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4linos · 1 day ago

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across the street pt. 4

bang chan x fem!reader, lee minho x fem!reader

synopsis: minho confronts chan after seeing how much his words hurt you. the tension between them escalates as minho stands firm in protecting your choices, asserting that your life and decisions are now in your hands, not chan’s.

wc: 4306

[part 1, part 2, part 3]

"Minho... I need to tell you something."

He felt his stomach drop. He couldn’t bear to hear you say it, couldn’t stand to watch you tear him apart piece by piece, so he forced himself to say it first.

"Just do it," he muttered, his voice colder than he intended. He kept his back turned to you, fists clenched at his sides. "If you’re going to leave me, just get it over with."

Your silence made his chest tighten. Was that confirmation? Was he right? His breath was unsteady, heart hammering painfully against his ribs as he waited for the inevitable words that would break him.

But then, you sobbed.

Minho’s entire body stiffened at the sound, his head snapping toward you. You stood there, hands trembling at your sides, tears streaming down your face. You weren’t saying anything, just crying so hard you could barely breathe.

His heart clenched, confusion flashing across his face. This wasn’t what he expected.

"Y/N?" His voice lost its earlier coldness, now laced with worry. He took a hesitant step toward you, resisting the urge to immediately pull you into his arms. "What—what’s wrong?"

You tried to speak, but your throat was too tight. You shook your head, wiping at your tears furiously, and Minho felt himself panic.

"Please," he breathed, hands gripping his sides as if to keep himself together. "Just tell me."

Finally, you managed to choke out the words. Words that shattered every assumption he had, every fear he had convinced himself was true.

"I’m pregnant."

The room went silent.

Minho stood frozen, staring at you as if you had just spoken in a foreign language. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. He felt lightheaded, his thoughts struggling to process what you had just said.

Pregnant.

You were pregnant.

His breath hitched, his legs feeling weak beneath him. He felt so stupid, so guilty for ever doubting you, for ever believing you would leave him. All this time, while he had been drowning in his own insecurities, you had been carrying this alone.

Without thinking, he closed the distance between you, cupping your tear-streaked face in his hands. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, wiping away the tears as he forced you to meet his eyes.

"Say it again," he whispered, voice unsteady.

You let out a watery laugh, sniffling as you looked up at him. "I’m pregnant."

Minho exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping against yours as a choked laugh left his lips.

Tears pricked at his own eyes, but he didn’t care. He pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it was as if he was afraid you’d disappear. You clung to him, burying your face into his shoulder as the weight of the moment fully sank in.

"I’m sorry," you whispered. "I should have told you sooner."

Minho shook his head, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your head. "No, I’m sorry," he murmured. "I—I thought you were gonna leave me. I thought I was losing you."

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes filled with emotion. "I would never leave you, Minho."

His breath hitched, and he knew in that moment that he had never loved anyone the way he loved you. He gently placed a hand over your stomach, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your shirt.

"We’re having a baby," he whispered, the realization finally settling in.

A slow smile spread across your lips as you nodded. "Yeah. We are."

Minho let out a breathless laugh, his heart overflowing with emotions he couldn’t even begin to describe. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then finally your lips, pouring every ounce of love and relief into it.

"You’re stuck with me now," he teased, his voice softer than usual.

You chuckled, resting your hand over his. "I think I’ve always been stuck with you."

And for the first time in weeks, Minho wasn’t afraid anymore.

"Are you sure you’re happy?"

Minho had barely let go of you since you told him, still holding you close as he pressed soft kisses to your forehead, your hair, your cheeks. But every time you asked, his brows would furrow, his hands tightening around you like he needed you to feel how serious he was.

"Of course I’m happy," he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

You swallowed, looking down at where his hand still rested against your stomach. "Because last time, I had to do it alone. And I was scared. I don’t want to—"

Minho cupped your face again, his gaze searching yours as he whispered, "You’re not alone this time."

His voice was steady, certain. Like there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind.

"I did this with you and Nari the final months," he reminded you, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I’ll do it again. Every second of it. Even when you wake me up at 2 a.m. because you suddenly need a milkshake."

You let out a shaky laugh, your fingers curling into his shirt. "That only happened twice."

Minho raised an eyebrow. "Twice in one week."

You pouted, but before you could argue, he kissed your forehead again, his voice dropping to a softer tone.

"I mean it, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere. Not for the mood swings, not for the weird cravings, not for the sleepless nights. I’ll be here, through all of it."

Your chest ached, not with fear this time, but with overwhelming relief. With love.

Minho smiled, pressing his hand more firmly against your stomach. "Besides," he added, tilting his head. "I think Nari's gonna be pretty excited to be a big sister."

And just like that, the last bit of fear eased away.

"Do you want to tell h-" you had barely finished asking Minho if he wanted to tell Nari when a little giggle filled the room.

"Why are you guys hiding from me?"

Nari stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips, looking between the two of you with big, curious eyes. Her little nose scrunched up as she stepped closer, climbing onto the bed between you and Minho.

Minho smirked, ruffling her hair. "We weren’t hiding, princess. We were just talking."

She squinted at him suspiciously. "About what?"

You and Minho exchanged a look, a silent question passing between you both. Should we tell her now?

Minho nodded slightly, and you turned back to Nari, taking her little hands in yours.

"Nari," you started gently, smoothing your thumb over her knuckles, "Mommy and Minho have something really special to tell you."

Nari’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, swinging her legs excitedly. "What is it?"

You took a deep breath, feeling Minho’s hand settle on your back in reassurance. "You're going to be a big sister soon."

For a moment, Nari just blinked at you, processing your words. Then, her whole face lit up with excitement.

"A baby?!" she gasped, looking between you and Minho with wide eyes. "Like a real baby?!"

Minho chuckled. "No, a pretend one."

Nari gasped again before realization hit. "Hey!" She playfully hit Minho’s arm, making him laugh as he pulled her into his arms.

"Yes, sweetheart," you giggled, smoothing her hair down. "A real baby. In Mommy’s tummy."

Nari placed her hands on your stomach dramatically, her eyes serious. "Is it in there right now?"

You nodded, watching as she carefully pressed her cheek against your belly, like she was trying to listen.

"I can’t hear them," she whispered.

Minho grinned, resting his chin on her head. "That’s because they’re still too tiny. But soon, they’ll start growing, and one day, you’ll get to meet them."

Nari pulled back, her little hands still on your stomach as she beamed up at you. "I’m gonna be the best big sister ever!"

You felt your heart swell, the sight of Minho and Nari together making every lingering fear melt away.

You smiled softly, running your fingers through her hair. "I know you will, baby."

The next morning over breakfast, Minho was still smiling ear to ear, unable to contain his excitement. Every few minutes, he’d glance over at you, his eyes full of warmth, and ask, “You feeling okay?”

You nodded, though you couldn’t help but yawn as you sipped your tea. “Just extra tired,” you admitted.

Minho reached over, rubbing small circles on your back. “You should nap after breakfast. I’ll keep Nari entertained.”

Nari, who had been munching on her breakfast quietly, suddenly looked up. “What about me?”

Minho grinned, ruffling her hair. “What about you, princess?”

“You didn’t ask if I was feeling okay,” she pouted.

You chuckled, and Minho dramatically gasped, placing a hand over his chest. “Oh no, my mistake! How are you feeling, Miss Nari?”

She giggled, taking another bite of her toast. “I’m good!”

The lighthearted moment was cut short when Minho turned to you again, his voice softer this time. “Are you going to tell Chan? About the baby?”

You froze for a second, staring down at your plate. You knew this conversation would come up sooner or later, but now that it was here, you weren’t sure how to answer.

“And,” Minho continued, his tone careful, “are you going to tell Nari about who Chan really is?”

Nari was still focused on her food, but you felt a knot tighten in your stomach. You had always known you couldn’t keep it from her forever. And now, with another baby on the way, the truth was bound to come out eventually.

You sighed, setting your fork down. “I… I don’t know yet,” you admitted. “I know I need to, but I just don’t know how.”

Minho nodded, not pushing you but still watching you closely. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said gently. “Just know I’m here, no matter what happens.”

You glanced at Nari, who was swinging her legs happily, completely unaware of the weight of the conversation happening around her.

You exhaled. “I’ll figure it out.”

You had been hesitant all week about whether to tell Chan about the baby. Was it really necessary? Did he even have to know? You weren’t sure. But when Chan asked to take Nari out for some ice cream, you agreed, deciding to push the thought aside for now.

The three of you sat inside the small ice cream shop, Nari happily swinging her legs as she dug into her strawberry cone. Chan sat across from you both, watching her with a soft smile before looking at you.

“How’ve you been?”

You shrugged, licking your own ice cream. “Same old, same old.”

Chan raised a brow, about to say something else when Nari suddenly gasped dramatically.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you something, Channie!” she said, eyes wide with excitement.

Chan chuckled. “Yeah? What is it, princess?”

“I’m gonna be a big sister!” she announced proudly, grinning up at him. “Mommy has a baby inside her tummy!”

You immediately stiffened, your spoon pausing mid-air. Your heart dropped as you glanced at Chan, whose expression had completely frozen.

He blinked. Once. Twice. “What?”

Nari was too busy taking another bite of her ice cream to notice the way the atmosphere shifted. “Yup! Minho said so! That means I get to help take care of the baby and teach them stuff!”

Chan finally turned to you, his jaw clenched slightly. His eyes flickered to your stomach before settling back on your face. “Is that true?” His voice was quiet, but you could hear the tension behind it.

You exhaled, placing your spoon down. “Yeah,” you admitted. “I’m pregnant.”

He stared at you for a long moment, processing the words. His fingers tightened around his cup. “And you weren’t going to tell me?”

You swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. “I didn’t think I needed to.”

