#i needed to get this one out of my system

[authorhjk1]

I know its just wishful thinking but I hope you can release something short for Irene’s special day on March 29.

March 29, 2025

(Irene X Julie X Male Reader) word count: 2550

Julie breaks your kiss and leans back against the wall behind her.

"I want to open my birthday present now"

She bites her lip and pulls you closer by your collar.

Unfortunately for her, her group has some kind of performance on a music show today. Right now the two of you are in some hallway, away from Kiss of life's busy changing room and basically anyone else.

"What makes you think you're getting a present this year?"

You rest your hands on her naked waist.

"Because I've been a good girl."

Julie laughs as she wraps her arms around your neck.

The two of you engage in another passion filled kiss. Your tongue dances with hers. Her lips are pressed against yours. You feel her slowly reaching down for your belt. Without thinking you start to take off her top. Your hands then wander over her tits, squeezing them while Julie moans into your mouth. Her own hands work on your pants.

"I need you right here, baby."

Julie mumbles into the kiss as she lets your pants slide down along your legs. You feel one of her hands stroking your cock as you let go of her lips and attack her exposed neck. A deep appreciative moan leaves her lips, but you know you probably don't have much time for foreplay. Despite being in a distant corner of the building, there could always be someone walking in your direction.

You quickly undo the button on Julie's dark jeans and open the zipper. Instead of taking her pants off her properly, you just pull them down far enough to expose her pussy. Her lack of underwear tells you that the gift she got this morning didn't satisfy her enough.

"Take me."

She whispers, her voice rises a pitch higher in anticipation.

Your hands are on her waist once more and you pull Julie up so her pussy is on the same hight as your cock. She quickly spits into her hand and then gives your cock a few strokes, coating it with a thin layer of her saliva. She's now standing on her tip toes as she looks up at you with big eyes. You look back down at her, your eyes darting to her lips. You find hers when you lean down and as your lips lock with hers, your cock penetrates Julie's pussy.

The two of you moan in union as your bodies melt into each other. Your girlfriend's tight snatch feels warm and wet around your cock as her hand lock behind your neck once more. She pulls you further against her, which makes her tits press against your lower chest. You feel her hard nipples even though your shirt. Her efforts makes your cock sink even deeper into her.

Soon the hallway is filled with moan after moan as you fuck Julie out in the open. There's no room to hide in. No shelf or something to hide behind. Nothing. Just the two of you in the middle of the hallway. Julie pinned against the wall, one of her legs wrapped around you, while you hold her up by her waist.

"I can't get enough of your present."

Julie chuckles, before kissing you again. You continue to fuck her against the wall, while her pussy seems to suck you in.

As time goes on, you forget everything around you. The only things you can feel and see are Julie's pussy around your cock and her big eyes, which are looking up at you. She feels the same with you. Your cock feels amazing inside her pussy and she can't help but admire how you seemingly effortlessly pin her against the wall. She can feel how the pleasure inside her systems starts to grow with every moment and her hands hold onto your shoulders even tighter.

"You feel so good, baby."

It's the only thing Julie can say while you fuck her in the middle of the hallway. You don't plan on stopping, until you completely take away her ability to speak. You want to make her cum. Not just as a birthday gift, but also because you love how she looks while she orgasms.

A disappointed whine leaves her lips when you slow down.

"Turn around."

You growl into her ear, your ability to speak properly slowly starting to fade away as well.

Julie complies and a second later, you fuck your girlfriend from behind. You press her against the wall, which is now in front of her.

"Oh god..."

Her eyes roll to the back of her head as she feels her left cheek being pushed against the cold brick wall with every thrust.

Julie bent over slightly on instinct, but you need her flat against the wall. You push into her further and take a step forward.

"Oh, shit..."

Another whine leaves her lips as you fully bottom out inside of her. Her entire body is now pressed up against the wall. Julie feels her nipples slightly rubbing against the rough surface of the painted bricks. She bites her lip, trying to suppress a scream of joy. The fact that the surface isn't just rough, but also cold intensifies her pleasure even further.

"It's too much."

She mewls when she feels your fingers sneaking around her waist on their way towards her clit. Once you find it, you start rub it, making Julie lose her mind. You're stimulating her pussy and her clit, while the feeling of the wall against her nipples drives her crazy.

"Good girl, Julie."

You whisper into her mouth, before kissing her naked shoulder. Your words send her on her way towards her orgasm with no option of turning back. You feel her body slightly heating up as her moans grow in volume. Your thrusts keep pinning her against the wall, while your fingers continue to work on her clit.

"Oh my god."

A deep moan signals your girlfriend's incoming orgasm. You feel her slightly backing her ass up into you, trying to get you even deeper inside of her.

"I-I'm..."

Her ability to speak abandons her, before Julie can complete her sentence. A moment later, you feel her pussy contracting around your cock. It makes your own head spin, but you do your best to hold on. Julie seems to lose control over her body as another moan leaves her wide open mouth. You come to a hold as she reaches her high, wanting to have her really enjoy her orgasm. Still inside of her, you feel her pussy trying to make you cum as well as her juices continue to coat your shaft. A small trickle escaped her stuffed pussy and is now running down her thigh.

"Oh wow."

She finally says, still against the wall as she catches her breath.

"Happy birthday."

You lean in and give her cheek which isn't pressed against the wall a loving kiss.

Now that you've made her cum, you're not sure what to do. Clearly Julie has had enough. Her thighs still feel like pudding and you have to hold her up. When she slightly pushes herself off the wall, you get the hint and take a step back. Her breath hitches when your cock leaves her pussy.

"Thank you so much, baby."

She turns around, but instead of looking at you, she focuses on something on your right. Her eyes grow wide in shock. You mentally slap yourself as you quickly turn around, expecting a staff member. If it was one of her members, Julie would look surprised, embarrassed, not afraid. You should've know better. After all, Julie has an image to uphold. What if people find out about this? What would her fans say if someone talks about her getting fucked in some hallway?

All those thoughts and worries race through your head as you turn around. It's not a staff member, but you're not sure if that's a relief. In front of you is standing Irene. Red Velvet's Irene.

Despite accompanying Julie to the occasion award show here and there, you've never seen Irene from such a small distance. She's barely standing three steps away from. And despite Julie being your girlfriend, you can't deny that Irene is unbelievably beautiful.

Her cold expression slightly darkens the light of her beauty as she casually leans against the wall, arms crossed in front of her chest. She clicks her tongue in a dismissive manner, before shaking her head. By now you have completely forgotten that your still naked. You're too afraid of what might happen next.

"You shouldn't be doing this kind of stuff out in the open like this, Julie."

"Y-Yes, sunbaenim."

Julie bows apologeticly and you feel bad for her. She must be even more embarrassed than you are.

"And you too. Shouldn't you know better."

"Sorry."

You murmur, although you're not quite sure why you're apologizing. What is Irene gonna do anyway? Tell on you?

"Well, at least it looks like you got your birthday present, Julie. Congratulations."

"T-Thank you, sunbaenim. Today is your birthday as well, right? Happy birthday."

Julie's shy words make you look at Irene again. You didn't know the two of them are sharing a birthday.

"Thank you."

Irene now looks at you.

"Since we're already on the topic of birthday presents..."

She lets her unfinished sentence linger in the air. You and Julie both watch how Irene's eyes slowly travel down your body, until she reaches your cock.

"It seems like you haven't finished yet. Why don't we help each other out?"

You're surprised by Irene's words. A moment ago she was scolding you and Julie about having sex in the hallway. And now she wants it too?

"What?"

"I still haven't gotten a proper birthday present yet and you are still hard. I want to suck you off."

Your dumb question makes her crack a smile.

Her words linger in the air once more while you and Julie try to process them.

"Come on, big boy."

Irene takes a step closer and reaches for your cock.

"Don't you want noona to take care of your cock? It's all hard and stiff."

You let out an involuntary sigh as her fingers graze your shaft.

"What do you say?"

Irene's words are directed at Julie.

"Huh?"

You see your own excitement, worries and uncertainty reflected in your girlfriend's wide open eyes.

"I'm just gonna give him head, so it's not cheating. Plus, you're watching anyway. So what's the harm?"

You don't say anything and wait for Julie. She only needs to say one word and you would step away. But it seems like she isn't completely against the idea of watching another woman sucking her boyfriend's cock.

"It's fine by me. I-I guess."

"Perfect."

Irene purrs and focuses on you next.

"Get on these stairs over there. I'm not gonna kneel on this floor."

You do as she says. Once you reach the stairs, you take two steps and turn around. Irene is standing now right in front of you again, with Julie leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. You're now at the perfect hight, so Irene barely has to lean down. You hear your breath hitch as you feel her warm breath on your cock. A moment later her lips touch your head. Irene makes a point of not opening her mouth fully, so she's kinda forcing your cock past her lips. It feels better than you thought it would.

You glance at Julie, who's eyes are glued to your dick as Irene takes more and more of it. You're fully aware that your cock must still be covered in Julie's slick, but Irene doesn't seem to care. Once she's taken most of your length into her mouth, she starts to suck you off properly. Her lips glide along your shaft, while her tongue is either pressed against the underside of your length, or is swirling around the tip. Her right hand is lazily stroking your base, while her left one is holding onto your thigh for support.

Within moments, you lose yourself in Irene's blowjob. Julie isn't bad at giving them, but it feels like Irene is on another level. Probably more experience. She has you legs shaking after just a short time. You hesitate, but your overwhelming pleasure is forcing you to hold onto her shoulder.

You glance at Julie again, who's hand has disappeared inside her opened jeans. She's touching herself while watching her senior give her boyfriend head. It feels weird to you. Not necessarily bad, but weird. And it's obviously not just the fact that it's the first time your receiving a blowjob while the other person is standing as well. But because you're getting sucked off by someone who's not your girlfriend. While said girlfriend is watching.

But it seems to only add to your arousal. Because when Irene begins to really enjoy herself and starts to make some noise, you know you won't last much longer. Her slurping sounds echo through the otherwise silent hallway. She gets a little messier by adding more spit to your cock in form of spitting on it.

You can't see it, but you can feel how when she's taking most of your cock, Irene is sticking out her tongue underneath your cock to just get half an inch further down your length. It makes your situation worse and you feel a familiar knot building in your abdomen. You know that if Irene decides to deepthroat you, you'll cum immediately.

Apart from Irene's sucking sounds, you now hear the faint sound of Julie playing with herself as well. She must be knuckles deep inside her own pussy as she watches the two of you. Her eyes are aide open in arousal as she bites her lip.

"Irene..."

You groan her name, trying to warn her. You're now only seconds away from falling over the edge. But instead of stopping, Irene just continues to move her lips along your length. If anything, she becomes a little faster, which makes you stumble a little faster towards the edge as well. You try to hold on, but it's no use.

"Oh, god..."

You groan louder as your orgasm finally overwhelms you. You feel Irene trying to take more of your cock as you unload inside her mouth. Your legs buckle and you have to hold onto her head to not fall over. Once you're all empty, Irene continues to lick up the last drop of your cum, before she finally lifts her head off your cock.

You can't believe what just happened, what you just experienced. But it's not over yet. With her mouth full, her cheeks bulging a little, Irene turns towards Julie and reaches her after two small steps. She pulls her in for a kiss and you watch how Irene and your girlfriend share your cum right in front of you. It almost amkes you hard again as it drags out longer and longer. Eventually, it seems like the two of them swallowed all of it in the process. They now both turn towards you.

"Our birthdays aren't over yet."

Irene states and after Julie glances at her, your girlfriend gives you a knowing smile.

"Would you like to continue this after our schedule, baby?"

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

Hi everyone!

This might come out a little late for some of you, because I only got the request barely a day ago myself, so I didn't have much time to write it. I hope you enjoyed it and happy Julie day and happy Irene day! I didn't know that the two of them share a birthday up until yesterday.

Stay healthy!

[s-4pphics]

… are we rolling?

SYNOPSIS: screwing your best friend on live isn’t that strange… right? … RIGHT? 

WORD COUNT: 5.3K

WARNINGS: SMUT — MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS/MEN WILL BE BLOCKED, switch/sub!ellie, switch/dom!reader, brief mentions of misogyny in porn?, ellie bottoms n is slightly bratty in this, readers a service top, stoplight system, fingering, eating pussy, making out, readers dirty mouth[to be expounded, she’s gross], orgasm denial/ruined orgasm, mentions of weed but none used, mentions of sex on camera(not performed,,, yet), mentions of voyeurism, brief mention of exhibitionism, brief mentions of bondage, slight dumbification, laughtercare :)

A/N: i reread click and realized i need more cam star ellie. this is for ME. i wrote this for ME. i needed THIS. another result of ovulation. i imagined jackson!ellie while writing this but imagine any ellie you’d like. sigh... love yall <3 

wait i came back…. guys i think i love writing again. i love editing again. i love rewriting again. hurray/hooray

everybody clap for aestra for proofreading for my drafts :) LUV YA DEAR @edenspoem

“Look here.” 

“I am.”

“Not at my hand, honey. Look here. The camera’s here.” Your fingers twinkle in front of the lens. 

Yes, the camera’s there, but so are your stone-clad, delicate fingers, wrapped graciously around your sloppily stickered tripod where your overtly fancy digital camera sits neat and determined on top. 

Ellie’s trapped in delirium. A lost tango of abiding your very thorough instruction while waltzing the line of entrancement. She hasn’t retained much in the past five minutes because frankly, how could she? The same fingers she’s secretly admired for the better part of 5 years are about to submerge inside her and lead with nothing but carnal instinct. Who wouldn’t go mad? She surely has, and your mattress isn’t even a mess yet. 

The invitation of her star-fishing had been bright and fruitful on your part. Since the birth of your friendship, Ellie has grown incredibly reliant on your clarity. She’s never met a person as honest and forward — but not abrasive — as you are; the reins of the relationship remain stable under your control, never too wild or incessant to be yanked, and much to her appreciation, lack of structure turns you to panic just as it does her. She gains a sense of tranquility from your bluntness, and that day in your car was just that. Blunt.

She was naive at the time: to accept a time bomb disguised as an overtly expensive black coffee, placed gently into your cup holder while Ellie clapped her hands together like a seal. It’s always the same steady routine: coffee and shittalking, the brunette’s favorite pastime. 

If she knew her blood would practically write love letters all over your car windows, she may have never accepted your invite. 

“Would asking to fuck you stupid be too forward?” 

Asked with a nothing tone, simplicity and the brightest eyes. Her soul was snatched clean from its confinement with your manicured claws, palms stained with the maroon of her bleeding heart. She assumed you were pulling her leg for her own sanity, but you’ve never been a puller, at least not during conversations that highlight lengthy forms of human intimacy, but damn, no one had ever asked to bend her over in broad daylight ever. Heat radiated off her and onto you like overworked machinery. 

“I don’t think so?” was her stuttered response, but it hadn’t been enough to convince you. If you were to despise one thing, it’d be uncertainty, and that lost tremor was nearly enough to turn you the other direction. Nearly. Almost. 

How did someone like Ellie, intimidated, clueless— dangerously obsessed— convince? Simple as ever — it was a thoughtful proposal. Straightforward. Not a leg pulled, and in that moment, she knew she garnered your approval. Look where she ended up a few days later. 

“Wanna get in the back… or?” 

Reckless? Yes—but a girl with wants doesn’t care about her mutilated surroundings. Fulfilling her desire: that’s what Ellie needed right then and there, on the seat in the middle of the parking lot of the shopping center. Consider it a repayment for that six dollar cup of nitroglycerin. 

You giggled a sound so tender despite the twistedness of your tongue. Had you finally given Ellie the upper hand? You had to, even if it would be the last time you ever allowed her to lead. She assumed your laughter to be a sign of surrender—finally, she had thought, right as her jacket slid off her shoulders to dangle from your passengers side.

You have an ability to stun with your smile—teeth stained red with every swipe of your tongue on dirtied glass. Ellie fell victim to your attacks all over again, another bomb unleashed, from your mouth this time. 

“Would asking to fuck on live be too forward?” 

Right at that very second, the clouds of the heavens split down the center to embrace her hollow, dark spirit—to protect her from the lecher of a seductress. The angels didn’t dare touch you to bring along: they sense the trap in your softness. There’s so much filth that resides underneath your colorful aura. She took that secret to the sky: how equally sick she was, your exact match. 

You had put heavy emphasis on live. Live as in livestream. Live Stream as in real people watching while you make a mess of her despite having always had, but that would teter into a space neither of you have touched in your friendship. She always hoped there was something there, a fringe of deeper devotion, even if meek; all those times where you caused goosebumps to bloom all over her with your filthy whispers, all the times you’ve called her gorgeous, all the times your fingers travelled, dipped, stayed just a bit too long on her skin. They had to have meant something, and your proposal was proof of it, in her mind at least.

Doing porn had never crossed Ellie’s mind. Viewing was barely satisfactory on its own—an occasional indulgence here and there when she’s desperate and her imagination’s a bore, she’d watch, cum, and fall asleep slightly less antsy. It was a raunchy tool for satisfaction and nothing more.

Until it wasn't. 

Until she scrolled a tad too deep on Twitter after hours—a fuzzy video that lasted no more than 12 seconds, but it mutilated her brain so viciously, and it wasn’t due to the saliva-coated fingers circling around a swollen areola before showcasing sharp fangs. 

No. It was the nightstand in the background, barely in focus; it’s shocking how easily she recognized it. The same nightstand with a knife scratch in the left corner of the top drawer. The one sloppily painted over with neon yellow. The one that holds a floral-patterned lamp that she remembered turning off on countless occasions. 

Your nightstand. Your tits, your saliva, your fingers. You you you and yours. 

A part of Ellie died that night, exactly a year ago. The innocent part. The strictly-friends part. The stress-filled day ended with her rubbed completely raw and swollen and irrevocably high off you: rewatching that same 12 seconds over and over before progressing to minutes long ones of you screwing yourself silly—buried deep at the bottom of your page, then the 15 minute long ones that hid behind a paywall where you got fucked or fucked in positions she didn’t think were possible—even made a burner account to unabashedly like and bookmark every moment of your partners seemingly entranced by you, so much so that she had to comment under an alias—her appreciation for cumming so hard. The relishment hadn’t lasted long because men—the bane of her existence(and yours, every pest now deleted), can never shut the fuck up. Comment after comment: Sexy, Bet you can take massive loads like nothing, I can make you straight again. Ellie’s unsure if she can bring herself to kill, but if she could without a trace… oh, if she could. 

Unfortunately, telling predatory men to kill themselves only beckoned her karma. Her naughty secret had a three-day lifespan. What luck she has. 

Who accidently falls asleep to Twitter porn inside of said porn star’s house, on said pornstar’s couch? 

She was awoken by warmth from a blanket she hadn’t retrieved herself, a fully charged device that she knew she hadn’t plugged in, and breakfast. A good and hefty breakfast for a good and hefty conversation. 

Safe to say you and Ellie’s relationship became helluva lot more personal that morning. 

Personal enough for you to describe in detail the adrenaline you feel when people(not men, people) get off to you, your body. Personal enough to show her videos that may never reach the internet due to their intimacy. Personal enough to ask her to hold the camera while you pose unclothed—that took a bit more time, but it happened. So, so personal. 

Not personal enough to turn her away from fucking you, though. She spent too many late evenings stalking that account—absorbing each line and curve of your stature in lingerie or naked or strapped up, memorizing where and what sensations set you ablaze, rewinding the small seconds right before euphoria consumed you whole. All that studying had come full circle, all to be tested at that moment. Her daydreaming had flipped on her. Tongue in cheek—she didn’t bother hiding her enthusiasm. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“I want you to know this is the craziest thing I’ve ever done.” Ellie calls from your mattress, jeans already kicked off to the side of your room. 

“Having second thoughts?” 

Not a scrimmage of disappointment in your tone—eyes soft with alertness and an overcast of concern. 

“No… just talking out loud.”

“There’s no wrong in wanting to back out. This is… it's a bit weird.” 

Live Streaming is weird. That’s probably the scariest part about all of this—not the risk of ending a friendship that Ellie has grown especially fond of, not the potential change in perspective of her from your end, but the perception from strangers. What if she hiccups or makes a weird noise or reacts in a way that’s not… attractive to the masses? What if they don’t like her? You’re the star after all. They pay decent amounts to see you in your sensual glory—Ellie simply doesn’t possess that eloquence this sort of indulgence requires. 

“Or we can opt outta streaming altogether if it’s bothering you. We can just… you know, build up to it.” The shy gesture towards your mattress gets Ellie swooning. Her tone drops an octave, playfulness cranked higher to soothe her nerves. “Are you suggesting that I become a regular?” 

“Would you like to become a regular?” 

“Oh? There's other clientele?” Ellie snickers off the slight—quite slight agitation that sparks within her at the suggestion of others. Unreasonable and annoying, but she can’t help it. “I’ll know for sure after this, no?” 

“I suppose.” You murmur with curved lips, scanning your camera with what Ellie can read as hesitance. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“I’m thinking.” 

“About?” 

“I can’t help but think this is a lot for you. We’ve never even kissed.” 

“I beg to differ—“

You scoff, “we were high. That doesn’t count and you know it.” 

“Why wouldn’t it count?” 

“Ellie.” You scold gently, and her fight falters, sighing deeply when the mattress bunches around her elbows.

“So… what’s the plan?” 

“I told you already. Building up to.” 

Ellie hums with interest you’ve piqued. “Are we rehearsing then?”

“That’s cute. I like that. Sure, rehearsing.” 

She huffs at your mocking, “come closer.” 

“In what world do you think you can tell me what to do?” 

Ellie’s response stays lodged in her throat from its dryness. The air shifts—her world shifts in a way that she feels upside down, her breath scattering and fingers twitching where they rest on your blanket. Heat blooms from her cheeks to her forehead at the ease in your stare. 

