#r is kind of an asshole for awhile sorry

[steppin-on-the-last-train]

The End of Love

Natasha Romanoff x Taskmaster!Reader

Although I encourage everyone to read this, full disclosure it is male!reader. I tried to keep specified pronoun use to a minimum, but it can’t always be helped. There might be some mental rewriting required if you decide to go on.

Synopsis:

“You think too much,” she says.

You can’t argue with that. Because now that you’re looking at her in the light and you’re so close you can see each fractal of green in her eyes you're thinking there’s nothing more intimate than this.

She’s not your friend but if she were she’d be your best one.

Or, a look at who Natasha Romanoff was before the Avengers. Told through the eyes of the person who loved her the most.

Word Count: 43,000

Foreword: I wrote most of these scenes out of order and then proceeded to edit nothing so if something disagrees with something later on that’s why.

Acknowledgements: One) Title from the song with the same name by Florence + The Machine. Two) The final scene with Willem is indeed a copy from that scene in Good Will Hunting. Three) All rights to the original media.

It’s spring and something has shifted. You’re in bed with her when the feeling hits you. You are in bed together, legs twisted together under the sheets, the callous pads of her feet warm against the inside of your calf. You wonder if she feels it too.

You’ve been like this for hours. Nothing more, not tonight. Just the simple act of breathing in tandem with someone. Of holding tight until you don’t know how you could ever part again. 

She likes you because you are hers. Her mission partner, her choice, hers. There is power in choosing who you give yourself over to. And you understand but you prefer this. You hate to disappoint her, to stop her after just a kiss, knowing there is want for much more.

But her head is tucked beneath your chin and she’s so close she might as well have burrowed herself inside you and you hope it’s enough. Because this is safe. Her, always. But there are some things which you can’t speak. So she starts with a kiss on your cheek and you end with a kiss on her lips.

You are not at peace, but for now, wrapped in her arms and the scent of something that is so distinctly her, you are content. And you’ve done this so many times before, too many but somehow not enough all at once. 

The first time had been after your plane went down shy of returning to the Red Room. You were smaller then, less muscle and too long limbs and grief enough to suffocate. The walk back had taken two nights to complete. You would freeze to death if you didn’t share body heat after the sun went down. You both knew this. You slept back to back, bundled in extra shirts and the parachute from the jet. You both pretended you didn’t trust each other just a little more in the morning. 

Now you roll and stretch and Natalia makes a small noise of protest. You tell her you’re getting a glass of water, ask if she wants one too. She doesn’t answer.

The air in the motel room is stale and the light in the bathroom stutters like a heartbeat trying to stave off death. You fill a glass under the tap and drink until it’s empty again. Your breath wavers ever so slightly. You push down on the countertop a little too hard, your palms beginning to sweat. 

Then she’s behind you with a steady hand creating a rhythm of up-down, up-down on your back. You had tried to be silent, hoping she would not notice. You didn’t want her to see you like this. But she extricated herself from the warmth of the bed to be by your side anyway.

She knows you. And it’s terrifying.

She is not gentle but in these moments she is human, and so are you. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. You are not a person who apologizes. So you say it when the only thing it can mean is nothing. When it’s as weightless as the breath from which it comes from.

“It’s okay.” She is not a person who forgives. She is both the bullet and the finger behind the trigger. She is the dazzling starlet who shines the light in your eyes so you do not feel the knife in your back.

Your reflections in the mirror do not feel real. You make a point not to look too closely. Because when you do you see with the eyes of those who would put a bullet in your head for this. No, not quite. Because they would do much worse.

Lately you’ve been dividing time by the moments with Natalia and the moments in between. By one stolen night followed by a week, five weeks, a dozen. You never know. And it’s an adjustment because you can’t quite pinpoint the moment you stopped sleeping down the hall from her more nights than not.

You spend the time without her taking orders, putting on the Taskmaster mask, leaving messages in the form of bodies with sword-shaped slits. Then you’re still taking orders but wearing a different sort of mask, one where they can see your face but still can’t see you and you’re shaking hands and learning real politics is nothing like what you’ve studied. 

“You see what sort of dogs I have to deal with?” General Dreykov asks. Ever since the military dress uniform appeared in your room and you flew to Moscow as his “second” he’s been speaking to you more and more as a peer. Far from most of the time. But occasionally. Enough for you to remember and collect like they were some sort of medal. 

And Madame B, who has always detested you for being too emotional, had finally seemed to approve. One day on your way out after you had been training some of the young recruits she spoke to you across the wasteland of the dance studio. You stopped at the doorway to turn back toward her, but she stayed facing the wall like it was a window to another studio where she must judge a dozen more girls with bleeding feet.

“I never understood why he kept you around.” She always spoke clipped, enunciating each syllable like the crack of a cane. “You were an insolent child. Yes, you can dance but this power makes you think you’re invincible.” You watched her, too stunned to feel indignant about the criticism, too apprehensive to notice how small she was now that you were grown. “But. Perhaps it was not such a bad idea to rear you here. You will lead with an iron fist. And most importantly, you will understand.”

You left without saying anything.

What was there to understand. This place was all you knew.

You come back with a hand on your cheek. Natalia is staring into your eyes like they reflect the answer to life. But if your eyes were mirrors all she’d see was herself.

“You think too much,” she says.

You can’t argue with that. Because now that you’re looking at her in the light and you’re so close you can see each fractal of green in her eyes you're thinking there’s nothing more intimate than this.

She’s not your friend but if she were she’d be your best one.

She asks you to come back to bed. You nod and follow her into the dark. She is sitting up. On your stomach you drape yourself over the edge of the mattress and take her hand. Already you mourn this night. You cannot enjoy the time you have when you don’t know if it will be your last. You have become far too important to each other.

You can tell she feels the same. Misery has settled over the both of you like a cold, wet snow. She is tense as she runs her fingers through your hair. You lay your head in her lap and close your eyes against the danger lurking outside.

It is spring and something has shifted.

—

And it is that stupid feeling which makes you turn yourself over to the Americans after she is captured. That feeling which has transformed since you were small and angry. That feeling which has always been evolving; this new chapter taking an ugly turn. Perhaps you have let this go on for too long.

You are grown now, but still very much full of rage.

They show you a file they have on you which you think looks very hastily put together. Because they would have no reason to suspect you of anything. That’s the way your life has been curated. There is what you do in the daylight and what you do in the dark with a skull mask over your face and a hood over your head. These people are not the same. 

But you’ve made a purposefully big mess on American soil as Taskmaster and they’ve finally connected his face with the official headshot of one Junior Lieutenant of the Russian military.

Is this you, they ask and despite the handcuffs cutting into your wrists and the four guards with guns on their hips you laugh and call the man asking an idiot. The other guy is your twin brother. 

You don’t think he appreciated your answer because the next thing you know you’re being cuffed on the ear.

Along with the picture of you in your official uniform there is a mugshot of you from the day they brought you in. You don’t often see photos of yourself. The guy in this one looks dangerous. There are also two very grainy, very dark photographs pulled from security cameras of a figure who might be you from assassination runs you went on. You recognize yourself in one, and you’re pretty sure the other is of someone in a Halloween costume.

They’ve taken you in with nothing but the clothes on your back and your weapons and a watch of Dreykov’s he had given you a few years ago.

Even though your stomach is empty and your face is bruised you don’t help them put the pieces together. You tell them the same thing you’ve been saying. You know they have the Black Widow. You want to talk to her.

And weeks later when they think they have broken you down and built you back up with S.H.I.E.L.D.’s name around your neck they let you out of your cell.

The guy who slapped you that first day is your new handler. His name is Richard Kremer. You don’t think he likes you all that much. He’s old and he acts like he can go back and win the Cold War if he gets you to roll over.

But you’ve learned he can’t hit you now that you’re not a prisoner. So when you tell him you know his type, that he probably got discharged from field service because he broke down and nailed some kid in the head all he can do is tell you to shut up. I’m right, aren’t I? You ask and he is silent. Oh come on G.I. Joe. He tells you to get out and you happily oblige.

It is when you are outside on the track one day that you finally see Natalia again. You are allowed time outside with supervision–like you are a dog–and you don’t think you’ve ever been happier to see the sun. It’s just you, the rubber beneath your feet, and the wind in your hair. Because you are not worried about the rookie who’s been assigned to watch you. You can pretend you are somewhere else. You can pretend you are running back home instead of pacing holes through this American ground.

You tense when you hear another pair of steps. You do not want to go back inside. Five more minutes. But you look over your shoulder and the figure has bright red hair and astonishment in her eyes. 

You are so surprised to see her because you thought maybe you weren’t going to again that you stumble in your haste to stop. You skid and your feet fly out from beneath you. You catch yourself on your hands, bits of track sticking to your palms. 

Natalia laughs and you can’t fight the grin on your face. She offers a hand and you take it. You let her pull you to your feet. She doesn’t stop there. She is strong and you fall into her. You throw yourself over her, wrapping your free arm around her back. Your hands are still clamped tightly together. You are too relieved to see she is okay to care about who may be watching. Let them see. They know why you came here. And right now, she feels so familiar. 

She pulls away first. “You’re here,” she breathes, eyes wide. Her irises glitter in the sunlight. “Блять. I didn’t believe it.”

“You’re okay,” you say, still breathless. “They didn’t kill you. I thought they were going to kill you.”

“No, they didn’t.” She grows serious, the initial shock wearing off. “Change of plans, I guess.”

You switch to Russian now because you are finally leaving this place. “What idiots. To spare us both. Natalia, we can be out of here tonight.”

She stares at you for a moment, looking guilty. Finally, she shakes her head and very slowly explains, “I’m not going back to Russia. I’m staying here with S.H.I.E.L.D. We’ve come to an agreement. I’m going to defect.” You are bewildered and it must show in the whites of your eyes because she reassures, “I’m okay. This is my choice.”

You don’t know what to think, much less what to say. “Are you serious?” 

“Yes.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter how they’re threatening you. I can get you out.”

“I’m not under threat.”

You narrow your eyes at her and back up a step. They must have messed with her mind, then. Because the Natalia you know would never do this. She was vicious like the edge of a blade and she was strong-headed like no one you’ve ever met. She could not be harnessed.

She grabs your hands. “Look at me. I’m still here.” You jerk because it is like she can read your mind. “It is better here,” she says. “They’ve offered me freedom and protection. That’s all.”

“How could you–” you start, but words don’t feel like enough to convey your disbelief. You shake your head. This can’t be happening. Because you’ve quit and run without permission. You were going to get forgiveness on your return. But you can’t go back without her. You tell yourself it’s because they wouldn’t accept that kind of failure, but you think she would be a tolerable loss compared to you. No. You don’t want to go anywhere without her. “You have to go back. We need to go back. I came here to free you from them.”

“And I’m telling you there’s nothing to free me from,” she says. “I’m using them to free myself.”

But you don’t hear her. You leave, a new word coloring the image of her.

Traitor.

And she’s dragged you to hell with her.

—

Inside your pillowcase is the newest spot you’ve chosen to hide your stash of stolen items. It’s not much, a rock from outside, a fork from the cafeteria, a broken matchstick you found on the ground. 

You are not allowed to have things. Nothing is yours, they tell you. Everything is shared as part of the collective. Don’t get caught up in the scheme of materialism. That’s why everyone takes turns doing the laundry and scrubbing down the showers and disposing of waste. But you don’t really want these things to own. You only do it because they tell you not to.

They found your collection when you put it under your bed and when you began carrying the things in your pockets. Both times they beat you for it. You’re sure they’ll find this one and make you count to fifty instead of twenty-five but there is something rotten inside you and you can’t help it. Maybe after this time they’ll finally thresh it out. 

It is night and you grope through the dark until you find the items. You find all three tucked safely where you left them. But something else pokes your finger as you retrieve your things. Your hand grasps a fourth item and you can’t see it but it feels like a small needle. You don’t remember taking this. Did someone put it here? How did they know about your stash? 

You lay curled on your side and take turns holding each item. You decide the mystery object is definitely a sewing needle. Maybe you did take it and you forgot. You move on. You’ve found a good rock this time. It is small and smooth and almost perfectly round. 

You think about throwing it at Madame T’s head. Then, you hide them again and fall asleep.

You wake up with a cold hand over your mouth. You slap it away and tackle the offending person to the floor before you’ve formed your first conscious thought. 

“Сука!” She hisses as her back lands on the wooden floor and you sit on her stomach. “When are you going to stop doing that?”

You stare down at the vague outline of a body before you slowly let her up. “When you stop waking me up by choking me out.”

“I’m not choking you. And it’s not my fault you cry in your sleep. I’m helping you. Would you rather have a guard come in here?”

“I do not cry in my sleep.” You wrinkle your nose.

“Yes you do. Like a little baby.” You imagine her smirking through the dark. You don’t know who keeps visiting you in the night, only that it’s the same girl each time and she’s probably in your class. You can’t see anything at night here. You know her voice, but there is little speaking during the day. And none of the girls talk to you anyway. Her hair is a little past shoulder length, but that’s the way most of theirs is. 

And she won’t tell you who she is. 

“Shut up,” you say, shoving her in the shoulder. 

“Hey, no fighting in the dark. It’s not fair.”

“I’ll stop when you tell me who you are.”

“What, so you can rat me out?” You’re sitting close so you don’t have to talk very loud. You can feel her breath against your face.

“I won’t,” you say. “I promise.”

She laughs. It is too bitter a sound for someone your age. “Like that means anything.”

“I’m going to figure it out eventually.”

She shakes her head, hair swishing against your cheek. “You haven’t yet. And you never will.”

“Yes I will.”

“No you won’t.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Yes,” you say, pouncing on top of her. You’ve taken her by surprise. She reacts quickly, rolling the two of you an extra time so she can sit on your chest. 

“I’m too good for you,” she says. 

“Arrogance will get you killed,” you retort. You struggle beneath her but you’re about the same size and she knows exactly how to pin you down.

“That’s a big word for you. Who’d you copy that one from?”

You ignore her, still focused on trying to get up. 

“Stuck?” She asks, her voice light. “Don’t start fights you can’t win, Markov.” She lets you up and pads toward the door. “See you tomorrow.”

Another week passes and something else appears inside your pillowcase. It’s a ribbon from a ballet shoe. You take it out and hold it up in the light of day. You know for sure, you did not take this. Someone else was messing with you. Or helping, you don’t really know.

You watch the girls around you. There are the mean ones–which are most of them–and the nice ones–of which there used to be more. You think it’s one of the nice ones who comes to you at night because she is waking you from bad sleep. But then again she likes to argue and wrestle with you. So maybe it’s a mean one.

You keep fighting and dancing and learning things like how to blend into a crowd and how to craft the perfect lie. You don’t find out who’s been adding things to your collection. But you hope you do before the guards find this new hiding spot. 

They find it when you have to strip your bed for laundry day and realize you have nowhere to hide the new things. You stuff it all in your pockets again and they call you stupid for not learning your lesson last time. So they drag you screaming and kicking downstairs and strip you naked. You bite one of them when they try to tie your hands to the pole because you remember what they told you would happen for the third time you were caught stealing. A boot collides with the side of your head and you go limp for a second. The big things in your life make you forget how small you are. 

There is a moment to breathe and for the ringing in your ears to subside. Then, just as the world refocuses, hellfire is released upon your backside.

You lay upstairs on your stomach and do not sleep. There are deep trenches of blood carved into your back. You could barely crawl into your unmade bed after they dumped you back on the floor in your room. 

You find a flower when you have to go outside the next day. It is bright and yellow and a rarity out here where everything is dead most of the year. You don’t take it.

The fourth night after you finally sleep, your body forcing itself to shut down despite the pain. You are getting better. But not fast enough. 

You only groan when you wake and realize there’s a hand on your face. 

“Shhh,” she says. Then she is silent. You think she is looking at the door. 

You push yourself up, drawing blood as you bite your lip. You slide into the corner away from her. “I can’t do this tonight,” you say. “I’m so tired.”

“I had to. It was going to be them or me.” She pauses. Then, slowly, the mattress dips as she climbs onto the bed.

“I’m serious,” you say. You are hurting and she is strong. She cannot know this. “It’s not fucking funny anymore.”

“Geez, I’m not going to hurt you,” she says. “I would’ve done that a long time ago if I wanted to. Here. Take this.”

“I can’t see you.”

“You are impossible.” She brushes your arm. You recoil. She grabs your hand. It feels odd, like she’s trying to be gentle. She flips your palm up and places something in your open hand. It’s soft and delicate and feels a little like rubber. You roll it carefully through your fingers. You brush your other hand over the top and feel the petals. They are silky. Nothing can compare. It still smells like outside, like life. 

You realize she is the one who has been collecting prizes for you. 

“You’re trying so hard to watch out for me you forget I’m looking out for you too,” she says.

“I can’t take this,” you say. “They’ll find it. You have to take it back.”

“No,” she says. “Scoot over.” 

You obey, trying to hide how much it hurts to move. She takes your spot in the corner and you hear a ripping sound. “What are you doing?” You hiss.

She doesn’t answer. “Give me the flower.” You hand it to her, brushing her hand as you do. You wait in silence until she turns back around. “There���s a little hole in your mattress. I put it in there. They won’t find it. I promise.”

“Like that means anything,” you say, mimicking her tone. And as you do, you realize who you’re speaking to. It just clicked. You know this voice. “Natalia.”

“Look who’s finally earned his detective badge.” You wish you could see her smile instead of just hearing it.

—

You stay at S.H.I.E.L.D., thinking she will see sense eventually. You can’t leave the campus yet so you spend a lot of time wandering and watching. You count how many paces it takes to get from one building to another, estimate how quickly you could run. You look up at the buildings, wonder if you could climb any of them. Every day that passes is excruciating. You can feel the Red Room getting farther away. It’s been far too long since you’ve been in contact with them. You haven’t had the chance to tell them you’re coming back. That you’re not a traitor.

The only thing that makes life bearable is Natalia. She said she just wants to be called Natasha now and it confuses you even more. She really is changing.

You tell them you want to defect too. You pretend like you are fine. Like you are not in fact drowning.

You spend time in Natalia’s room, which is exactly like yours but she has a couple of books and a badly drawn picture of what looks like a person. You can’t really tell.

You point to it. “What’s this?”

She smiles. She’s been doing a lot more of that lately. It’s certainly not the worst thing. “It’s you. In your combat suit. You like it? Clint drew it.”

“He must be some kind of artist then. I could barely tell that that thing was a human.”

She laughs, and for a second the sound makes you forget how she has turned traitor. Because it is sweet and real and uniquely hers. “Look,” she says pointing. “This is your mask. See the eyes and the jawbone?”

“So those are teeth?”

“Yeah. And this arc is the hood, and these lines are the cape.”

“What are those?”

“Your katanas.”

“Why are there five of them?”

“There’s not. These are the swords,” she says, pointing to two lines angled toward the bottom of the page. She moves her finger to three lines above the figure’s head. “I think these are anger lines.”

“Anger lines?”

“Yeah. To signify danger. You know you’re pretty scary in that thing.”

You shrug. “Sure, I guess. And what did I do to have this honor?” You ask.

“You put yourself on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s shit list.” She takes her attention from the sketch and looks at you. “Clint said they didn’t know who they had at first, so he drew me this.”

“And you kept it.”

“I needed decoration. What’s better than a picture of you?” She smirks and nudges you in the ribs. “Like a guardian angel.”

You nod because she’s flirting with you and it’s making your head spin just a little bit. You like her even though you know you shouldn’t and you think she likes you too. You aren’t dating because people like you don’t ‘date’ but there’s something, just below the surface. Like an undertow waiting to drag you under if you wade out too far. You can sense it, like a coming storm.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” she says. “Why did they send you after me? And in such a dramatic fashion. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know,” you lie. No one sent you. Maybe you were already out in the middle of the ocean. “You’re the best they’ve got. There’s two dozen widows but there’s a reason you’re the one everyone’s been chasing.”

She shakes her head. “No. You’re the best they’ve got. Dreykov would never trade you for me.” She’s looking at you like she knows you’re lying. You hate to find that there’s hope in her expression. Like she’s waiting for a confession. But the truth is unacceptable. You cannot say you ran after her like a prince in a storybook. You cannot open yourself up. 

She has never hurt you. And you will not give her the opportunity now.

So you gamble on the chance she doesn’t know for sure. You shrug and look away. Because you’ve never been as good as her at hiding things. “Guess he did.” You open your mouth again.

“I’m not going back,” she interrupts because she knows what you’re going to say. She puts a hand on your chest, the other on your cheek. “We can make a place for ourselves here.” Despite her conviction she still sounds disappointed. Doesn’t she know she’s won?

“I know,” you say.

Eventually a month goes by but you have not left. By some sickness she has you trapped. This is why Dreykov had warned you against the widows. Because they spun and they lied and now you could not bear to leave her in this strange place.

There are weekly mandatory shrink sessions you must attend as part of your agreement. You aren’t cleared for missions unless you get their green light. It’s a whole fraud that seems to have everyone in this country up in arms but you are sure it’s just S.H.I.E.L.D. trying another clever way to extract information from you. The discussions at least have been mildly amusing. You don’t have much else to focus on right now.

You’ve been transferred to a different “professional” twice now. The first one had obviously been scared of you so you played into it. He was asking you about your life and about guilt so you spent the entire hour making up stories that were unbelievable even by your standards. You told him your job used to be to torture political enemies and captured agents. You stared him down and tried to blink as little as possible when you told him you enjoyed skinning them alive and hearing them scream.

So the next time you go in it’s office 109 instead of 212 and there’s a woman instead of a man. She’s kooky and has you lay on a couch as she asks about your childhood. So you tell her a story too. 

“My father,” you start, even though you hadn’t had one since you were six years old. But none of these people knew anything from where you came from. “He was a terrible alcoholic. He used to slap my face and shake me like a rag doll. I mean, is that what a real man is supposed to be?”

“No, honey. But it’s okay. You’re safe now. Go on,” she says. “How did that make you feel?”

“It made me so angry, doc. So one day I said to him, ‘I’m gonna show you what I’m made of.’ I grab his shotgun that he keeps under his bed and blam! Gunpowder and lead.” You open your eyes and her face is looming over you, confusion starting to bloom. You break out singing, because this is the good part. “I’m goin’ home, gonna load my shotgun. Wait by the door and light a cigarette. He wants a fight, well, now he’s got one. And he ain’t seen me crazy yet!”

You’re smiling because you heard the song on the radio once and you’d remembered it and the singer’s accent after all these years. Her confusion has turned to anger and suddenly the session is over. Oh no.

Kremer has a talk with you after this incident. He tells you to cut the shit and sit through it like everyone else does. Then he reminds you what will happen if either him or one of these therapists deems you unfit for work at S.H.I.E.L.D. But you don’t care. They’re not going to get the best of you twice.

But you go another week to a new office with something to prove. You’ve got a winning streak to maintain. This guy has glasses and graying hair and a stomach that’s a little round. There are shelves and shelves of books and you pace the room, grazing your hand over the spines.

“You got one in here that’s going to tell you how to fix me?”

“Hello,” he says. “My name is Dr. Francis, but you can call me Willem.” He is soft spoken and you think you can break him like you did the first one. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

“Okay Willem. Sure.” You slouch across from him in a chair level with his. He’s not behind a desk like the first man or hovering over you like the woman.

“Do you like to read?” He asks, because you’re still scanning the shelves.

You used to, but not really anymore. “I’m not working here because I’m some genius who sits around reading all day.”

“No. Certainly not.” Was he making fun of you? “Has anyone told you how this works?”

You shake your head.

“Well I, along with my colleagues, are not ‘S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.’ We’re privately contracted. You know what that means, yes?”

“It means you probably get more money for sitting around and talking nonsense all day.”

“Sure. You’re not wrong. But it also means I don’t owe S.H.I.E.L.D. anything. Whatever is said in this room stays in this room. My only obligation is to make sure you’re not a danger to yourself or others.”

You eye him and his cardigan, wondering how he could walk out of the house with something like that on. “That’s what I’ve been missing!” You snap your fingers. “You’ve got my full trust now Willem, goodness I can’t believe what a great resource this is. What do you want to know? I’ll tell you everything.”

He chuckles. “You’re funny, aren’t you?” 

“I’m only as serious as this whole charade is,” you say gesturing around at the office which looks so out of place here at S.H.I.E.L.D. The clutter on his desk in the corner, the old wood furnishing, the acoustic guitar lying among stacks of books. “But okay sure. Let’s say you’re not going to turn around and blab to Kremer so he can be more efficient about making my life harder. You’re only here to make sure I’m not a danger.” You make little air quotes with your hands when you say this. “You do know what kind of missions are conducted here, no?”

“Of course. I did my time in the military.”

“Really?”

“This surprises you.”

“Yeah, I mean, come on,” you wave your hand at him. “I could kill you with my eyes closed.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I have no doubt you could. But as I was saying. I don’t mean you can’t be dangerous. Just that you have to know when to pick it up and put it away. For example, now was not the time to threaten me with mortal violence.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, getting out of the chair. You couldn’t do that. Violence was who you were. And you were tired of this anyhow.

 You make it to the back wall where there’s a window and on the sill there’s a picture frame. You pick it up, showing it to him. “Is this your family? Your kids are pretty cute.”

“Watch it,” he says.

 You flip the frame around and look down at it. “How old are they? The little one can’t be older than eight, no? What a shame I know her father’s name.”

Maybe it’s because you don’t actually plan to find his family or maybe it’s because you’ve underestimated him that your heart pounds when you look up and he’s in your space with a serious look on his face. 

“Don’t fuck with my family or I will end you.”

“Touchy, touchy,” you say.

“Get out.”

And that’s how your first interaction goes. So you’re surprised the next week when you hear you’ve been ordered back with Dr. Francis.

You stroll into the office like nothing ever happened. “You again. How are your kids doing?”

“Shut up and sit down,” he says.

You mock pout but sit anyway.

“How old are you?” He asks.

“You’ve got my file. I’m sure it says somewhere in there.”

“Yes, but I want to hear it from you.” He’s wearing another ridiculous outfit. A gray polo shirt with a brown patched cardigan.

“So you can make some big point about how I’m young and don’t know anything, right?” You ask. Because this feels awfully familiar. 

You remember a time when you were twelve and told this Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) officer named Evgenia you were eighteen when she asked. Zhenya laughed and said, yeah right, if you’re eighteen then I’m forty. When you’d finally told the truth she looked at you funny. Do you know what this assignment is? You told her this was a joint mission to take out high-ranking members of a certain Russian mob family who had overstepped the line between civilian and state.

You’re a little young for this, no? She’d asked. 

No one had ever given pause because of your age before. You assured her you were capable of this assignment. 

She let it go but didn’t stop calling you “kid” for the whole two weeks. You hated it until you realized she didn’t mean it in a bad way. It was kind of nice, actually. To feel looked after. Carrying things on your own was so exhausting.

She made you try Oreshki as you sat in a hotel working on the mission reports because she couldn’t believe you’d never had it. Then she asked what your parents were feeding you at home because she’d never seen someone your age so strong. You told her your parents were dead and she’d stared at you for a few minutes. You pretended not to notice. 

When it was time to go back she told you to look after yourself. She seemed reluctant to let you go.

You assured her you would be fine. You always were.

Now you stare at Willem and wonder where he wants to go with this question.

“Something like that,” he says. “Come on, it won’t hurt you.”

“I’m twenty-eight,” you lie. Because there’s no way the number in the file isn’t just an estimate.

He’s quick with his response. “No you’re not.”

You’re about to tell him yes, you are but there’s something in his eyes, in his posture. He’s confident you’ve lied. “Fine. I’m twenty-two. Happy?”

“Exactly. You’re twenty-two. You’re a kid. You’ve barely reached the age we let kids have alcohol in this country. Tell me, have you ever read anything by Shakespeare?” You shake your head. “You ever swam in the ocean?” Another no. “Been to an art museum? Hiked up a mountain? Fallen in love?”

You stop him then. “Love is a scam. It’s some great ideal everyone chases like an idiot because they think their worth resides with another person. It’s an opiate for the masses. You tell someone they’ll be fulfilled if they find this ��love’ and they’ll blind themselves in pursuit of it. People are more easily controlled when they are distracted by emotion.”

“I don’t think so. And I’ve been in love for twenty years. Almost as long as you’ve been on this earth. Love has brought me great joy and great sorrow. But you wouldn’t know about that. About giving yourself over to someone else. About allowing someone to open your eyes, to challenge you. I am not distracted by emotion, and even if I was I wouldn’t care. Because at least I’ve lived.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

He raises a hand. “Or you’re a coward. You want to think you’re above it all. You had Dr. Casey thinking you were a psychopath. You wanted me to think you were a monster. But you’re not. You’re a scared kid with his chest puffed out. You’re the kid who pushes others on the playground because you’re getting pushed at home. But guess what. I can’t be pushed.

You’re scared to talk because you don’t know what might come out. Scared to let people in because you think they won’t like what they see. How many people have you talked to since you’ve been here? How many people knew you, and I mean really knew you back in Russia? What about that young woman who got here a couple weeks before you? You’re unique. I’ll bet I’ve never met someone like you and I never will again. So I can’t get anywhere, I can’t start if you don’t help me. You have to talk to me.”

And after that he dismisses you, just like that.

The next time you come back the ball is in your court. He doesn’t talk to you, just sits and stares expectantly. Well two could play that game. You’ll show him you won’t talk if you don’t want to. So you sit and count away the seconds and leave when the hour is up.

Another week passes and you’re in his office again. And he’s silent, again. 

You won’t be the one to break. But you’re looking at the guitar on the stand in the corner with all its dust and you think it’s as safe a conversation starter as any.

“Do you play?” You ask, nodding at the instrument.

Willem sits up and blinks a couple times like he hadn’t been expecting you to speak. “No. Not really anymore. And to be honest I could never really play even when I used it. Shame, it’s a beautiful instrument.” He gets up to retrieve the guitar and begins to tune it. “I’ve never really had the ear for music.” He plucks at a string and goes onto the next one.

“Wait,” you say. “Go back. That one’s not right.”

“Too flat or too sharp?”

“What?” Just turn it a little more.” He complies and finally it sounds right. You nod and he goes to the next.

“I didn’t peg you as the musical type,” he says as he plays and you nod or shake your head.

“I’m not. Just a feeling, I guess. I know what notes sound like.”

“But you don’t know this is the ‘E string?’”

“No, nothing like that. I can play a song though.”

“Let’s hear it then, champ.”

He hands you the guitar and you play a song you saw someone playing one time on a mission in Mexico City. There are the movements of the man in the street who had captivated you to stop and watch, and there are your own hands, years later, mirroring his. 

When the song finishes Willem is quiet, then asks, “When did you learn that?”

“I didn’t really learn,” you shrug, like it’s not a big deal. “Saw a guy do it once. Copied what he did.”

“Do you know what chords you used? Can you play anything else?”

“No.”

“Unbelievable.”

You smile, because you have impressed him. “Neat party trick, huh?”

“Seems like it could be more than just a party trick.”

You tilt your head back and forth because he’s right but you don’t want to talk about that. “I don’t use it to sing pretty songs, that’s for sure. Where’d this interest of yours come from anyway?”

“My wife got it for me actually. When we were overseas I used to go on and on about missing music. About how I was butthurt having to join the army because it meant I never got to learn how to play the guitar. And she remembered. And the first Christmas after we got home, even though we barely had enough money to get by, she got me this. That’s part of what love is.”

“She’s ex-military too, then?”

“Yes,” he says, like he’s trying to recapture an old dream. “Let me tell you something. Wait, actually, this first. You ever been in a warzone?”

You hesitate for a second and he must see the debate in your mind so he clarifies.

“I mean a real warzone. Out in the trenches with a couple hundred other guys trying to fall asleep to the sound of bomb fire. Not knowing who’s going to have their leg blown off or their head opened up before the next sunrise. Knowing you’re all out there as nothing but cannon fodder, that everything they told you about the army before you left was nothing but a load of horseshit. And you ate it because your life was shit too.” You shake your head. “Well, it’s damn lousy. You have to keep each other’s chins up somehow. There was this joker in my squad, you see. Terrible sense of humor but we all laughed anyhow because things were just that bad. One day, she looks over at me and says, “Imagine this. Two fish are in a tank. One looks at the other and says, ‘Hey, do you know how to drive this thing?’””