Chan scoffed, leaning back. “You didn’t think you needed to?” he repeated, shaking his head. “You’re having another kid, and you didn’t think I should know?”

You bit your lip, stealing a glance at Nari, who was still happily eating, oblivious to the tension thickening around her.

Chan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He was upset, but he couldn’t exactly lash out with Nari sitting right there. So instead, he looked at you with a forced calmness. “We’ll talk about this later,” he muttered.

And somehow, that made you feel even worse.

The rest of the ice cream trip was painfully awkward. Chan tried his best to keep his composure for Nari’s sake, nodding and smiling when she spoke, but you could see the stiffness in his shoulders, the way his fingers tapped impatiently against the table. You knew he was holding back, waiting for the moment he could finally say what was on his mind.

When Nari finished her ice cream, Chan offered to walk you both to your car. The air outside was cooler now, but the tension was suffocating. Nari was skipping happily ahead, completely unaware of how quiet the two of you had become.

As you reached your car, you bent down to buckle Nari into her seat, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead before closing the door. When you turned around, Chan was already standing there, arms crossed over his chest, his jaw tight.

“So,” he started, his voice low but controlled. “You really weren’t going to tell me?”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Chan—”

“Do you hear yourself?” he cut in, shaking his head. “You didn’t think it was necessary to tell me you were pregnant, but I had to find out from Nari? Again?”

You flinched at his choice of words. “It’s different this time.”

“Is it?” he challenged. “Because it doesn’t feel different. It feels exactly the same.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out.

Chan scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “So what, were you just going to wait until the baby was born? Until Nari slipped up?”

“I don’t know!” you finally snapped, exasperated. “I don’t know, Chan! I was going to tell you eventually, I just—” You ran a hand through your hair, your voice quieter now. “I just didn’t know how.”

Chan let out a bitter laugh. “You didn’t know how?” He shook his head, looking away for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “You don’t think I deserve to know?”

You sighed, guilt settling heavily in your chest. “It’s not about that. I just…” You hesitated. “I didn’t know if it was really necessary.”

Chan’s expression twisted, hurt flashing in his eyes. “Not necessary?” His voice was quiet now, almost defeated. “I get that you don’t need me anymore, but I thought we were at least trying to be honest with each other.”

That one stung. You bit your lip, looking down.

Chan exhaled sharply, shaking his head again. “Whatever,” he muttered. “It’s not like I have a say in anything anyway.”

You frowned. “Chan—”

“Just go,” he said, stepping back. “Take Nari home.”

Your heart clenched at the sight of him tired, frustrated, hurt. But there was nothing more to say right now. So you nodded silently, slipping into the driver’s seat.

As you drove away, you stole one last glance in the mirror. Chan was still standing there, watching you go, his hands clenched into fists.

Minho could tell the moment you walked through the door that something was wrong. You had that distant look in your eyes, the same one you always had when something weighed heavily on your mind. Nari, still buzzing from her ice cream date, ran off to her room to play, leaving just the two of you standing in the entryway.

Minho didn’t say anything at first. He just reached for your coat, helping you slip out of it, his hands lingering at your shoulders as he studied your face. “What happened?” he finally asked, his voice gentle but firm.

You shook your head, forcing a small smile. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s a lie.”

You sighed, stepping around him to go further inside, trying to avoid the conversation, but Minho wasn’t going to let it go that easily. He followed you into the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “Did he say something to you?”

You hesitated, not wanting to bring it up, but the way Minho was watching you made it clear he wasn’t going to drop it. “He wasn’t happy,” you admitted. “That I didn’t tell him myself. That he had to hear it from Nari.”

Minho scoffed, shaking his head. “Of course he wasn’t.”

“He said it felt exactly like last time,” you continued quietly, looking down at the counter. “That I didn’t think it was necessary to tell him.”

Minho tensed at that, his jaw tightening. He took a deep breath before stepping closer to you. “He doesn’t get to make you feel bad about this,” he said, voice low but firm. “He doesn’t have a say in your life anymore. The only thing he has a say in is Nari.”

“I know that,” you murmured.

“Do you?” Minho challenged, his fingers gently lifting your chin so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Because you look like you’re carrying the weight of his feelings on your shoulders when you shouldn’t be.”

You sighed, leaning into his touch. “I just don’t want to fight with him.”

Minho’s expression softened slightly. He exhaled, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “I know,” he murmured. “But you don’t owe him anything. This baby is ours. He doesn’t get to have an opinion on it.”

You nodded, but the guilt still lingered. You knew Minho was right you knew that logically, Chan had no right to dictate anything about your life now. But it still stung to see the look on Chan’s face when he realized you hadn’t intended to tell him at all.

Minho watched your expression carefully before pulling you into his arms, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your temple. “You’re not alone in this,” he whispered. “Not like before.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself melt into his embrace, breathing in his warmth, his reassurance. And for the first time that day, you felt like you could finally breathe again.

The morning had started out like any other. You were in the kitchen, helping Nari with her hair while she finished her breakfast, her little legs swinging under the chair. Minho had just stepped outside to grab the mail, stretching slightly as the cool morning air hit him.

That’s when he saw Chan.

Chan was locking his front door, keys in hand, about to head to his car. Normally, Minho would have let it go, he wasn’t the type to seek out unnecessary conflict, especially with you and Nari inside but after yesterday, after seeing how upset you were when you came home, he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

His grip on the mail tightened for a second before he exhaled sharply and made his way toward Chan.

Chan noticed him immediately, pausing just before opening his car door. His brows furrowed slightly, already sensing the tension in Minho’s approach. “What?” he asked, voice laced with impatience.

Minho didn’t waste time. “What did you say to y/n yesterday?”

Chan blinked, caught off guard by the directness, before scoffing. “That’s between me and—”

“No,” Minho cut in, voice low but firm. “It’s not just between you and her anymore. You said something that made her come home looking like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and I want to know what it was.”

Chan’s jaw clenched, clearly irritated. “I was upset. I found out about the baby from Nari, not from her.”

Minho let out a humorless laugh. “And? That baby isn’t yours. She doesn’t owe you an announcement, Chan.”

Chan’s expression darkened. “That’s not the point. It’s the fact that she didn’t even think to tell me. Like I didn’t even deserve to know.”

“You didn’t deserve to know,” Minho shot back. “Not unless she wanted to tell you. And clearly, she didn’t.”

Chan stepped closer, eyes flashing. “I have a child with her, Minho. I’m not just some ex she can cut out of her life. I will always be around.”

“I know that.” Minho didn’t back down, his voice unwavering. “And I’ve accepted it, no matter how much I hate seeing you around. But there’s a difference between being involved in Nari’s life and acting like you still have a claim over her.”

Chan scoffed, looking away for a moment as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to stay calm. “You don’t get it—”

“No, you don’t get it,” Minho snapped. “I was there. When she had no one. When she was alone and pregnant with your child, struggling every single day, wondering if she made the right choice. I was there when she cried herself to sleep, when she swore she’d never let herself get hurt like that again. And you know what? I was fine taking the backseat when it came to Nari because I respect that she’s yours too. But this baby? This life she’s building without you? That’s mine.”

Chan flinched at that, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared at Minho, expression unreadable, his grip tightening around his keys.

The silence between them was thick, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Then, just as Minho was about to turn away, Chan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You think I don’t regret everything?” he muttered, voice quieter now, almost tired. “You think I don’t look at her and wonder what my life would’ve been like if I had known? If I had been there?”

Minho’s jaw tightened. “Regret doesn’t change the past. And it sure as hell doesn’t give you the right to make her feel guilty now.”

Chan looked away, tension still in his shoulders, but he didn’t argue further.

Minho didn’t wait for a response. He turned and walked back inside, back to where you and Nari were waiting, leaving Chan standing there with nothing but the weight of his own mistakes.

When Minho stepped back inside, he took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering frustration from his conversation with Chan. But the second he saw you and Nari, the warmth of home, the contrast between the life he had with you and the past you had with Chan, his anger simmered down.

You were kneeling in front of Nari, adjusting the collar of her uniform while she happily munched on a piece of toast. She looked up at Minho with a bright smile, completely unaware of the tension he had just walked away from.

“You okay?” you asked, your eyes scanning his face, noticing the way his shoulders were still stiff.

Minho hesitated for a second, debating whether to tell you about the confrontation. He didn’t want to upset you, not when you were already dealing with so much. So instead, he sighed and forced a small smile, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I just really don’t like seeing him in the morning.”

You gave him a knowing look but didn’t push further. Instead, you turned back to Nari, brushing her hair behind her ear before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Alright, baby, time to go. Get your backpack.”

Nari hopped off her chair and ran off to grab her bag, leaving you and Minho alone for a moment. You studied him carefully, the way he was still a little tense, his jaw clenched just slightly.

“Did something happen?” you finally asked, keeping your voice soft.

Minho exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair before looking at you. “I talked to him.”

Your stomach sank. “Minho—”

“I had to,” he cut in gently, his fingers still wrapped around yours. “I know you didn’t want to tell me what happened yesterday because you were afraid I’d be upset, but seeing you come home looking like that? Like he had made you feel guilty over something that’s not his business? I wasn’t gonna just let that slide.”

You swallowed, guilt bubbling in your chest. You didn’t want Minho to get involved, but at the same time, knowing he cared this much, knowing he saw how much it had affected you, made your heart ache in a different way.

“What did he say?” you asked.

Minho scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “He acted like he deserved to know about the baby, like you owed him that. And yeah, I get it..he’s always going to be in Nari’s life. But this? Us? He has no say in that.”

You let out a breath, squeezing his hand. “I know.”

Minho softened at that, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. “I just don’t want him making you second-guess everything. You don’t owe him an explanation for moving on, for being happy.”

Before you could say anything else, Nari came running back into the room, backpack bouncing on her shoulders. “I’m ready!” she chirped.