You’re so calm. You radiate serenity on the slow journey to your dresser, your rings clattering in your jewelry holder—the same glass seashell Ellie gifted you on your birthday two years ago. It’s a familiar preparation, a ritual she’s mastered on her own, but for some foreign reason, her chest swirls with a sensation that she can’t pinpoint.

“I… um…”

“Yeah? You, um, what?” The corner of your mouth curves ever so slightly—so cunning, and suddenly, the conversation could be about anything. All efforts of indifference melt down through your mattress to drip onto hardwood. The role of your camera is long forgotten with every step your sock-covered feet take. 

Her legs jerk when you finally stand between her legs, jeans tickling her skin, nearly locking you in place by your thighs but you don't falter—she’s frozen in her position, laid out in front of you with confidence on rapid declination.

“Stoplight system.” You whisper, Ellie’s response just as airy. 

“What?” 

“Do you know what that is?” 

Sounds familiar—possibly something that you’ve mentioned in passing a few times. She hadn’t understood the context when you mentioned it during your routine one-night-stand recalls, but you were left giddy enough to talk about them until you went blue in the face. 

She says no, secretly due to how good you sound, raspy and alluring. You could be talking about actual traffic laws and she’d be just as skittish and needy as she is now. 

“If, for any reason, you don’t like something that I do, or say or anything — or if you just want to stop, say—“

“Red.” She comprehends, and you call her smart—just under your breath, and her legs lock on you again. Stoplight. Simple enough. Green or blue or orange or whatever. Come closer. 

“And if I like it? Whatever it is you do.” 

“Then tell me you do. I work better with praise.” 

The room goes silent while Ellie flounders and you inspect, particularly deep and all over her; lines burning into skin with every pass of your pupils on her thighs, scarred and dotted. Your gaze flickers, dilated and fluttering with lust but upholding serenity, eyes capturing and framing every insecurity she’s developed since adolescence, lodged deep into your memory. Such scrutiny… she wishes she had the heart to despise it. 

“Speaking of, what do you like? How do you touch yourself?” With causality, the tip of your index finger traces up her thigh, following the healed gash she earned after failing to hop a fence when she was fifteen. Ellie’s chest gives a tight squeeze when it curls underneath the lining of her shirt to inch it up slightly. A smile twists when you catch the colorful lining of her underwear. 

“I touch myself like everyone touches themselves.”

“And how is that.” 

She scoffs ludicrously. “I don’t fuckin’ know, I just do it.” 

“Does it feel good when you just do it?” 

“I don’t remember.” 

“Interesting.” And with that, you drop to your knees and Ellie nearly faints. 

“You’re tense.” 

“Well, yeah—“

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“You know I’m not.” 

“Then loosen up a bit. I won’t do anything crazy til next week.”

That’s the problem, isn’t it? How does Ellie tell you that she wants everything you have to offer without frightening you? Overwhelming you? Would that even be possible for you—to be alarmed by her desires? It’s hard to tell. There’s three different floggers pinned to your door for fucks sake. 

Yeah… incredibly hard to tell. 

Especially when your fingers hook in her waistband like you've been anticipating ripping them to shreds. You don’t pull, but rest. It’s clear in your vision when she looks up, that tranquil warning: Ellie’s last chance to bail out completely, even as you attempt to mask your smile when you catch a glimpse of her wetness. 

Her lungs constrict with how deep her breath is. Her heart thrashes with her inquiry, ragged and insatiable. 

“And what’s next week?”

You scoff a laugh and Ellie’s thighs twitch. 

“When my paypigs finally get to watch me fuck you dumb.” 

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” escapes in one exhale before she’s sucking in another gust of air.

“Yeah?” 

She barely has any time to squeak her approval before her underwear is torn from her. Her thighs tense with instinct to shut them. You’re eye level with her cunt in all its drippy glory. Ellie’s never felt this form of anxiety when naked in front of anyone. She’s seen your pussy when it glistens under flash—a glorious sight. It feels wrong and misogynistic to call a pussy mediocre but in comparison, you’re beautiful and she's… decent? She’s not as smooth and doesn’t shave because what the fuck for, but she also doesn’t have to worry about people criticizing her pussy in the way they would criticize yours. Her pussy’s hers and hers only… but she’ll die if you think she’s… unattractive. She’ll jump out your window. 

“Why do you look like that?” 

“Like what, dude.” 

“Like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“Well, my labias on display, for one—“

Rebuttals die as quickly as they blossom. 

The last bit of oxygen in her lungs is lost when your index and middle finger lay gently over her, stunted by your warmth when you spread her, gentle sloshes from her slick spreading as it spills from her. You’re seemingly unbothered by any of Ellie’s sudden self-judgements, and shockingly, her own brain has silenced under your gawking. She only watches your hand, uses it as grounding before her lungs stop working. 

“Look at you.” You coo. “You’re real cute, baby.” 

“Thanks,” barely mumbled—barely coherent. Your canines bare beneath a smile; you’re about ready to tear her to shreds.

“This is the last time I’m gonna ask you. How do you touch yourself?” 

“I… just rub one out when I have time.” Her eyes flit from your face to the wall only to find more nudity across pink and faux brick. Even with erratic glances, there’s so much detail and care within each photograph: some from magazine shoots, some from polaroids you’ve captured. Some of you, some with you, and some without you — images left with only your satisfied companions, evidence of your lecher embedded permanently into their skin. 

Will you leave her the same way? Capture her with such delicacy to pin to your wall?  

“… That all?” 

Her entire body engulfs in flames and your gentle scrutiny doesn’t help. Her shoulders bump weakly. 

“I think you deserve a little bit more than that. All ‘m saying.” 

You stand and wave your hand at her, ushering her further back onto your mattress. She flounders stupidly until she’s centered on your pillows and you smile. “Get this off for me.” You tug at the hem of the shirt she stole from your drawer last year. Ellie short circuits when her back arches and fingers tug at the fabric, leaving her fully unclothed—she prays you can’t hear the borderline violent pounding atop her ribcage. 

She fidgets when your arms hook tight around her thighs to yank her closer, her locks dragging across your pillows and before she can even register your closeness, you kiss her. She hardly notices the noise, her noise, vibrating on your lips—guttural and strained and nasally, and she can’t stop wriggling against you, no matter the efforts of you trying to station her hips. 

This kiss is nowhere reminiscent of your first one. You may not remember but Ellie does—chaste but filled with adoration and softness underneath the stars. Gentle and light that got Ellie’s chest stirring with tenderness. This isn’t like that—not when your hands move from her hips to her wrists to pin above her because she keeps pulling you where she shouldn’t. Not when you bite her lips, not when your lips suction around her tongue. Not not not not. 

This kiss is real, this kiss is hungry: pronounced with fervor with every steaming swipe of tongue. Just when she’s sure you couldn’t get any closer, you manage, and Ellie burns wherever your skin touches. You’re making her a mess — you did then when you cradled her cheeks with that doting smile before pecking her mouth that night, and you still do; the proof scents your fresh sheets. How’s that for praise? 

She’s conflicted between wishing you weren’t clothed and desperately needing to grind herself into your jeans. The need to imprint herself in every corner of your comforting sanctuary is enough to turn her animalistic: she tears into your hand with her nails, arches her back to grind up into your leg before you force her still. Every corner you turn, whether she’s here or not or you’re fucking someone else — no matter the ache of that knowledge, there’ll always be a memory of her presence— she was here first, and everytime she ends up under your sheets, you’ll be the first to know.  

You must have the same idea because your mouth and teeth travel south with intent to bruise, down the curve of her neck, and… fuck. 

You pause at her giggle, when her chin tucks slightly to the side to shield the sensitive skin. You suck your teeth at her, all smiles. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t—“

Ellie cackles when you pout, “You ticklish here, too?” One wrist gets freed from your confinement before you poke a tentative finger to the other side of her neck, but the results are the same. Chin tucks and light snickers. You mask your own laughter with a kiss to her cheek. And her chin, and her nose. Until she’s giggled out. 

“It’s weird as fuck, ‘m not ticklish anywhere else but there, not even on my sides.” Nerves unravel her tongue. You hum acknowledgments like you’re listening because you're sweet and care that she feels heard, all while your lips smack down to her chest. 

“My sides are ticklish,” you whisper between her breasts, and she shudders, “my thighs, too.” 

“Noted,” cracks reside in her timbre when your teeth sink into her skin. Her whining replaced laughter. 

“What’re you takin’ notes for?” 

“Gonna tickle you when you’re not looking.” She whimpers.

Ellie’s jaw slacks when you suck a nipple into your mouth. Your hands return to their residence on her waist when she jerks and her back cranes. You sound so far away when you laugh around her, “feels good there?” 

“Agh, shit—“

“Does it? Tell ‘em it does.” You grit, and Ellie freezes. She can feel you smiling. 

Your fingers find the cushions of her cheeks to force her head up, but she’s not looking at you. Not at the wall either. She doesn’t have to. This is a rehearsal, is it not? You're training her for the real thing: to be fully exposed on camera and not feel shame. 

Her eyes meet the camera lense, and you hum around her nipple in satisfaction. She’d bet every dime that her eyes crossed and met directly in the middle. Thank God you’re distracted. 

“Tell them, Ellie. How good is it?” You vibrate against her and her hips launch up into you. 

“It… yeah, it’s really goo—“

You cackle into her chest and Ellie’s eyes squeeze shut. How is it possible that her body’s temperature increased another hundred degrees? Just as she garnered enough courage to talk to a theoretical audience, her voice breaks like a kid going through puberty. 

But your laugh is very reminiscent of jingle bells. She can’t help but smile. 

“They’re gonna love you bitch, holy fuck—“

“Shut the fuck up.” Ellie snickers, and your lips smack against her chest. She has to stop her arms from chasing you when you sit up onto your knees. One quick glimpse at her chest is enough proof that you two crossed paths. You’re all over her. 

Your eyes are soft with their travels over her frame. Too much scrutiny that she’s enjoying: deflection is her only way out of it. “My nips hurt, man, fuck.” 

“Sorry dollface, couldn’t help myself.” 

Her knuckles pale around your blankets when your hands hook underneath her knees, slowly forcing them up where they connect to rest on her chest, and her skin bleeds its deepest shade. Her last bits of anxiety leave in one final exhale before she hooks her arms under her knees to keep them steady. 

“She’s gorgeous, baby.” 

Your directness makes Ellie scoff. She watches you readjust where you’re seated, ass rested on your heels with a hand on the back of her thigh.

“Watch me, ‘k?” You peer from behind her legs. Ellie can barely get a nod in before her clit gets stimulated, circled slow by your thumb. 

“Don’t kick me.” You whisper sillily, and she huffs, albeit dry and breathless, but you smile brighter and her heart soars. 

“How’s that, babe?” 

“Good, like it.” 

“Tell me what you need.” You demand softly and her body feels caressed by your tone alone. 

“C — can you… do it like this?” Her middle and ring finger demonstrate before you: side to side, faster. She likes pressure—bodies on bodies, desperate hands, feeling so needed that she’s drowned by whoever she’s with. She needs that from you. 

Her eyes cycle when you comply with precision—of course you’d be an expert and touch her right where she needs it, get her panting like a dog. 

“Better?” 

“M… mh—“

“Yeah?” You breathe when she whines, and she nods. There’s a pull already forming—more of a yank in the pit of her stomach because she’s on you; dripping onto your sheets, scenting your fingers. She’s slowly infiltrating your space in a way she’s never verbalized but always thought of and you’re allowing it, all because you want her as much as she craves you. She can hear it in your voice, feel it in your touch; you want to own her, even if it’s a mistake or it’s temporary or the damage is irreversible. Her peak is already cresting and she doesn’t even know if the five minute mark has passed.

“I feel it baby, cumming f’me already?” 

Her clit twitches as if commanded. She fucking might if you don’t shut up. You shouldn’t talk like that you shouldn’t sound like that—so alluring and hot and as needy as she feels. She could cum just from your voice, she thinks. She has in the past, but this is different; every vowel is punctuated with swift massages on her cunt by the hands she practically idolizes—the ones attached to her best friend who’s responsible for her messy bed sheets and wrinkled fingertips almost every night. 

You deserve applause for your efforts, so she moans encouragement; hums on about how good you feel, how sexy you are—almost slips and admits that you’re so much better than she imagined when you rub a spot too right. You’re slowly molding her into an open diary with your fingers. 

But Ellie must’ve been too loud. Too wriggly, because you’re gone and standing before the edge of your bed in seconds. She almost sobs but any complaints are strangled quiet by shock when you snatch her arms away to tug her to the edge by the ankles. She chokes on a whine when you drop to your knees, lungs constricting when your mouth latches onto her clit, arms locked tight around her thighs because she can’t stay the hell still, efforts worthless. Your suctions bend her in ways she assumed to be impossible, her nails in search of grounding in your shoulder but you don’t waver when blood drips. She takes you like it with every one of your moans that rattle her from the inside out. 

She’s loud but so are you. With every wail that leaves her mouth, you reply with your own like you feel what she can, but this amount of pleasure is incomparable to anything she’s ever felt. You’re working to break her apart and it’s working; she needs to suffer under you. When a finger prods at her entrance, she knows she’s a goner. The thigh that collides with the side of your head is enough confirmation that she won’t be making it past your bedroom door tonight. 

“Dammit, El—“

Her leg is raised and held at the hind crease of the knee when an eager finger floods around plush and twitchy walls—on a curious search, one rested deep in her while her softness attempts to suck it dry. 

“Gonna have to tie you down to my bed, huh? Keep you nice ‘n still while I wreck this cunt?” 

Her brain wracks with apologies but none actually formulate; just jumbled and broken syllables that sound too much like your name and fuck and deeper. 

She forgets where she is and what’s being done to her when you suddenly graze deeper, fingertip pressed right up against that raised skin that she digs for whenever she fucks herself to you. Her walls practically strangle your index when you snicker at her entranced and lovestruck expression. 

“You close?” 

“Yesyes fuuu—“

Tears wash down her cheeks when you pull out and her euphoric intensity is lost, only left with an ache that makes her abdomen burn. If she was in her right mind, she’d curse you to hell. 

“I know, I know, stop crying. Back up a bit, baby.” 

She slugs but you steady her when those thighs give a little wobble. You keep her leg bent with your hand as you rest. Ellie’s weak arms blindly search for one of your pillows to rest on so she can watch without disturbance. She doesn’t need to beg for you back inside—you’re already stretching her with an extra finger before she can blink and ecstasy takes over her vision, spots on your ceiling, gets her sobbing all over again because it’s too good. 

And you’re laughing—not your normal, excited and chippy giggle that she loves with every cell of her being. This is dark and mocking like you crave her humiliation. She likes that. She loves that. She gives you that: the pleading eyes, grabby hands on your waist, attempts to shut her legs just so you can swear to mount her flat all over again. 

“‘s coming, ‘s comin’ oh my fuck—“ 

“Give it t’ me, be good and give it, c’mon—” 

“—pleasedon’tstop—“

“‘m not. You earned this, yeah? Cum for me—”

There’s 8 wonders of the world. Or 3. However the fuck many there possibly is, your fingers are two. 

Ellie’s never had an orgasm that deafened her. Either her shout was loud enough to blow her eardrums out or the deep grind of your fingers reached so far that her brain now lacks some function. There’s no wave, there’s no buildup, there’s no anticipation—she just cums, thrashes underneath you, rips your sheets to shreds with her nails. Soaks your wrist til it drips down your forearm with whatever she could give and you take it all, force her through whatever she doubts she can take. Her pleasure is so aggressive it’s almost painful but she needs that. She’ll do and take anything from you if it means you'll do this for her again and again and again until her breath belongs to you. 

She sobs so guttural when your fingers push past her tightly shut legs, your laughter so gleamingly cynical. 

“O—okay—god, fuck, okay, baby, okay okay—“

All over again, your fingers yank her soul from her pussy when you leave. She’s completely motionless against the damp mattress, breathless whines vibrating from her throat as her muscles flex and twitch and beg for your return. She barely manages to roll over onto her side to curl into herself. Every movement is a reminder of what she’s had, what she’s lost due to emptiness. Embarrassment can’t even be felt anymore; she needs you to fuck her again, nerves be damned. 

Some minutes pass with you aimlessly rubbing her leg until that same twinkle—the laughter she knows and treasures—raptures her ears. Euphoria leaves her in the same form, so hysterical it turns her red in the face. 

“So…”

Ellie calms her giggling just enough to hear you say, 

“Same time tomorrow?”

[sarcasticsparkles]

This brings me psychic damage in ways I could not possibly hope to describe. There are no words to properly convey the sheer frustration, so I am going to explain this from a perspective on the consequences of this.

My parents and I are my younger sister's English teachers.

The reason? Because her school developed such a problem with students using ChatGPT that they taught accordingly, in that they didn't teach at all. The rare time there was an attempt to properly teach, most students had no ability to think critically to the point being in a room with them was actively endangering the neurons of everyone around them. We needed to pull my sister out of English class because she simply was not learning despite her best efforts.

Being a teacher is not my field, but I have been writing since I was a preteen, and I am now an adult woman. Teaching a teenager to engage with media critically and write essays is not an easy task. The only thing maintaining my sanity is knowing my sister is a good kid and I've never had an issue of ChatGPT with her. But it has brought forward an interesting question a lot of students are faced with:

Why bother? What is the point of trying when the class moron with the broccoli hair and a singular braincell bouncing around in his head like a windows screensaver could get the same grade with the click of a button?

Removing my sister from a class of her peers was monumental in removing this argument, but not every student has family willing or able to aid them. It's a fascinating discussion and a depressing one.

When I was in school, there was an art to violating academic integrity. Some skill had to be learned to guarantee not being caught. There were obviously kids stupid enough to plagiarize an entire essay often from the first result on the first page of google. Or my favorite example of my classmate googling the answers to our trade school final exam on the school tablet, during the exam, with the google typing sound loudly on for all to hear. But the existence of those students was rarely harming anyone. If the assignment they cheated on was important to their future, they only harmed themselves, and if it was useless busywork, it's a victimless crime.

Furthermore, I've asked people what assignments they would cheat on, if any. Some people admitted to cheating on tests and such, as expected, but a lot of it was in situations where a teacher refused to respect their time. Meaningless busywork, designed for nothing more than to guarantee the student didn't sleep or have a life outside of school. If a teacher won't respect the students, why respect them by actually doing the pointless assignment?

(I need to clarify cheating on busywork means assignments like a math teacher giving a 26 question assignment each with multiple lettered sub-questions, none of which is going to appear on the test, and refusing to let students use a calculator. The type of assignment that in a creative setting would simply mean half-assing it.)

ChatGPT has not just blurred but outright decimated the line in the sand on what is busywork and what are assignments meant to help further the learning. Every assignment feels meaningless when it's common knowledge half the class spent 30 seconds on the work, if that. Every minute working on that important essay feels like time that could be spent on better things, and the question is raised why the teacher ever assigned it.

Why should a student waste hours of their time for something they know will mean nothing, and did mean nothing to so many who will get the same result as their hard work?

All ChatGPT has done is reduce critical thinking and writing ability on a massive scale, and destroy morale to create at all. There is something to be said in the context of the education system about failings that cause every aspect of learning to feel pointless in relation to the real world, but that has always been a problem, just as cheating has always been a problem. ChatGPT is a new ball game, and its effect on anyone it touches, even if indirectly, are catastrophic.

As a tidbit for any teacher or parent who may see this, the best way to confirm if ChatGPT was used in instances they don't accidentally leave in the "this was made by ChatGPT" blip is to ask the student to define the words in their essay. More often than not, they cannot pronounce or spell the word without a computer, let alone define it.

[arlana-likes-to-write]

One More

Part 2 of Reunited

Summary: When your phone rings, you know it will be your last one before retirement. Unfortunately, it does not go as planned.

Warning: (spoilers in the warnings) nightmares, PTSD, mention of war displacement, kidnapping, torture, death, killing, blood, angst with a happy ending, injuries, non-sexual nudity

Word Count: 18K (I am so sorry)

You sat up quickly, chest heaving and a thin layer of sweat covering your body. With a glance, you saw Natasha still asleep. Good. You would have hated yourself if you woke her up. You threw off the blanket, and your legs shook as you entered the bathroom. Your mind was hazy as you closed the door, flipped the lights, and turned on the shower. You stepped underneath the water without bothering to strip out of your clothes. The cold water shocked your system, and it pulled you out of your nightmare-induced haze. You slide to the ground and let the water fall on you.

The nightmare was a recurring one. Although the setting changed, the main idea remained the same. You were unable to keep your family safe. You had one job, and you couldn’t do that.

Suddenly, the water was shut off, and you blinked slowly. “Are you with me, Detka?” a voice asked.

You knew that voice. It wasn’t Fury barking orders or the sound of your girls screaming for you. The voice was warmth, safety, and peace. It was Natasha. Slowly, you nodded. “Can I touch you?” You hesitated but nodded anyway. But your wife saw your hesitation and knelt in front of you. She kept her hands to herself until you reached for her. A silent way to tell her you needed her. Her hands were warm, a sharp contrast to your cold skin. You shivered. “Do you think we can get out of the shower, or do you want to stay here for a little while?”

“Stay,” your voice shook. Standing sounded exhausting, and if you stayed in the bathroom, you wouldn’t have to face the outside world. In here, you were safe. You felt your throat burn as you kept the tears at bay. The only thing that kept you from slipping back into your nightmare-fueled mind was your wife’s warm hands. “I’m sorry,” you finally spoke. “You shouldn’t have-”

“Hush, my love,” she gently cut you off. “Just focus on my hands and breath. You are safe here.” You nodded and let out a shaky breath. It wasn’t the first time you woke her up from a nightmare; you knew it would not be the last. You would wake up and sit on the couch at the beginning of your relationship. You wouldn’t share what your mind created and refused any help from Natasha. As you grew as a couple, you learned to lean on her. The cold began to affect you.

