#I don't think I will be writing today as I don't feel like writing a character going through a dissociative/depersonalization episode

[downbadf0rficppl]

love in the dark

Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Summary: You're used to being Natasha's in the dark, where no one can see you, but what if all the hiding causes insecurities to rear their head and make you question if you are even good enough for this job?

Word Count: 12.5K (CRAZY IK)

AN: Maybe - definitely - OOC Natasha, but I wanted to get my annoyance out somewhere. It's been a long week *crying face*. Anyway, I can't write anything angsty (dk if I would classify this as angst angst but ya know) without a lil bit of fluff at the end so yh. Also sorry that the plot is a bit shit - I haven't reread this and it was a lil bit word-vomity?? Will reread and edit eventually haha. HEA, hurt/comfort vibes? :P

Take your eyes off of me so I can leave

I'm far too ashamed to do it with you watching me

The dim light of morning filters through the curtains as you quietly gather your things, your heart a tangled mess of emotions you’d rather not confront. Natasha’s apartment is always neat—pristine, even in its chaos—but today it feels colder than usual. The aftermath of the night lingers in the air: the weight of intimacy, of bodies pressed together, of shared moments that somehow don't leave a mark, yet always seem to hang over you.

You move with practiced ease, pulling on your clothes, the soft rustle of fabric breaking the stillness. Natasha’s absence from the bed doesn’t surprise you; she’s already up, probably training or doing some task to keep herself distracted, to keep from thinking about the mission, about what happened, about anything. You don’t blame her. You’ve seen the way she handles it—how she compartmentalizes her emotions, how sex is the one thing she doesn’t keep in a box.

The door to her bathroom creaks open as you finish zipping your jacket. She doesn’t look at you, her hair damp from a quick shower, her expression unreadable, almost distant. She grabs her black leather jacket from the chair, pulls it on, and heads to the kitchen, the clink of mugs the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

You take a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak, but the words always seem to hang on the tip of your tongue, trapped behind something you don’t know how to say. You're younger—years younger—and Natasha... well, Natasha never gives anything away. Not in the way you want her to. Her walls are solid, built from years of training, of being a weapon. And you? You’re just a moment, a fleeting thing in her life.

You find her standing by the window now, her back to you, her figure outlined against the early light. She’s always like this after missions, like she’s trying to rid herself of the weight, trying to get back to being Natasha again, instead of... whatever else she’s forced to be.

“Thanks for last night,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t turn to face you, doesn’t even acknowledge your words immediately. Then, as if the silence is too much to bear, she speaks. “You should go. Goodnight, baby.” Her voice is low, steady, but there's an edge to it—something you can’t quite place.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah. I know.”

You turn to leave, but something inside you twists, a knot in your stomach that isn’t just from the awkwardness. It’s the realization that, for all the time you’ve spent together, nothing will ever change. This is just routine—an unspoken agreement between the two of you. She'll keep using you to forget, and you’ll keep pretending this isn’t affecting you.

But Natasha doesn’t ask you to stay, doesn’t even look at you as you make your way toward the door. When you reach the threshold, you steal one last glance at her. Her eyes are on the window again, her face set in that familiar, unreadable expression.

You leave without a word, the door clicking softly behind you, and the silence that follows is deafening.

This is never ending, we have been here before

But I can't stay this time, 'cause I don't love you anymore

The quiet hum of the helicarrier was almost calming, the steady vibrations of the engines beneath your feet grounding you after a chaotic mission. You’d never felt more alive than when you were out there—fighting, taking down the bad guys, doing what SHIELD trained you to do. But tonight, that adrenaline wasn’t enough to silence the nagging feeling inside of you. You kept replaying the moments from the mission—the moments with Natasha.

The mission had gone smoothly. You had worked well together, flowing seamlessly as a team, and Natasha had even given you a rare, approving glance when it was all over. It had been a high-stakes op, but everything had fallen into place. When the mission was debriefed, there had been laughter, light-hearted jokes exchanged between agents, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Natasha.

Her touch had lingered, just a moment longer than necessary, when she passed you your gear. Her eyes had met yours once, a flicker of something in them. It was fleeting, but it was enough to make you wonder. Maybe she feels it too, you thought. The way she looked at you, the way she spoke—there was an intimacy in it, a spark you couldn’t quite ignore.

The night had unfolded with a casual invitation to meet in her room. No big deal, she’d said. Just to grab a drink, just to relax. But when you entered her room, it felt different. You both shed the weight of the mission in the space between words, the tension between you growing as the night went on. Her touch had been slow, almost gentle, when it first brushed against your skin. You’d been hesitant, unsure of what was happening, but she seemed so confident, so sure.

It wasn’t until later—after you were tangled up in each other, breathless, skin flushed—that you felt that spark you had hoped for. Maybe she was just as interested, just as real about this as you were. It wasn’t just a mission anymore, not just two agents getting the job done. There was a connection. There was something between you.

But when you stepped out of her room the next morning, something shifted in the air. The way she had casually kissed you on the cheek before you left, the way she didn’t ask you to stay, didn’t look at you the way you hoped—none of it was what you imagined.

Later, you passed a group of agents gathered in a corner of the mess hall, talking in low voices. You’d barely paid them any mind, too focused on your own thoughts, but then you heard it.

“I wonder who Nat picked this time,” one of them had said, laughing. 

“Probably one of the newbies who doesn’t know any better. Gets what she wants, and moves on. No strings attached.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, your heart sinking lower with every syllable. Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. The woman you had admired from a distance, the one you had trusted and looked up to, had just used you. And maybe—maybe you had been just another mission for her.

You couldn’t help but feel the sting of that realization. You had wanted more. You had convinced yourself that there was something more to it—that the way she held you, the way she whispered your name had meant something. But no. This was who she was. A lone wolf. Cold. Detached.

You didn’t say anything, of course. You just nodded, forcing yourself to accept what you had heard, forcing yourself to forget what had happened the night before. The optimism you had clung to began to die right then and there. This wasn’t a relationship. This wasn’t something that could grow or change.

You walked back to your quarters, the weight of the mission—and your heartache—settling in your chest. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was easier to be just one of the many in a string of forgettable faces. The night with Natasha had been a blip. No more, no less.

The next time you saw her, you kept your distance, smiled a little tighter, and allowed the walls to go up. There was no point in hoping for something more when you knew exactly how this worked. She was always a few steps ahead of you, always thinking of the next mission, the next fight, never lingering too long in one place.

And you? You learned to accept that. No strings attached. No expectations. Just the way things were.

Please, stay where you are

Don't come any closer

The clang of metal against metal echoed through the training room as you and Natasha sparred. The fight was almost second nature now—quick jabs, swift dodges, and the occasional, playful taunt thrown into the mix. You'd gotten better at handling the pressure, but still, when it came to Natasha, it was hard not to feel like you were always playing catch-up. She was faster, stronger, more experienced. Sometimes, it seemed like she was born to fight.

You threw a punch, aiming for her midsection, but she dodged it with effortless grace, countering with a sharp jab to your ribs. You grunted, stumbling back a step, but you didn’t let it throw you off. You pressed forward, more determined now.

“Not bad,” Natasha said with a smirk, her voice light. “But you’re still weak. You need me to save you again, huh?” She laughed, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

It was a joke, you knew that, or at least, you thought you did. But something about her words hit you differently today. You weren’t in the mood to laugh. You had been pushing yourself hard in training, trying to prove that you could handle it on your own, that you weren’t just some rookie who was always under Natasha’s shadow.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the growing frustration that bubbled in your chest. You swung again, but this time, you missed her entirely. She dodged it effortlessly and caught your wrist in a hold that felt too tight.

“Still not enough,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I should give you some more training lessons. You know, to make sure I don’t have to keep saving you.”

The joke, the lightness in her voice, it only made you more upset. “Maybe I don’t need saving,” you snapped, trying to pull your wrist free from her grip, your temper flaring. “Maybe I can handle things on my own for once.”

Natasha’s smirk faltered, but she kept her hold firm. “Maybe I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Deep down you knew it was a joke, but it wasn’t funny to you—not today. Not when you already felt the weight of everyone’s whispers hanging over you like a shadow. She’s only here because she’s sleeping with Natasha. She’s nothing without her. Every agent seemed to think the same thing. Even some of your own teammates seemed to treat you like you were just an afterthought, a placeholder who only got the mission because of who you knew, not because of your skill.

You had always tried to prove them wrong. But when Natasha said things like that, it felt like all your efforts were for nothing. Like all of it was just... a joke.

You yanked your arm out of her grip and stepped back, glaring at her. “I don’t need you to save me, Natasha. I don’t need anyone.”

Her expression shifted, the playful edge in her eyes dimming. She didn’t understand. Of course she didn’t. She didn’t hear the things you heard, didn’t feel the weight of the judgment you carried every day. To her, this was just another training session, another moment of playful teasing. But to you? It was like being backed into a corner, your confidence slowly slipping away with every word.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Natasha said, her voice sharp now. “You know I’m just messing with you. Stop getting so moody.”

It stung more than it should’ve. You clenched your fists at your sides, holding back the urge to walk out of the room, to leave her there without another word.

But you didn’t. You just stood there, feeling the walls close in around you.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. “You think I’m just here for the fun of it. That I can’t do anything without you. You don’t even see it.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed, and she let out a frustrated sigh, dropping her stance. “You’re being overly sensitive.”

You felt the words cut deep, the sting of her dismissal more painful than you wanted to admit. The last thing you wanted was for her to see you as some emotional mess. But it was too late. You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the ache of being ignored, dismissed, and reduced to nothing more than a pawn in her world.

“Fine,” you snapped, unable to stop the words from spilling out. “Maybe I should just go. You don’t need to deal with my mood anymore.”

Natasha didn’t even flinch at your outburst. Instead, she looked at you with a cold indifference. “Then fuck off,” she said bluntly, as if you were just another irritation, another moment she couldn’t be bothered with.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, trying to make sense of it. She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand why you were so angry, why you felt so small in that moment. And you realized, with a sinking feeling in your stomach, that maybe she never would.

You turned and walked away without another word, your chest tight, your emotions a storm inside of you. You didn’t even know where you were going, but you couldn’t stay there, not with her. Not now.

Don't try to change my mind

I'm being cruel to be kind

The words hit like a slap in the face.

You hadn’t meant to overhear it. You had only walked into the SHIELD briefing room to check on some mission updates when Agent Ryder’s voice cut through the air, low but unmistakable.

You could feel the sting of his dismissive tone reverberating in your bones. Nepotism. The word had echoed in your head long after he’d left, taunting you. You knew the truth—your guardian wasn’t some high-ranking official, wasn’t some big shot with connections—but still, how could they say that? How could they reduce your hard work to just that? To nothing but the connections you didn’t even ask for?

You had always tried to prove yourself. Every mission, every task, every step forward was to show you deserved to be here, that you weren’t just some token agent or a pawn in a bigger game. You had trained harder than anyone. You had put in the hours, learned everything you could, sacrificed the same as everyone else. But still, every time you turned around, someone else was whispering behind your back, casting doubt on your worth.

And then there was Natasha. Her teasing had been the last straw. You had tried to laugh it off, to pretend it didn’t bother you, but you knew deep down that the way she dismissed you—it was just another reminder that you were expendable. You weren’t one of them. You were just... a mistake in the system.

So when you walked into the training room the next morning and saw Natasha leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking as relaxed and confident as ever, something inside you snapped.

You didn’t go to her like you usually did. You didn’t smile, didn’t offer the usual greeting. Instead, you simply nodded once, cold and distant.

“Something wrong?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow as she stepped forward.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you turned away from her, grabbing your gear and adjusting it with deliberate care. The silence stretched between you both. You could feel her eyes on you, studying you, waiting for an explanation, but you didn’t owe her one. Not anymore. Not after everything.

“You’re still upset about yesterday, huh?” Natasha’s voice was softer now, but there was an edge to it. A warning, maybe. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

You ignored her, shoving your focus back into the task at hand, determined not to let her see the way your chest tightened. You didn’t want to feel weak. You didn’t want her to know how much her words hurt. You were done with this—done with pretending, done with leaning on her. You were going to prove yourself. You had to.

A few moments passed before Natasha stepped closer, frustration creeping into her tone. “If you don’t stop this, we’re going to have a problem.”

You turned to face her then, finally looking her in the eyes, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “No. We’re not going to have a problem. I’m done with this.” You swallowed the bitter taste in your mouth. “I’m done with you. I’m tired of being treated like I’m some kind of charity case. Like I don’t belong here unless I’m under your shadow.”

Natasha’s face shifted, confusion flashing in her eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You took a step back, your voice rising in frustration. “You think it’s funny, don’t you? All of it. The way you make fun of me. Like it’s just a joke. Well, it’s not. I’ve been busting my ass here, and all you do is remind me that everyone thinks I’m just some charity case. Nepotism. You think that’s a joke? You think I need you to save me?”

Natasha’s expression hardened, her gaze flickering to the side, and then back to you. She crossed her arms, clearly trying to hold her composure. But there was something in her eyes—something tight, something hurt.

“Is this about yesterday?” she asked, her tone sharper now, but there was a hint of concern buried underneath. “You’re overreacting.”

“I’m not overreacting!” You shot back, unable to hold it in anymore. “You don’t get to dismiss me and then act like nothing happened. I’m not some... some... tool for you to use whenever you want. I’m not some kid you get to play with and forget about when it’s convenient.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, thick with tension. Natasha’s jaw tightened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You think this is about me using you? You think I’m using you? Is that what you really think?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah. That’s what I think.”

Natasha’s eyes flickered with anger, her usual calm demeanor slipping for just a moment. She shook her head, disbelief and frustration written all over her face. “You’ve got it all wrong. But fine, if that’s how you feel, then go ahead. Go prove yourself, like you keep saying you will. But don’t come crawling back to me when you realize you can’t do it alone.”

The words stung, but it was the way she turned and walked away—cold, final—that hit you the hardest. You felt the knot in your chest tighten, but you didn’t call after her. You couldn’t.

You spent the rest of the day avoiding her, your mind racing with doubt and anger. It wasn’t about the mission, not really. It was about feeling like you were fighting a battle on your own, with no one in your corner. The more you tried to distance yourself, the more you realized how much you needed her, even if it hurt to admit it.

But you were stubborn. You had to prove to yourself that you weren’t just here because of someone else. You weren’t going to be Natasha’s shadow anymore.

You couldn’t.

You have given me something that I can't live without

You mustn't underestimate that when you are in doubt

The morning briefing had gone smoothly, the usual debriefing about mission parameters, objectives, and exit strategies. But there was an undercurrent of tension you couldn’t shake. It was just a solo mission—nothing too difficult, Natasha had said, and you knew the protocol well. But the moment she had pulled out, just hours before takeoff, something in your gut twisted.

"It doesn't need to be a two-person mission," Natasha had said with her usual casual smile, but it hadn’t reached her eyes. "It’s easy. You’ve got this." Her voice had sounded almost dismissive, as if she hadn’t been training with you for months, as if she didn’t know how much you relied on her presence during missions. You knew Natasha wasn’t one for emotional goodbyes, but the absence of that small gesture—her usual good luck kiss before every mission—felt like a sign. You had never gone on a mission without one, and now, as you stood alone in the SHIELD hangar, you realized just how much you had come to rely on it.

She hadn’t even given you a heads-up, hadn’t said goodbye with her usual teasing smirk or reassuring look. It’s an easy mission, you told yourself. You don’t need her this time. But the unease in your chest told you otherwise.

You tugged the straps of your gear tighter, glancing once more at the aircraft. The mission was supposed to be straightforward: infiltrate a small criminal syndicate operating out of a hidden base in the mountains, retrieve intel, and get out. You’d handled worse. But you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something was off. Your instincts were screaming at you, and for once, you weren’t willing to ignore them.

You checked your wristwatch again. The flight would take a few hours, leaving you with time to prepare mentally, but all you could think about was Natasha. The way she had waved you off with barely a second glance, as if you didn’t matter enough for a goodbye. You tried not to dwell on it. After all, Natasha didn’t do sentiment. But the emptiness in your chest was hard to ignore.

Maybe she’s just busy. Maybe she’s just focused on something else. But none of that helped. You were used to her being there with you, a reassuring presence by your side. You needed her, especially when the missions were dangerous—especially when you felt the weight of the world bearing down on you. But now, you were alone, and that felt heavier than you expected.

As the helicopter’s engines roared to life, you settled back into your seat, trying to center yourself. This mission wasn’t supposed to be difficult. You could do this alone, you kept telling yourself. But something about it didn’t feel right. Maybe it was Natasha pulling out at the last minute. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn't given you her usual kiss for luck, the one that always helped you steady your nerves before a mission. But whatever it was, it gnawed at you. Your instincts were telling you to watch your back. Something wasn’t adding up.

By the time you arrived at the drop zone, the helicopter had been quiet for too long. The mountainside stretched ahead, vast and intimidating, and the cold wind carried the promise of danger. You could see the hidden compound from the air—well-guarded, heavily fortified, and far from any backup. A simple mission, Natasha had called it.

You didn’t believe that for a second.

The drop was smooth, and you quickly moved into position, your boots crunching against the frozen ground. The area around the compound was still and eerily quiet. Too quiet. No guards on patrol. No sign of life. It didn’t make sense, but you pushed the unease aside. You had a job to do.

You made your way toward the compound, slipping into the shadows, the cold air biting at your skin. Every step felt calculated, but the tension in your shoulders refused to loosen. You kept glancing over your shoulder, as if expecting Natasha to appear and tell you everything was fine, that this was just another mission to add to the books.

But she wasn’t there.

You reached the compound’s perimeter and found the first guard’s post abandoned, his gear left behind but no sign of a struggle. There was no time to waste. You slipped inside, working quickly to disable the security systems and hack into the mainframe. The room you’d accessed was silent, save for the whir of the computers. As you pulled the intel from the servers, the cold feeling in your gut only grew.

Something wasn’t right. Your instincts had been spot-on—this mission had been a setup.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching. You froze, turning off the monitor and moving swiftly toward the exit. You didn’t have time to think. You just had to get out. The sudden realization hit you like a punch in the stomach—Natasha wasn’t here for a reason. She’d known this mission wasn’t as easy as it seemed. And now you were paying the price for going in blind, without her by your side.

Your heart pounded as you sprinted for cover, your mind racing. Every corner you turned felt like a trap. The compound was alive with activity now. You could hear voices, shouts, the sounds of boots hitting the concrete floor.

I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have trusted this mission without her.

You ducked into an alcove, pressing your back to the cold wall, your breath shallow. The door to the room you’d just vacated opened with a quiet click, and a group of armed men poured in, searching for you. The walls seemed to close in on you as the adrenaline kicked in. You had to move, had to get out, or you would be trapped.

Suddenly, your body started to droop, collapsing against the wall behind. The last thing you saw before everything went dark was long red hair tied into a bun. 

But I don't want to carry on like everything is fine

The longer we ignore it, all the more that we will fight

You woke to the sting of cold water splashing across your face, the shock of it making your body jerk awake, muscles aching with the memory of the fight. The pain was sharp, gnawing at your ribs and shoulders, each breath a struggle. The world around you was blurred, and all you could focus on was the weight pressing down on your chest.