Minho let his hand drop from your cheek and turned to her with a grin. “Alright, let’s get you to school, princess.”

The three of you headed out, and as Minho drove, you found yourself glancing at him more than once, watching the way his fingers tapped against the steering wheel, the way his eyes flickered to the rearview mirror every so often to check on Nari.

You knew Minho had always been protective, but seeing how fiercely he stood by your side, how much he wanted to shield you from anything that made you doubt your happiness, it made you realize, yet again, just how much he loved you.

(nini’s notes: loved writing protective min🫠🫠. next part will be the final part!)

[taglist: @alisonyus @bowsnbang @mariteez @melanctton @candyquokka @mysterysold @st4rv3lly @supersonika143 @channiegetsmewetter @readr1221 @cafffeineconnoisseur @wickedbutlovely @trickyricki @hanniesbubuwife if you’d like to be added too let me know!]

masterlist.

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downbadf0rficppl · 9 months ago

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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.

#natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x female reader

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ilylmwwifys · 2 days ago

Note

AHH OMG, I LOVE THE NAGUMO FIC PLEASE CAN YOU MAKE A PT3 IM INLOVEEEEEEE

—𝑶𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕, 𝑨𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔

⏳ ,, fluff , one-shot , part 1 - part 2 READ a/n (end)

. 🕰 ; He refuses to give up, now that he had found her again—he's never letting her go, never.

You were now packing your things after checking all of your students’ papers swiftly—as expected from a former assassin, of course. Plus, you didn’t want Hana waiting too long.

After the whole thing at Sakamoto's convenience store, which happened just yesterday, your mind was still a mess.

Nagumo.

You had spent years pushing his existence into the farthest corners of your mind, convincing yourself that whatever had happened that night was nothing but a fleeting moment. Yet, in a single instant, he shattered every wall you had built. His embrace lingered like a ghost, a warmth you hadn’t felt in years, one you weren’t sure you were ready to feel again.

And now, here you were, trying to focus on grading papers while your mind kept replaying his words.

"Now that I’ve found her again, I’m never letting her go."

You shook your head, grabbing your bag. "Not my problem anymore," you muttered under your breath. You had a peaceful life now. Nagumo was just a reminder of a past you had buried.

Locking the classroom door behind you, you made your way down the empty school hallways. The sun had already begun its descent, casting golden hues through the windows.

Hana should be waiting at the playground by now. You quickened your pace, eager to see her. As you stepped outside, you spotted her instantly, Hana, laughing as she clung to the swings, her tiny feet kicking at the air. A warm smile made its way onto your lips. No matter what chaos the past tried to throw at you, she was your constant.

But then, your eyes caught something else.

A man stood nearby, hands in his pockets, dressed in a casual red-patterned polo. His dark hair swayed slightly in the evening breeze. He was watching Hana, not in a threatening way, but with a strange softness in his expression.

Nagumo.

Your stomach twisted. Of course.

His eyes flickered up, locking onto yours the moment he noticed your presence. That same familiar, unreadable look crossed his face before his usual teasing smirk returned.

"You’re late," he drawled. "Hana and I were just getting along." Your jaw tightened as you stalked toward him. "What the hell are you doing here?" Nagumo placed a hand on his chest, feigning hurt. "What, no ‘nice to see you’?"

You huffed, crossing your arms. "I told you, I’m done with that life. With you." Hana, oblivious to the tension, beamed up at him. "Nagumo-san said he used to work with you! Why didn’t you tell me you had cool friends, N/n-chan?"

Your eye twitched. Nagumo-san?!

Nagumo chuckled, giving you a smug look. "See? I already have her approval. That’s step one."

"Step one for what?" you asked warily. Nagumo leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough that only you could hear.

"For making you stop running."

Your breath hitched.

"And ofcourse to win your heart!"

Before you could respond, Hana grabbed your sleeve. "Can we go get ice cream? Please?" She gave you her best pleading eyes. You hesitated for only a second. "Fine."

"Yippe!" Hana cheered before turning to Nagumo expectantly. He blinked and tilted his head. "What?"

"You’re coming too, right?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, Nagumo grinned. "Of course. Wouldn’t miss it."

You shot him a glare, but he only winked. "Guess it’s a date, then."

You swore your soul left your body.

This man was insufferable.

As you walked ahead with Hana, you could feel Nagumo’s gaze lingering on you, and for the first time in years, you wondered—

Had you really escaped him at all?

Later that night, as you were about to lock your apartment door, your phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Still up, runaway?

Your heart stopped as you recognized the familiar contact number.

Nagumo.

Of course, he had your number.

Before you could even think about blocking him, another message came through.

Nagumo: By the way, don’t bother trying to disappear this time.

Nagumo: Because this time, I’ll be the one chasing you.

You inhaled sharply, fingers tightening around your phone.

This man was going to be the death of you.

And yet, despite yourself…

You weren’t sure if you truly hated the idea.

. [📜] Thank you for the request anon! This isn't really a part three since I think you assumed that "Melting Hearts" and "Mission: Heartstring!" are the same, but they aren’t. However, you're free to interpret it however you like. This is actually a part two, or rather, a continuation, of my fic "Mission: Heartstring!" I'm also sorry if I posted this late since I was busy with my acads and was dealing personal life problems. Feel free to request more! p.s IM SO SORRY if the plot doesn't make sense at all, if you're dissatisfied you're free to ask a remake one! I'll gladly do:)

ˏ 「🗝」 Once a target, Always = With Nagumo, it was never just about the chase, it was about you. No matter how far you ran, how many walls you built, or how much time passed, he always found his way back to you. Not as a mission, not as an objective, but as something far more dangerous, something real. Because to him, you were never just another target.

You were his.

Reblogs are highly appreciated, commenting is encourage as I always read comments, they motivate me. Please do not repost on other platforms or translate into other languages without my permission. The idea is mine and purely original, do not steal. Any similarities are purely coincidental unless stated otherwise. (If you find a similar plot or my Y/n's character w/o no credits to me, please tell me.) I DO NOT ALLOW ANYONE EVEN IF IT IS A MUTUAL OF MINE OR FRIEND TO STEAL MY CHARACTERS AND PLOT!

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entities-of-posts · 16 hours ago

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When I was little, I was terrified of space. Which was funny, because one of my favorite books was a constellations activity book. I think I just liked it for the Greek myths tied to the constellations. I still have it, I think, up in my room. It's the kind of thing you just don't have the heart to get rid of. But that's besides the point.

One time, in elementary school, we took a field trip to the little observatory in the high school. No telescope or anything, but it had one of those fancy, expensive, spherical projectors and a domed ceiling. I remember the red lighting around the rim of the ceiling, so that we could see our worksheets but it was still dark. Something about red light not really registering as bright light, and helping your eyes adjust to darkness? I dunno. Again, I'm getting off topic.

I don't really remember what the presentation was about, what the person said. I remember the wobbly seat that leaned back so you didn't strain your neck looking up. I remember the stars across the ceiling. I remember the person fast-forwarding the projection through the whole year, watching the constellations and planets move.

I felt so small. I was terrified. The universe is huge, and I'm just one little kid on one little planet. Would anything I do ever matter? Would anyone remember me? I was so scared, I felt sick to my stomach. I left the observatory feeling hollow.

And one time, my parents were watching Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey. Neil deGrasse Tyson was talking about the life cycle of stars, and how, in 5 billion years, the sun will run out of hydrogen, and for 3 billion years it will swell, swallowing Mercury, Venus, and Earth. I tried to tune it out, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. Why did it matter to me? I'd be gone by then. I shouldn't care what happens in billions of years. but the idea of the sun devouring its children, burning them up in its hunger and desperation…

There are little things, too. I'm afraid of heights, but only if they’re not contained. I have really strong call to the void - the urge to throw yourself off the edge. My school auditorium has a balcony, and when I was touring the campus for some class, the instinct was so strong I had to stand as far away from the railing as possible, and I still got dizzy. My knees were weak, I was shaking, the world was spinning. No one noticed.

Ironically, my most pleasant dreams are ones where I’m flying. The wind in my hair, the breathlessness. Tucking my wings in to dive, or fall, so fast I think I’ll hit the ground, and opening them at the last moment to skim just above the Earth, then soaring up into the clouds again…

But as far as space goes? I lived with that fear for years and years. But one day, maybe when I was 18 or something, I don’t remember, something just… changed. I was in a depressive episode, I think, and it was like 10pm. I was the only one awake in my house. Talking online wasn’t enough, I needed to get out of my head. So I just… went outside. There were no clouds. There was light pollution, sure, but I could see Orion’s belt, at least.

And just… Just sitting there, looking at the inky black of the sky, hearing the nightbirds and cicadas and crickets and distant traffic, I just… I don’t know. I finally felt like I was a part of it all. A small part, maybe, but an important part. A tapestry is nothing without all the little individual threads, and I was one of those threads. I could finally see that. And I could see the butterfly effect of my actions, my kindness, just my presence. Rippling out from me, to those I loved, to whomever they love, to people I’ve never met, people in other countries. I could see it all.

And I heard the universe sing. Every cell in my body, every atom under my feet and circling through my lungs, every star lightyears away. It was all singing, and I could finally hear it. And it was all just for me, just in that moment.

“You are part of me,” it said. “You will always be. Don’t forget that.”

And I, uh. I haven’t.

The Vast, perhaps more than any other Fear, weaves wonder and dread together beautifully. It’s just awe-striking, for better and worse.

#Oh to go again sailing upon dark waters until all lights disappear but the stars…#the vast

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accio-victuuri · 2 days ago

Text

xiao zhan gucci mfw interview with vogue ❤️

Q: How do you feel about seeing GUCCI's fashion show again? Do you understand the message that this fashion show is trying to convey?