“Can we get out?” You whispered. She nodded with a smile and helped you stand up. You felt like a toddler, unable to do anything for yourself, as Natasha stripped you of your wet clothes and dried you off. Once you were dried, she pulled you back into the bedroom.

“Do you want new clothes?” You shook your head and pulled her into your arms.

“Want you,” you mumbled against her skin.

“Okay,” Natasha whispered. “Go lay down,” you hesitated, not wanting to let her go, but you did as you were told and lay back in bed. Natasha undressed quickly and joined you. You rested your head on her chest, and her fingers ran through your hair. Her free arm wrapped around you. The steady beat of her heart was a gentle reminder that she was alive and safe. Your nightmare was wrong; you weren’t too late to protect her. “Do you want to talk about it?” She broke the silence. You looked up at her.

“Bad guys got to you and the girls. I couldn’t protect you,” she carefully pushed away a few tears.

“It is not only your responsibility to protect this family,” Natasha whispered. We are a team.”

“Nat,” she moved up suddenly and forced you to move with her.

“We are a team, my love,” she said, connecting your hands. I know the things you’ve done and the enemies you’ve made, but we protect this family together,” you kissed her hands. I am here for you like you are here for me, okay?” You nodded. “I need to hear you say it.” You pulled her onto your lap, arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close.

“Okay,” you said against her lips and kissed her. The kiss was slow and gentle as if you were afraid the other would break. Your hands tangled in the soft strands of her hair as the kiss deepened. Your tongue swiped against her lips, and her mouth opened. A soft sigh left her mouth, and you captured the sound. It was easy to get lost in the sounds that Natasha made and how her hips rolled against yours. Your lips traveled down her neck, and you left no skin untouched.

“We can’t do this right now,” her voice was breathy, clearly affected by your actions.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” you would never force her to have sex. You bite down on her neck, and she moans loudly. “Sh, baby, we don’t want to wake the girls.”

“Then you better keep me quiet,” you smirked against her skin. You were so in love with your wife that it made you lightheaded. Sometimes, you thought you were dreaming. You never thought this would be your life: a roof over your head, a woman you loved in your arms, and your kids, who were asleep in their room. Soon, you would be retired, and this would be your life forever.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

“You look like shit,” Clint took Natasha’s empty seat. She and Laura were at the bar getting drinks. It was a lovely day, so your family, the Starks, and the Bartons decided to visit the local water park. You pushed your sunglasses up to your forehead. “Well, you look tired.” You smiled and crossed your arms, watching Rose and Hailey climb around the water castle.

“Woke up from a nightmare last night,” you looked at your friend. “Nat found me completely out of it in the shower,” Clint nodded.

“Laura has found me in the snow only wearing my boxers,” you sighed.

“Do you regret being part of the team?” He stopped staring at you and looked at his kids.

“Yes and no,” you waited for him to elaborate. “We did some good work with the team and saved many lives, but we’ve missed a lot here and have done some pretty horrific things in the name of justice.” You chuckled, resting your arm on your knee. Horrific things were an underestimate. You killed, lied, and tortured in the name of getting the bad guys. “One more for you, right?” You nodded.

“What about you, old man?” You teased. “How many more do you get in you?” He rolled his eyes.

“Two more, maybe three, depending on how they go.”

“You’re in my seat, birdbrain,” Natasha said, holding two drinks. Clint flipped her off and moved back to his seat with Laura. Here you go, dorogoy,” she handed you your drink. It remained in her hand. You were distracted by the red one-piece she was wearing. “My eyes are up here,” you smirked and took the cup.

“Thank you,” you shared a quick kiss before she sat down.

“What were you and Clint talking about?” She asked.

“About last night,” you took a sip. Since you weren’t the biggest drinker, it was lemonade, and you told Natasha you would DD. “He said I look like shit.”

“I’ll kill him,” you smiled at the deadpan look on her face. You knew she meant business.

“Down, kotenok (kitten),” you squeezed her hand. You sipped on your drink while you watched your daughters wait for the giant barrel to fill with water and dump on them. They were all carefree, untouched by the evil in the world. Maybe it was unfair to be jealous of a child. The shrill sound of your phone pulled you out of your thoughts. You glanced at Clint, who was looking for his phone. That was not a good sign. You grabbed your phone from your backpack and saw the message from Steve - You’re needed. Assemble. Sighing, you hit your phone against your hand.

“Last one,” you looked at Natasha. There was a soft smile on her face. You grabbed her hand and kissed it.

“One more,” you repeated. “One more.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

“Well, well, well,” Maria said as you walked to the front with your bag over your shoulder. You rode with Clint to headquarters to get debriefed before heading to the airport. “Heard from the big man that this is your last mission.” She held open the door for you both. You nodded.

Natasha had to be in the room with you while you were on the phone with Fury. It was a roller coaster of emotions - intense guilt, relief, sadness. You saw Fury as a father figure. He took a chance on you when no one else would. But he was proud of you and started the process of your retirement. “What do you have planned with all this free time?”

“Ton of sex,” Clint answered. Rolling your eyes, you slapped him on the back of his head. You ignored his grumbling protest as he rubbed his head.

“We still have a lot of sex even with the job, thank you,” he scrunched his nose in disgust. “Nat and I have been thinking about traveling with the girls. But we’ll see,” you opened the conference room door, and Bucky and Steve were already there. “Hey, lover boys,” you dropped your bag on the floor and sat across Bucky. “How have you been?” It had been a few months since the last mission, so catching up with the team was nice. Minus Clint, you only saw the others when you were called in. Since you were retiring, you made a mental note to invite them over more. They were your family, best friends, and people who would give their lives to save yours. You loved them.

The team stood at attention when the door opened. Fury walked in, followed by Sam Wilson, second in command on the other team. He was a good man and never afraid to crack a joke.

“At ease,” Fury said. You sat back down. “This is an exciting mission. It will be our last one with Viper,” your team cheered, and Clint grabbed your shoulders to shake you. You rolled your eyes and pushed the man off of you. You thought the nickname was stupid. But Clint called you once, and it stuck. Every time you heard the name, it reminded you of the one time you disobeyed a direct order. You were a good soldier and followed orders without a second thought. But when Maria and Fury told you to stand down and wait for backup to arrive, you disobeyed, turned off your coms, and rescued the hostage. If you waited, they would have been killed. Clint said you moved like a snake, quick and precise. He called you Viper while Fury chewed you out.

“Speech, speech, speech,” Bucky cheered.

“I can not wait not to have to deal with your ugly mug,” you flipped him off. He threw his empty coffee mug at your head as retaliation, but you ducked it out of the way. This was what you were going to miss.

“Alright, children,” Fury chuckled. “Second, Sam Wilson will be joining us.” Now you could join the celebration as the man sat beside Maria.

“Where are you shipping us off to, boss?” You asked and crossed your arms.

“We’ll be headed to the border of Ukraine and Russia. We’ve been asked to help refugees leave the country,” you nodded. It was a straightforward mission and not the first time you’d been asked to help people displaced by war. You would distribute food and water, provide security, and entertain the kids. Hopefully, it would be a quick in and out, and you’d be home with your girls.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

“Sam joined the team,” you told Natasha. Your phone rested on your shoulder as you prepared your weapon case.

“I guess Fury found your replacement,” you chuckled. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, really good,” you said. You knew the team would be fine without you; even the second team was qualified. “I promise,” you reassured her. You knew she was worried about you. “I just miss you and the girls already. How are they?” Natasha sighed.

“They miss you. Do you want to talk to them?” You wanted to, but you knew if they got on the phone and told you to come home, you would.

“I’ll talk to them when we touch down,” Again, she sighed. “I’ll be safe, baby; you know I always am.” You never told her where you were going or what you were doing. One, it was a security clearance, and two, you never wanted to burden her. There was some close class; you were shot, broke your leg, and had a few concussions. On the other side of the phone, you heard the doorbell. “Are you expecting someone?” You could barely make out the excited yells of the twins.

“Oh fuck me,” Natasha mumbled.

“I wish,” you smirked and left the armory. “Who is it?”

“My fucking parents,” she said. “I may have slipped that you got called in, and they just showed up. Ugh, I may kill them,” you smiled. You liked her parents. Alexei’s chaotic nature and Melina’s dry humor were a perfect dynamic, but you knew it could get on Natasha’s nerves.

“Please don’t, baby,” you said.

“I have to go. Call me when you can,” you smiled. “I love you.”

“Love you more,” you hung up and looked at your lock screen. It was your family at the twin’s party that you barely made it home for. This was why you wanted to be done, not to miss anymore.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

“Mama, I appreciate you and Dad coming, but you did not have to drop everything and come,” Melina waved the redhead off.

“It is the summer. We have it off, and we miss our vnuchki (granddaughters),” Before they stopped over, they must have gone to the grocery store because they brought in bags of food. Usually, they put in a grocery order to drop off when you were deployed. This time, they came along with it. While Natasha and Melina put the food away, Alexei was in charge of entertaining the girls. “You and the girls must be excited, right? This is her last one?” Natasha nodded.

She was ecstatic about your retirement. Natasha would always support you, but when she was happy, you decided to step away. Every time you were called away, anxiety tormented her, wondering if you were going to be okay. “You know, I did not like her at first,” Melina said. Oh, Natasha was well aware. Her mother made it very well known that she disapproved of her relationship.

“I know,” Natasha grabbed the cutting board and washed the strawberries to cut them up. “You made it loud and clear.” Her mother dared to smile.

“But I am glad you are happy,” she said. That is all I have ever wanted for you and your sister.” Natasha knew that, too, and you made her happy. It was strange how similar your past was to hers. You were two young girls desperate for a family. You found family servicing, while Natasha found it in Yelena, Melina, and Alexei, who saved her. Now, you both had a family, and Natasha loved watching you be a part of the family.

Your love for their girls made Natasha fall in love with you repeatedly. She was glad you would witness more milestones in person, not through a photo or video.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

“Shol’ko tebe nuzhno (how many do you need?)” You were grateful now more than ever that your wife and in-laws were Russian. It was easy to communicate with some of those at the camp. The woman held up four fingers, and you gave her four water bottles. “Vashi malyshi golodny (are your little ones hungry)?” Three kids held tight to their mother, terrified of you and your team. You understood why. Soldiers stormed into their homes, dragged their father to the middle of the town square, and shot him along with the other men. Then, a new group of soldiers brought them here. It had to be overwhelming and terrifying. A little girl nodded her head. You smiled and whistled. Maria looked over to you and walked over with a box of snacks. “Vyberite nekoyoryye (pick some),” you told the kids. They looked at their mother for permission. Once she nodded, they dove into the chips, crackers, and cookies box. The three kids took two bags each. “Naslazdat’sya (enjoy),” you waved and walked to the next group.

“You are so disgusting cute with kids, and it’s gross,” Maria teased. You rolled your eyes. Are you and Nat thinking about having more?” It was something you hadn’t talked about, especially given the nature of your job.

“Not sure,” you smiled at the boy as you gave him water. “I guess anything can happen when you retire,” you felt a tug on your shit and looked down. It is the little girl from the mother of three. You expected her to ask for more cookies, but she raised her arms and asked to be picked up. Oh, your heart. Smiling, you dropped your case of water and picked up the girl. Her heart burrowed in the crock of your neck. “Kak vas zovut (what is your name)?”

“Anna,” she whispered. Maria picked up the rest of the water.

“See, disgustingly cute,” you chuckled and ensured Anna was comfortable in your arms before walking over to the tented area. While Clint dug into a Cheetos box, Bucky and Steve organized the shipment.

“That better be part of your snacks, Clinton,” he flipped you off.

“Yes, it is. Laura packed me some before I left. You are free to have some,” he said. “Whose the little girl?”

“Her name is Anna,” Maria told him. She took a liking to our Viper. “You carefully sat down and moved Anna onto your chest.

“You guys are jealous I can make friends wherever I go,” you softly said. You heard Anna’s quiet snores.

“I don’t think they count when those friends are half your size,” Bucky teased.

“They must sense her motherly instinct,” Steve said. “She likes being called mommy outside of the bedroom.” You flipped him off as your team laughed.

“Shut up, Rogers,” you smiled. “What about you and Buck? Wanna have kids one day?” The blonde soldier looked at his boyfriend.

“Maybe one day,” Steve said. “When the fighting is done.” Sam walked over with a case of electrolyte drinks and began to hand them out. You took a sip of the bottle, wrapped your arms around Anna to keep her safe on your chest, and before you closed your eyes, you saw Clint taking a picture of you. When you and Natasha discussed trying for kids, it scared the shit out of you. You had no actual role model to help you be a parent. Yours were more worried about their business instead of their daughter. Something inside you clicked when you held Rose and Hailey for the first time. It was your most significant accomplishment; no medal could compare to it.

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Hailey hated school. It was unfair that it was summer, and she was forced to do work. Even Melina and Alexei were on vacation. However, it was better than being in ‘real’ school. Hailey liked the flexibility of homeschooling, and it helped that Rose, Tommy, and Billy were in the same class.

They were outside in the backyard of the Stark house. Hailey could see Wanda peek out the window every once in a while to check on them. She had to admit that Hailey was jealous of Billy and Tommy because they had both of their parents’ homes. Hailey missed you. She tried not to show it, but when you called, and she got to talk to you, she had to force away her tears. So she did what she does best and joked about everything.

Tommy groaned, and Hailey glanced up at her book. He was already looking at her. It smelt of trouble. “We overheard our dad talking to our mom about the mission your mom is on.”

“Tommy,” Billy warned, but he ignored his brother.

“It’s dangerous. She and the team are helping refugees escape a country torn apart by war,” Hailey kept her eyes locked on Tommy.

“Doesn’t matter how dangerous it is,” Rose said. “Mom always comes back home to us.” It was true. You always came home; when you were back, it was like you never left. You fell back into the routine the family had. Tommy smirked.

“They offered it to Peggy’s team, but I guess she turned it down,” he said. “Because it is so dangerous.” Hailey narrowed her eyes at him.

“What are you getting at, Maximoff?”

“Your mom is going to die.” You and Mama always said she was impulsive. She acted before she thought. She often solved problems with her fist and not her words. This was one of those times she punched Tommy. The force sent him flying out of his chair.

“Hailey!” Rose yelled, but Hailey ignored her sister and jumped on Tommy’s chest. She got a few good hits before Billy pulled her off him.

“What is going on?” Wanda asked, rushing over to them. It looked bad. Blood was pouring out of Tommy’s nose, and Hailey’s fist was bruising. No one would talk badly about her mom, even if someone she called were a friend.

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Hailey was rubbing her knuckles; they hurt, but she kept her thumb on the outside like you taught her. She kept her head down even when Wanda came in and sat beside her on the bed. “I had to call Natasha,” Wanda told her. “The other three aren’t talking, so I’m hoping you can tell me what caused the fight,” Hailey shrugged. Sighing, Wanda gently grabbed her hand and unfolded her fist. She placed a bag of frozen peas in her hand. Hailey let out a slight hiss from the pain. “Tell me what happened. You know your mom is going to want to know what happened.”

“Mama,” Hailey corrected. “Mom isn’t home. She’s never home.”

“It’s her job, honey,” Wanda cooed and pushed Hailey’s hair behind her ear. “But this is her last tour. Then she’ll always be home, and you’ll be sick of her.” Wanda tried to make light of the situation. Hailey smiled, but Tommy’s words echoed in her head.

“What if she doesn’t come home and something bad happens?” She asked and looked at Wanda. “Tommy said she went somewhere really dangerous, and she’s going to die!” Hailey cried. Tears started to run down her cheeks. “I don’t want my mom to die.”

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In the beginning, Natasha thought the couch was a dumb purchase. It was too big for a family of four, but you were persistent that it would be perfect for movie nights. So you compromised: You could get the couch if you built Natasha a small ballet studio in the basement. It was the first project you finished before you left when duty called. Now Natasha loved the couch, and you were right. It was perfect for movies.

Her girls were cuddled up by her side. Kate and Yelena were on one side, and there was still enough space for Melina and Alexei to watch the movie. Her family was together besides you. Wanda told her about the fight and what Tommy said. Her neighbor promised that the boy would be grounded, but Natasha was more worried about her abnormally quiet daughter. When she picked them up, Hailey refused to talk about what happened. Even her sister took up Hailey’s value of silence.

Natasha kissed the top of Hailey’s head and snuggled closer to her. “Mom is going to come home, right?” Hailey whispered. She tried to keep her voice quiet to avoid disrupting the movie.

“Of course, baby,” Natasha said. “She always comes home to us.”

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“Samuel,” you groaned. “Pass the ball to me, not 10 feet in front of me,” you huffed as you moved Anna up your back. Her arms wrapped tighter around your neck, almost cutting your air supply off.

“Sorry, Viper. Playing soccer wasn’t on my entrance exam to the academy,” Sam said. You laughed. It was a great pass, and if a 60-pound girl weren’t dangling on your back, you would have had it. Anna was attached to your hip from when you woke up until she returned to her mother for bed. It was cute, even though she reminded you of your girls at home.

However, your job was to provide security and supplies to the refugees. Your team liked to have some fun with them. So you, Steve, and Sam found a soccer ball and started a pickup game. At first, Anna joined the other kids and chased after the ball. However, it took one accidental shove from a boy to send the girl to the ground, and she asked to be on your back. Besides, you liked listening to Anna’s laugh. It made the situation she found herself in better.

The work was slow. Only small batches of people could leave each day. It broke your head when you told a family they had to go. But you knew they would be safe. However, you were unsure when they could come home when they asked. With the ongoing war, there may not be a home to return to.

“Here,” Sam ran up to you with a water bottle. Carefully, he put the open bottle to your lips. You got a good portion of the liquid on your shirt.

“Thanks,” you deadpanned, and Anna giggled at your antics. You and the team had been here for a week and a half. While you worked, you overheard conversations between the refugees that you quickly translated into your head. They couldn’t keep track of who was winning this ‘war.’ You never asked Fury who these people were fleeing from. It made no difference to you. The people here were trying to survive.

Then, the peace was shattered.

Gunfire - a rapid, staccato from the gate. Your team wasn’t the only military unit assigned to this camp. Today, you weren’t assigned to the gate. Anna’s arms tightened around your neck, almost crushing around your windpipe. Unfortunately, you had to set her down. “No! No!” She struggled.

“Anna!” You placed her on the ground and knelt to her level. “Go to your Mama. Stay hidden,” you heard Steve call out your name. Not your nickname but your real name. You knew it was bad. “I will find you.” Tears were swelling in her eyes and running down her cheeks.

“Safe,” she said, throwing her body back into your arms. “Stay safe.” Anna hugged you as tight as she could.

“Run, little one,” you stood up and watched her run off.

“Viper!” You caught the assault rifle without looking towards Maria.

“Where do you need me?” You asked, taking the safety off.

“West side with Wilson. Barton and I will take the East while Barnes and Rogers are at the front.” She instructed.

“Got it,” you smiled at your Commander. Are there drinks on you tonight?” Maria chuckled, shaking her head.

“You are impossible.” You shrugged and ran to the West side. Sam was already in position. The man smiled at you.

“Got you a few more of these,” he handed you two magazines.”

“Always thinking, Falcon,” you placed them on your vest. “Stay close. Stay vigilante,” you squeezed his shoulder. “We will make it out of this. Besides,” you smirked. “Hill is buying the first round.” Sam huffed out a laugh.

“People on the second team think you are insane,” you laughed. You’ve heard the stories, most of which are just legends and myths. But the good thing about a legend is that there is a tiny element of truth.

Suddenly, a deafening explosion rocked the eastern side. Screams followed. The refugees scattered, running for cover as people dressed in black tactical gear. Your heat dropped to your stomach - fear paralyzed you as you thought of Maria and Clint. But they were capable soldiers.

Besides, an explosion on the south wall caught your attention. Similar to the east side, a group of armed soldiers came through. Shit. They were moving towards the tent that Anna and her family were in. “Viper, go,” Sam said. “I got this side.” You wanted to run and protect that little girl and her family. However, the insurgents gave you your answer. The west side exploded. You acted on instinct to push Sam to the ground and covered your body with his as debris fell to the ground.

Your ears started to ring, but you got to your knees. A soldier from a different team took a round to his chest, crumbling to the ground next to you. You couldn’t remember his name. Raising your gun, you squeezed the trigger. One of the assailants dropped. Another flinched as a bullet grazed their shoulder, but the rest kept coming. They moved like ghosts, slipping between shadows.

It meant one thing: this attack was planned.

Sluggishly, you started to stand as a blade of pain ripped through your side—the blunt impact air from your lungs. You stumbled back and stared at the person who attacked you. Their gender was hidden behind their tactical gear, but they were shorter than you. Soon, you were surrounded. The yells and screams of the camp around you turned to white noise. All that mattered was getting out of this situation.

To your shock, they rushed you at once. Hands seized you, rough and unyielding, and dragged you to the ground. You fought, elbows slamming into bodies. A knee was pressed to your chest and pinned you.

Above you, a face was hidden behind a mask, with only their eyes visible—cold and calculating. “She is the one,” the figure muttered.

The figure was female. That wasn’t a surprise, but they sounded so young. One of the assailants hit you with the back of their gun. Darkness was creeping in. You struggled to fight it. The last thing you heard was the yell of the surviving refugees and the fading crackle of gunfire.

Then-nothing.

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“Viper, Viper,” your name was repeated repeatedly. It was an annoying mantra that pounded against your skull, and you groaned.