Your eyes opened, blurry at first, and then the details started to sharpen: concrete walls, dim lighting, and the cold, oppressive silence that clung to the room. There were metal chairs around you, all empty but one. The leader of the enemy force, a tall man with a face carved from stone, stood before you, a smug look on his face as he held the bucket that had been your rude awakening.

He tossed the remaining ice water in your direction, a small slosh hitting your face as he watched you with cold, calculating eyes. “You’re a tough one,” he said in a low, mocking voice. “I didn’t think you’d last this long. But everyone cracks eventually, don’t they?”

Your throat was dry, and your tongue felt like it was made of sandpaper. You could feel the blood caked on your face, the bruises that were already starting to swell. But despite the pain, despite the overwhelming urge to break, you held your ground. You glared up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in your eyes.

“You’ve got nothing to say?” the man sneered. “You SHIELD agents are all the same. So loyal. So stupid. You’re all just waiting for your little friends to come save you, aren’t you?”

Your lips pressed together tightly, and you refused to let a single word slip from them. You couldn’t afford to give him anything. Not a single piece of intel, not even a whimper. You knew that if you did, it would all be over.

He stepped closer, placing a booted foot against your thigh, forcing you back against the cold concrete. The pressure was almost unbearable, but you didn’t flinch. The silence between you both stretched, thick and heavy, until he finally gave a humorless laugh and straightened up. “I can wait. All of you are the same. Eventually, you’ll break.”

But you didn’t.

The next few days bled together in a haze of cold, pain, and isolation. The room was a blur of steel, concrete, and fluorescent lights. There were no windows, no sense of time. Your body was sore, covered in cuts and bruises, and the hunger gnawed at you. But you couldn’t give in. Not now. Not when you knew someone would come for you.

They’ll come. They have to.

Every time they came in, it was the same—questions, threats, taunts. And every time, you remained silent. You couldn’t let them know how desperate you were. You couldn’t let them see you break. Even if every part of you screamed for help, you stayed resolute, hoping that somehow, someone would find you, someone would come and end this.

But no one did.

It was only when the fourth day passed, when the darkness of the room had become your world, that you started to feel the weight of your own mind closing in. The silence, the isolation, the constant threat of pain—it started to take a toll on you. The hunger gnawed at your insides, and your thoughts drifted in and out. You could still hear his voice echoing in your head: They’ll come for you. They’ll come...

It was on the sixth day that it happened. A crack in the door. The low hum of voices. The sound of boots. You didn’t move at first, couldn’t. But then, just like that, the door swung open, and a small team of SHIELD agents burst in, guns drawn. They moved quickly, efficiently, sweeping the room and securing the area. You didn’t even have the energy to react as they cut through the restraints on your wrists and helped you to your feet.

"Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe now,” one of them murmured, gently pulling you into their arms.

But the words didn’t register. You could hear them, but it was like they were coming from another world. You felt light-headed, your body numb, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you. Your mouth was dry, but you didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

The next few days were a blur of recovery, of medical checks and debriefings that you couldn’t bring yourself to respond to. Every word felt like it was coming from a place far outside of you, and you couldn’t find the strength to answer.

In the quiet, isolated room they had put you in at the base, you sat in silence, staring blankly at the wall. Every noise around you felt too loud. Every touch too much. They gave you time to recover, but you couldn’t shake the heaviness in your chest. Your mind had shut down, your body running on autopilot.

There were no words. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak. The trauma, the isolation, everything that had happened—it left you feeling hollow. Broken.

You didn’t speak at all for days, your body recovering, but your mind still trapped in the darkness of that cold room. The cold man’s words echoed in your head. You’re all waiting for someone to come save you.

But even as the team tried to coax you into talking, even as they brought you your favorite food and gave you the space to recover, the silence remained.

Natasha didn’t come. She wasn’t there when you needed her, and the weight of that felt heavier than any physical wound. It wasn’t her fault. You knew that. But somehow, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still alone.

Your recovery was slow. You weren’t the same person when you were finally cleared to leave the facility. There was a coldness in your eyes, a distance in your posture. The silence you had once embraced had become a shield, and now, it was all you had.

Natasha had visited you once during your recovery. She hadn’t said much, just sat in silence beside you. But even when she reached out to touch your hand, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The trauma had built walls too high, too thick to break. And no one, not even Natasha, could find their way through.

You were alive, yes. But the silence that followed felt like it would never end.

Please, don't fall apart

I can't face your breaking heart

The sterile scent of the hospital room, the constant hum of machines, and the bright, white lights overhead did little to make you feel at ease. You stared at the ceiling, your gaze unfocused, your mind a swirling mess of everything that had happened. You couldn’t bring yourself to do anything. You didn’t feel like you were living—just existing, going through the motions. Every movement felt like an effort, and the space around you felt too small, too suffocating.

You hadn’t spoken since the rescue. Not to anyone. The silence, once a comfort, had become a prison you couldn’t escape. Your throat was raw from the lack of words, and when you closed your eyes, you could still see the cold walls of that room, the mocking face of the enemy leader, and the weight of the isolation pressing down on you.

The door opened, and you didn’t look up. You knew who it was before the first words even registered.

“Are you seriously ignoring me?”

The voice was sharp, familiar, cutting through the fog that had settled around your brain. Natasha.

You didn't respond. You couldn’t. Your mind was screaming for you to stay quiet, to not let her in, because the moment you spoke, you knew it would shatter the wall you’d built to protect yourself. But Natasha didn’t wait for a response. She stormed into the room, her boots heavy on the floor, her expression tight with frustration.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for days,” Natasha continued, her voice rising with every word. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? I can’t believe you’re acting like this. It’s been weeks. You’re acting like a damn child, and I’m done with it. I don’t have time for this immature bullshit, especially from you.”

Your chest tightened, a knot of anger and confusion building inside you, but you refused to show it. You couldn’t. You knew better than to let her see the storm inside you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t follow your schedule,” you said, your voice flat and devoid of emotion. You couldn’t bring yourself to add any more, any more than the words that barely scraped out. Sorry for being alive, sorry for failing.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she took a few steps closer, standing at the side of your bed. Her face was hard, her anger not hiding the concern that still flickered beneath. “You think this is easy for me, too? That I just get to pretend nothing happened? That I’m supposed to just let you wallow in here like—like this?” Her voice broke slightly, but she quickly regained her composure. “This is fucking ridiculous, and I’m not going to stand here and watch you ruin everything you’ve worked for. Do you understand me? You’re going to lose everything.”

The sting of her words cut deep, but it was the accusation in her tone that truly hit you. The one that had been festering in your chest ever since you’d been dragged out of that hellhole. You weren’t who you thought you were. You weren’t the person who deserved this life. The dream job, the recognition, the chance to be someone worth a damn—none of it was meant for you. Not after everything that had happened. You weren’t strong enough to keep it all, to be who they thought you were. And Natasha—Natasha, who had always been a silent pillar of strength for you, was now reminding you how easily it could all be taken away.

Her words stung. Immature... Ruin everything... You could feel the weight of her disappointment settle into your chest like a stone, heavier than anything you had ever felt.

And then, it clicked.

The final straw broke. Natasha didn’t understand. She didn’t understand the extent of what had happened to you—the isolation, the pain, the days spent waiting for someone to find you, and the crushing feeling that no one would. You were broken, and she was treating it like it was just a phase. That you just needed to snap out of it.

But you couldn’t.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, the pain from your injuries flaring in protest, but you pushed through. You weren’t sure where you were going, but you couldn’t stay here any longer. You had to leave. You had to escape the judgment, the expectations. You couldn’t pretend to be strong anymore.

“Don’t walk away from me!” Natasha snapped, but you were already moving. You couldn’t be near her right now. The anger, the betrayal—it was all too much.

Ignoring her calls, you grabbed the nearest coat, not caring that it didn’t quite fit right, and you made your way out of the room. You could hear her following you, her footsteps echoing behind you, but you didn’t turn around. You didn’t owe her anything anymore.

You didn’t owe anyone anything.

It didn’t take long to get to the secure office where you had to sign a few papers before they cleared your discharge. You barely registered the words the agent at the desk was saying. You barely noticed the fact that your fingers were trembling. You only had one thing on your mind—the resignation letter you had been drafting in your head for days.

You placed it on the desk in front of the agent, your hands shaking slightly as you slid the paper over to them. The words were short and to the point, and they made everything feel so final. So irreversible.

“I’m resigning,” you said, voice hoarse. “Effective immediately.”

The agent didn’t ask questions. They just nodded, their face unreadable, and then went about processing the paperwork. You watched, numb, as the reality of it all settled over you like a weight that you could never lift. You had dreamed of this job for so long, had worked so hard to get here, only to throw it all away because you didn’t deserve it anymore.

And in that moment, you felt everything you’d been holding in for weeks. The grief. The betrayal. The isolation. It all came rushing back, but you didn’t cry. You couldn’t cry. The numbness, the emptiness, it was all you had now.

You stood up, turning away from the desk, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sense of finality wash over you. No turning back.

It wasn’t until you were almost out the door that you heard Natasha’s voice again, this time softer, more desperate. “Wait.”

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

The door shut behind you with a soft click, and the world outside felt both too big and too small at the same time. You were alone now. Completely, irrevocably alone.

And somehow, that felt like the only truth you could rely on anymore.

I'm trying to be brave

Stop asking me to stay

Clint’s sharp eyes caught you before you could make it out of the door, his footsteps quick as he crossed the hallway. He was dressed in his usual casual gear, a quiver slung over his shoulder, his expression a mix of concern and frustration.

“Hey, wait,” Clint said, his voice softer than it usually was when he called someone out. You didn’t stop. Your feet kept moving, your heart hammering as you tried to escape. But Clint was relentless. He grabbed your arm gently but firmly, turning you around to face him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice laced with something like disappointment. “You can’t just walk out on everything. Nat’s worried sick.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy, exhausted. “I don’t need anyone’s pity,” you muttered, your voice strained. “Not hers, not anyone's. Just... just leave me alone.”

Clint studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing with understanding. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a quieter corner, away from the main corridors, where he knew you wouldn’t be overheard.

"Look," Clint said, his voice lower now, softer but still firm, "I don’t know what kind of crap Nat's been feeding you, but I can tell you're hurting. You think you can just walk away from everything, like it’ll make things better? You think that's gonna fix anything?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t bring yourself to. But Clint didn’t need an answer.

“I hear things,” Clint went on. “I’ve been around long enough to know when someone’s trying to hide something. And I’ve been in the rafters during most of those 'training' sessions with Nat. You think you’re the only one who feels small, huh?” His voice turned bitter, a subtle edge to it. “You think you’re the only one she’s pushed away?”

You stared at him, shocked, unable to respond. Clint saw right through you. He knew what was happening, and he wasn’t going to let it slide.

“She’s been messing with your head, hasn’t she?” Clint said. “Somehow, you think you’re not good enough, that you don’t belong here. You think everything you’ve done has been handed to you on a silver platter because of her. Well, let me tell you something—that’s not true.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you still didn’t speak. It was like you couldn’t find the words. The guilt, the shame, the feeling of never measuring up to the expectations—they all churned in your stomach.

Clint let out a long, frustrated sigh, his eyes softening. “You’re good enough,” he said, his tone firm, but there was an understanding there that made your throat tighten. “You’ve earned every bit of your place here. And if she can't see that, then she's the one who’s in the wrong. It’s not about who you know or who you're sleeping with. You’re here because of you. Don’t you ever forget that.”

You felt the tears welling up, but you forced them back, swallowing the lump in your throat. Clint’s words had landed hard, and it was like a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding was finally being released. But before you could say anything, Clint stepped closer, lowering his voice even more.

“Natasha…” Clint trailed off, his jaw tightening. “She’s been a mess lately. She’s scared—scared of losing you, scared of messing things up. But she doesn’t know how to apologize for anything. She’s been pushing you away because she’s too afraid to admit what she’s done. So yeah, she's been selfish. But you can’t just run away from everything. You deserve better than that."

Your heart twisted at his words, and for a moment, you felt that familiar pang of wanting to believe everything he said. But the hurt was still there, the feeling of being abandoned in your most vulnerable moment. You didn’t trust yourself enough to believe that you were the one who mattered.

Clint left you with a small pat on your shoulder - he couldn’t blame you for wanting to leave, he just wanted you to know the truth that Nat definitely wasn’t going to tell you. Now to chew her out. It didn’t take long for Clint to find her. Natasha was pacing the hall just outside, her face etched with frustration. The second Clint approached her, she shot him a glare.

“Where the hell is she?” Natasha demanded, her voice tight with anxiety. “You didn’t—”

Clint held up a hand to stop her. “Sit down,” he ordered. “And listen. I’m done with you thinking you can just brush this off like it’s nothing.”

Natasha’s jaw clenched, but she stood still. Clint’s eyes were hard, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t holding back.

“You’ve been treating her like shit, Natasha,” Clint continued, his voice rising just enough to get her attention. “You think she’s the problem? That she’s just acting ‘immature’ or ‘childish’? Look around you for two seconds. You’ve been pushing her away, making her feel like she’s not good enough, like she doesn’t deserve anything she’s worked for. You’ve been feeding her insecurities—her real ones—with your own mess. And, she’s traumatised. Those guys out there, the ones that tortured her for six days because she went in without an extraction plan”

Natasha opened her mouth to argue, but Clint cut her off with a sharp motion.

“I hear things,” Clint said. “I’m up in the rafters sometimes. I hear the crap that other people say about her when they think no one’s listening. They question her place on the team because her dad was an officer in Fury’s good graces, or because they think you play favourites with her. They don’t realise that you’ve got something else going on, but all that shit compounded. You’ve made one of our best agents question everything about herself.”

Natasha’s face went pale, her expression shifting from anger to guilt in an instant. “Clint, I—”

“You’re lucky she didn’t quit sooner, Natasha. You’ve been so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you didn’t see how bad she was hurting.” Clint’s words hit like a slap. “Now go find her. And you better make this right, because if you don’t Fury is gonna be pissed.” The ‘and I’ went unspoken.

We're not the only ones, I don't regret a thing

Every word I've said, you know I'll always mean

Natasha stopped at the entrance of Tony’s stupid ‘serenity garden’. It was the last place she had left to look, and it looked like luck was on her side. You were sitting on one of the benches in the corner, your back to her as you stared into the depths of the Koi pond. It was like you were a part of the landscape now, blending into the tranquility of the place. Natasha felt her throat tighten at the sight. You looked so small, so vulnerable, so distant. She had never seen you like this—not once. It was always her who had the walls up, not you.

She took a cautious step forward, the grass underfoot crunching softly as she neared you.

Natasha called your name softly, her voice hesitant, like she was testing the waters. You didn’t respond immediately, and for a brief second, Natasha was unsure if you had even heard her. The silence between you felt thick, almost unbearable. She sat down beside you, not too close, but close enough that she hoped you could feel her presence.

It wasn’t the same as before—when she had always known what to say to you, when her words had always been sure, always laced with a confidence that kept her safe. But now? Now she had no idea how to begin. Her usual sharp tongue had failed her. There were no easy words to break the ice this time, no snarky jokes to hide behind. Only you—and the wreckage she had left in her wake.

You turned your head just slightly, enough to see her. The surprise in your eyes caught her off guard. You’re surprised to see me here, Natasha realized. You didn’t expect her to come. You didn’t expect her to care enough to seek you out.

And for the first time ever, Natasha didn’t know what to say.

Her mind was racing, every thought colliding into the next. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She glanced at you, her expression filled with uncertainty. She could feel the weight of everything she had said, everything she had done, everything she had failed to do. The words that had always come so easily to her were nowhere to be found now. It was as if the depth of your hurt had trapped her, left her speechless, helpless.

You, on the other hand, hadn’t moved, hadn’t turned to face her entirely, but your gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than usual. You could sense her struggle—Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, speechless for the first time in your memory.

“Nat?” you finally said, the question carrying more weight than it should. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice, hoarse and small, like the person you had been before all of this had come crashing down.

She looked at you, the smallest glimmer of relief flickering in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced with the same guilt she had been carrying for days now.

“I…” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to say.”

You blinked at her, surprised. This was the first time you’d ever seen Natasha lost for words. You’d always been the one fumbling for the right thing to say, the one who couldn’t figure out how to get past the pain. But she—Natasha Romanoff, the one who always had control, always knew how to navigate even the most dangerous situations—she was the one who was struggling now.

It was like the world had shifted, and the unshakable woman you had always known had suddenly become... human.

It is the world to me that you are in my life

But I want to live and not just survive

Her voice was soft, as if the weight of everything she had been holding was finally catching up with her. “I messed up,” she said quietly. “I messed up, baby. And I... I don’t know how to make it right.”

Your chest ached as her words hit you. The vulnerability in her eyes was raw, and it took everything in you to keep the tears from falling.

“I’ve been a mess,” Natasha continued, her eyes looking straight ahead, not daring to meet yours. “I didn’t realize how badly I was hurting you... And I was so wrapped up in my own shit that I just—I pushed you away. I thought you’d be fine. I thought you’d understand. But I see now that I made everything worse.”

You swallowed, the words feeling like they weighed a ton in your chest. You couldn’t speak, not yet. But you turned your head slightly to face her, your gaze still unreadable.

“I never wanted to make you feel like you don’t belong here,” Natasha said, her voice breaking slightly. “I never wanted you to think that you were here because of me, or that you weren’t good enough.” Her lips tightened, frustration and regret flooding her features. “I just—I didn’t know how to deal with my own feelings. And I made you think I didn’t care. But I do. I care. I care about you more than you could ever know.”

The silence stretched out between you both, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Natasha felt small. Her pride, her strength—all the things that had always defined her—were gone, stripped away by the vulnerability of this moment.

You glanced at her, studying her face. It was like you were seeing her for the first time—broken, fragile, and unsure.

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to feel the smallest sliver of hope.

“I don’t know if you can fix this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But I need you to know something, Natasha. I needed you. And you—you—were the one who turned away.”

Her chest tightened at the weight of your words, but she didn’t flinch. She nodded slowly, accepting the truth, knowing it wasn’t something that could be undone in a moment. The air between you and Natasha felt heavy with words you couldn’t articulate. You had remained silent for so long, allowing her apology to linger in the air like a fragile thing—something too delicate to touch, to hold onto. But now, with the weight of her words pressing down on you, you couldn’t remain silent any longer.

“I’m leaving,” you said, the words steady, though they felt like they weighed a thousand pounds in your chest. You weren’t sure why you were telling her this now, but you had to. You had to make it real, to take control of something in your life again.

“I’m transferring,” you added, your voice quiet but firm. “I’m going to Quantico. I’ll be working with the FBI as a consultant. It’s not what I thought I’d be doing, but... I don’t deserve to be here anymore. I got the hint.”

The words felt like a confession, a goodbye you hadn’t yet found the courage to say. There had been so many dreams—so many things you’d imagined for yourself at SHIELD. You had fought for them, worked tirelessly, sacrificed for them. But now, they felt like they were slipping away.