🐰: First of all, I just arrived in Milan the other day. This time feels very special. Because I really like the design of their venue. It's unique. The design of the venue is like the GUCCI logo and has a circular concept.

Q: How did you choose the outfit for today's fashion show?

🐰: When I just arrived in Milan, they gave me an outfit to choose from. In the end, I chose this one. I think it's quite special. It's a very sophisticated jacket, and the combination of leather and materials is very special. There are also accessories such as sunglasses and a necklace. I think it's very GUCCI.

Q: But I think the highlight should be your inner shirt.

🐰: This shirt? Hahaha, it's okay.

Q: The style is different from the last fashion show.

🐰: It's different. This time, we wanted to do something different from last time.

Q: Milan is a city you've been to many times. Before, did you walk around here or did you just work?

🐰: If I remember correctly, this should be the fourth time. Actually, every time I come here, I go for a walk. This time is the same. If I have time, I'll go for a walk.

Q: Where did you go?

🐰: A secret.

Q: Can you recommend some must-try local food for people who come to Milan?

🐰: Do you want me to recommend some?

Q: There are many good Sichuan restaurants in Milan. I even had hot pot.

🐰: Oh, look. I have no idea. I think everyone should recommend to me. Because every time I come here, I eat local food, like pizza and pasta. But I've never eaten Sichuan food in Milan.

Q: What are you having for dinner?

🐰: I haven't thought about it yet. But since you mentioned Sichuan food, I'll try to find it.

Q: I saw a tram on the street in Milan with your name on it. This is a gift that fans gave you. Have you seen it?

🐰: I saw it. I was shocked, but also very warm and touched. I have to thank them for preparing this surprise for me.

Q: Fashion is not just about clothes. What is your opinion on fashion?

🐰: After watching the fashion show today, I have a similar idea. It is a classic that has been around for a long time. Under the brand, it is distinctive and has its own uniqueness. We can still change a little bit.For example, this time I dressed quite simply, but in the past I chose contrasting colors, so I’m looking forward to the next image.

Q: When you take on different characters and gain a lot of life experience, has your idea of fashion or aesthetics changed?

🐰: It hasn’t changed that much. I don’t think it’s changed much. It’s not much different from when I first debuted.

#xiao zhan #accio victuuri translation #omggg this is so late i was too busy but here it is ☺️☺️☺️☺️

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vandme12 · 17 hours ago

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I barely see Ronin as a mechanic! Headcanons/Oneshots!

This was in my drafts for days..

You're not exactly sure how it happened. One minute, you’re flopped on Ronin's couch, droning on about how bored you are—how you could die of it, actually, right here, right now. The next, he's dragging you out to the garage like a wolf with a chew toy, all sharp teeth and brighter eyes, muttering something about “if you’re gonna whine, might as well make yourself useful.”

Useful, apparently, means learning how to fix cars. Because that’s what he does when he’s not busy tearing people apart. A little hands-on therapy. Take something broken, make it purr again. You guess it fits—devils need hobbies, too.

“I still think you should just let me die of boredom,” you grumble, arms folded as you watch him prop the hood open. It groans like a corpse stretching in its grave, metal rasping against metal.

Ronin snorts. "Dramatic much? C'mon, darlin', ain't gonna kill ya to learn how an engine works. Might even save your pretty ass one day."

You give him a look that could peel paint. "Or you could just fix it for me. That's what boyfriends are for."

That earns you a low, wicked laugh. The kind that slides under your skin and stays there. "Oh, sweet thing, you're in for it now. Open up those pretty hands—time to get 'em dirty."

He hands you a wrench, and you hold it like it's a foreign object. Ronin leans over the engine block, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, revealing forearms streaked in grease and little healing scrapes. He’s beautiful in the most ridiculous way: all messy burgundy hair, shark-teeth grin, and a nicotine burn low on his wrist. A devil working the bones of a machine.

And, lucky you—you get to be his little apprentice.

“So, what are we doing?” you ask, mostly to fill the silence. Ronin's in his element, already half-lost to the work. Fingers curling around bolts like he could coax the car to life with touch alone.

“Changing the spark plugs,” he says. Then, when you give him your best bewildered expression, he chuckles. “They help make the magic happen, baby. No spark, no fire, no joyride. Same as people, really.”

“Poetic,” you deadpan. “So, where do I start?”

Ronin tilts his head toward the engine. "Get in here, darlin. I ain't gonna hold your hand the whole way."

That is a lie, by the way. He absolutely will.

You squeeze next to him, shoulder brushing his. The garage smells like old oil, sweat, and something sweetly metallic underneath—not quite blood, but close enough that your stomach flips. His heat soaks into your skin when he leans in, hands guiding yours over the metal innards.

He explains things in that lazy drawl of his, a little smug every time you mess up. And you mess up a lot. Your fingers slip, your grip's too weak, you curse when you almost drop a spark plug into the engine. Ronin just watches, like he's enjoying the spectacle of you struggling.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, breath warm against your neck, “you’re real cute when you’re useless.”

“Fuck you,” you snap back, except it comes out a little too breathy. Which, of course, he catches. His smile goes sharp enough to cut.

"Careful, darlin'. Keep talkin' like that, I might start thinkin' you like it when I'm mean."

Your hands falter, and you feel his gaze crawl over you. Heavy, hot. You don't answer, because what would you even say? He's not wrong.

“Alright,” he says, voice softer but no less dangerous. “Tighten that one, yeah? Let’s see if you can follow basic fuckin' instructions.”

You try. You really do. But the angle's weird, and your fingers keep slipping, and why the hell is everything in a car so awkward? Your knee bumps against the wheel well when you lean in deeper, and suddenly you're halfway sprawled over the engine like a sacrificial offering.

Perfect. Exactly what Ronin wanted.

He catches you before you can slide further, one grease-slick hand curling around your waist. His other hand plucks the wrench from your grip with infuriating ease.

“Clumsy thing,” he drawls. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“You could start by letting me go,” you say, but you don’t mean it. Not even a little. And Ronin’s the last person alive to fall for your lies.

His fingers press harder against your waist. "Nah," he says, low and rough, “I like you right where you are.”

He kisses you before you can fire back. Messy, claiming, dragging the breath from your lungs. His teeth catch your lower lip and tug, pulling a noise from your throat you weren’t planning to make. The taste of him is familiar—smoke and something darker beneath it, something that’s always felt a little like danger. Like sin in the shape of a man.

When he pulls back, you’re half-dizzy. Your hands are still braced against the edge of the car, and you can feel how tightly he’s holding you, like you might slip away if he isn’t careful.

“See?” he purrs. “Told ya fixin' cars could be fun.”

“I hate you,” you mutter, but you press closer anyway.

He grins, blood-red and wicked. "Nah. You love me. Now, quit slacking and hand me that wrench, sweetheart. We got work to do."

Head canons!

"Bored, darling?" If you so much as hint that you’ve got nothing to do, Ronin’s dragging you to the garage. He’s already got his coveralls half-unzipped, grease smeared across his jaw like a smudged halo—saint of the scrapyard, king of the underworld. He’ll plop you in front of some busted hunk of metal and call it a “bonding experience.” (Translation: watching you struggle is his favorite form of entertainment.)

Zero discounts, actually. If anything, Ronin charges you extra. Call it the “boyfriend tax.” He’ll fix your ride, sure—but only after making you bribe him with a kiss (or several). You’re not getting off easy. If you try to sweet-talk your way to a lower price? He just leans in, smirks against your ear, and murmurs, “Ya know, darling, I could break it worse if you wanted somethin’ new. Keep me busy.”

His garage is your second home. He doesn’t just let anyone hang around while he works—this is sacred ground, baby. But you? You get to sit on the workbench, legs swinging while he’s half-buried under an engine. He’ll toss you snacks from his stash (suspiciously all junk food) and occasionally drag you over just to “hold something.” (Spoiler: he just wants you close.)

Oh, sweetheart, you thought you were getting a discount? Cute. Ronin charges extra for you—calls it the “Tax.” Every time you ask, he tuts like you're breaking his poor, mechanical heart. But let your car actually break down? Suddenly, it’s "Nah, baby, I got this." He’ll fix it before you even notice, no charge—he just likes making you owe him. (And oh, you owe him plenty.) "Ain’t about the money, darlin’. It’s about makin’ sure you need me. And you do, don’tcha?"

Every. Single. Time. You visit the garage, he’s sweaty, just to make sure you suffer. Bonus points if you’re there in the summer—he’ll stretch, flex, and wink while holding a wrench like he’s posing for a calendar shoot. Loves to call you his “little assistant”—but gives you the most pointless tasks. "Hold this bolt. No, not like that. With love, babe. Jeez, where’s your passion?" If you complain? You’re getting pinned against the nearest surface with grease-smudged fingers trailing down your jaw. "Maybe if you were good, I’d give ya the easy jobs. But nah, you like it rough, don’tcha?"

He makes you “help” with repairs. Even though you suck. But he’s patient—weirdly patient for someone with blood on his hands. He’ll guide your fingers over the engine, teach you the difference between spark plugs and fuel injectors like it’s the most romantic thing in the world. And if you mess up? He just laughs, leans over you, and drawls, “Cute try, baby. Maybe leave the hard stuff to me.”

Car rides are a whole other game. After fixing your vehicle, he insists on a “test drive” with you in the passenger seat. He drives one-handed, the other resting heavy on your thigh—like he’s claiming both the road and you. “Gotta make sure it’s runnin’ smooth,” he says, voice thick with innuendo.

Grease-streaked kisses. You always leave his garage marked—fingers on your waist, motor oil smudged along your neck from when he drags you close. And if you complain? He just grins. “Looks better on ya than it does on me, darling.”