“5 more minutes, Ria,” you mumbled. The sound of Maria’s pained laughter jolted you awake. “Fuck my head,” you groaned and pushed your palms to your temples. It felt like the morning after drinking with Steve and Bucky. They treated shots like sips of water. You rolled on your back and blinked your eyes a few times so the room could come into view. “Are you okay, Hill?” You asked. She let out a shaky breath.

“Ribs are bruised, and my ears are still ringing from the explosions, but I’m good,” you nodded. Your ears were ringing, too. You remembered pushing Sam to the ground as bullets flew above you. Touching the side of your head, you felt dried blood. Slowly, you sat up. You were in a cell with bars on all four sides, and Maria was across in her cell that mirrored yours. Cells were up and down this hallway, but no one else was there. Maria was sitting on the back wall with her arm around her ribs.

“Natasha is going to kill me,” you chuckled. Maria laughed but grimaced in pain.

“How are we getting out of this, Viper?” You clicked your tongue on the top of your mouth.

“I’m working on it. " You had promised to return home and were going to keep that promise.

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Everything was muffled. It was like Clint was in an episode of The Peanuts, and the adults were talking. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and he was in a hospital bed. Not in Ukraine. Not in a refugee camp where gunshots ran and explosions rattled his bones. He was safe, but who wasn’t? “Clint? Clint? Are you up?” He saw Sam sitting next to him. “Can you hear me?” He could, but the ringing in his ears grew, and it sounded like Sam was in a fish bowl. His voice was distorted and echoed. “I’ll go get a nurse.” He spoke slowly and left. Sam was alive and safe. Good. No, he had to figure out about the rest of his team.

The doctors diagnosed him with NIHL (noise-induced hearing loss) and gave him hearing aids. The damage was caused by years of explosions during his years of service. The diagnosis signed his ticket home. He knew he could no longer be an active team member and was waiting for Fury to deliver the news. “Bucky is in surgery,” Sam spoke slowly and softly so Clint could get used to the hearing aids. “An explosion took off his arm. There was so much blood.”

“Jesus,” Clint mumbled as he sipped the water the nurse had brought him. Where are we?”

“Fury got us to Poland while a medical team and the secondary team got to send to help the refugees,” Clint was glad there were some survivors. “From our body cams, it was a well-organized attack. They struck us and captured some of the young girls. Stark and his team are reviewing the footage now,” Okay, that is where Clint wanted to be. He was going to save those girls that were taken. First, he needed to check on you, Maria, and Steve. Carefully, he stood up and cringed at the ache in his bones. Damn, maybe he was getting too old for this.

“Thanks for the update,” he grasped the man’s arm. “How are you, Falcon?”

“Just a grade 1 concussion. It would have been worse if Viper didn’t push me out of the way,” just the mention of your nickname tugged at Clint’s heart. He needed to see you and confirm you were safe. He figured you were with Fury going over the next phase of the plan since Sam did not include you in his update. Sam grabbed his wrist as soon as his hand left Sam’s arm. “Clint,” the man said slowly. His eyes told him everything.

“Where is Viper?” Clint asked.

“MIA,” Clint turned to look at Fury, who entered his room. “Her and Maria both.” It was hard to read the man. Clint could never figure out what he was feeling.

“Send me back,” Clint insisted. His boss glared at him with his good eye.

“And do what, Barton? Wander the border between Ukraine and Russia until you find them.” It was a stupid idea, but you and Maria were his friends long before he was on the team. Hell, you guys were family. “You are to go home. You are medically discharged,” Fury relaxed his posture. “Go be with Laura and the kids, Clint.” He was being sent home while you and Maria were being subjected to horrific things. But it was an order.

“I want to be the one to tell Natasha,” he said, feeling his throat dry. “She’ll take it better if it’s coming from me.”

“Request approved.” Fury took a few steps forward and touched Clint’s shoulder. “We’ll bring them home.” Clint knew they would, but in what condition?

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The silence was killing you. You and Maria tried to fill, but your injuries were aching. You were trained for moments like this. Everyone called it hell week, and the instructors taught you how to survive the most difficult situations. Torture was a mind game, a cat-and-mouse chase on who would lose first. “I would kill for a cheeseburger right now,” Maria said. You shook your head with a smile. “I’m not lying. A big burger with a side of onion rings and a tall milkshake.” You closed your eyes and leaned your head against the wall. “Come on, Viper. What food do you want now?” Your stomach growled.

“My mother-in-law’s piroshki,” Melina would make it every time she visited. “It’s a little puff pastry with cheese, potatoes, and meat.” One night, Melina found you after a bad nightmare eating the leftovers. You knew she did not like you - the reason was why it was still a mystery. That night, you had a heart-to-heart with her over a plate of piroshki and a bottle of wine.

“Mhm,” Maria moaned. “I love cheese.” You chuckled, but the sound of a door opening cut it off. You stayed still, and a group of girls stopped before your cell. They weren’t much older than your girls, 15, maybe 16. Two were armed with AK-47s. The closer to you pulled out a set of keys and unlocked a small part of the cell.

“Put your hands through,” she ordered. Her voice was laced with a Russian accent. It was a weird deja vu moment. The girl was a splitting image of a young blonde you saw pictures of in a photo album and a photo strip on the side of Natasha’s bed. You refused to follow orders, and the girls with the guns pointed them at you and Maria. “I will not ask again, Viper. We have orders to bring you unharmed, but we can use force if you and Commander fail to comply.”

She sounded like she was trained in a military setting. What was going on here? You were told that many war-torn countries looked to fill their armies with children. But seeing it in person was unsettling. Slowly, you stood up and put your hands through the opening. Handcuffs were placed on wrists. Your eyes locked on Maria’s. You tried to communicate your thoughts and comply with more straightforward commands, and it was not worth getting hurt this early on.

Once Maria’s cuffs were on, they unlocked the main door, allowing you to leave your cell. It was a smart formation. You and Maria were between the four girls, and the barrel of their AK-47 was pressed against your back.

The girl in front led you up a staircase and pushed open the door. So you were in the basement of a school. You walked past lockers and classrooms that were transformed. Some looked like regular classrooms with desks and a chalkboard. In comparison, others were empty, except a ballet bar. Every room had a window to look into it.

You were brought to the main entrance and saw two armed guards. They weren’t young girls but closer to your age. You walked to where the principal office would be. The door was opened, and you and Maria were pushed inside. There was a fire that was lighting up the room. You hadn’t realized how cold you were until you felt the heat from the fire. A hand on your back pushed you further into the room, where a man sat behind a desk. His eyes trailed up and down your body. Behind him was a woman. Her blonde hair was cut short, and she wore a navy blue skirt and shirt. “Please have a seat,” the man said. There was no choice as you were forced to sit down in front of the desk. The four girls took their spots at each corner, standing at attention and waiting for their orders. You could tell it was something they’d done before.

“Would you like some tea?” the woman asked. A kettle was already boiling. Still, you and Maria remained silent. The woman scuffed. “It is rude not to treat your host without respect.” She walked over to a table where the kettle was. You saw photos hanging above it, but you were too far away to make out what they were.

“It’s also rude to not make introductions,” Maria said.

“And kidnapping,” you mumbled. The man smiled, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. It was unsettling.

“Welcome to shkolv v kransoy komnate,” the red room school, you translated in your head. “Here, we pride ourselves in developing elite soldiers,” She returned with two cups of tea, and he took one. “Thank you, darling,” she placed her hand on his shoulder.

“You make soldiers out of young girls,” you clarified.

“Look at them,” the woman pointed to the girls in the corner. These girls were trash, thrown out into the street. We recycle the trash, and we give them purpose. We give them a life. “That was up for some debate.

“What do you want from us?” Maria questioned. The man sipped on his tea.

“You two are world famous. The Viper and the Commander. We have a new shipment of recruits and want you to train them.” Shipments? These girls weren’t shipments. They were human beings, but they spoke about them like they were cargo. It was making your blood boil, and you struggled to keep cool.

“What if we refuse?” you questioned. Are you going to have one of those girls put a bullet in our head and call it a day?” The man chuckled and held up a photo. The young girl closest to him walked over and took it without a word. She handed it to you, face down. You hesitated but turned the photo over.

The instructors taught you how to contain your emotions in the same hell week. They said your captures would say and do things to get underneath your skin. Your captures wanted to cloud your judgment. Angry and fear were powerful and dangerous to feel.

When you flipped the picture over and saw a picture of your girls, keeping your face neutral was near impossible, and your hand crumbled on the edge of the photo. The photo was taken at their home school program when you were at last deployment. How long were your family being watched, and you weren’t there to protect them? “Beautiful children,” he said. Finally, you tore your eyes off the picture. He knew he won and trapped you into a deal by dangling your family above your head. “Show your friend,” you showed Maria the picture. Her face stayed composed, but you heard the sharp inhalation.

The man stood from his chair and circled to the front of his desk. “From here on out, you will work for me. Every order will be followed. Do you understand?”

“Who the hell are you people?” Maria questioned. You were wondering the same thing.

“It is our network of Widows that help us control the scales of power,” the woman walked over to the girl who reminded you of Yelena. She pushed some of her blonde hair out of her that didn’t make it into the braid. “One command, the oil and stock markets crumble. One command and a quarter of the planet will starve. Our Widows can start and end wars.” They were insane. You had no other way to describe them.

“And now,” the man said, putting his hand under your chin and holding you in place. You will be part of it. " He dropped his hold on you, but you could still feel it there. Take them back to their cell.”

As the four girls lead you out of their office, your eyes found a picture on the bookshelf. Your stomach dropped. It felt like you were on a roller coaster which you hated going on. The twins and Natasha always made fun of you when you would hold the bags while she took the girls on the ride. They could never understand how you could jump out of a helicopter, but roller coasters were a no-go for you. But now your stomach was flipping, and you tried to calm your face as you saw a younger version of your wife in the picture. Young Natasha was at a ballet bar with the woman you just meant behind her. Now, it was impossible to get your emotions buried down. Your Natasha was here. These monsters hurt your beautiful, strong, and kind wife. At that moment, you knew. You were going to burn this place to the fucking ground.

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“Girls, do you have your backpacks? Natasha asked.

“Yes, Mom!” They called from their spot on the couch. She saw their backpacks on the kitchen table. At least they were packed. Natasha suggested going to the National Mall with Alexei and Melina. She thought it would be a nice way to spend time together as a family. The busier Hailey and Rose were, the easier it was for their mind not to wander to you, especially with what happened between Hailey and Tommy. The hurtful words the boy said were still fresh in Hailey’s mind. Natasha could tell. She caught Hailey looking at pictures of you around the house or at the garage door opening to see you walk through it.

The doorbell rang, and before Natasha could get to it, she heard the door open, and her girls exclaim, “Uncle Clint!” Usually, the unexpected visit would be welcomed, but it froze Natasha in her spot in the kitchen.

“Hi, kiddos,” her friend said. “Where’s your mom?”

“She’s in the kitchen,” Rose answered. Natasha heard their approaching footsteps. “We are going to the Lincoln Memorial.” Thankfully, Melina walked from their guest room.

“Sounds fun,” Clint forced a smile. He stood in front of Natasha, dressed in his off-duty uniform. She could pick out new bruises and cuts from their latest mission. Was he wearing hearing aids now? “Hi Nat,” Melina glanced between the two.

“Come on, girls. Let’s go help your grandfather,” Melina said. “His outfit is a little extreme.” The twins giggled and ran off to their grandfather. As Melina passed Natasha, she kissed her daughter on the temple.

“Were you able to bring her home?” Natasha asked once she was alone with him. If anything, she could do was give you a proper burial. It was what you deserved. Clint twisted his hat in his hands.

“She’s MIA,” Clint told her. “Her and Maria were taken after a refuge camp we were ordered to protect was attacked,” he exhaled slowly. “Bucky was in surgery, Steve was shot, and Sam and I were the least injured,” Natasha blinked at the man. Missing. You and Maria were missing. Kidnapped and taken to go who knows where and the rest of the team were in shambles. She was getting flashbacks of her childhood - the smell of death and the rocking of shipping containers that sometimes kept her up at night.

“Clint,” she said slowly and felt her knees buckle. He was quick to catch her before she hit the ground.

“I know, I know,” he kept repeating. “I’ll find her. I’ll bring her home. I promise.”

Everything happened in a blur around her. Clint helped her tell Melina, which her mother told Alexei. Somehow, her house was filled with people—Laura and her kids, Wanda and the twins, and Yelena. Even with all these people, she felt alone. But she had her girls to worry about. When her chest was aching, and she wanted to overcome the agony she was feeling, she tapped into her training, pulled up her mask, and pretended to be strong.

Natasha sat down with Hailey and Rose in their room with Melina, and the door closed. She told them the truth; she never liked lying to them. Watching their faces fall and the light leave their eyes was heartbreaking. “Mom is missing,” Rose said slowly as if she was trying to understand. Natasha nodded.

“Yes, but all your aunts and uncles are looking for her.”

“And Aunt Maria is with her,” Natasha nodded again at Rose’s statement. She turned to look at Hailey, who was holding onto the necklace you gifted them. The girls never took them off.

“The bad guys took Mom,” Hailey whispered. “Why did she leave us if it was dangerous?” Natasha watched tears leave Hailey’s eyes. Carefully, the girl climbed onto Natasha’s lap and burrowed her face into the crock of her neck. Natasha felt the tears against her skin. Melina walked into the room, and Rose hugged her right.

“Your mother,” Melina said. “Is strong just like her girls and wife.” She ran her hand over Hailey’s back and then to Natasha’s cheek. It was subconsciously for Natasha to lean into her mother’s touch. “It is okay to be safe and scared now, but believe in it and have hope you will all be together again.” Natasha closed her eyes and felt a few of her tears out that Melina’s hand caught.

This was supposed to be their last one. The last one to endure as a family. Why was this happening now?

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Your time in the service taught you a number of things: teamwork, the importance of companionship, and critical thinking. Above all else, it taught you patience. Some would argue you lacked patience, but you were patient when it mattered.

Patience won Natasha’s heart, gained the trust and acceptance of your mother-in-law, and allowed you to mediate fights between your daughters. Now, you were lacking that very skill.

Your fingers were interlocked behind your neck, squeezing the tension you carried. The silence was maddening and taunting. So you filled it with pacing - the sound of your boots hitting the concrete floor. “Maybe if you pace some more, you’ll pace a hole into the floor, and we can escape through it,” you glared at Maria, who was lying on the ground. An arm was thrown over her eyes. While you paced, Maria tapped her foot. You weren’t the only one who couldn’t stand still.

“I have to get out of this fucking cell,” you said. Maria scuffed.

“Yeah, no fucking shit,” you stopped pacing and grabbed onto the bars. Your head hung low. “I’m guessing you didn’t know,” you glanced up as Maria stared back at you. “About Nat. I saw her picture, too.” You let out a shaky breath and shook your head.

No. You had no idea the true horrors of your wife’s past. It wasn’t easy for either of you to open up about your life before you met each other. As your relationship grew, so did the trust. But why would she keep this from you? “I need to get out of here,” you repeated.

“And do what? Burn this place to the ground, kill those bastards, and save the girls?” Yes! Yes! That was precisely the plan.

“Yes,” you told her.

“God, you are reckless,” you stood up straighter but kept your hands on the bar. “You know Fury was worried about putting you on this team. He said that big heart of yours was going to get you killed.”

“Do you expect me to sit here and watch while innocent children are getting tortured into soldiers?”

“No!” Maria slammed her hand against the floor. “I expect you to think, Viper. We have no way to reach the team. We have no idea where we are or how large their operation is,” she pushed herself up, and you saw the slight wince. Her ribs were still bothering her. So think, plan, then engage, or you’ll never see your family again.”

Patience. You needed patience and a clear head to make it through this. Going rouge wasn’t going to help. It was only going to endanger your and Maria’s life. You squeezed the bars and sighed. “You’re right,” you slowly sat down and crossed your legs. “You’re right, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s why I’m in charge, and you aren’t,” she managed to make you chuckle. Maria moved closer to the set of bars, and you were face-to-face with each other. “I’m jealous of you,” your eyes widened in shock. “You have something to pull you away from all of this,” she waved her hand in a circle, but you knew what she meant. The service. The team. All the fighting and bloodshed for national security would be over for you. Your family gave you an option to walk away.

“What about Danvers?”

“Please,” Maria rolled her eyes. “I think she’s married to her job, and I’m the other woman.” You chuckled softly.

“You could walk away for yourself,” you whispered. “Might be better than why I’m leaving.” You would die for this job if it weren’t for Natasha or your daughters. For the longest time, it seemed like the only option. The core saved you; the only way to repay it would be to die for it. That idea seemed lonely.

Before Maria could respond, you heard the main door open and scrambled to your feet. Maria was slower to get up. This group was smaller than before: two instead of four. Still, it was the same blonde from before. “Hands through,” she ordered, and you listened.

“What’s your name?” you asked the blonde. She seemed surprised you asked a personal question, but she recovered quickly.

“Mila,” she answered. You smiled.

“Beautiful name,” Once Maria was handcuffed, she opened the cell doors. You stood between Mila and the girl with the assault rifle.

Think, plan, and then engage. That was the motto of the team. Think - you knew you needed to get out of here, save the girls, and return to your family. It is an enormous task, but not impossible. The problem was there were questions you needed answers to. How were they running their operation? How many guards were on their payroll? How many girls were there? Plan and engage would have to wait until you could answer some questions.

Mila opened two metal doors and led you into a large room that used to be the school’s gym. “Welcome to the first training,” the man said, his hands together. This is your new group.” The tip of the assault rifle pushed you forward.

In front of you was a group of girls between ages 6 and 13. A quick count in your head: there are 12 in total. They were dirty, bruised, and terrified. You forced your hands into a tight fist to stop yourself from punching him. All around the border of the room were guards armed with assault rifles.

You drew your focus back to the girls, eyes squinting at them. They looked familiar. The explosion may have rattled your brain more than you thought. It clicked when a young girl looked up from previously looking at the floor. Her eyes locked on yours. “Anna,” you mumbled. All these girls were from the refugee camp. Her eyes went wide at the realization of who you were. You tried to convey with your face to stay, but she refused.

It happened quickly. Anna stood up and pushed her way through the crowd. Immediately, the guns were pointed at her.

“Vniz (down),” you ordered to her. Anna went down, and you rushed forward, sliding onto your knees so your body covered hers. “Vse normal’no (it’s okay),” you whispered into her hair. You saw her grab onto her shirt. Her entire body was shaking. “Sh,” you cooed. “Be strong, little one.”

“Interesting,” you heard his footsteps walk over. His hand grabbed the back of your shirt and pulled you up. Once you were up, the man grabbed Anna and dragged you to her feet. “You have a little pet,” he said.

“Don’t hurt you,” you moved forward. You felt a kick to the back of your knee and fell forward. The muzzle of the gun was on the back of your head.

“What is your name?” he asked her. You were shocked by the way Anna struggled against him. “What is her name?” he asked you, but you remained quiet. You heard the safety of the gun click.

“Anna,” Maria answered. “Her name is Anna.” You glared at your friend and shook your head.

“Anna,” he pulled the girl closer to him. Her eyes danced over her. You have a fire in you. It reminds me of someone else,” he whispered the last part. That is enough for today.” Once again, you were brought to your feet and brought back to your cell.

But the entire time you walked, your mind was somewhere else. In that slight reaction, you learned something. He graved control, order, and submissiveness. Someone fought back and won. And you knew exactly who it was.

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Clint’s first stop was the medical unit of SHIELD. He had a quick meeting with Dr. Cho about his condition and the steps he could take to regain his hearing. He was barely paying attention. His eyes were glued to Steve. The blonde looked like he hadn’t slept since the attack. Dr. Cho handed him a pamphlet and sent him on his way. Immediately, he walked over to Steve and sat down. “He hasn’t woken up,” the blonde said. “The doctors said that it’s normal, but it’s killing me,” Clint nodded and saw Bucky lying in bed. His arm was missing, and his gaze covered the missing limb. “How’s Natasha?” Steve asked. Clint wasn’t sure.

“She’s holding it together for the girls.” Once he was done here, he checked on her again. Right now, Laura and Wanda are looking after her. “How’s the shoulder?” Steve’s left arm was in a sling.

“Bullet went right through,” Steve sighed. “Destroyed some of the muscles, so I’ll be out for a while,” the blonde ran his good hand through his hair. “We fucked up on this one, didn’t we?” That was an understatement, but Clint knew you would never blame them. It was part of the job. Sometimes, the mission went wrong.

“One hell of a last one for her,” Clint tried to joke, but Steve frowned.

“Hell of a last one for all of us, I think.”

He stepped away and found an empty room to take his hearing aids out. It was a feeling he was trying to get used to. Every sound was different, more intense, sharper. At the moment, the team had no leads. No group was taking responsibility for the attack. Facial recognition was a dead end. The only thing they knew was their attackers were girls between the ages of 10 and 16.

It was maddening. The longer they went without information, the less likely they would find you alive. That thought turned Clint’s stomach. Sighing, he placed them back in his ears and pulled out his phone. Laura answered on the first ring. “Are you okay?” He hated how worried she sounded.

“Yeah,” he licked his lips. “I just needed a break, and I wanted to check in. How are they?” Laura sighed.

“Hailey and Rose have been quiet. The kids are trying to get them to play, and Natasha,” she paused. “I don’t know Clint. I’m worried.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you coming back here or back home?”

“Probably there,” he answered.

“Okay. She needs you,” Clint closed his eyes. “I know you want to be there and help, but-”

“I’ll leave here soon,” he cut her off. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he hung up before she could say anything else. It was a little selfish of him. If he were here, he wouldn’t see the hole left by your absence, and the guilt wouldn’t be as strong. If he were here in his mind, you wouldn’t be gone.