You blink at him but can’t help the laugh that escapes. “That has to be the most awful joke I’ve ever heard.”

“It is!” Willem agrees. “But you know what? That’s the moment I fell in love with my wife.”

Now you are surprised. “Because she told you a bad joke?”

“No. Because she was so serious she didn’t know how to be funny but she always cracked herself up anyhow. And I loved her for it.”

“She was?”

“Pardon?”

“You said she was serious. Is she dead?”

“No. We are,” he pauses, quieter now. “We are separated for now. I suppose it’s been long enough that I've started talking about her in the past tense.”

“But you said she’s your wife.”

“She still is, nothing’s official, but,” he trails off, like he’s given up already.

“What?” You smirk. “You cheat on her? She cheat on you? Found some other guy who thought she was pretty and laughed at her dumb jokes?” When he doesn’t react you try something else. “You beat her up?” His head snaps to you and his eyes harden like you’ve pulled out a gun. “That’s it, isn’t it? You talk about war and all this stuff like I need a lesson but you can’t even handle it yourself so you spend all night drinking and you come home and she’s there with her ‘where were yous’ and her idiocy that you didn’t see before because you told yourself you were in love but now she’s annoying the life out of you so you try and put her head in the wall. Right?”

His glare has faded and it makes you a little nervous because it was always a bad sign when Dreykov stopped yelling and got quiet. “Yes,” Willem says calmly as if you hadn’t just gutted him open. “There’s one thing you’re wrong about though. I never had to tell myself I was in love with her. I just was. And I still am. She was right to kick me out.”

You puff your cheeks and blow out air. “You are a bigger идиот than I thought. Have you apologized?”

“Yes. I did the next morning when I realised what I’d done.”

“And she didn’t accept it.”

“No, she did,” he says, dragging a large hand down his face. “She did but I thought some time apart would be for the best.”

  “So you could get yourself a shrink.”

“Not exactly. They say therapists make the worst patients. I’ve found that to be true.”

“Well,” you say. “Sounds like you’re a coward too.”

Willem smiles. Just the smallest upturn of his lips. “Time’s up.”

—

The wilderness is no place for two children. Especially not the barren wasteland of Siberia. The boy has a rifle slung around his shoulder and no coat. The girl has two coats. Blood from a wound on her side drips out onto the snowy terrain underfoot. But she is strong. She refuses the boy’s offers to help her walk.

A long trail of footprints in the otherwise unblemished landscape leads back to a small massacre site.

The children are hungry but cannot stop because something is chasing them. It’s why they had to leave the little house with the fire and the old woman. 

They will hide, they will kill, they will walk until they collapse so the ground may swallow them whole. 

Because the wilderness is no place for two children. It certainly cannot be the place for three.

—

More weeks pass and you keep living and you try not to think too much about how Natalia is doing fine for herself. She has a team now with agents called Barton and Hill and Coulson and May. 

You do not talk so often, even if this is the most freedom you’ve had to talk since you’ve known each other. At first you tried to convince her to go back but no. She is adamant about staying here, about untying herself rope by rope from the Red Room.

The things you exchanged seem so trivial now. You know her favorite color is blue and that she is fine with coffee but would much rather have tea and that she has a scar beneath her collarbone. But here such information is freely given. 

You see other men talk to her in the cafeteria, watch her in the gym. She has always been the most beautiful woman in the room. 

And it is one day when you are eating lunch together that another agent approaches. He has an apple in his hand and sits next to Natalia like he knows her. “Natasha,” he greets. You don’t like how close he is. He extends a hand across the table. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” he says. “I’m Agent Matthew Hunter.”

You take his hand and shake it, squeezing a little harder than necessary. “Nice to meet you.” This is a lie. He is entitled and he is American and you would prefer he left you alone.

“Matt,” Natalia says, smiling.

He turns to face her like you aren’t there. “Listen I got to run, but I haven’t had the chance to say how great of a job you did on the Berlin mission last week. I wanted to catch you before I forgot.” 

She licks her lips and turns her shoulders toward him. “You weren’t too bad out there yourself.” 

He waves her off. “Are you kidding me? I have never seen someone handle a room like that before.” Agent Hunter looks at you next but his body is still facing Natalia. “Did she tell you about this? I mean what a fucking bombshell.”

“No,” you say. “We haven’t had the chance.”

“Ah, well. You should really ask her. Hell of a story, hell of an agent.”

Natalia looks down at her lap, her cheeks reddening ever so slightly. 

“Anyway. I have got to go hit the gym. No days off, am I right?” 

He is looking at you and expecting a response so you just say, “Sure.”

“Alright, nice to meet you, man. See you later Nat.”

You watch him walk off like he owns the place and it’s only when you turn back that you realize Natalia had been watching him too.

You take a drink of water and ask, “Do you like him?”

She snaps her attention to you. “Who, Matt? Yeah he’s nice. A bit talkative, but that’s all right. What did you think?”

You ignore her question. “No, I mean. He was flirting with you.”

“I know that.”

“So,” you gesture. She would lead you in circles until your head twisted off if you let her. “Are you going to get with him?”

Her smile fades like you’ve asked if she was planning to kill him instead. “No. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Why not?” You ask. “He’s handsome, young enough. You said you liked him.”

“Because I don’t want him.” And there is this look on her face like you have grown a second head. “I’m not just going to go run around sleeping with people.”

“I didn’t say you should. I was just wondering because I could tell you were into him.”

She scoffs. “I’m not ‘into him.’ He’s friendly. He gave me a compliment. What's so bad about that?”

“Nothing. It was just a question, that’s all.”

She is quiet for a moment, dragging her fork through the last grains of rice on her plate. “You know I like you too, right?”

“Of course. And I like you.”

“No. I mean, in the way you think I like Matt.”

Now it is your turn to choose silence. The two of you kissed and shared a bed sometimes when you had only ever slept alone before. And Natalia was the only person you’ve had sex with, at least in any way that counted. But that didn’t mean anything. You didn’t know any better and neither had she. There was bad and there was worse. You just happened to be sufficient for her when the bar was six feet under the ground. 

“You know, that doesn’t mean anything. You don’t owe me,” you say.

“I know I don’t owe you anything. It’s not about owing,” she says, shaking her head in incredulity. “You’ve been weird since we’ve been here. It’s not a death sentence anymore.”

“I’m saying just because we got together before doesn’t mean you can’t go after this guy now. It was a matter of circumstance you know. There was no one else to choose so you chose me, I get it.”

Her eyes narrow as you say this. You speak for her, but you do not know.  “What are you talking about?”

But you’ve built up steam now and you think if you stop you won’t get the words out because you’re sure they’re not true. You speak for the man you want to project. The one Dreykov would approve of. “And you’re pretty and you came on to me so,” you shrug. “But come on. You were a warm body. So were a lot of the other widows. And so was I. Let’s not make it a bigger deal than it is.” 

But it is a big deal. You ignore all the times you held each other in the middle of the night. The time she taught you how to braid her hair. All those times you made each other laugh. These are the things you take great effort to minimize.

And you are so focused on pushing her away because you are a bird with its wings clipped hurtling toward the ground that you don’t notice her own rage building.

She is used to being silenced. She just never thought you would join the long line of others who’ve treated her as lesser than. She thought you understood, that you were different.

“Fuck you,” she says, looking you straight in the eye. You can’t read the expression on her face. She has always been good at making her face vacant, like marble.

She leaves. Not that there was anything to leave in the first place. 

You tell yourself this is what you wanted. For her to be free. Free of you and free of any guilt that might plague her. Not that the Black Widow felt guilt.

But if this is what you wanted, then why did you feel like you had just severed a limb?

But you are fine too. You have a team with agents called Rumlow and Ward and Rollins. They are callous and crass and they remind you of the guards back home. They do not care where you have come from, despite the fact you still bear the title Junior Lieutenant, technically. Despite what everyone else thinks.

You are strong like the fabled Captain America and could home a bullet into any target with a blindfold on. That’s all they care about.

They say they do not care about your accent that you wear like a scarlet flag. And sometimes, you join them when they go out to drink. Ward and Rumlow are outspoken. Rollins is not. But they all share the same cynical view of the world. And so do you. Maybe that’s why you get along.

There is control and there is chaos. You are all agents of the former.

After word about your squadron placement gets around, no one eyes you in the hall like they want to fight. No one questions your–albeit minimal–authority. At least not to your face.

Missions with them are quick and bloody. You use a rifle most of the time now. One that is bulky and can fire an unnecessary amount of rounds per second. You are a strike unit, so you creep up to the outside of an office or warehouse or home and when everyone is crouched like predators in the shadows you jump out with blazing muzzles. You can’t really call what you do fighting.

It is one day you are out with them that you run into an old friend. She is one of the ones you are hunting. S.H.I.E.L.D. likes doing that, you’ve figured out. Sending you out on missions to destroy what you’ve spent your life building. What you were supposed to sit at the head of the table of one day.

They want to see when you might snap. They want you to cut and run. They do not believe you can change. You don’t believe it either.

But she tells you, and oh is it nice to speak Russian again, that Dreykov wants your head. You cannot go back. You hadn’t wanted to be a traitor, but you’d lit the torch when you let the Americans take you in. And now when you look back, the bridge is engulfed in flames.

She says rumor of your defection has grown and spread like a tumor on Dreykov’s name. You’ve humiliated him by turning your back, and now he is losing power.

“But,” you say. “I didn’t. I don’t want–I’m not loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

She stops you. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But I’m still–”

“You’re not listening to me.” She grabs you by the arm. “If you go back there you will die. Apparently Dreykov was kind of a black sheep. They were all looking for a reason to strip him of his rank, and now that he’s lost his two best weapons no one will listen to him. The entire Red Room is on alert, looking for a way to capture you.” She stabs a finger to your chest.

“Oh,” is all you can manage to say. “But there must be some way to clear this up. If I could talk to him I know I could explain. Or if I could get back. If I talked to the Headmistress.” You know she would understand and she would not be mad. Because she was stern but she never hit you. You used to talk every week in her office, just the two of you. You missed her.

Your friend shakes her head. It’s a “no,” but it’s also full of admonishment. 

“What?” You ask.

“Always so eager to please.”

“It’s called having honor.” 

There are footsteps outside the office you’ve pulled her into. She tugs on your arm and you retreat around the corner.

“We don’t have much time,” you say.

She’s silent for a moment, then, “Come with me.”

“What?”

“I’m leaving. It won’t be hard. No one will be looking for me as long as you have that S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem on your chest. I’m saying you should leave too.” She puts a hand on your cheek, makes you look her in the eye. “We could be extraordinary.”

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Why not?” There is disbelief, there is frustration. “You just said it yourself. You’re not loyal to them. And these brutes have nothing on us. We can disappear.”

“You should go. I really think you should. It’s what you’ve always wanted, right?”

“I wanted it with you.”

“Goodbye, Svetlana,” you say, kissing her on the cheek. She is still.

On your way out, she speaks up. “It’s because of her, isn’t it? It’s funny. You’ve always been so blind when it comes to her. You think anyone can know the Black Widow? She will drain the life from you.”

She leaves you with a note with an address on it.

“In case you change your mind.”

When you get back you hide the slip of paper in the nightstand with Dreykov’s watch.

—

You pull on the hideous shirt with the too large sleeves and try not to think about how ridiculous wearing tights is. You grab your shoes and head down the hall to the other dressing room. 

When you enter the dancers that are actually a part of this company stare at you. The four widows–excluding Natalia–don’t bat an eye. Modesty was a long lost concept for all of you. Especially around each other. Nastya looks over and smiles at you. You wink back.

The understudy for the lead part–who like the rest of you earned the role after members of the main cast suddenly became ill the night before–finds you like a heat-seeking missile. Her blood red hair is pulled back tight in a bun, and the fluorescent lights pale her skin to a moonlight shade. She looks like she has come from another world to ravage war upon this one. She is muscle and sinew and bone. She is magnificent. 

She snakes an arm around the back of your neck and kisses you on the jaw. She wants them all to see. You are hers in this show and hers backstage. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You go out and perform on auto pilot because you watched a recording of the show once and now the movements are ingrained in the memory of your muscles. You focus on the crowd, try to spot your targets. There is a war going on in the shadows. You’ve all been sent to end it. To show them the Red Room is superior. They won’t even know what hit them. 

You have a break to watch Natalia perform her solo. You stand in the right wing and watch her under the spotlight, dazzling the crowd. Even here she is dangerous. She is like a panther getting upwind of its prey. Every move is measured, every step beaten into submission because of how many times she practiced. She makes herself delicate, but you know better.

There is a part where she almost rushes off stage as if reaching for something, but an invisible force drags her back to the center. You are standing in the spot she reaches for. Maybe you knew she would end up here, maybe you didn’t. It doesn’t matter because her eyes snap open and for a half second you lock eyes. The audience members aren’t the only ones she’s made believe in her desperation. 

After the first act ends Anastasia and Yeva leave for the targets’ hotel where they will be waiting. The four of you who are left finish the show and keep eyes on your targets. When you take your bow you are holding Natalia’s hand. Then you slink into the shadows, ditch the outfit, and put on your mask and hood. 

You leave as a unit out a back door and climb to the roof. It is raining outside. Not more than a drizzle, but the brick underfoot is slick and your targets will be hiding under coats and umbrellas. Stefanya kneels to assemble a rifle that had been packed into a violin case. You crouch in the shadows, feel the rain begin to soak through your pants. 

The crack of the rifle is loud like lightning and the crowd parts around the dead man. An ambulance is called but you know it is too late. The four of you split there. You will find each other later in an apartment building across town. 

You know Natalia will beat the ambulance to the hospital and an accident will befall the entourage of the dead. Nowhere is safe.

You follow a fleeing family of four to their car. The father is a high-ranking official of your enemy, the mother a scientist. They both know tonight is no accident. They run into the dark, down an alleyway instead of along the main road. Smart. You watch them go. You know where they will end up. 

You get in a vehicle which has been left for you and follow them out of the city. You drive until the houses have become sparse and so has the light. The rain is pouring down in sheets now. You step on the gas and flip the car’s brights on. The front of your car rams into the back of theirs. The sedan spins out of control, tires squealing against the wet asphalt. The car drifts into a ditch and you pull up beside it. 

You step out of your car and draw your swords. Because this is a message, not an accident. Two shots are fired your way. You duck behind the car and let the guy shout insults at you. But you hear the fear in his voice. He saw who they’d sent for him.

You rush through the dark, cape heavy and soaking behind you. You ram your fist into the passenger window and slide the end of one sword through the woman’s mouth. There are more shots but you have already disappeared again into the night. 

The children in the backseat scream. Their anguish refuses to be drowned out by the storm. You hear them as if they are crying right into your ears. The man gets out and slams the door shut. You see him in the flashes brought by the lightning. He yells for you to come out. So you oblige. You launch yourself onto the car roof and stare down at him. Here I am, you say. He points the pistol at you and you slice his hand off. He goes down, still cursing. The last thing he does is ask you to leave the kids out of this.

You go up to the backdoor. Didn’t he know? This was a family affair.

You tell yourself what you have done tonight is for the greater good. Many more will live off the blood of this sacrifice. 

When you get back to the rendezvous point you find only Stefanya and Marina. You were supposed to be the last one back. Where are they, you ask. They are quiet. Stefanya looks you in the eye and says none of them ever showed. You know she is lying. You take a breath and step closer so you may look down on them. They are not intimidated by you. Even in the dark, even with the rain outside, even with your face behind a mask they know you will not hurt them. 

Because you all grew up together. And that means something. 

So you draw back your hood and remove the mask. You let them see the worry in your eyes. Come on, you say. What happened.

They are quiet for a moment longer. Then, Marina whispers. Yeva and Nastya never returned. Natalia went after them. She told us not to tell you. 

You put your gear back on and rush out the door. Stay here, you call over your shoulder. You fly through the night to the hotel they were supposed to be at and find Anastasia sitting against the wall bleeding. She raises her gun at you when you barrel through the window. You take off your mask and rush to her. Nastya, you say. She is shot and she should be dead but widows are not ordinary humans. You ask if she is all right and she laughs. Clearly, I am not. She already has a shirt tied around her stomach and she is holding another tight to staunch the bleeding. 

Natalia has been here, you say. Yes. You ask where she has gone and where Yeva is. She tells you she doesn’t know. That Yeva and she were ambushed and overwhelmed. The room is trashed. Bullet holes in the walls and broken furniture. There are bodies littering the floor. They must have had two dozen men up here to overpower just the two of them. 

You ask if she will be all right if you go. She tells you yes she thinks so. Then you hold a hand out. She takes it. Her hand is clammy and cool to the touch. Are you sure, you ask. Because Katya might actually kill me if you die on my watch. Go, she tells you. Find Yeva. 

So you leave out the window and try not to think about it all being too late. If they had the chance to drive off they could be out of the city by now. You weren’t even supposed to be out hunting for them. You should’ve taken Stefanya and Marina and gone back to base. The others’ failure was theirs alone to bear. So you stand in the dark collecting raindrops, wondering why this has come as an afterthought. You realize in your haste you’d left your mask back in the hotel room. Water drips down your face as you stare up at the sky. Maybe the stars know.

Then, through the stench of the storm and the dirt and oil the rain has sloughed from the ground you smell blood. It is sharp and metallic and unmistakable. You trot down the near pitch black alley in search of the source. There are a number of irregular shapes down a perpendicular alleyway. You can barely see they are there. You stop, your boots splashing in a puddle. 

With measured steps you stalk forward, unsheathing the swords on your back. The shapes are bodies of men in ruined suits with ruined faces. One’s eyes have been gouged inward, pushed deep in toward his brain. Belly-up he stares unseeing into some void. And as if he hadn’t suffered enough he is also eviscerated. Guts and blood leak from him onto the dirty ground as if from an overfilled trash bin. No wonder you were able to smell it.

There is another with his throat slit and his head bashed in. Another with his jaw ripped wide open. He has been shot, but only in the leg. None of these men went out with a clean death. All of them suffered.

You find Natalia in the middle of the carnage, holding another body. Yeva is limp in her arms, eyes closed. You kneel beside both of them. She’s gone, Natalia whispers. You try to ignore the awful pang in your chest. Because she died in the service of her country. She died a soldier’s death. It is an honor. 

But alone in the rain in a struggle is no way to die. Dark blood is still seeping from the hole in her forehead to stain her blonde hair. She looks so young. 

There are footsteps at the entrance to the alleyway. Stefanya and Marina have Anastasia supported in between them. Stefanya is taller than them both which makes it an awkward position but they have made it. You’re not surprised they didn’t stay at the rendezvous either. 

The cops are here, Marina says. We need to go.

Natalia stands, Yeva in her arms. You pull your hood deeper over your face and lead them away. In a stolen car you drive out of the city. There’s a field and it’s on its way to being flooded but it will have to do. You have no tools so you dig with your hands and you try to ignore how familiar the action is. Even Nastya insists she helps. 

Dawn has already broken when the grave is finally dug. You lower Yeva’s body in and replace the dirt under the young sunlight. None of you care about the consequences the day will surely bring.

Very few will ever know that she lived. And only you will know about her death, about this gravesite. It’s only fair you take a moment. They tell you you are nameless, faceless, inconsequential and that it is selfish to believe otherwise.

But dammit Yeva was a person. They refused to give her a place in the world. So you suppose that’s what the four of you have done now. What a shame it could only be given after her last breath.

—

The next time you’re being briefed on a mission there are forty agents in the room. You go to the side of the room where your squad along with the rest of the platoon are standing. Rumlow tells you there must be a big fucking fish to fry.

Crowded on the other side of the conference table are members of STRIKE Team: Delta, including Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. You lock eyes with her for a moment but you turn away because Agent Matthew Hunter is right there next to her. Rumor has it they’ve been “going out.” Last week Ward asked you how it felt to have some tool like Hunter steal your girl. You told him she wasn’t your girl. That she’d be fucking a new guy in another week. You don’t know why you said that last part.

Then everyone is quiet because Fury is here and the Director never bothers with things as trivial as mission briefs.

Turns out there’s a huge freaking terrorist compound in Iraq and you’ve been authorized to take it out. Agent Barton is in charge of tagging the leader. Everyone else, don’t get killed.

So you fly out in three separate jets and you’re on the one holding a mix of both teams. Everyone’s keeping to their own side but Natalia comes over to stand by you.

“Hi,” she says. 

“Hi,” you say back. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been missing her. But now that you’ve heard her voice and she’s so close your shoulders are almost brushing it hits you like a bucket of ice water. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. It’s odd though, you know.” 

“What is?”

“Not speaking with you.” she says. “I mean we’re in the same building most of the time now. It’s just been too long.”

“I agree,” you say. And because you cannot bring yourself to admit you feel less alive when she’s not around, that now that she’s here you have to stop yourself from grinning like a moron, you say, “I don’t think we’ve been on a mission together yet. Not since coming here.”

She’s looking at you and now you’re thinking about the furrow in her brow and the shine in her eye when she’s thinking hard. The little things you’re sure only you know because you’re the only person she’s shown them to. “You’re right,” she says. “We haven’t.”

“Kremer was probably scared shitless about the potential the two of us have together.”

“Kremer?”

“My handler. He’s an absolute asshat. I feel like he had one look at me and has already sentenced me. Nothing I do can change his mind.”

“That’s too bad for him,” she says. “He’s missing out on a great agent.”

You finally allow a smile to crack through. “How’s Barton?”

“He’s good. I think the two of you would get along.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you both know how to be a huge pain in my ass.” She smirks and you shove her lightly on the shoulder.

“Oh you don’t know what you’ve got yourself into Romanova.” 

She takes your hand and traces circles on the inside of your palm. “You’re the only one who calls me that anymore,” she murmurs.

Your face flushes because you hadn’t even realized what you’d said. “I can stop. I just, I forget sometimes. And besides.” You lean in and switch to Russian because someone is always listening in. “Natalia Romanova is the strongest person I know. I don’t think you should be ashamed of her.”

She turns her face toward yours and responds in kind. “You don’t have to stop. I like what it means when you say it.” You can feel her breath on your cheek and you wonder if she might kiss you. But she pulls away to smile at you again. “And you’re the only one who can pronounce it right anyway.”

You touchdown and by some force of habit you and Natalia pull away from the others and slink into the shadows. You pull your pistol out and shoot a figure with his gun out before Natalia can get to him.

She turns back to you. “Since when do you use a gun?”

You shrug. “Since I became American.”

“You don’t have your swords?”

“No. Those are still confiscated. But,” you take a retractable blade from your belt and unsheath it. “I’ve got this.”

“Can you use it?”

“Well enough,” you say. You could use a sharp stick if you needed to. “Actually, it’s quite different from using my katanas. First of all there’s only one of whatever this is. It’s pretty terrible. Americans have no idea about blades. Whoever made this shaped it like a toothpick.” You thrust it forward into the empty air. “You can’t slash with it, which is what you want to do,” you say, drawing an arc this time.

“Easy, tiger. I can’t believe I almost forgot how much of a nerd you are.” You’re about to retort but she stops before a corner and gives you a look. Down the hall there’s an open door and a light on. You edge up to it and count four guys smoking and playing cards. As one you jump out, Natalia covering you as you barrel into the thick of it. There are two guys with bullet holes in them and one writhing on the ground from one of her taser discs.

You’ve plunged your sword through the last one and are still trying to wrench it free when she kicks the one getting shocked in the head. Finally you get it free, his ribs cracking from how hard you had to pull it out. 

“That’s disgusting,” she says.

“Oh please,” you respond, wiping the blade off on your sleeve. There’s blood on your hands and face and more spreading over the concrete floor. “You’re the one who likes making messes on purpose. I told you this sword is atrocious.”

She shrugs. “I only do that if they really deserve it.”

“So that’s like everyone, right?” You turn away from her, shaking your head hard enough you know she must see. “It’s appalling really. I mean have some decorum Natalia. Twenty-three times is a lot to stab someone, you know.” 

Silence is the only answer you receive. But the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and in a flash she’s on your shoulders trying to bring you down.

You keep talking in between the short bursts of laughter rising from your chest. “At that point it’s disrespectful.” She covers your eyes with one hand and your mouth with the other. Then she twists with just enough force to signal she wants you down and you get to your knees to soften the blow before you completely collapse on your back. 

“The cops can’t even recognize the poor bastards.” She’s on top of you with a glint in her eye like she’s hungry. You put your hands up. “Please don’t, oh no I have an ounce of cocaine I still need to snort tonight.” She puts the handle end of a knife against your cheek and drags it down toward your chest. “I have so much to live for,” you say, suddenly putting on an American accent.

She cracks, a little smile emerging on her face. She stands before she thinks you’ve seen and leaves the room. “Get up. We’ve got a job to do.”

“I saw that,” you say, jogging after her. 

“Saw what?”

“You think I’m hilarious.”

“No, I think you’re dumb.”

“I can be both. It’s called having range.”

You wouldn’t say you enjoy what you do, but it’s all you know. At some point you had to become numb to it or you’d drown in the guilt. But you have missed working with Natalia. Your team is fine. But it’s different when she’s had your back in the field since you were ten years old. When you could pass out right now and know she’d keep you safe. When you know exactly what move she’s going to make next.

The end of the hall splits off and you go left while she goes right.

You pass a couple of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and give them a nod before turning down another hall. You check another room and there’s a woman in there with a gun.

You raise yours, and you don’t know why but something makes you hesitate. Maybe it’s because you don’t think she’ll shoot. Maybe it’s because there’s been this bug in your ear nagging about innocence until proven guilty. 

But she doesn’t and there’s a shot and a bullet in your side. You don’t waste time before you fire a return shot that shatters her kneecap. She drops her gun and goes down screaming.

Rage explodes hot in your chest. At her, for shooting you. But mostly at yourself for slipping. “You bitch,” you seethe in Russian. The pain in your side is mixing with the anger in your chest and the storm is deafening. 

“I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me,” she sobs, laying on the ground. “I didn’t mean to. I’m not with them. I won’t fight anymore. Just don’t kill me. I’m sorry.” But you’ve seen this act before. You won’t underestimate her twice.

“Shut up,” you say in English. You put your foot on her broken knee and stand on it. She wails even harder. You’re looming over her as you unsheathe your sword. Her sobs are the only sound left in the room. You seethe in silence. Like you always have. 

You raise the blade above your head like an executioner with his axe and bring it down over her neck. Her head comes apart from her body. There’s a thud as she settles on her back. The sword snaps as it strikes the concrete from the weight of your full strength. You stumble forward. Sometimes you forget how strong the serum has made you.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Just the sound of your ragged breathing. You can’t tell if you can’t catch your breath because you’ve been shot or because of something else.

Then, “Holy shit.”

You whip around and aim your gun at the voice by the doorway. 

“Woah, woah, woah. Don’t shoot me, partner,” says Agent Hunter.

Блядь.

You put your weapon away but don’t say anything.

He looks at the blood on your face and the broken sword you’re holding onto like a lifeline and the body at your feet. The woman’s eyes are still open. Locked in a panicked gaze. Then he blanches and turns away. The sound of him throwing up almost makes you hurl too.

“Hunter,” you pant, finding your voice.

But he’s backing away with his hands out like you’ll get him next. “You’re sick.”

More footsteps come down the hall and a group of agents checks on him. It’s over for you as soon as the first new arrival sees the body and the blood on your hands. Oh my god, he says. The judgement rolls through the crowd that’s begun to amass. 

Agent Hunter is out of your sight now but you can hear him. “He fucking killed her. She was on the ground begging for her life and he fucking chopped her head off.”

Your face heats up and your heart is pounding something crazy in your chest because you still haven’t caught your breath. There’s too many people in the room. Too many eyes on you. You can hear every gasp, every hitch in their breathing, every whisper. It’s driving you nuts. Why can’t they just mind their own fucking business. 

They’re going to kill you for this. You’re injured and vulnerable. There’s a dozen of them now and they’ve all got guns. 

“What the fuck are you all looking at?” You yell. “Get out!” 

They stare at you for another moment before shuffling away. 

You think you see a glimpse of fire-red hair in the crowd. There one second, then gone. Like the flicker of a flame.

Rumlow is the first one to approach you. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t come too close. “Come on, man,” he says in the same rough voice he always uses. The familiarity is good. “It’s time to go.”

—

The girl with the blood red hair stops at a small grove of trees. She tells the boy it is time. She cannot go further.

The boy stops because the girl is the strongest person he knows. If she says she cannot go on she must mean her feet have fallen off. But he is also confused because there are supposed to be weeks and weeks left. This is not right. 

The girl curses and curls into a ball at the base of a skinny, bare tree. Because she knows this too. Stupidly, she thinks if she makes the area around her stomach just a little warmer everything will be okay. She is desperate.

But their luck has run out. The girl was good at keeping secrets and when the secret could not be kept any longer a man named Ivan put her on a long-term espionage mission. The boy has always disliked this man whom the girl looks to like a father but he owes him for this. 

But things went sour as things happen to go and when the girl sent the message from the cabin the boy should not have come. But this was a thing worth running for. 

Miracles do not exist.

The boy sinks into the snowy ground next to the girl. She turns her face toward his and they press their foreheads together Like a kiss, but with the tenderness that can only be born from the innocent. I love you, the girl tells him. 

The boy tries to be brave even though he is scared. I love you too, he says. No matter what happens.

—

They make you go to medical when you get back because everyone was watching you on the plane and it was obvious you had a bullet in your side.

You sit in a private room that’s got a door instead of just curtains between beds. But it’s not really private because there’s a doctor and two armed guards at the door. All three of them stare at you. They haven’t gone so far as to handcuff you but you know you’ve taken a huge step back. 

The doctor introduces herself as Helen Cho and asks, “Are you able to remove your shirt?”

You don’t want to take your shirt off. It leaves you too vulnerable. And you don’t want them to see your back.

“Agent, there’s a bullet in your torso. Remarkably it hasn’t hit anything vital. And by some miracle you’re sitting up like nothing’s wrong. But I still need to take it out. It’s not supposed to be in there.” She is direct but still somehow soft-spoken. You don’t like being in this white room with these strange people but you suppose she could be worse.

You fidget with your hands. You’ve washed them but there’s still red on your palms, dried flakes under your fingernails. Finally, you say, “I can get it out myself. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

“I would be more comfortable if you would let me do it. Have you ever extracted a bullet before?” You shake your head. “It’s tricky, it requires precision, and it hurts the person it’s in. It’s hard to keep your hand steady when you’re in pain.”

You glance up at the agents keeping guard. “Sure I know.” 

Doctor Cho notices and waves at them. “Would you mind giving us some privacy?”

“Ma’am, we have orders to keep him under supervision.”

“He’s injured. You can stay right outside the exam room. Nobody is going to disappear into thin air.”

“But–”

“I’m the doctor. And this is my patient. You can wait outside,” she says sternly.

And this time they listen. “We’ll be right outside.”

She turns back to you. “Better?”

You nod slowly, finally drawing in a larger breath. Your side ignites in fire and you gasp, which only makes it hurt worse. Your hand flies to the wound, hovering over it. 

“Getting shot isn’t fun, is it?” She asks, not waiting for an answer. “Now there’s two ways we can do this. You can lay here and let me help you or I can have you sedated.”

“No,” you wave a hand at her. “No, don't do that.”

“Okay I won’t,” she assures. “But I’ve been at this long enough to know some people need a little extra help. It’s all right.” She pauses. “I still need to see the wound site. I’ll walk you through it every step of the way,” she offers.

“You will?” 

“Of course.”

You hesitate. Maybe it’s to stall a little longer. Maybe because you actually care. “You’re not worried about being in here alone with me?”

“Why would I be? You’re not going to attack me, are you?”

“No,” you say. “But you have to be wondering why I’ve got a couple of angry looking sitters.”

“Sure,” she shrugs. “‘I’m curious. But I don’t make a habit of judging people I don’t know. And besides. I’m a doctor. I’d treat you no matter what.”

“So there’s no limit?”