Natasha didn’t say anything at first. She didn’t even look at you. Her eyes were fixed on the ground, like she was trying to find the words. You knew what she’d say. She’d tell you that you were making a mistake, that you had so much potential. But it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would fix what had been broken.

You could feel the emotions swirling inside of you, but you had already made your decision. It was easier to walk away, easier than confronting everything that had gone wrong.

But then, she spoke. And it was different from anything you’d expected.

“You’re the best SHIELD has to offer,” Natasha said, her voice steady, though there was an underlying urgency in it. “You’re the best agent we’ve got, baby. I... I don’t think you see it. You’ve done things that people can’t even dream of. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. You’ve earned your place here. And I know I haven’t made it easy for you, but you belong here.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t quite comprehend what she was saying. Her voice was fierce now, insistent, and you could hear the raw sincerity in it. But none of it felt real. None of it felt true, not in the way you needed it to.

“I don’t believe you,” you said, your voice quiet, almost lost in the distance between you. “I don’t think I’ve ever truly belonged here. Not in the way you think. I’m not you, Nat. I’m not cut from the same cloth. I’m just—me. And I’ve been holding on to a dream that doesn’t fit. Not anymore.”

Natasha’s expression faltered. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words died on her tongue. She could feel your resolve, could see how broken you were, how done you seemed. It was like you had already left—mentally, emotionally, even before physically walking away.

Her chest tightened. “Baby, listen—"

But you shook your head, cutting her off. “Whatever you’re going to say, Nat, I’ve heard it all.” You inhaled sharply, the words rushing out. “And I’ve finally started hearing what’s been said. And now I’m seeing what’s been true all along. I’m not enough, no matter how hard I try. No matter how much I give. And you... you’ve made it clear that I’ll never be anything but a second choice. I was just a comfort to you, a distraction. You made me feel like I needed to prove myself—like I needed to earn my place, but I did. I did, and it never mattered.”

There was a pause. Natasha’s lips trembled, the harshness of your words sinking in. She knew she had been wrong, knew she had made everything worse. But hearing you speak this way—so broken, so defeated—it shattered something deep inside her.

"Please..." Natasha's voice faltered, her tough exterior cracking. She reached out toward you, but the gesture was hesitant, unsure. “I never meant for it to be like this. I never wanted to make you feel—”

You pulled away, standing up slowly, the decision final in your mind. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve made my choice. I’m leaving. And I don’t think you’ll miss me that much anyway. It’s easier to pretend like you don’t need anyone than to admit you might be wrong about something.”

That's why I can't love you in the dark

It feels like we're oceans apart

Before you could take another step, you felt a hand grip yours. Warm, strong, and unyielding. Natasha had caught up with you, her fingers laced around yours, holding you in place. You didn’t turn around. You weren’t sure you wanted to face her again, not after everything that had been said, not after the rawness that she had exposed.

Natasha’s voice was softer now as she called your name, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it. “Please, just—don’t walk away yet.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing pulse, but it was hard when every part of you wanted to run. You didn’t stop, but neither did she.

Her grip tightened, pulling you back just a little, her touch sending a mix of warmth and tension straight through you. When she spoke again, her voice wasn’t the confident agent you were used to, the one who had always kept her emotions under lock and key. There was something different now, something uncertain, almost as if she wasn’t sure of her place in your world anymore.

“I’ve messed up,” Natasha continued, her voice shaking with emotion. “I know I pushed you too hard. I know I made you feel like you weren’t enough, like you didn’t belong here, and... I did that because I wanted you to be the best. I wanted you to be safe. I was afraid that if anything happened to you—if I lost you on a mission, I—I don’t think I could survive it.”

You could feel her breath, the rise and fall of her chest close behind you, but you didn’t turn around. Not yet. Her words hit you like a wave crashing into the shore, raw and jagged, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to process them.

“I pushed you because I was scared. And in trying to protect you... I ended up pushing you away,” she whispered, the confession hanging in the air, the depth of it too much to ignore. “I was wrong. I’m sorry. I was so so wrong.”

The air between you both was thick with everything she had just said, and you stood there for a long moment, processing it all. But it wasn’t enough, not yet. You couldn’t bring yourself to face her—not yet.

“I don’t know how to forgive you for this, Natasha,” you said, your voice a mixture of anger and hurt. It wasn’t snark this time, no biting sarcasm, just raw emotion. "The only time something terrible happened to me, something that almost killed me, was when you abandoned me. You made the call. You didn’t show up. I was out there, all alone, and you weren’t there when I needed you most.”

Your chest tightened as you spoke, the hurt pouring out like it always had, but now it was different. Now, it wasn’t just anger. It was a deep, aching sadness that threatened to drown you. And despite yourself, you couldn’t stop the words from coming. “You made me feel like I wasn’t worth it. Like I wasn’t worth anything.”

You could feel Natasha’s breath hitch behind you, the weight of your words striking her deep. She didn’t say anything at first, and when you finally turned around, you saw the truth in her eyes—guilt, sorrow, and a pain you hadn’t expected. The sight of it, the way her face crumpled in on itself, broke something inside you.

Her hand fell away from yours, but it wasn’t because she wanted to let go. It was because she was shaking, trembling with emotion that she could no longer hold in. And then you saw it—tears. Two, maybe three, glistening on her cheeks. Natasha Romanoff, the unshakable Black Widow, was crying.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered, her voice quivering. “I didn’t. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to make you feel abandoned. I... I couldn’t bear the thought of you in danger. But... I hurt you worse by pushing you away.”

For the first time in all the years you’d known her, you saw Natasha unraveling in front of you, breaking apart piece by piece. It felt almost cruel, to see her like this after everything you’d been through. But as much as your heart ached for her, you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“You can’t just apologize and expect everything to be okay, Nat,” you said, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “You hurt me. You made me feel worthless, like I wasn’t enough. And when it mattered the most... when I was out there fighting to survive, you turned your back on me.”

Natasha flinched at the force of your words. They were like a punch to the gut, and you saw how much it hurt her to hear them. But the truth was, you couldn’t keep pretending that everything would just magically be okay.

“I know,” Natasha said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know. And I can’t take that back. I can’t make up for it. But... I just need you to know, I care. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know you care,” you said softly, but your voice still carried that edge of distance. “But that’s not enough anymore. I don’t know how to keep going back to the way things were. I can’t keep coming back to you only to be left in the dark again.”

There was a long silence, the kind that seemed to stretch on forever, and Natasha stood there, her shoulders slumped, her eyes filled with unshed tears. She was broken, but that didn’t change the fact that what she’d done had hurt you in ways you weren’t sure could ever heal.

“You’re right,” she said finally, voice cracked. “You deserve more than this. You deserve better. Someone who won’t make you feel like you have to earn their care, someone who won’t turn their back when things get hard.”

You stood there, feeling the weight of the finality in her words, and for a long time, you didn’t know what to say. You looked at her—the broken woman in front of you—and you realized that, despite everything, despite all the hurt, you didn’t want to stay. You needed to walk away. For yourself.

“I need to walk away, Natasha,” you said quietly, your voice steady but firm. “I don’t know what we were, what we are anymore. But I can’t do this anymore.”

You turned towards the exit, your steps unfaltering as you walked away. Natasha half expected - hoped - you’d turn around and run to her. But you didn’t. You walked away, slowly, your footsteps fading into the distance, away from SHIELD and away from her.

There is so much space between us

Baby, we're already defeated

A year later…

It was a quiet evening when you walked into the bar after a long day, your mind still buzzing with the details of your latest case. Quantico was different to SHIELD in almost every way. The people were different, the procedures were different, but you found that - after getting into the swing of things - it wasn’t worse. Just different. 

The dim lighting of the bar, the hum of conversation, the clink of glasses—it was a familiar comfort now, one that made you feel grounded after the chaos of your job. You ordered a drink and leaned against the bar, letting your shoulders drop, the weight of the day lifting slowly.

That was when you saw her.

Natasha Romanoff, standing across the room, her back slightly to you as she talked to a stranger at the bar. But even from behind, something about her caught your attention. She looked different. Older, somehow. More... mature. The woman you had known was always poised, confident, and untouchable—but there was something in the way she held herself now that made her feel more human. Vulnerable, even.

Her hair was different too—shorter, sleek, straight, a stark contrast to the wavy red that had once framed her face. She had always been beautiful, but now she seemed to radiate something else—something quieter, more grounded.

You stared for a moment, unsure if you were seeing things right, but as she turned to glance around the bar, her eyes met yours. Recognition hit her almost immediately, and she froze for a second, her expression flickering with surprise. Then, just as quickly, it softened.

Her voice was a little hoarse as she whispered your name, almost like she hadn’t expected to see you here, or maybe she hadn’t heard your name in so long that saying it felt foreign.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just watched her—really looked at her—before taking a slow step forward. “Natasha.” Your voice was calm, composed. Different from the way you used to say her name with that sense of longing, of wanting something that wasn’t ever going to be.

She gave a small, tentative smile, the kind that spoke volumes about how much time had passed, about how many things had been left unsaid between you. "You look... good," she said, her eyes flickering over you.

It was an understatement. You felt good. You felt like you were finally living a life that wasn’t defined by the weight of the past, by the mistakes you’d made and the ones others had made for you.

“I could say the same about you,” you replied, with a small smile of your own. “You look different. I like it.”

“Yeah.” She ran a hand through her new, shorter hair, a nervous habit, before looking back at you. “A lot’s changed.”

“Clearly,” you said, glancing around. You couldn’t help but take in the way she stood—so different from the woman who had always been so self-assured, so used to being in control of every situation. But in a way, it made her more real, more approachable.

The two of you stood there for a moment, the air between you awkward but not uncomfortable, as if neither of you knew where to start. It was Natasha who broke the silence first.

“So, how’ve you been?” she asked, her voice softer than you remembered it. “Really?”

You raised an eyebrow at her, unsure if she even knew what really meant anymore, after everything. But it was a simple enough question. And you’d spent the last year being honest with yourself, so why not? “I’m doing alright. Different. Moving on. Got a new job at Quantico. Therapy’s been helping. I’m in a better place now.”

Natasha nodded, though you saw the flicker of something behind her eyes—a mix of regret, of longing, maybe. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve... I’ve been trying to do the same. It’s been a long year. Things haven’t been easy, but I think I’m getting there.”

You studied her for a moment, your expression unreadable. The quiet honesty in her voice made you want to believe that she was trying. You could see it now. She had changed too.

“You’re still working for SHIELD?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation casual, as if the past didn’t hang over both of you like a thick, invisible cloud.

She nodded, but there was a hesitation in her movements. “Sort of. I’ve been taking a step back, working in a different capacity now. More... behind the scenes. I guess I’m trying to figure out who I am, outside of all the missions, the work.”

It hit you—she was no longer the same person either. The intensity in her eyes had softened, and there was a certain sadness to her that you hadn’t seen before. She seemed tired in a way that wasn’t physical—tired of running, of hiding behind the façade she had built. You hadn’t seen this version of her before, and in some ways, you almost didn’t know how to react.

“So... what now?” you asked, the question feeling lighter than it should. “Now that we’re both here, like this.”

Natasha’s eyes met yours, and there was a long pause, the weight of everything that had passed between you hanging heavily in the air. And then, almost as if on instinct, you spoke.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” You offered the invitation like it was just a reflex—like things could go back to the way they were, the comfort of those old habits, the way things had felt when it was just the two of you, before everything had gone sideways.

She looked at you for a long moment, and you saw the conflict in her eyes. She was torn, and you could see in her eyes, that something was playing on her mind.

“No.” 

Everything changed me

And I don't think you can save me

The words hit you like a jolt, a shock of electricity shooting through your chest. Natasha’s eyes were steady on yours now, no longer hesitant, no longer uncertain. There was a firmness in her voice that you hadn’t heard in a long time—a quiet confidence that seemed to say she’d finally found something worth fighting for. And for the first time in a long time, you saw Natasha Romanoff not as the untouchable spy, not as the woman who had left you behind, but as someone real, someone who had learned from her mistakes.

“I’m not going to make the same mistake twice,” she said, her voice low but with an undeniable certainty. “If you want me, I’m going to do it properly this time. No more running, no more half-heartedness. I’ve hurt you, and I won’t do it again. But this time, it’s going to be on our terms. If that’s okay with you.”

You stared at her for a long moment, taking in the gravity of what she was saying, the weight of the promise she was offering. For so long, you’d wondered if this day would ever come. The idea of this—of her asking—had seemed impossible, a distant dream you never thought you’d reach.

And yet, here she was, standing before you, offering a chance to try again. A real chance.

“Dinner tomorrow?” she asked, her lips curving into a small, tentative smile. “If you're free?”

You didn’t have to think long. The question felt so simple, so natural, in a way that almost made you want to laugh at how easy it seemed compared to everything that had come before.

"Yeah," you said, the answer escaping your lips before your mind had fully processed it. "I’m free."

Natasha’s smile deepened, the corners of her eyes softening as she took in your response. It was a quiet victory for her—one that meant more than words could convey. She wasn’t expecting you to forgive her immediately, or to trust her completely. But she was willing to try, and that was more than she had ever given before.

“I’ll pick you up,” she said softly, her voice almost shy now. “I’ll make sure it’s a good night.”

You nodded, still processing the fact that she was here, still standing in front of you, willing to do what she hadn’t done before. And for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something worth saving between the two of you.

“Sounds good,” you replied, a quiet confidence settling in your own chest. “Tomorrow then.”

With that, Natasha gave you one last look, a small, genuine smile gracing her face, before she turned and walked out of the bar. You stood there for a moment longer, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between you two, and then, for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to feel something else—hope.

Tomorrow. You were willing to see where it could go. And maybe, just maybe, Natasha Romanoff was going to do it right this time.

You saved me.

The evening had been everything and nothing like you expected.

Dinner was at a beautiful, upscale restaurant with soft candlelight flickering across polished wood tables, glasses of wine that felt far too expensive, and Natasha—sitting across from you, more present than she had ever been. She wasn’t the untouchable agent, the mysterious woman who kept her emotions locked away. She was Natasha, just Natasha, in the soft glow of the candlelight, her laughter filling the space between the two of you, the lightness in her eyes almost enough to make you forget the weight of the years spent apart.

The night had been filled with easy conversation, the kind that flowed without effort, as though the years of silence hadn’t really existed. But it had. They had.

And yet, here you were, sitting across from her in a place that made your own paycheck look laughable, eating food that was far too rich for your taste, and all you could think about was how right this felt. You hadn’t expected it to be this natural, this easy to fall back into old rhythms, the way she looked at you like you were the only person in the room. And by the time you were back at your apartment, after a night of shared glances and a warmth between you that neither of you had ever truly experienced before, you couldn’t deny it anymore.

You wanted her. You needed her. And maybe, just maybe, you were ready to give her another chance, to let her love you, to let yourself love her again.

The moment your door clicked shut behind you both, Natasha pulled you into her, her lips capturing yours with an urgency that felt foreign, yet so familiar. There was no hesitation this time, no walls between you. Her hands roamed to your sides, pulling you closer, as though she couldn’t get enough. You met her halfway, losing yourself in the kiss, in the warmth of her touch, the way she made you feel like everything would be okay.

It wasn’t just the kiss though. It was what she said in between—her voice breaking the quiet with a rawness you hadn’t expected.

“I love you,” Natasha whispered against your lips, her hands tender as they traced over the curve of your jaw, as though she was afraid to let go. “I love you. And I never want to keep you hidden again. I’m done pretending I don’t need you. You’re everything.”

Her words hit you like a wave. They didn’t come with the weight of shame or regret this time. They were just the truth—simple, honest, and real. She loved you. After everything, after all the mistakes, she still loved you.

You breathed out a soft laugh, a tear slipping down your cheek at the raw vulnerability in her voice. She reached up, brushing it away with her thumb, as if she could erase the past for you, make everything better with that one gentle gesture.

“I’ve missed you,” you said quietly, your voice catching in your throat. “I’ve missed this.”

Natasha smiled, a single finger running down your cheek. "I don't want to hide you anymore. Let me love you in the light."

fin.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi Miss Raven!! Idk if u have done this already but I've just seen the Masquerade event (I'm sorta a new player and it seemed interesting) and I would really like to hear ur opinion and analysis on Rollo!!

Welcome to the Twst rabbit hole, new player~!

asfkafdivfeetog8qetapafs YOU'VE AWOKEN THE BEAST NOW... I WILL NEVER SHUT UP aBoUT GLORIOSU MASQUERADE AND ROLLO mY BELOVED... 🤡

So first of all, I think it's important to bring up that when this event was first announced in JP, there was outcry from English speaking Twst fans. Numerous fans, primarily concentrated in the west, claimed it was problematic for Twst to "twinkify" Frollo, a villain that is not fantastical at all, but is sinisterly close to real life bigots that use religion to justify said bigotry. People fear mongered and made claims that Twst would try to sanitize Rollo or would present him in a way that was offensive to the crimes his Disney inspiration committed. And, might I add, all of this was before ANY of the event story was released--this was just upon the announcement. (If you want to read more about the controversy, I explained it in detail + shared my own thoughts about it in this post.) Today, you'll rarely find such claims floating around because the event story came out and spoke for itself. Glorious Masquerade is widely regarded as the BEST written event Twisted Wonderland has ever put out, even including 5 years' worth of content out on the JP server. No other event story has topped it in quality--and that's a sentiment that I personally agree with. I honestly don't know if Twst ever will top GloMasq. That's how strong the writing is.

As for my opinion on Rollo! I consider him one of my favorite characters due to his complex character writing and internal conflict (and honestly, I gotta appreciate his grind as a hater). To repeat what I've said in an older post: [I love how unpleasant and dedicated to his goals he is.] He stands out from the crowd thanks to his very blatant disdain for Malleus and acts in some of the most unhinged, overdramatic ways I can fathom (LIKE THAT STUPID TRAP DOOR PART… OR WHEN HE TRIED TO GO “SIKE” ON MALLEUS AND STRIKE HIM WHEN HIS GUARD IS DOWN). It’s the perfect balance of serious villain while also being so serious he almost comes off as desperate and pathetic. I also relate to his neurotic behavior. and conservative manner of dress. I talk more at length about my thoughts on Rollo here, though even that post doesn't fully encapsulate all I could discuss about him. I could go on and on about the dark implications of his unique magic, or how Rollo and Idia are mirrors of each other and sobering reminder of what can happen to someone that turns their grief into fuel to blame the world for his sorrow, or how the consequences Rollo faced at the end of the event were so fitting for his particular character, or the validation I feel that someone finally calls out Malleus for his potential to be a monster. IN FACT, I HAVE. And I have also gushed about his SSR here!! There's just so much interesting stuff to explore with him and his fucked up psyche.

[lsunstreakerl]

part ten of the maxiel corporate au! (do I need to change the name? things are getting complicated here. the day I write a clearly monogamist fic that's not the real sunny anymore)

heads up: both explicit content and violence in this one. the violence is somewhat mild, but it's still there.

it's the daniel and rico section, obviously, which is how this ended up being 3k. whoops. Max POV, Daniel POV.