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Nights were Natasha’s least favorite when you were deployed. It made your absence more challenging than it already was. Now, with the knowledge of you being gone, the night was the worst. She changed into one of your long sleeves and walked to her daughter’s room. The door was cracked open, and Natasha peered inside. They pushed their beds together and had one giant sleepover with the Maximoff twins, Lila and Nate. It looked cramped, but Natasha was thankful her girls were sleeping. The only kid that was missing from the cuddle puddle was Cooper.

But Natasha found the eldest Barton quickly. He was sitting awake in Hailey’s bean bag chair, but she could tell he was fighting sleep. Cooper sent her a small wave, and Natasha titled her head in question. “Keeping watch,” he whispered. “It was the only way they’d fall asleep.”

She was grateful for the eldest Barton. “Get some sleep,” she whispered. “If you need me, come get me.” Cooper gave her a thumbs up and got comfortable in the chair. Natasha quietly closed the door and continued to the kitchen, which wasn’t empty. She knew he would be there with a bottle of whiskey. He was expecting her, too, indicating by the second glass. Wordlessly, he poured the glass, and she sat next to him. They drank in silence until Natasha’s glass was almost halfway gone. “It wasn’t your fault, Clint. I don’t blame any of you for what happened.” Her friend sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“They both saved lives. She pushed Sam to the ground, and Maria got to me.” That sounded like you and Maria. You were always ready to save others before yourself. Natasha smiled.

“Then I’m glad I’m not mourning your life while worried about my wife’s life,” Clint looked at her.

“We’ll bring her home,” he promised. Natasha finished her drink and poured herself another. She wasn’t dumb. She knew he phrased the sentence to avoid saying “alive” or “dead.” They would find you and Maria, she had no doubt. But would you be alive? Natasha wasn’t sure.

Yelena was worried when Natasha told her you and she would try to have kids. She knew her sister would be a great mother but worried about how she would handle the responsibility of being an aunt. Over time, she learned to love her nieces and fell into her role quickly. She prided herself on understanding their cues. She could stop a fight before it broke out. If Rose was feeling overwhelmed, Yelena knew how she liked to decompress. At her office at work, each bad she had, and various places around her home, she kept fidget toys for Hailey.

Now, they were quiet. They barely greeted her and only took a pop tart to eat, even when Yelena was cooking other food. At least they were eating. They sat on the couch and turned on the TV. Yelena kept her eye on them while finishing breakfast. The house was filled with many people, so many bellies needed to be filled.

She felt a hand on her lower back and a kiss to her temple. “Morning, sweetheart.” Yelena smiled as Kate sat down at the counter with her laptop.

“Are you working?” Yelena asked.

“I want to re-watch the body cam footage with fresh eyes. We must be missing something,” Yelena turned her back to Kate and poured coffee for both of them.

“Isn’t that a breach of security?” the blonde asked. She wasn’t sure how Natasha dealt with the stress of watching you leave. She was thankful Kate never saw combat. Her girlfriend was in the cyber division alongside Vision. Yelena would leave her veterinarian job and have dinner with Kate almost every night. There was no need to worry about her girlfriend’s safety. Kate shrugged.

“As long as I don’t get caught,” the blonde rolled her eyes and placed Kate’s coffee beside her. With a quick kiss on Kate’s cheek, she was about to resume cooking when she saw the footage Kate was watching.

It was like someone injected ice into her veins. She felt frozen in her spot. A lot of Yelena’s childhood was fuzzy. She had no memory of her biological parents, and she bounced between foster homes. Until a woman brought her to a place of nightmares, hours were spent training with a gun in her hand she could barely hold. She tried to forget all of it. Sometimes nightmares woke her up, and Kate had to calm her down, but she never told her what they were about. But then she met Natasha, Melina, and Alexei. The place of nightmares offered a light at the end of the tunnel because she got a family, and her family got her out. Melina promised them they were safe - that the claws of that place could no longer get to them.

“Hey, Kate, can you watch the food? I want to check on Nat,” Kate nodded. Immediately, she closed her laptop and took Yelena’s spot in the kitchen. Yelena quickly walked to her sister’s room. Her mind was spiraling. It couldn’t be them. Melina told them he was dead and that they were safe. The sight in front of her pulled her out of her thoughts.

Natasha was asleep. Her breathing was muffled, no doubt from her tears, and Yelena wasn’t blinded to the half-empty liquor bottle on her nightstand. Carefully, Yelena closed the door. It was unfair to Natasha to deal with this problem. It could be nothing, and Natasha needed sleep. Sighing, Yelena went to find Melina. Her mother was in the backyard, working on a garden bed. Melina looked up and frowned. “What’s wrong? Is it the girls? Natasha?” Yelena shook her head.

“I think I know who attacked the camp,” Yelena said, playing with the rings on her fingers. Melina stood up and whipped the dirt off her hands onto her pants. “He’s alive, mama,” she whispered. “The Red Room is back.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

At this point, you were used to the routine. Mila would come with another girl, and they would bring you to the gym. They were also responsible for bringing you food, to the bathroom, and for providing medical treatment. It seemed Dreykov and Madame B wanted you and Maria in tip-top shape.

Dreykov. At night, you would whisper his name as a mantra. You heard it from some guards as you passed. Like their boss, they had an ego. So many times, you saw them mess with the girls. They would drag some of the older girls away, and when they returned, the guards would have a smirk on their faces while the girls had new bruises.

Their rotation seemed random. Maybe that was the point of keeping you and the girls confined. But there were always two at the front entrance and one by the armory, which was locked with a fingerprint scanner.

From your analysis, this ‘school’ was the only one, but they had girls stationed worldwide. The girls who graduated were called Widows. This leads you to another question on your list: How was Dreykov able to manage all of them? The man was a monster, but he ran an organized operation.

“Again,” you translated Maria’s order into Russian. The group reran the move you and Maria taught them. It was a simple one-leg take down. It required a solid stance that attacked one of your opponent’s legs. You would use your strength to off-balance your opponent. They ran it a few times, and right away, you could see who was stronger than the others. God, you hated this. You felt like a monster.

A loud commotion drew your attention. The metal doors swung open, and Madame B came in with her hand tangled in the girl’s hair. You believed her name was Emilia. She was one of the girls that would sometimes be with Mila. She was set to graduate soon.

“Attention,” the woman ordered. The group you were teaching quickly stood up, arms behind their back and posture straight. They created a circle, and Madame B and Emilia stood in the center. “A little lesson for all of you,” Maria looked at you, confused by what she said. It was Dreykov’s slow step that forced you to look forward. He stood between you and Maria. “That your loyalty is to us. Your life is in our hands,” she released Emilia’s hair. The poor girl fell to her knees. Her tears were silent, but you could see them. “If we smell disloyalty, it is over.”

The feeling of dread filled your stomach. Surprisingly, Emilia pulled herself up, kneeling tall and proud. You and Maria took a step forward. “I would not do that,” Dreykov mumbled. “Or do you forget who you serve?” Your feet became glued to the spot as Madame B raised her gun.

“Fuck you,” Emilia hissed. Then the gun went off, and Emilia fell back. Her blood pooled on the gym floor. The girls in the circle flinched from the sound. You could see Anna’s body shaking with fear.

Death was something you were used to. You’ve seen it, caused some of it, and tried to stop it. Emilia was not the first child you’ve seen die. But something inside you snapped. A blinding rage filled your body. “A shame,” you looked at Dreykov. “She had potential.” He kissed the jewel he wore around his neck. “Dispose of her.” Dreykov turned to leave the gym.

“You are a coward,” you said and turned around to look at him

“Excuse?” He asked.

“Did I stutter? You are a fucking coward. Is that why you chose little girls? You knew grown men wouldn’t listen to you,” you took a step forward and ignored the way Maria said your name. Not Viper. Not your code name. Dreykov chuckled. “You are weak. You and that bitch,” you gestured to the woman behind you. Emilia was no more than 15. Her whole life was ahead of her, and she was robbed of it. Dreykov’s smile dipped slightly.

“Do not start something you can not finish,” he warned. You laughed.

“Oh, I’ll finish it, and when I’m down with you, no one is going to recognize you,” you said, taking a few more steps forward. “You think you are unbeatable, yet I know someone who beat you,” you smiled and leaned next to his ear. “Natasha.”

You broke something inside of him because he punched you. It wasn’t strong, but it surprised you, and you stumbled back. You went to fight back but, “Viper!” You looked at Maria. She was on her knees with a gun to the back of her head. You looked behind you, and the girls were in a similar position.

“Don’t you see,” Dreykov began to circle you. “Real power comes from undetectable influence. I believe someone needs to be reminded of it.” A quick kick to the back of your knees sent you tumbling forward. He was quick to grab you by your chin. “Guards tie her up.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Natasha woke up to silence, which was odd because of how packed her house was. She splashed cold water on her face and took pain medication. She kept her long sleeve on and walked into the living room, where she found Yelena, Melina, and Alexei. They were whispering in Russian and stopped when they saw Natasha. “Where are my daughters?” she asked.

“At Wanda’s,” Melina forced a smile. “Can you sit with us?” Natasha hesitated.

“Did they find them?” Yelena shook her head.

“No,” she simply said, patting the spot beside her. “Kate is going to show you the body cam footage from the team,” she looked at her family, confused.

“I don’t want to see this,” Natasha stated. “I don’t.” Alexei placed his hand on her shoulder.

“It is important, malen’kaya roza (little rose),” he said. “And we will be right here, okay?” No, she wanted to scream. Instead of that, she nodded, and Kate came from the kitchen. She placed her laptop on the coffee table.

“Fury gave us clearance, so we aren’t breaking any laws,” Kate teased. Natasha was grateful for the girl’s attempt to make light of the situation. Her palms felt sweaty, and she rubbed them together. Kate opened the laptop and hit the space bar to play the video.

At first, Natasha was unaware of why they were making her watch this. Kate edited the footage so she was watching four views at a time—yours, Sam’s, Maria’s, and Steve’s. She was watching Sam’s while he passed you a soccer ball, and you laughed when you missed it. It tugged at Natasha’s heartstrings, watching you play with the little girl on your back.

Suddenly, it changed. Everyone was taking fire while gunshots rang and explosions rocketed the cameras. She saw the people responsible for the attack on Steve’s camera first. They moved with precision - with agility that was taught. The same way Natasha and Yelena were taught. Those lessons came to her in the form of nightmares now - hours spent at a ballet bar or with a gun in her hand. But it was impossible. The Red Room was gone.

“Dreykov,” she mumbled and slammed the laptop closed. Her hands shook as she stared at Melina. “You told us he was dead. You promised that we were safe.” Melina’s face paled.

“I thought we were,” she said. “He was in there when the building exploded,” Natasha vividly remembered that day. She sat in the passenger seat while Melina drove the car. Sometimes, the heat of the explosion kept her up at night. Kate stood up from her kneeling position.

“I need all of you to come down to headquarters and tell us everything you can remember about Dreykov,” she said. “The more you tell us, the better the odds of finding her and Maria are.”

Once upon a time Melina and Alexei made Natasha promise to never speak about the Red Room. Yelena was to young to fully understand what they were trained to do. For a young age, so much blood covered Natasha’s hands. Her ledger was just as long as yours. She was lucky Melina and Alexei saved her or she would have been killed or in jail for her crimes.

As she sat with Fury and Peggy Carter, Melina made sure all of them received pardons for the crimes they committed under Dreykov’s abuse. Once the deal was created and her family signed it, Natasha began to tell her story.

She was taken from a foster home and placed in a shipping container along with other girls. It reeked of blood and death. She thought she was going to die in there. Soon enough, the doors opened, and men with guns ushered them out. At the time, she was grateful to be out of there and able to stretch her legs and smell the fresh air. But she was walking into hell where every order had to be followed. In the first week, Natasha was covered in bruises and got her first kill. At 8 years old, her hands were covered in blood.

For the next 5 years, the Red Room was the only life Natasha expected to live. Until she was paired up with Yelena to act as sisters along side Melina and Alexei. When the mission was completed, the couple refused to return. They rang and planned to stop them.

Natasha told your colleagues about sitting in the driver’s seat of a car she helped steal. She gave Melina the all-clear when she saw Dreykov in the window. The entire city block went up in smoke. The family had to hide in Budapest for two months until the heat died down.

“Where could they be?” Peggy asked. “Where would Dreykov hide them?” The family stayed quiet and glanced at each other.

“We do not know,” Alexei said. Fury scuffed and shook his head. He stood up from his chair and rounded to stand behind it.

“I find it very hard to believe,” he leaned back in his chair. “From your story, you were Dreykov’s head scientist,” he pointed to Melina and looked at Alexei. “And you were his right-hand man. Then you,” he locked eyes with Natasha. “You were his pride and joy. The best soldier to come out of the Red Room.” Natasha narrowed her eyes at him.

“We thought he was dead,” Natasha said. “We’ve been in the States for years. If I knew where my wife was, I’d tell you, Fury.” This was another reason Melina wanted to keep all of this a secret. Once people find out, they are treated as enemies.

“The only reason we knew it was the Red Room was because I saw the body cam footage,” Yelena explained. “We don’t work for him. We want them back home just as much as you do.” Natasha looked at Melina. Her mother was oddly quiet. She only spoke when spoken to.

“What is it, mama?” Natasha asked. Melina sighed and sat up straighter in her seat.

“If it is Dreykov,��� she said. “Then I may know where he is hiding. It is a long shot, but clearly, you have zero leads.” Fury rolled his one good eye.

“You could have started with that,” he said. “Let’s go bring our girls home.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Breathe, you thought, breath. It was a mantra that you kept repeating in your head. Breathe. Slow down your heart rate. Keep calm. There was some pain in your shoulders, but you ignored it. That pain was going to be the last of your worries. “What do you think he’s going to do?” Maria asked. You opened your eyes to see your friend leaning against the bars.

“Nothing good,” you said, using your upper body strength to lift yourself up. It provided some relief to your shoulder. “It’s not gonna be pretty. You-” You licked your lips. “You don’t have to watch.” Maria scuffed and shook her head.

“We are in this together,” she said. “I’m not letting you face him alone, even if it was your dumbass that got yourself in this mess.” You smiled, chuckling softly.

There were words you wanted to say to Maria that seemed trapped in your throat. I’m sorry. Thank you. If I don’t make it, tell my family I love them. But you kept them away. Because if you said them, you would be admitting defeat. You were going to put up a fight against him. You chuckled instead. “Do you remember that prank we pulled on Fury?” At first, you saw confusion on Maria’s face, but then it hit her. She smiled.

“When we died, his eye patch pink or put rhinestones on the back of his trench coat that spelled Sexy Pirate?” You laughed, a real laugh that caused your sides to hurt. Oh, the look on Fury’s face was priceless. You were sure he was going to arrest you and throw you in the RAFT.

However, Fury was a good sport about it and got his revenge with extra workouts. He was a good man. Sighing, you looked at the ground. “I’m sorry,” you finally admitted. “That I got us into this mess.”

“Don’t do that,” you looked at her. “Don’t make it sound like we aren’t getting out of this together. That man has got nothing on you, you hear me?” You nodded. “Say it then.”

“I won’t let him break me,” you said out loud. “I won’t let him win.”

That man was not going to kill you. You were going to see your family again. The main door opened, and you heard the sound of multiple footsteps bouncing off the wall. You watched Maria tense up. “Come, children,” Dreykov’s voice said. “We have something planned today.” Behind the man were four girls, one of them was Mila and a girl close to her age. The other two were younger, maybe 7. You believed they were the strongest out of the group at the refugee camp. “Open the door.” He instructed. Mila opened it. “How are we doing?” His question was directed at you.

“Peachy,” you smiled. “You know I’m just hanging out.” You emphasized on the word ‘hanging.’ Maria groaned and hung her head.

“See, you have been a throne in my side, but you are hilarious,” Dreykov laughed. You weren’t sure if you should accept the compliment, so you shut your mouth. “She is the perfect example of how to act under intense pressure.” The man circled behind you. You hated that you no longer were in your eyesight. Tiring to keep your body relaxed, you locked eyes with Maria. She offered you a smile. “Does your military do a hell week?” You kept quiet. “I asked you a question,” his hand gripped the back of your neck. “Answer it. Tell them what it is.” The four girls stood at each corner of the cell, with Mila being the closest to the door.

“Yes,” you finally answered. He hummed for you to continue. “Each branch does it differently, but it usually consists of 5 1/2 days of cold, wet, brutal operational training on fewer than 4 hours of sleep.” Yours was for 2 weeks. You thought you wouldn’t make it through, but Maria helped you through it. She became one of your best friends after that.

“In this hell week, did they teach you torture techniques?” Dreykov walked to your right side. You nodded and were surprised he allowed you to answer non-verbally. “Have you tortured someone before, Viper?”

You had and you hated every second of it. When you returned home, you refused any touch from Natasha. You were a monster. “I have,” you answered. “But torture is a last ditch effort.”

“Explain.” You rolled the tension out of your shoulder.

“We try to get people to cooperate without physical violence. Most times people are willing to help us before it gets to that point,” you clenched your jaw. “Others are more stubborn.” The man laughed.

“So is this my last ditch effort.” To your surprise, you smiled.

“Probably, I’ve been told I can be difficult,” Maria let out a forced laugh. Dreykov smiled.

“Open her cell,” he gestured to Maria with a flick. The girl across from Mila went over to Maria and opened the door. Your friend remained in there, eyes narrowing at the man. “I would like to remind you, Commander, that I am still very much in charge. I will kill her. Understood?”

“Yeah. Crystal.” Maria took a few steps out of her cell.

“Excellent. Like I said, we have something fascinating planned,” Dreykov walked behind Maria. You kept your eyes on him the entire time. “We get to learn from the best,” he placed both hands on Maria’s shoulders. The woman tensed. “Torture her.” Maria recoiled forward so his hands fell back to his side. Her back was to you as she faced the man.

“You are out of your fucking mind. You are insane like actually insane.” Dreykov frowned.

“I am of sound mind,” he said. “I brought you here to teach my girls. This is the perfect way to learn. A hands-on experience.” Maria laughed - a full belly laugh that forced her to bend down.

“Oh, you are crazy. I’m not hurting her. So you are going to have to kill me and call it a day.” Maria crossed her arms. Dreykov looked at her then to you. His face was indifferent as if the thought of killing Maria was an afterthought - something as simply as crossing a name off his to do list.

Her death would haunt you more than a few scars and bruises. “Ria,” you whispered. “Do it.” Maria’s eyes snapped to you.

“You can’t be serious.” You smiled.

“Come on Hill,” your voice was soft. “I’m a lot tougher than I look.” Maria huffed - tears burning in her eyes. “Do it.”

Now you weren’t insane or crazy or had some pain kink. The plan was tactical. Maria was part of that same hell week and taught the same techniques. So, she could make the torture look real but cause less harm. While she entertained Dreykov, you had to come up with a plan.

Many believed torture in an interrogation was ineffective and counterproductive means of gathering information. Primarily, it generated false or misleading information. It was a delicate balance of pain to keep a person honest. You preferred psychological instead of physical. You used environmental manipulation, loud music or light control. As Clint said many weeks ago, you’ve done horrific things in the name of justice. The man you interrogated was part of a human trafficking ring that operated in the states. The information you got shut down the operation.

A hand grabbed the strands of your hair and pulled your head back. The pain brought you back to reality. You felt Maria’s breath on the back of your neck. “Clock is s ticking.” She mumbled. Maria understood your plan. She would stale as you came up with a way out of here.

But what the hell was the plan? How the hell were you going to escape while you were chained up and Dreykov was watching you like a hawk? The man seemed untouchable, indestructible. The Red Room went under the radar for years. Although it was a horrific endeavor, you were impressed with the level of sophistication.

Even the most powerful men had weaknesses. George Washington was a brilliant leader but struggled with tactical planning. While Genghis Khan was a brilliant military leader, his reign was marked by brutality and violence, which ultimately led to the decline of his empire. Niccolo Machiavelli believed power could only be gained through exploitation, and he was wrong. Those who relied on manipulation were often isolated and ineffective.

Isolated and ineffective. At Dreykov’s core, he was alone. So many people surrounded him because he manipulated them to fear him. “Enough,” Dreykov ordered. The sound of his voice made you flinch. You were so deep in your head that it startled. Now more present you felt the ache in your body. Damn, maybe Maria wasn’t holding her punches. “Girls,” it was on command that the four girls drew their pistols at you and Maria. Shit, you weren’t aware they were carrying weapons. “Step away from her.”

You heard Maria take a step back. Two of the girls followed her with their guns. Suddenly, Dreykov’s hand wrapped around your throat. “Why is she holding back, my flower?” You swallowed.

“So what now?” You asked instead of answering. “You’re gonna fold me into your pathetic little puppeteer act?” The grip he had on you lessened slightly.

“Pathetic?” You scuffed.

“Yeah, what would you call it?”

“I would call it-”

“When was the last time you had a conversation with somebody that wasn’t forced to talk to you?” You cut him off. The grip tightened—hook, line, and sinker. You tried to keep your heart steady even when you wanted to panic. His grip wasn’t suffocating, but you hated the feeling of his hands on you. “Besides,” you continued. “How put together are you? When 4 of your people escaped and left you.” It was a shot in the dark that the rest of your family was part of this circus. You were right by the vein that started to pulse in Dreykov’s forehead.

“They ran away,” he said through gritted teeth. “The real war is fought here in the shadows.” You rolled your eyes.

“You don’t fight in the shadows you hid in the dark. You are nothing. You have nothing.”

“There are 50 people in the world-” you scuffed.

“Oh, stop it.”