Your vehicle has an unofficial VIP pass. No matter how busy he is, if it’s your car in trouble, everything else can wait. Doesn’t matter if it’s a busted tire or the whole engine blowing out—he’ll fix it, grinning like he lives for the chaos you bring. Just don’t expect him to let you off easy: “You keep breakin’ shit, sweetheart, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you just wanna see me sweaty.”

His garage playlist is insane. Half industrial metal, half bluesy rock—loud enough to shake the walls. You pretend to hate it, but there’s something weirdly attractive about watching Ronin, sleeves rolled up, half-cursing along to the music while elbow-deep in some Frankenstein engine. (And if you’re lucky? He’ll pull you into a grease-streaked dance right there on the oil-stained floor.)

#killer chat #kc #killer chat x reader #killerchat #killer chat ronin #ronin beaufort #ronin x reader #kc ronin #kc ronin x reader #killer chat ronin x reader #ronin beaufort x reader #ronin x #ronin killer chat #ronin #killer chat vn

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jane-the-good · 9 hours ago

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Wander In Wonder: CALEB

WORD COUNT: 3.7 K

SUMMARY: Fantasy AU! You escape the confines of your life in search of one that is your own choosing. Caleb finds you along the path he was destined to keep and offers to guide you to live a life of safety and peace

AN: Caleb wasn’t here for Wander in Wonder, so I made it happen ◡̈ I love piecing the tiny details of the Caleb we know and love into things like this. I really wish this was real for him!!

CONTENT WARNINGS: smut, oral sex, mentions of explosions, combat fighting, death ♡

AO3

The cold is a living thing, curling around your skin, creeping into your bones, burrowing deep. It does not simply cling—it seeps, sinking past flesh and sinew, winding itself through your ribs with roots breaking through it’s cracked stone. You press your back against the rough bark of a tree, but there is no shelter here, no warmth. The wind howls through the trees, a mournful, unrelenting thing, whispering through the hollows of your ears, stealing what little breath you have left.

Your limbs are leaden, heavy with exhaustion, your breath thin as if the air itself refuses to fill your lungs. Every step that brought you here was a battle—against the waves, against the cold, against the weight of your own survival. You left the island behind, the place you once called a sanctuary. Now, with distance stretching between you and that lonely shore, you see it for what it truly was.

Not a refuge, but a cage.

Not safety, but solitude.

In the vast, endless dark of this unfamiliar land, you wonder which was worse.

The night presses close, the wind a whispering thing, threading through the trees. You clutch at your chest, fingers digging into the skin above your heart. The sacred gem pulses beneath your ribs, its light faint against the cold that has turned your body to ice. Someone is coming. Someone who will carve it from your flesh, who will steal its power and leave your corpse in the dirt.

Your vision wavers, your eyelids too heavy to hold open. The cold is a tide, dragging you under. You let it take you.

Firelight flickers, carving shapes into the dark. Warmth surrounds you, strange yet soothing, pressing against the cold that had seeped into your bones. The scent of burning wood curls through the air, and the dull ache in your limbs is softened by a heat that is not your own. You shift, barely, and realize—your body is pressed against bare skin.

Your eyes snap open. A man sits beside you, his chest bare, his arms wrapped around you, anchoring you to the present with his warmth. His grip is steady, his touch so careful. He does not flinch when you meet his gaze. He only watches, calm and unreadable, his dark eyes deep as an ocean.

“You were close to death,” he says, voice low releasing embers still holding heat. His eyes flicker with something unreadable—not pity, not fear, but understanding.

You do not fear him. There is no greed in his expression, no shadow of the hunger that has chased you across land and sea. The gift within your heart reveals truths, and in him, you see something rare—something safe.

“Who are you?”

He exhales through his nose, as if already tired of the question. “My title is Protector of the Sacred Path.” The words come out stiff, almost begrudging, in a role he never truly chose, “But my name is Caleb.” His voice softens, as if that’s the part that actually matters. “And you?”

You hesitate. The question shouldn’t be difficult, but it is. You’ve spent so long being something to someone else—a runaway, a target, a vessel for the thing inside you—that you never stopped to consider who you might be if given the choice.

“I don’t know yet,” you admit.

Caleb studies you, and for a moment, you think he might press further. But he smiles—small, understanding. “Fair enough.”

A silence settles between you, broken only by the distant crackle of the fire. He speaks again.

“If you’re running from something, you’ll always have an eye looking over your shoulder.”

You let out a breath. “I don’t think I have a choice.”

His expression flickers in thought but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods. “Okay. I’ll help where I can.” His voice carries a quiet certainty, holding a promise he doesn’t expect gratitude for.

Gentler, “Where can I take you?”

You swallow, feeling the weight of your answer. You are exhausted, frayed at the edges. Your entire life has been spent fleeing, surviving. Safety has always been an illusion, a concept dangled just out of reach.

And yet, when you look at him, the thought doesn’t feel so impossible.

“To safety,” you whisper at last.

His gaze holds yours for a moment longer, something knowing in his eyes. He nods.

“Then that’s where we’ll go.”

A ghost of a smile plays at his lips, not mocking, not dismissive—just quiet, understanding exactly what you mean. "I know the perfect place. A place to live a life. one that’s yours.”

You study him, searching for deception, but there is none. Only patience. Only quiet resolve. The fire crackles between you, warmth reaching into the empty spaces you had long stopped trying to fill.

“And what do you call this place?" you ask, tilting your head slightly.

His smile deepens, though it still holds something wistful, something you cannot yet name. "You'll see."

A beat of silence stretches between you, but it is not uncomfortable. It is something else entirely—something fragile, gasping for the first breath after nearly drowning. Neither of you acknowledge it. Neither of you have to.

Instead, he stands. A pause, a breath, a choice. He offers you a hand, and you take it.

Through tangled forests and winding roads. Through ruined cities swallowed by ivy and the bones of bridges long since collapsed. He moves as a shadow at your side—constant and unwavering. He is sharp edges and quiet loyalty, a presence carved inbetween heartbeats. He does not ask for explanations. He does not flinch from the weight you carry. When danger rises, he meets it with steel and certainty. When the cold creeps in, he presses closer. He is a promise of warmth.

At first, it is survival. A necessary truce. Two souls moving in the same direction simply because neither has anywhere else to go. But the road is long, and silence is a fragile thing. It breaks in small, stolen moments.

Awoken so thirsty in the middle of the, you feel him shuffle from beside you. The cold winds slipping between the gaps of what was, just a moment ago, guarded by his chest. He hands you your shared vessel of water. “There’s not very much left, but it’s warm.” Your fingers brush his as you take it. You both still, as if waiting for something unspoken to surface. But it does not. Not yet.

A day beneath a sky stretched wide and endless, the hush of wind through empty fields. He finds an overgrown orchard and plucks a piece of fruit, tossing it to you with a half-smile. “They taste ancient, in a really bad way.” You take a bite. It tastes like dust. He was right. But it also tastes like laughter held too long behind teeth.

A moment at dusk, when the world is painted in shades of dying light. The fire between you flickers low, casting long shadows, stretching time thin. You remember the first moment you saw him. The silence is not heavy, but fragile glass on the verge of breaking.

You feel his gaze before you meet it, a pull as inevitable as the tide drawn to the shore. He’s watching you—not like a question, but like an answer he hasn’t yet learned how to say.

“Didn’t know you hummed,” he says, voice quiet, rough from the long day of hiking.

You blink, caught off guard. “I didn’t either.”

His lips twitch—almost in a smile, but something softer. “Why?”

You hesitate, fingers curling around the worn fabric of your stolen cloak. “I think…” You exhale, shaking your head. “Maybe —for the first time in a long time—I don’t feel like I have to be quiet.”

He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t let you fold into yourself the way you usually do when words feel like too much. Instead, he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, the short depth between you shrinking with each breath.

“I really like it,” he murmurs.

The words settle deep, an unexpected warmth blooming in your chest. It’s terrifying, how easily he gets past your walls—how his presence has become something steady, something certain, and necessary.

The fire crackles. The wind stirs the trees. And still, neither of you move.

When he reaches out, you’re not surprised, you know he isn’t either, yet he is still slow and careful, as if giving you time to pull away. He cups your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek, tracing a path so light it could be mistaken for hesitation. But there is no hesitation. Only the unbearable tension of something long overdue.

You tilt your head, barely a breath between you now. His eyes search yours, and you don’t know if he’s asking for permission or waiting for you to break first.

You break.

The moment your lips meet, the world exhales. It is not desperate, not rushed. It is quiet, steady—the kind of kiss that doesn’t demand, but simply is. His fingers tighten against your skin, as if grounding himself, as if making sure you’re real. You thread your hand into his shirt, holding onto him using the weight of the moment as an anchor.

When you part, the absence is almost unbearable. He lingers, his forehead resting against yours, breath unsteady.

“Seizing what’s yours looks gorgeous on you.” He speaks without even thinking about processing his words. “I’m so proud.”

You climb on to his lap, to make him more proud. Enjoying how the sounds of the leaves fade when his mouth is on yours. His arms hold you with treasure and care, not wanting to let you go but giving you the freedom to move as your please. The rock under your bent knees scrapes each time you grind on his lap, but he will take of any wounds later.

You pull away from his lips to better worship is jaw and his neck and his collarbone and his chest.

“It was very kind of you to save me that day.” Your hands caress the sides of his torso with care before you guide his blouse over his head. “I thanked you many times, but I don’t really know if you felt it yet”

You pull at the laces on his pants.

He exhales a quiet laugh, but there’s something raw in his expression, something that flickers between restraint and surrender. “Should we slow down?” he asks, and there’s no reluctance in his voice—only care. One of his hands finds yours, stopping your movements with a featherlight touch.

“I don’t know,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I really don’t want to.”

You both know how hard he is, the inevitability of it, the way you’ve been circling each other for so long that stopping now would feel like denying gravity.

“We don’t have to go to the stars,” you murmur. “We can just explore the path.”