Max double checks the list in his hand, waving behind him as he steps into the elevator. He's been doing good today- focused on his work, somewhat put his foot down with Daniel, and he's been exchanging messages with Rico during his brief breaks.

He leans against the wall as the elevator starts its ascent. He knows what he's actually going up here for- it'd be difficult not to.

He's trying not the think about last time, the way he'd been shoved down onto the desk, Daniel's hand pinning him. It'd be embarrassing to already be hard coming into the office, but he's rapidly headed that direction, hot under his shirt collar.

He's worrying at the paper in his hands, fingertips running across the folds and creases. He'd taken a picture of it, because he doesn't want to lose it or drop it anywhere.

There's the now-familiar pleasant chime of the elevator doors sliding open, and then Max is making his way down the hallway- a left, a left, and a right- to Daniel's office door. He knocks, rolling back onto his heels as he waits.

"Come in."

Max slides the door open, slipping inside. Daniel's staying late as well, and his curls are messy, like he's been running his hand through them. He looks about as tired as Max and the rest of the finance department feels.

And apparently also how they look, because Daniel raises an eyebrow at him and whistles, low and long.

"Damn, there a war going on downstairs? I didn't realize I'd be dragging you from the frontlines, babe."

Max makes a so-so motion with his hand, shrugging. He's too tired to feel flustered, not quite up for the normal cat and mouse game talking to Daniel always feels like.

"Might as well be, sir. I don't think anyone's a fan of Netco at the moment."

Daniel scowls, capping a pen with more force than necessary.

"Tell me about it, christ."

Max takes a few steps forward. There's an open space on the desk, and Daniel hasn't gestured for Max to come over, but-

Everyone is tired. Max doesn't mind sticking to routine.

The pleasantly surprised expression on Daniel's face when Max deftly steps around his knee and hops onto the desk is more satisfying than Max anticipated.

Daniel's shoulders relax, hands coming down to spread his fingers across Max's thighs.

"Taking initiative, Maxy?"

Max tilts his head to the side, leaning back on his hands.

"We have performance evaluations coming up, sir."

Daniel laughs- a real one, which Max is learning is different from the ones he'll give over the phone.

"Glowing marks for you babe, I've only heard good things."

He reaches up, tapping lightly at Max's jaw.

"Real pretty face too."

Max isn't sure if it's the sleep deprivation, the pleasant feeling he's had all day, the pent up horniness, or a combination of the three- but he's feeling bold, twisting his head to capture two of Daniel's fingers in his mouth, running his tongue over them.

Daniel makes a surprised noise, pressing them against the inside of Max's cheek.

"Yeah?"

Max hums, spreading his thighs on the desk. He wants.

Daniel presses down on his tongue before withdrawing his fingers, pushing his thumb into Max's bottom lip.

Max makes a soft noise, waiting for an instruction, but Daniel seems mildly captivated. He's not doing anything.

If Daniel wants Max pent up and horny all the time, he's going to have to deal with the consequences. Max slides off the desk, folding down onto his knees between Daniel's legs, looking up at him.

Daniel's eyes are wide and entranced, hand gently falling into Max's hair.

"Maxy, what's gotten into you?"

Max rests his cheek on Daniel's thigh, his own hands held neatly in his lap. He's not sure how to answer- just knows he feels more settled in his own skin about everything, feels less like he's in free fall than he did before.

The knowledge that he'll be calling Rico after helps. Even if he does feel weird when he's done with Daniel- and he usually does- Rico will make it better.

Max doesn't really want to answer though. He knows what he's up here for, and so does Daniel, even if the energy is different this time.

Daniel laughs softly, fingers absentmindedly carding through Max's hair.

"Okay babe, we can do that. But I've got to actually get some things handled, and you really do need to go back to work after- so how about we try something different, yeah?"

Max blinks, waiting.

"I need that list, sweetheart."

Oh, right.

Max carefully pulls it out of his pocket, handing it up to Daniel. There's a moment where Daniel's fingers brush over the back of Max's hand, heat shooting through him.

"Thank you."

His other hand pulls Max's head up a bit, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Can you be good if I give you something to keep your mouth occupied?"

Max is confused for a moment before realizing, cheeks flushing as he nods. Daniel pats the top of his head.

"Good."

He rolls forward, and Max has to scoot further underneath the desk to accommodate. It's darker, noise muffled through the thick wood- his head is spinning.

Daniel's fingers nimbly unclasp his belt, and then he's pulling his cock out, letting Max wrap his fingers around the base.

Max gives a few experimental licks at the tip, but Daniel's hand tightens in his hair, tugging.

"I said be good, babe."

Max makes a soft noise, sinks a few inches down. Daniel's fingers tighten again before relaxing, smoothing gently over his hair in a way that almost feels apologetic.

Max can feel his shoulders sinking down, muscles relaxing as he takes Daniel further down his throat. His mind is starting to float away from him, blurring at the edges of his consciousness in a way that Max is learning he really likes.

Daniel's hand is heavy on his head, and Max can faintly hear him speaking above him, but it's not at him, so he doesn't think too hard about it.

At some point- Max isn't sure how long it's been- he can feel drool starting to pool at the bottom of his mouth, and he doesn't even think before he swallows.

Daniel's voice hitches above him, fingers squeezing. Max winces, because he hadn't really meant to do that.

He does his best to behave after that, letting Daniel's voice wash over him from above, eyes drifting closed. It's not quite like sleeping- but it's relaxing.

He doesn't even realize that Daniel has stopped talking, lazily blinking his eyes open when Daniel's thumb brushes across his hairline.

"Maxy, how you doing down there?"

Max makes a soft hum. Daniel's half-hard, and Max is only duly aware of his own arousal.

He leans his face into Daniel's hand. It's surprisingly nice, being like this with him. So far most of Max's time with Daniel has been overwhelming, a blur of embarrassment and pleasure, but this is different- he feels like putty, resting between Daniel's legs, holding his cock in his mouth.

It's slowed his brain down, eased the tension out of his shoulders and spine.

Daniel's fingers slide back into his hair, and then he's pulling back, his other hand reaching down to support Max's head.

"C'mere babe."

Max goes easily, blinking against the bright light as he shuffles out from the desk. His legs are asleep, buckling under him when he tries to stand.

Daniel's quick- gets his hands around Max's waist, bringing him back up and into the air, settling him on the desk again.

Max feels boneless, eyes hazily watching Daniel's. His face softens, one hand coming back to Max's thigh.

"Yeah, I think that's enough for today."

Max isn't sure how long he sits there- he feels like he's been out in space, and he's trying to come back down to Earth. Daniel keeps one hand curled around his hip, but he's rolled closer to the desk, still navigating around on his monitor.

Max finally starts to shift, rolling his ankles carefully as feeling comes back to them. Daniel's eyes flick up to his from where he's been intently reading an email, the edge of his pen caught between his teeth.

Daniel grins, squeezing his hip.

"Feeling good?"

Max thinks about it for a moment- he is. He really is- more than he thought was possible, considering they didn't really do anything.

"Yes sir."

Daniel's smile is softer than Max is used to, not quite as sharp as it's been before.

"Catering is just about here, if you're ready to head back downstairs."

Max feels his eyebrows furrow.

"But sir, you didn't-"

Daniel cuts him off with a soft squeeze.

"It was what I needed, babe. Good job."

The praise flickers at the pit of Max's stomach, turns into something warm and gooey inside of him. He wants more of it.

Daniel's hands still hover by his waist as Max slips off the desk, but his legs are more stable now, supporting his weight.

"Thank you, sir."

Daniel tilts his head, looking like there's something else he wants to say- but he just shakes it softly.

"I appreciate you bringing the list up."

Max nods, and then he's leaving Daniel's office. He doesn't go back down to the fourth floor- gets out at the 5th instead, where everyone has gone home for the night.

He steps into one of the employee bathrooms, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"Max?"

"Hi, Rico."

There's a low noise from Rico on the other end of the line, and then the background chatter on his end fades away as Max hears a door shut.

"You sound good."

Max feels good- better than he ever has after Daniel before. He hums, eyes drifting shut as he pins the phone between his ear and his shoulder.

"It was gentle today. He didn't actually fuck me though, which was weird."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I just kind of stayed under the desk for a little bit. I feel like I took a power nap, honestly."

"That's good. Sounds like he took care of you for once. You feeling good too?"

Max nods before he remembers Rico can't see that.

"Yes, I'm very relaxed. But it's nice, being able to talk to you."

Rico makes a soft approving noise, voice dropping lower.

"Glad to hear it. You did such a good job for us both, being good for Daniel like that. I'm proud of you."

Max leans his head back against the wall, letting the praise smolder low in his gut, seeping warmth into him. First Daniel, now Rico- Max is going to develop an ego if they keep this up.

"He's catered us dinner for the department, since we're all having to stay late tonight."

"Yeah, that's nice of him. I have a match tonight, so I won't be home, but you're more than welcome to stay at my place, okay?"

"Oh- thank you. I might do that, it depends on how the rest of the night goes."

"Always available, Max. I'm never going to be upset if I come home and you're there."

Max hums. He needs to go back downstairs- his brain is starting to kick back up, running smoother than it had before. There's a couple reports he wants to go over again.

"It'll just be a surprise then. Have a good match, Rico. Take 'em for all their worth."

"Hell yeah."

------

It's dark out when Daniel finally logs out, scrubbing his hands down his face. He's not worried-

He's a little worried.

The official VIP invitation to a local match had caught him by surprise until he saw who it was from, and now he's moderately concerned for his life.

Or his teeth, at the very least. It's inspired him to get an appointment set up with his dentist, but if he loses a few he's not going to be happy.

He shakes out his hands, standing from the desk. It'd been a surprising change of pace with Max earlier- Daniel really had intended to be less... tender, about the whole thing. It's a strictly sex based arrangement, so it's entirely inconvenient that he's suddenly started noticing the freckle on Max's lip, or his stupid little slack emoticons, or the way he'd looked so trustingly up at Daniel from under the desk.

Max isn't interested in anything from Daniel beyond that, and Daniel shouldn't be interested in anything from Max. He has a feeling that Rico is about to beat that message into his skull.

Literally.

------

Daniel... sort of forgets about the looming threat above his head. He gets caught up in the lights, in the showmanship- he's always been a fan of fights, and being in such a good seat really is exciting for him.

He remembers the moment they announce Rico. His blood ices over, sweat beading at the back of his neck. Rico is huge, and he's exactly as jacked as Daniel expected him to be.

He gets a bit lightheaded- hears the match start, watches with blurry vision as Rico tears through his opponent like butter.

There's a moment where Rico turns, eyes catching Daniel's for a brief moment- right before he hits the other man so hard Daniel feels sympathy whiplash in his neck.

There's a ding of the bell, and then Rico is definitely looking at him- blood smeared on his teeth, lips stretched into a grin.

Daniel feels a shiver run down his spine- maybe it's the last of his self preservation finally deciding he's a lost cause and jumping ship. If Daniel was street smart, he'd be hightailing it out right now- wouldn't even give Rico the opportunity.

Unfortunately, he's not. It's a well known personal failing- he's got a good eye for business, but sometimes common sense likes to skip him.

So he follows Karim back down the hallways to the setup rooms, waiting patiently after Karim leaves. Part of him wants to ask him to wait with him, protect him from getting beat to a fucking pulp, but-

Karim is part of Rico's team, and that would probably just end with two people hitting him instead of one.

------

Daniel's fiddling with the rings on his fingers when the door swings back open again, and then Rico is stepping in.

There's a wet towel around his neck, pink spots on it from where he's been wiping blood off of his split lip. He kicks the door back shut behind him, eyeing Daniel. His eyes drag across him slowly, and Daniel shifts where he's sitting on the counter, uncomfortable.

Rico huffs a laugh, tossing the towel onto one of the counters as he leans back against the door with his arms crossed, blocking the only exit.

"What, don't like being looked at like a piece of meat?"

Oh.

Daniel has a feeling that charisma isn't going to serve him well here- he averts his eyes.

"Look at me."

Rico's voice is low and dangerous, and Daniel's looking back at him immediately, heart pounding. There's adrenaline hot in his veins, but nowhere for it to go.

Rico steps forward off the door, moves right up into Daniel's space. His back is flat against the wall, large fingers coming up to grip his jaw tightly. Rico is a burning line of heat in front of him- Daniel feels tiny in his shadow. If someone opened the door, they probably wouldn't even be able to see him- it makes him feel like a prey animal, like he wants to roll over and show his belly, hoping and praying that it's enough.

He lets Rico move his chin up, meeting his eyes.

His heart has never gone this fast in his life.

"You are one lucky bastard, that Max likes what the two of you have going on. If it was up to me, I'd fucking leave you here in a trash bag."

Daniel swallows, afraid to move. Rico sneers down at him, split lip glistening with fresh blood.

"But I don't like how you're doing it, so here's what's going to happen, yeah? You're going to step it up-"

His fingers grip tighter for emphasis, jerking Daniel's head slightly.

"-and do it right. If you keep using him and tossing him away, I'll leave you in so many pieces they'll give up looking for you. Got it?"

Daniel nods, eyes wide. He can do that- of course he can do that, he's realized that he wants to do that.

Rico tilts his head, eyeing him appraisingly, and then suddenly there's a thick thumb in Daniel's mouth, pressing down meanly on his tongue-

Daniel whines.

Rico scoffs.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You're going to be a good boy now when you fuck Max, yes? Treat him nice, take care of him after. He tries so hard to behave for you-"

His thumb curls behind Daniel's bottom teeth, yanking him forward into his chest so that Rico can look down at him.

"I think it's time for you to put in a bit of effort as well."

Daniel breathes shallow through his nose, nodding. He can do that, he can-

Rico pulls his thumb out, pushing Daniel back against the wall as he turns away.

"I don't want to have to have this conversation again Ricciardo- I won't be as nice the second time."

Daniel slumps back against the cool concrete behind him, face flushed. His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest, and his eyes are wide as he tracks Rico moving around the room, pulling a hoodie over his head.

Rico looks back over at him, impassive.

"Handle yourself, and get the fuck out of my building."

Daniel has never listened to someone quicker.

[jadeharleyinc]

^ it's extremely extremely funny that none of this is proved at all, it's just people's gut feelings (no, that Microsoft paper supposedly proving the decline of critical thinking due to AI does not say what you think it says! if you believe this, you have been bamboozled!)

some of you will go "erm, it's fancy autocomplete" but also "erm, you are hurting yourself by using it, it's a special kind of evil tool that isn't a tool, for reasons" and then developers like me will say "we had fancy autocomplete like IntelliSense for years now and we're fine, what's GitHub Copilot going to do? make our code worse than the noble tradition of copypasting from StackOverflow?"and the only thing we get in response is misinformation, fearmongering or a blank stare.

there are entire creative subcultures that just simply don't share your romantic, extremely American Protestant view of struggling. there's widely-spread programmer wisdom about the virtues of laziness! the reason you can play so many wonderful indie games today is because the glorious art of struggling to code your own physics system has been automated by game engines.

reducing the amount of struggling so you can move on to more personally-appealing and valuable decision-making is in fact an entire part of the human experience. sorry that you don't value this, but i am not learning how to make my own physics system in order to make games with physics in them, for the same reason i am not learning how to draw to make games with drawings in them. it just doesn't appeal to me, and the idea that i'm harming myself as a result

all in all, your protesting is completely indistinguishable from past movements complaining about the destruction of creative/critical-thinking skills, with absolutely no actual evidence, based solely on fear and the age-old belief that kids these days are so much stupider than you and civilization is crumbling.

all the contemptible fossils that came before you yelling This Technology Is Monstrously Harmful To Your Growth As A Human Bean about writing, the printing press, photography, personal computers, calculators, phones, digital art software, 3D modeling, motion capture, drum machines, synthesizers, the internet, wikipedia, stackoverflow, etc etc etc etc., surely these guys were wrong, but you're right and this time history will validate you! surely this time! for sure!

Something I don't think we talk enough about in discussions surrounding AI is the loss of perseverance.

I have a friend who works in education and he told me about how he was working with a small group of HS students to develop a new school sports chant. This was a very daunting task for the group, in large part because many had learning disabilities related to reading and writing, so coming up with a catchy, hard-hitting, probably rhyming, poetry-esque piece of collaborative writing felt like something outside of their skill range. But it wasn't! I knew that, he knew that, and he worked damn hard to convince the kids of that too. Even if the end result was terrible (by someone else's standards), we knew they had it in them to complete the piece and feel super proud of their creation.

Fast-forward a few days and he reports back that yes they have a chant now... but it's 99% AI. It was made by Chat-GPT. Once the kids realized they could just ask the bot to do the hard thing for them - and do it "better" than they (supposedly) ever could - that's the only route they were willing to take. It was either use Chat-GPT or don't do it at all. And I was just so devastated to hear this because Jesus Christ, struggling is important. Of course most 14-18 year olds aren't going to see the merit of that, let alone understand why that process (attempting something new and challenging) is more valuable than the end result (a "good" chant), but as adults we all have a responsibility to coach them through that messy process. Except that's become damn near impossible with an Instantly Do The Thing app in everyone's pocket. Yes, AI is fucking awful because of plagiarism and misinformation and the environmental impact, but it's also keeping people - particularly young people - from developing perseverance. It's not just important that you learn to write your own stuff because of intellectual agency, but because writing is hard and it's crucial that you learn how to persevere through doing hard things.

Write a shitty poem. Write an essay where half the textual 'evidence' doesn't track. Write an awkward as fuck email with an equally embarrassing typo. Every time you do you're not just developing that particular skill, you're also learning that you did something badly and the world didn't end. You can get through things! You can get through challenging things! Not everything in life has to be perfect but you know what? You'll only improve at the challenging stuff if you do a whole lot of it badly first. The ability to say, "I didn't think I could do that but I did it anyway. It's not great, but I did it," is SO IMPORTANT for developing confidence across the board, not just in these specific tasks.

Idk I'm just really worried about kids having to grow up in a world where (for a variety of reasons beyond just AI) they're not given the chance to struggle through new and challenging things like we used to.

[harrisonarchive]

At the Sgt. Pepper press launch, May 19, 1967; photo by Pictorial Press Ltd./Alamy Stock Photo.