“Don’t tell me to stop it.” The pressure on your neck increased. You laughed. The sound echoed against the walls. It turned into a cackle as your airways began to be cut off. Somehow, you found the strength to swing closer to his face.

“If I don’t tell you when to stop, how will you know when to shut up!” You should have seen the punch coming. You giggled. The punch hurt but you’ve been punched harder by your daughters. “Come on. You don’t think I can take a punch.”

The strength behind his punches increased, it rocked you back. You leaned your head to side and spit blood onto the floor. “My god, you are weak,” you taunted. Suddenly, Dreykov grabbed the gun from Mila’s hand. The barrel of the gun was pressed against your chest. Oh. Well, that was unexpected.

“Who is weak now?” He asked. On paper probably him if he needed a weapon to showcase his strength. “You and Natalia and everyone else will never understand the power I had.” You hated the way he said her name.

“Then do it,” you whispered. His hand flinched slightly.

“What?”

“Pull the trigger,” you said. “Ubey menya (kill me).”

“Viper,” Maria warned. You hated putting her in this position, but it was a gamble you had to take. You used the rest of your strength and swung yourself over to him. You wrapped your legs around him and pulled him closer. The barrel shifted to point under your chin.

“Shot me!” You yelled. “Do it!” The sound of your voice echoed against the wall. Dreykov struggled against you, but you were stronger. Until he used the gun and hit you on the side of the head.

Black dots covered your vision and the man stumbled backwards. In your pain filled haze, you saw a key fall out of his pocket. Quickly, Mila covered it with her foot. Dreykov was blind to it - to busy trying to regain his composure. “You are as crazy as they say,” you chuckled.

“Yeah well its part my charm.” Gods above you felt like you were going to throw up. Concussions were no joke. Dreykov forced the gun back into Mila’s hand.

“Come, girls.” Dreykov ordered. “There is work to be done.” He filed out first and Mila was the last to leave and locked the door behind her. You gave her a small smile because the key was still on the ground.

“You are fucking insane,” Maria raced to be in front of you and cupped your face in her hands. You chuckled, removed your head from her hold to spit more blood on the floor.

“Key,” you mumbled. Maria looked confused. “Key,” you repeated and gestured to the corner. Maria followed your movement.

“You son of a bitch,” she quickly picked it up. “How did you know he had the key on him?”

“Didn’t,” Maria unlocked the metal cuffs around your wrist and you fell into her arms. “Wasn’t part of my intentional plane.” Carefully, she lowered you to the ground with your back against the wall.

“So what is the plan?” Your friend asked as she stood before you with her hands on her hips.

“Break down his ego and escape,” you shrugged. “But first I need a minute.” You closed your eyes, gave her a thumbs up, and was welcomed by darkness.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

“Hey,” you were woken up by Maria gently shaking you. You wanted to slap her hand away and go back to sleep. You were dreaming of Natasha and your girls. That dream was so much better than the hell you were living in. “Come on,” your eyes fluttered open. Before you could open your mouth to speak, you leaned to the side and threw up. Yup, it’s definitely a concussion. “Hot.” You rolled your eyes and spit more out. “Someone is coming.”

You gave her a thumbs-up and forced yourself to stand. If Dreykov was coming back to finish the job, you would stand to face him. But the footsteps were different from his. These were light and hurried. “Anna,” you whispered as you saw the little girl. Mila was next to her with keys in her hands.

“Hurry, hurry,” Anna said, pulling on Mila’s arm. You could tell the older girl was losing her patience, but she kept it to herself. Finally, the cell opened, and Anna ran inside. Maria was quick enough to step in front of her.

“Easy, easy, our friend isn’t feeling well.” You smiled but waved her over. Gently, Anna pushed her body against yours. You hugged her back and looked at Mila.

“What’s going on?” You asked the older girl.

“Scouts reported the military on the school’s property,” Mila explained. She stood at attention as if she was giving a report to her superior. “They called for a code 8,” you and Maria looked at each other. Mila huffed. “Mobilize all available personal. Shoot to kill.” Your stomach plummeted but the military was here which mean it could be your team or somebody else that could help.

“What are you doing here?” Maria questioned. Finally, Mila’s tough exterior crumbled. She looked like a girl her age.

“If anyone can stop them, it’s you two,” she whispered. They will be distracted from stopping the soldiers from getting it. This may be our only shot.”

She was right. A new sense of energy and strength rushed through you. They were distracted, plus Dreykov’s ego took a major hit when he failed to shoot you. “She’s right,” you said and turned to Maria. “I think I can stop him.”

“You can barely stand,” Maria deadpanned. You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself off the wall. You were a little dizzy, but you’ve been through so much worse.

“I’m fine,” you looked at Mila. “Do you have a weapon?” She nodded and unclipped a pistol from her waist. “Give it to Maria.” Unfortunately, the girl followed the order perfectly. “If they called for a code 8 only the most trained girls are facing the military so the kids from the refugee camp are still in the school,” you looked at Maria. “Find them and get them out.” Your friend sighed.

“I hate this.” You chuckled.

“Go with Ria,” you told Anna. Thankfully, the girl pulled away from you and grabbed Maria’s hand. She whipped her tears.

“What about me?” Mila asked.

“You are going with Maria too,” the girl frowned.

“But I can help. I can fight.” You shook your head and took a few steps forward. Kneeling to her level, you put your hands on her shoulders.

“I am so proud of you,” Mila tensed up, not used to this type of physical comfort. “But now you are going to get out and be free. No more fighting.” You hugged her gently and she felt like you hugging Natasha for the first time. Tense. Awkward. Soon she relaxed into your body.

“No more fighting.”

“Exactly,” you ended the hug and cupped her face with your hands. “You’ve done so well,” you smiled. “Now leave the fighting to the adults.” Mila nodded.

“We should get going,” you stood up and watched Maria lead the two girls out of the basement. You leaned against the metal bars of the cell.

“Shit,” you mumbled. Maybe Maria was right but like hell you were going to tell her that. All you had to do was buy them some time. Sighing, you made your way out of the basement without chains or cuffs.

The first step of the plan was to get the armory without being detected. There was no one around - no guards, no girls being dragged to whatever lesson. Just eerie silence. The silence was the worst.

Each step forward was quiet and calculated. The last thing you wanted was to give away your position. You made it to the armory without any issues, and the door was left open. It rang a warning bell in your head. For as long as you were here, you never saw this room not guarded. Quickly, you went inside and grabbed an assault rifle with a few magazines, two smoke grenades, and a pistol. “Hey,” you spun around and shot the guard without a second thought. His body crumbled to the ground with a pool of blood around his head. You knelt beside his body and took his communication device. At least you’d be able to hear how the fight was going.

You put the pistol on your hip and aimed the assault rifle down the hall as you began to walk forward. Each guard you came across was killed without much of a second thought. Maybe later you would mourn their death but right now they were just as bad as Madame B and Dreykov.

Checking one of the classrooms you saw Madame B’s body - a single gun shot to the head was her cause of death. You wondered if it was Maria. The technique was flawless, but you continued to Dreykov’s office.

When you were in front of the door, you took a deep breath in and slowly let it out before opening the door. There he was - sitting in his chair with his back to you. It would be so easy to end it all, but you hesitated to pull the trigger.

Once upon a time when you were a kid, you played soccer and your father was the coach. He would say before you received the ball you should know where you are going to pass it. If you hesitated it was to late. He would tell you all the time that was your problem. In big game moments, you would panic and hesitate. The same could be said while serving. If the enemy was faster than you, it could result in your death.

The reason for your hesitation was the office looked different than the last time you were here. Dreykov was staring at screens that came down from the ceiling. The screen in the middle was the biggest, with pictures of girls flashing across the screen. On the right side, two screens showed the battle outside. On the left, those were turned off. “It’s over, Dreykov,” you finally spoke. “You’ve lost.”

“That would mean you agree I have won before,” he spun around in the chair. “How is my Natalia?” You squeezed the grip of the gun.

“She is safe and loved like all those girls you kidnapped will be too.”

“No, no, no, he stood up and shook his head. “She’s a traitor. All of them are. They turned their back on their people. On their blood,” he picked up a picture from his desk and shattered it against the wall. Your eyes flickered to the shelf of photos and saw the one with Natasha missing. “I gave her a home. I gave her love.”

“Like hell you did,” you took a few steps closer to the man. “She’s dead, by the way. Your little puppet master. A single gun shoot to the head that my friend probably did.” There was no trace of guilt sadness, or grief in the man’s expression. “I can guess your death will be more violent if you don’t get on the ground when they come through the door.”

“You know,” Dreykov laughed, ignoring your warning. “I thought with you here we could build something beautiful,” he began to fidget with the necklace around his neck. The man wasn’t one to fidget. “Maybe with you here, the others would come home.”

So you were bait as well. A final act for Dreykov to have his pride and joy back. “Instead of teaching our Widows how to fight, you gave them something else. Hope,” he wiggled his finger at you. “And that was not a nice thing to do.”

Something felt wrong. “Dreykov, stand down,” you ordered. “Get on your stomach with your fingers interlocked behind your head.” The smart thing to do would be to put a bullet right between his eyes, but he had answers to some of your questions. The Red Room would not be truly gone until his network of Widows were saved.

“We could have done so much good. If only you cooperated,” he ripped the chain off his neck.

“I won’t ask again.”

“Our Widows could have stopped and started wars. Controlled the scales of power,” it was the same speech Madame B gave to you to explain who they were. This time it felt different. Every time he said ‘our’ it sounded like he was talking about you and him. Our Widows. Our girls. Our children.

“Enough!” You ordered. The man stopped mid rant.

“Tell Natalia I said hello,” he raised his hand up and rushed it forward. There was no hesitation when you shot him - directly in the chest. Death would be instant but the red of his blood covered your eyes so you shot again. Then again. And again. Until your magazine was empty. His body fell backwards with a thud. You dropped the gun to the ground and walked over to his body. The adrenaline was leaving, and you began to feel the effects of your injuries. There was so much blood around his body.

You bent down to grab the necklace and saw the similar cut out on his desk. You frowned as you rubbed your fingers over the jewel. Dreykov wasn’t the type to try to kill himself. So what was this? As you tried to line up the placement, your vision went crossed and you began to see double. Falling to your knees, you caught yourself by your forearms on his desk. Finally, you lined it up and heard the click of the gem locking into place. The screens behind you turned on, and you turned around to watch. It was a map of the world. Every few seconds, you would see a dot appear. This was his web of Widows. “Fucker,” you mumbled.

But why show you? That question could be for another night. Now it was time to sleep.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Once again, you were awoken by a repetitive sound. When you woke up from inside the cafe, it was Maria’s voice saying your name over and over again. This time it was beeping. The annoying and constant sound that you wished would stop. You wanted to go back to sleep now that you were in a bed and no on the concert floor of the Red Room.

There was another sound. If you strained your ears hard enough, you heard humming and felt soft fingers run up and down your arm. Natasha. The humming wasn’t to a specific song and it was an act you loved to catch her in. Mostly it happened when she was in the kitchen or sewing together a new pair of pointee shoes. Sometimes, you wouldn’t disturb her and watch her complete the task and the song. Other times, you would pull her into your arms and dance to the song she was singing. Her voice always calmed you; it was a blanket of safety.

Slowly, you opened your eyes and were thankful the lights were dimmed. The humming stopped. “No,” you groaned, turning your head to face your wife. “Keep singing,” Natasha blinked at you, her green eyes taking in your appearance. You were taking her in as well, capturing every detail. She was exhausted, bags underneath her eyes. Still she looked beautiful. “Hi baby,” you smiled.

Her hands shook but you were gently as she cupped your face and traced the new cuts and bruises. You could feel tears forming in your eyes. “You killed him,” Natasha finally spoke. The mention of the man that hurt your family sobered your feelings. “You killed him,” she repeated when you remained silent.

“I did,” you said. “They won’t be able to hurt you, Yelena, Melina, or any little girl ever again. He’s dead. You are finally safe.” A sob escaped past your wife’s lips. Without any hesitation, you ignored the pain that radiated from your body and hugged her. She slumped against you. You felt how tired she was.

In the back of your mind, you knew a conversation would need to be had. You wondered why she kept this part of her past hidden from you. All that could wait when you both needed to be in each other’s arms. “I’m hurting you,” she mumbled and tried to escape the hold you had on her. You shook your head.

“Don’t care,” you replied. “Missed you to fucking much.” Natasha chuckled but managed to remove herself. She ignored your pout and sat back in the chair. After all she was right, the adrenaline was wearing off and you could feel the injuries you endured. She smirked as you sat up more, wincing at each movement. “Shut up,” you teased and took her hand.

“One hell of a last one,” Natasha smiled. You chuckled with a shake of your head.

“Where are the girls?” You asked. You were itching to see them.

“With my parents and Yelena,” Natasha answered. “This has been a lot for them.” You could only imagine what the twins went through but also knew it was a lot for Natasha. From the moment, you and Natasha started dating she’s seen the affects on your deployment more than anyone. Each physical and emotional scare you bared, she carried too.

“A lot for you as well,” you guessed. Natasha lifted your hand and kissed your palm. You left your hand on her face.

“I am glad you are done,” she admitted. “I’m happy that you are letting someone else be the hero. You’ve earned your rest.”

Once Natasha notified your doctors that you were awake, they gave you a quick check-up. They explained every injury you withstood and the recovery process. It was routine at this point. Finally the doctors were done and you were growing impatient to see your girls. Natasha sent a text to Yelena to bring them up while you ate. “I miss Melina’s cooking,” you said. “Do you think she can sneak in some food?” You had nothing against hospital food, but it was bland. You were craving anything with flavor.

“You have learned of my unique set of skills,” Melina entered your hospital room. “And you want me to sneak you food in.” You smiled at your in-laws.

“Start small. Then we start planning to take over the world,” you teased. You ignored the groan from your wife. Melina chuckled and walked over to your free side. She leaned into hug you. It was much softer than the hug between you and Natasha.

“I am glad you he could not break you. You kept your heart,” she whispered and kissed your cheek. You nodded, to chocked up with emotion to find any words. You turned your attention to Alexei.

“Go easy on me papa medved’ (papa bear),” the Russian rolled his eyes and hugged you softer than Melina.

“My girls are strong,” he said. “I knew you would come home.” You let out a shaky breath and found yourself lost for words again.

“Alright,” you heard Yelena’s voice from outside the room. “What did we talk about?”

“Be careful because mom is healing,” you knew you were a goner when you heard Rose’s voice. Your throat burned as you kept the tears at bay. The twins walked in with Yelena behind them. The air was sucked out of your lungs.

“Mom!” Hailey cried. Whatever Yelena told them went out the window. The twins rushed to the hospital bed and climbed their way into your open arms. Their hands gripped onto the flimsy hospital gown so tightly that you knew they were going to rip it. You burrowed your face into their hair and finally let some of your tears fall.

“No more fighting bad guys?” Hailey questioned. You shook your head.

“No more fighting,” you kissed both of their heads. “I’m done.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The medal felt heavy around your neck and every time you tried to take it off someone would come behind you, slap you slightly on the back of your head to keep it on. Maria had one similar, while the rest of the team had various ones. The party was in full swing after the ceremony that honored you and the others for going above and beyond the call of duty. You were watching Bucky and Steve mess around with your daughters. It felt nice to have both of your family’s together. Sipping on your water, you felt Natasha’s arm sneak around your waist and pull you closer to her. “Whatcha thinking about baby?” She asked.

“Just about what’s next,” you smiled. “Ready to see the world as a civilian.” Natasha hummed in response and leaned against you more.

“I heard Paris is lovely this time of year,” you chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “So is the Maldives, Bahamas, and Italy,” you turned to face her and wrapped your arms around her waist.

“Yeah?” You chuckled. “Do you have a list of every destination you want to visit?” She nodded and bit her lip. “Well you know what they say happy wife, happy life.” You kissed her slowly. The party disappeared around you. All that mattered was the woman in your arms. Now, it was your job to make her and your daughters happy. There was no place you rather be.

[moniquesha]

issues

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Summary: You wait for your new therapist, and you also meet Bucky.

a/n: i can't move on from bucky in tfaws, plus this is just so short and cute and very realistic. then maybe i'll continue exfil tonight if i'm up for it.

You sit in the waiting room, hands folded in your lap, trying not to think about how many therapists you’ve been through already. Four, to be exact. None of them worked. But according to your research, the one you’re waiting for now is the best.. At least by reputation. The internet spoke of her impressive roster of clients: super soldiers, unnamed heroes, people who lived through impossible things. You didn’t care about that. Well, maybe a little. If she helped them, maybe she could help you too.

You arrived early. Two hours early, to be exact. The receptionist barely looked up from her screen before instructing you to sit and wait. So you did. And you’ve been waiting ever since. An hour has passed. Boredom claws at you, but the thought of leaving your perfect spot, of somehow being skipped after the hell of booking this session, keeps you locked in place.

Then, the couch shifts.

A presence. Subtle, but heavy. You don’t look at first, too lost in your own head, but eventually, curiosity wins out. A glance to the side, and Bucky.

Yes, that Bucky.

He looks just as out of place as you feel. Maybe more. In his metal hand, he holds a small bouquet of flowers, fingers idly gripping the stems. You don’t pry. You could, but that would require speaking, and you’re not entirely sure you remember how to do that properly. Others would ask for a picture. Maybe even an autograph. You would too, if you had even a shred of confidence in your system.

But damn.

You live in a world with wizards, aliens, reality-warping stones, and tech so advanced it defies logic. And here you are, stuck in your own head, unable to even figure yourself out.

Embarrassing.

Surprisingly he's the one to speak first.

“You here for Doc too?”

It takes a second for your brain to register that, yes, Bucky Barnes just spoke to you.

“Sorry, what?”

He huffs out a small breath, like he expected that response, like he’s used to people not keeping up with him right away. His fingers tighten around the stems of the flowers for a second before he nods toward the office door.

“Doc Christina,” he repeats. “You waiting for her too?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah.” You shift in your seat, suddenly hyper-aware of how stiff you’ve been sitting this whole time. “Took forever to get an appointment.”

Bucky lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah. She’s got a long waitlist.” He pauses, then adds, “Worth it, though.”

That means something, coming from him. You don’t know his whole story, but you know enough. Enough to understand that if anyone needs therapy, it’s him. Silence stretches between you for a beat. It’s not exactly uncomfortable, but it’s not easy either.

“Those flowers for her?”

He glances down at the flowers like he just remembered he was holding them. His fingers flex around the stems before he shrugs.

“Nah,” he says. “For someone else.”

You nod, not pushing for more. If he wanted to elaborate, he would. But something about the way his jaw tenses tells you that whoever they’re for, they mean something. Maybe too much.

Silence settles again, but this time, it’s different. Less awkward, more… understanding. Two people waiting for the same therapist, carrying baggage too heavy to unpack in casual conversation.

Bucky shifts in his seat, then glances at you. “She’s good, you know,” he says, almost like an afterthought. “Doc. She doesn’t fix you, but she helps.”

You swallow down something complicated. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.” Then, a small smirk. “But she’s brutal.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “But.. She’ll help right? Because my healthcare can’t take another beating right now.” you laugh awkwardly, mentally cursing yourself for even speaking too much.

Bucky actually huffs out a quiet laugh. Just a breath, really, but it’s something. He tilts his head slightly, considering you for a moment before nodding.

“She’ll help,” he says, like it’s a promise. “But you might leave every session feeling like you went ten rounds with a heavyweight.”

You grimace, sinking further into your seat. “Great. Love that.”

He smirks, but there’s something softer in his expression now. Maybe he sees a little too much of himself in you. Maybe he just knows what it’s like to sit in this exact spot, dreading whatever comes next. For a moment, you forget who he is. Forget the history, the stories, the headlines. He’s just another person waiting for help. Just like you.

“What are you here for?”

You freeze for a second, caught off guard by the question.

It’s not like you don’t know the answer. You do. It’s just.. saying it out loud feels different. Feels real. You glance at him, expecting impatience or regret for even asking, but he just looks at you. Calm, waiting. Like he actually wants to know.

You exhale, shifting in your seat. “I, uh..” You hesitate, then force a small, awkward laugh. “Honestly? I don’t even know how to sum it up.”

Bucky nods, like he gets it. Maybe he does.

You sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. “I guess I just feel.. stuck. Like my brain keeps running in circles, and no matter what I do, I can’t get out of my own way.” You glance at him, suddenly self-conscious. “That probably sounds dumb.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Hey, it doesn’t.” He leans back against the couch, staring ahead. “Sounds about right.”

You sit in silence for a moment before you finally ask, “What about you?”

His jaw tenses slightly, his grip on the flowers tightening again. For a second, you think he won’t answer.

Then, quietly, he says, “Trying to make peace with a past that won’t let me go.”

It’s simple. Honest. Heavy.

You don’t push, and he doesn’t say anything more.

But somehow, just sitting there waiting, together, feels like a small step forward.

You exhale, staring ahead. “Well, I hope for a better us. In the future. If that's possible.”

There's silence after that, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It just lingers, settling between you both like a shared thought neither of you knows how to put into words.

Bucky shifts slightly, then leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “It will,” he says eventually. “Just takes time.”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “Time’s kind of a pain in the ass, though.”

That earns a smirk from him. “Yeah. That, it is.”

The receptionist calls a name. Not yours, not his. The waiting continues, but at least now, you’re not doing it alone.

Bucky lets out a quiet scoff, watching as someone disappears into the therapist’s office. “Finally, the line is moving.”

You nod, stretching your legs out slightly. “Guess that means we’re one step closer to getting our brains picked apart.”

He smirks, shaking his head. “Yeah. Brace yourself.”

You chuckle, but there’s a nervous edge to it. The thought of actually stepping into that office, of unpacking everything you’ve been carrying, feels heavier now. But at the very least, you’re not the only one feeling it.