“No, I’ve got a limit.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“It’s for people who think they can talk their way out of treatment,” she says, looking you in the eye. “Come on.”

Slowly, you maneuver your right arm out of the t-shirt. The movement stretches your side and it hurts but you grit your teeth and push through the pain. You leave your shirt on around your neck and left side. The wound is still oozing blood just above your right hip. You figure she has enough room to work.

Doctor Cho sighs. She takes a once-over glance at your body. Her attention locks on the bullet wound then flickers to your back then refocuses again. 

“You’re probably going to want to lay down.”

You oblige and she comes over with gloves on her hands but no mask on her face. You’re grateful for this. The doctors in the Red Room always wore masks and headgear that made them look less human. They also didn’t talk. Not to you anyway. And their notes always had the word “Subject 094” instead of your name.

You swallow as she sits on a stool by your side with a pair of forceps and a pen light. You don’t know when you'd gotten so sweaty. 

“I’m going to locate the bullet and extract it. Sound good?”

You nod and she waits. “Yes,” you say. 

She clicks on the flashlight and puts a cool hand on your stomach. “Last chance. You sure you don’t want to go under for this?”

“I’m sure.”

She presses down lightly with two fingers around the entry site. It hurts but it doesn’t really hurt until the fourth spot she touches. You suck in air through your teeth and clench your fists.

“I started working in the medical field because I wanted to cure cancer,” she says. “My passion was research, but my parents wanted me to get my M.D. They said there’s no success in research. So I did both. I have an M.D. for them and a Ph.D. in biomedical research for myself.” 

You focus on her words, imagining a younger Doctor Cho in your mind. She can’t be much older than you. “You must be some kind of genius,” you grit around a clenched jaw.

She blushes, and even though there’s a pair of forceps lodged way too deep inside your torso the pain eases a little. “Nothing like that. I just worked hard. And you know the crazy part? I ended up loving the patient work almost as much as I loved running tests in a lab. So my parents had the right idea after all, just for the wrong reasons.”

You’re looking at her face now instead of her hands and trying to memorize the slight purse in her lips and the brightness in her eyes. This is her arena, her fight.

“Сука!” You curse and jolt a little.

“Steady,” she says. “I’ve got it. Just have to pull it out.”

You try to draw in deep, steady breaths through your nose and out your mouth. “Great.” You can’t watch anymore so you squeeze your eyes shut and tell yourself pain is only a mental construct even though it really doesn’t feel that way right now.

There’s a clink and a rattle and Doctor Cho says, “The hard part is done. I’m going to clean, stitch, and bandage you now.”

“So you’ve given up on curing cancer to take bullets out of idiots instead?”

“No. Actually, I work in research almost full time now. They’ve got a pretty nice lab here. You should stop by, if you’re not too busy catching more bullets.” She doesn’t look you in the eye as she says this. 

“This is my first time getting shot.”

“There shouldn’t be a first time,” she counters.

“You said you do research almost full time now. Should I feel special, then?” You smile.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’re a disturbance to my day off, actually.” She takes a bottle of water and flushes it through your wound. 

You hiss. “Please remind me never to get shot again.”

“If you come through here injured again I’ll kick you out,” she says, smiling. “I thought you all had armor for this type of thing. What’s it called, again? Oh, yeah. A bulletproof vest.” She wipes the rest of the blood from your skin.

“I don't wear those. Too much of a restriction on movement. Agility is the most important thing out there.”

“I don’t know about that. Sounds like I’d want this thing that keeps me from ending up on the wrong side of this bed.”

You shrug. Because she’s running thread through your skin and it hurts more than you try to let on. Maybe she has a point.

Doctor Cho retrieves a roll of bandages from a cabinet in the corner. “This part will be easier if you stand up.”

You stand and stumble. You have to catch yourself on her shoulder. “Sorry,” you say. “Might have lost a little bit of blood recently.”

“You don’t say.”

You fix her nametag, the picture smiling shyly back at you.

She wraps the bandage taught around your stomach. “No strenuous activity until I clear you, understand? Nothing that raises your heart rate too much. And I want to see you back in three days. Think you can manage?”

You shrug back into your shirt. “Does that mean I can’t go to my underground fighting club tonight?”

She makes an overexaggerated frown. “I’m afraid so.”

“Thank you, Doctor Cho,” you say earnestly.

“Don’t mention it.” And as you put your hand on the door knob, she adds, “Call me Helen.”

You smile over your shoulder. “See you in a few days Helen.” 

Your personal guards march you down to Kremer’s office. You tell them you’re sure you can get there on your own but they’re not in all that talkative of a mood.

Kremer is standing over his desk, arms braced against the wood like he’s trying to ground himself. He has his glasses on but removes them when you enter. He makes a dismissive motion with his hand and the guards disappear, shutting the door behind them.

“Sit down,” he says. When you don’t move he says it again, louder. “Sit down! That’s an order.”

You sit but he doesn’t. He stands, hovering over you like some angry buzzard.

“What the fuck was that? I’ve got a dozen eyewitness reports saying you beheaded some defenseless woman. You want to tell me something different happened?”

“Sir,” you start, cautiously. Because even though a plan is already in your mind to bolt you would rather not have to sleep with one eye open tonight. “I don’t know how you have a dozen eyewitness reports. Agent Hunter was the only one present for the moment of death.”

“I don’t care,” he says. “I don’t fucking care if it was one person or fifty people or just God himself as witness. Did you do it?” “She shot me first. She wasn’t exactly defenseless.”

Kremer mutters to himself under his breath. “But you didn’t need to chop her goddamn head off! I’ve seen the pictures. Looks like an excessive use of force to me. Was she threatening you when you did it?”

“She could’ve had another weapon under her shirt or in her waistband. I made a call.”

“Hunter said she was sobbing, begging you not to kill her.”

“That doesn’t mean anything! She could have been acting. I’ve seen it done a hundred times.”

“You Reds and your excuses,” he shakes his head. “It’s my ass when you pull some stunt like this, do you understand? I don’t know how you did it back in Russia but here we don’t go around beheading people like barbarians. And if you don’t want to end up in some hellhole I suggest you get yourself up to our bar, quickly.”

“You think I did that just because? The bitch shot me first! I just spent twenty minutes having a bullet dug out of my stomach because of her.”

“Yeah, I think you did,” he points a finger at you. “I think you’re a fucking animal who was just waiting for some excuse to make another person suffer. I know your type. You get off on this kind of violence. If it was up to me you’d be rotting out in the middle of the ocean right now.”

“What the fuck?” You sputter. “I don’t–”

“We’re done here. You’re on a month’s suspension.” He sighs, putting his glasses on and sitting down. “But if you step one toe out of line you’re out of here.”

You stand up far too quickly. The ache in your side flares like you’ve ripped it open again. 

“And I think you should know,” he adds. “Fury has given me complete authority over this matter. Whether you stay or go is my call.”

You salute him before you go, pretending your eyes could burn holes through his skull.

The agents turned guards aren’t waiting for you when you leave Kremer’s office so you head back to your room. Your side hurts even worse now. The adrenaline has worn off. Every step you take makes you want to sink to the floor. 

By the time you make it across campus to the barracks you’re sweating a little and breathing hard. You’ll have to tell Helen you broke her rule. 

Natalia is in your room, sitting on the edge of the bed in her mission suit. Her hair is still braided back, little flyaways sticking to the back of her neck. 

“How did you get in here?” You ask.

“You’re all right,” she says in relief. She crosses the room, one hand on the side of your neck, the other on your cheek. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, putting a hand on her arm. “Can I sit? I’m not exactly totally good.” You don’t wait for her to answer before almost collapsing into the chair at the desk in the corner.

“What happened?” You look up at her, thinking about how you saw her in the crowd. How she didn’t come up to you. Didn’t defend you.

“I was shot,” you say. You lift the edge of your shirt up, just enough to reveal the bandage.

She sits on the bed again. “And?” She prompts, head tilted slightly. 

“And I got it patched. But it still hurts,” you say. Because you’re not going to give her what she wants to know yet. She has to play her hand first.

“I heard what happened. On the jet. People were talking.”

“People were talking,” you say, looking away and nodding your head. 

“They were,” she answers. “And I thought maybe you weren’t coming back. You know how people like to talk. Things get embellished. But you’re okay. They let you off. Right?”

“I don’t know,” you say flatly. You look right at her so she can’t hide. “Were they embellishing? You can cut the shit Natalia. I know you were there.”

She is quiet, but she doesn’t look away. “I saw the aftermath. That doesn’t mean I know what happened. Only you can know that.”

“Why don’t you ask your buddy Matt?” You spit his name like it is a curse. “He saw most of it. And I’m sure he wasn’t shy about telling everyone.”

She stands, says your name. She is already close, but takes two steps to completely close the distance anyhow. “I don’t care about what happened. I just care that you’re okay.”

You look up at her. She is frowning down at you like you are some wounded dog. You want to ask her why she did not ask this thing when you were standing alone, a dozen pairs of eyes on you. But you know. Oh you know. She did not want their judgement to pass to her, did not want to be seen with the outsider with blood on their hands.

And maybe, part of her was scared of him too.

So you don’t ask. Instead, you say, “And if I told you they were outside the door waiting to take me away?” You come back to a way she has already disappointed you.

She takes a breath. You search her face. She searches yours. “Then you would need to disappear.” You wait for the second part. About how she would let you go but in a month’s or year’s time it would be her sent to hunt you down. It would be her with the gun to your head. Because she was the only one smart enough to find you, ruthless enough to betray you. She was the only one you would ever lose to.

You lower your head. You need to stop pulling open this wound. Things are hard enough.

But then. She rakes a hand through your hair. “And I would need to disappear too. I’d kill everyone in here for you, you know that. If it came down to it, I would leave with you too.”

This is new. She has not yet chosen you over them. You feel an opening.

Your head snaps back up. “We can go.”

“But they’re not coming. They’re giving you a chance.”

“I don’t want a chance,” you say. 

“Don’t say that,” she shakes her head. “You can’t say that.”

“Why are you so adamant about staying here?” You are getting frustrated. “You left the Red Room because you were a pawn but now you want to serve some other cause. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Because I’m not going to spend my life on the run, in the shadows. Not when I can do something with it.” She sighs, her gaze turning melancholic. “I need. I need to make up for all the pain I’ve caused.”

“There’s nothing to make up for,” you argue. She was already perfect. “The world needs a little pain. Humanity will never go in the right direction without it.”

She shakes her head. “We can’t control everything.” She puts her hand on your cheek. You hate yourself for leaning into it. You hate her because she knows how to make you pliant. 

You think of all the other times she’s touched you like this, the times she’s made you feel chosen only to turn away the next moment with apathy in her eyes. Because she is a mask of indifference, a one-night flirt. But for you she’s made an exception. You’ve seen her come apart, seen her struggle to be human. But still. Some part of you whispers, “trap.” She is just using you to keep herself afloat. After all, she is first and foremost a survivor. If anyone was going to make it out alive it would be her.

“But we could,” you say.

“No,” is her only answer. She says it like she is watching you drift away and she cannot follow. 

Maybe you are. Or maybe she is the one leaving you.

—

You dread having to talk to Willem after the incident. You know what he is going to ask about before he opens his mouth.

“I heard you had an eventful last week.”

“Are you going to lecture me too?”

“Maybe,” he smiles. It’s a cheeky smile without teeth, but the corners of his eyes wrinkle all the same. “I heard you got yourself on some kind of double probation. I didn’t know that was possible.”

“You hear what I did?” You ask. Part of you hopes he hasn’t. You’d never admit it, but you don’t mind him. Whatever this was was weird. But it would be a shame for it to change now.

“No,” he says. “And I don’t care to. I want to know what you think. I’ve known Kremer for a long time. He’s a hard ass.”

“You’re telling me,” you scoff. “He needs to come in here.”

Willem laughs. It’s a nice, hearty sound. But he keeps whatever he had found funny to himself. He steadies himself with a hand on his knee. “You think he’s unfair.”

“I mean, yeah. He doesn’t give me the time of day. It’s like he’s out to get me.”

“Do you think he was wrong to suspend you?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know,” you shrug.

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that.”

You hated Kremer but you also hadn’t lost control like that in a long time. But that wasn’t exactly your fault either. She was dead the moment she pointed a gun at you. What did it matter how you’d done her in? And she’d only shot you because you’d hesitated. That was Kremer’s fault for yelling at you so much about restraint. You pivot instead. “Have you ever killed anybody?”

Willem frowns at that. You think it’s not so much at the content of the question, but at your lack of answer for his. “Yes,” he replies.

You wave your hand in a vague gesture. “Then you know.”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

“The feeling,” you wave again. “I don’t know. That rush when you, you know.” 

“The bloodlust,” he supplies.

“Sure,” you say. “That seems a little extreme.” 

“That’s the name we had for it in the army. Everyone had a similar story. Some guy in their platoon you wouldn’t have thought would make it a week. He’s too skinny or he wets the bed or he cries at night. Whatever. But by some miracle he survives. And one day he’s toe-to-toe with some enemy combatant. Everyone thinks he’s a goner. But he gets his first kill. And it’s not from some machine gun a few hundred yards away or a mine he rigged up. No. This is personal, it’s bloody. From then on the guy’s an animal. Nobody makes fun of him anymore cause he might claw your eyes out. The bloodlust.”

You shake your head. “Not like that. Just in the moment. When it’s you or them. Everything else fades out. You get this urge. Like something has to break. And it can’t be you.”

“Sure,” he says. “In the moment. But you can’t go on living like that all the time. Or you end up like that batshit private.”

“That’s all it was,” you say. “I don’t get why it’s not acceptable for me to blow off a little steam.”

“Because it’s dangerous. If you can’t control yourself you shouldn’t be out there.”

“So you’re taking Kremer’s side, now?”

“It’s not about sides. But you have a job to do. And there’s standards you have to abide by. You think I could do this if I flew off the handle with every client?”

“You’ve yelled at me,” you point out.

“You’re the exception.”

You roll your eyes.

“Do you feel good about what you do?” He asks.

“I don’t feel bad about it,” you say, although it’s only a half-truth. You used to feel terrible when you had to hurt someone. You didn’t want to do that. But time went by and you got used to it. You had to. There’s only a twinge left now. You call it respect for the dead.

“Let me rephrase. Do you like what you do?”

“Define ‘like.’”

He ponders for a second. “If you were free to do anything you wanted, would you still be here?”

“That’s a stupid hypothetical. No one is free to just do as they please.”

“I think we are. Or at least we should be.”

“So walk up out of here right now,” you say, gesturing at the door. “Try your luck begging for money on the street. See how you like your freedom then.”

“I’ve walked away once before. That’s how I ended up here.” Of course he’s got a story for everything. “My first job after I left the military was private security. Ex-military means a lot more to civilians than it does to anyone who actually served. It was nice. I never once pulled out my gun. I had to babysit these assholes who thought way too much of themselves but it paid. About two-and-a-half times what I’m doing here. And all I needed was my high school degree.

I worked awful hours. Wasn’t at home much. But it didn’t matter because I was supporting them. Giving them the life my father couldn’t give me.

Then I got this gig. Full-time bodyguard for some idiot who was going to pay half a million a year. I took it and realized I wasn’t happy. My family wasn’t happy. So one night I don’t show up. They called and I said I couldn’t make it. My kid had a ball game.”

“You just left?” You ask.

“Yes. I realized life is short, and you only get one. I needed to reprioritize, so I did.” Willem pauses to give you that look he always does. As if you can’t hear him if he doesn’t stare you down “It can be done. So let me ask you again.You’ve been given a second chance. What the hell are you going to do with it?”

“Of course that’s what this is about,” you say, throwing yourself into the chair back. “You just want to make sure I’m on the right side. You and Kremer playing ‘good cop, bad cop.’”

“Cut the crap,” he retorts. “I couldn’t care less about that. You’ve been given a fresh start. You have a world of opportunity ahead of you and you’re throwing it away. Do you know how many people would kill to have a re-do like this?

“I didn’t ask for this,” you say, throwing your hands up.

“Then why are you still here?” He asks, his voice flat. “Someone like you, the prodigy you are doesn’t just get taken in by the enemy without a fight. And he certainly doesn’t stick around for no reason.” 

You are silent. You can’t admit that you came here for Natalia. And you definitely can’t admit you’ve stayed because this place hasn’t been so bad after all.

“Nothing to say?” He taunts. 

You don’t answer.

“Then we’re done here.” He stands and walks to the door.

“What?” You ask, incredulous. Because he can’t just quit. That’s not how this works. You jump up and follow him.

“You think you’re some martyr,” he says, opening the door. “You’re crucifying yourself for things you’ve been given a real chance to overcome. I’m not here to watch you jump into an early grave.”

“Fuck off,” you yell, slamming the door shut. “You want to talk about martyrdom? Why haven’t you made amends with your wife?”

“Because I did a terrible thing,” he says in that annoyingly calm voice of his.

“You fucked up!” You pace a few steps away. “But you don’t want to put in the work to fix yourself. So much for all the love you have for your family.”

“That’s my call to make.”

“That’s right. It’s your fucking call and you’re making the wrong one. Some people they fuck up and they own up to it! What are you doing? Coming in here and hiding behind someone else’s problems so you don’t have to look at what a mess your own life is!” You’re shouting and you can’t keep your hands still. 

He stands across from you, hands in his pockets. He says your name, tells you to look at him. “Why are you here?”

You stop and put your arms down. Because he is calm, and you are not. It’s like nothing you’ve said has stuck. 

“Look at you, tough guy. You’ve got a smart remark for everything but you won’t answer this simple question. Because you can’t face the truth.”

He opens the door again. And this time, you walk through it.

—

You wake tied to a chair. It is because your eyelids are heavy like lead that you jerk and try to escape without reason first. You breathe from your nose because when you tried to take a panicked inhale through your mouth there was something gagging you out. 

Look who’s awake, a deep voice says. Looks like you won the bet.

You settle because the rope wrapping over the entire length of both your forearms and your ankles gives you no other choice. You are stripped down to your underwear but still you sweat. You are in what looks like an office with the furniture removed. There is a man you do not recognize and a woman you do.

Evgenia looks nothing like the woman you have been working on and off with for six years. Nothing like the woman who scolded you but not for the same reason as anyone in the Red Room. She told you you had to stop hiding your injuries because you are a kid and not a dog and showed you the real world was not as intense of a picture as you believed. 

She showed you new foods and taught you the songs her grandma taught her even though she could not sing. And one night after a particularly gruelling mission she told you you had to draw lines between what was okay and what was not. That nobody could tell you what those were except yourself. You have to listen in here, she said, pointing to your heart. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

There is more to life than just the fight. You just need to look up.

Her face was also the one you saw as you felt a prick in your neck and a tiredness began to consume your body.

You look at her now, at her cold gaze and think what a glorious trick she has pulled on you. You challenge her to be the first to look away as you search for an ounce of guilt in her posture and find none. In the end it is you who breaks away first.

The man, who is dressed in a black shirt and black pants approaches you and takes the gag from your mouth. He tells you he has a few questions about Dreykov and the Red Room. He tells you you all are an outdated parasite on modern Russia and need to be excised. Let me demonstrate, he says, picking up a thin knife. He grabs your bicep and you try to jerk away but the rest of your arm is tied down and even though you are awake the world still feels out of focus.

Everything becomes clear real fast when he starts sawing at your arm. You don’t scream, managing to minimize your agony into a series of gasps and grunts. This is a yet undiscovered pain. He comes away with a little piece of your skin. He holds it in front of your face and flaps it like it is some sort of banner. Like this, he says. You know the air is not burning even if your arm is trying to tell you it is.

You look at Evgenia. She is standing back a few paces, arms crossed. 

Where is the Red Room? The man asks.

I’m not telling shit, you say, even though it feels a little like your brain is having trouble connecting to your mouth. You think I’m some traitor? You would all be lost without us. Dreykov is going to–

He slices at you again, this time on your shoulder and you can’t stifle the yell that emerges. You clench your fists and fight to get away but it's no use. 

You can’t help but look at Zhenya like she is a source of comfort. Like she might help you. She says your name. Just tell him and this can end. Please, you don’t have to do this to yourself.

Go to hell, you grit. The man grips you by the hair and takes a large patch of skin from your neck. You scream. You had never thought there could be this much pain without a single drop of blood.

He steps back. Where is the Red Room? You stare at him, breathing hard. The rope digs into your skin. You ache to put your hands around his throat. You are going to regret this, you say. You should know who you’re messing with. 

Oh, he says, cocky. He waves the knife at you. But no one will know it was us, you see. 

Kill me, go ahead.

I’m not going to kill you, no. You’re very valuable property. Very marketable. You are only the second man in history to get Russian version of super serum and not go batshit insane. Did you know this? Yes, there are powerful people who would pay a lot to have you in their arsenal. And they already have. You’ll be someone else’s little hound soon. And guessing at who our buyer is, you won’t even remember this conversation after they do what they do.

He holds the knife to your cheek. Too bad keeping this pretty face intact was not a part of the deal.

Wait, Evgenia speaks up. Let me.

He backs off and shrugs. All right.

She takes the scalpel and kneels before you. Hey, she says. Hey, hey, look at me. You must still be pretty out of it because you thought you were looking at her. Just tell us what we want to know and this can end. Don’t make me do this. 

You are looking into her eyes and you think you see a little bit of the woman you thought she was. I trusted you, you whisper.

I know, she frowns, mocking. I’m sorry. She starts to cut at the skin on your thigh. It feels more painful than any of the other times because she is the one doing it. You watch the strip of skin come loose and then think you must be dreaming because she turns away and rushes at the man. 

She stabs him in the stomach with the scalpel and throws a punch at his head. He is caught off guard and stumbles back. Without hesitation he rips out the blade and swipes at Zhenya. She takes a couple of quick steps back. 

You strain anew at the rope holding you down but it is thick and unforgiving and wrapped around your arms and legs like a python. 

He presses forward with the blade out, forcing her to work around him. She takes a step too close and he slices her across the stomach. Blood begins to bloom and stain her shirt a shade darker. But she is quick, she cuts at his wrist and forces him to drop the knife. Then, without missing a beat, she tackles him to the ground.

But he is bigger than her, stronger. He shoves her into the wall and dives for the scalpel. It lies just outside of his reach. Evgenia seizes the opportunity. She kicks it farther from his grasp and scoops it up. 

She turns around just as he tries to get her from behind. The scalpel cuts deep through his throat. Blood sprays from his neck onto her face as if from a fountain. His hands raise and try to staunch the bleeding but it is already too late. He falls first to his knees and then flat on the floor. He gurgles as he tries to draw his final breaths and then it is quiet. 

Zhenya stumbles backward, holding the wound on her stomach. You are still trying in vain to break free from your bonds. She curses and comes to you with the knife. You flinch a little when she points it at you. She apologizes. I didn’t know what to do, she says. This was the only way. I didn’t want to hurt you.

It’s okay, you tell her as she saws through the coils and coils of rope. You forgive her easily, instantly. You don’t think you could have been mad even if she truly had betrayed you. Because you will always be that twelve year old kid with fists aching from the weight of your anger. And she will always be the one to catch your wrists and demand you let go. 

She gets your clothes for you and you try to ignore how the fabric sets your raw skin aflame. Then, you stare down at the body of the other SVR agent. Zhenya has made herself a traitor because of you. She has ruined her life. You are not worth that sort of action. You shouldn’t have done that, you say. You should’ve let him have me.

No, she says. You are where I draw my line.

Her words make your heart pound and your face heat up. You will not cry because you haven’t for years and it would be ridiculous to now. You have recently turned eighteen after all. You are a proper adult now with proper responsibilities. That’s why they came after you.

You’re going to have to disappear, you say. 

I know.

I can’t know where you go.

I’ll find you, she says. When it’s safe. I promise.

You want to say it will never be safe. But you cannot entertain the notion you will never see her again. When it’s time you walk out first. So when they ask you where she went you can look them in the eye and say you don’t know.

—

Two months later and you have been carving room out for yourself. There is no back so you look forward. You tell yourself you can leave anytime you want. 

The hole in your side has healed, thanks to Doctor Cho. You went and saw her three days later like she’d asked. You checked the medical wing first, asking after her. Most of the staff avoided looking at you, but one nurse told you she didn’t work around here anymore and that you should check the laboratory building.

You thanked her and apologized for the disturbance. Perhaps your reputation was getting a little too out of hand after all.

The scientists in the research building weren’t much better either. They all stared at you when you entered, but that might just have been because they’re not used to talking to a huge circle of people.

“I’m looking for Doctor Helen Cho,” you said.

You were directed down a hall and into a different room. She was there, black hair tied up in a bun, talking to another person in a white coat.

“Doctor Cho,” you said, feeling somewhat off-put in this place. You couldn’t even name half of the equipment in here. 

She turned around, a smile lighting up her face when she saw you. That was nice. It didn’t happen with a lot of other people. She greeted you. “Let me wash my hands,” she said. “We can talk in my office.”

She discarded her gloves and safety glasses and the two of you walked down the hall into a small office.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, sitting on the edge of her desk.

“Okay,” you replied. “All things considered.”

“Can I take a look?” 

You shrugged. “What am I here for?”

She unwrapped the bandage and stared down at your side. You could see the gears turning in her head. “Well this isn’t right,” she said.

You couldn’t help but smile, just the edge of your mouth turning up. “Am I going to die, doc? Don’t tell me it’s too late.”

She shook her head, still unable to look away from the wound. “No,” she replied, so enraptured she’d missed your joking tone. “This is. This is incredible. It looks like a graze wound. Are you sure you got shot?”

“I didn’t let you take a bullet out of me for kicks.”

Now she looked up at you, eyes wide. You were smiling because her awe was infectious. You’d never impressed someone like this before. You were never good enough. They always wanted you to be faster, stronger, more durable. But the way she was looking at you said this was more than enough.

“How?” She breathed.

“I heal fast,” you said. 

She laughed and you found yourself thinking of more ways to draw the sound out of her. “No shit,” she said. “But I mean, this should be impossible. It won’t even scar.”

“You’re the genius scientist,” you said. “I don’t know how it works either, to tell you the truth.”

“I’ve never heard of anybody having genetics like this. But I suppose it’s possible. People have different heights and intellectual traits. Your cells must be able to process energy at triple the rate of anyone else.”

You tilted your head. “Eh, not exactly.” Then you paused because you’ve never talked to anyone about this before. And it was sensitive information. You eyed the woman in front of you. If you told her about the serum they’d stuck in your veins maybe she’d tell someone else, and then you’d be a rat in a cage. You couldn’t. So you smiled and said, “I should get back.”

For a second you thought she might press for more. She looked like she had a million more questions. “Do you think you have time for me to show you the lab?” Was all she said. 

You sighed in relief. You decided you liked her. So you let her take you into the lab and explain all the things you’d never understand. She was excited because they were on the edge of a breakthrough, she could feel it. She told you she was working on growing tissue so they wouldn’t have to rely so much on transplants. She hoped their work would save a lot of lives some day. She would be happy if she lived to the day it would save just one.

She was almost winded when she’d finished speaking. “Sorry,” she shook her head bashfully. “I’m not usually so talkative.”

“It’s all right,” you said. And it was. Because you’d had more attention on you in the last week than you thought you could handle. “The world needs more people like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re good. You’re not doing this for yourself. You’re going to help a lot of people.”

She looked down at her shoes. “I hope so.” When she looked back up at you her cheeks were a little red. “We should talk again. Outside of work.”

“That sounds nice,” you agreed.

Now you have come back from a mission gone slightly awry. The intelligence had been perfect, the lab waiting for you like a glowing jewel hidden beneath depths of concrete maze. There was nowhere to run when you broke the doors down and aired the place out.

The lead scientist put his hands up as soon as the bodies of his colleagues hit the floor. You were supposed to bring him in for questioning. You are looking right at the man and his empty hands when there is shouting and a single gunshot.

The target is dead, his head all exploded like rotten fruit. Ward holsters his gun. He says he thought the man had been reaching for a weapon. And that’s what all four of you report when Agent Hill asks you about it later.

It’s a problem because you are supposed to be the most seasoned strike team there is. It’s a problem because that scientist also functioned as an administrator and he could have led you to more cells.

It’s a problem because it’s not the first time something like this has happened.

It’s the third one since you’ve been here. There was the neo-Nazi who claimed he was part of a huge underground organization and the Russian politician who swore he would tell all in exchange for asylum. Both of them had become suddenly violent at the moment you tried to bring them in. Both are now dead.

The first time you had been confused. Then Rumlow looked you dead on and smiled, holding his index finger over his lips. Then you understood why they wanted you on their team.

Because they are imperfect, and so are you.

So you don’t tell your superiors the target had been subdued at the time of death. And they believe you because strikers are always like this, a little jumpy and a little imprecise. Consequences of pulling from ex-military and ex-police force pools.

But now you’re getting back from a long flight and an even longer debrief and Natalia is in your room with her arms crossed and an indecipherable look on her face. You’ve been on good terms. But you haven’t done that thing which is not a thing because it’s nothing where you lay with each other in the dark and communicate without speaking. 

So you find it odd that she’s in your room. 

“Hi,” you say, like a question.

“What are you up to?” She’s not asking what your plans are for the day. It’s dark out, and you’re exhausted.

You shake your head. “What are you talking about?”

“Maria is pissed. About the mission. And so is Fury.”

“So? It’s a shame the mission went bad but the target was hostile. He might’ve shot one of us. We’ll get the next guy.”

“Except this is the third time something like this has happened in as many months,” she says, slowly. “And you don’t make mistakes.”

You aren’t alarmed. She’s smart, smarter than you maybe. So you keep your face and body still like you’ve been taught and say, “I don’t. But they do. You must know I was never the one to pull the trigger.”

She huffs because you’re right. On paper nothing is afoot. But you know she has a feeling. You’re stubborn but so is she. “If something is going on you can tell me.”

“Nothing is going on,” you lie. Something definitely is. But you don’t care.

“I’m trying to help you,” she says. “Those agents you work with, you can’t trust them.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Because Clint,” she pauses to rub at her temple, “he doesn’t like them.”

“And that’s the end of the conversation?” You scoff. “Your new buddy says one bad thing and my team is suddenly suspicious.” 

“It’s not just him. Your ‘team,’ is made up of a bunch of assholes. Everyone knows it.”

“I didn’t know you held such high moral standards. Tell me, what is your squad up to, huh? You go out and you spy on people so you can throw them a big party?” You don’t want to be angry, not with her, but she is different now. She is jumping on you when she always used to give you the benefit of the doubt, when she always used to be on your side.

She has become a stranger and now she thinks she can barge back in and make you behave as she sees fit. Perhaps you never knew her in the first place.

“I never said that,” she says.

“No, but you think you’re better than everyone else. You always have. And now you’re acting all righteous because the director has made you his pet project.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“What does that mean?”

She scoffs. “Really? Dreykov Junior?”

“I’m not his son.”

“No, you just wish you were.”

You turn away and take a deep breath. 

Her voice is closer and softer the next time she speaks. “I didn’t mean for this to get so out of hand.”

You shake your head as if the motion would fling all the anger away like it was some pesky bug. “Me neither.” “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t in trouble. That’s all. I wanted to help you.”

You turn back to face her. “I don’t need help.”

“But you do.” Her face is a stone wall, a chiseled mask of indifference. 

You blink at her. It is dark outside, and you are exhausted. Your quarters which have always felt a little like a jail cell shrink in on you. “What?”

She sighs, like you are a child who doesn’t understand. “They think you’re a spy,” she hisses, like she’s not supposed to be telling you this. “They think you are a spy and that you are trying to find a way to bring them down.”

“I’m not.” They have it all wrong, you want to say. You’ve been exiled, but you can’t tell them that. Because then they’d know you’re cornered, and there’s nothing more vulnerable than being caught with your back to the wall.

“Then why are you here?” She asks. And you feel like she’s pushed you off the top of the building. Because she is truly asking this question. She thinks you are working against them too. Working against her. “You came here to retrieve me, right? And I said I’m not going back to that hellhole. So you have a new mission.”