“On the lapel [of George’s maroon velvet jacket] was a badge from the New York Workshop Of Non Violence. Their emblem is a yellow submarine with what looked like daffodils spouting from it. ‘Naturally I’m opposed to all forms of war,’ said George seriously. ‘The idea of man killing man is terrible.’” - NME, May 25, 1967 Q: “Would any of you care to comment on any aspect of the war in Vietnam?” John Lennon: “We don't like it.” Q: "Could you elaborate any?" JL: “No. I've elaborated enough, you know. We just don't like it. We don't like war.” George Harrison: "It's, you know… it's just war is wrong, and it's obvious it's wrong. And that's all that needs to be said about it.” - New York City press conference, August 22, 1966 “We felt obviously that Vietnam was wrong — I think any war is wrong, for that matter — and in some of our lyrics we expressed those feelings and tried to be the counter-culture, to try and wake up as many people as we could to the fact that you don’t have to fight. You can call a halt to war and you can have a laugh and dress up silly and that’s what that period was all about: get your hair long, and grow a mustache, and paint your house psychedelic, and write songs. It was all part of our retaliation against the evil that was taking place and still is taking place.” - George Harrison, It Was Twenty Years Ago Today (1987)

[thatguywrites]

Vienna

Max Verstappen x Male!Reader

When Max is overworking himself to the bone in the preseason, and you need to talk some sense into him before he burns out

A/N I'm back after my one week break! I'm gonna try and write more fics to create a WIP list so that that doesn't happen, but I also encourage people to send in asks cause I'm gonna run out of ideas at some point :)

In the bustle of the preseason chaos, you hadn't had much time to spend with your lovely boyfriend. Between the incredibly boring F175, and testing instantly starting in the week following, Max was too busy running around, working out, taking calls, and providing feedback. It seemed the only times you saw him anymore were in the mornings and late at night, when he would slip into bed with you, muttering thanks for the certainly cold dinner you had left him, before he collapsing into sleep.

Finally, one day you managed to have him to yourself for a whole evening, as soon as his morning workouts were done, you would be able to push him into bed for some snacks, and movies, and boyfriend time. But, when Max arrived home, he was clearly still in work mode. Flurrying around the house, taking notes of things about the car that he hadn't told the engineers the day before, before hopping into the sim to do lap after lap in the model car Redbull had sent him.

Your kinder bars, fruits, and Netflix left untouched, you waited on the couch for him to finish. Maybe he just wanted to figure something out. Everyone gets like that; when something nags at them and they just need to get it right. He would be done by dinner.

By the time dinner came, you'd lost hope that he would come to bed naturally. It began to seem that you would have to do something yourself to get Max to eat with you and to finally relax. Walking over to his rig, you placed a kiss on his cheek, pulling his headphones back, "I'll be on the balcony, ok?"

Without looking away from the screen, he nodded, before shooing you away.

Once on the balcony, sitting down, you finally felt at rest. For a break moment you didn't have to worry about Max, or how he was working himself to the bone and you by extension. It was you, and the cool air of Monaco.

You got lost in your thoughts, but it could have been two or twenty minutes before you heard the door behind you open, and Max sit next to you, placing a blanket around your shoulders.

"You looked cold, in just a T-shirt" He said, softly. You noticed you could see his breath. Maybe it was cold.

"Didn't notice"

"Why out so long?"

Your own puff of breath appeared infront if you as you leaned back against your apartment, looking up at the now visable stars. "Thinking. Why were you on your sim so long? Isn't today supposed to be your day off?"

Max looked down, maybe ashamed. A small part of you felt good about that. That he felt bad about hurting you. But the rest of you just wanted to scoop him into a hug and never let go.

"I mean, last year's car worried me. And Lando's improved, and I'm sure Oscar'll be up there too this year, so I'm doing my best now to make sure we end up with the best car." You could feel his eyes on you, a nervous energy in your previous safe space, his warm hands wrapping around your cold ones, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for worrying you, and ignoring you. I'm sorry that I haven't been prioritizing us at all. I'm sorry that I spent my entire afternoon off working." He pulled you into his arms, resting his head on yours, and pressing kisses atop your hair.

"I didn't want to push you, I know your work is important to you. I don't want to act as if I'm above racing to you, I know it's your life, but I want to be a part of your life too." At your words Max jolted away, eyes wide, with a small pout on his lips.

"No! No, no, no, racing is a huge part of my life, sure, but so are you. I'm sorry I haven't made that clear, I love you. I just worry that I'm not trying hard enough for the world sometimes, that I'll fall behind on track because of it", He trailed off, looking down into the busy streets

"Well, I'm sure the fastest man on Earth, who works harder than anyone else I've ever seen will manage to pose a threat, even if he takes a break for one night, no?"

Breaking out into a smile, Max responded, "Yeah"

Taglist (Comment or DM to be added)

@koalapastries @justaf1girl @spoonfulofmilo @lokisen

[notapradagurl7]

90s method man fic ? i see you write about him currently but i want one from like 95 😩😩 pleaseee

Love To Give.

Black!OC!plus size X Method Man

Summary: You were supposed go out with your friends to movies when in reality you bump into a familiar rapper, leading to something more.

Warnings: smut, praise, fluff, oral(fem receiving) fingering, tiny sexual innuendo, strangers to friends to lovers, consensual for both parties, counter sex, kinda messy sex.

Taglist: @mermaidchansons @megamindsecretlair @mymindisneverhere

@mind-somewhere-else

@kindofaintrovert

@5starr-staciii

@lady-olive-oil @23jammy @zillasvilla

@yassbishimvintage

@musicisme333

@chaoticcoffeequeen @saturnville

@enchantedillumination @kaylalb @mogul93

@theereina @uzumaki-rebellion @blyffe @fakxmbj @kumkaniudaku @ranikyani

@mama-2001

@ororosdaughter @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaesworld @ovohanna24

@novahreign @writingsbytee @avoidthings @kimuzostar @slippinninque @keyera-jackson @theblacklewinsky

@euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house

@miguelspvssy @liatreads @kaylaahisthebestest-

@tforpresz

@uniqueoutlierblog

@dxddykenn

@secretlifeoofmarpessa @planetblaque @hxneyclouds @henneseyhoe @catxo @brattyfics @cocooned-butterfly @charismablu

                     ——

            (1995.)

She strolled down the grey sidewalk towards the towering dust-colored building, her jet-black heel sandals clicked with each step. Above her head, the blue sky was adorned with cirrus clouds, while her brown pupils were fixed on her friend, who she had finally convinced to hang out with her today after her mom's hesitant approval.

As she walked, her ears were greeted with the rhythmic sounds of Big L, A Tribe Called Quest, Biggie Smalls, Jay-Z, MC Lyte, Queen Latifah, Nas, and Wu-Tang Clan. The music was emanating from a boom box held by a young brown-skinned male sitting on a dark green bench. He bopped his head to the beats, lost in the music.

Lisa wandered the streets of New York, she scanned the bustling crowds for her friend. The warm sun beat down on her shoulders, making her thankful for the light fabric of her sundress. Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out, "Lisa!!!" Imani's beaming face greeted her, arms spread wide in greeting. She looked stunning in her form-fitting pink sundress, which accentuated her curves. "Are you all set to go?" Imani asked with a raised eyebrow, ready for their plans to unfold.

"Yes, I have everything I need, Lisa waved her off, with a nod and the two friends continued their stroll, exchanging smiles. They were almost at the street that led to the bodega when Lisa accidentally bumped into someone. Imani halted and spoke up, "Lisa, I need to grab something for the movie." She paused as she realized that her friend had bumped into someone.

Startled by the sudden interruption, Lisa's gaze was immediately drawn to the towering figure before her. His baggy dark blue denim jeans, grey tee shirt, well-trimmed beard, and deep brown eyes made for a striking combination. Before she could even apologize, the person spoke up with a raspy, masculine tone and a New York accent. "My bad shorty, I didn't look where I was goin'."

Imani's hands flew to her mouth as she exclaimed, "No way, you're Method Man!" Lisa blushed, feeling nervous as she introduced herself. "Um, hi, I'm Lisa."

Clifford asked if they were busy, adding, "My bad, I don't want to interrupt your plans with your friend." Both women shook their heads, indicating they had no plans.

"I was planning on hanging with my friend but I think I might cancel them." Lisa replied flirtily, her pearly whites sunk underneath her bottom fully glossed lips.

"For Method Man, girl? But We—" Lisa suddenly hushed her with her palm. Rolling her eyes, Lisa groaned and chimed in, "We have no plans, right?" She giggled, but Imani wasn't amused. Swatting her friend's arm, Lisa smacked her lips in response. "You owe me," she grumbled.

Trying to make it up to her friend, Lisa whispered, "Don't worry, Mani. We can hang out next weekend. I got you." She reassured Imani that they would spend time together soon.

As Lisa and Clifford collided, a spark ignited, and their connection grew stronger every day. They spent countless hours chatting face-to-face and on the phone, even causing her mother's phone bill to skyrocket. After meeting her mother, they started dating and discovering each other's passions.

Lisa's cozy apartment had a medium-sized living room, furnished with a sleek black suede couch where Clifford flipped through channels with his jet-black remote. The room was painted a calming light green, creating a serene atmosphere.

Lisa finished cooking as she placed the food in Tupperware containers for Clifford and her to eat, the tip of his tongue ran across his shut lips from the tangy scent of the food and the curves on her body. Clifford stepped off the couch and strolled into the kitchen, a grin plastered on his face.

Clifford's lips curled into a smirk as he let out a seductive plea, "Baby I'm hungry, come over here quick." she spun around and gestured to the food containers.

Lisa responded with a playful roll of her eyes. "Boy, I already cooked the food," she replied, before Clifford pulled her into him, planting kisses on her lips, cheeks, and the pudge on her stomach twice. His hands cupped her face tenderly to make her gaze into his eyes.

"I ain't talkin' about the food yo."

Lisa's bare back pressed firmly against the luxurious black suede couch cushions, her legs extended upwards and resting on Clifford's muscular shoulders. His arms were locked underneath her thighs as he buried his face in between her thick legs, his tongue flicking over her throbbing clit. As he continued to pleasure her, his slender fingers slid in and out of her wet core, causing Lisa to cry out in ecstasy.

"Shit! Clifford!" she screamed, her legs clamping around his face as he moaned in appreciation of her sensitive pussy. Removing his fingers, Clifford replaced them with his tongue, teasing her with his lips and working his way up and down her sensitive folds. Lisa reached down and tangled her fingers in Clifford's hair, pulling him deeper into her as he continued to pleasure her in all the right ways.

Her fingertips dug deep into the back of his neck, leaving scratches in her trail as his raspy, low groans filled her wet folds. His fingers were soon replaced with his lips, and Cliff murmured in delight, "You taste so fuckin' good, baby." His head swayed messily from side to side as he lapped up her love juices that trickled down his jawline, hungrily savoring her like it was his last meal. He loved every sound she made, every expression of pleasure, and her moans only grew louder as he pleasured her.

With his slender fingers slipping back into the wetness between her thighs, Clifford used his left hand to knead her erect nipple. Her eyes fluttered back as he curled his fingers at just the right spot, making her walls clench and her hips grind against his digits. "You're so wet for me," he whispered, relishing in the pleasure he was giving her. Lisa couldn't contain herself, chanting "Oh shittt!" as the pleasure overflowed through her body, sending chills down her spine.

Her legs were sore and twitching in her lover's grasp, unprepared for the knot that suddenly curled up in her stomach. Her juices splattered onto his face, but Clifford quickly cleaned up the mess with a paper towel. Smirking at her dazed look, he knew he had just given her an unforgettable experience.

She playfully pecked his lips twice and added a sly grin. "How about I make you breakfast tomorrow?" He hummed, her hands gently resting on his shoulders. "Oh, I like the sound of that," she chuckled, his arms snaking around her waist, his lips brushing against her ear.

She blushed, feeling his palm roughly smack her plump ass causing a squeal to escape her lips. "Not now, my legs are sore," she whined, pouting at him. He pulled back and cupped her face, pecking her forehead. "I'll draw you a hot bubble bath, shorty," he added, seeing her blush shyly. As he sauntered into the bathroom, she couldn't help but feel grateful for such a loving partner.

—————-

[jeongteen]

MY FAVORITE MODEL

Hyun-ju x gn!reader

Notes : I was playing around with that "relationships headcanons" website and had a prompt about one person loving to take pictures and the other one hating to be on camera, decided to write a little story for my lovely Hyun-ju (also I feel like we're getting less stories about her nowadays, I needed to react!) My requests are open for Hyun-ju and several other characters, just check my pin to see :)) Keep in mind English is not my first language so my apologies for any mistake <3

CW : low self confidence, fluff, comfort (let me know if I missed anything)

Summary : You love taking pictures of your lovely girlfriend Hyun-ju, she doesn't seem to appreciate it as much.

Words count : 505

It's a sunny afternoon. The kind of afternoon that makes you want to spend the whole day outside, surrounded by nature. And that's what you decide to do today. Hyun-ju loves these moments between the two of you, she can forget about the heaviness of life for a moment and just enjoy the warmth of the sun with her lovely partner.

In these moments, you love having your camera with you to take some photos. You love capturing the beauty of things all around you. You take photos of flowers, the sky, everything around you.

Your favorite subject is your girlfriend, Hyun-ju. Since the day you met her, you've been blown away by her beauty. Everything about her is so perfect. The way her hair perfectly falls on her shoulders, her little smile whenever you compliment her, her soft looking hands with her black painted nails, the way she dresses, the way her pupils dilate whenever she lays her eyes on you... Everything.

Unfortunately, Hyun-ju doesn't see herself that way. She has a tendency of dismissing her own beauty. No matter the amount of time you're telling her she's the most divine woman you've ever met, she won't believe it. Not that she thinks you'd lie to her, but she just won't allow herself to feel like that.

You absolutely love taking photos of her, but she doesn't like it as much. She will let you take 1 or 2 photos here and there because she knows how happy it makes you, but soon enough she'll hide her face with her hands, will gently ask you to stop or just turn away.

This makes you so sad, such an unconfident beauty. Sometimes you wish she could see herself the way you see her.

As you take another photo of your lovely girlfriend, she reacts.

— How about you put that camera down for a few seconds? She says that with a light chuckle because she doesn't want to offend you, but you know her too well and can sense she's starting to feel bad again.

— But why?

— Come on... We've talked about it already... She sounds so sad, you can't let her in this state of mind.

— Hey, Hyun-ju, look at me. You grab her hands in yours, caressing them softly. You look gorgeous, this dress compliments your body so well. I know you don't see yourself the way I see you, that truly saddens me. But you also have to know that no matter what happens, you'll always be the most divine goddess I ever laid my eyes on. If you don't want me to take more pictures today, I won't. But I'll keep on staring at the most gorgeous woman this world has known, because that's who you are and I love you.

You can see her blushing a little, she always does when you give her compliments, especially when she's not feeling herself.

— I love you. The way her whole face seems to relax while saying this... You truly are her safe place.

[cellophaine]

Chapter I: En Avant

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff.

Word Count: 5.2k

Author's Note: The first chapter is finally here!! I'm very excited to bring this new series to you. It's what I've been thinking about for a few months now. It came to me while I was still working on A Languor Spell, and now I can give it my full attention. Thank you for your patience! I hope you will enjoy the first chapter!

P/S: This is my first time writing in present tense, so if there's any mistake please let me know so I can fix it!

Disclaimer: I'm not a professional ballet dancer. I'm an adult beginner, and I've been taking classes consistently for over a year now. I just want to say that the series isn't written with the experience of a professional ballerina, but with my love for the art and the extensive research that I've done and will continue to do. I don't choose to write the Reader as a ballerina because of the aesthetic, but because I think there are so many things to explore in the original story that I've come up with, with the Reader being in the industry.

GIF Source: @/petertingle-yipyip

There has always been an emptiness residing within the frame of your body. In the absence of your old life, it has grown expeditiously. It carves into your body and makes a home in the forefront of your mind. On worse days, you feel as if anyone can see at first glance, how incomplete of a person you are. On better days, like today, you can hide it well, even from your closest friend. But right now, sitting in a dimly lit bar across from the friend you have known since you moved to this city at 18, you feel the person you're supposed to be has taken your anatomy apart. You're disembodied, scattered, and fractional.

Jo notices your silence and reaches over the table, laying her hand atop yours.

“Have you thought about my offer?”

Jo’s proposal. How can you not think about it? It has never left your mind ever since she mentioned it. Her newly acquired gym could be a place for you to get back to dancing in complete privacy. And you won’t have to pay a dime.

“I spruced up the place a little bit and will be adding more equipment. I can get whatever you need so it can be a proper space for you to practice.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Jo casts a sympathetic look at you, her voice careful.

“How’s your foot?”

You flex and point the right foot under the table, recalling the phantom pain that was your consistent companion for the most part of last year.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Are you still seeing Amy?”

“Of course. She’d bite my head off if I missed our appointment.”

You share a knowing chuckle, knowing Amy's personality. You know her through Jo, and they dated briefly in college. The two stayed friends afterward. After leaving Lady Liberty Ballet Theatre, your physical health was left to your own management. Your gaps of knowledge were filled in by Amy, a physical therapist who stepped in and offered her help voluntarily when Jo mentioned your situation. You still meet biweekly at her practice in Harlem, and the three of you hang out from time to time.

“Come to my gym.”

She hastily continues once she sees the decline perches on your pressed lips.

“It’s free.”

“I don’t want to be a bother. You’ll have to get a barre, and the flooring might not be suitable–“

“I don’t care about the cost. I just want to do this for you. Let someone do a nice thing for you every once in a while.”

You meet her eyes, resisting her act of kindness with silence. You know how to pick your battles, and this is the one you have lost from the start, judging by Jo's stern gaze. You sigh.

“I’ll think about it.”

A victory smile graces her lips.

“That’s all I’m asking.”

Jo leans into the table, her hand reaching for yours.

“I want to see you dance on the stage again. You’re a beautiful ballerina, and I know this is not the end for you.”

You know she means well, but her words feel like claws, sinking their sharp ends into your heart. You haven't danced since the injury, and a part of you knows that you might never dance as well as you once did. The best version of you had lived that life to its fullest potential, the life of endless classes and rehearsals, soldout shows, ending many nights and seasons to the deafening cheers from the audience. Your current self is only a shadow, living a partial existence and mourning the past as time passes and your grasp on it weakens.

You want the endless optimism Jo seems to possess. She’s always so assertive in everything she does. From her university days pursuing a bachelor's degree in sports science to her boxing competition days to buying a gym, she has a sense of self-assurance that carries her throughout the years you've known her ever since you became roommates when you first moved to New York. And you admire that about her endlessly. Her goals might vary, but her passion for them never wavers. Her faith in you seems to share the same sentiment.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, hoping your face doesn't betray your true thoughts. Jo squeezes your hand and lets go. She checks her wristwatch, and with a silent glance, you understand that she has to leave. Jo meets you as you stand up from your side of the booth, drawing you into a crushing hug.

“Will you be okay here?”

She pulls back. You smile and pat her shoulder.

“I’ll be fine. Just want to finish my drink.”

She takes a step backward as she waves.

“Good luck tomorrow!”

You raise your hand in response and watch her tall and brawny frame vanish through the door. You drop your arm, but you don't sit down. Taking a discreet glance at the bar, your heart rate spikes ever so slightly at the sight of the stranger you noticed earlier when you bought the drinks.

As you waited for your drinks, he came in and settled for a spot at the bar. The lady whose name you learned earlier, Josie, greeted him, asking where his friends were, so you assumed he was a regular. He was good-looking, you admitted before finding yourself staring at him. You averted your gaze, but couldn't help taking in other details. The folded cane rested on the bar top as Josie slid a glass of amber liquid in front of him. The scarred knuckles as he brought it to his lush lips. The suit was pristine for the most part except for the minimal wrinkles from the day's wear and the loosened tie. The red-tinted glasses perched on his pronounced nose, under the tousled sweep of dark hair. The soft smile brightened his handsome face as the other bartender told him something, which you had to tear your eyes away from when Josie placed the drinks in front of you. You thanked her and headed back to your table, feeling a touch of disappointment in your throat.