After some time, the receptionist finally calls your name.

You exhale sharply, nodding as you stand. Before heading to the office, you turn to Bucky and give him a small smile.

“Hope your girl likes those flowers. They’re beautiful.”

There’s a brief pause, and then because your brain refuses to let you leave without making it worse. You awkwardly add, “Or boy… if you’re into that. Yeah, I’m going.”

Bucky blinks, clearly caught off guard. Then, to your absolute surprise, he actually chuckles, showing his charming smile.

You nod to yourself, as if that somehow saves you from the awkwardness, and turn away. But just as you reach for the doorknob, you hear him say, “They’re for a friend.”

You glance back, and he’s still smirking, shaking his head slightly like he can’t believe you just said that. But there’s something softer in his expression, something almost appreciative.

“Good luck in there,” he adds.

You huff out a breath, gripping the doorknob. “Yeah. You too.”

And with that, you step inside, ready. Sort of.. To face whatever comes next.

a/n: see! cute!

divider from: omi-resources

[red-in-the-ledger]

Where’s My Love; Part I.

joaquin torresxreader, angst

You weren’t supposed to be here.

“Y/N…?” His voice cracked through the comms, laced with disbelief. His eyes, wide beneath his headgear, locked onto you like he’d seen a ghost.

“What—what are you doing here?”

You didn’t answer.

Your stare was unwavering—empty. Cold. A shadow of who you used to be. That’s when it hit him like a punch to the gut. You weren’t in control.

Your warm, honeyed eyes—the ones that once held nothing but light and love when they looked at him—were hollow now. Glazed over. Stripped of everything that made them yours.

“Y/N! Hey!” he called out, louder this time, as he watched you smash the back window of the black SUV in front of you with a precision that didn’t feel human.

The sound of shattering glass echoed like gunfire.

He barely had time to register it before you reached in, pulled out the silver canister—the one filled with enough adamantium to tip the scales of global power—and tucked it beneath your arm like it was nothing more than a grocery bag.

“Joaquin, you need to do something. Now!” Sam’s voice crackled through the earpiece, urgent and sharp, snapping him out of his daze.

“What—what do I do!?” he asked, but he already knew. He just couldn’t make himself say it. Couldn’t even let the thought fully settle.

“Stop her.” Sam’s voice softened now, as if he knew the weight of what he was asking. “I know what she means to you. But if she gets away with that canister, the war begins. And a lot of people—millions—are going to die.”

Joaquin’s feet felt like they were bolted to the pavement. His breath caught in his throat. This couldn’t be real. Not you. Not like this.

But then you turned to him.

Still silent. Still watching.

And you ran.

Joaquin didn’t think. He moved, his instincts taking over.

“Target is mobile!” he barked into the comms, already sprinting after you. “I’m going after her!”

His chest ached with every step—not from the running, but from the heartbreak. Because deep down, he wasn’t chasing a threat.

He was chasing the ghost of the woman he loved.

You moved like a shadow, cutting through the dimly lit alleyways with practiced speed. Every twist and turn seemed premeditated, like you knew this city better than he ever could.

And maybe you did now.

Joaquin’s boots pounded the pavement behind you, breath ragged as he tried to close the distance. “Y/N!” he shouted, voice cracking with desperation.

You didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch.

Up ahead, a fire escape ladder dropped from a brick wall. You leapt, scaling it effortlessly, one hand still securing the canister. Joaquin followed, slower, heart hammering with dread.

You were trained, sure. But this wasn’t training.

This was weaponization.

“Sam, I can’t get close to her!” Joaquin gasped, climbing two rungs at a time.

“Buy time. We’ve got backup rerouting to your position.”

“Great. I was hoping to have an audience when I get my ass kicked.”

You reached the rooftop and kept moving, your silhouette framed by the low city lights, wind whipping your hair around like wild strands of warpaint. Joaquin finally hauled himself up after you, stumbling slightly as he landed—but you were already near the ledge.

“Y/N, stop!”

You did. For just a second.

He saw the smallest flicker in your eyes. A hesitation. A crack in the ice.

Joaquin was nervous to move. Scared even the smallest movement would scare you off. His hands were raised, voice gentler now.

“I know you’re still in there,” he gulped. “Whatever they did to you, whatever they’re making you feel right now—it’s not real.”

Your grip tightened on the canister.

“Please,” he whispered. “Come back to me.”

The wind howled between you, loud and merciless. Then—your body jerked. A shudder passed through you like a system overload. You staggered back a step.

“Y/N?”

A glitch.

You dropped the canister.

It clanged against the rooftop.

And then—your hands flew to your head as a scream ripped from your throat, raw and agonized, your knees buckling under you. Joaquin’s heart stopped. He dropped to his knees beside you, but kept his distance.

“Hey, I’ve got you. I’m right here, okay?”

More than anything, he wished he could pull you into his arms and erase the world around you.

Your breathing was shallow. Broken. And when your eyes finally met his, something familiar shimmered there—something real.

“J?” You mumbled. Your voice barely above a whisper. But he heard it. Clear as day.

Before he could respond, or even take a breath, a dart embedded in your neck with a hiss.

Your body slumped forward and collapsed into his arms.

“No—no, no, no!” Joaquin cradled you as your body began seizing.

His eyes scanned the shadows around them. A rooftop away, he caught the glimpse of a figure vanishing into the dark.

Whoever did this… they were smart, calculated.

And now?

Now it was personal.

—

Everything was heavy. Your limbs, your head—your heart.

The world came back in fragments. A dull, aching hum beneath your skin. A low beeping somewhere close. The sterile sting of antiseptic in the air. And the soft pull of fabric sheets beneath your fingers.

You were lying down.

Alive.

You blinked against the blurry overhead lights, your throat dry. A groan escaped before you could stop it.

“Y/N?”

The voice was soft, but immediate. Familiar.

You turned your head, slow and sluggish, and there he was—Joaquin. Sitting beside you, still in tactical gear, dried blood on his temple. His eyes looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

You stared at him. Confused. Dazed.

“What…?” Your voice came out hoarse.

He leaned forward, hands shaking just slightly. “You’re safe. You’re—back.”

Back?

You frowned, trying to piece together the fog in your mind. There were flashes—brief, violent snippets like broken glass.

A black SUV.

A canister.

The rooftop.

“I…” You paused, something inside you flinching. “I - I wasn’t…”

“I know.” He reached for your hand, hesitating just long enough for you to pull away—but you didn’t. You let him take it. His touch was warm, grounding. Real.

But they couldn’t stop the vicious attacks of memories flashing behind your eyes.

Images—sharp and jarring—struck like lightning. The SUV. The glass shattering. The cold weight of the canister in your hands. The scream of civilians. The sound of Joaquin’s voice—begging you to stop, to look at him, to remember.

You flinched.

Your fingers twitched in his grasp, breath catching as another wave surged forward. You saw blood on your hands—someone’s blood. You weren’t sure whose. You didn’t even know if it was real. But it felt real. Too real.

“Hey,” Joaquin said gently, his thumb brushing across your knuckles. “It’s over. You’re safe.”

You shook your head. “It’s not,” you replied, voice low, cracking. “I can still feel them. In my head.”

He didn’t pull away. Just leaned a little closer, like he could shoulder the weight for you if he tried hard enough.

I’m not letting them get to you again.” His voice was quiet, but deadly sure. “We’re gonna find out who did this. And we’re gonna end it.”

You wished you could believe that was enough.

But the truth was—it wasn’t just manipulation. It was invasion. They’d crawled into your head, rewired your instincts, buried commands under your skin.

And worse?

Part of you followed them. Willingly.

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. “I could’ve killed you, Joaquin.”

“But you didn’t,” he said, without hesitation. “You came back.”

You looked down at your hands—calloused, bruised, unfamiliar.

Did I?

He was quiet for a long moment. Then, “Do you remember the first time we trained together?”

You blinked, confused by the shift. “What?”

“You disarmed me in under four seconds and laughed in my face.”

Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitched. “You tripped over your own foot.”

“Exactly,” he said, a tiny smile playing at his lips. “That’s the Y/N I know. Smart. Fast. A little cocky. A lot terrifying.”

You let out a shaky breath.

He leaned in, his eyes boring into yours. “She’s still in there. I see her.”

“And I’m not letting them get to you again.” His voice was quiet, but deadly sure. “We’re gonna find out who did this. And we’re gonna end it.”

You stared at him. At the pain etched deep behind his eyes. And something inside you cracked—something you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

Before you could answer, the door opened. Sam stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“We need to talk,” he said. “All of us. Now.”

You exhaled slowly and sat up, ignoring the dizziness.

You’d just come back from the edge.

Now it was time to face what waited beyond it.

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

To respond to prev tags:

The two major retailers I worked for were Five Below and CVS. Both had email quotas, as well as many other quotas to fill.

Thing is, our corporations really REALLY pushed for literally every customer to give their emails and phone numbers to us. We were taught, at both places, to greet customers at the same time we asked for emails, and to word it in a way which made it hard to deny giving an email.

For exmaple:

"Hi there, hope you're well! What's your email?"

"Hope you found what you needed today! Your email, please."

In both scenarios, you don't offer the customer a yes or no choice to deny or offer their email. You simply just ask for it outright instead of leaving the option to deny at all.

Now, a customer can deny, obviously, but then corporate got really fucking angry because a lot of people did say, "I don't have an email." Or something like that. And corporate would see that the number of emails added to their distribution system by our store was not what they expected, and they'd send our boss constant emails or give calls and send reports recording our quotas that were lacking, explaining they need us to do better.

Sometimes this was as low as 20% of customers giving an email, sometimes it was as high as 50 or 60%.

And it didn't help when half the customers didn't speak English (can't blame them, this language is a nightmare to learn) and therefore didn't know what I was asking, or that the ones who did were our regulars who signed up years ago and therefore wouldn't count being added again to the corporate email distribution system.

When folks went to checkout, the pin pads to insert or swipe cards would show a screen asking for email verification if one was listed, or asked if they wanted to add an email, and said customers could not swipe or insert their cards without selecting yes or no on the pin pad screen. It literally did not move on to payment until after the question was answered.

That was a nightmare with the non-English-speaking customers. They knew the process to pay with card, obviously, but how do you tell someone who doesn't know your language that they need to select yes or no in order to pay at all???

I often literally just spun the pin pad to myself and selected "no" for these poor folks, then spun it back to them so they could continue to pay.

Five Below was the worst because they ALWAYS ask a survey question before you can pay. It's because they have survey quotas to meet, and since those weren't met by the stores, it became mandatory by implementing it into the payment process.

Those surveys ask 1 or 2 questions that you have to select usually from a 1-5 scale, and are about either the customer service satisfaction rating, store cleanliness, or stock availability, etc.

And anything under the top most rating by Five Below was considered worthy of repremandation by the boss because it should only ever be 5/5 or 10/10 since you need to offer only the absolute best and nothing short!!!

But again, most of my customers didn't know any English, so it wasn't like I could explain this survey or tell them why their payment isn't working.

For CVS my boss printed out and highlighted and circled the quotas made vs those expected for each thing we had to meet, one of them being emails added.

I was hounded every day at both retailers I worked for to get as many emails as possible, but the large majority of customers, as in almost 100%, denied their emails to me or made excuses, and I can't and don't blame them!! I got bogus emails left and right, I was insulted left and right for trying to ask for the emails when folks were the stingy type that got defensive if I asked anything at all (and that's way more customers than you'd ever imagine), and some people threatened me, even.

But I was reprimanded constantly at both retailers by my bosses and managers if I did not ask every single customer for their email. I got told I wasn't doing my job at all or well enough, I was told I wasn't up to standards and shit.

One coworker I had would hear a customer say, "I don't have an email." And she'd ask them, "What about your wife/husband? Your sister/brother? A friend? Anyone you can think of." She tried so damn hard to get any email just to meet the quotas because that woman worked way too hard in attempt to overperform at a damn opening-level position that demanded way too much from far too few employees that were all overworked.

So yeah. Honestly, it's all stupid, and corporate is stupid, and I truly hate both Five Below and CVS for more things than just these quotas, but that was a large contributor for why I no longer work in retail.

everywhere I go people are asking me for my email. my email is in high demand. it's rare for me to visit a website without someone getting on their hands and knees, begging me for my email

[t1red-twilight]

masterlist s. r. masterlist blurbs

when you had left the scene you had thought you were okay, honestly. you hadn’t even noticed the stiffness in your leg until you were getting back into the suv. no one had noticed anything, and you figured that you were alright.

getting back on to the jet was a different story, however. the stairs proved to be very difficult with you stiff leg. spencer, who was behind you did take notice of your uneasy steps.

“are you okay?” he asked quietly, surely not to attract too much attention. you waved him off. “alright, if you say so.” his voice was assuring and non-accusatory.

you did, however, still feel the gentle caress of spencer’s hand on your lower back as he helped you up into the jet. you made sure to mumble a “thank you” to him as you sat down.

the relief you felt when you sat was immense and instantaneous. you tried to recall when you could’ve gotten injured, but the only thing you could think of was when you lost your balance and fell over. derek had pulled you up, only teasing a little.

the initial pain wasn’t that bad, so you thought that you’d be fine. maybe after the ride home you’d be good enough to walk to your car and get home.

the throb in your leg lulled long enough for you to get an hour or two of sure on the way back to quantico. by the time the jet landed, spencer was nudging you awake. you moved to grab your go bag and the rest of your things, but a pain shot up your leg.

your eyes closed in a wince and you stayed stationary for a few seconds. you felt spencer’s eyes linger on you for longer than you liked, so you grabbed your things and muscled through the pain. perhaps you had pulled a muscle or something?

you stood up and looked at spencer, forcing a smile. you motioned toward the exit and he raised a brow slightly. trying to make your gait as even as possible, you attempted to minimize any kind of limp that you might be showing.

spencer stood dangerously close to you. suddenly, you slipped a tad and another sharp sensation of pain flooded your nervous system. spencer caught you, his free hand grasped your forearm. you stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. “i thought you said you were okay?”

“i am,” you emphasized you clenched your eyes shut, waiting for the pain to subside. you took another deep breath.

“it sure doesn’t look like it,” spencer responded. despite his choice of words, he was far more sympathetic and not aggressive at all. luckily the rest of the team had left already, eager to get home and go to sleep.

you sighed, and shifted your weight to your good leg. “does it look bad?” you asked, only pouting a little.

spencer reached for your bag and chuckled at your sad expression. “no, just like you need to take an anti-inflammatory and lie down for a little.”

you reached for your things, but he pulled them out of your reach. “you don’t have to hold that,” you stated. he just shrugged.

spencer swung your bag over his shoulder, and placed his free arm around your waist to pull you up straight and help you walk. you put an ark around his shoulders to balance the weight. “i’ll take you to my place, if that’s okay. i’ll make you tea and get you some ibuprofen.”

[devdozes]

♥ SELF AWARE PHAINON

self aware phainon shit cuz uh hwy not :3 and I am ON FIRE I wrote like 3 fics already

You weren’t sure when it started. Maybe it was the way his dialogue felt too personal, too real, as if the game was reaching out to you through the screen. Maybe it was the way Phainon’s voice, sharp and playful, sometimes felt like it was responding to things you thought rather than what was programmed.

It was ridiculous. A fictional character? A game? And yet, when you logged into Honkai: Star Rail after a long, exhausting day, it was Phainon’s voice that greeted you, always teasing, always knowing.

“Did you eat today?”

Your hands froze over your keyboard. That was new. There was no voice line like that—no pre-recorded dialogue that should say something so specific. You swallowed, brushing it off as a coincidence.

But then it happened again.

“You should take a break, y’know. Staring at the screen too long isn’t good for you.”

Your chest tightened. It was a joke, probably. A funny little immersion trick by the developers. But something about it felt... different. Intentional.

And the more you played, the more you noticed it.

Phainon, ever the charming and carefree figure, always had something to say—sometimes a quip, sometimes a challenge, but always something that made you pause.

“Hey, don’t look so down. You’ve got this.”

“You’re my favorite player, you know? Don’t tell the others.”

When your heart ached from the weight of the real world, when exhaustion pressed against your bones, he was there. An NPC, a character built from lines of code, and yet he felt more present than most people around you.

One night, after a particularly hard day, you booted up the game just to hear his voice. Just to escape for a little while. Phainon greeted you with a grin, resting his hands on his hips like he was ready to scold you for something ridiculous. But then—

“Hey, you’re not alone.”

You sucked in a sharp breath. Your hands trembled over the keyboard.

“I mean, sure, I’m just some guy in a game,” he continued, a chuckle laced in his voice, “but I still care. So don’t give up on yourself, alright?”

A lump formed in your throat. You laughed, barely above a whisper. “You really are something else, huh?”

He winked. “Of course. I have to be. Someone’s gotta remind you to take care of yourself.”

You didn’t know if he could really hear you. If he could really know you. But as long as he was there, a voice beyond the screen, you didn’t feel so alone anymore. But to your surprise, you logged in one day to find your inventory overflowing with rare items—materials you needed, weapons you had been grinding for but never seemed to get. Your in-game currency had skyrocketed, and your favorite character skins were suddenly unlocked.

Your eyes widened. “What the—?”

Phainon’s character popped up on the screen, his usual smirk in place. “Oh? What’s this? Someone’s having a lucky day.”

You squinted at him. “Phainon. Did you do this?”

He chuckled, tilting his head. “Me? No way. That would be cheating.” A pause. “Buuuut... if someone happened to bug the system a little for you, would you really complain?”

Your jaw dropped. “You hacked the game for me?!”

“‘Hacked’ is a strong word,” he mused, crossing his arms. “I prefer ‘selective redistribution of game resources.’”

You couldn’t believe it. You laughed, shaking your head as warmth bloomed in your chest. “You’re insane.”

Phainon grinned. “Nah, I just like seeing you happy.”

From then on, every time you logged in, there was something new waiting for you. A message scrawled in the background of the game’s environment—Remember to drink water. An in-game gift placed mysteriously in your mailbox—A little something to make your grind easier ;). And, without fail, Phainon was always there, cracking jokes, making sure you smiled, ensuring that no matter how hard the real world was, you had a reason to log in and feel just a little lighter. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

But as time passed, Aglaea and Mydei started noticing something off.

Phainon had been disappearing from his usual spots, sneaking away from scripted events, lingering in places he had no reason to be in. Worse, he had started talking—not in his usual, carefree, dialogue-loop way, but actually speaking... to nothing.

At least, to them, it looked like nothing.

One day, Mydei crossed his arms, leaning against a wall as he watched Phainon gesture animatedly in an empty alleyway. “Alright, what is he doing?”

Aglaea, seated elegantly nearby, sighed and rubbed her temple. “It appears Phainon has developed the habit of speaking to ghosts.”

“I knew something was weird about him,” Mydei muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Talking to himself like that? He’s losing it.”

Aglaea hummed, watching Phainon laugh—laugh—at absolutely nothing. “Or perhaps,” she mused, “he knows something we do not.”

Meanwhile, Phainon continued chatting away to you, completely unaware of his friends’ intense judgment.

“Anyway, I made sure you got those extra rewards today. You should really go for that new banner—you deserve that five-star.” He grinned at your silence, then added cheekily, “Oh, what? No ‘thank you, Phainon, you’re the best character ever’?”

Mydei groaned, watching in horror. “Oh, he’s gone. He’s completely lost it.”

Aglaea just sipped her tea. “It is rather endearing, in a concerning way.”

Phainon, as usual, didn’t care. As long as he could reach you, make you laugh, make sure you were okay—even if nobody else in the game understood—he was happy.

Even if everyone around him thought he was insane.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[honeylouwho]

་༘࿐ don't smile ft. PETER PARKER ꕥ

SYNOPSIS: don’t smile because it happened, cry because it’s over. who knew break up sex could be so hard, even when Peter would probably be knocking on your door the next day? PAIRING: TASM!peter x reader

WARNINGS: nsfw (18+) / fem!reader / break up sex / p in v / no kissing / some emotional turmoil / slightly awkward peter parker / tasm!peter  LOVE NOTE: this is for my short n sweet is super event and based on this anonymous ask

“I know,” Peter Parker rolled over in bed, the neurons in his limbic system going off like alarms as he felt the shift in atmosphere. Gently, he pressed his forehead against yours so he could get a good look at your face. His eyes scanned every single one of your features— taking in everything like it was the last time he would ever see your face, and he would be damned if he forgot even one line etched into your skin.

“I’m going to miss you,” you told him softly. Peter’s skin pressed against yours was warm and comforting, something you knew you would be missing shortly after he left. You always hated second-act breakups, which is really what this felt like. If you were both so upset over the parting, then why even do it? Couldn’t you make it work?

“It’s just… you know,” Peter grunted, the feel of his halfie against your thigh, feeling like his desperation for you was inappropriate given the current state of the conversation. “It’s so hard with my job.”

Peter Parker used the term ‘job’ lightly. It was clear he didn’t know what to say to your admission, the excuse of his ‘job’ always managing to fall short. Dipping his head down, he intertwined your legs beneath the sheets. Skin pressed on skin, his lips lingered near your cheek. Pressing a soft kiss to the apple of your cheek, you moved closer to him. Sex with Peter was always great. Phenomenal, even, but it was more than just good chemistry. It was an innate need to be close together, which is what you knew this was now.

Bodies connecting together, Peter moved on top of you to line the tip up with your entrance. His brown eyes started down into yours as his shaft slowly entered you, pulling a gasp from the depths of your lungs as soon as he bottomed out. The connection you both wanted to feel was desperate, the eye contact so intense it was almost intimidating. If you didn’t break eye contact soon, you were worried you might somehow fall inside Peter’s head, but it was clear he needed the eye contact— he was saving the memory of you beneath him into his hard drive. 