You must have some sort of surprise on your face because something clicks in her eyes, like she’s solved a mystery. But you can’t tell her that no, no one sent you here after her, because she’d ask you why you had jumped ship like an idiot and you’d have to tell her you were scared. You don’t have the words to describe how panic had seized you by the throat when news of her capture reached you. How even the daydream of her death made you want to die too.

Because you are not a savior. And she is not supposed to be worth saving anyway. Everyone is expendable. No one is special. And she was just a warm body all those years.

And because you cannot say all this, cannot accept that you ruined your life like some emotion-poisoned whore, you say, “You don’t understand.”

She is quicker with her response, because she has the power. She has always had the power between the two of you. “Then help me understand.”

You shake your head more furiously and back away. “Why do you even care, huh?”

“Because I want to understand you! You have to give me something. You have to show them you’re trying.”

“I am trying.” Could she not see that? How you were killing yourself everyday you woke up in the name of S.H.I.E.L.D.? You shake out the wrist you normally wear your watch on.

“But they don’t think so. You can do better.” She approaches you a little too quickly. You can’t tell if her outstretched hands are trying to support you or strangle you.

You seize her by the shoulders before she can touch you. “That’s what this is about? You’re worried I might be a stain on your reputation?” You are loud but you don’t care because you are furious.

“No. No, I never said that. I don’t care about my reputation. I want to help you, but I can’t because I don’t recognize you anymore!”

Her face is flushed red like it’s never been before and it scares you so you let her go. “You think I need help?” You throw your arms up because she is ridiculous and so are you. “You think I can’t handle this?” And she is shaking her head and getting redder and the corners of her mouth are turned down in the shape of a frown. She is saying no but you aren’t hearing her. “My whole life I’ve been handling everything just fine! And guess what. I have never needed you.” You’re pointing at her and every time you shake your fist it feels like pulling the trigger of a gun.

“You think I don’t know what you’ve been through? I was there too. I get it but it is no excuse to keep protecting them!”

“It’s not that simple.” Because you had fought and you had suffered and you had had a role to fill. You still do. No, you weren’t just going to accept that you’d lost and roll over for the enemy. You can’t.

“It is!” She says. “S.H.I.E.L.D. is not perfect, but it is a fucking haven compared to back there. Why can’t you see that?”

“Because I’m not willing to turn my back on things so easily. I can’t just run from one thing to the next, changing who I am to fit in. I’m not like you.”

“Well then you are an idiot and a coward. And I see right through you.” You believe her. You feel so exposed under her gaze. “I’m not pretending to be someone else to fit in. I’m trying to be more than them, to be better. Fuck you.”

“Yeah? At least I’m not a spineless traitor. How could you leave? What has S.H.I.E.L.D. ever done for you?”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Yes! The Red Room gave us everything.”

“The Red Room didn’t give us anything. It took our choices and our lives and it’s taking still. Look at yourself!” She thrusts her arms out at you and you flinch. Just a little, but you know she sees. Because you thought she didn’t care about all the ways in which you are ruined.

“I am better for all they put me through. It wasn’t easy, sure, but I’m not crying about it. They saved me!” You eye her, up and down, pretending you hate her. “And where would you be without them? Starving and pregnant by some guy you married who spends all his money on booze?”

“You’re fucking unbelieveable. I am not who I am because of them. I made myself.” She glares at you. You can’t look away. You hate this intimacy. She speaks slowly, making sure you hear every letter. “But they broke you.”

“I’m not broken,” you say, low, like the warning of thunder. You’ve been made in their image.

“You are! It’s not normal to beat children because they do not act like soldiers. It’s not normal to think of sex as a means to an end at twelve years old. But you still think it is! You think it’s all okay when it’s not! You are stuck with what they have told us and you’re too scared to break out.”

“I’m the scared one? You’re the one who ran away because she couldn’t handle it!”

“Maybe you’re not scared. But you should be. You should be terrified of the person you’ve become. Because the boy I knew, the boy who would take a slap over having to slap someone else wouldn’t be okay with this. But they told you you were the chosen one and suddenly it’s okay to let others suffer because you’re on top, right? You’ve forgotten what it was like to be treated like a slave.

Things changed for you. You got your uniform and they told you your name meant something. But things didn’t change for me, or for any of the other widows. They are still trapped like the dirt under someone’s shoe. Their names don’t matter because they are called ‘whore’ and ‘weapon.’ Just like mine didn’t. Until I forced people to see me.”

Her words scare you because there is a truth in them you’ve pretended like you could manage. It’s why Svetlana always dreamed of running off. Why Ekaterina tried to kill you after you’d accidently walked in on her and Anastasia. 

But you can’t let go. There is fear and pain when you submit. But there is so much more if you dare to go against them.

You scowl. “Well who had a hand in making me ashamed of that kid? I changed because I was chasing after you.” You point at her. “Perfect little Natasha.”

“You think I wasn’t scared too?” She retorts.

“Fine,” you say. “I’m evil then, is that what you want to hear? If I’m so bad, why don’t you just kill me for it?” Your heart is racing like you’ve been in a fist fight and your muscles keep flexing like you’re about to hit something.

“I don’t want you dead. I don’t. You придурок, I never said that.” Her eyes are shiny like she might cry and it spooks you because you can count on one hand how many times she’s looked like that. “I want to help you. But I can’t when you don’t talk to me.”

“And I don’t need help. I’m not some victim! You want some explanation for why I’m not good like you? You want to hear how they used to take me downstairs and whip me until I passed out and that’s why I’m so messed up? How I got into an argument with Dreykov once and he broke my jaw? You don’t want to know that shit!”

She is shaking her head and speaking calmer now, but you don’t hear her. You are somewhere else, lost in the storm of all those nights you can’t quite remember right. You are drowning in anger. Yours and Dreykov’s and the Widows’ and the Madames’ and the guards’. Building and building in your chest because you cannot let it go, it is not in your nature to not feel, to not care. 

She is coming at you again and she looks a little like Marina did that one night you slept together only because you had never been taught to say no.

“Get off!” You yell. She is blocking the door so you make a fist and pound it into the drywall next to her head.

She grabs your wrists and tells you to calm down. She says your name. “Look at me. Look at me.”

“I am looking at you!”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. But this is what I’m talking about. These are the things you have to say. The things I don’t know about you.”

You sneer back at her because she is strong and you are not and it’s the only way to protect yourself. “Don’t act like you don’t have your secrets too. But you wouldn’t tell me because you have to be so perfect all the time.”

 “I couldn’t, you’re right. But I will now. I will. Trust me.”

“But you’re a widow,” you say, cold and sober. “How could I ever trust you?”

“You don’t mean that,” she says. Because what she hears you say is that she is not human. That all she’s ever been and ever could be is a weapon. “Look me in the eye and say you don’t trust me.”

So you do. You look her square in the eye and say, “I don’t trust you.” 

Then there is fire in her eyes as she stands there and stares. “I hope you’re proud of yourself. You really are just like him.”

You almost slap her. She is standing tall with her chin up like she is waiting for it and you think you should knock her down a peg. 

But you don’t. You just walk around her and leave. Because she isn’t worth it.

Continue

[kjack89]

Conversation Starter

Just a little modern AU E/R fluff for your Saturday evening enjoyment.

It was like every single cliché had come to life: Enjolras’s palms were sweating, his knees were wobbling slightly, and it felt like his stomach had vacated his abdomen and taken refuge somewhere around his ankles. And all because he was walking down the street towards Grantaire so that they could go on their first date.

Honestly, it was hard to gauge whether it was the Grantaire part or the date part that had Enjolras feeling like a middle schooler again, and his mouth went dry as he finally reached Grantaire, who turned and looked expectantly at him with that little smile on his face. “Hey,” Enjolras managed, and Grantaire’s eyebrows rose.

“That’s really what you’re going with?” he said in lieu of a greeting, and Enjolras stared at him.

“Excuse me?”

Grantaire shook his head with something like disapproval. “Just...hey,” he repeated, slightly incredulous.

Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “If you’re about to make a ‘hey’s for horses’ joke…”

Grantaire barked a laugh and shook his head. “I promise you, I am not.” He squinted slightly at Enjolras as if just seeing him for the first time. Which was patently absurd, since they’d been friends for years and sleeping together for, well, awhile, and besides— “Just trying to figure out why you sound like every a-hole who’s ever slid into my DMs.”

Enjolras gaped at him. “I—what?” he managed, his voice sounding mangled to his own ears.

“I mean, here you are, this great orator, and the best you can muster for the opening line of our first official date is hey.” Grantaire shrugged. “I guess I just expected more, that’s all.”

The nerves that Enjolras had been feeling earlier had long since disappeared, replaced almost entirely by something like pure rage. “Well, I’m sorry,” he said frostily, “how do you like to start a conversation, since you’re clearly such an expert?”

Grantaire grinned, and the sight took Enjolras aback almost as much as the entire conversation to that point had. “Oh, I don’t,” he assured Enjolras, who just stared at him. “I let other people start the conversation so that I can mock them for their opening, thus establishing the tone for the rest of the evening.”

He sounded abominably smug, and Enjolras’s had to work to wrench his mouth open to splutter a response. “And has that ever worked for you?”

“Well, you haven’t left yet, so.” Grantaire had the gall to actually wink at Enjolras. “Ask me again at the end of the evening.” He paused, his smile softening, just slightly. “Besides, you’re not nervous anymore, right?”

Enjolras blinked. “Who told you that I was nervous?” he asked defensively, and when Grantaire just gave him a look, he managed a light laugh. “Ok, fine, I was.”

“And?” Grantaire prompted.

“And what?”

“And are you still nervous?”

Of course he wasn’t. Which had probably been the whole entire point, and Enjolras just shook his head slowly. “You really are an asshole,” he said, with no small amount of affection. “You know that, right?”

Grantaire grinned before leaning in and pressing a swift kiss to the corner of Enjolras’s mouth. “Maybe,” he said. “But like I noted before, you haven’t left yet. So I must be doing something right.”

Enjolras shook his head again, but when he took Grantaire’s hand, his palm wasn’t sweaty anymore. “So it would seem.”

----------

“We need to talk.”

Enjolras had to raise his voice slightly be heard over the general hubbub of the back room of the Musain, which ended up being a mistake, since as soon as he said it, almost all conversation ceased. Or at least, that’s what it felt like, which made his attempt to get Grantaire’s attention so that they could talk seem kind of pathetic.

Or something.

Grantaire’s expression was unreadable as he stood and jerked his head towards the door, walking out without waiting to see if Enjolras was following him. Enjolras, of course, did, and not just because everyone seemed to be staring at him.

He followed Grantaire outside to the alley and watched as Grantaire stopped and crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking at Enjolras with that same unreadable smile. “Well?” he said impatiently, and Enjolras blinked.

“Well, what?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “You said we need to talk, so...talk.”

Enjolras eyed him warily, trying to figure out why Grantaire’s tone was suddenly so cold, certain he was stepping on to a landmine. “Now I’m not sure I want to.”

“Why not?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Because you’re looking at me like you’re about to start swinging.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I would never use physical violence against you,” he said dismissively, which Enjolras almost would’ve taken as sweet if it weren’t for the fact that, in that moment, he wasn’t entirely sure he meant it.

But whether Grantaire meant it or not, Enjolras figured he might as well try to use it to lighten the mood. “The scratches on my back would say otherwise.”

For one brief moment, it almost looked like Grantaire was smiling.

Almost.

“I would never use physical violence against you without your repeated and extremely enthusiastic consent,” Grantaire amended, a little impatiently. “But that’s not really the point.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, the point is, if you’re going to break up with me, I’d really appreciate it if you just got it over with.”

Grantaire said the words flatly, so much so that it took Enjolras a moment to even realize what he’d said. “If I’m going to...what?”

“Break up with me,” Grantaire repeated slowly, as if Enjolras was dumb, or hard of hearing.

Which rankled Enjolras more than a little, seeing as how he was neither, and yet still had absolutely no idea what Grantaire was talking about. “Why in the hell do you think that I’m about to break up with you?”

Now Grantaire was looking at him as if he was dumb. “Because you said we need to talk,” he said, as if that was any kind of an answer.

Enjolras stared blankly at him. “Yeah, because we do,” he said. “I wanted to see if you’d mind if we pushed our flights for Thanksgiving until later in the evening.”

Grantaire’s eyes fluttered closed. “Are you serious?” he asked, and Enjolras nodded, even though Grantaire’s eyes were still closed. “And you chose to broach that topic with, we need to talk?”

“I’m genuinely not seeing what I did wrong here,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire opened his eyes. “Is it possible that you were dropped on your head as a child?”

“Grantaire—”

“No I’m serious, it would explain a helluva lot.”

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Grantaire, there’s no need for ableist jokes.”

“Fine,” Grantaire said. “But do you honestly think that changing our Thanksgiving flights merit that kind of an introduction?”

“Actually, yeah, I do,” Enjolras said sharply, and Grantaire looked taken aback. “We’re flying to your parents’ house for me to meet them as your boyfriend. It’s kind of a big deal, and I wanted to talk about it because I didn’t want you to think that I was trying to get out of it. “

He said all of this in one breath, and Grantaire looked even more taken aback than before. “Oh,” he managed, his voice small.

“Because, for the record, I’m not,” Enjolras added helpfully. “I just have a meeting that got pushed to that afternoon.”

“Ok.”

Enjolras looked at him and took a deep breath before telling him, “I know that I don’t always go about things the right way. I don’t say the right thing, I don’t act the way I’m supposed to, I’ve never been very good at this. But I’m trying, because I...:” He trailed off, blushing slightly. “Well, because I love you. And I’m in this. And I just thought you should know that.”

Grantaire was staring up at him as if he had never quite seen him before. Then he sighed heavily. “Well God fucking damn it.”

Enjolras frowned. “What?”

“You were right.”

“About…?” Enjolras prompted.

Grantaire smiled at him, all his anger from before seemingly vanished. “We actually did need to talk,” he said, and he took a step forward to lace his fingers with Enjolras’s. “And I’m really fucking glad we did, because I love you, too.”

Enjolras grinned. “Good,” he said, bending down to kiss him.

Grantaire kissed him for a moment before pulling back. “But you’ve really got to work on your conversation starters.”

Enjolras just laughed. “I will certainly try.”

----------

“Are you mad at me?” Enjolras asked, the first words either had said in each other in several hours, which probably explained why the words seemed to hang between them as Grantaire studiously avoided looking at him.

“I’m sure I have no idea what would give you that impression,” Grantaire said frostily.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Mostly the fact that you’ve been giving me the silent treatment and keep glaring at me,” he said sourly.

Grantaire gave him one of those selfsame glares. “That was a rhetorical question.”

“Well, are you going to tell me why you’re mad at me, or would you prefer that I play twenty questions to guess the answer?” Enjolras asked, as pleasantly as he could manage considering that he was considering throttling his boyfriend, whom he loved, with his bare hands.

“I don’t know, you were doing so well with charades,” Grantaire shot back.

Enjolras sighed and counted to ten in his head before asking, “Can you be serious for, like, thirty seconds?”

“I am being serious,” Grantaire snapped. “And I’m not the moron who started this conversation with ‘are you mad at me’ when the answer was an obvious fucking yes.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes so hard he instantly gave himself a headache. Though that could possibly also be attributed to the banality of this entire conversation. “So now you’re mad at me for how I chose to broach this conversation?”

Grantaire just shrugged. “It’s one of many reasons, yes.”

“And again, am I going to have to guess the other ones?” Grantaire shrugged again and Enjolras sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, and I’m not just saying that because I want this fight or argument or whatever to be over, because you know as well as I do that I love to fight.” Grantaire nodded in agreement, which Enjolras took as a slightly optimistic sign. “But I also love you, and this doesn’t seem like it’s going to be a fun fight for either of us.”

Almost as if against his own will, Grantaire looked over at him, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “And what does a fun fight look like?”

Enjolras smiled slightly, turning to face Grantaire, reaching out to hook his fingers through the belt loops of Grantaire’s jeans to tug him closer. “Well, it usually ends with one or both of us naked.”

“Ah,” Grantaire said, reaching up to rest his hands lightly against Enjolras’s chest and tilting his head up slightly. “Yeah, I like those fights.”

“I had a hunch,” Enjolras murmured, bending his head so that his lips just brushed against Grantaire’s. Then he took a step back, and Grantaire let out a small noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper. “But this seems like it’s something serious, so if you’d rather we discuss whatever’s going on…”

“I never said that,” Grantaire said breathlessly. “You were the one who brought it up.”

“Did I?” Enjolras murmured, pulling Grantaire close again. “Well that was stupid of me.”

Grantaire kissed him lightly. “So stupid.” He reached up to brush a blond curl out of Enjolras’s eyes. “I really do like these kinds of fights.”

Enjolras laughed. “So do I,” he said, bending down to kiss Grantaire once more. “In no small part because it’s like we get to fight and make up all at the same time.” Grantaire murmured his agreement and Enjolras added, “I mean, do you even remember why you were mad at me?”

Grantaire’s expression soured and he gave Enjolras a look before kissing him again, a little more forcefully this time. “Maybe not so much with the conversation right now.”

Enjolras’s answering laugh was captured by Grantaire’s mouth. “Fair enough.”

----------

“You know that I love you, right?”

Enjolras said it casually, almost offhandedly, and it took him a moment to realize that Grantaire had stopped walking. “What did you do?” Grantaire asked, and Enjolras looked blankly at him.

“What did I do about what?” he asked.

Grantaire gave him a look. “To make you say that,” he said impatiently. “You had to have done something.”

Enjolras stared at him. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Grantaire let out a weary sigh before telling Enjolras slowly, “You chose to start the conversation—”

“Oh my God,” Enjolras groaned. “Not this again.”

Grantaire refused to be deterred. “You chose to start the conversation with ‘you know that I love you, right’.”

“Yes, I did,’ Enjolras said, because there was really no use in denying it.

“Which therefore implies that there is some kind of reason I should have for doubting that you love me,” Grantaire told him.

Enjolras stared at him. “That is one helluva leap in logic.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes, clearly unamused. “If it is, then once again, you and I need to have a conversation about your word choices.”

“Maybe so, but do you think it can wait?”

Grantaire threw his hands up in the air. “Sure, we’ll just table it and let me have a heart attack everytime you start a damn conversation!” he half-shouted, and he stalked a few paces away. “I mean, you really think this is something we should wait on?”

“Actually, yes,” Enjolras said, pulling a small, gray box from his pocket. “Because I kind of have something else that I wanted to talk about.”

Grantaire huffed a sigh. “Like—”

Enjolras got down on one knee just as Grantaire turned around. “Like this.”

Grantaire stared at him. “Oh my God,” he whispered.

“Grantaire, I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Enjolras said simply, unable to stop his stupid, lovesick grin. “Will you marry me?”

Grantaire was still staring at him. “Are you...are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow, though his grin didn’t once waver. “Is that a no?”

Grantaire spluttered incoherently. “Is that a – you fucking – is that a – get up here and kiss me, you asshole.” He grabbed the front of Enjolras’s shirt and pulled him up to kiss him, cradling Enjolras’s face in his hands. “Yes, of course I will marry you, but for fuck’s sake, that is not how you start a proposal!”

Enjolras laughed breathlessly. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time I propose.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Grantaire told him, beaming as Enjolras slid the ring on to his finger. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Enjolras kissed him again. “And you’re stuck with me and my many failures at being a conversationalist, apparently.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said happily. “You bet your ass I am.” He kissed Enjolras once more before looping his arms around Enjolras’s neck. “Just promise me something, ok?”

“Anything,” Enjolras said instantly.

“For the love of fucking God, please do not start your vows with ‘you know I love you, right’.”

Enjolras laughed. “I promise.”

“Good,” Grantaire said, before telling him, “and for the record, I do know, and I love you, too.”

Enjolras’s expression softened, and he kissed him once again. “I know.”

----------

“Hey,” Grantaire said tiredly, pausing to lean down and kiss the top of Enjolras’s head before plopping down next to him on the couch.

Enjolras shifted automatically so that Grantaire could lean against his shoulder. “You know, once upon a time, you told me not to start a conversation with ‘hey’.”

Grantaire yawned widely. “And I stand by that statement.”

“But now it’s ok when you do it?”

Enjolras couldn’t see him, but he could feel the movement of Grantaire rolling his eyes at him. “There’s a difference.”

Enjolras set his phone down. “Ok, so then explain the difference to me.”

Grantaire sat upright and turned to face him, his expression suddenly earnest. “The difference is that I’m not starting a conversation.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Well seeing as how we weren’t talking just a few minutes ago, and now we are, I’m not sure how else you would qualify that.”

Grantaire smiled slightly. “You’re forgetting one important thing.”

“And what’s that?” Enjolras asked.

“We’re married.”

As this was not a recent development, Enjolras just stared at him. “Ok...and?”

“And this is it,” Grantaire said simply. “This is the rest of our lives. Just one big conversation that may pause every now and then, but it’s not gonna be over until the end, which means there’s never a need to start it up again.”

Enjolras couldn’t stop himself as he leaned in to kiss Grantaire, though he pulled back just enough to inform him, “You just don’t want to admit that you were an ass about saying hey to start a conversation.”

Grantaire laughed lightly. “Maybe.” He kissed Enjolras once more. “But, uh, you know I love you, right?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Hilarious,” he said dryly.

“I know,” Grantaire said, his smile soft. “Thank God you’re stuck with me.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, kissing his forehead. “Thank God for that.”

[sunflowersteves]

can I request steve x nat x fem!civilian!reader? r is real great at taking care of steve and nat’s emotional needs but she comes from a pretty unemotional family and has trouble letting people worry over her. steve and nat work at it constantly but nothing works until r has a breakdown over something (bad day, lack of sleep/nightmares, death in family, you choose!) and is forced to listen to them in order to get through it? hope this wasn’t too all over the place

Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Civilian!Reader

author’s note: it wasn’t too all over the place at all!! thank you so much for sending in a request! Also to anyone, feel free to send in more! 

warnings: sadness, angst, fluff, unemotional family

want a headcanon?

Nat and Steve absolutely adored you

to the point where they would do absolutely everything for you, no joke

you wanted chocolate? steve ran to the store even if it was three am

you wanted 

they just loved you and loved spoiling you so much

and you were always so so good at being able to soothe them and comfort them when they needed

like when Nat got home from a rough mission that involved Hydra, you wrapped her up in your arms and soothe her while she cried in your arms

or when Steve couldn’t find bucky and he broke down, crying on your patio

you walked up to him and talked about solutions to finding bucky, while holding him in your arms with his head on your shoulder

you were always there for them in whatever time of need

however, nat and steve had noticed that they never ever had took care of you, emotionally

sure they took care of you after sex and ran bubble baths and steve ALWAYS baked you sweets

but the two of them had noticed that they never reciprocated

one day, you had had the absolute worst day at your work

you boss had yelled at you when it wasn’t your fault, another asshole in the office had tried to flirt with you despite your many attempts of telling him no, and your favorite co-worker was mad at you and you had no idea why

so yeah, shitty day

you slammed the door entering the apartment you shared with steve and nat

you angrily took off your shoes and threw your bag somewhere, you honestly didn’t care

“baby, is that you?” steve’s sweet voice echoed across the hallways

you slid down the door, tears flowing down your cheeks and hiccups escaping your mouth

natasha peaked her head from the hallway and into the foye to see your saddened state and she felt her whole stomach drop to the ground

she grabbed steve and they both ran over to you, pulling you into them

“oh, baby, what’s the matter?” natasha’s voice 

before they could get very far, you pushed them off to you which resulted to you being back onto the floor

“I’m fine.” you start to stand up, furiously wiping your tears

“y/n-”

“I don’t cry. I’m fine.” 

“of course you can cry, everyone does.” natasha and steve try to grab your arm but you yank it back, working your way towards the bedroom

No, i can’t! the two of you are so annoying, leave me alone!”

you slam the door and sink to your knees, crying even harder than before

natasha and steve knew that they should’ve been hurt by your words and to an extent, they were

but what they were more confused about was why you were acting this way, they’ve never seen you cry nor seen you so cold

they left you alone for awhile, letting you calm down and think about your actions

they didn’t want to rush into trying to get you to talk

after about four hours, you slowly creek open the door 

you had calmed down a lot but honestly, you still felt like shit

you didn’t mean to yell at them, you were just frustrated and bottled in too much emotions

you walked over to the living room where the two of them were sitting

you smiled when you saw a dinner plate, ready to be reheated in the spot you normally sit

“y/n?”

you see nat and steve, cuddled up together on the couch

you take a deep breath, “I’m so so sorry. I’m so sorry for yelling at you. I don’t think you two are annoying at all. You two are the light of my life but i understand if you’re too mad and I can leave-”

Natasha quickly grabbed your hand and urged you to sit on the couch with them

“oh, babygirl, we’re not mad. sure, we felt a bit hurt by your words but we’re more worried about what’s going on.”

Steve nodded, “we noticed that you never come to us when you’re feeling down.” 

you took another deep breath and looked at them one more time, “my parents always scolded me for showing any emotion. any time I wanted to cry or be angry they would punish me. they’d scream and yell and ground me until it was like i became this robot. I’m sorry, you know? I just never wanted you to worry about me but looks like i just bottled up all of my feelings.”

nat and steve definitely had tears in their eyes

because what kind of parents force their kids to show no emotions

natasha definitely knew what you were feeling, since she was trained in the red room 

steve knew too, in the era he grew up in, if a guy showed any emotion it was considered “girly” (which he was grateful that the nurses that helped him get used to the 20th century that it was okay)

they also honestly had lots of rage as well because no one and i mean no one hurts their babygirl

Steve pulls you into his lap while natasha holds your hand tightly

“I’m so sorry that you had to be subjected to that, honey. I just want you to know that it’s always okay to come to us when you’re feeling these emotions okay?”

you nod towards steve, sandwiching yourself in between the two of them

“y/n, we love you so much. you’re our bright star. and we love it when you take care of us but will you let us take care of you?”

~~

headcanon masterlist

marvel taglist: @harrysthiccthighss @fandomsandxfiles

natasha taglist: @natasha-danvers

steve taglist: @harrysthiccthighss

permanent taglist: @captainchrisstan @angstysebfan @teenagereadersciencenerd @hailmary-yramliah @buckybarnesplumwhore

[octopunkmedia]

Hi! My friend and I recently played D:BH and when we dipped a toe into the fandom, we found a LOT of Reed900. That confused us, because we hadn't even seen RK900 after our first playthrough and Reed seemed the opposite of nice. I finally watched your film and I really admire all the work you put into it, but I still don't understand. I love hearing people talk about the things they love, though, so could you explain what it is about RK900 that motivated you to make a whole-ass movie?

I've been in this fandom since literally day one, so I witnessed the origins of Reed900 and its growth personally (at least English speaking fandom. Russian fandom could be quite different). When DBH first came out, HankCon was definitely the dominant ship and primary reason we were all here, with some love going to Connor/Markus and Simon/Markus as well. A lot of people were non shipper fans. And you also had a handful of Connor/Gavin folks but no one gave Reed much development for the first 7 or 8 weeks. And at this time we all saw RK900 as evil. No one had any real "soft" headcanons for him. I remember seeing the Harrison Ford meme go around at that time where Connor was "Baby boy, baby" and RK900 was "Evil."

However, two things happened that changed this. One, a couple people started pointing out some of Gavin's dumb charm, like not being able to say "fuck" properly and winking with both eyes, which softened us to him. On top of that, as Hankcon casefics were written more and more, it started to become common to have Gavin as a background character at the DPD. And in many of these Hankcon fics, there was a subplot about how RK900 showed up and became Gavin's partner (often those stories were from Connor's POV and dealt with his feelings of meeting an upgrade of himself). Coupled with this, a lot of artists like Don Lemefo were making extraordinary beautiful art of Reed900 together, entertaining the concept of them being partners.

The fandom started to agree rather quickly that RK900 and Reed being partnered just made sense - and to me, I think this stems from the HankCon arc in the base game. Take a detective droid like Connor and have the asshole cop learn to love him - but Reed900 inverts many of the Hankcon tropes quite intentionally.

As more fics were written, people gave Gavin the habit of smoking to be "the opposite" of Hank's drinking. They gave Gavin a cat to be the opposite of Hank's dog. Many times Gavin is shown as anxious to contrast with Hank having depression. And then, we kind of can't ignore the big sexy elephant in the room lol. In Reed900, the human detective is generally seen as the bottom, while in HankCon, the human is generally seen as the top (don't @ me, I am speaking in majorities, not absolutes). As for 900, he is often a harder version than Connor - more sarcastic, more "take no shit," more aggressive in his dynamic with his human. I once saw someone say Reed900 was invented to give Gavin a dom, and I can't really disagree with that - although D/s and BDSM fics for HankCon absolutely did exist (there's one called Scratch that comes to mind) Reed900 seemed a more organic outlet for that sort of expression, imo. The fics I saw for Reed900 at that time were much more extreme, much more masochistic, just generally kinkier than it's sister ship.

So Reed900 provides a similar attractive dynamic, but offers a different version of HankCon, and allows writers to start from day ONE of their meeting rather than having the baggage of canon to deal with. Very quickly they started to become of equal importance to the fandom as Hankcon was, often paired up together as sister ships in solidarity. Kind of a Goofus and Galiant double date, where HankCon were loving and doting and Reed900 were the old married couple who called each other "assholes." Of course over time, fandom can't resist fluff, so Reed900 evolved from its BDSM/hatesex roots and a few slow burns like Fuck Pride and Like A Light I'm Luring You, along with some more comedic fics like DPD, cemented the idea that Gavin and 900 could actually LOVE each other. Even in the case of slow burns that were still sexy, like No Strings Attached, the softer side of the ship rose to become what I feel is now the most widespread version of the boys in English speaking fandom. Fanon Gavin was also softer and usually given a lot more redemption and development compared to his canon origin.

It always confuses me when people tell me that DE is the only Reed900 they enjoy because "regular Reed900 is too abusive." I have not seen such a thing in YEARS at this point. The overwhelming majority of Reed900 content created in the past year and a half has been incredibly soft, and very similar to how they are portrayed in Evolution. I did not invent that - it was pulled from all of my experience in fandom. The only thing I can say is that Russian fandom seems to have still held on to the idea of RK900 as a dominant tank, because I get a lot of comments from them about how my Nines is too soft compared to their version of him.

Also regarding the name Nines - I first saw this used in a fic by TerminallyDepraved back in July 2018 or so. Richard was the most popular name at first (a joke of his nickname being "dick", because....Gavin), especially because Brandon McCauley used it in what was, at the time, the most visible Reed900 casefic/slow burn series. It was also the summer of a thousand names of 900 lol, as every damn fic had a different one back then. Kay, Ace, Alex, Conner, Oleg (wtf Russia), Conrad, Conan, Collin, and some just left it RK or R. Over time the Richard name kinda faded for English speakers (although Russia holds it high still) and Nines/RK are pretty much the main ones I've seen for some time. Nines took awhile to catch on, as it's the name of a character in Nier Automata as well and that was hard for some of us to reconcile, but eventually it stuck.

TLDR, why I personally love Reed900 is a whole other story that basically comes down to "I'm Gavin and I need a Nines" (which Austin essentially is for me lol). I love enemies to lovers, I love work partners, and I love the possibilities. HankCon started to wear on me after awhile when I felt like I was reading the same thing over and over, and I eventually fell out of it. I didn't ever get that fatigue with Gavin and Nines for whatever reason. I just love them, more than I hate any of the struggle of making films, so that's the short of it.

Bear in mind this is one person's POV of how the fandom evolved so it's not an absolute truth, especially outside of English fandom. I was primarily on Tumblr and AO3 at the time but things on Twitter Jericho and Discord were not on my radar and may have been different back then (Hankcon was probably a lot hornier on Twitter Jericho than it was on Tumblr, for example).

What you gotta understand about Reed900 fandom though is 1) it wasn't random, 2) it wasn't a fucking "har har crackship" like people dismiss it as and it barely even spent time as a "rarepair", and 3) even though it isn't canon, it is so rooted in fanon at this point that there's a lot for new folks to catch up on, lol. Sorry I'm on mobile and can't put this under a cut rn - hopefully it isn't too annoyingly long. 👀

[blkmxrvel]

To Kree or Not To Kree

Pairing: Carol Danvers x Romanoff!Reader; Natasha Romanoff x LittleSister!Reader; Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff (brief but there!)

