made you feel like you couldn’t tell me what was going on in your life.

I’m not only angry at you, but also at myself. Because why did you think you couldn’t have me? That your true happiness was only in saying it. Because you could have had me. For years now. There has only been you. You never saw the way I was, the times you died. It was like I became a totally different person, anytime you died and then came back. Man, you are- were my happiness. With you gone I didn’t see a point in going forward. Other than being a tool to stop yet another apocalypse. You would probably hit me for even suggesting that I’m not worth much more than a tool, ‘Daddy’s blunt little instrument’, right? But I’m going to try to be better. For you.

Man, I miss you so much. I love you, Cas. And not like a brother or just as my best friend. I’m in love with you. Oh damn, that feels kind of good to get off my chest. I get it now. Why it made you so happy. Just saying it. But dammit. You could have had it, Cas. All of it. All of me.

I love you with all your quirks and oddities (are you proud of me for knowing that word?). I love the way you talk - also, man that voice, is that just you or Jimmy? I love that trench coat you grew so attached to. I love the way your hair never seems to lie flat and that you never really got the hang of getting your tie to lie right. I miss those blue eyes of yours. They seemed to always pull me in and never let me go. I don’t know if it was your angel heritage shining through, but they always seemed to glow. I hope you know that you also were never just a tool. That I didn’t want you around just because you were an angel. You were my best friend Cas. I loved you so damn much. Even before I admitted to myself that it wasn't just as a friend or a brother. But even then I never thought you could ever love me like that. I never thought that you could feel that way about little old me. I should have gotten the courage to tell you, a lot sooner.

And I hope that I can give justice to the man you saw in me. Because of your words I didn’t give in to Chuck’s goading (I bet you would be proud). I’ll try to be better. For you Cas, always for you.

I love you (always and forever),

Dean

PS: If you are ever able to read this and I’m not in the bunker or anywhere with our family. Look for me where it all began.

————

Looking up Cas exclaims “I think I know where he is.” Before he is gone with a flap of his wings. Everyone else is left confused, staring at the now empty spot.

Sam clears his throat, drawing the attention to him. “Well I guess we just proceed how we would have originally. Breakfast first and then presents. They will join us when they are ready to.”

And with that they move on with their original plans. But this time much lighter than before, in the knowledge that Dean and Cas will finally be able to talk.

—————

Dean is standing in the barn, when the doors suddenly fly open. The lights go up in sparks and Dean is thrown back to 12 years ago, when this happened the first time. Back then he didn’t know that the angel stalking towards him would become his best friend. The love of his life. His happiness.

Dean just stares in shock as Cas comes ever closer, until they are almost standing toe to toe.

“Are you really here?” Dean asks in wonder.

Cas smiles gently at him, “yeah I am. Hello, Dean.”

Dean chokes on a sob as he moves to pull Cas into a tight hug. Cas wraps his arms around Dean as well, pulling him impossible closer. They stand like that for an eternity, just holding each other close.

“You love me.” Cas whispers into Dean’s ear.

Dean pulls back to look into Cas’ eyes. “Yeah, I do. I love you, you idiot.”

“I love you too.” Cas says.

For a moment Dean freezes, fearing the worst, but when nothing happens, he lets out a sigh of relief.

“You’re here to stay?” Dean asks, uncertain.

Cas cups Dean’s cheek gently. “I am, yes. I’ll even ask Jack if he will make me human, so I can live out the rest of my life with you.”

Dean leans into Cas’ touch. “If that is what you want, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“Dean, I know that we still have a lot to talk about, but can I kiss you?” Cas questions.

“Of course, always.”

The next second they are kissing. Intertwined from head to toe. Holding each other close. Tears are making their way down both their faces. But not even an earthquake could stop them now. They finally have each other and they won’t let go for a very long time.