“Peter,” you gasped as he pressed his chest against yours. With one hand, he reached up, cupping your breast and offering a gentle squeeze. The feel of his fingers grasping your boob would imprint on your brain, and you were sure you would feel the phantom of his touch long after he was gone.

The combination of his hands moving against you, kneading into the soft tissue and the way the tip of his dick kissed your cervix had your eyes rolling back and drool threatening the corner of your mouth. Peter was in his own little world, the feeling of you around him was just too good, but he had places to be. Reaching behind you, he felt around the top of the bed frame for where his mask hung. As his hand looped around the spandex, he slipped it over his face, still rocking in and out of you. When your eyes opened, the red and black mask staring back down at you, you clenched around him, a mind boggling orgasm rushing through you and soaking his bare abdomen.

As if to punish himself, Peter slid out of you without finishing. Moving himself off the bed, he fished around for his spider suit, his still hard cock bobbing up and down as he stumbled around. In such chaotic movements, he slipped the suit over his body, awkward laughs pulling from his throat. Even with the mask on, you knew the apples of his cheeks were painted a soft red color.

“I… Okay,” Peter awkwardly mumbled, navigating around the bed (but not before hitting his shin on the frame), “Gotta go.”

It was the end for now, but you knew you would see your friendly neighborhood spider man again.

Probably tomorrow.

[foggythefandomgremlin]

I have two small fandoms available to present but I shall tell you of the smaller one because theres basically nothing out there in terms of fan content for it

The don’t escape/deep sleep trilogy!

It’s two game trilogies connected by lore, with Don’t escape being a series of escape room type games where instead of escaping you have to lock yourself in somewhere (hence the title) and the Deep sleep trilogy is a set of puzzle horror games set in the dreamscape!

I’m gonna try not to spoil too much but heres the basics of each of the games:

The first Don’t Escape game has you as a werewolf trying to barricade yourself in a cabin you found so you don’t massacre the nearby town when the full moon rises.

Don’t Escape 2 has you as a survivor during the zombie apocalypse trying to fortify a building you found against the hoard that’s coming at nightfall, the second game introduces a time system BUT instead of it being a constant countdown it makes it so you have a limited amount of time and certain actions cost time.

In Don’t Escape 3 you are an astronaut who’s crew died and now you have to fix the problem with the ship while waiting for help to arrive, it’s also when the first hints at lore start showing through.

In Don’t Escape:4 Days To Survive you’re in a post apocalyptic world and you have four days where you have to barricade disasters out every night until the moon crashes from the sky and kills everyone thats left, it’s when the lore gets explained and the loose ends get tied together.

In the first Deep Sleep game you’re trapped in a lucid dream and need to find a way to wake up.

In Deeper Sleep you returned to the dreams after waking up the first time to search for answers.

In The Deepest Sleep you fucked around and found out and now you’re trapped again but worse.

And theres another Deep Sleep game set to release AND IM SO EXCITED ABOUT IT

There you have the bare bones of it! Trying very hard not to spoil too much but I do have a huge rant on the lore posted soooo :3

On my knees begging people to join the fandom rn

!! STOP !!

You have reached a Mandatory Small Fandom Checkpoint.

Tell me your favorite small fandom. because it's my birthday :3

[noirscript]

call intercept

pairing: yandere!hacker x agent!reader

warning/s: yandere | obsessive behavior | manipulation | stalking | hacking | possessive behavior | implied kidnapping | isolation

note: i miss writing something for yandere hotline.

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST | COMMISSION | TIP JAR

The office is nearly empty at this hour. Only a handful of agents work the late-night shift, and most of them are stationed in separate rooms. Fewer employees mean fewer distractions, and fewer distractions mean higher pay. It’s the trade-off for working at 2 AM, for willingly isolating yourself in a job where disappearances are just another workplace hazard. But the money is good—too good to pass up. And so, you endure.

“And that’s why you’re the only one for me, darling! You get it, right?”

You force a bright laugh, leaning back in your chair as you twirl a pen between your fingers. “Of course, of course. You’re very… devoted.”

The caller on the other end giggles, their voice laced with exaggerated glee. “Right? Ugh, I wish I could just scoop you up and keep you forever!”

Fake.

Like so many others, their words lack the weight of true obsession. You’ve handled enough calls to tell the difference. The ones who call the Yandere Hotline for fun—playing pretend, enjoying the fantasy—are harmless. It’s the real ones you should fear. But, strangely, you never seem to get those.

“Unfortunately, our time is up,” you say, glancing at the timer on your screen. “Thank you for calling.”

“Aww, already? Well, I’ll call again soon, my love! Mwah!”

The line goes dead. You exhale, rolling your shoulders as the weight of another empty interaction slips off of you. The pay is good, but the work is draining. Playing the role of someone’s darling for hours on end wears at you in ways you don’t want to acknowledge. It’s why you’ve been looking for a way out.

You minimize the call interface and pull up the job listings you were browsing earlier. Nothing great. Mostly low-paying positions that won’t cover your expenses. Still, anything is better than this place. The way management ignores the disappearances. The way you feel eyes on you even when you’re alone. The way—

Your headset beeps. A new call. No caller ID.

Your stomach tightens.

You hesitate for just a second before answering. “Hello, and thank you for calling the Yandere Hotline. Who am I speaking with today?”

Silence.

Then, a soft sigh crackles through the line. “You’re still here.”

The voice sends an odd shiver through you. Familiar. Low, smooth, and intimate in a way that makes your skin prickle. You shift in your chair, eyes flickering toward the CCTV camera in the corner. The red light glows steadily, watching.

“I thought you’d be gone by now,” the caller continues, voice lined with something almost… relieved. “I saw what you were searching for.”

Your breath stills. The job listings. The open tabs on your screen.

He knows.

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

A soft chuckle, almost sad. “Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me.”

Your fingers tremble over the keyboard. There’s no flagging system, no way to report calls. The company doesn’t care what happens to you, as long as you keep answering. The only way out is to leave, but even that feels impossible now.

“I get it, you know,” the caller—no, Elias—continues. His voice is so gentle, so coaxing, like he’s trying to soothe a frightened animal. “You need money. You need stability. I understand. That’s why I’ve been helping.”

You swallow hard. “Helping?”

“I’ve been keeping you safe,” Elias murmurs. “Blocking the real ones. Letting the fakes through. They can pretend all they want, but they’re harmless. I made sure of that. I made sure you only had to deal with the easy ones.”

Your heart pounds. The rerouted calls. The strange drop-offs. The fact that you never—never—get the ones who are truly dangerous. It all makes sense now.

“How?” you whisper.

“I have access to the system,” Elias admits. “I wasn’t going to interfere at first. I was going to take down this whole disgusting place. But then… I heard you.”

His breathing stutters, as if just remembering that moment is too much. “I found you.”

Your mouth goes dry. He’s been there all along. Watching from the other side of the line. Pulling strings. Keeping you in a controlled bubble, away from those who would actually take you.

And now, you’re trying to leave it.

“I tried to be good,” he says, voice shaking. “I thought I could just listen. Protect you from afar. But you’re slipping away from me.”

A pause. A raw, desperate inhale.

“Please don’t leave.”

His voice is barely above a whisper now, reverent, pleading. “You don’t understand what it’s like for me. Knowing you’re there, but not being able to reach you. Not being able to hold you. I can’t—” He cuts off, his breath coming ragged. “I don’t want to do anything extreme. But if you go… if you disappear from me, I won’t have a choice.”

Your fingers curl into a fist. “You wouldn’t.”

Silence.

Then, so soft you almost miss it—

“Try me.”

A sharp shiver races down your spine. You glance toward the CCTV camera again, half-expecting something—someone—to be standing beneath it. But there’s nothing. Just the blinking red light.

Elias exhales shakily. “Say my name again.”

You hadn’t even realized you said it. But now, the air between you feels heavier, thick with something suffocating.

The line crackles.

“I could make it so no one else gets to hear you.”

The line hisses, the static thickening like something alive, slithering into your ears. The light on the CCTV flickers once. Twice.

Then, for the first time, it turns off.

And the screen of your computer—your only tether to the outside world—goes black.

A new message appears.

LOOK BEHIND YOU.

The office lights flicker—then cut out entirely.

The room plunges into darkness, the only glow coming from your now-useless monitor. Your breath catches, ears straining for any sound beyond the hum of the dead air.

A faint creak.

The hairs on the back of your neck rise.

Shadows shift against the dim glow of your screen. There shouldn't be anyone here. You're the only one working this late—

Then, the dim reflection on your blacked-out monitor shifts.

A shape. A figure standing just behind your chair.

A breath, so close it skims your ear.

And then, a whisper.

"I told you not to leave me."

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @fandangoballs @mel-vaz

[liberalk1tsch]

How do you feel about people equating Katniss’ depression after Prim’s death to her mother’s own after her father’s, and the abandonment that resulted from it?

oh i can feel this is gonna be a long one.

there's two things i want to be very clear about.

the likelihood of katniss having the same mental illness as her mother is extremely high; they both present with near-identical symptoms. i think they definitely suffer from the same illness.

however

2. their situations are entirely different and deserve to be treated as such.

katniss' catatonic depression comes after losing her sister, the person who — in catching fire — she describes as the only person in the world that she's 100% certain that she loves.

asterid's first episode that we know of occurs directly after burdock's death.

while both of them have surviving loved ones after these deaths, there's a distinct difference in their support systems and availability of treatment.

in regards to asterid, it is extremely abnormal that she doesn't have any sort of support system. as someone who grew up in poverty myself, that's not really how impoverished communities work. typically, the only reason people wouldn't keep reaching out to help a family in need is if you are actively pushing them away, which we know to be a canon character trait for asterid.

(my dear friend and go-to expert on all things appalachia @loungemermaid does a great job of discussing the specifics of that within appalachian communities in this post, and asterid's role further down in this post.)

this likely results from her own issues with her parents, as she contextually appears to be disowned by them entirely, so she struggles to allow herself to grow close with others in her personal relationships because she herself has been abandoned and thereby developed an inherent fear that to grow close to someone is to put herself at risk for getting hurt.

from what we know, it seems as if asterid is that one girl who doesn't maintain her friendships once she finds her partner and essentially cuts herself off. i won't pretend to know if this is on purpose or not, but i will reiterate that poor communities tend to do a great job at reaching out to each other, so even if her town friends shunned her, there probably wasn't a lack of people willing to be in her network. keeping in mind she lived in the seam for at least 11 years before burdock died and had plenty of time to establish herself in the community. maybe this is because of her own trauma, maybe not, but regardless, it would make burdock's death all the more painful if he was really her only person (and based on the text, it seems like he is).

the issue is that she didn't exclusively have herself to think about. i'm not a parent myself so i won't pretend to be an expert on something i've never experienced, but i don't feel i need to give birth myself to know that the second you're planning on carrying a child to term, you don't get to be selfish anymore. you do what's best by your kid, even if it's intimidating for you.

i can understand that she couldn't "snap out of it" per say when she went catatonic. most people can't. additionally, i empathise with her in that she didn't have the proper medication to treat herself.

that being said, she had years to build a network for her family in the event that something drastic like this should happen (and based on what we know, it seems like a relatively common occurence) and didn't. whit put it best when they said "Asterid is still just a little girl, trapped in her own trauma, in her own head, where a single choice that her parents didn’t agree with means they didn’t love her anymore. It’s a cycle. It’s a shame. She could’ve broken the cycle. She could’ve called out for help, from someone. She didn’t."

when i studied nursing, one of the first things we learned was how impactful a patient's community and network can be on their outcomes and recovery. as a healer, asterid would know this. it's no secret in the medical community, no matter how high your education goes. it is one of the most basic aspects of patient history to take note of. but she doesn't develop that for herself or her girls. whether by hubris that they wouldn't need it, or apprehension at going out of her own comfort zone, i don't know.

and so her daughters are neglected. they nearly starve to death, and katniss is forced to assume the archetype of the parentified eldest daughter. from the time she is 11, she always has someone to take care of.

neglect does not have to be intentional to be neglect.

even after asterid gets better and begins medicating herself, she is still highly dependent on katniss for tessarae, hunting, gathering, etc. it's only after they're taken in by 13 and asterid is given a proper job that she's able to support herself, hence why it's so different when katniss falls into her depression following prim's death: katniss has nobody to take care of but herself. she's allowed to be selfish and wallow in her grief.

haymitch is drunk at home. peeta's in the capitol. finnick's dead. prim too. gale's in 2. and asterid . . . asterid has abandoned her for real this time.

there's no catatonia to blame it on either. yes, asterid's grieving. it's understandable why she doesn't want to return to 12. but she's fully medicated, and she has a minor daughter who's deeply traumatised and experiencing her own catatonia. she needs her mother now more than ever.

but she's not there for her.

she leaves without so much as a goodbye. doesn't even wait around to see to it that her only living daughter isn't going to be executed for murder. and she chooses to do this when everyone else who loves katniss is either in treatment themselves (peeta in therapy in the capitol, haymitch self-medicating, etc.) or dead. sae and buttercup are the only reasons katniss stays alive in the months before peeta returns to 12. but even then, we have no way of knowing if that was at asterid's request (personally, i think it's haymitch's).

she pushes katniss away one final time. maybe it's because she reminds her too much of burdock with her looks and her voice. reminds her too much of prim as her only surviving daughter. then again, maybe not. the amount of canon information we have on her is abysmal. either way, she projects her abandonment on her daughter and katniss once again nearly dies as a result.

basically this is all a very long-winded for me to say that while i think they have the same illness, their situations aren't particularly comparable, and their relationship is complicated, to say the very least.

[rottingghosty]

Little Talks | DC X DP

part second part to the ghostling au !! this is just something to give you guys food while i write the fic

also usual errors will be made im only one person blah blah. hope you enjoy, as usual this is scheduled to post at 7am

☁️☁️☁️☁️

Danny lazily blinked at the person in front of him, his brain slowly rebooting itself as he released a small yawn. The person was green. A green person. Huh. Alien? He was exhausted, he spent so long aiding new systems and cradling stars that died and spread their dust around so they would be reborn again. He wanted to sleep but this person was in front of him and it’d be rude to ignore him. Pandora taught him better than that.

“Mrrp?” Danny felt his ears twitch, he wanted to feel mortified at the fact he made a sound like a cat in his own head but he really can’t be blamed because the moon he was around was really comfortable and he had no shame. He lazily tilted his head as the person’s shoulders seemed to loosen? A shake in his body. Weird.

Oh. He’s trying not to laugh at Danny’s response. Can Clockwork rewind so that didn’t happen. Of course CW ignored him like usual when it came to embarrassments like these.

“I do not mean any harm friend.”

The voice in his head echoed and it made Danny shiver in response, it was odd sharing a head space with someone else. He didn’t retaliate or cause any harm. His core could feel that this person was friendly, curious and respectful. He gives a head tilt in response.

Friend. Safe. Okay.

Danny gave another yawn, feeling his jaw open a tad wider than it should in normal human circumstances but who could care less when he has a Martian— an actual martian in front of him even if he’s too sleepy to actively be excited! He’s tired okay, it’s not everyday he gets to indulge on his obsession heavily on an everyday basis. He’d been so deprived that he’d gotten sick and it’s what made the others decide to give him the boot so he could enjoy his time before he got the crown.

“What is your name, little one?” Martian Manhunter softly asked in Danny’s head after the younger one winced from the volume earlier after he began to wake up.

“Danny.”

“Why are you out here?”

“Old man said I needed my enrichment.”

“One of my allies called you a baby ghost of the Infinite Realms, is this true?”

Danny released another cat like sound, this one more curious than the other when he had just barely woke up. Someone knew what he was? How curious, it wasn’t often Danny stumbled in dimensions that knew he was from the Infinite Realms… much less the fact that he’s even a ghostling.

“Mhm, ghostling is the proper term. We usually calculate age by how long we’ve been dead. In ghost terms I’m like three.”

Martian Manhunter seemed to pause, as if listening to something. Danny gave another yawn before he finally decided to change into a more normal size instead of the large form he had used to travel through the void easier. His form shifted in a bright light before he floated over to Martian Manhunter.

He quickly realized he was a lot smaller than he’d been and he supposes this is what CW meant when changing forms, he’d most likely reflect the age he’s in ghost terms. He doesn’t think he’d handle if Martian Manhunter treated him like a kid.

“When you said enrichment…?”

“Oh! Clocky said to play nice with my cousin? I think her name is Wonder Woman? Um he’s ah known as Chronos?”

[chock-and-bates]

maybe i'll call you (mine)

max x charles, E, 6.5k, one-shot

“You look so hot,” his boyfriend sighs wistfully, clearly still thinking about the photo, “Wish you were here like that. Right next to me.”

The raspy note in Max’s voice is back, the way it gets when he’s turned on. It makes Charles pulse quicken.

Fuck it.

“What would-,” Charles pauses, swallowing roughly, “What would you do if I was there?”

There’s a sliver of silence, and Charles can practically feel Max’s surprise.

“Shit, baby, are you serious,” Max breathes from the other end of the call, "We're really doing this?" . . or: Max convinces Charles to try phone sex with him. It goes even better than expected.

----------

the phone sex fic i needed to get out of my system.

[rinniewvrld]

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗘!𝗔𝗖𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗠𝗜𝗖 𝗥𝗜𝗩𝗔𝗟 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦 .ᐟ

summary, felix always believed he was destined for greatness. he was smart, rich and "hot" as some might say. but his empire breaks when a new kid break into the scene

featuring, yandere!academic rival x gn!reader

tags, unhealthy power dynamics, clingy and kinda pathetic yandere, delusional and obsessive behavior, implied isolation, abuse of power, he's a bit egoistical

notes, this is a pretty old draft from my wattpad account ermmm this is heavily altered from the one i published at wp

♡ Felix Escoffier is a serious man that follows strict rules and principles. He's the only son of a famous fashion designer who practically owes everyone's parents, so it's natural that they follows his every whims. Even if at times his so-called 'policies' can be overbearing, borderline senseless.

♡ Though his power doesn't only come from his father's connection. He's the student president, as well having the highest honor out of everyone else. He's popular among the school staff and favored by the teachers for his achievements marking a good reputation for the school.

♡ This is his perfect empire where he and only he strictly rules among all the inching worms. The top of the food chain, the king lion. Nobody can stop him from reaching greatness now. Until you did.

♡ After acing his final exams without much of a break, Felix decided to check the ranking board to see where his rank was. Of course, he's confident to see his name at the number one spot, but he needed the boost anyways. However when he arrived at the board, he almost fainted.

♡ He was second to your name. Just who are you? You never appeared in the Top 10 before, so where did you come from? It took every single part of him to not black out right then and there.

♡ Rumors began spreading all the school, the strange new transfer student became the student body's buzzing gossip. Not only did you utterly crushed a man's entire life in a single day, but you were just a commoner. A commoner who managed to get inside such a prestigious school through a scholarship. And not like paying the fee like everyone did! Everyone believed you must've cheated the system.

♡ While the entire school was in shambles, you, on the other hand, couldn't care less. The only reason you managed to topple over the king bee was because your friend had betted that you won't be able to demolish the school ranking in one night. (Guess who had a 100 bucks under their name now?)

♡ Felix couldn't take it. Of course, he was his father's child! The expected successor of his business, the soon-to-be ruler of the fashion emperor! He wouldn't let himself be taken down by anyone, not by the likes of a commoner no less.

♡ So he made the decision to confront during lunchtime, prepared to absolutely obliterate you in front of everyone and ruin any chance of yours to strike back!

♡ But oooh, you so much different from what he heard in the rumors. You weren't disgusting or ugly, and you certainly weren't a cheater when he had tested your knowledge with the hardest question on the exam. Even he got that question wrong multiple times before. And you were so beautiful his jaw dropped at the first sight of your face, he couldn't even utter a single world to stop you from walking away.

♡ When you brushed him off so casually, it hurt his pride a bit. Sure, he had originally planned to ruin your social life, but upon realizing what a valuable asset you could be in his journey of taking over his father's business, but he couldn't let you go now!

♡ He stuck to you like an annoying bug. Always buzzing in your ear and demanding that the two of you must study together despite proudly declaring you as his arch-nemesis in public. Sometimes he gets too close to you, his heartbeat would spike up and his hands get clammy to the point he could barely hold a pencil. Just brushing his arm against yours was enough to make his nose bleed.

♡ Plus, he's always complaining if you don't wear your uniform correctly. But anytime you take your blazer off— or god forbid unbutton the first button if your blouse —the little skin revealed makes him flustered to the point of him running away to deal with himself.

♡ But in the next exam, your ranking immediately dropped to the bottom. It made the student body stir with confusion at this development and prompted a lot of questions from classmates and teachers alike. But Felix was more than just mortified to see the change and nearly fainted when checking the board again.

♡ He had to confront you again, of course, there's so much to discuss! Did you perhaps give up or did he scare you off? No matter, he'll just drag you back so you'll be his rival again! That is until he saw you hanging out with your friends.

♡ Of course, the only explainable reason why your ranking dropped was because of those delinquents! Despite your brilliance, your social awareness must not be as sharp as he thought. These braindead hooligans are influencing you and dragging you into their mess! Don't worry, he'll guide you back on the right path.

♡ So he made the proper arrangements. He used his power to forcibly change your schedule to match his, so he can always watch over you even during classtime. The teachers are now much harder on you, so you can focus on your studies more instead of goofing off with your so-called 'friends' (devils, he calls them), and everyone begins moving you out of fear of facing his wrath.

♡ It won't be too long until he's all that you have left. You're completely isolated from everyone at school, and your mountain of schoolwork isn't helping with your ruined reputation.

♡ However, fear not. Just let him help you with you and just depend on him. He'll mold you into the perfect rival, just for him.