Words: 2222

Request: May I please request a Carol Danvers x fem!reader where the reader is really affectionate, but Carol isn’t really cuddly because she’s not used to physical contact? Like, the reader really always wants to kiss/hug Carol but doesn’t cuz she doesn’t want to make Carol uncomfortable? But when Carol initates small bits of affection, like hand holding, the reader gets really happy, and it kinda makes Carol guilty cuz C feels like she doesn’t give R enough love. Sorry if this is confusing I❤u!!!

Summary: You want touch, Carol doesn’t. Carol loves you, you love Carol more. Natasha stands up for her little sister.

Warnings: Carol is a bit of an asshole but means no harm, Natasha is a #mamabear. Angst-ish, but fluffy nonetheless.

A/N: what????? madi managed to post a request???? bitch ik! im sorry it’s taken me so long I was in a bit of a rut there! but iam back and I really like this one. I sorta kinda tried a new writing style? If yall like it lmk. Enjoy!

Everyone says opposites attract, and with you and Carol, it’s quite obvious.

You’re the kind of person who thrives off of human contact and affection. You love anything that involves contact, hugging, holding hands, high fives, cuddling, the whole 9 yards. It’s what gave you the euphoric feeling that everyone craves.

Carol is literally the exact opposite. She stays away from physical contact as much as possible

She doesnt understand the need for it, she wants her space. She doesnt need to….interlock fingers with yours to prove that she loves you. She may have been human, but technically, her wiring was still Kree.

And do you really think they allowed measly… mortal things like hugging and cuddling to slide?

…

That’s what I thought.

You never made a big deal out of it, though. You knew that was just Carol, and you didn’t wanna be the kind of girlfriend that always nags and is never satisfied.

Don’t get me wrong. You’ve tried. Like that once time at the pier.

It was date night, you and carol, and Natasha and Wanda. It was group date:movie on the beach followed by street food and a walk on the pier.

“Group photo!” Everyone huddled together as Natasha stretched her arms to hey everyone in the photo.

You stood by your girlfriend smiling wide, you took a regular photo and then a silly one. You saw Wanda stand on her tiptoes to kiss Natasha on her cheek, so you figured you would do the same to Carol.

I mean…Natasha sure as hell got a kick out of it. And you and Carol were just as much in love and they were.

So, standing on your toes when Natasha went to take another picture, you pressed your lips to Carol eyes.

Big mistake.

Carol froze up, you could’ve sworn she was about to have a seizure with how tense her body got.

“You alright?” Thinking that you crossed a boundary.

“Yeah, Babe. I’m fine.”

You brushed it off and told yourself you were overthinking.

But you weren’t.

For the rest of the night, Carol basically avoided any contact with you, she didnt hold your hand, kiss you on your forehead. None of it.

You chalked it up to her maybe not being comfortable with PDA. You could get with that, I mean…it makes sense. She grew up in a time where people weren’t so open about two women loving each other, and a lot of people today still aren’t it made sense.

But then….Carol not only didn’t show you affection outside, but inside as well.

Everytime you initiated a cuddle session, she would always make some lame excuse “oh, it’s too hot” or “you’re crushing my bladder baby” and she would always play it off.

That happened a lot, like a lot, a lot.

So eventually, you let it go. You didn’t try to hug her, or hold her when she had a bad day. You knew she wasn’t going to hold up or rub your back if you came back from a particularly bad mission that left you with a nightmare. You knew that you weren’t ever going to have that. But you loved Carol, so you were able to deal.

Not being able to be intimate (not sexually) with the one person you loved most took a toll on you, of course it did.

Everyone could see it, especially Natasha.

Nat was your big sister, she was always the one who noticed even the smallest bit of a change in you.

So you bet your bottom dollar that Natasha heard the sigh you let out when she hugged you longer than usual.

This past mission was….brutal, to say the least. You had made it out by the skin of your teeth, broken toe and bruises and scratches everywhere, but alive nonetheless.

Of course, Carol was relieved that you were alive…and she told you that. But sometimes actions speak louder than words. All she gave you was a little smile and peck on the lips. There was no bruising kiss, bone crushing hug. But, you were used to it.

Natasha though, quite the opposite.

As soon as she saw you, her little sister, walk through the compound doors, she gave you the biggest hug.

All you could do was hug back, let out the biggest sigh, and with that came tears. It had been so long since you’d been hugged so passionately. Since someone’s love for you was shown through body movements and physical contact.

Natasha noticed how you were reluctant to pull away, and how when you did. You looked drained, albeit refreshed.

She knew the mission was tough but this was something else. She knew how you looked when it’d been awhile without physical reassurance.

“When was the last time Carol gave you a hug? Held you? Anything?”

And when you couldn’t give a solid answer let alone a recent one, Natasha was ready to rip off a head. You calmed her down of course, saying how it was okay, but She wasn’t having it.

“Why don’t you just tell her how much hugging and affection means to you? You don’t deserve this.” Natasha huffed and crossed her eyes, eyes sad eyes looking into yours.

“Because it’s who she is, Nat.” You tried to explain. “She doesn’t do hugs or late night cuddles. That’s just her.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Yeah? Well you do hugs, and kisses and holding hands and late night cuddles. That’s just who you are. Why are you the only sacrificing and making changes to who you are, when she’s living fine and dandy?” She threw her hands up, eyes wide and expectant with anger.

“Why is she perfectly sane and you’re losing your mind, hell yourself? And why the fuck didn’t you tell me about this earlier?”

Natasha was pissed yes, but it was coming from a place of love. And you knew you needed to hear it.

“I- I don’t know. I just love her and I didn’t wanna make her uncomfortable.”

She sighed. Placing her hands on your arms, rubbing up and down. You smiled. “That’s not love, Y/N/N. You can love Carol all you want, but you don’t love yourself if you’re willing to allow yourself to be hurt like this.”

Natasha was right, she knew that. And she also knew that you weren’t going to say anything to Carol directly. So she took upon herself, as she should.

You slept in between Natasha and Wanda that night. Sandwiched in between your two favorite people family members. Don't…. Don’t tell Tony that.

.

The next morning, Carol jumped up at the sound of banging against her door. It was still dark outside, she didn’t even hear birds chirping yet. Who in the world could that be?

“I don’t care if your decent or not Danvers, I’m coming in.”

The door opened and in walked Natasha romanoff, still in her pajamas, but a wicked look on her face. She sat in the chair facing Carol’s bed, faced hardened and eyes raging.

“Nat what the-”

“We need to talk about Y/N.”

Carol’s eyes widened, sitting up immediately. “I- Is she alright?”

“No, thanks to you.” Natasha raised her eyebrows, attitude spewing from her body language. Spicy.

“What are you talking about?” Carol rubbed her eyes, it was too early to be dealing with yelling and accusations.

“Why haven’t you hugged her? Or kissed her? Or held her after her worst missions? Or told her it was going to be alright when she wakes up screaming from nightmares? Because I’m sure she does. We all do. But unlike Y/N, we have someone to calm us down and make is feel safe? Do you even love her?”

Carol scrunched her eyebrows up at that. “Of course I love her why are you asking that?”

“Are you sure?” Natasha tilted her head. “Because if you did, you would see how tired and sad she looks. How all she wants is a hug and kiss everyone once and a while from her girlfriend! How she just wants to hold your hand when you pass through crowds because they make her nervous and she doesnt want to get lost!”

Carol stuttered. What was Natasha talking about?

“She wants to feel loved. Because actions speak damn louder than words. And you telling Y/N that you love her means nothing if she doesn’t feel it.”

Natasha is pacing around the room now, rage fueling her words. This was for her sister.

“God. She sacrificed the one thing that grounds her the most because you are ‘comfortable’ with physical contact.” Air quotes. “Well too damn bad, Danvers. Sometimes we gotta feel uncomfortable to make the one we love comfortable. And it isn’t even unreasonable, its human! And before you spew that Kree bullshit at me, you have your memories back, and all the feelings that come with it. You know what it’s like. Y/N hasn’t been hugged or held in weeks. She thrives on that. That’s why she probably almost died! Because she just couldn’t think, her body didn’t have enough energy, enough…love to get out of their sooner.” Natasha wiped her eyes, red and puffy eyes before looking at her sisters girlfriend. Her voice cracked all through her rampant speech.

“So before you say, you love her. Do you actions show it? She may be here now, might he huffing it and powering through. But a person can only handle so much before they break. And I’ll be damned if I let you break my sister. So shape up, or ship out, Danvers. My sister comes first.”

And with that…Natasha was gone.

Wow.

Carol just sat in her bed, hair still messy and eyes red and teary.

What kind of girlfriend was she? Natasha was 100% right. She didnt give you enough love, and she feels like a complete ass for not caring. She knew what she needed to do.

The rest of the day went as Normal. You had no idea about the whole Natasha/Carol debacle. And it stayed that way.

You woke up, in a….surprisingly not empty bed. Natasha and Wanda were at your sides, trying to hold in their giggles as they watched TV to not wake you.

Spoiler alert: didnt work.

Natasha asked how you’re feeling, to which you said “better than ever.” They both frowned at that answer. They didn’t even want to ask when was the last time you and Carol slept in the same bed.

You all went your separate ways. It was Sunday, you had training and a debriefing to prepare yourself for. But you needed to shower first. Mentally, you were refreshed, being squished because two bodies and snug like a bug in a rug really gave your mind a boost.

You were sad that it wasn’t Carol on either side of you, but you didn’t dwell too much on it. Not a good idea to think too much.

You walked towards your room, turning the knob to get your things to shower.

You nearly jumped when you saw a disheveled Carol on your bed. Red eyes and a look of pure guilt when she saw you.

“Carol, is everything alright?” She stood up and walked over to you. She played with her hands as she tried to find the right words.

“I just- I.” You reached out to place your hands onto Carol’s, immediately pulling your hands back when you registered just who was standing in front of you.

Carol broke at that. Tears now freely flowing from her eyes as she covered them with her hands.

“You’re scaring me, Car. What’s wrong?” She pulled her hands down and stared at you, the tears never stopping.

Suddenly, you felt yourself being pulled forward and warm, strong arms coming around your waist.

It was an odd feeling, a new one, and it took you a minute, but then you realized.

This is a hug, Carol is hugging you. Oh my god. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.

You wrapped your arms around Carol’s middle, squeezing tightly as you laid your head on her chest. She squeezed harder, still crying, while words fell from her mouth.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’ve been the worst girlfriend ever. I put myself before you and I let you not put yourself first. I should’ve hugged you everyday, and kissed you on your forehead when you were sleepy and- and held your hand when were in crowds and let you lay on me when you were scared. I’m so sorry. You’re only human and I denied you of the one thing you needed most. Please forgive me.”

You didn’t let go of Carol, or say anything else. You just squeezed harder, your arms coming to wrapped around her neck, as she pulled your body even closer.

Tears sprang to your eyes when you felt her lips press to your forehead.

Was this a dream?

“This was all you wanted and I never gave it to you. You never go without it again I promise, I love you. I love you and I’m gonna show you. No more Kree Carol, Human Carol from now on.”

You placed a kissed on Carol’s neck, smiling when she sighed in relief.

This was all you wanted, and you finally got it. You’re only human.

[gnrsly]

THE DIARY OF MY MOON AND HIS STARRY NIGHT EYES

NOV 1st, 2017 at 2:32 am

i think i’m falling for you. you make me feel better. like i’ve healed over. i know i shouldn’t feel like this but i do. god emotions are confusing.

NOV 12, 2017 at 7:34 am

you are officially mine. i’m so happy and in love. i hope this won’t end up bad. i trust us not to fuck this up.

DEC 23rd, 2017 at 4:23 am

i believe this is going well. i’m happy. you seem happy. i’m in love and i hope you are too. we’ve been fighting a bit but i think it’s going to be okay.

JAN 3rd, 2018 at 12:34 am

i hate you. i hate you. i hate you. i hate you.

you broke my heart. i hate you. but i hate her. she said i was bad. i’m not. she said i cheated. i never did. she said i was using you. i wasn’t. she said break up with me. you did. why? i love you. i trusted you...

JAN 8, 2018 at 3:24 am

i thought that if i threw it away it would leave me.

that the pain would maybe go away.

that the scars that where never really there would go away.

but i found your sweatshirt.

you probably want it back.

and i hate the fact that i don’t know how to.

because it’s the only thing to remind me of you. it’s the same cologne you’ve worn for the past 2 years.

ive been wearing for almost 5 minutes but each second is a different flashback and it hurts. because this once was a sweatshirt i considered home.

it felt loved and comforting

but now it’s empty.

i should probably give it back.

but i feel if i give it up i’m giving up you. and i can’t do that. not yet.

JAN 16, 2018 at 1:44am

fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck.

you posted the letter, me being the number 1 reason.

“you poisoned my heart with you toxic love”

how was i toxic? i was the gave everything up for you. my sanity. my friends. my family. my love.

but i’m toxic. because i called you out on your bullshit.

even if i was toxic, i actually tried to make something out of the relationship. sorry that i didn’t want to be a midnight fuck for you.

but hey. at least i didn’t talk shit about people behind their back.

no offense but next time you want to call me a cunt, say it to my face not my friends.

FEB 15th, 2018 at 12:34 am

we are trying again.

it won’t last

well the relationship at least.

i was wrong per usual.

it wasn’t me, or maybe it was and you lied to my face. either way i’m almost happy.

thank you i guess? you gave me back some sanity, but they still blame me. but at least i’m with you.

MARCH 12th, 2018 at 2:37 am

fuck you.

maybe. it’s my fault. i always cause things to go down hill. i couldn’t compare to the girl with the long pretty hair, i’m just a dumb boy who’s fallen and can’t get up. she’s toxic. she’s going to hurt you, but it’s okay. not really but you don’t believe me.

i still love you, but it must be one side.

but how many times when i kiss you, i’m kissing a memory of her.

MARCH 23rd, 2018 at 11:21 pm

i’m drunk. you’re drunk in love, but i’m just wasted and angry. maybe i could’ve done something. she hurt you. but you hurt me.

i asked you awhile back how long you’ve loved liv, and you said never. she was forceful and cruel. i hate it, that agin i could’ve done something but instead i sat around and became a poet. well fuck.

APRIL 13th, 2018 at 1:01 am

you said you never meant anything. you weren’t on meds. that’s okay though because i trust you. i really do. you make me happy. we are healing. no longer together but healing. i still like you. a lot. i don’t know whether to start over yet. i’m kind of confused. but i know that i trust you.

APRIL 28th, 2018 at 11:34 pm

everyone says you like me. i doubt it. we aren’t ready for a new relationship. i don’t think so at least. but life is confusing and it kind of a love sick puppy. you missed me earlier. no one knew. i’m in love i think.

MAY 2, 2018 at 4:45 pm

you asked me to be yours. i said yes. i know that you truly love me and trust me. you said so and i’m taking your word on this. don’t hurt me again. i’m to close to breaking.

MAY 31st, 2018 at 11:54 pm

we were doing good. we had our ups,

our downs,

and our stay stills.

but you say one thing. one single thing and suddenly the whole world is down on their luck. it’s everyone else’s fault but yours. because you feed off your egos. take someone i’m close to and you use them against me. you lie, and lie. cause that’s all you do. at this point i’m questioning if you love them both more than me. because i’m doubting you even loved me.

JUNE 2nd, 2018 at 9:35 pm

this is the first time. this is the first time i’ve ever felt you physically hurt me. it wasn’t a slap or a hit. you just shoved me away. i walked next to you. that’s it’s. and you ran to her. why her? you told me you don’t trust me. you don’t know if you truly love me. told me that you don’t know how to love me anymore. and i hate the fact that i feel the same way towards you.

JUNE 9th, 2018 at 12:32 am

i want to text you. tell you to end it. i want to end it. i’m giving you 10 days. if it’s not fixed. it’s over. because this is toxic.

and i know why.

i don’t think i love you anymore. i don’t think that i feel the same butterflies. now they don’t flutter but churn. i don’t love you. i despise you. you hurt others and you know it. i hate you. there is no longer love in me. only hurt, anger, and heartbreak.

JULY 8, 2018 at 12:45 am

ha bitch. you thought. it’s over and i’m healing

(not really, because drinking vodka and going to jail isn’t healing)

SEP 10th 2018 at 10;56 pm

My best friends chose you. I’m now the outsider. Is this what you wanted? For me to be lonely? For you to be everyone’s favourite? Because now I’m alone in my room and I am crying. Begging for someone to listen, but you are standing with them. That stupid fucking smirk on your face. Is this what you wanted? Because you got your wish. You are truly a god. A fucked up, twisted god.

October 1st 2018 at 8:55pm

she is yours. she loves you and i loved you. i still do. i really do. but because of how shitty everything is in my life, i don’t want you to love me back. but hear me out. my best friend is in love with you. don’t break her heart because they already have been damaged enough. learn to love her for her flaws and her quirky attitude. i love her because she is my best friend and i love you as so much more. but i’d give anything in the world to see her smile at someone and be in love. don’t break her heart.

November 24th 2018 @ 17:42 (aka 5:42)

you are my soulmate. you’re my best friend

and i’m okay with that

january 18th, 2019 @ 11:15pm

rereading messages hurts. you broke my best friend. she thought she was in the wrong. you cheated on her. and now that she is talking to a new boy, you had the audacity to call her a whore? yet you’ve fucked everyone in the friend group. fuck you. i’m going to keep talking to you because my other friend is falling for you. stop doing this.

september 16 2019 @ 10:43 pm

it’s been years. i know im over u. at least my brain tells me i am but my heart hurts when i think of u. but u cant seem to stop hurting the people around me. we r older now. we are different people i’m not some insecure kid anymore, oh no. i’m an asshole who isn’t afraid to say u hurt me. and i hurt u. i played victim but so did u. but u r still my friend. one of my brothers. just listen to me okay? i love u. and it won’t ever change. and this may be the end to this letter bc i found a new love who i know will stay in my poems for years to come. i may never stop writing about you but i’m done giving it to you

[brieannakeogh]

Dog Days of Summer- Ch 1

New story!!! Happy New Year!

Dog Days of Summer- Chris Evans X plus sized reader. Dog days of summer are usually defined as the hottest of the year, some define it as lazy days. This year ‘hottest’ has nothing to do with the outside temp. You meet Chris and Dodger Evans while taking your own dog to the park. 

Master List

Warnings: Cursing

Chapter 1

Boston, it was an...interesting city. You had always assumed when you moved to a large city it would be New York, or LA, you hadn’t even given Boston a thought, but when your fiance got a big promotion you packed up anyway. He had told you it was going to a great opportunity, what he really meant is it would be a great opportunity to fuck his secretary.

It hadn’t even been two months of moving before you found them in his office plowing her from behind. He was never the creative type. So now you were stuck. He had told you, “Quit your job” “You’ll find something when you get there.” “Concentrate on the wedding.” “My new position makes more than enough to support us.” He was so full of shit.

At least he felt guilty enough to let you keep the apartment and pay 6 months rent in advance. You still had a little nest egg saved up from before the two of you got a joint account, which will last for a while, not having to pay rent. He also let you keep the dog. ‘Let’ is used kind of loosely, he never did like your dog, so during him getting his shit out, he forced the dog in your arms and actually said “This will keep you company.” You wanted to smack him, but your hands were full.

Popcorn had been in your life before Mr. Asshole, as you were now referring to him. Popcorn is a chihuahua, long hair, not ugly like some of the short haired dogs.  He didn’t really have the typical personality of a chihuahua either. He didn’t bark much and was extremely lazy, which is why halfway through the walk to the dog park, he stopped and wanted to be carried.

This dog park was new to you, the one that Mr. Asshole had found was actually further away. Of course you found out later it was closer to ‘her’ apartment. Regardless, this was only a few blocks away and you were happy to be out of the house. After Mr. Asshole left you decided you had enough saved up for a much deserved break. Taking a month off before you started looking at other jobs was a good idea so far, even if it had only been a week.

You had been working since you were 18, sometimes multiple jobs at a time. Saving every penny, for the future. Future house, future car, future life, while your present life was put on hold. For once it was nice to not think about what the future holds and just be.

It was a nice little park, not too terribly big, but enough space that it didn’t feel crowded. There was a rod iron fence around the perimeter and benches as well. There were a number of dogs with their owners and it didn’t give off a weird vibe some parks did.

You set Popcorn down unleashing him, but keeping his harness on, so he can run around. He had other plans and stayed seated at your feet. You pick him up and set him on is feet again, pushing his butt. “Come on, there are lots of dogs to play with. You can’t be the only lump.”

You sigh when he still sits back down, looking up like “whatcha going to do about it?” Placing your hands on your hips you shake your head and decide to sit on a little bench, hoping he will be motivated later.

Just as you were about to walk away, you hear a man shout, “Dodger!” and a big brown and white dog jumped happily on your legs. “Well hello there!” Patting his head and giving his ears a ruffle. “You like to play don’t you? Not some little lump of a dog.” Popcorn notices your attention being pulled away from him and jumps up on your other leg, vying for your attention.

“Dodger! Get off of her! Sorry about that.” The man that shouted earlier grabs the dog by the collar and pulls him back to his side.

“It’s ok, he’s just excited.” You laugh, as your suspicions are confirmed. Yep, the man that shouted and the dog, you’d seen on many a twitter post, were in fact standing in front of you.

Popcorn still wasn’t happy with you, now having someone else to compete attention for, and started a bit of a whine as he jumped. “Fine you little useless thing.” Bending down to pick him up, he lays contently in your arms, but you know it won’t last. “Can’t you be as excited and running around like Dodger? Huh?”

“He doesn’t want to play?” Chris asks.

“Nope, sat right down. I even carried him half the way so he wouldn’t get too tired to play with the other dogs.”

“I see the problem.” Chris tells you and you lift an eyebrow waiting on an explanation. “You brought a rat to a dog park.” His exaggerated smirk wears thin on you, because he thinks he’s so clever.

You scoff and roll your eyes. “He’s not a rat!”

“He’s a chihuahua, same difference.”

You hold him out for Chris’s inspection. “He’s long haired and adorable, nothing like the rat chihuahuas. Besides there isn’t anything wrong with having a rat as a pet, they’re cute.”

“You’ve had a rat as a pet? I would think most women would be scared of them.” He reaches out to pat Popcorn, his large hand engulfing his head.

“I didn’t have a rat, but I had a feeder mouse I kept as a pet for 2 years until she got a tumor on her back and she died of cancer. My dad even did a cancer walk in her honor.”

Chris’s grin got wider and wider until he was full out laughing at the end of it. At some point in the conversation, Chris had let go of Dodger’s collar and was lazily throwing a ball to him. You set your dog down and watch as he again sat on his butt by your feet, watching Dodger play fetch.

“So what’s the rat’s name?” Chris asks with a smirk.

You choose to ignore his derogatory comment to your dog. “Popcorn.”

“Popcorn? Isn’t that a little odd for a dogs name?”

“Technically his full name is Burnt Lightly Salted Popcorn.” Chris stares at you wide eyed at the long name before he starts to howl in laughter.

“Jesus woman you’re a trip you know that?” He tells you after catching his breath.

You shrug your shoulders. “When he was a puppy he was a dark gray blue all over but for a bit of white on his chest and the tips of his paws, he could also fit in the palm of your hand. It made sense at the time.”

“Only to you maybe.” He chuckles.

“Like Dodger is any better? It’s boring.” You roll your eyes.

“Hey, maybe his name is boring, but at least he’s not. Popcorn just sits there.” He counters smugly.

“He’s also old, see all the gray around his muzzle?” You bend down giving him a pat and scratching under his chin so he lifts his head up.

“He is all gray and white. You can’t tell age from that. I’ll give it to him, at least he’s not a yappy dog.”

“Yeah he’s a big old weirdo.”

“Like his owner?” He smirks down at you.

“Hey! I resemble that remark!” You stand up, playfully glaring at him until you let out a laugh.

He laughs along. Pointing to a bench he asks, “Do you want to sit?” You shrug and nod. Popcorn noticing you are moving away, gets up to follow you. Dodger is still chasing and bringing the ball back to Chris, but once the two of you sit he lays down just chewing on it.

“I’m Chris by the way.” He extends a hand to you when you’ve both settled down.

“Yep, the best Chris as well.” You wink at him as you take his hand, shaking it. His eyes widen and gives you a puzzled look after. You pull your hand away. “What? Did I say the wrong thing? Should I have pretended like I don’t know who you are?”

“No, no, sorry don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.” He says looking down at Dodger and scratching his head.

“I figured most people you meet would know you. I mean Dodger is famous after all, and your his owner.” You knock your shoulder into his, to get his attention, and smile at him.

He sighs. “Yeah that’s true.” He says before giving you a lopsided grin of his own. He reminds you that you hadn’t told him your name, so you do. The awkward tension lessens and the two of you go back to joking around, Dodger playing with his ball, even Popcorn getting up and peeing on a bush in the corner.

After awhile you start getting hungry, until you know it’s time to go. “I’m starving, I think Popcorn and I are gonna head out.” You tell him standing up and stretching. He stands up with you.

“Yeah I’m starting to get hungry too.” He hesitates before he asks the next question. “Did you want a selfie before you go?”

“Huh? Why?” You are genuinely thrown off by the question.

He chuckles at your expression. “That’s just what most people want.”

“Oh, I mean I know what you look like Chris. I’m sure I’ll see you back here again, unless your gonna not talk to me anymore, in which case I won’t want a selfie anyway.” You pretended to be offended and huffy.

“I don’t make it back home that often ya know, but I’ll probably be here the next month or two. I just didn’t want you to miss this pretty face.”

You pick up Popcorn, talking to him. “Ok it’s time to go Popcorn. The ego is out of control with this one.”

“Ha ha.” Chris laughs sarcastically, and you giggle back.

“Seriously it was good to meet you. Make sure you say hi if you see me around. I know I’m intimidating and all but I don’t bite.” You laugh and he just shakes his head at you, thinking for once you were going to be serious.

You both hook leashes to the dogs and walk out the little gate together. It was getting awkward again, not knowing how to say goodbye. So you did what had been working for you all this time. You said goodbye to Dodger. Squatting down, ruffling his ears. “Now you be a good boy and look after your dad, because he needs all the help he can get.”

“At least I don’t have a rat as a pet.” He counters. He watches you roll your eyes at him and now he really doesn’t want to leave. He hadn’t had this much fun talking to someone new in a while. Most people were careful about what they said around him, full of compliments and praises, you hadn’t even told him if you liked his work or not. Maybe you were just into his dog pics on twitter? “I just remembered there is a great little bistro around the corner from here. They are very dog friendly too.” He tells you.

Dodger seems sad when you stop petting him and you stand up. You try to figure out if that was an invitation or not from Chris’s expression. ‘Oh fuck it.’ You think. If that’s not what he means, it’ll suck but if he does mean that, how often do you get the chance to eat lunch with Chris Evans?

“Sounds good. Lead the way?” You nod at him and fall into step beside him as he starts walking. His long legs and energetic dog, is making both you and Popcorn have to almost jog to keep up. “Think we could slow down? My stride is much shorter and Popcorn is tired from sitting on his butt all day.”

“Sorry, habit.” He slows down to match pace with you, and you pick up your dog, toting him around again. “Are you new to the area? I hadn’t seen you at that park before.”

“Moved to Boston a couple of months ago. I live just up that street and two blocks to the right. My fiance use to take him to a park that was further away then this one.” You think you see the little bistro up ahead.

“Ah, guess he didn’t realize there was one closer.”

You clear your throat. “No, he knew. That just happened to be closer to someone else’s apartment. I should have said ex-fiance.” Chris was starting to look uncomfortable and had that pity face everyone gets when you tell them. “Its weird calling him that, because in my head I just refer to him as Mr. Asshole. So you see my dilemma.” You laugh a little as he stops at the place you thought. Definitely cute and a little outside patio to sit. You see a couple of other people with their dogs.

“Yeah, I think that’s a better name.” He nods and turns to the hostess telling her it would be for two people and two pooches. She leads you to a patio table and there is even little water bowls brought for the dogs.

“Wow they have a little food section for the dogs too. Guess they get a lot of traffic from the dog park.” You tell him looking at the menu.

“I always forget that this is here, not sure why.”

“You travel so much, it’s understandable. I still need to explore the area more. Seems like I’m getting stuck in a food rut.”

The waiter stops by the table. “What can I get you guys to drink?” Both of you order water. “And will this be separate or together?” You don’t really like the condescending look he gives you at that question. For all he knows this could be a date. Chris is maybe totally into newly single, plus sized girls, that have weird animal naming habits and a rat for a pet. He doesn’t know.

“Separate.” You said at the same time Chris says. “Together.”

“My invitation, my treat.” He tells you.

“Nope, that’s not how this works. I would have had to buy my own lunch anyway, so it’s no skin off my teeth. You can show off how much more money you make than me at a later date.” You smirk, nudging him with a leg under the table.

Chris just looks down and shakes his head with a smile.

“I’ll give you guys a few minutes to look over the menu while I get those drinks.” The waiter tells you.

“So what do you do that pays so poorly?” Chris asks when the waiter leaves.

“Right now, nothing.” You tell him still reading the menu. When he doesn’t respond you look up at him. He’s waiting for an explanation, so you set the menu down. “I use to work in an office, back where I lived before, but I quit to move here with Mr. Asshole. It was kinda quick and he told me not to rush finding something here, but when we broke up I decided to take a break. I’ve never taken a vacation, never stopped working, and I had a little money saved up.” You shrug. “So I’m taking a month off to enjoy my freedom, before getting back to the grind.”

“Never taken a vacation?” He asks incredulously.

“Not since I started working at 18. My honeymoon was going to be the first one in a long time. I was very thrifty.”

“Then I think you deserve your time off. You gotta have a little fun in your life.”

“That’s what I’m doing now. Living in the moment, not worrying about paying for a white picket fence future. We were together so long, I never did get to go wild, although I’m kinda too old now.” You laugh.

“Pish! You’re only as old as you feel.” He tells you leaning back in the chair.

“Says the 35 year old frat boy.”

“37, thank you very much.” You stick your tongue out at him. “How old are you?”

“Don’t you know it’s impolite to ask that question to a woman?”

“I thought you were all independent with the whole separate check thing, besides you started it.” He points at you.

“I started it? What are we in kindergarten?” He just shrugs at you, keeping eye contact, waiting on a response. “Fine. I’m mophaiftaxz.” You mumble something at random.

“I’m sorry I didn’t quite catch that.” He turns his ear to you and leans in.

“I’m mophaiftaxz.” You say louder, but still say nonsense at the end. You spot the waiter, walking up. “Hey look who it is! Good timing! Look Chris it’s…” You cock your head reading his name tag. “Ron? Ron! Our favorite waiter!” You beam up at Ron, who looks slightly concerned now.

“Just ignore her, she’s drunk.” Chris says offhandedly to Ron.

“Who would be drunk this early on a weekday?” Your tone offended. Chris just points to a group of four wealthy looking ladies, all having wine with lunch as they cackled. “I am not a rich housewife. For one I would have to have a husband, and I’ve already told you about that. Two I would have to be rich.”

“Living in this neighborhood you can’t be too bad off to afford one of the apartments around here.”

You decide to ignore the comment and take a sip of water that Ron dropped off.

“Is...uh...is this a bad time to take your order?” Ron is very uncomfortable.

“Now is a great time Ron!” You pick the menu back up, realizing you hadn’t decided what you want to eat yet. “Why don’t you go first.” You gesture to Chris.

Chris looks utterly amused and his eyes glint as he throws you under the bus. “No, no ladies first.”

“Umm...ah...right….I’ll have…” You close your eyes and randomly point. “This!” Without looking at what you’re pointing at.

“Ma’am that’s part of the dog food section.” Ron is now done with your shit, while Chris can’t contain his laughter. Throwing his head back and doing his signature boob grab.

You kinda want to keep up with the crazy person bit, just to see how much Ron can take but you also don’t want to eat dog food.