You shift his hand from yours, guiding it to rest at the crown of your head, before resuming the deliberate task of unlacing his pants.

His fingers curl at the nape of your neck, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I can never deny you,” he breathes.

The sound that escapes him when he’s finally freed from the constraint of his pants is nothing short of beautiful—raw, helpless, edged with relief and want. It ripples through you, sinking deep, settling low. And in that moment, you understand—this must be how he felt when he told you he liked your humming. Like hearing something so unexpectedly intimate, so undeniably yours, that it becomes a song he never wants to forget.

You gently grasp his base with both of your hands so you can kitten lick the tip, trying to discover what he likes the best. You lift your gaze to meet his eyes, searching for a flicker of reaction. He stands frozen, caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. You slide one long lick along the underside of the base before wrapping your lips around him.

“Darling, you are an other worldly treasure.” His head falls back.

You hum in response while sliding him in and out of your mouth. His hand on your hair tightens when you swirl your tounge around his tip. His moan settles between your thighs and climbs up your spine.

You glide one hand to cradle his balls and he involuntarily thrusts forward, sending him to the back of your throat, forcing you choke.

“I’m sorry, love, are you alright?” And when he pulls away just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing against your cheek, his voice is nothing but devotion.

You swirl your tongue again and his head leans forward in blissed defeat. His breathing picks up and you feel him pulse against your tongue. His moans are so encouraging, you feel them in your own core. He is so close.

and just when you think you have him in the palm of your hand,

His hand pulls—swift, sure—from your hair to your shoulder, guiding you away with a touch that is both careful and desperate. And then he is on you, over you, pressing you down beneath him. The tide pulling the shore into its depths.

His lips find yours in a hunger that has been simmering beneath the surface, now set free. It is not a question. It is not hesitation. It is the inevitability of gravity, of two bodies drawn together, of something too long restrained finally breaking loose.

“I have never actually thanked you, for falling into my life” He grinds against you

His hand slides up your thigh, a slow, deliberate ascent, before guiding your leg around his back—anchoring you to him, as if you could ever drift away. His mouth maps its way down, pressing reverence into fabric, into skin, into the space between breaths. And when he finally stops, his breath is warm against your pulse, against the place where need and anticipation blur into something electric. Your leg drapes over his shoulder in a claim.

His voice is barely a whisper, but it hums through you like a vow.

“Please, let me make it up to you.”

You would do anything for him.

“Anything you desire.”

His mouth finds you almost instantly, a breath, a press, a kiss through fabric that leaves you unraveling beneath him. The sensation is so consuming, you barely register the hand ghosting up your hip, the slow, practiced tug of your underwear slipping lower, lower. Only when he pulls back do you realize—he’s peeling them from your legs, his gaze dark, reverent. Drawn by instinct alone, he lifts them to his nose, breathing you in like something sacred before leaning down once more, intent on finishing what he started.

You already knew his tongue is divine at teasing you with words, this is so different.

“Caleb.” You arch in bliss.

One hand finds your clit, teasing, circling, setting you alight, while the other wraps around himself, stroking in time with the rhythm he’s building between you. His moans are a melody against your skin, low and reverent, vibrating through you until you can’t tell where you end and he begins. When you breathe, it barely feels like breathing at all—just a sharp, shattered thing, like air caught between want and oblivion.

“Come with me darling.” He is desperate and demanding.

You see the stars—but not just the ones you expected. There are infinitely more, stretching vast and endless, and for the first time, you’re not just looking at them. You’re feeling them. You’re part of them. And the only thing more breathtaking than their glow is the quiet, steady presence of him with you.

You return to earth in gasping breaths, your body still singing with the echoes of him. He shifts, gathering you into his arms, pressing you, cherishing how precious and irreplaceable he has known you to be.

“I’m so grateful for you,” he murmurs, his voice rugged with something deeper than exhaustion.

Your fingers trace your name onto his chest. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

He hums, pulling you onto him, wrapping the cloak from beneath you around both of your bodies, cocooning you in warmth. His hand moves in slow, absent strokes along your back, grounding you, soothing you. The weight of the day settles over you both, but for once, it doesn’t feel heavy. It feels safe. Because you are here. Because he is holding you.

It would be easier to call this survival. Easier to blame the loneliness, the way time and distance have frayed you both down to something raw, and searching. But the thought lingers, soft and certain between words. Was it not someplace I left for, and instead someone? What if it was always meant to be this?

You do not know the answer. Perhaps you never will. But as you walk beside him, step for step, heartbeat for heartbeat, you know this: you are not alone. Not anymore. And for the first time in a long, long time—maybe never again.

The sanctuary is within reach when they come for you.

They strike as wraiths in the dark, wrenching you from Caleb’s grasp before you can scream. His warmth vanishes in an instant, replaced by the crushing grip of your captors. Rough hands pin you down, the cold press of steel against your chest. Then—pain. White-hot, searing, as they carve toward the gem buried within you. You thrash, but their hold is unyielding. Your own screams rip through the night, swallowed by the clash of steel, the guttural cries of men falling—falling to him.

Caleb fights as a man possessed. His voice cuts through the chaos, raw with fury, desperation—his only focus is you. He carves a path through them, reaching for you. He’s almost there. Just a little more—just a moment longer—

Then—an explosion. The world tilts. A shockwave tears through the field, slamming into you in a tidal wave. Sound collapses into a void. The night turns to ruin.

When your vision clears, the world is unrecognizable. Ash hangs in the air, thick as fog. The ground is littered with bodies—lifeless. Your stomach twists as you search for him. The second you see his body, the breath is stolen from your lungs.

Caleb.

He lies amidst the fallen, a broken thing in a world still reeling from battle. His body—too still. His arm—mangled, ruined, the ruin of it staining the earth beneath him. No, no, no— The word thrums through you, a desperate, useless plea. Your limbs barely obey as you pull yourself toward him, the ground unsteady, your breath shattering in your chest. Your hands find his face, trembling violently, as if trying to will him back, as if trying to anchor him here—here, with you.

"Caleb," you whisper, in a voice that is barely there.

His skin is so cold. You didn’t know that was even possible for him.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were so close. For the first time in centuries, you let yourself believe—truly, foolishly believe—that you could have something safe, something real. That you could be more than a shadow passing through time. Caleb made you feel like a person, like you could live, not just endure. Like you deserved to. And now—now he’s slipping away.

The cruelest part is that you can’t follow.

And now he’s gone.

Tears blur your vision as you clutch him. You should have been the one to fall. You should have saved him. But you weren’t given that choice. You were cursed to endure, to outlast everyone—no matter how much it destroyed you.

A sob rips from your chest as you press your forehead to his. "Please," you whisper. "Please, don’t leave me."

But the night gives no answer.

“No,” you whisper. “Not you. Not after everything.”

Your vision wavers, grief turning the world to nothing but shadow and ruin. You press your forehead to his, breath unsteady, heart aching in a way no magic, no curse, no wound has ever made it ache before. “Thank you,” you whisper, the words fractured, breaking apart as they leave you. “For everything. I never would have have experienced what living could be, without you.”

A sob tears through you more jagged than his broken dagger. Only one regret lingers—one thing left undone before fate rips him away. Your hands shake as they cradle his face, as you press your lips to his, soft and lingering, a farewell etched in sorrow.

Your heart clenches.

And then, it beats.

Once. Twice.

A pulse tears through your chest—light, warmth, and something else. Something ancient. Something eternal. The gem hums, its vibrations spilling outward, threading into his skin like tendrils of life. They wrap around his still form, caressing, binding, as if pulling him from the abyss with unseen hands that have always known him.

A gasp shatters the silence.

Caleb jerks upright, breath torn from his lungs as though ripped back from the brink. His fingers dig into your arms, grounding himself in the shock of existence. His eyes—wild, disoriented—lock onto yours.

"Why are you crying?" Are you hurt?” he asks, voice thick, oblivious.

A breathless laugh shakes through you, disbelief and relief tangling in your ribs. He doesn’t understand. Doesn’t realize he was gone. That you are the reason for his living.

Your heart beats again, but this time, not just for survival.

This time, it beats for him.

He pulls you into his arms, as if to shield you from a danger already past. Concern flickers in his gaze, as if the tears in your eyes are the only thing that matters..

The protector of the sacred path was destined to protect this path that you walked upon to seek understanding.

The power within you—the eternal blessing of the gem—was never meant to be stolen. Never meant to be wielded through blood and sacrifice.

Amplifying the reason it beats through unwavering, selfless, boundless, tender and unconditional devotion.

A heart cannot be ripped out, and divided to be shared.

It can only be given freely.