There is no denying that you want to approach him. But your nerves intervene with all the questions. What if he rejected you? What if he thought you were a creep for approaching him? What if he just wanted to be left alone? He has been sitting by the bar by himself ever since he came in, you notice. You'd ask if you could join him, and possibly buy him a drink if he was up for it. If he said no, that'd be fine. You would respect his wish and leave him alone. You have a feeling you'd regret it if you didn't at least try.

You gulp down your drink for a little liquid courage and make your way over to the bar. Your heart rate accelerates the closer you get to him, but you are determined to get over the little hurdle. You stop within a conversational distance and use your best composed voice.

“Hey, may I join you?”

He turns in his seat and gives you a friendly smile.

“Of course not. Please do.”

The high chair is a comfortable and respectful distance away from his, but still close enough for a private conversation. The stranger has angled his body toward you, and his openness eases the knot in your stomach. At this distance, you can see that he is even more handsome up close. Heat seeps into your cheeks at the full comprehension of his handsomeness up close. The neon signs around help shape the shadows and highlights that are already there in his features. The strong jawline and defined nose blend in harmony with the soft hair and luscious lips. You find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from his moving lips, and only a brief moment later you realize he has asked for your name.

You tell him and laugh nervously, blaming the lively ambience around you. He humours you with a chuckle of his own and reciprocates.

"Matt. Nice to meet you."

“Nice to meet you.”

He reaches out with a hand, and you grab it. Your heart beats a little faster at the feel of his hand, warm and a little rough. You pull away first, conscious of the coldness of your hand. You eye his almost empty glass.

“Would you like another drink?”

“If that makes you stay with me for the rest of the evening, I’d love one.”

Charming. You allow an amused and breathy chuckle to escape, and order another fill of your drinks. When Josie turns away to make them, Matt asks.

“What are we celebrating tonight?”

You think about it for a moment.

“This is not really a celebration since I haven’t gotten the job yet.”

“When is the interview?”

“It's … tomorrow.”

His brows raise above the glasses.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little bit. It’s been a while since my last normal job.”

“What were you doing before?”

Josie puts down the drinks in front of you.

“I’m a– I was a ballerina.”

“Was?”

You run a finger over the cool and smooth edge of the glass, taking a moment to tell a stranger about one of your worst shame.

“I haven’t danced professionally in over a year."

“May I ask why?"

The edge of his lips settles into a neutral line. No pity, just a willingness to listen. It is exactly what you need.

“Yes, but it's just … complicated.”

“How so?”

The old life that you once lived feels so out of your grasp now. Besides the occasional flareups, most mornings, you get up with minimal or no degree of soreness or pain, and you fear that signals the end of your life as a ballerina.

Retirement in your late twenties wasn't something you thought of when you were 18, fresh out of high school with an offer letter from Lady Liberty Ballet Theatre. Moving from a small, sylvan town to a big, lively city like New York was a dream come true. You got to live out the life your younger self used to dream about. How wonderful it was. Dancing on the big stage before the bright stage lights in front of the audience. The early classes, late stage calls, costume fittings, and demanding rehearsals leading up to the shows were all worth it. Because when you got to dance, it was just you and the music. Your body knew the techniques, learned the steps and how to master them. You bent music with your carefully crafted movements and turned the piece into your own interpretation. You worked hard on your craft and artistic abilities, and you thought that it paid off with your promotion from corps de ballet to the first soloist assembly after six years.

But for Matt's sake, you don't go into any of that.

“Well … at my old company, the group of highest rank dancers is smaller compared to other companies. It’s a great honour and a big deal to be promoted to principal. Christine was one of them, and she decided to retire. The head artistic director wanted to appoint a first soloist, which is just a step below principal, to take over in her place. I was a soloist, and I thought it was my opportunity since I've been with the company for the longest out of everyone in the group. I also understudied for Christine in many productions, on top of the roles I had to prepare and perform. I pushed myself really hard that season to prove that I could do it. I was in and out of classes, rehearsals, and performances every day for over three months. On the days we had two shows a day, oftentimes I'd have to perform in both so Christine could have a break."

Matt listens intently, following your words with an attentiveness that you find endearing.

“In the final week of Sleeping Beauty, I had this pain along my heel. But I ignored it and pushed through out of fear that they would dismiss me. At that point, they already had a favourite. One of the directors even told me that I should quit while I was ahead and that I should be happy staying as a soloist."

You swallow the lump in your throat and go on.

"I couldn't take my bow that night, because as soon as my part was done and I went behind the stage, I passed out. It turned out I got an Achilles rupture.

“I had the surgery and was in a boot for a while. I was so desperate to show them my dedication and how good I was by going back to the studio just the day after they allowed me to go without the boot. And I made the injury worse. I was admitted for a partial rupture a week later.”

You thought you could do it. Bearing and hiding the pain so you would stand out as the best selection for the new principal dancer. Yet, all of that hard work didn’t matter in the end. It never mattered the moment Claudia Mavis signed a contract with Lady Liberty.

“In the hospital, the head director told me that they would go with Claudia, even though by that point she had been with the company for only one season. One of the people that I was closed with told me that Claudia left her previous company because they wouldn’t promote her. During a physical therapy session, Claudia told me that they offered her the new contract two weeks before my accident. So I never had the chance in the first place.”

You take a long sip of your drink after the story.

"That is very unfair to you. You deserve more than what they gave you."

You shrug.

“Well, it happened. I have learned to accept it a while ago.”

The hurt is still there, albeit more dull. While you want to blame your departure on the circumstances, you know a part of it is for you to bear as well. Matt becomes thoughtful, and you can see the way he considers his question.

“Do you miss it?”

“I … do. Not the toxic culture, but the dancing itself. It’s like a kind of language that I was fluent in. A form of self-expression that I could indulge in.”

“I’m sure when you come back to it, you will still be amazing.”

You don't even try to hide the disbelieving and playful scoff that escapes.

“You're just flattering me.”

There's not a trace of that cocky confidence of a man who thinks he just scores big with a woman because of a throwaway, vague statement he thinks will please her.

“I mean it. I enjoy music and dance performances in a way most can’t. When I really pay attention, I can hear … movements. The rhythm of someone’s feet striking the ground in time with the music when done right is beautiful. The way you talk about ballet shows me how much you truly care for the art. Like you live and breathe it.”

You tug on your bottom lip with your teeth in quiet contemplation before answering him.

“I did. It was a big part of my life.”

“It still can be.”

You let out a noncommittal hum.

"We'll see."

You took sips of your respective drinks, allowing the moment to reset itself. But Matt isn't quite done with the questions. You give him the go-ahead.

"Why ballet?"

“I just love the duality of it. We're supposed to look graceful and effortless while our blisters have blisters, our toes are bleeding, our legs are cramping. We have to dance through all of that and much worse. I like the pain sometimes. It means that I’m doing it right.”

“I didn’t peg you for a masochist.”

The quip takes you by surprise, but you quickly recover.

"Huh. I usually don't reveal that information to anyone until I'm ready to sleep with them."

Matt's tongue licks at his bottom lip, amused by your response.

"Maybe we are just that compatible."

Maybe it is the alcohol that makes you a little lightheaded, but the conversation has taken on a flirty turn, and you lean into each other's space, sharing a bashful, quiet laugh.

The person who took the seat next to yours when you were in the middle of your story bumps into you from behind, pushing you further into Matt's space. They apologize, and you tell them it's fine. The bar top has grown a little more crowded with new visitors. You think about what you could do to make some space when Matt reaches out and pulls your chair closer, so close that your knees touch. The contact is minimal, yet insistent, and you can't help the heat that races to your skin and the wild rhythms of your heart. Even your internal self admits that was the hottest thing Matt has done so far.

You clear your thoughts, focusing on the man sitting so much closer to you now.

“I'm so sorry. I feel like I've been talking about myself for the past hour.”

“No, don't stop. I like it. You have a beautiful voice.”

If he kept this going, you would need to check yourself for a fever. You clear your throat.

“So, what do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer. My partners and I have our own practice here in Hell's Kitchen.”

“Wow, that's amazing. What do you specialize in?”

“A little bit of everything. We started out representing people who can’t afford the legal service. Pro bono work basically. We still do that, but we have been getting more clients who can pay for our services.”

“Hm. It makes perfect sense. I can see that about you. The good guy.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“You know the right questions to ask. You got me talking about myself for … way too long. And your face …”

You trail off. Almost two drinks have worked their magic on your unabashed honesty.

“My face?”

His plush lips lift in a curious smile.

“Yeah, your face. You made me feel … safe and welcome so I could tell my story. Your face stayed neutral when I went on and on about it. No pity or judgment. You looked like you really cared about me, or my case.”

“I do care about you. And for the record, I appreciate every detail you gave me.”

You know that he might say this just to please you, but his earnestness says otherwise.

“Thank you. I needed that. Not many people care about me, especially after my fallout with the company.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It never was.”

Matt puts a hand on yours on the bar top. You stared at his scarred knuckles, your heart beating along the seam of your body with a slight increase in rhythm. Your hand itched to weave itself into his, to lay flat against the warmth of his palm. As if your body has thrown caution to the wind and wants to do just exactly what it wants to, your pointer finger moves involuntarily. He pulls his hand back, an apology on his lips.

“I’m sorry–“

“No, don’t.”

You reach out with the other hand and keep Matt there. You run your thumb over his knuckles as if to soothe him, to tell him that this is okay. You want this. The additional contact exhilarates you, as you haven't felt another’s touch that isn't from Jo or Amy in a long time. Dating has always been the last thing on your mind, especially in the past year. But right here, right now, being with Matt is easy. There is no pressure. No hindrance. Even though you've met only for two hours, Matt has listened to you. He takes a soft and shaky breath, and your eyes follow the way his chest slightly expands.

Your pointer finger traces the raised edges of his scars, and he lets you. The air seems to thin as your pulse drums a frantic beat under your skin.

“Do you beat people up in your client’s honour?”

“Only those who deserve it.”

You chuckle, and you lean into him as if you can't help yourself. The world has gone quiet around you, and the only thing left on your mind is to have his lips on yours. Your voice is only a breath above a whisper, and you're afraid Matt might miss it entirely amongst the loud voices of others.

“Can I kiss you?’’

He releases a sharp exhale as if he has been waiting for you to utter those words all evening.

“Please.”

You lean in, carefully, slowly. His lips slightly part in an open invitation, and you meet in the middle. The touch is gentle, soft tissues overlap in slow, indulgent caresses. Simple, yet it invokes a craving in you. The need for him to be even closer, the yearning to find out the taste of him. Matt touches your jaw, and draws you in closer, deepening the kiss, and you let yourself go. Eager, perching on the territory of desperation as the pressure on your lips grows more insistently. You're entangled in an exhilarating chase, circling around each other like you simply can't resist the pull that's been there since the moment you sat down. Matt silently asks for entry at the seam of your lips, and you respond in kind. His tongue strokes yours and suddenly, there is a new kind of invisible vapour that you're breathing in. It's overwhelming, yet not enough at the same time. You can taste the bitterness of the whisky that makes you wince on normal occasions, but on Matt's tongue, it's addictive and inexplicably irresistible. His air runs wild in your lungs, warming your body from the inside, awakening your nerves.

You break away at the sound of a teasing whistle clearly directed at you, reminding you of where you are. Matt’s face is flushed red, and you want to see how far down the colour goes under the suit and tie he's wearing. His hand is still on your jaw, gently caressing the line like he doesn't want to let go. And you don't want to let him go either.

“Can we go back to your place?”

The question rolls off your tongue, and he nods immediately, a little breathlessly. You stand up from your chairs at the same time. Matt reaches for his coat that is on the back of the chair. You shrug your own on and avert your gaze when Matt subtly adjusts his slacks. You put the bills down for your drinks, shutting Matt down when he objects to the idea. His hand find yours when you offer it to him, and you walk into the brisk air together.

The walk back didn't take too long. Matt held your hand the whole time, and the small gesture made your insides flutter. He lets you go when you reach his apartment. The unit number 6A has almost faded into the dark door. He unlocks the door and tells you where the light switch is. You turn it on, and place your coat in his awaiting palm. You follow him further into the apartment and take in the space.

“Who did you kill to get this place?”

Matt chuckles, discarding his tie with one hand.

“No killing involved. The neon sign out there is enough to chase people away.”

Your gaze falls on the giant, blinking advertisement outside the window.

“Nothing a few blackout curtains won't fix.”

He drapes the black tie on the back of the couch as you turn to the other side of the apartment.

“Do those stairs lead to the rooftop?”

“Yes, they do.”

You keep your back to him.

"Do you go up there often?"

"From time to time."

"This is … wow."

You're not sure why you're stalling. You pretend to look around as you try to brush off a nagging feeling that has settled in the pit of your stomach. Just the nerves, you think. You're out of practice, that's all.

So you clear your throat and say.

“Is your bedroom behind that bigger sliding door?”

He nods. You feel a little out of place, so you gravitate towards him, a familiar presence in a strange space. Matt lets you come to him, giving you all the control. You lean in and attach your lips to his, allowing it to follow the natural progression as it did back at Josie's. Your legs tangle and stumble towards the bedroom, your lips never too far away from one another. You think you might hit the closed door, but before that can happen, Matt pulls you flush against his body with one hand and uses the other to slide the door open in one smooth, practiced move. You pull away when you need to catch your breath.

“May I …”

You touch the side of his glasses. After a quiet moment, he gives you permission to take them, and you do. Slowly, and with the utmost care you can manage, you set them on the bedside table. His eyes are closed when you straighten. You caress his cheek, feeling the way his features form together. Your touch is soothing, and you hope he can feel the patience you offer to him. There is no rush, no pressure. After a long moment, Matt opens his eyes, and you take them in. You can see how he tries to meet your eyes in his own way. The shade of hazel is shrouded by the low light and the occasional shutter of his eyelids.

“Your eyes are beautiful.”

You raise slightly on your tiptoes and kiss his eyelids, feeling his lashes fluttering softly. He waits for you to return to him, and seeks out your lips in a delicate manner.

You fall onto the bed together. Matt braces himself on his forearms so he doesn't crush you. You pull his head down to yours, kissing and nibbling on the stretch of stubble along his jaw. His soft groans of approval encourage the other hand to travel downward, pulling on the white dress shirt. Once it's free from the slacks, you weave your hand inside and run your palm along the expanse of his torso. The dips and raises of his well-defined abs are warm under your palm, and the sensation stokes the molten liquid that's nestling deep inside you. You feel the feverish need edging over that part of you that you want to ignore.

The gradual pullback doesn't feel like a rejection at first, but merely an invitation to follow. So you do, your hands work to unbutton his shirt. But Matt slows you down to a stop, holding your hands to his lips and placing kisses on your palms. You blink, still snarled in the haze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Confronted. The only word that can describe accurately how you're feeling.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your heart …”

His hand trails from your collarbone to your chest where your heart resides within in a way that feels strangely intimate and not at all invasive. You hadn’t realized how fast your heart was beating. It's pounding. You are more nervous about this than you thought.

“… is beating quite fast. Are you nervous?”

You're safe. It's an innate feeling, and while you can't explain it, you know lying to Matt serves no purpose here. He seems to have a way to read you without using his sight.

“Yes, a little bit. I haven’t done this before. Sleeping with a stranger, I mean.”

“I see. We don’t have to do this.”

You raise yourself on your elbows.

“No, I wanted to go back here, with you. I want this.”

“But it doesn’t mean you owe me anything. If you change your mind for whatever reason, I'm okay with that as well."

Matt presses a kiss to your forehead.

"We can always try this again at another time.”

Guilt claws at you, urging you to do anything to please him.

“I’m sorry. I gave you the wrong signal.”

“Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for.”

He tries to find your hand, and you offer it to him. He gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“I had a good time with a beautiful woman, then I got to kiss her, all in one night, and that's enough.”

You guffaw, throwing your head back at the blatant flirt.

“You don’t even know how I look like.”

“No, I don’t. But I have my own way to tell. You sound beautiful.”

An idea materializes in your mind, and you give in to it. You bring his hand to your face, trailing along the side of your face. He gets the hint and begins his own exploration of your features. The way he takes his time, following the slopes of your face, his touch gentle, ghosting over your skin. He stops at your lips and soothes his thumb over the kiss-swollen flesh. You sigh softly. He gives you one last kiss, his tenderness makes your heart soar.

“Would you like something comfortable to sleep in?”

“I'm fine with anything you have.”

Matt finds his closet and pulls out a grey sweatshirt. He tells you where the bathroom is, and you take the folded shirt with you. You clean yourself up with water before stripping down to your underwear. You put the soft material over your body. It smells like him, and soft, just like him. You come out of the washroom and see his bare back for a split second before he pulls the shirt down. He has changed into a pair of grey sweatpants and a black shirt that hugs his chest and biceps beautifully.

You stand by his bed, not sure where you can come in despite the two of you ruffling the sheets not even ten minutes ago. Matt chooses for you, settling on the space facing the window, leaving you the side which is closer to the sliding door. His sheets are silky soft, and you feel yourself sinking right into them. You turn to face Matt, touching his shoulder. He faces you fully, his eyes settling on a point on the lower part of your face.

“Thank you.”

You whisper.

“Thank me by staying for breakfast.”

“Why breakfast?”

“I can't send you off to your interview on an empty stomach, can I? It's the least I can do.”

A rueful smile graces your lips.

“I can’t wait.”

You fell asleep with ease. At one point during the night, you could feel Matt detach himself from you, and out of a vague desperation that you couldn't process, you held tighter onto him involuntarily. At that, he stopped moving, and you felt a soothing pattern trailing over your head, luring you back to sleep again. His warmth carried you through the few hours that you slept.

It's a little past 4 AM when you wake, and find Matt still sleeping peacefully. Torn, but you come to accept that leaving is for the best. You get out of bed gently, thankful that the wooden floor didn't make a noise. You take his sweatshirt off and fold it, putting it on top of the pillow that you slept on. After putting on the clothes from the night before, you leave with much regret in your heart.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

For updates, please follow @cellophaine-archives

[kamelika]

A Soothing Touch

(childhood bestfriend!reader x yukimiya kenyu)

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a/n: honestly im just using my pent up feelings as an excuse to write smth comforting, *sighhhhhhhhhhhhhh*, forgive me, society. synopsis: angst w comfort

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You trudge back home after a tiring competition. You managed to secure 2nd place, but deep down, you know that wasn't good enough. Because no matter how hard you try, there's always someone who puts in less effort than you but manage to get higher than you. And the fact that they shrug it off like it's nothing infuriates you. You just want to grab a fistful of their hair and- *ding!* A notification slices through your thoughts, the sound piercing your ears. You take out your phone, and immediately, almost all of your pent-up feelings withers away as soon as you see the notification was a message from Kenyu. "You did so well, I'm so happy for you, Y/N!" You couldn't help but smile at his message, although that smile didn't last long 'cuz your despair decides to come crawling back. "Not good enough, though." You unconsciously type. You eventually snap out of your trance, but not fast enough to prevent yourself from clicking send. You sigh at yourself, putting the phone back in your bag and proceeding to trudge back home again.