“Fine.” You let out a sad sigh, and point to a sandwich that sounds decent. Chris orders his food the normal way.

“I think we’re going to have to give Ron a big tip.” Chris tells you.

“It would be even bigger if he learned to play along.” You grumble.

“Hey it’s not Ron’s fault you’re a crazy person.”

“But what does it say about you, if you’re hanging out with me?” You smirk at him.

“It means I must be bored to tears at home.”

You tilt your head a little to figure out if that’s true or not. “Between projects?”

He nods. “Taking a break too. Next shoot doesn’t start for two months.”

The silence stretches out, you take a sip of water, he does too. You want to ask him what his next roll is, you also what to ask him about Avengers 4 spoilers, but mostly you want to ask if he wants to hang out again.

“You know, I might be taking Popcorn to the dog park more.” You tell him, catching his eye over your water.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep, I’m thinking tomorrow about 3?” Three is a good time right? Hang out time. Not looking to go out for food as it’s between lunch and dinner, and not at night looking for a party. The longer he stares at you the more antsy you get.

“3 could work.” He says finally as you let a breath out. The smile you send his way is dazzling and he thinks it could rival some of his on screen counterparts with how much your face lights up.

The moment is interrupted with Ron bringing out the food. Your sandwich looks good, and way too big for you to eat the whole thing at lunch. Chris got a salad with a massive slice of salmon on top. “I always forget to tell them to put the salmon on the side. For some reason cut up chicken and steak is fine mixed in but with salmon I want to eat it separately, and look the lettuce is all wilted.” He frowns, poking at his bowl.

You look around for someone wearing an apron and see a waiter just finished taking someone’s drink order. “Excuse me?” You yell a bit to get his attention. “Can we get a little side plate, and quickly? Hot fish and cold lettuce is no bueno.” The waiter leaves and you stack your sandwich halfs on top of each other, making a little room on your plate. You push the empty side across the table to him. “Here set it on my plate till they bring you your own.”

“I didn’t say that to be difficult you know.” He tells you as he uses two forks to lift the piece of fish onto your plate.

“Exactly how is this making you be difficult? I mean, honestly, who likes hot wilted lettuce?” You give an exaggerated shutter.

You scootch a little closer over to his side, at the round table, so you can both eat off your plate for the time being. A few minutes later Ron stops by the table with a plate in his hands. “You had asked for another plate?” His eyebrow lifts in suspicion on what you two plan to do with said plate.

You take it from him. “Thanks Ron! I wanted to show Chris here a good plate juggling act I’ve been working on. It’s got a good 10% success rate.” Keeping a straight face the whole time, Ron looks terrified that you’re serious. You make a small shooing gesture with your hand as Ron reluctantly turns to leave. Smirking at Chris beside you, you hand the plate over.

“You ever think about going into acting? Or more specifically comedy?” Chris taunts.

You sigh and shrug. “Another life maybe.”

The rest of the meal the two of you talk about everything and nothing. Some banter and some serious, the conversation flows well. Almost the second that your forks are down and napkins in plates, Ron shows up with two checks, handing them off quickly.

“I get the sneaking suspicion he wants his table back.” You giggle.

“No! Not our good friend Ron!” Chris adds with a smirk and shocked outrage, as he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet.

Settling up and both leaving a more than generous tip for the distress caused to Ron, you get up and usher the dogs out of the patio area.

“Thanks for the lunch company Chris.” You tell him while standing awkwardly on the sidewalk.

“It was fun.” He grinned, hands in his pockets. “So 3 tomorrow at the dog park you think?”

You nod. “Yeah that seems like a good arbitrary time, right?”

“Maybe I’ll see ya around.” He gives you a half smile smirk, then looks down at the dog by his side. “Dodger, let’s go home.” The dog takes off leading the way, Chris doing a small wave as he goes.

“Ok Popcorn, your turn. Mush.” He sits there. “No? Alright.” You sigh and pick him up, walking back to your apartment.

Next Chapter

So I’ll have chapter 16 up next week for Between a Rock and a Hard place. I’m debating if that should be the finial chapter or if I should do an epilogue. 

Here is a picture of Popcorn, yes that’s really my dog, and yes that is the reason behind his name...

Anyways, I tagged my Marvel and Everything list. If you want to be added or removed from tags let me know!

@spidey-babe-parker, @ultrasilentwhispers, @stevieang, @albinotigerpython, @paintballkid711, @katykyll, @avengersrulez1536, @ultrafreespirit, @wantingtobekorra,   @i-had-a-life-once,  @boyfriendsarebetterinbooks, @ghostssss​, @babybeluuga​, @bodhi-black​,  @kanupps06​, @hatterripper31, @grandloser, @reniescarlett, @kjidhzyx, @normanreedus5150, @ilovethings-somuch, @spiderman-2013, @bloodyvalentine93, @xx-raven, @passionghost, @r-avenclaws, @prettybubblesintheair, @averyrogers83,  @ria132love,

[incorrectsmashbrosquotes]

Link x Samus - Samus isn’t great at the whole romantic part of a relationship. However she does make a great effort to do just that after Link got hit in the field,

Though she knew it was ridiculous, Samus always had a nagging feeling that she wasn’t… pulling her weight… in the relationship. She and Link’s relationship was healthy, and they were happy together certainly. But still, it felt like she was always on the receiving end of affection.

Romance had never been her strong suit (or feelings in general). Her previous relationships had been closer to flings that lasted no more than a few weeks. And that had been enough. No one got hurt that way. But this dumbass elfy hero had somehow wormed his way into her heart, and she had no idea what to do with it.

She had brought this up to Link at one point, and he’d laughed it up. “It’s okay Starshine.” he said with a grin. “Just be you. That’s enough for me.” he said, and then nimbly dodged a pillow she had thrown at him for the new nickname.

Then Link had gotten hurt.

She blamed herself. She hadn’t been there, and she blamed herself for not going with him. Apparently Wario and several of his hired thugs had gotten he drop on the Hylian Hero, and though Link had been able to fight them off he’d received several broken ribs and a nasty concussion for his efforts.

So after hunting Wario down and beating him within an inch of his life (with Zelda’s help of course), she resolved to get Link a gift while he was recovering.

But, due to her romantic illiteracy, she had no idea what to do. Her first instinct was to ask Zelda, but then she remembered she had a much more useful asset.

“A what?” asked Young Link.

Samus groaned as she slumped in her seat. “A gift. Something… you know… romantic.” she said, feeling stupid.

“… And you’re asking the thirteen year old?” he asked, a single eyebrow raised.

“Well Toon would just be an asshole about it and Zelda would go into shipper mode and Sheik would just tell me to figure it out on my own.” she growled in frustration. “And you’ve got inside knowledge. So to speak.” she said, crossing her arms.

Young Link shrugged. “Fair enough.” He then started to pace. “Still… a gift huh? Something romantic. Something to wish him a speedy recovery. Hmm…” he said. “Well… I’m good at music he might share that.” he said with a shrug.

“Music? Like… an iPod?” she asked.

Young Link shook his head. “No, an instrument.” said Young Link. He snapped his fingers. “That’s it! You’ll make him an instrument to play when he gets better!”

Samus frowned. “Is… that something normal couples do?” she asked.

“You to ain’t normal.” said Young Link dryly.

“Point taken.” said Samus with a shrug. “So… how do I make one? Is there a ritual or… something? Magic involved?” she asked.

“Oh sweet Farore this is going to take awhile.” sighed Young Link.

Link came too in the hospital (a too familiar sight for him at this point) and pulled himself up into a sitting position. He looked abut, and grinned at the sight of the various Get-Well cards and chocolates sent from the other Smashers wishing him a speedy recovery.

Then he spied Samus sitting in the chair near him. She had dozed off, a present in her hands. “Samus?” he called lightly to her. The bounty huntress jolted awake, but smiled at seeing her boyfriend awake.

“Well, well, looks like Peter Pan decided to wake up.” she grinned, walking over and giving him a kiss.

“Yeah, yeah, love you too Starshine.” he said.

“Don’t make me send you back to dreamland Legolas.” she threatened good-naturedly. But in the next moment she hugged him tight. “I’m really glad you’re okay though.” she said gently.

Link said nothing, but returned the hug and took a moment to appreciate Samus’s smell and feel. He loved her smell. It wasn’t sweet, it was a smell of oil and sweat, due to her long periods in Power Armor, that clung to her despite frequent showers.

He couldn’t get enough of it.

After a moment she pulled away. “Anyway… I… uh… wanted to give you this. Sort of a… get-well present.” she said sheepishly, handing the gift over too him. “Young Link helped me a lot… but uh… I hope you like it.” she said.

Link took the gift with a grin. “Thanks Samus.” he said. “That really means a lot.” Samus blushed lightly.

“Just open the damn thing.” she said, crossing her arms.

Chuckling, Link opened the box, and the started at what was inside.

It was crudely constructed, but clearly hand made. And with great care at that. It was a plain, white, flute. He gingerly pulled it out and examined it all over, feeling the grooves and the notches in the work.

Memories, unbidden, rose to the surface.

…

“Momma why do I gotta learn to play this thing?” he asked of the woman with the kind smile and old eyes. Eyes that had seen too much in too little time.

“Because, my little cub, when you meet that special woman in your life, you need to be able to charm her with your music.” she said. “Your dashing good looks will only get you so far young man” she said in a mock stern voice.

“Then I’ll play it for you momma! Cause I love you!” he had cried.

The woman with soft golden hair and gentle yet tired eyes had smiled at him. “I love you too little cub.”

…

“Link… Link!” called Samus, as she saw his thousand yard stare. “Oh shit. It… it’s terrible isn’t it. Shit. I’m sorry. I’m not good at this romantic crap. I -” she was cut off as Link slowly brought the flute to his lips and began to play.

It was a soft, gentle melody. One she had heard him humming to himself often. When she had asked where it came from, he just shrugged and said he didn’t know. Amnesia was  bitch like that.

Once the song was played, he lowered the flute, and she caught tears in his eyes. “My mom taught me.” he said quietly. “My… my mom taught me to play. She taught me the song. She was blonde. She had green eyes. I… I remember.” he was shaking now, tears flowing freely.

No knowing what else to do, Samus wrapped him in a hug.

A few minutes later, he properly had control of himself. His eyes were still red and watery from his tears, but he was smiling as well. “Thank you Samus. I love it.”

Samus smiled and blushed. “Thanks. But, uh, Young Link helped a lot… and… well you’re welcome I guess.” she said.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment as Link gave a few experimental blows on the flute, then he turned with a questioning look. “Hey, uh, what’s this made of? It’s not wood.” he said.

Samus smiled. “Oh, Young Link suggested the material too. It’s made of-”

“AAAGHHH! MY RIBS! THE BITCH TOOK TWO OF THEM! AAAAAGGGGGHHH!” cried Dark Link as he writhed on the hospital bed.

Dr. Wily, their attending physician rolled his eyes. “Oh don’t be such a baby. Ribs grow back.” he said.

“R-really?” asked Dark Link through the pain.

“Fuck if I know. I’m a robotics Major not a medical doctor.”

[emeraldwaves]

Title: Dance With Me (It Won’t Kill Ya) Lesson Interlude 2 Pairing:  Kacchako (side Todomomo, side Kirimina) Dance/College AU Rating: M Word Count:  5,404 Read on Ao3 Summary: When Bakugou damages university property, he’s forced to take dance lessons with the best dance student at the school, Uraraka. There’s no way he’ll actually enjoy learning to dance though… right?

Absolutely not…

Sorry for this cliffhanger. Thanks to @its-love-u-asshole for betaing this!

"I know you're all very excited to be here!" Midnight-sensei giggled, stretching her hands out. Uraraka let her ballet shoes gently pat against the floor.

She actually was very excited to participate in the invitational. She had completely forgotten about it until Todoroki brought it up the other night at dinner. She did invite Bakugou one more time, but she wasn't surprised he said no again, especially since he couldn't dance himself. The last thing he wanted to do was sit around and watch.

She could understand it to a degree. He was extreme about it, but she could recall many times watching Todoroki and Momo dance together and feeling jealous she didn't have a partner herself. But now she did!

Well, sort of.

"We're very excited to be here!" Joke-sensei had another name, but Uraraka didn't know it. Everyone at Ketsubutsu referred to her as Joke-sensei due to her playful, teasing nature, and Uraraka never thought to ask her actual name.

"We've set up to practice with Ketsubutsu, so feel free to pair off or work solo!" Midnight-sensei smiled, nudging Joke-sensei. "Once the practice is over, we'll perform for each other and have a friendly little competition. Break out of your comfort zone!"

Uraraka already decided she would be joining the solo dancers. As much as she loved partnering, she didn't feel right doing partnering with someone who wasn't Bakugou, especially when they were so hard at work on their plans for the ballroom competition.

She pushed herself up and smiled at Todoroki and Momo. "You're going to have to kick their partner dancers asses for me!"

"Of course," Momo smiled. "We wouldn't have it any other way."

"Like we would lose," Todoroki mumbled and folded his arms over his chest. "You better do the same with the solo dancers. We need to show Ketsubutsu that U.A is the better university."

Uraraka narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure it wasn't you who was more competitive with Shigetsu last year?" she asked, playfully teasing her friend.

He scoffed, "Positive."

"Uraraka-san!" A soft voice cut through the crowd and she turned her head to see Shindou You making his way over to where they stood. He was a third year, a year older than her, and well known in the ballroom circuit for his heavy footwork, yet incredibly skilled and sharp movement. It was said the ground vibrated when he danced. He was one of Ketsubutsu’s most well known dancers.

"Ah! Shindou-san!" she said, bowing her head as he approached. He smiled, his dark eyes looking at her with genuine interest. He looked sweet enough, but everyone was well aware of the intensity at which he danced and how dark his features could turn on dime.

"I hear you don't have a partner for today's exercise."

"Nope," she shrugged, trying not to seem too torn up about it. "I'm going to stick to my solo choreography!"

"Why don't you partner with me then?" he asked, offering his hand to her.

Immediately she frowned. Nakagame was his usual partner, but having graduated the year before him, he too would've been without a partner when it came to school sanctioned events. In the professional world, Uraraka was certain the two still danced together.

Still, Shindou You wanted to partner with her?!

"With you?" she said, gaping at him awkwardly. She glanced towards Momo who smiled wide and nodded.

"Isn't that what the invitational is all about?" he asked, tilting his head to the side, keeping his hand extended towards her.

"R-Right!" Uraraka squeaked. If it had only been a month or two earlier, Uraraka would've grabbed his hand so fast, neither of them would've known what hit them. However, now... she had Bakugou and while he was an amateur... she felt... a connection with him, and she could imagine how angry he would be if she went off and danced with someone else.

But for the invitational... it was different. It was a one time thing and Bakugou wasn't even here.

She smiled and reached forward, taking his hand. "I would love to dance with you, Shindou-san."

"Awesome!" he cheered. "Let's go practice some new choreography to beat these two," he said gesturing to Todoroki and Momo. She did know he was also very competitive and honestly, Uraraka knew she wouldn't mind having a friendly competition with her friends.

"I'd like to see you try," Momo hummed softly, wrapping her arm around Todoroki's waist. "Let's get going Shouto," she said, dragging him away.

"This'll be fun!" she giggled and squeezed Shindou's hand, pulling him towards one of the smaller practice rooms.

The invitational practice was meant to challenge the skills of the students, giving them about two hours to both choreograph and work on a dance of their choice, then they would come together to compete and one school would be considered the overall winner, based on the points given out between the various dancers. Last year, U.A beat Shigetsu, and Uraraka could tell Ketsubutsu was determined to beat them this year.

"I'm surprised you asked me," Uraraka admitted, stepping into the smaller practice space with the dark haired boy. She chuckled softly. "I thought it would turn into a competition like it did last year. Shigetsu was very competitive with us," she explained.

"I wouldn't want to give up the chance to compete with one of the best choreographers U.A has seen in a long while," he smiled. The compliment, paired with his expression threw her off guard.

"O-Oh!" she stammered. "Thanks. I have been working really hard on choreography lately."

"Perfect," he said, starting to stretch out. He leaned forward, his arm muscles flexing as he did, his black pants tight around his legs. He flipped himself back up, pulling his arm across his chest. A dark look crossed over his eyes as he smirked. "I'm looking forward to this. Plus, I know you're on U.A's side technically, but we're going to kick Todoroki's ass."

She pursed her lips, and snorted, unable to control her laughter. "S-Sorry!" she said, waving her hand up and down. "You looked so intense and it's not that I don't think we can win or anything I-I just..." she snorted. "I didn't expect you to be so serious about it!"

Shindou raised his eyebrow. "Why not? It's practically a mini-competition," he smirked. "It's been awhile since I've been able to compete with Todoroki."

She shook her head slightly. Everyone always wanted to face off with Todoroki since he came from a family of dancers. That, and he himself was incredibly talented. Everyone in the dance world was well aware of the grace and professionalism of Todoroki and Momo. Their partnership was well known and they were already doing well on the semi-professional circuit.

"Well, we're going to have to come up with something flashy to beat him and Momo. They're a well-oiled machine for sure."

"True," he said and stepped towards her. "But I took their choreographer."

It wasn't a lie. She was a much better choreographer than both Todoroki and Momo. They weren't bad at it, but usually Uraraka did most of their planning, which admittedly, she did thoroughly enjoy. They were so easy to work with. It was so enjoyable to mold their bodies and follow the music with a perfect flow.

"You did," she giggled.

"I leave it to you," he smirked, and Uraraka nodded.

"Alright... what would you say is your best type of dance?"

"Mmm... how about a foxtrot?" he said. "It's smoother, I think it'll suit us both nicely."

"Sure!" she said, clapping her hands together. "It's been awhile since I've worked with a foxtrot. We've been really focusing on waltzes and tangos for the upcoming ballroom competition," she nodded.

"Ah... yes!" he said. "I hear you've entered with an amateur?"

Boy did word travel fast. She felt her cheeks flush. "Well, yes but he's really great! He's shockingly talented for someone who just started! We probably won't win, but it's a good starting point."

Shindou narrowed his eyes for a moment, staring at her, and Uraraka couldn't figure out why he looked so intense. Was he confused by her choice? "I see. I'm glad you've found a partner. Though I have to wonder where he is today?"

"Mhm. For now at least," she muttered, hoping that losing the competition wouldn't completely break Bakugou's dancing spirit. "Ah uhm, he's actually nursing an injury right now. He twisted his ankle a bit during a rugby match."

"Rugby!?" Shindou blinked. "He does both then?"

"Yeah," Uraraka said, realizing the two sports were very different. "He's... athletic..." she said, choosing her words carefully. "Ah, anyway, we should get started." She wanted to change the subject; not keen on discussing Bakugou with Shindou, especially when he could end up being their competition.

"Yes! Let's!" The gentle smile returned to his face and Uraraka couldn't help but blush. Shindou was incredibly handsome, and so far he had been very kind. A large difference compared to Bakugou. Yes, Bakugou was handsome, but he was always scowling and he rarely complimented her so directly like Shindou had.

He stepped towards her and slid his arm around her back, pulling her body closer. His arm was raised, his back leaning ever so slightly away from her as he took her hand in his own. She blushed and swallowed; it was so odd, not having to worry about fixing his posture. Shindou was just as well-practiced as she was.

"Right," she said. "I have an idea. If we lead with you bringing me towards the front of the room into a gentle spin and dip-" she began to explain and Shindou immediately listened to her, leading in the direction she mentioned. Immediately he spun her away from him and dipped her down, his dark eyes staring into hers as her hand slipped around his neck to hold herself in place.

"Wow," she said softly. "That was so fast."

He chuckled. "I think you're far too used to dancing with this amateur. You don't have to go through things slowly with me, I'll pick it up."

He really wasn't kidding. He moved with her so fast, swinging her body around his. He was incredible at leading, and even with his heavy footwork, Uraraka felt grounded. It wasn't like Bakugou, who stomped against the ground because he didn't know how to use his feet, Shindou took each step with a purpose and the floor vibrated against his feet. He owned it, and swung her around with such grace, she felt her cheeks flush.

It had been so long she since danced with someone who really appreciated the art and knew exactly how to handle himself on the dance floor. Admittedly, he might have been a better lead than Todoroki even. When she told him to do things he did it with zero hesitation, and made adjustments quickly.

When the exercise began, she did internally worry about actually getting things done in a timely manner, but now two hours almost seemed to be too much time.

She breathed heavily as they slid into the final pose. She moved her arm as if it gently cut through water, posing against him.

"Wow," she said. "I know we need to finalize things but... I really think that was great."

"Yup! I knew it would be." Shindou smiled, though something about his face unsettled her, like he was thinking about something deeper.

"Anyway... again?"

She hated to admit Shindou had been right about her dancing with an amateur, but it was true. She wasn't used to such fluid easy movements. It didn't change how she felt about Bakugou. She still loved dancing with him, and their chemistry was far better. Shindou was nice and handsome, but something about him made her feel a little wary, like he was a ticking time bomb about to explode.

"I really think we have a chance against Todoroki and Momo," she said. "Of course I have no idea what they came up with, but... I guess we're about to find out!" Uraraka glanced at the clock, surprised how quickly time flew by.

"I'm looking forward to taking them down," he smirked. He held her hand and led her back towards the main dance hall, and she was surprised when he didn't let go even when they stepped out of the room.

It felt... odd, her hand in his. Even dancing with him felt off. By all accounts, it should've felt better, since he was well trained, but something about the look in his eyes made Uraraka feel uneasy.

They took their place on the side of the room with the other couples, Momo waving when she came back. Uraraka could see the surprised look on her face when they came in holding hands and she was not looking forward to explaining to her best friend that no, she swore she didn't have feelings for Shindou.

"Thank you," Shindou said, breaking her of her thoughts and she turned to face him, his handsome features pulled into a smile. "I really appreciate you partnering with me."

Her heart leaped up into her throat. Bakugou never thanked her... never seemed grateful for the time they shared together. Or... well... he did but in his own weird Bakugou way. She shook her head. It really wasn't fair to compare the two. And if she was being honest with herself, even standing next to Shindou right now she kinda missed Bakugou. He would've been yelling at Todoroki about how they could beat him and he would've probably caused something of a scene.

She oddly found herself endeared to Bakugou’s tenacity.

The solo dancers went first, performing their short pieces. Some of the dancers from Ketsubutsu were so incredibly talented, Uraraka couldn't take her eyes off of them. She truly loved watching dance. She loved trying to see how she could imagine their bodies moving with choreography she came up with.

"Since we're the ones hosting, all U.A pairs will go first! Followed by our joint pair and then Ketsubutsu pairs," Midnight-sensei explained, nodding towards Uraraka. It was rare people from the other schools mixed in such a way, but the two teachers seemed thrilled at the prospect of it.

Uraraka watched Todoroki and Momo take the floor. Todoroki slipped his arm around Momo's back, and their gazes met. Uraraka was jealous of how much passion the room could feel between them. It didn't matter the dance or the style, they always held each other's gaze so intently and their eyes were full of romance.

Their music began and they started a Viennese waltz, elegant and simple, perfect for the way their bodies moved. Momo's small skirt brushed around her tights, her body angling like a delicate swan. Their feet moved slowly, Todoroki twirling her out, only to pull her back towards his body, holding her close.

"Mmm, they do look beautiful," Shindou muttered next to her and Uraraka nodded.

"They're really in love. I think... it adds a lot to their dancing."

"You don't need to be in love to be a good partner dancer," Shindou said.

"No, no," Uraraka shook her head quickly. "Of course not, but... I think it's a nice little... bonus," she said, her cheeks flushed.

Todoroki dipped Momo down, a gentle smile present on her lips. She radiated beautiful energy, her long dark hair swaying across her neck. It was impossible not to watch her, and Todoroki knew exactly how to highlight her movements. Uraraka could always tell her best friend was the happiest when she danced with Todoroki.

They moved to their final pose, Momo's arm reaching out to the side and Todoroki's leg stretched behind him, their foreheads pressed together as the rest of the class began to clap. It was a stunning performance, especially for something they put together in two hours. Uraraka couldn't help but cheer for her friends.

The two bowed and returned to the side, allowing the next couple to go.

"Amazing as always, Momo-chan!" Uraraka said, hugging her.

"You think? It wasn't anything special. Two hours isn't nearly enough time to do anything groundbreaking!" she said, waving her hand up and down.

"No, but you both looked stunning!"

"Thank you," Todoroki muttered.

"I'm looking forward to you and Shindou-san's dance!" Momo smiled.

Uraraka was actually feeling nervous. It had been awhile since she worked on a partner dance with someone of Shindou's caliber, let alone perform for others and she wasn't quite sure how it would go.

After watching the other U.A performers, Midnight-sensei called Uraraka and Shindou to the middle of the floor. "We're thrilled to see the two of you partner up! It's so rare we get cross school pairings!" she cheered, clapping her hands for the two of them.

Uraraka bowed to Shindou and took a deep breath before stepping towards him. Her arm raised up and she wrapped her fingers around his, curving her spine. He smiled at her, his face as handsome as ever, and she was certain dancing this close to him was something she would never be able to be used to.

"Exciting," he whispered and she couldn't help but giggle as their music began. She swung her leg out, twisting her hips as they began their fast-paced movement across the floor. Shindou's hand held her back, guiding her across the floor. His steps were heavy and she planted her feet with him, her hips swaying back and forth playfully. He twirled her out and pulled her back, dipping her down.

His dark eyes stayed fixated on hers, full of focus. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him. Her brown eyes followed his, an immediate amount of trust between them as she moved. She knew he wouldn't lead her wrong, and there was no reason to feel like she needed to be in control. She let herself be led, Shindou dipping her into their various poses.

When the song ended, she stared into his eyes, her arms wrapped around his neck. She swallowed, the clapping behind her feeling like a blur. What had just happened? Was their dance really over?

"Simply amazing!" Midnight-sensei cheered and the entire class called out both of their names. Uraraka bowed, her hands shaking, even the one that Shindou held felt clammy as they walked to the side.

"You were excellent!" Shindou smiled, and brought her hand to his lips. "Thank you for dancing with me."

Uraraka's face turned bright red. "A-AH!" she gasped. "Y-You're welcome! I-It was fun!" she stammered, trying to catch her ground.

Her legs wobbled as she made her way over the side of the room, the rush of the performance causing her heart to beat, the adrenaline rushing through her veins.

"That was amazing, Ochako-chan!" Momo said, and hugged her friend so tight.

"Indeed," Todoroki said. "It was nice to see you dancing to your fullest potential."

"Though, you do always look very happy dancing with Bakugou-kun!" Momo added quickly, most likely noticing the way Ochako’s face dropped.

"Y-Yeah!" she said, smiling, but her heart sank.

She bit her lip at the comment. Of course when she danced with Bakugou she held herself back to a degree. She needed to. She wanted him to understand what they were doing so he could get better... and dancing with Shindou... in a way... was freeing. She allowed herself to be led, to be out of control and let him guide her. Their poses were sharp and fun... not that she didn't have fun with Bakugou. Her poses with him were far more sensual...

She thought about the connection Todoroki and Momo shared while dancing and how she sometimes felt she actually had that with Bakugou. Well, maybe not the same extreme... but she felt something when she danced with him, even if Shindou was technically better.

Logically she should want to dance with someone like Shindou, and yet she couldn't stop imagining dancing with Bakugou.

She felt her head throb with a headache and she took a deep breath leaning against the wall.

"Are you okay, Ochako-chan?" Momo asked softly, gently touching her shoulder.

"Yeah," she said. "I just got a little excited I think!" she laughed.

The other pairs made their way through their songs and both the teachers stood at the front of the room. "Our expert team of judges," Midnight-sensei began, gesturing to the small group of random teachers sitting next to her, "have come up with your scores and I am happy to announce for the second year in a row, U.A is the winner 560 points to 520! It was very close, especially since Uraraka-san and Shindou-san danced together!" she called out.

All the U.A students cheered while the Ketsubutsu students clapped reluctantly.

"Thank you for joining us for our lovely invitational this year! The bus will be departing in about an hour. Please make sure you cool down after such a heated battle!" Joke-sensei laughed, forever cheerful even after her school lost.

The classes began to disperse, people heading towards various practice spaces to cool down, a few students laughing and mingling about.

"That was fun!" Momo smiled, slowly lowering herself to the floor to stretch out her legs.

"Indeed," Todoroki nodded. "Happy to take another victory."

"You're so competitive, Shouto!" Momo teased. "You act like you're not but I know you are."

"Seriously, you wanted to win the most out of all of us!" Uraraka laughed.

Her eyes caught Shindou's, as he approached their group. "Congratulations on your win," Shindou said, bowing to Uraraka.

"Ah! Thank you for dancing with me!" she said, bowing back as quickly as possible. "I appreciate it!"

"Mhm. Too bad we couldn't beat your friends," he smirked. "If we kept practicing I bet we could be quite the team."

"You're probably right! Too bad we don't go to the same schools!" she said.

"It is..." he muttered. "Can I ask you about your dance for the upcoming competition?"

Uraraka immediately narrowed her eyes. "Why?" she asked, skeptical. "We were partners now, but if you're in the competition, maybe you're trying to get sneaky information!" she teased, gently nudging his arm.

"No, no, I won't be competing in that one. We're working towards the summer tournaments after I've graduated," he smiled. "Don't worry, I wouldn't be that competitive. I'm not Todoroki-san."

Todoroki turned to look at the two of them, his blank stare full of frustration.

"R-Right," Uraraka said, trying not to laugh at her friend. "Bakugou-kun and I are doing the tango. It's what he's best at."

"I see," Shindou nodded. "Could you show me your choreography? I'm curious how you've modified to fit him if he is indeed a rookie."

"Oh, not much actually!" she said. She was actually quite proud of the choreography for their tango. "Bakugou-kun is very good at the tango, it suits him." She felt the blush rise onto her cheeks, remembering how attractive Bakugou looked staring into his eyes.

"Well then. I should have no problem learning it," he said, moving to the middle of the floor.

Uraraka swallowed. It was a sensual dance and Shindou was an attractive guy, not that it really mattered much. She could show him and not think about that! She glanced to look at Todoroki and Momo who both nodded to her, wanting her to step forward.

"I definitely think you could handle it, yes," she said, and slowly moved to stand in front of him.

She wrapped her hand around his, staring into his dark eyes again. Why did all the men she danced with have to be attractive?!

"It's a tango," she began, "so we start out with a lunge into a small dip," she explained.

"Of course!" Shindou smiled.

Uraraka began to explain the full set and Shindou led her across the floor, pulling her into the various poses she described. However his dips were more precise, and his lifts were stronger. As they slid into the final pose, she kept her leg hooked around his waist. His hand slid up her thigh and she stared into his eyes, breathing deeply. "I would say... I think you have it," she said softly.

And as Shindou opened his mouth to speak, the door slammed open.

~~

"Are you sure you don't wanna go dude? I could walk you down there and-"

"No! Shut it!" Bakugou hissed, clacking away on his laptop. He had a paper to write and the last thing he wanted to do was think about Uraraka and her stupid invitational dance practice or whatever they called it.

"But isn't it a mini-competition? You could watch her-"

"What? Dance with someone else? No fucking way!?" he growled and shook his head.

"I thought she was going to do a solo dance?" Kirishima continued speaking and Bakugou continued to want to punch his lights out.

"Yeah who the fuck knows," he grumbled. "They can dance with whoever they want during that thing."

"Oh," Kirishima muttered. "Well, if you change your mind, let me know."

He grunted, knowing he wouldn't change his mind about this.

What would he even do? Watch as some other asshole touched his not-girlfriend because he had no claim over her? Not that he really had claim over her even if she was his girlfriend. And who knew what kind of dance they were doing. He hated it. He wished he just hadn't known about the damn practice. Last time he ever went to dinner with shitty Half and Half.

He pursed his lips and tried to focus on the screen in front of him. He needed to finish this damn essay, not be thinking about stupid dance.

And yet, he couldn't help but wonder about what she was doing. The music began to play in his head and he thought about all the ways he ever touched her. The way her ass moved closer to his, their bodies almost touching. Was she dancing with someone else? Were they touching her; sliding their hands up her thigh the way he had down so many times? Or maybe they were staring into her deep brown eyes, loving the way her hips moved around or the way she moved so light on her feet.