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anchorandrope · 18 hours ago

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Hiya! Do you think 28 is a Larry number or just a Louis number? I feel like cuz Louis is the one who has it tattooed and a brand named after it then maybe it’s a Louis number but idk. Harry has made subtle references to it through the timing of his music but it’s definitely more associated with Louis nowadays. Just curious on your thoughts!

hey!!

i think it's a larry number, but i also think louis made it very much his own over time because if that number symbolizes something related to harry (like whatever it symbolizes for them and also personally for louis - i.e his relationship, sexuality, etc; stuff that he's proud of but a lot of people told him otherwise yk "wonder what they'd think if they could see us now") it's something i think he took from 2015 onwards with everything that happened as a symbol of resistance/love/self-identity at a certain point.

what i mean is that the 28 was consolidated as a "louis' thing" in 2015 because until that year it was something, i'd say... quite fully larry (especially after 28/09/2013 - which is debunked) but it was something that even many antis said was "ours" (larries) and had nothing to do with louis. but when he got it tattooed in 2015, exactly 3 years after getting the ship and compass tattoo with harry, that started to became his own thing.

i think the 28 must mean something about them to each other but that must be a couple of things, and im also quite inclined to think that the "section 28" (01/02/1991-18/11/2003) plays a part in the significance as well. for me 28 clothing is further evidence of it. louis has always been known in the fandom for communicating through his clothing - to give clear messages on many topics not just sexuality, and that he has named his clothing brand designed by him "28" is very symbolic. not only because of the trajectory of that number in the fandom and his life - but also because its a unisex clothing brand whose isologotype is a "white rose of york" (symbol of yorkshire... his home... again "home" and "28" hand in hand). besides... "official programme" really? seems to be a mockery of "clause in official governmental act". and while we're at it, pride is a 28.

the posts and tags show why we think 28 is a larry number. i think it's a harry thing too because come on...why else would he put 28 boops in sunflower vol6, por example? 😅

what i mean is that i understand why people are inclined to think in recent years that it's a "louis only" thing, as he was much more obvious than harry in terms of his references (ahem... a tattoo is no small thing hahshs) but i see his winks quite present. also i think the number started out as something they both created, so if it's something they wear proudly to this day - surely it must still be meaningful to both as a couple in some respect. maybe not necessarily a romantic-couple-thing, but as gay-men-going-through-a-situation-where-they-suffer-from-homophobia-together, you know?

i think louis as he had and has a very tough closeting situation (i mean he is the one who usually goes out to deny it, he has the bbg and had the beards for a long time, etc) he took it as something very much his own because he just knew it was something obvious. he knew that we fans were going to relate it easily with something larry/lgbt because from the first moment it meant that. i always believed (and i believe) that he uses it so much because it is one of those little things that he can use without anyone "noticing"... no one except us. that's why he uses it so much and for so many things. he links so many things with that number, it helps him to explain stuff because that's what it's for. his old playlist, for example, we started to analyse it strongly because it was called "28 songs". place where that number is, place where we fans put our eye very carefully and with a lgbt lens.

i think at this point i would go as far as to say that is his own pride symbol, because that's what i see when i hear him using it that much and talking about it. it's very him and i love that!

#ask #28

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howlsofbloodhounds · 6 hours ago

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How about something new (eyyy) to talk about? Tô spice things up? Thoughts and/or head canons on omega chara from ultratale/Vitaltale?

Omega Chara would never write out their nickname as like Omega, it’d be like the Greek alphabet letter: Ω.

I was reading up on the two wikis, and it seems like Nightmare, this version of Chara has definitely reached their Moral Event Horizon. They are irredeemable and there’s no going back or being redeemed for them.

Of course this is possibly due to whole evil chara thing back in the day, but if we consider the possibility of what could’ve lead what we know of the person Undertale Chara was to become who Ω is, I think there’s potential.

It seems like Ω’s goal was not to repeatedly kill Monsterkind over and over and make them suffer. They got rid of the Reset deliberately, as if they wanted to kill all of Monsterkind, Frisk, and possibly even themself permanently. Either via just leaving an empty Underground behind for the rest of humankind to find, or to destroy and Erase the world completely.

According to Google, Omega (Ω) has multiple meanings, that could even provide some proof for that— “including the 24th and final letter of the Greek alphabet. It has a value of 800 in the Greek numeric system and literally translates to "great O". As the last letter, Omega can signify an ending, the ultimate limit of a set, or a "Great End".

It can also represent a grand closure, like the conclusion of a major event. Omega can also be used as slang to mean "ultimately", "most", or "supremely.”’

Another thing that’s different about Ω from Undertale Chara is that Ω wants to kill Monsterkind, whereas Undertale Chara’s issues always seemed to be with their own kind; humanity, humans.

On that note, it’s unclear if Ω is even human or ever was human. Taking a look at this photo below:

You will see that there is an upside down white monster soul inside the red upright red human soul, Frisk’s soul. Which Ω is said to have absorbed, which is what got rid of Frisk’s ability to Reset completely.

And this line in one of the Wikis certainly helps, “As of now, this is the only Pure Evil counterpart of Chara who doesn't appear to be a human, instead being a monster who looks vaguely humanoid.”

Was Ω always a monster, even in life, or did they die a human, and come back..wrong? It’s implied that they helped Frisk on their original Genocide at first, so when Frisk eventually tried to go back on it, did Ω want to punish them by permanently taking away the ones Frisk held a perverted sentimentality for?

Or did Frisk (or us), unknowingly or not, teach an undead, confused child that their purpose in this new life is to truly embrace being the demon that comes when you call its name? Was Ω’s attempt to get rid of the Reset just an elaborate genocidal murder suicide? Did they believe that all of Monsterkind should die, including themself, if they were somehow no longer human or never were?

Perhaps it isn’t just guilt for failing Frisk that Delta feels, but Chara as well. Because most children don’t become like that without something behind it, some reason—even if it was as simple as Chara had learned to enjoy it and embrace it, they couldn’t have always been like that.

I wonder if Delta also has difficulties looking at Killer’s soul for too long— especially when it’s in Stage 1. Every time he looks at it for too long his abdomen starts burning, and he can almost feel the agonizing pain as if he’s being cut in half all over again.

The white, the red, the hearts—all remind of that sadistic, murderous child that seemed hellbent on death, on permanence, on finality, on an ending.

Perhaps, in a way, some part of Delta wonders if they were never a child at all; instead the Angel, who had seen the surface, come to empty the Underground. Or the world.

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mykuup · 11 hours ago

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DIE PRΛNDIVM (𝙂𝙤𝙙'𝙨 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙡) part 2

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My Masterlist

Summary : After tasting you in the dining room, Geta is even more starved and nothing can stop a hungry emperor.

wc : 2.9k

Warnings : SMUT // DARK (read at your own risk) // oral (f receiving) // power play // dub con non con // blood // fingering (f receiving) // pain sex // virgin reader // BDSM // servant reader // afab reader (but no description) // porn without plot

A/n : I AM BACK (kind of 😅)!!! I am so sorry for the hiatus but my life went crazy and I had to deal with tons of stuff 💀 I tried my best to keep writing but I lost the mojo and now I think that every word I write is shit but y'know... I'm trying my best here 🤷‍♀️

I hope that this second part will please you. Idk if I'm OOC but I wanted to try something darker with our crazy ginger emperor!

No proofread we die like the emperor's sanity 🤪😂

Also, I'm working on a long fic but I need time to go back to my normal writing pace again.

ilysm, thank you for everything 💜💜💜

Taglist : @byronking @stardancerluv @preparedfruit @userchai @helsa3942 @analves @justnobodynothingmore @silentwhisper666 @deliciousfestsalad @25bohemianmoons @saphirmoraitie @claudialioncourtdulac @phobobobophobia @koshkahhh @noblenighttime @moon-390

You put back your tunic in haste, fruit juices sticking on your skin and your own release still dripping from between your legs. Without a glance at the young emperor, you took the heavy platter with you and exited the dining room. Your cheeks were bright red and you were still dizzy from your high. What just happened? You couldn’t believe you came under the expert touch of Geta himself. You weren’t a concubine nor his wife, you were just a humble servant, you couldn’t let that happen again. So on your way to Geta’s room, you went to one of his favorite concubine’s bedrooms to ask for help. She would bring the platter to Geta and he will fuck her. That was your plan. But you got caught before you could even knock on her door.

‘What are you doing here?’ you heard Geta’s voice resonating in the marble corridor. He sounded angry. ‘Don’t you even dare to touch that door,’ he warned you, his death stare looking at you. You froze, unsure why he was so upset, the souvenir of his soft touch still fresh in your mind. You stumble upon your words, trying to explain what was your plan.

‘But, Your Highness, I’m doing this for you. I-she can…’

‘Run,’ he simply said. You look at him, baffled, like a deer in front of its hunter. His smirk widens seeing the fear in your eyes. He loved the way you were scared of him, of his power and he was ready to play tonight. He looked at you from head to toe and licked his lips, remnants of your juices mixed with the fruits still on his lips. Your taste was divine and he planned to feast on you over and over again. ‘I will not repeat myself once more.’

The heavy platter still in your hands, you started running the best you could, avoiding a few servants and some statues through the corridors. Your tunic was long and you almost tripped on it twice. Geta’s calm footsteps echoed on the marble floor, but you didn’t stop running. You were too afraid of what the emperor could possibly do to you. Finally, you reached his quarters and, without thinking, pushed the large wooden door and entered his chamber. You quickly look around you, realizing you were in his bedroom. You put the platter of fruit on the table near the balcony and took a few seconds to finally take a breath. When you heard his footsteps getting closer, you decided to hide behind the heavy curtains. You tried your best to ease your breath and be silent, but your heart was pounding in your chest and you didn’t really know if it was because of your little run or because of the whole situation.

‘Oh, are you trying to hide from me?’ Geta’s voice was playful as he looked around. You heard the door closing and the shuffle of his toga grew closer. He chuckled as he spotted a soft movement in the curtain. ‘I know you’re here,’ he added before pulling out the curtain. You were startled as he caged you between him and the wall, his body flushed against yours. He grabbed a fist of your hair and pulled it to get better access to your throat. He licked a fat strip, your skin still tasting like the pear he displayed there earlier.

‘I told you,’ he hummed at your taste. ‘I’m not done eating.’ He licked your neck again and got down to bite at your collarbone. You cry out from the sudden pain, your skin red with his heavy teeth marks. He smiled at you, his devilish grin sending chills down your spine. ‘Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you…’

As you wanted to beg, he threw your body on his shoulder, surprising you with an unknown strength. You tried your best to fight back, to make him let you go but his grip on you was like a vine. You kept moving but suddenly your back hit his bed, and before you could escape, Geta climbed on top of you, caging you again.

‘Your Highness please’, you begged, but he shook his head no. You started to cry when he pinned your wrists above your head, trapping you.

‘Where is the bold woman I saw earlier? Where’s the selfish one calling me hers?’ He cocked a brow, a wicked look on his face.