You lay on your sofa, fatigued. The more you think about it, the more you sink into darkness. You hated yourself for not being good enough, for being overshadowed, for hating yourself. You silently cry, cursing yourself over and over again- but those thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

You groan, getting up from the sofa and groggily walk to the door. The door opens with a slight *creeeek* and lo-and-behold, 'tis Kenyu, himself! "Kenyu?" His name rolls off your tongue. "What are you doing here??" You interrogated him. "Well, you seemed really disappointed through text, so... I just wanted to offer some company. Isn't that normal with friends?" He gives you a gentle and teasing smile, one that melts you with ease. "Ah, well, uhm... Come in, then." You invite him in. "I brought snacks, by the way." As soon as he mentioned snacks, your eyes lit up and you questioned him. "Where?!" Causing a chuckle to come from him.

The two of you sat on your sofa, eating snacks in each other's presence. Kenyu was the first one to speak up. "Y/N, are you... Disappointed in yourself, perhaps?" You briefly stopped munching on your snack, being caught off guard by the question. "Yes." You answered straightforwardly.

A sigh rolls out of him. "Don't be, Y/N." You click your tongue, "Easier said than done. It's not that simple. I lost, to someone who gives less effort than me, and that's that. That proves where I stand. That proves-"

"Stop that." He interrupts you, pulling you into an embrace. "Not everything is based solely on results anyway. You tried your very best, and that's what's important. Whoever wins, wins. Whoever loses, loses. There's no use dwelling on the past, so focus on the future. On your next competition, so you don't lose again."

Tears begin emerging from your eyes, making his shirt wet. You sniffle, and sniffle, and sniffle, before finally reaching your breaking point and reducing yourself into a crying mess. He strokes your hair gently, comforting you. His touch seems familiar, you think, before finally realizing something.

That's the same touch you used when you comforted him the day he was diagnosed with optic neuropathy. That day, he cried into your arms, in which you replied with embracing him with love. You ran your hand through his hair, patting him.

This was his chance to repay you that day.

That day you showed him a soothing touch, a gentle embrace and a comforting presence.

Today, he showers you with a soothing touch, a gentle embrace and a comforting presence.

[puppysuke]

daisuke boyfriend hc + drabbles.

hi my first head canon post :3 i am so hyperfixated on daisuke and mouthwashing itself. please someone save me. continue reading below cut! these are both sfw and nsfw, minors dni past the sfw hcs! header made by me :3

🌺 --- daisuke 100% will yap your ear off ALL day. he will not shut his mouth. not that you want him too, anyway. you love listening to him rant and ramble to no end. ~ "swansea was so mean today!" he tells you as he nuzzles into your neck, cuddling contently on the couch of the lounge room after a long day of working with swansea.

you let out a little giggle and ruffle his hair. "i'm sorry, bug," you press a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

"yeah, and then curly wouldn't give me a break, i don't even know what he was talking about. i wasn't paying attention, honestly..." daisuke admits sheepishly. you sigh softly and stay quiet, letting him ramble until he eventually passes out with his arms around your waist and his head on your shoulder. 🌺 --- daisuke daydreams a lot about going home and starting something more with you. after so long in space, going back to earth sounded like heaven, and then in top of that, knowing you'd be with him! he loves it! ~ daisuke had been zoned out all day, a small smile on his face as he seems miles and miles away from reality. by the time swansea delivers him back to you, he's oddly....quiet. "'suke?" you frown as you sit on your bed in the sleeping quarters. you and anya share a room since you were the only girls (sorry guys </3) on the ship, but she was currently in medical, so it was just you and daisuke alone. "are you okay?" you question. he turns to you with a big, toothy grin on his pretty face. "do you think we should get a puppy or a kitten when we're back on earth?" daisuke looked at you with big, happy eyes. he didn't even give you a chance to respond before his next question comes in. "what about our house? maybe we should just start with an apartment? do you wanna be in the city or more in the country? what about decorations? oh! and i can't wait til i can introduce you to my mom! oh, she'll love you! maybe a little more than she loves me, i-" "hey, hey," you interrupt with a chuckle, your hand flying over his lips. "calm down. is this why swansea sent you back to me?" daisuke licked your palm, laughing hard when you pulled your hand away. he was so happy with you. 🌺 --- daisuke wants nothing more than to make you laugh and smile. he will do anything to make you feel better when you're in a bad mood. ~ daisuke looked at you with a frown as you walked down the hall beside him. you seemed to be upset. he had seen you upset before, but this seemed different. you were stressed. being anya's intern, you had a lot of learning to do and today? it felt like you were doing everything wrong. as you went back to your sleeping quarters, daisuke took hold of your hand, linking your pinkie finger in his as he slowed the pace you two were walking at to a stop. "bumble bee," he starts with a pout, turning himself to face you. "are you okay? i mean, i know you're upset, but..." he trailed off for a moment. "tell me what'll make you feel better." "hmm..." you thought a moment, looking down at the ground. you knew there were a few things that could help you feel better, more like yourself. finally, you decided. "can you and i sleep in the lounge tonight and you can sing to me and tell me stories?" a smile graced daisuke's lips. he didn't much like singing, especially to other people, but for you? "of course. anything, for you," he leaned close and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. minors dni past this point. bonus nsfw hc. 🌺 --- daisuke is a soft dom. everyone writes him as a sub, but i do not see this man as a sub. he is 1000% a soft dom and very heavy on praise both giving and receiving. ~ daisuke let out soft pants as he had you under him. he held your hands above your head in one of yours, the other hand cupping your cheeks. you were face to face, inches apart. his favorite position was missionary and you had no complaints, getting to look into those pretty eyes of him. "doing so good for me, sweetheart," daisuke says in a soft and gentle voice as he kissed your forehead with a gentleness that wasn't even describable. "feeling good, hm? am i making you feel good?" he asks, rubbing his thumb over your cheek in soft strokes.

you nod, looking up into his eyes as your mouth hangs open. you gasp and turn your head to the side, leaning into his touch. "m-mhm, feels good, feels perfect. love you so much." you whine out in a breathy voice. daisuke lets out a soft laugh and kissed your temple.

"i love you too, sweets." 🌺 --- he is super vocal in bed. whines, whimpers, grunts, babbling, you name it. much like how he never stops talking, he never stops making noises in bed. ~ daisuke has his head in between your legs, his hands gripping the flesh of your thighs tightly to keep them spread enough. you're lying with you back of the bed and your legs hanging off the edge so he can have you there. despite him giving you head, he's the one that's louder. he whines as he sucks on your clit, he gasps when he prods at your entrance with his tongue, the cold metal of his tongue piercing making you whine too, wiggling your hips.

much to your dismay, daisuke pulls away. you sit up and look at him, confused. he looked up into your eyes and pouts, his chin and lips, even the tip of your nose, glistening in the dim led lights of the room.

"you're so fuckin' sweet!" he puts his chin on your knee, resting his head there for a minute. "it was like...perfect!" you knew he had to have been lying. all you had eaten was whatever the fuck curly those machines in the lounge made and cans of soup, you were in no way having a healthy, balanced diet, but you still appreciated the sentiment.

[stardustedseas]

someday ill be able to write when and what i want and not randomly at 2 am but today is not that day ig im so sorry

nsfw 18+

cw: hybrids, dub con, afab genitals but no pronouns, slight overstimulation, shitty writing lmao

dog hybrid jayce

imagine jayce being your big, dumb doggy hybrid pet who is the most cuddly affectionate being youve ever met, always wanting to cuddle you, lay on you, have ypu pet him, just be near you in general. he is like those saint benards who think theyre lap dogs lmao its next to impossible to be alone with him around or stop him once he's decided he needs to spawl out on your lap. you did get him for how loving he is though, its nice to have someone who loves you so much, but there are still times it can be Very frustrating. sometimes you just need to be alone, have a moment to yourself without your overgrown puppy clinging to you 24/7.

although hes whiney about it, you can usually get a couple hours alone by locking yourself in the bedroom, its an at least once a week thing at this point, but jayce still sits outside the door for half of it whining and clawing at the wood before he goes to pout on the couch. youve gotten good at ignoring him honestly, as mean as that sounds. you know he is just being dramatic and its good for both of you to have some time apart, even if just for the fact it keeps you from getting too overwhelmed and lashing out at him.

usually you lock the door, spend thirty minutes to an hour ignoring his pathetic whimpering until he finally gives up and you can truly have some peace and quiet. you often take those times to destress as well, getting comfortable under the covers and letting your hands wander instead of his for once. usually you wait until hes left before starting, but god youve just had such a long, shitty day and you really need to get this pent up frustration out before you explode. jayce is still outside your door begging to be let in like always when you give in and slip your hand below the waist band of your pants. honestly, you were worried the sound of jayce outside would keep you from actually being able to actually get off, but the way his voice hightens to that needy, raspy whine he always gets when you shut him out, just does something to you this time. you do feel guilty for using his voice without him knowing, but its surprisingly getting you there faster than any porn has, and the sooner you finish, the sooner you can go back to letting him curl up on you.

this only goes on for so long though. jayce is a very big, very strong man and theres only so much a door can take. his insistant wiggling of the handle is too much and the abused metal finally gives way, allowing him to swing the door open and bound into the room, throwing himself on you before you even know whats happening. you try yelling at him to get out, squirming around and shove at his broat chest but your bear of a puppy ignores your commands and instead clings to you, wrapping his burly arms around you from over the covers and pressing you into the mattress with his weight. this must be some kind of fucked up karmic justice.

eventually you give up your struggles, embarrassed he basically caught you masterbating and frustrated from accidentally edging yourself, but decide it's best to just let him get his hugs in before trying to escape again. you sigh and try to relax, hands laying by your sides on the blacket. its not much, but you feel some satisfaction that even if he ruined your alone time, you don't have to fully give in and pretty him to. not getting to cum must not have been punishment enough though because soon jayce is back to whining, grippinhg your wrist and trying to force you to let his fluffy ears. even worse still, he had grabbed your dominant hand, the one that was just knuckle deep inside your slick walls moments ago. that spurs you into action again, trying to yank your arm back from where it was dangerously close to his hair.

this obviously upsets poor jayce though, why are you being so cruel to him? he just wants pats from his beloved owner :( he counters your movements, instead moving his head down to your hand so its cupping his cheek. he has just begun another tantrum when all of a sudden he freezes, the grip on your wrist getting a fraction tighter. you also stop for a moment, confused at his sudden change before hes yanking your hand to his nose with much more force than youre used to from him and taking in a deep, shaky inhale. you let out an admittedly indignafied squack and feel your cheeks heat up, now using your other hand to try tugging him back by his hair. this unfortunately does not help at all.

his eyes snap up to meet yours at that, gaze much darker and headier than expected and youre taken aback by how much his pupils have dilated to almost overtake the usual golden hue. you dont feel unsafe, but you do feel like youve just been spotted by a predator right before being eaten. which isnt completely untrue. neither of you move for a second, just staring, before jayce tilts his head into your hand, this time instead of to his nose, he brings your fingers to his mouth, wet tongue laving over the smaller digits. the groan he lets out the second they touch his pink muscle is downright sinful, deep and almost animalistic. he once again looks up at you, voice now a breathy rasp as he asks what was all over your hand.

youre honestly not sure what to say to that, just staring at him with your mouth slightly ajar in shock, but jayce doesn't seem to notice how mortified you are and goes back to licking at your hand. your brain finally catches up to the moment and you are able to rip yourself free from his grasp and sit up, forcing him to move as well, now just kneeling above you. that was definitely a mistake though, because he caught another whiff of that addictive scent and he's pretty sure he found the source. before you're able to get out of bed, jayce has the plush fat of your thighs in a tight grip and is yanking them apart, quickly shuffling down so his face is much closer to where you want him least in the moment.

you try to leave again, snapping a harsh no! bad boy! but this only makes him flinch a little, too entranced to really take in what you're saying besides the tone. this doesn't stop him though, moving to nuzzle his nose into your damp underwear and taking in a deep breath, his tongue lolling out of his mouth into a pant. it doesnt seem like jayce is even paying attention more, because despite your yelp and now free hands tugging his hair and pushing at his forehead, he continues his exploration. it really hits you just how strong he is, you are putting your entire being into trying to shove him away but he doesnt budge an inch, big hands still holding your legs apart despite how hard youre trying to close them.

it feels like despite your best efforts, your body is a filthy betrayer because as jayce continues to shove his nose deeper between your folds from over your underwear, you can feel them getting wetter and not just from his saliva. its when you let out a strained moan does your beloved hybrid move again, his hips bucking forward into the mattress so hard it shakes the bed. that first thrust broke the flood gates because he is now continuously rocking into the mattress, desperately humping as he licks and slobers all over your already ruined panties. youre greatful they werent one of your nicer ones when he snags the fabric between his teeth as he yanks his head back, tearing right through the slimsy fabric with a loud rip!

you yelp out his name, hands tightening in his hair again as he dives back in, your poor cunt no longer protected by the thin cloth. even though jayce has no rhythm or technique, his enthusiasm definitely makes up for it with the way he is desperately lapping all over, going from licking all around your outer lips before moving to burying his tongue deep into your hole, his nose bumping into your clit with each turn of his head as he tries to get deeper, lapping up as much slick as he can. god this is so fucked up, youre letting your hybrid pet eat you out when he obviously doesnt really know what hes doing, just chasing something that tastes good. you cant find it in yourself to really try to make him stop though, not with how good he feels as your pathetic moans harmonize with how hes whining and growling into you, his fingers definitely leaving bruisess from how hard hes gripping your thighs but you still dont care much.

maybe it's from how pent up you were, how you had unwillingly edged yourself earlier, or just from how hot jayce looks fucking into the blankets, his fluffy tail swiftly wagging behind him, but its not long before youre crying out, tugging on the soft ears atop his head as your whole body stiffness before you relax into a mess of trembles. you cumming still doesn't stop jayce though, he is still sucking and slurping away with just as much abandon as before, maybe even more so after having seen the way your back arched and you gushed more slick into his waiting mouth. you try to once more push him away, shakily gasping that its too much, youre too sensitive, but he still doenst halt.

it feels like your whole body is on fire now, unable to stop the way you keep jerking fowards and wriggling as tears prick the corner of your eyes. the way his tongue is caressing your insides and his nose continues to rub the bundle of nerves quickly turns from a slightly unpleasant pleasure to an agonizing overstimulation. you are about to try kicking him when jayce suddenly stops and lets out a strained whine, his hips stuttering to a more stiff roll before stopping, his body now shaking slightly as well. the room is now almost silent besides the hushed sound of both of your heavy panting, jayces breath fanning against your heated flesh and cooling mess between your thighs. he takes one last huff of your scent and nuzzle into the now damp curls on your mound before he is crawling back up your body and popping down over you again.

part of you wants to slap him upside the head and kick him out of your room for doing all of that, but the second his eyes lock with yours and you see his softened gaze and dopey smile, cheeks a mess of slick and spit, you decided the intense reprimanding hes gonna get can wait until later

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡

im so sorry idk why the only thing i can actually complete is smut despite sucking balls at smut lawkjejdhf was working on the michael nsfw but got blasted with doggy jayce so here we are

[lesmiix]

HELLO, a bit of a strange request but could I have a Hyung-juu x male reader who, when she realizes that he likes her, feels bad for not being woman enough? Ilv =3

ONE SHOT: Pretty girl.

Hyun-ju x g/n reader

Summary: You and Hyun-ju are very close friends. And when you started to fall in love with her, she started to feel bad, thinking that you deserve "a real woman".

Warnings: g/n: gender neutral reader, just fluff.

a/n: I preferred to write it with a g/n reader because I don't feel really comfortable writing with a male reader in particular, it doesn't make a big difference though, hope you don't mind🫶💗

Enjoy!!

💗 HYUN-JU REQUESTS ARE OPEN 💗

It was a warm spring evening, when you and Hyun-ju were sitting on a park bench. You’d been friends for years, inseparable since the day you met. She was your confidante, your partner in crime, the person who made you laugh when the world felt heavy. But lately, you have been thinking about something, something you couldn’t ignore.

You glanced at her, her dark hair catching the sunlight, her eyes focused on the distant playground where children laughed and played. She looked beautiful, but there was a slight sadness in her expression that wasn't there before. It had started a few weeks ago, around the same time you realized your feelings for her had deepened into something more. You’d tried to push it down, to keep things as they were, but your heart had other plans.

She was so good for you, she treated you like a treasure, she always took good care of you and worried about you. Honestly, that melted your heart.

“Hey” you said softly, breaking the silence. “You’ve been quiet today. Is everything okay?”

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the ring you gifted her.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, but her voice lacked its usual warmth. She turned to you, her lips curving into a small, forced smile. “Just thinking.”

"About what?”" you asked, your chest tightening with concern.

She sighed, her gaze dropping to her hands. "About… you. About us."

Your heart skipped a beat. “What about us?”

She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself.

"Y/n, it's so obvious that you like me, and... I've just been thinking about it. You're amazing. You’re kind, and funny, and so full of life. But you don't deserve someone like me."

"What do you mean beautiful?" You asked, holding her hand between yours, knowing what was about to come.

"You deserve to be with a real woman, y/n"

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut.

"Idiot" you started.

"You are a real woman."

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.

"Don’t say that just to make me feel better. I know what I am. And I know you deserve more than… than someone like me."

You reached out, taking her hand in yours. Her fingers were cold, trembling slightly. "Listen to me" you said, your voice steady. "You’re not ‘someone like you. You’re Hyun-ju. You’re the person who makes me laugh when I’m having a bad day. You’re the one who knows me better than anyone else. You’re brave, and strong, and beautiful, and I…"You paused, your throat tightening.

"I’m in love with you. Not because of who you were or who you think you should be, but because of who you are. Right here, right now."

Her breath hitched, and she looked at you, her eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt.

"You don’t have to say that" she whispered. "I don’t want you to regret this later."

"I won’t" You said firmly.

"I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. You’re not a placeholder, Hyun-ju. You’re not second best. You’re my first choice. You always have been."

For a moment, she just stared at you, tears streaming down her cheeks. Then, you slowly caressed her cheek, cupping it in your hand, as you leaned in for a kiss. A few inches separated your lips, as you looked into her eyes, seeking consent.

She hesitated for a moment, but finally, she closed the space between you.

The kiss was soft. Full of love. You wanted to show her everything you felt for her. Everything you have been holding back.

After some seconds, you pulled away. Looking at her in the eyes.

"I love you, Hyun-ju. I truly do"

She let out a shaky laugh, her hand tightening around yours.

"You're so corny, you know that?"

You smiled, brushing a tear from her cheek. "Yeah, but you love me anyway."

And for the first time in weeks, her smile reached her eyes.

"Yeah" she said softly.

"I do"

a/n: This is so sweet I can't.