Fuck.

What the fuck was he doing?!

He couldn't dance, sure, but he should be there! What if some asshole from Ketsuwhatsuever tried to make a move on her?!

With a growl he slammed his laptop shut and Kirishima jumped behind him. "Woah man... you okay?"

"I'm fuckin' leaving!" he snapped, hobbling out of bed to grab his crutches.

"What?! Where are you going?" Kirishima said, immediately jumping up from his desk to throw his shoes on.

"It doesn't matter, I don't need help!" he snapped. "I just need to fucking get there."

It was already late. She hadn't texted him any of her stupid cute messages or dropped any emojis to let him know it went well. Even though he rarely answered...

God. He really was an idiot.

Uraraka was his girl. His. Except... she wasn't. She wasn't at all. Why the hell had he made this stupid fucking promise to not actually ask her out until after their stupid dance competition? If some other guy came along and was amazing and swept her off her feet... she had every right to go off with him.

Not that anyone was better than him, goddamnit, and he would prove that to her if he fucking had to. In front of anyone who fucking asked.

He leaned down to pick up his jacket and crutches, shoving them under his arms, yanking the door open as he left Kirishima behind. He didn't need help. He was going to prove he could easily do this on his own.

He puffed out his cheeks and went as fast as his damn crutches could take him. He wished he didn't have this goddamn injury. Maybe then he would've actually been able to dance with her tonight. He could've been her shitty partner and they would've lost to Half and Half and his stupid girlfriend and it would've sucked but at least it would've been him and not... some other dude.

Or maybe she was just doing a solo dance. Who the fuck knew!? And who knew why he was getting so goddamn worked up about it.

He pushed his crutches into the ground, clouds of his breath blowing into his face with each huff as he slowly made his way down to the dance building. Hell, by the time he got there the whole thing would've ended.

And it basically had. When Bakugou finally arrived to the dance building he saw groups of students hanging out, loitering around. The competition had to be over with how casual everyone was being. There was no tension or sense of urgency and Bakugou hobbled over to the door. But where the hell was Uraraka?! Had she already left?!

He peered into various doors, noting some of the dancers were stretching, but he didn't see Uraraka anywhere. Until he peered into the main dance studio door.

She twirled around, her body pressed close to another boy. He had dark hair, stood tall next her... was extremely handsome... and was dancing their choreography?! Her face was so close to his... her round cheeks slightly red.

What. The. Hell.

He stumbled backwards, hopping on his foot as he slammed the door open.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?" he snapped, breathing heavily as he did. Immediately Half and Half and his girlfriend jumped up, shocked at the loud outburst.

"K-Katsuki!? What are you doing here?!" Uraraka gasped.

He dropped the crutches to the side and stormed over, pain shooting up his foot having not used it for days now. He gripped at the black haired guy's shirt and growled in his face. "Who the fuck are you!? Get the hell away from her!" he snapped.

"Katsuki please!" Uraraka called out and ran to get his crutches holding them out to him. "You shouldn't be standing-"

The black haired guy sneered at him. "You must be the amateur-"

"AMATEUR!? What the fuck are you trying to say?"

"If you have an injury, you really shouldn't be using your foot," the black haired guy smiled, his eyes dark shutting as he wrapped his hand around Bakugou's wrist.

He clenched at his shirt harder. "I'll beat your ass to a pulp pretty boy. She's my partner. And this tango is our fucking dance! What the hell are you doing it for?"

"I was showing her how it would feel to dance her amazing choreography with an actual dancer. Someone who is polite and treats her kindly. Instead of some rough rugby player who doesn't know his right foot from his left," he smirked.

"S-Shindou-san! Katsuki is actually a very good dancer."

Shindou grinned. "Really? Is he? Because I have years on him."

"So what? I'm her goddamn partner!" he growled.

"But you don't have to be. You're injured," he hissed. "And the competition is coming up. Perhaps Uraraka-san deserves a partner more fit for her."

"Shindou-san, please... Katsuki and I have already entered the competition-"

"You can change his name," he stated bluntly. "Let me be your partner for the competition so you will actually have a chance at winning."

"The FUCK-"

Shindou gripped Bakugou's wrist and began to push him back. "It's not your decision to make," he said, and smiled towards Uraraka. "It's hers. We danced all afternoon together and made a wonderful team. Just ask Todoroki and Yaoyorozu!" he said, "I would be a much better fit as Uraraka's partner."

"I'm her fucking partner!"

Shindou smiled, his dark eyes glaring at Bakugou. "You're a really rude person, aren't you? I say we let Uraraka decide. She has danced with both of us. She knows what each of us are capable of. It's her choice."

Bakugou swallowed and looked towards Uraraka, despising the look of actual confusion on her soft, adorable face.

"So," Shindou said, holding out his hand to her. Uraraka’s brown eyes darted to Momo first and then looked at both of the boys in front of her.

"Do you want me to be your partner instead?"

[idkwhatawritingblogis]

nsfw alphabet meme; noam

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex) he's in such a positive headspace, he feels like he can take on the world, you know? so he's just very snuggly and touchy and wants to hold on to his partner. like hey, they just did something Fantastic. unless it's a one night stand. then he runs. but if he cares, he's a soft boy full of spooning and love.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) you know what? man loves his thighs. and he loves gideons thighs and also her arms. choke him out. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person) he is a boy who enjoys shooting on the stomach. he also is open to eating his own cum. so you know. snowballing. what of it. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) he had sex with one of his mother's close friends. he was an adult when he did it but he is very Yikes about it.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) he's pretty experienced. he's been at it for years, hopefully satisfying, and exploring different ways to please people. he definitely knows what he's doing. he's very committed to being great at it, though, so. you know. got a little ego. someone says he's bad? h'ouch.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual) .. anal, man. he's big into it. and he's not douchey about it, but, you know. he's just a Big Fan. and he's also into missionary. he likes to look at his partners. take in the beauty. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) do you see how i'm answering this. he's a goofy bitch. unless he's real thinking with his dick, he's definitely a goofy motherfucker.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) he's fairly groomed. bit of hair and stuff. he hates shaving, but he's also not about to grow a whole bush and expect a partner to put their mouth on it. he grows a lot of hair, fam. nah.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) i mean. when he's in missionary and stuff, he's big into holding hands. so that's something. he's not a "oh lets put out fake rose petals and candles" kind of romantic man, but he's not a complete asshole or anything. he also likes to nuzzle and kiss a whole lot during sex. so.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon) he nuts and ends up shooting himself in the face nearly every time he jerks off. genuinely. he's just accepted that this is life. a nutty face. he's alright, just keeps a lot of baby wipes nearby. 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks) wet hair. he doesn't know what caused it, but.. a girl with wet hair just is a whole Thing for him. girls look their best that way to him, too. 

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do) A CAR. and also the kitchen. he likes to crack jokes about eating in more ways than one. please smack him. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) ..i mean. he sees gideon and he's immediately Ready For Anything. he's thirsty for his girl, even if she's in some clothes or something. soz. he also is a fan of breathing on his ear. sensitive spot for sure.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) other than the obvious, noam's one turn off is neville mentions. talk about flaccid. besides that, he really doesn't like 69ing? it just feels weird for him, there's no real rhyme or reason, but man. he just wants one focus at a time. or little different focuses, like stroke him a lil or something, but don't go for a blow because he will probably jump and just..no one needs that! not a one!!!

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) he prefers to receive, but you know. welcome to sit on his face any day. he will drown.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.) usually it's more on the fast bit. he's not out here Making Love with gideon, but if they're going sensual and slower, a massage is always involved.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) he's always down for a quickie. it's sex. he gets to be with his girl. he's all for it, fam.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) he's pretty open to experimenting, i think. and he likes car sex, so you know. risk. illegal. he's a bit dumb there, but whatever, he's all about car anything. fingerbangin while he's driving? SAFETY ISN'T FIRST FOR HIM.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) it depends. whenever he gets to get a nut in after not seeing gideon for awhile? it's a quick. sorry. he makes up for it with oral and stuff until he's ready for another round, and then it lasts longer there.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) he does not own any toys. he used to have a fleshlight. then heath called himself a human fleshlight and noam had ptsd and threw it away.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) he.. weirdly isn't too into the teasing? like on his end, anyway. more straight forward, i s'pose. he digs being teased by gideon, even if it ruins his life.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make) he.. grunts. mostly. like if he's pushin it into someone. you know. he isn't the silent type at all. when he's getting blown, he moans like a whole lil bitch, alright. don't @ him about it. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) he definitely is into wearing his cowboy sex during sex. so you know. yeefuckinhaw, hoe. also he can't have sex with someone who has their socks on. ever. sorry. have cold feet.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) he's a cut boy. jewish and all that.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) high as fuck. dude. he wants his dick wet all the time, even more so while around gideon. probably due to distance. also because he likes getting his dick wet. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) noam.. will fall asleep if someone's got their fingers in his hair. but also, he can fall asleep pretty quickly. he loves his sleep and he wants to spoon after bangs and he is Content.

[jaxonah]

Wait

"You know you're acting like an asshole right?"

I got up from the hotel bed my boyfriend I were sharing and searched for my shorts.

"Can you stop whining and come back to bed please? You build stuff up in your head like an idiot all by yourself. There's nothing going on with me and that bitch, just stop."

I turned around swiftly and narrowed my eyes.

"I literally read the messages, Brian. I saw, with my own two eyes, the lovey dovey messages you and that hoe were sending each other. You and I are the ones that are supposed to be speaking to each other like that, not you and that other fucking girl you prick."

He rolled his eyes and actually shooed me away with his hand.

"Just go, you're annoying me. Bye."

He turned over away from me in bed and grabbed his phone from the stand.

I sighed while slipping on my sweater and making my way towards the door.

As I grabbed the handle, I couldn't help but stop in my tracks and turn around.

"You love me, Brian?"

I just needed to hear him say it. I needed that assurance.

"Not right now. Leave."

I chewed on my lip while my grip righted and held in my tears.

*********

I sat at the small coffee shop, facing the window and allowing my tears to run freely.

Literally no one but me and the barista, who was more focused on his phone, were in the shop at the moment.

The dark night and rainy weather seemed appropriate.

I sipped on my hot macchiato and contemplated everything going on with me and my boyfriend.

He may not think so, but I consider him speaking to another girl in such a loving manner, cheating.

Affairs start with conversations.

I wiped away yet another tear with my sleeve and rested my chin on my hand while continuing to stare out the window.

I felt like I was in an R&B music video.

I heard the little door bell ding as someone entered and I made sure to turn my body more towards the window.

The last thing I wanted was someone seeing me look pathetic and taking pity on me.

I took a slow sip of my warm drink once more when as, what sounded like a man, ordered his drink at the front.

It was pretty much background noise to me as I was consumed with the complicated situation I was in with my asshole boyfriend.

Before I knew it, I felt the presence of someone beside me.

"Excuse me,"

I heard a kind voice say.

I looked up to find a handsome man with a cap and sun glasses on looking down at me with a small smile. A cup of coffee in his hands.

"I hate to bother you but you seem really upset. Are you okay?"

Obviously this guy looked shady as fuck with his hat and shades on in doors AND it's dark outside. So I just wanted him to get away from me.

"I'm okay, thank you. My boyfriend should be here any minute so,"

My small and slightly polite way of shooing him away.

"Mind if I wait with you while he comes?"

The man, with no shame, sat himself in front of me and set his drink down.

I had no time to react before he removed his cap and sun glasses, revealing a very attractive man with plump lips and sweet eyes.

"Thanks," he said with a pretty smile before taking a sip of his drink.

I was still dumbfounded about this strange, attractive man just sitting himself in front of me for no apparent reason.

I mean.

He doesn't look or seem like he feels sorry for me.

He stared out the window for a bit before checking his phone.

While I still stay there staring at him. Trying to figure out which one of us was the crazy one.

He then looked up with that same nice smile and stuck his hand out to me.

"I'm Jackson by the way. You?"

I stared at his hand strangely before slowly and sort of reluctantly reaching for it with my own.

"Y/N," I answered slowly and softly.

"Y/N! That's a pretty name. So what's on your mind tonight, Y/N?"

My mouth was left agape as I tried to find something to say.

How can this stranger just strike up a conversation with some crying chick in a cafe???

"Uhh...n-nothing. What's...what's on your mind?"

Why the hell am I giving this guy my time? I should just get up and leave.

"Well the only thing that's on my mind is me wondering why there's a really pretty girl in a coffee shop late at night in LA, crying her little heart out."

His eyes turned somber and appeared worrisome.

Before I had the chance to speak, he stepped right back in.

"And! I have a slight feeling it has something to do with that boyfriend she mentioned earlier. The one who's "on his way" right?"

He air quoted 'on his way' and looked damned adorable rolling his eyes while he did so.

I let out a light laugh before sitting up fully and shaking my head.

This guy doesn't seem too bad...

"It might. Or what if I just really like coffee late at night while it's raining?"

I said before taking another sip of my macchiato.

He laughed an infectious laugh before lifting his cup up to me and clinking with mine.

"Then join the club!"

We both laughed before sitting back and carefully observed each other.

This guy was...unbelievably good looking.

And I think has an Asian background.

"Where are you from?"

I asked leaning on my arms and paying attention to Jackson.

"China! But for the most part I live in South Korea. I'm actually in a music group and we're here on tour."

"Interesting. What music group?"

He brushed his hair back before taking a sip of his drink.

"We're called Got7. It's a K-Pop group."

My eyes widened a bit before I nodded along.

"My best friend loves that one group. BTS?"

He nodded quickly with a small smile.

"Bangtan boys! I actually know them, they're great guys."

"They're all super fine too."

I added before taking a sip of my drink and looking at Jackson for his reaction.

He only laughed that perfect laugh and nodded.

"Uhh we're all super fine," he began while he motioned his hands up and down his body.

"If you hadn't noticed."

We both laughed hardily before I leaned back and just stared at him some more.

"So what's a big K pop star such as yourself hanging out with little ol' me in this small coffee shop at 2:00 AM for?"

Hi smile lightened a little before he brushed his hair back once more and leaned forward, holding onto his coffee cup.

"I guess I...just needed a break from...everything. Even if it was just for an hour or so."

He looked down at the coffee cup while gently tapping his fingers against it.

"It's exhausting sometimes and I needed some form of relief, I think."

I saw his expression change into one of...anger?

He gripped his coffee cup a little tighter before causing me to jump by banging his free fist onto the table.

"I shouldn't fucking think like that. I should work harder. But I'm just so tired..."

I chewed on my lip as I watched his breathing grow heavy while he did not dare look me in the eyes.

"Hey,"

I very slowly and softly rested my hand against his clenched one.

"You do not need to feel ashamed or bad for not wanting, but needing a break. My best friend explained to me what all you guys have to go through and honestly, I'm shocked you're not passed out on your hotel bed right now,"

I slowly started stroking his now less tense fist with my thumb.

"Take your break, you deserve it. And thank you for taking your break or "waiting" with little ol' me."

I saw him slowly look up and face me.

His expression was calm and sweet once more.

Before I knew it, he had flipped his hand over and grabbed onto mine, lifting it up to his lips and leaving a sweet kiss to my knuckles.

I blushed while he gently laid my hand back down.

"So who's the stupid guy who's upset someone as sweet as you tonight?"

He asked, looking into my eyes and leaning on his arms.

I sighed deeply and shrugged, remembering my own problems.

"Well, let me ask you."

I sat up straighter and watched as Jackson paid all of his attention to me.

"Go ahead,"

He said.

"If you're with someone...romantically I mean. And it's been exclusive for awhile. And you see that the person you're with has been talking to another person... the same exact way that they speak to you, romantically I mean. Would you consider that cheating?"

I looked up to his eyes, desperate for proof that I wasn't over reacting.

That I didn't deserve this kind of treatment from my boyfriend.

That...that he is cheating on me.

His eyes widened a bit before they narrowed and he threw his arms on either side of his head.

"That's cheating!"

He exclaimed before dropping his arms and shaking his head.

"I mean, how do you think relationships, even romantic ones, begin? With conversation! It all depends on the context but if it's the same type of manner he's speaking to his significant other with then most definitely."

I nodded along at his words and looked down.

"Yeah, I agree with you."

It was my turn to grip onto my coffee cup in frustration now.

I felt a large hand rest on my arm and slowly start stroking up and down.

"You don't deserve that. You're too good for him."

I looked up with slightly tinted cheeks while chewing on my bottom lip.

"Do you know how a girl like you deserves to be treated?"

He asked while looking directly into my eyes.

I shook my head no and waited for him to continue.

"Like...like...like she's the most important thing in the entire world. Like...you have to be absolutely certain to watch your step because you don't wanna take any chance of losing her. Like...better than a princess. Or a queen! Like,"

He tapped his hand onto his chest where his heart was.

"Like she is the other half of who you are."

"A soulmate."

I cut in, looking up at Jackson completely.

"Yes! Yeah a soulmate. Exactly."

I nodded and took a sip of my drink.

"Brian laughs when I talk about soulmates. He doesn't think they're real."

Jackson gave a confused look before shaking his head and scoffing.

"So who are you supposed to marry? Be with this person the rest of your life, if there are no soulmates? Just some random person? I refuse to believe that. Brian is really stupid."

We both laughed once more before I nodded my head and completely agreed.

"Extremely."

Before our conversation was going to continue, Jackson's phone lit up.

"Excuse me Y/N, just one second."

I nodded before he answered his phone and started speaking to someone in a language I didn't understand.

Korean probably.

I smiled to myself at that before Jackson hung up.

"Can I see your phone?"

He said while putting his hand out.

I have a questioning look before I unlocked my phone and handed it to him.

Usually I wouldn't just give my phone to just anyone but for some reason, I just trusted Jackson.

He started typing away quickly.

"Aaaaand there you go."

He handed my phone back.

I looked at the screen and smiled as I saw he had put his phone number with the contact name "Hot Coffee Shop Guy".

I giggled, actually giggled, before putting my phone down and looking back up at him.

"I, unfortunately, have to leave now. Apparently my managers are upset or whatever. But I'd really like to "wait" with you again sometime...if that's okay with you?"

I was about to reply when he cut back in.

"And I don't want to seem disrespectful towards your relationship with that stupid Brian guy, but you actually helped me a lot tonight and you're so nice and fun to talk to and make me...make me feel calm I think? And it would be a shame to lose you as a friend cause, well I consider you a friend already, and oh! maybe you can meet the rest of my members sometime, they'd love you. Also maybe your best friend and you can come to a show? That'd be so-"

"Jackson!"

I finally interrupted his rant.

He looked at me blushing while I reached out for his hand, which he gladly put into mine.

"I'd love to "wait" with you again."

[clown-bait]

29 Neibolt ST (Monster Roommate AU)

Alright I’m just going to start posting this anyway since I have so much of it already written. This is my first venture into writing so go easy on me. Im normally an artist not a writer. I’ll intro my OC too she’s a grungey stoner girl going through some big changes. Those changes being that she’s slowly turning into a nosferatu style vampire. She “Dropped out” of bartending school, dumped her abusive ex and moved to Maine where she found out that every monster in the world had the same idea. Eventually she moves in with everyones favorite clown and feelings start to happen. This chapter is just intros really smut and romance is coming. Mostly a parody humor fic with horror and romance thrown in. There is lots of gore, NSFW, drug use, alcohol, death, swearing, and violence. So you’ve been warned. Chapter 1 The Contract She had been there for a month now. Somehow she was still alive, and living amongst monsters. “You know…It’s not that bad mom, the house is a bit old but it’s charming you get used to it after awhile.” as she says this a chunk of the Old Well House’s ceiling falls onto the ancient dining room table. She flinches a natural reaction left over from humanity’s days as a prey animal but she recovers quickly mostly unfazed. “Visit? Oooooh no, no, thats not a great idea. Roommates are a bit quirky you wouldn't like them.” she said into the phone. Quirky was a massive understatement. She opened the fridge and let out a groan of frustration at the severed head and arm sitting on top of her tupperware. “that son of a bitch” she whispered “Hey mom call you back, kitchen trouble. Love ya.” she hung up the phone and shouted “ALRIGHT WHO’S IS THIS?!” her voice echoed through out the old decaying house. She was met by heavy breathing and guttural grunting the kind you would hear in a horror movie sound clip. She turned to the doorway towards the owner of the sound, a hulking behemoth donning a butchers apron. He’s covered in old blood soaked handprints and his signature mask made of the leather from a human face. “What the hell Leatherface you have your own fucking fridge for this shit” she stated unafraid. Now one would be wondering at this point why is this girl so relaxed? Why has she not died of a heart attack or been murdered by these horrible housemates. This clearly wasn't your average college drop out living situation, not by a long shot. No my friend, this is the story of a human who literally lived with her monsters and in the process became one herself. But the only thing you need to know right now dear reader, is that Lucy Smith never turned down a good deal.  It all started when she wanted to get out of the city. Adam and our dear Lucy had just broken up after being her high school sweetheart and boyfriend for 5 long years. It happened at the end her second to last year of college, he had become an absolute monster and she was done with his shit. Lucy wanted to get away. Away from everything that reminded her of him and the life they had shared together. “I’ll go to the other side of the country,” she thought “as far as possible I’ll go to fucking Maine.”   When she found the house it looked abandoned. “Fucking hell this must be a fake ad or something. No way this place is inhabitable.” she groaned but there was a small sign in the window of the house on Neibolt Street that read “Room for Rent” in badly drawn red ink. “Wellp I got nothing to lose anyway, either I die via whatever serial killer is squatting here or the drinking will get me later.” She had next to nothing other than a car, her belongings and enough money for three months worth of rent. This really was her only option. As she walked by the sun flowers haphazardly planted in the front yard in some sad attempt to make the house look pleasant, the front door creaked open on its own. “Yeah I’m definitely going to get murdered.” she mumbled. Lucy stepped cautiously in the doorway “Um hello? I’m here about the room?” something scuttled on the floor above her, it sounded like the pitter patter of children’s feet. Lucy’s heart began to pound her blue eyes wide now and her senses heightened. “Anyone?” she called out into the decrepit house. Lucy made her way to the window and picked up the for rent sign clutching it tightly to her chest. She was an avid horror fan, and she was no idiot. This house screamed ghost murderer she began to step further into the house when suddenly the door slammed shut. “FUCK” she shouted trying to pry it back open but it wouldn't budge “ALRIGHT ASSHOLE” she yelled “I’m fucking done with this game! You going to discuss the room with me or not?!” a door in a different room had creaked open and Lucy could have sworn she heard the faint sound of bells. “This isn't funny bitch” she yelled nervously searching for an exit “be brave be brave be brave” she whispered to herself. Down the hall she heard footsteps from something large they seemed to be dragging across the floor. Fucking hide you idiot her brain told her she quickly and silently bolted to the kitchen, almost on the verge of tears now cursing herself for even getting into this situation. She frantically searched the room for something to hide in and a half open cabinet caught her eye. She made a dash for it when she hear the jingle again this time louder and coming form the basement of the Well-house. She reached for the rotting door and screamed when something grey and furry leapt out at her. It smelled almost dead and its eyes were lifeless and faded. The creature was a very pissed off dirty grey cat. “Holy shit little guy” she managed to say. The cat darted off into the house and Lucy let her guard down slightly breathing a sigh of relief, only to turn around to meet a twisted smile with long fangs and glowing yellow eyes. Suddenly the demon clown shot a gloved claw out around her throat. Lucy passed out from sheer terror, dropping the for rent sign on the ground next to her.  ___________ Lucy awoke to voices, they were twisted and clearly agitated. Their tones were enough to make someones skin crawl. Her thoughts were foggy and her head ached from hitting it on her way down. She moved to rub it but she found she was tied to a chair, she thrashed a bit in a sad attempt to escape. the girl knew knew it wouldn't work. She was frail and malnourished looking, a text book punk kid in flannel and a stupid t-shirt that had a skeleton hand holding up the cliche devil horns. She wasn't getting out of this. The voices began to sound clearer now she had yet to open her eyes but she could hear what the owners were saying. “We can’t just kill her we need the money.” “She’s fucking human Tiff, just let the clown and the big guy fight over her meat!” “We’re about to lose the house babe! This is the best place we've had in years!”   “You know the rules no regular humans allowed in our society.” “Leatherface is human!” “PFF barely,” “Will you two PLEASE stop bickering for 5 seconds!” “Oh you wanna finally join us Jingles? Because you've been sitting there drooling for the past five minutes while we've been trying to figure out what to do about YOUR house.” “DO NOT CALL ME JINGLES, DOLL!!!” Lucy opened her eyes, light stung them at first and her vision adjusted. She gurgled out a moan of pain and the room suddenly went silent. Across from her were two dolls one a pretty blonde girl doll with dark makeup the other a boy haphazardly stitched together in a terrifying way. “What the fuck” she mumbled turning to look behind her, she heard heavy breathing that coming out so deep they almost sounded like moans. The monster towered over her and most horrifying of all he wore the skinned face of a dead woman. Lucy quickly turned away to finally find the other inhabitant pouting in the corner, the evil clown from earlier. He was tall, lanky and had a giant forehead with fluffy orange hair twisting around like cotton candy. The clown was staring right at her with a terrifying hunger in his eyes, like he could smell her fear from across the room. She tried to soak it all in. This isn't happening this isn't real. Oh god I'm going to die here she thought. Then, something deep within Lucy’s mind snapped. She began to laugh. Her laughter was a mix of hysteria and horror it was insane and manic. “Wellp I’ve finally lost it.” she thought to herself as her cackling died down. The monstrous flatmates stared at her slightly confused by her reaction.  “Well that the first time I’ve made that kind of impression. Thought makin' them laugh was your thing jingles.” the boy doll mused The clown let off an inhuman warning growl and the doll grinned wickedly. “Y-youre all r-real.” Lucy stuttered starting to slip into insanity. “Careful who you say isn't real around here toots, Jingles over there tends to get real triggered about that subject” the male doll quipped “Are you done insulting me yet? You disgusting excuse for a child’s toy.” the clown hissed “Not on your life chucklefuck.” “Chucky! Can we please focus on the girl!” the dolls female counterpart snapped “Sorry pumpkin, they've been having a bit of a dispute ever since the clown left a huge pile of drool outside the fridge yesterday morning” she turned to Lucy who now was a mix of terrified and utterly confused. “I was very hungry and couldn't decide what to eat!” the clown pouted “YOU HAVE AN ENTIRE PANTRY FULL OF DEAD CHILDREN IN THE SEWER DO YOU EVEN NEED TO EAT ANYTHING ELSE?” Chucky shouted back at him. “Wow that hurt. I don't just eat children you know” the clown mocked being struck in the heart followed by a sharp glare. The silent behemoth behind Lucy had decided enough was enough and banged on the counter next to him. All in the room went quiet. The female doll sighed “Well if you two are going to be children about this I’ll make the decision for us. Alright look hun. We’re in a bit of a pickle and we need an extra roommate or Penny here is going to lose the house. Then well all be shit outta luck, especially you sweetheart. So I’m givin ya two options” she looked at the grumpy killer clown who huffed and finally nodded giving the female doll permission “One, you take the room. You will live here as the fake owner so the town doesn't try to reclaim the house and tear it down. Or two…. you die.”  “And if I don’t want either?” Lucy questioned giving in completely to this new terrifying situation she was in. All the inhabitants in the room smiled wickedly. The clown stepped forward and grabbed Lucy’s chin forcing her to look into his golden predatory eyes, they were slightly out of alignment as if he was barely managing to keep control of himself  “You can try to run kitten, but in a house full of monsters” he grinned his smile sadistic with a sprinkling of insanity “I promise you wont get far.” he inhaled sharply as if sniffing a freshly cooked meal before taking a bite. Lucy swallowed her fear and insanity pushing it down deep within her. “I’m a fucking survivor and I’m not going to die in some rotting haunted house.” She thought to herself. The clown growled and shoved her face back roughly as if offended by her sudden burst of bravery. “How much is rent?” she stated cool and suddenly collected.She wasn't really but the girl was no stranger to putting on a brave face. The group turned to the clown who was suddenly put on the spot “….$450” “Fuck that. Does this crackhouse even have running water?” she spat. “Watch your filthy little mouth!” the clown growled. She had obviously hit a very sore spot. A weakness she smirked. “$300” she haggled.  “Just for that remark, five” the clown sneered in her face again, he was so close she could feel his breath on her nose. “You cant go up you fucker” “How much is your life worth to you little human” “About 300 bucks a month, clown.” “Four.. not including utilities” he smiled like the devil himself. She broke. “Look if you don’t kill me then my ex probably will. Im dead either way. Probably safer with a bunch of monsters than with that psycho, so $350 with utilities and I wont call the cops and make sure people stay away from your place. You all obviously want to remain here in secret so I keep my mouth shut about what you are and you give me a cheap place to live and start over. I honestly don't give a shit if I'm living with demon dolls and cannibals. I just want freedom from my old shitty life and my old shitty ex.” she stared back into the clowns eyes in pure defiance. Blue and gold bore into each other in some unseen battle. Few have ever done this to him before and were allowed to live. Finally the clown broke the stare he was a bit thrown off. “I’m not a cannibal I'm not even human you disgusting Leech.” he mumbled. Clearly the demon clown had a pride issue. “Wait call the cops? Ah shit Chucky you forgot to take her phone???” the Tiffany yelled at the male doll. “You didn't fucking tell me too! I thought we were going to kill her like we do with all the humans that wander in here!! Didn't see the fucking need but apparently were all going soft because Buck Tooth McForehead over here is worried about foreclosure!” “You idiot! You never listen to me!!!!” she screamed and lunged at him.  The clown rolled his eyes at them, apparently this happened a lot. “Can you guys please take this to the bedroom, since I know where this is going and I really don't want walk in to find you making up on my sofa again.” Leatherface who had been mostly silent had moaned and covered his eyes clearly grossed out at the thought. “FINE were leaving! Tell us when you two kids make a damn deal instead of eye fucking each other for hours” Chucky shouted from the floor his wife’s hands around his neck. “Ew what the hell man we weren’t…” Lucy began but was cut off by an eruption of anger from the clown. “GET OUT.” the clown roared.They stood up and Chucky took his wife’s hand in his and Tiffany gave Lucy a wink as she left. “what the hell was that-“ Lucy started. “Ignore them” the clown interrupted once again. “Ok but like what did he mean by-“ “Ignore them” She turned her attention again to the tall murderous, inhuman apparently, clown. Who was clearly extremely annoyed with the whole situation. “So we have a deal clown?” “Pennywise” the clown said. “PennyWhat?” “I have a name and its Pennywise… The dancing clown.” “You dance?” “Not the point.” “Can I see?” “No.” “I thought clowns liked to preform.” “Are you finished?” “Maybe.” Lucy fired back at him.  The clown was not used to this amount of sass from such a small frail looking thing. She could certainly run her mouth. It reminded him of a very specific boy that had smacked him in the head with a baseball bat all those years ago. He knew he was going to hate this human, but he had little to no choice in this. The Well-house was apart of him and desperate times call for desperate measures. He decided to wait to kill her when she tries to move out. It'll happen eventually anyway, after all this human will be living amongst monsters, horrible abominations true living nightmares! No normal sane human would be able to last long in this situation. And then he will enjoy feasting on this small thing’s flesh. Biting into her pale skin hearing her cry out in fear when he turns on her. Oh yes her sweet, delicious, beautiful fear. He'd inhale her scent and burry his nose into her bleeding flesh licking the wound in her neck. Those big blue eyes wide in terror as the filthy leech rose up finally floating. Her short platinum hair swirling around her frozen face. Beautiful, intoxicating, delicious, alluring, all mine, mine, mine, MINE- he woke himself from his trance his eyes had drifted apart and he was drooling immensely. She was staring at him waiting for him to say something. He mentally cursed himself for those strange thoughts that had just drifted through his head. “You uh…. you ok there? It looks like you left earth there for a bit”   The clown sighed and growled more turning to his giant flatmate. “Untie her and bring me some ink Leatherface, lets just get this over with” Pennywise said exhausted. The giant equally concerned and confused grabbed a knife off the kitchen wall and cut her free. Lucy’s first instinct was to run but she glued herself into the reality of her situation. The behemoth walked over to her still holding the knife and she suddenly felt the fear come back. What if the clown had lied? The giant grabbed her hand roughly. Shit she began to panic as he pressed the blade into her hand and cut. Pennywise was now sporting a devilish grin seeing his flatmate to be squirm and whimper under the blade. He suddenly had an old looking contract and a quill in his hand which he laid out on the table in front of her “Read it and sign it Leech” he sneered “Really? Im signing it in blood? Really?” “You’re being difficult and childish just sign the damn paper.” “Why do you keep calling me Leech anyway?” “Because you're sucking me dry with this $350 a month deal, sign the paper.” “Do I get to at least remodel my room?” “SIGN THE PAPER” “Bite me clown. I want to know the fine details.” “Careful what you wish for little Leech it just might come true.” he muttered. “That a threat Penny?” she fired backThe clown glared at the nickname. “You know, you’re cute when you're mad” she chuckled reading the document. “Interesting requirements you got here. Don’t know what the hell this whole community council thing is and all these weird secrets but eh its cheap living can’t complain.” she dabbed the pen on her open wound and scribbled her name on the line.  “Congratulations were flatmates.” the clown growled snatching the paper and walked off towards the basement. Lucy turned to Leatherface and chuckled. “I like him, he’s fun. So you guys gonna take me on the grand tour?” the giant still very confused with the whole situation nodded silently and Lucy followed him out. She didn't quite know what she just agreed to and this definitely wasn't the change she had in mind. All she knew was that she had wished for a new start and she sure as hell was getting one. 