‘Pl-Please… I’m begging you, I-’ you sighed as you felt his lips kissing your temple. It was so strange how he could be so harsh and violent but so soft and gentle with you. His free hand traveled south, caressing your entire body until he reached your core again. His fingers dived between your folds, and he hummed in appreciation when he found out you were still wet and warm from earlier.

‘Hmmm, I knew you would enjoy this as much as I do.’ He slowly circled your clit, making you squirm under his touch. ‘I’m gonna eat you up all night long.’

His kiss was feral as he crashed his mouth on yours. You could feel how eager he was for you, his tongue pushing in between your soft lips. You sighed as his fingers were still caressing your bundle of nerves, pleasuring you like no one has ever done. Your thighs opened up more and more and Geta took this as a cue to plunge two fingers into your pussy. The metal of his rings was a huge contrast with the heat of your core. You cried out as he stretched you, now pulling his fingers in and out of you at a rough pace. His grip tightened around your wrists and he stopped kissing you to bite your neck and shoulder, marking you. Tears fell on your burning cheeks, a mix between pleasure and pain.

Suddenly Geta stopped and looked at you.

‘You’re so pretty when you cry, show me all those tears beautiful. And then, maybe I’ll please you,’ his grin wide and sick as he noticed you were crying. He pulled out his fingers from you and his smile grew even wider when he looked at them, your blood all over his skin. He sucked one of his fingers clean, enjoying your taste mixed with the iron taste of your blood, and then approached his other finger to your lips.

‘Taste yourself,’ he ordered. But when you shook your head no, his other hand let go of your wrists to land on your throat, his fingers squeezing tightly. You struggled to get some air, your face getting red as you couldn’t breathe anymore. His face got closer to you, his voice a harsh threat between gritted teeth. ‘Clean that mess you made on your emperor’s hand or else I’ll make you pay for drenching my robes with your cum earlier, you slut!’

His grip tightened around your throat, blocking your air flow and you had no choice but to open your mouth. Geta didn’t waste any second and shoved his blood-coated finger down your throat. The iron taste invaded your tastebuds and you almost gag. But you had to do whatever Geta wanted so he could let you go faster. So you wrapped your tongue around his finger and ring and lick them clean, swallowing your pussy juice mixed with the remnants of fruits and blood.

You watched the man above you, his eyes only dark pupils now as he bit his lower lip. He loved to see you follow all his commands and desires. After you finished your ministrations, he let go of your throat and you took a deep breath, coughing loudly.

Geta took the opportunity to tear off your dress and you jumped at the sudden feeling of the fresh air on your heated skin. Your nipples got hard instantly, the hair on your body straightening and goosebumps rising. But the eager emperor didn’t waste any second, his mouth took one of your nipple, his hot tongue swirling around, his lips sucking it hard. You tried to fight back but a wave of pleasure flooded your entire being and you let out a moan.

At the sound of your voice, Geta nipped at your flesh, making you cry out. He keeps on biting your skin here and there, marking you as his every time you whimper. You try to push him away, to escape from his invasion, but Geta was stronger than you. And as you were fighting back, he suddenly got up at the end of the bed and grabbed your ankles. You didn't even get the chance to look at him as he flipped your body, making you lie on your stomach. Before you could say anything, you felt the silk of his toga against your skin, and the heat radiating from his body. Geta grabbed a fistful of your hair, making your neck arch back and whispered to your ear.

‘The more you fight back, the more I’m enjoying the show.’ You whimpered when you felt his knees parting your legs away. As he was biting your neck again, he pushed three of his fingers in your pussy, stretching you out even more. Your desperate sounds morphed into moans as the pain gives way to pleasure. Without thinking, your body reacted to his and your arched your back to get more friction, your ass now pushing against his body. Geta noticed and hummed in satisfaction.

‘See? I knew you were a good girl.’ You could hear the grin he was wearing, satisfied with himself as he was pumping in and out of you. ‘Let’s find out if you’re eager to please your emperor.’

He released your hair, and his hand landed on your butt cheek, slapping it. You scream, feeling a hot, white burning sensation of pain. He slapped you again, his other hand still thrusting into you. Your breath was erratic and your mind foggy. At first you were trying to escape but now you weren’t sure anymore. The sensation of Geta biting you again took you out of your mind at the emperor let his teeth marks on your buttcheek right before his mouth landed between them. You gasped as you felt his hot mouth and wet tongue circling your hole as he was still fingering you. The burst of sensation was new to you and you moaned loudly when he dived deeper with his thumb.

‘Gods be dammed, you taste so good’, he muffles against your hole. Both of his hands now was parting your cheeks, the emptiness of your pussy making you clench around nothing. His tongue lapped a fat strip from your clit to your ass, and Geta moaned in pleasure, your taste flooding his tastebuds. You were a rare mix of fruits, blood and arousal and Geta couldn’t help himself but to grind his cock against the end of his bed to get some friction. He was hard as a rock under his toga, his body burning with desire and hunger. The growl he let go after his tongue dived deeper into your hole resonated through your entire body, making you squirm and shiver.

‘Don’t move,’ he commanded, mouth full of you. You started to feel a delicious feeling building inside your belly, but you needed more to reach your release.

‘Geta… Please.’ You didn't even mind calling him by his title, too lost in the moment. The emperor hums, still feasting on your core. But when he felt your fingers circling your clit, he loosen his grip and pushed you away.

You whine at the sudden loss of his mouth on you and when you turn around to see him, his eyes were full black, his pupils blown at their maximum. Anger was written all over his face, and his chest was slowly rising because of his heavy breath. Suddenly you were afraid of him again. Thinking it was because you called him by his name, you tried to soothe him.

‘Your Highness—’

‘ENOUGH!’ He looked like a feral lion, his skin flush with anger and lust. ‘Your behavior is not acceptable. I have to punish you now.’

His tone was now calm but you could hear how serious he was. Without taking his eyes off of you, Geta unlaced the golden belt keeping his toga closed and reached for the side of the bed. As he walked closer to you, you got a glimpse of his body; his skin was sprinkled with freckles and moles, his muscles flexing with each movement. You gasp when he pinned your wrists above your head again with a forceful strength, to tie them up to the head of his bed. You tried to free yourself but he tightened the knot, burning your soft skin.

With a single swift movement, he took off his toga, letting it pool at his feet and climbed on his bed again, crawling over you. His hands forced you to spread your thighs apart so he could slide his body in between. And for the first time, you saw him, in his full glory. With horror in your eyes, you looked at his strawberry blonde happy trail under his navel, leading you to his manhood. He was thick, veins adorning his underside and his tip was angry red, precum already leaking off the slit. Dread invaded your entire being. You never slept with a man before, and that’s why you bleed in the first place. You tried to plead, to beg for mercy, but it was too late.

‘I will show you what happens when you’re not doing as you’re told.’

As your mouth opened to speak, Geta pushed into you. You scream as he forced himself, his cock way to big for your tight pussy. He grunted at the feeling of your velvet walls around him but he needed more. Hands splaying under your thighs, his rings were as cold as ice over your heated skin and it startled you when he moved your legs, folding you under his body. Your knees now just above your head, you could feel Geta diving deeper inside of you.

‘You’re so tight it hurts,’ he growled. ‘The pain… Do you feel the pain?’

He asked even if he knew. Geta understood you were a virgin the moment he saw how shy you were in the dining room. But that’s what aroused him the most about you. Sure you were pretty but he had knowned more beautiful whores than you. But what enthrilled him about you was that you were innocent, a perfect prey for his twisted mind.

You were still crying and whimpering as Geta was pounding into you. The pain was still here but your blood mixed with your slickness helped him to thrust in and out easier. Soon your whines morphed into moans and that’s when Geta decided to bite at your nipple again.

‘Gods, you like that don’t you?’ he hummed against your skin, now gently licking where his teeth marks were. You moaned again, pleasure flooding over you. It was a new sensation, a feeling indescribable. Your wrists still tightly bound, all you could do was feel.

Feel the burning of the silk around your wrists. Feel the remnant tingling of Geta’s bites and spanking. Feel the head of his cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you. It was overwhelming, and between the fear and pleasure, your mind stopped working. You were numb under his touch and suddenly, when you stopped fighting, the sweet sensation inside your belly increased. Your cunt tightened aroud him, gripping him like a vice, sending shiver down his spine.

‘Oh fuck you’re about to cum don’t you?’

‘Pl-please…’ you whined, not knowing what to do.

‘Who are you begging for?!’ Geta asked, his tone harsh as his hips hit yours harder.

‘You… Your High—’

‘NO!’ he shouted, one of his hands grabbing your throat, squeezing to force you to look at him. ‘Who are you begging for little thing?’ he smirked, his devilish smile showing how satisfied he was seeing the fear in your eyes. But even if you were fucked dumb, you knew what to say to him so he would let you go.

‘Geta please… My emperor. I… I’m begging you!’ you whined. Geta growled in pleasure, feeling his own release coming soon. He loved how possessive you could be.

‘Cum now,’ he commanded. ‘Cum for your emperor.’ His thrust was harder and harder, his movement frenetic, pushing him even deeper.

It felt like he was hitting in your belly behind your navel. Your breath grew heavier and your skin was pink with touches of red where the young emperor marked you. A sudden wave crashed over you and you let out a loud moan, screaming his name. Geta felt your pussy pulsating around him and your legs shaking while he was fucking you through your orgasm.

His release soon was following as he buried himself to the hilt one last time, his hot cum paiting your inner walls white. When he pulled out, he kept you folded to watch his cum leaking out, mixing with your blood and release. Geta licked his lips and before you could see or do anything, his tongue licked you clean, the sensation of his mouth over your fold overstimulating you.

He hums, and the last thing you heard before passing out was Geta’s low voice.

‘You taste so good you’re a Gods meal.’

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