[whats-the-word-again]

⋆˚࿔ Hekate's Deipnon ⋆˚࿔ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Happy Deipnon everybody ♡

I hope you are all well! I can't remember if I posted about it or not, I don't think I have, but update: Lady Hekate is now apart of my practice, She now has an altar (though small at the moment) setup for Her. So I am very excieted to celebrate my first Deipnon as a worshipper of Hekate! I have try to celebrate Deipnon everytime it comes up, but I never included Lady Hekate as part of that, using it solely as a time to reflect on the past month and on myself. Looking back, I feel as though I should have incorporated Lady Hekate in m celebrations; but like many, I had fallen into the "Hekate is scary" trap. But there's no point in speaking of what I should have done; only looking for what I can do now. I am still very new to Her worship, and excited to learn more, but from the minimal interactions I've had with Her, She is wonderful. I promise.

Anyway! I'm not able to do much for Deipnon today, so I will be joining the offerings for both Deipnon and Noumenia made for Hekate on Noumenia [tomorrow]. But for tonight, I will pray to Hekate and write a small poem as a temporary offering. As well as this digital offering below. (I may share my poem with yall tomorrow).

[...] The spear of Hekate of the Crossroads Which she bears as she travels Olympus And dwells in the triple ways of the holy land She who is crowned with oak-leaves And the coils of wild serpents.

- Fragment from the play Root Cutters, Sophocles

Xaire Lady Hekate! And may she look upon us all kindly this Deipnon

divider by @/sister-lucifer

[sakura-hitomi]

Today I came across a chat where people debate on if jkr should write a marauders series. Now, I myself am not good with wording out my opinions well but I hope my point gets across.

My answer is: No, jkr should not write marauders stuff.

Why?

Let's dive a bit.

Marauders are textbook bullies.

- James Potter: popular, pureblood, charming, playful, filthy rich, Gryffindor, captain of the team, hardcore Slytherin hater (discriminator), extorts, threatens, lone child, hexes people for fun, Classist, and doesn't know what no means.

- Sirius Black: popular, hot, pureblood, filthy rich, older brother, Gryffindor, hot tempered, Classist, 28 family circle, idolizes James only, emotionally not available, lunatic, murder is an option, only cares about 1 person, "muggle fanatic", motor lover, textbook rebellious bad boy, disappointment of his family and 'bully becomes bully' trope.

- Remus Lupin: mid class, scars, lycan, lone child, spineless, prefect, 4th wheel of marauders group, is a victim of James his carelessness, is a victim of Sirius his shamelessness, yet being the victim it does not open his eyes, Gryffindor, adores lily, got angry at harry for being like James, is cowardly, makes up excuses to defend himself/James.

- Peter Pettigrew: Gryffindor, social class unknown, lone child, portly boy, treated as accessory, tried hard to be part of the amazing duo but is recognized by teachers even as the follower (imagine cruel teenagers like himself).

That is the character description I have of the maruaders. Now Marauders would be dangerous for a show/series, because online we already see how many people wish to see the perspective of marauders to justify Snape's bullying.

Marauders were in fact bullies and I don't know if either hell would break loose that the marauders are portrayed as such and not the gay softies ATYD is yapping about.

James is a hardcore classist to the core and a jock. He literally is that boy who bullies the male protagonist who gets close to the popular girl.

Sirius is the bad boy classist. He's so filthy rich and act like he's there for the poor or one of the poor. Only difference is be sleeps on a bed of money and also has discrimination tendencies towards the poor and those standing in weak societies.

Remus is the spineless backbone of that group. He acts like hes the victim because of his condition but yet he chose to stay there. He's that person that whines about "why do only toxic guys find me" even though the person is making the choice to date said toxic men. Sirius and James weren't hiding red flags either. They brag about it in broad daylight. Yet he chose to stay friends with them.

Peter is that friend that tries 3x as hard to fit in with the cool group only to make him look like a fool and pathetic. And the school labels him as such, giving him reason for pent up restentment.

Those are the marauders, there is no real 2nd layer to them. James bullies because he can. Sirius bullies because his home life is sad. Remus has self created fear to speak up and Peter is desperate to be seen as one of the marauders.

I think that life/series would quickly run out of audience. Since it doesn't match the anticipation the majority of marauders fans made up of them. And secondly, they were bullies, who would even enjoy watching 4 kids gang up on 1 kid constantly for no reason aside because they can. It would feel tasteless and force the audience to be involved in doing so.

Like the audience is participating in ruining 7 years of one child alone. As if the audience is also part of the child's ruin and abuse. Because let me tell you, this piece in the book sounds to me so ominous, I got chills:

🛑 'Once James had deflated his head a bit,' said Sirius.

'And stopped hexing people just for the fun of it,' said Lupin.

'Even Snape?' said Harry. Well,' said Lupin slowly, 'Snape was a special case. I mean, he never lost an opportunity to curse James so you couldn't really expect James to take that lying down, could you?'

'And my mum was OK with that?'

'She didn't know too much about it, to tell you the truth,' said Sirius.

'I mean, James didn't take Snape on dates with her and jinx him in front of her, did he?' Sirius frowned at Harry, who was still looking unconvinced.

(Book: The Order of the phoenix/ ch29: Career Advice, page 645/646)

You see, lily would only date James if he changed. Which he didn't. He lied to the supposedly love of his life and mother of his child. But he felt the need to involve his friends into keeping this a secret.

His friend being Remus, the PREFECT. Why did he become a prefect? Oh right, to keep his friends in line which he failed miserably like the spineless kid he is.

Sirius is a die hard for James. Even if James would murder, Sirius would help him cover up the body. Sirius even gets angry when harry is accusing James of being remotely bad. How dare James his child nag his dead best mate? Please, make that make sense.

These are the characters people want a show/series of?

The creator has to MAKE UP stuff that would probably make more loss than profit. Similar to a show that doesn't always need a sequal or prequal or 3rd movie, because that one book or movie was enough already as it is.

If the show ever did make up reasons for marauders to attack Snape which the original books (HP) never gave. Snape fans would be livid because the show makes up headcanons then to justify the hatred even though James and Sirius their hatred simply began because Snape liked Slytherin.

If the creator gave a show of marauders their canon events the (majority of) marauders fans would lose their mind too. Not only that. If the marauders book doesn't remotely come close to what HP is about, many fans wouldn't be bothered to read jkr books at all. Because it wouldn't make sense because it wouldn't fit in nicely with the original books.

Making it so that fans won't be even bothered to read those books at all. Causing jkr to lose money in her assets. Because imagine if jkr does give Sirius and James a reason to bully Snape. Like, maybe the marauders were doing it for the good for the most time but sometimes it wasn't and Snape only remembered the sometimes.

It would cause an outrage because that would mean, Snape was in fact an absolute asshole, marauders were saints all along. Which would paint Harry and golden trio in a bad light for being friends with harry who idolizes and forgives Snape. Nothing would come out of marauders series unless marauders fans are alright with accepting that canon them were shitty abusive bullies.

There is no 2nd meaning to it. Such as Snape was also bad, Snape this, Snape that, etc. because James himself gives away he torments Snape for being alive, and the train gave more than enough reason as to why the other reasons don't matter. Reasons that's snaters make such as:

- studying DA

- being surrounded with DE

- being friends with lily.

Because it all began in that 1st train ride to Hogwarts where James and Sirius branded Snape as Snivellus for simply adoring Slytherin. And they tried to trip him too when they chose to not go into a fight them but rather leave the battle.

What I would like though is a what-if show. Do people know the what if situation from marvel where they explore multiple scenarios and outcomes? Like, this show or book would have nothing to do with canon or ruin canon, but it's exploring popular headcanons. I do would like that.

It is safe, fun and does give most people what they want. I wouldn't touch this subject either if I was jkr. People already hate her for stupid reasons (some are valid). Marauders fans already go around saying a marauders fan doesn't have to be a HP fan or that they hate HP but love marauders.

This is my take on it. If it sound repetitive, I am drained, and might look at this later and rewrite it a bit.

[yapper1020]

This is most definitely gonna flop but I wrote this fic about Carmy in therapy today and it's too short to post on ao3 so imma post it here. It's still a bit long and I'm aware the way Carmen talks in this is out of character but my mind would not be stopped. I had to write it like this. I apologize for any typos.

Disclaimer that I have never been to therapy but enjoy I guess lmao.

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"There's uh, there's this thing in my chest. I forget the name of it sometimes. Too busy thinking about my hands to focus on the rest of my parts. It keeps you alive. The heart. It's the center of everything. The powerhouse. Or at least, it's supposed to be."

"How do you mean?" Doctor Scott, his therapist, asks him. And fuck it all really, because is he even therapy material? Is he not too far gone? Natalie doesn't think so. That's who he's here for.

Natalie.

Sydney.

Richie.

The list can go on for days.

And he'll still be here in this room. Wondering if he's worth anything.

"That, uh, that probably sounded confusing," he chuckles, a humorless sound. "I guess I mean emotionally. My heart isn't in charge. Am I making sense?"

"Please, continue."

"Uh, o-okay." Swallows. It feels like glass shredding his throat. The dread. "It's my mind that handles shit. I've always dealt with everything like an equation even though I'm terrible at math...so no, actually. I treat everything like a dish. Clean plate or messy. Sharp corners or abstract shapes. Light or heavy. Big or small. Everything is how it's supposed to be. Even if you hate it. Even if you hate yourself for doing it." A breath. Shuddering and small. "And when a plate is fucked, you abandon it." A finger against a nose. Nail scratching against bone.

"My mother hated me - hates me because I'm something to hate. I'm easy to dislike. I was made to be her punching bag. Acceptance. That's what I did to handle that. I was never meant to be loved by my mother or father. Not in a normal way. Not in a healthy way. Not in a real way."

"Why do you feel like that? Like you were meant to be hated?"

"Because...because I hate myself. I told you, I'm easy to dislike."

"Why do you hate yourself?" He says, writing on his pad. As if he is merely a name on a paper. Is that what he's worth? An easily scribbled, merely incomprehensible note on a doctor's form. Simply and only a patient to people paid to take care of him? Because everyone else has given up?

"I am boring. Lifeless. I am lifeless because I am bloodless and because I am bloodless, I am pale. Ugly. Deformed."

"Is that what you think of your appearance? Or something you were told? By your mother, perhaps?"

"Both." He touches his nose. Squints his eyes. "Uh," a sigh. A cry for help. "I'm not fun to be around. Most times I'm paralyzed in my own mind. My family says I need to calm down. Unwind. Relax. Unclench my ass. I don't fucking know how to do that. Since I was born, everything was high intensity and fast. Very happy or very sad or so terrifyingly angry. Nothing was done small. Nothing was ever fucking calm. I was raised in chaos so therefore I must've have been for it. It must be all that I can be. All that I can create. A creature is born to is born to a certain habitat because that is the only way it can live or try too. Only in those conditions. So if the conditions are violent, the creature is by nature, by its calling, violent. It's the only way it can survive. I was bred to be loveless and unlovable, and cruel, and unkind."

I was born to not know love.

It does not know me.

And I do not know it.

"Everyone runs from an oncoming train. Unless they want to get hurt." He continues.

"Carmen, I can't help but notice that you have a very poor outlook of yourself."

"Most people do." He tries to joke but he's never been one for humor. Doctor Scott does not laugh. Suddenly, "you sound like Sydney," he says.

"What does Sydney say?"

"She tells me I'm unkind to myself."

"She's right."

"She always is." He responds, almost defensively. Shifting on the hard cushion.

"Who is Sydney?"

"My partner." He motions for Carmen to continue but he doesn't, not understanding.

"Who is Sydney to you?"

"My partner."

"No. Not in a work capacity, Carmen."

"Why-why do you ask?"

"You smiled."

"What?"

"When you mentioned her. You smiled. For the first time in the forty-five minutes we've been here."

"Well...I only know her fully in a work capacity. I barely know her outside of that."

"What do you know about her outside of that?"

"She is shy. And she's fierce. And she's awkward. And she bottles everything in. I wish she wouldn't. Her nose crinkles when she thinks. Her voice goes quiet when she asks for something. Her jokes are awful but she loves to tell them anyway. She smiles with her nose and her eyes. She's not afraid of me so I fear her power."

"You fear her?"

"I fear what she can do. She tells me when I'm wrong. When I'm being an asshole. She doesn't give me grace. Like Richie or Nat. And I don't think she should, I honestly don't want her to. She meets me toe to toe except...I am the monster and she's the queen. I'm not used to that. I'm used to fighting monsters. Do I sound like a nursery rhyme? I think I do."

The doctor's mouth does not move.

"She can leave me and not be broken. But if she leaves me...I won't ever be whole. Forever indented by the lack of her presence."

"So she means a lot to you?"

"She consumes me. But if I do the same to her, she'll be gone forever. Lost to the grayness of my being. I would never see her again except, she'd be right in front of me. And that would be infinitely worse."

"You think you are a danger to her?"

"I know I am. But I can't let her go and for some reason I can't fucking understand, she won't leave me. She is angry at me. But she won't go. She looks at me like she believes in me. She is stubborn to show me something I can't even fathom. She wants me to learn it. But I don't even think she's aware of what she's doing."

"And what's that?"

"She is trying to show me love. Or she has already shown me it. But I can't process it. So I scream and she does it back. And sometimes, I see her crying at closing and my mind factory resets so I don't have to think of how I'm the cause of it. I ignore pain. Whether from me or others because I only, always, make it worse. And the next day, I treat her with kindness or rather, I treat her with a lack of anger and hope she smiles. She rarely does."

"You always make it worse?"

"When I was five, Natalie got cut. I tried to help, ran to get a band aid. What I didn't realize is that the first aid kit had a pool of my mother's brandy in it. It was on the bandage. It burned Natalie. I made it worse. Yes, I always do." A beat of silence and Carmen rubs at his chest. "I'm tired of talking." His mouth is dry, his eyes are wet.

"Well, you have an hour left but we don't have to talk. We can just sit."

Carmen nods. He talks anyway. "Sydney is hopeful. Sydney is optimistic. I'm a pessimist. We shouldn't work. But we try anyway. And sometimes, it's like flying. Others, it's like falling straight into the abyss. We clash but I don't want to lose her. So I do what I do best."

"What's that?"

"I cook. I speak through food. Vegetables, fruits, meats. They're all letters and seasonings are periods and commas and exclamation points. That is my language. She speaks it too. That is how we were introduced even though I didn't know that we met at the time. She ate one of my dishes. And somehow, impossibly, she was inspired. She sought me out. I think she might regret it." His brow furrows. "Hey, doc. She's the only person other than family I can apologize too, why's that?"

"Maybe because you care about her."

"I care about a lot of people. She's the only one I can speak too. Say what I mean."

"Well, how do you feel about her?" There's a freckle on his nose. An imperfection Carmen finds. He was trained to find imperfections. In dishes and chefs below him and around him. To break them. To surpass them.

I'm gonna smoke this motherfucker!

But never the chefs above him. They were supposed to break him. To mold him. To make him hard and callused and cruel. Except it didn't take them that long to make him that way. Had a natural knack for it, it seems.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, how does Sydney make you feel?"

"Uh, you know that moment after a storm? When everything goes quiet. The earth stops shaking. The sky stops screaming. But it's still wet and dreary, there's mud everywhere. You stay inside because it's warm and you're dry and you're safe."

"Sydney feels like that to you?"

"Sydney is that to me."

"You said you can't process love but I think you are. I believe you are learning."

"It doesn't matter whether I'm learning something good. Because I can't unlearn all the bad. I can't unlearn the way my mother's hands curl around a wine bottle. Or how she snarled like a beast when she looked at me. I can't unlearn the way my father left without so much as a goodbye or even a glance back. I can't unlearn how Natalie's nose flares when she cries. And I can't unlearn how Micheal breathed like two hands were choking his lungs. I can't forget that shit. I am that shit." There's a mirror in the room. Everything about him is red when he sees his reflection. "I am my mother's pleas and her accusations. I am my father's son. I have his eyes. I have his ears, I have his tendency to leave. I am my mother's anger and her wretched uncommon happiness. I am the reason for her rage and the target of her calamity. I am my brother's only hope and his dying wish. I am his disappointment and his pride. I am the thoughts that killed him. I'm the one person my sister couldn't get to stay so I am the root of her unhappiness. I am the reason she stays up at night yet still am one of the partakers of her kindness. I am my family's blood and I carry all their scars. I am the outcast. I carry all the darkness because I am strange and they can't understand me so Ma put all the problems on me because I was already misshapen so why not a bit more stretching and pulling until I no longer have a form but am just merely a fog that travels within the spaces they all long to ignore. Those crevices that ache and moan and bitch, that is where I live. In my family's sorrow. In their every fear. In the reason they give up. I am a Berzatto which means I am heartbroken and lonely and full of a fury I can't control. It is my birthright. It is burned into the mechanical nature of my matter. I am loud and intolerable. I move without feeling. I will tear you apart with my teeth like a bear and I will loathe myself for it afterward. I'll give anyone my all but all of me is not something people usually want. I am without a place and without a purpose to any other human being unless I am serving them."

"Except to your family."

"They're my family. They have to love me anyway."

"Except to Sydney?"

It stumps Carmen. His mouth shuts.

"Would you like to talk about your brother?" He nearly has whiplash.

"My brother...I loved him."

"I know."

"He was everything I wanted to be and everything I didn't."

"Can you expound on that?"

"He'd get into fights a lot. But he had passion. He stood up for himself. People liked him. I so desperately wanted to be liked or understood. Nobody got me. They'd try but not really. Sydney gets me."

"So your brother was your role model, would you say?"

"He was my inspiration."

"And when he died?"

"Everything lost its flavor."

The doctor seemingly understanding that his client speaks in the tongue of a chef more than the tongue of a human taps his pen and asks, "and when could you taste again?"

"Sydney made risotto. It needed acid. But I still thought it was perfect. But I didn't tell her that. I diminished her instead."

"Like your mother diminished you?"

His jaw clenches, his eyes water. "Yes." He admits, brokenly.

"Carmen. You're right. You can't forget the things you witnessed in your childhood and adulthood. You can't forget the way you were treated. But you can change. You can be different. You can break away from the things you learned and become new. You can be the person you want to be."

...

It's cold when Carmen makes it outside.

His lips are dry.

His fingers are numb.

His mind feels loopy.

So when he sees Sydney leaned up against her car, he thinks he might be hallucinating.

He walks toward his hallucination with purpose. She smiles at him and he frowns.

"Sydney?"

"Hey!" She rubs her hands together, bracing against the wind. "How'd it go?"

"It uh," he looks back at the office and squints. "It went." He shrugs, not knowing what to say. It was heavy and it was long. And he's tired. She understands that immediately.

"Yeah, these things can be rough."

"Why are you here?" He asks but not unkindly.

"To drive you home."

"You didn't have to do that."

"Dude, it's like ten fucking degrees, I didn't want you to freeze."

"I wouldn't freeze." He says back, confused.

She sucks her teeth and rolls her eyes. "I wanted to be with you after that shit. Okay? Happy?"

He stares at her. She is the sun, he is the moon. Always on one side of the sky but rarely together. He thinks they should become an everlasting eclipse.

She hugs him. Her arms squeeze him so hard that he feels again.

He sighs.

His nose burns from the chill.

He is home.