[the-real-anywolf]

Our Writing Process

We decided to discuss our writing process with our first collaborative fic: One Missed Text. And, as usual, we got distracted by fucking tangents. Anyway, while we’re busy writing and editing a few fics that are finished and almost ready for upload, we figured our awesome readers/followers might like a little insight into our process.

Frankie here: So we decided to discuss a little more of our writing process with you guys, starting with our first collaborative fic. One Missed Text. While this is our first baby and will always have a special place in our hearts, it was also an eye opening experience as to what NOT to do when writing a fic. Case in point, we wrote c15 first and built the rest of the fic around it. Chapter 15 was the romantic plot climax of the fic, which literally started as me and Any texting each other as Dean and Cas for shits and gig’s before deciding, HEY! Let’s turn this into a fic!

Any here: Oh man, this seems like ages ago. But yeah, I remember that we wrote this totally out of order and we had a SHIT LOAD of editing and revising to do because of that. We learned to never do this again, no matter how much we wanted to write out a scene we were both looking forward to. There is also this other thing... and it's still kind of a problem. I mean, not really a problem per se, cuz usually this leads to pretty epic story elements BUT OUR CHARACTERS DO WHAT THEY FUCKING WANT!

Sometimes we have a plan. And then Dean and Cas do something completely different. It makes writing pretty unpredictable which is another reason we decided to NEVER write chapters out of order again.

Frankie: Yeah, what Any said. Because our characters have a tendency to take over, writing out of order disrupts that flow. On OMT we wrote c15, then probably c22, then c8, etc. etc. You guys get the idea. If we had written it chronologically, I always wonder if the story would have turned out a little different.

Not to mention, one of my regrets for the fic was making Dean so unsympathetic. Which wasn’t intentional and I actually got pretty defensive of his characterization. Another regret I have for one reason and one reason only. A reader by the name HeavenlyCreature had simply casually remarked about Dean being an asshole and not deserving Cas (which was entirely true). And I kind of lost it on her. To such an extent, she apologized and said she had no intention of commenting on someone’s fic now.

Seriously, this was almost a year ago and I still regret how I came at her. I was a cunt and out of line and I can only hope she still does comment on fics she likes, even if those comments are constructive criticism. If you ever read this HeavenlyCreature, I am still sorry for that.

Any: Oh man. I had no idea. o_o! I'm sorry you still feel bad about that and I hope HeavenlyCreature still writes comments on fics. Speaking of comments. Oh man, I'm so bad about replying to them. I must confess I'm very happy Frankie does this. I never know what to say. She also write our tags, summaries and the notes. If you know my solo fics you know why. I often don't tag more than six words and my summaries are often just one sentense. And notes... well... what notes? I mean, I don't even have a facebook account.  

So this, writing notes and doing this blog is kind of practise for me. Me coming out of my shell.

Frankie: Yeah, I do. Once in awhile I think of it and I feel remorseful.

I LOVE when Any writes notes, or tags, or whatever, because she is so reticent. In case you guys can’t tell, I overtag. Although I’ve recently been thanked for my crazy over-tagging, so that makes me smile. Yeah, so a majority of the time, I’m responsible for the ridiculous tags, the summaries, and our notes are shared, I don’t know what the hell crazy ass Any is talking about with that.

Any is usually responsible for the titles of our fics and the majority of the plot, plot twists, etc. Any has a fucking amazing brain sometimes. I swear, I’m constantly in awe. But you guys have read her stuff I’m sure. You’re probably well aware.

Ooh. A fun part of our writing process is the actual way we write our fics. So basically, this is how it goes: Whoever’s POV it is (Cas or Dean’s) is responsible for the majority of the narrative. So, say it’s Cas, thus Any is responsible for most of the narrative. The exception being any time interacting characters I write get a narrative to indicate their actions or reactions to the dialogue.

And as far as who plays which minor characters? That’s pretty much up in the air. There’s no consistency. The closest we came was In a Mirror, Darkly. In which I was responsible for all of the original human characters, and Any was responsible for the original angel characters. But even then, we switched it up. Any played Kris in a lot of scenes, and I played Barbatos in the third part of Ira.

Any: It's funny that you still know what you wrote. I sometimes re-read our stories and I'm not sure anymore. I mean except passages with words I have to look up in a dictionary. Although that reminds me, that you once commented on something (I can't remember which story or what the words was) and you wrote "What the fuck is a [xyz]?" And I answered, "I have no idea. You wrote that!"

Oh man, seriously guys.It's a shame you don't see our comments on our fics. They are hilarious. We should make a top 10 or so... what do think, Frankie?

Frankie: That’s a fucking brilliant idea. Half the time our comments on our fics are snarky: “TAKE THAT SPN WRITERS!” or basically hating on google for trying to confuse the everloving shit out of an ESL author, but yeah. I like that idea. Some of our comments are just fun as hell.

And also, yes. Half the time we can’t remember what the other wrote and I just remember that on IAMD because we tried to stick to our original characters for the most part in that fic lol.

Any:  Oh yeah, that's right. :D Apropos sharing writing secrets and funny incidents... the stick figures!!!!!

We shouldn't forget the stick figures. Sometimes I have a hard time describing stuff so I draw stick figures to ensure Frankie and I are on the same page. I had to draw one in "Relax, Sunshine" (the bath scene) and I recently drew a few for "Terminal Velocity" (which is going online soon).

We also recently discovered another writing method to keep us on track. Yeah, so the thing is Frankie and I, we are the worst destiel shippers ever. Seriously. You know how often we write OC characters and then we start shipping them with Cas. So in one of our new fics that will go online soon, we started to ship Cas again with an OC character. BUT we didn't to happen anything between them in the story. So, to not get off track, we wrote an outtake scene with those two characters to get it out of our system. And that worked surprisingly well.

Frankie: What Any isn't telling you, that first outtake was originally going to be a diverted version of the fic. We were essentially going to write a whole different story with Cas ending up with the OC as an option, if our readers were so inclined, and motherfucker by the time we were done, it still led to Destiel.

But yeah, we have a really bad habit of shipping Cas with anyone but Dean sometimes. I make light of it, but in OMT, I genuinely wanted to kill off Dean so Cas could stay with Dr. Alex.

Any: Hehe, yeah I was so happy with how many of our readers liked Dr. Alex. I mean, it was a destiel story and we wrote an OC character as a competition! I thought this character would be hated but it worked out and I was super happy. I love the OC characters we create :D.

One a personal note OMT was also the beginning of me painting again. I hadn't done this in ages and I practise and learned a lot in that time. And I wanted to thank everyone who commented on the pictures. That was very nice :D

Frankie: Oh, man. Any’s fucking art. It’s a thing of beauty. Oh yeah! Any is responsible for every single cover art for each fic, too. In case you guys didn’t know that either. She’s a goddamn miracle.

Shit. Now I feel like a slacker. LOL. Any does most of the work!

Any: LOL, so not true!! You do all the beta stuff, which is a shit load of work! Besides Painting is not working lol!

Frankie: UGH. Yeah, my beta process is ridiculous. I do an initial run through (half-assed beta) of the fic, then a slow beta of the fic in its entirety two more times (AND I STILL MISS SHIT UGH). Because I’m a dyslexic asshole. UGH. Anyway, yeah, I do all the editing and beta work for our fics, with the exception of The Heart of Ophelia, because it required an outside beta for that bang.

What I loved about that was our beta is a Wincest shipper. I think that gave her an edge, because if it’s not a pairing you ship, it’s generally easier to not get attached to the characters and just read the content for what it is. Any and I are also pro wincest and destiel shippers working together, because we both think the ship wars/ship hate is asinine and unnecessary.

Any: Yeah, Ramen to that. Seriously, I never got that part of the fandom where people throw hate at each other. Isn't that just exhausting? I mean, maybe it's because I'm a spoonie, but seriously if I don't like something I wouldn't waste energy on it. I rather spend my time and energy on something that makes me happy..

Frankie: Yeah, I’m not a spoonie and I don’t understand the point of wasting energy on it. From both sides. Destiel shippers are just as guilty about being cunts as Wincest shippers. Or should we say, Destihellers and Bibros. Seriously, Wincest might not be my cup of tea, but that doesn’t give any of us the right to attack people who do ship it. I say: let people ship what they want!

Any: You going as Preacher Barbie this Halloween? :P

Frankie: LOL. I love when you’re a dick. And actually, in fact, I’m going to be Rocket for Halloween thank you very much.

Any: You created a monster, lol. BUT OMG ROCKET! I WANT TO SEE PICTURES WHEN YOU R ROCKET.

Frankie: You ABSOLUTELY will! LOL. AND YES MWAHAHAHAHA. Soon you’ll be calling people cunts!

Any: Nope! I won’t! I’m staying strong!!!

Frankie: One of these days. LOL. Anyway, so, uh? What were talking about? Oh yeah! Our writing process. LOL. Well, one more thing I think. So, I don’t know if it works like this for other coauthors, but because Any and I are brain twins, our writing is pretty easy. Like, we honestly write incredibly long fics with an ease that is astounding. IAMD, our almost 200k fic, was written in a couple of months. Seriously. August to December. And that’s including Frankie going out of the country to do volunteer work for a month and our real life obligations as well. Friggin’ nuts.

Any: And we sometimes... write like 2 or 3 fics at the same time...

Frankie: Like we are right now. And I’m beta’ing two of our other fics while writing the two with Any, as well as working on this blog posting. LOL.

Any: And I ‘m working on a cover for one of our new fics but pshht it’s a secret.

Frankie: FUCK YES YOU ARE YES YES YES YES YES!!!

Any: Oops

Frankie: Alright fuckers. Any and Frankie OUT. Keep your eyes peeled over the next few days. ;)

[bittersweetrebellion1212]

I'm so sad now.... So that's why I gotta delete this whole thing for awhile n just get back to focusing on me. Nothing is turning out the way I planned between me n you, n that's cuz I lost myself in trying to find you.....

Something I see in you is a major ego n I just...dont need that in my life. Believe me when I say I understand - n I understand polarity...well getting to understand it... your polarity, my polarity....how we r polarities of each other.... there's some way we're supposed to work together to find some kind of middle I think.....eventually.... only if you ever realize that yourself - but right now, I gotta focus on me.....

I've been there for you for the last 2 years... if you cant see that.... if you're still trying to choose between me and other women... if there's any kind of competition... I dont need a man who dosen't see my worth. Exact reason I left the last asshole....

You've still got so much to learn - about yourself - and about how to treat a woman. How u gonna string me along for 2 years.....? I've got knives in my heart... all that I sacrificed for you....so blindly n stupidly.....

N its not that I intentionally sacrificed my children. Not like that at all... but in retrospect....its clear that that's what happened... I sacrificed myself and my children for you... n you still don't see who I am.... I mean nothing to you.....

So.... I'm gonna let you go. For real for real. I don't got time for a fkin player. I don't got time to play. I'm not gonna keep trying to prove myself to someone who thinks my heart is a fkin game.

I don't want a man right now even... well uggghhh yes I do..... I wanna feel a man... but not like this. N I know I'm just trying to fill a void right now. A relationship isn't a good idea right now anyway. I gotta focus on my recovery n what's most important to me.... if you or any man happens to cross my path again.... I'll b ready when I'm ready.... n if I decide I wanna fuck anybody in the meantime, no strings attached, well that's what I'm gonna do. Cuz I'm single now. N I can do whatever I want. N I know not to tell you cuz you'll just get jealous n try to stop it.

I'm so sad...so sad... I have to do this... so sad to have to admit that I was fooled.... so sad to have to admit that you r no good for me...anymore.....

I'm done chasing you. So fkin done.

Why tf cant you see that I was sent to you... why tf cant you see that some higher power chose me to see the truth in you....deeper than anyone can or will.... if you could see that...clearly there would b no competition between me n any other woman/bitch/or whatever else u wanna call it...

So sad....so sad....that I gotta give up on you.....but why should I b? You gave up on me....... I thought you were the one...this is so heartbreaking to say....

Go ahead n keep being a player. N im not talking about a player of the game. I'm talking about a player of the female heart..... see where it leads you..... karma is definitely a bitch, as I've learned..that's no threat from me...that's just the truth... I hate to say that I would love to see you suffer tho for all the suffering you've caused me....

Cant believe i really gotta let you go... cant believe I got a stupid tattoo of your name on me so I'll never b able to forget you.... could this b the mark of the beast....? Was I really that foolish all along.....to think that you actually wanted me.....?

It's over. I'm gonna find the one I'm looking for. I'm sorry I gotta do this to you cuz you had so much potential to me......but there's someone else out there more deserving of my affection....n I'm gonna find him....just not now... I got other shit to worry about.

N in the meantime...... I'm deleting this off my phone so I wont b writing anymore. I wish you the best, I really do......

Goodbye.

[rwbyremnants]

THIS CHAPTER: First time, handjob, premature ejaculation.

=Chapter 9

Bowling was a lot of fun for the whole family. Of course, that was only because the parents didn’t notice Ruby teasing Yang and trying to make her smell her bowling shoes, but that was only briefly annoying. The rest of the time was a lot of fun, competing against each other, scarfing down pizza and sodas from the snack stand and generally goofing around.

By the end of it, Yang was even starting to feel less weird around Summer. Her brain still twisted the knife by flashing the memories of her nude body at her once in awhile, but it was becoming less frequent and she could easily tolerate that much. Besides, remembering Ruby’s body helped a lot with that.

On the way home, they stopped for frozen yogurt and chatted and laughed. Everything was on the mend; their dad definitely didn’t look put out about Yang skipping fishing now that they had some quality father-daughter time in, and they were all talking as normal. Even the occasional guilty look in Summer’s eyes didn’t bring down the evening; after all, they hadn’t really done anything wrong. Just didn’t volunteer an embarrassing story that would have probably made poor Taiyang a little green around the gills. In time, they would forget all about it, other than an occasional wet dream Yang might have when her subconscious mind decided to be an asshole.

By the time they got back, Tai, Ruby and Summer were all pretty tired. After about an hour of TV, they one by one drifted off to bed, Summer the last.

“This has been… a day,” she offered to Yang with a pained smile.

“A pretty good one.” Yang made sure to grin, and without any awkwardness; she wanted her to know that it was already no big deal to her. She noticed her relax, even if only slightly. “See you tomorrow.”

The woman came over to sit on the edge of the couch where Yang was reclining. Irrationally, she felt tense and wanted to worry about what might happen, but she made herself breathe and remain calm.

“Listen… again, I’m very sorry for what hap-”

“Don’t. I got a free show, and you got a tan. That’s it. Nothing else has to be said; we’re cool.”

“Alright,” she breathed with a small smile. Her hand raised, as if she were going to pet Yang’s hair or a similar show of affection, then drew away again as she thought better of it. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t.”

Once she was alone, she flipped through channels for a while. There was nothing very interesting on, but she found some reruns of an old sitcom that she used to love, and killed some time watching that. Then she got a text message…

BLAKEYWAKEY : Hey hows it goin down there? n_n

Another grin split Yang’s face. She didn’t think her teammate would care enough to message! Rolling over onto her back, she sat up just enough to make it easier to flash her thumbs over the letters.

ME : P good hbu?

BLAKEYWAKEY : Not baaad just chillin w fam c: BLAKEYWAKEY : Is it awk w ur stepmom? Is she being a bitch or

ME : Oh… if only u knew lmaooo

So she told her. There were a lot of “WHAT”s and “R U SRS”es from Blake along the way, but she mostly just let the story unfold until it was over.

BLAKEYWAKEY : Did u see BUSH?!?!

ME : DUDE NO STOP

BLAKEYWAKEY : Omfg u saw ur stepmoms bush im kinkshaming

ME : Ughhhhhh I wanna die

BLAKEYWAKEY : Hey question BLAKEYWAKEY : I thought u didn’t like girls

ME : Well ME : I didnt really know but now I think im bi? ME : Just never had any real dates soooooo

BLAKEYWAKEY : Omg but BLAKEYWAKEY : I showed u mine BLAKEYWAKEY : Oh man I didn’t mean to like freak u out

ME : YOU DIDN’T IM FINE

BLAKEYWAKEY : HOW FINE U PERV

ME : Dude pls don’t ME : I feel weird enough abt shit here ME : We both know u like dick so don’t act like u weren’t perving

BLAKEYWAKEY : ...no comment BLAKEYWAKEY : OKAY FINE if it wasn’t on u I’d be all over it

ME : WOW

BLAKEYWAKEY : U KNOW WHAT I MEANNNN shhh BLAKEYWAKEY : Maybe I’ll let u fwb me up if I get antsy

ME : …bad Blake down kitty

BLAKEYWAKEY : WHY DO U ALWAYS CALL ME KITTY I’M SNSKHDLSLDS

ME : Anyway… yeah maybe I thought she was hot but shes my dads wife ME : It’s not right

BLAKEYWAKEY : Yeahhh BLAKEYWAKEY : Hey im sorry for making it awk BLAKEYWAKEY : Ur probably feeling really messed up abt this BLAKEYWAKEY : Im sorry I’ll shut up

ME : Not really but a little yeah ME : And then there’s… ME : Nvm

BLAKEYWAKEY : ???

Yang really did think about it, but there was no way she could bring herself to tell Blake about her illicit affair with her half-sister. Not over text. Maybe she’d confess to her when she got back for Fall classes.

ME : Anyway tell me about Maine lol do u eat lobster every day

BLAKEYWAKEY : God I wish BLAKEYWAKEY : And do u really think this subject is over?!? What a bad segue

ME : I SAW HER NAKED BIG DEAL

BLAKEYWAKEY : IT KIND OF IS?? For u anyway BLAKEYWAKEY : how big were her boobs

ME : …

By the time Yang was done texting and bingewatching, she felt tired enough to try to go to sleep. Or at least, to lay down and hope that it happened. Worse come to worst, her phone had Netflix.

She poked her head in to check on Ruby once she was all washed up and changed. She was asleep and snoring quietly; it was such a gentle noise that she couldn’t believe Ruby had once acted like it would bother Yang. Smiling, she tiptoed over and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“Hm?”

“Shhhh. Goodnight.”

“Hey,” Ruby breathed, smiling up at her. “Um… stay here?”

“What?”

“Stay. Sleep here.” She nipped her sheets open for emphasis.

“Nah,” she whispered back with a grin. “It’s okay, I can survive until morning.”

But then Ruby pouted, and she knew she was lost. Rolling her eyes, she walked back to ease the door shut, then slid into the bed next to her sister.

“You’re really warm,” Yang whispered to her.

“Your legs are cold.” They both giggled. “But they’ll be warm, too, in a minute.”

“Whiny brat.”

Pulling Yang’s arms more tightly around her middle, Ruby whispered, “You wanted to.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you did it. And you didn’t even act that grumpy first.”

Dead to rights. Again. Grinning into Ruby’s neck, she said, “I feel so good next to you like this.”

“Oh…” Yang had thought that was it, until she heard a little sniffle half a minute later.

“Ruby?”

Swallowing hard, she clutched at Yang’s arms tighter. When nothing further transpired for a few seconds, and Yang was still waiting for an answer, tense now instead of relaxed, she spoke up… and it became clear why she was so quiet before.

“I love you so much. I… kinda forget it, until y-you say something like that… s-sorry, I don’t m-mean to get so… to get all sappy about…”

“Ruby… I love you, too.”

After a few seconds, Ruby rolled to face her, eyes dark from the low lighting in the room gazing up at her. They didn’t speak for a while; just looked at each other and knew things that no one else would ever know. Then they kissed, chaste at first, more robust after a minute or two. No words.

When Yang felt a pink little tongue poking its way into her mouth, she withdrew and whispered, “Ruby… what are you doing? It’s late…”

“I want this…”

“What?” Another lick along her bottom lip, making Yang shiver. “You have me here already.”

“But I want you to be with me. I… I want…”

So that’s what she meant. Gulping, Yang reached up to pet along Ruby’s back through her tank. “There’s no rush, though.”

“Yeah, but there is. We only have a couple more weeks! And you’ll be gone! So… so I want to start now, I want to do as much as we can!”

The urgency alone threatened to make Yang give in. However, she was made of tougher stuff. Reaching up and grasping her bicep, she managed to catch Ruby’s eyes.

“Why? It’s… I like what we’re already doing.”

“But I want to do everything with you.” Swallowing, she glanced away, then up at Yang again. “I want you to f-feel… feel how wet I am…”

At that little turn of phrase, Yang almost fell out of the bed. “You what?!”

“SHH!” Ruby warned, though neither of them were loud enough to be heard, even by someone sitting right outside the door. Then she followed up with, “Kissing you… it makes my body heat up, my brain go fuzzy. I kinda love it, even while it makes me worried… but none of that’s the point. The point is, I’m so close to you, and I want to be even closer!”

“Ruby…” That was certainly making her own situation no better. While just kissing, her body had only responded a little, but now that her half-sister had revealed her own situation, she couldn’t stop thinking about it long enough to make it go away. Quite the opposite.

A shaky little laugh passed out of Ruby when she felt it. “O-oh, there you are. A little late to the party!” But she didn’t spend much time on that. Again, her lips were mashing into Yang’s as they kissed, bodies sliding over each other a little in their eagerness to feel more, to experience.

After some time, when she felt her own shorts being forced downward, Yang whispered, “This isn’t okay.”

“I know,” Ruby breathed. “But it’s okay with us. ”

“I…” How could she argue with the truth?

Feeling Ruby’s hand directly around her was far different than feeling it through her shorts. If she hadn’t finished herself off so much the past days, she might have succumbed easily… but instead, she merely put up with the teasing, exploring hand, the fingers poking into her flesh slightly as they glided up and down along the throbbing mass.

“It’s so hard,” Ruby told her with an earnest tone. “You’re so hard. Is this for me?”

“U-uh-huh,” she managed before swallowing. “Yes.”

“I, um… I got us a little something. Yesterday. Call me a ‘plan ahead’ kinda girl.”

Reaching behind them into her table, she brought out a little pack of condoms. There weren’t very many, but it was an entire pack’s-worth more than Yang expected to see.

“Oh my god… really? You seriously thought we… but we’re related! This isn’t just messing around and kissing, that’s a whole other-”

“I know, okay? But… no more hiding from it. I love you, and you love me, and this is… kinda part of that. Just dumb not to at least be ready for if it happens.”

As Ruby opened the box, Yang tried to ignore how badly her body was trying to get her to take Ruby up on her offer and failed. Not even the cute and amusing sight of her struggling with the box was enough; she still wanted to be with her in that way. Still liked everything that Ruby was.

“There we go,” she breathed at last, holding up the shiny packet. Her eyebrows waggled, and Yang rolled her eyes, which only earned her a laugh.

“Like you know how to put one of those on.”

“I do! We did it to bananas in health class. Here, I’ll prove it to you.”

“What’s- whoa, you’re…”

Ruby had shimmied down to hover with her face just over Yang’s crotch, a face amongst a pool of blankets. She looked a bit distracted by how close she was to the object of her interest… but she managed to push the desire back for long enough to rip open the packet and pull out the little ring of latex.

“Mmm,” she breathed as she pushed a kiss into Yang’s head… and she felt her mind go blank. Ruby wasn’t just touching her tonight, it seemed. There was so much more in store! “So good…”

Rolling her eyes, she muttered, “You can’t be serious. One kiss on my dick is ‘so good’?”

“Yeah.” Bald honesty shone in her voice.

“O-oh? Really?” Another loving peck along her warm shaft, probably purely to prove herself. “You’re pretty… convincing…”

“I love this dick,” she confessed easily. “It kinda got us talking about us , weird as it is.” Then she began to roll the latex downward…

And all of a sudden, Yang realised she had a real problem. She wasn’t just ready for sex; she was ready to finish. Ruby was doing too good a job! Every movement intended to move the latex protection a little further along her member was one that made it ready to shoot. That early on, she was already biting her lip and writhing back and forth, hoping to resist.

“Ooh, someone’s eager.” Grasping the base, she pumped her hand a few times, causing Yang to gasp out. “Nice!”

“Ruby… y-you gotta stop!”

That seemed to catch her by surprise. Pumping her fist up and down furiously for a second, she smirked and whispered, “Nah. I wanna make sure you stay ready for me.”

“B-but if you- if- NNHHHH!!!”

The last part was somehow growled into the pillow at the last second, instead of the room at large. As much as she was convulsing and gasping out, she knew Ruby would probably figure out soon enough what was going on… but for the time being, she was still being stroked and loving every second.

Then the younger half-sister did start, glancing between the end of the balloon entrapping her sex and Yang’s face, stretched wide in release.

“Oh shit… did you- did we really just-”

“I’m so sorry, dude,” Yang half-wheezed, eyes closing in distant pleasure from the hand still wrapped around her. “Seriously… you were all about this, doing so much, and then, I… I suck! Obviously!”

Smiling gently, Ruby patted her thigh, releasing her spent length in the process. “I’m sorry! God, I really didn’t think you were that close to- I wasn’t trying- WOW, you came just from that?!”

Her face burned with embarrassment. This was even worse than the fact that they were crossing societal lines to be together; she couldn’t even seem to handle that “together” part without losing control way, way too early. She wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

“Oh… awww, Yang, it’s okay,” Ruby cooed when she finally realised how much this was affecting her. Her arms circled around her back. “Hey…”

“That was p-pathetic!” she snapped into the pillow. “God, after yesterday, I thought I could hold out longer!”

“Yang, I don’t care about that! I’m… it makes me happy that felt so good that you couldn’t wait.” Her smiling face pushed in closer to Yang’s, and she kissed both of her cheeks. “You did tell me to slow down and I… I should have listened. I’m really sorry. Um, I just didn’t want you to go soft while I was putting it on?”

Finally, she began to calm down, little by little. When she could talk again, she let out a long sigh and whispered, “Thanks, Ruby. I, um… I think you really wanted this to be… like, our first time? And… now it can’t be.”

“Y-yeah, I um, I’ve heard that… people with dicks can’t go again when they’re done.” To her credit, she did remember not to say “guys” that time. “But it’s cool! You finished, and I’m happy to help. Oh, and speaking of which…”

As Yang watched, fascinated and still embarrassed, Ruby pulled the condom off and threw it and the wrapper away, then wiped her hands on a tissue and tossed that before returning to the bed. In the meantime, Yang pulled her shorts back up; she didn’t want Ruby’s first real look at her anatomy being when it was freshly-milked and half-hard, coated in leftover lube and her own juices.

“Awww,” Ruby cooed as she returned to the bed. “I wanted to play with that.”

“Not tonight,” Yang said with a half-smile. “Maybe… I can do something for you?”

But when her hands fell to Ruby’s waist, the girl looked down with a self-conscious giggle. “N-nah. I m-mean, I, um… I don’t think I’m…” Then she cleared her throat. “I thought I was ready to go there with you, I guess, but like, just you doing it for me is different somehow. That’s probably really dumb.”

Wrapping her arms around Ruby’s back instead, she simply laid next to her for a long moment. Then, once they were a little more comfortable, she spoke.

“It’s not dumb. It’s… sweet, in a way. But I think… I think I’d be okay playing with you now. And I know, I was kinda weird about it at first, because of the sister thing. But by now I think we’re kind of past that, I guess. So… if you change your mind, I could try a hand, at least. O-or something.”

“Listen to us,” Ruby giggled quietly. “Both pretty nervous. I, um… I think it’s kind of more fun with you being my sister. No, wait!” she squeaked when Yang drew back in shock. “You know, because we’re kind of, like… destined to be together, because we’re related? I know, I’m crazy, but it’s weirdly romantic to me.”

Shaking her head, she pushed her face into her sister’s neck. “You think too much. But… maybe, yeah. And…” She’d been worrying about this for a long time. “And I kind of deserve this, for being such a jerk when you were little. Telling you that you were ‘dumb’ or whatever, and that I didn't like you. Like, what makes more karmic sense than for me to fall in love with you and have to eat my own words?”

“So you think of this as a punishment? Me jerking you off is a punishment?”

“What? Oh! Shit, no, that totally isn’t-” But Ruby’s laughter cut her off, and she grunted, “You butt…”

“Yeah, you like my butt.”

“All of you is on the list, and all of you is a butt,” she sighed as she snuggled against her even more closely. “Big, ridonk badonkadonk.”

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering how do you handle an adult life? I'm 17 and the fact that I'm going to be an adult is starting to panic me more and more. Like I CANT talk to adults. I stutter&I'm a mess. I'm even bad with my peers. Some advice on how you do it would be nice. I try to ask my parents, but they aren't very helpful and seem ready to drop me into the deep end to "teach me" a lesson about being an adult. (Sorry again about non blog related question. No obligations to answer)

Oh boy, I’m gonna do my best to answer this, but full disclosure? I’m pretty bad at being social. I have some issues, and talking to people is really hard for me. That might be helpful in this context if you’re coming from a similar situation, but I don’t know if that’s the case, so it’s possible that my stuff won’t work for you. I’ll give it a whirl anyway.

I actually was thrown into the deep end when I was about your age, because I ended up going to college in a state where I pretty literally didn’t know a single person. I don’t know if that was a positive thing or not, but I can definitely say that I’ve gotten significantly better about talking/adulting since then. I’m still terrified of everyone older than me, but I can fake my way through the majority of it now. 

For me, the biggest step was increasing my self-esteem. When I started living on my own in ‘14, my goal was basically to be invisible (a skill that I mastered a looooong time ago). I have this thing about people looking at me, so I didn’t like any kind of attention. It definitely affected the way I talked to people (I didn’t) and the way I acted.

That shifted after I discovered a couple of things

1) some attention is positive, and positive attention feels good

2) I’m imagining a lot of the judgement I feel from other people

The truth is, people don’t pay as much attention to you as you think that they do. We’re all trapped inside our own heads, right? My frame of reference puts the majority of emphasis on me, because that’s the only person I can hear and the only emotions I can feel. The same is true about you– you hear your thoughts and feel your feelings, so it seems like everybody else should be focussed on you.

That’s your mind playing tricks. Don’t believe it. Everybody else is focussed on themselves, not you, and that’s a good thing! They’re not actually looking at you. They’re just looking around. As soon as y’all walk away from each other, odds are you’ll disappear from their mind. It means that you don’t have to worry about doing everything perfectly. They don’t actually care. 

Repeat that to yourself whenever you feel like you’re doing badly. It doesn’t matter. They don’t care. They’re not that concerned about the things that you do.

Two tactics for increasing your self esteem:

Find something you’re good at and do it. A lot. I started writing fanfiction when I was 18, and it straight-up changed my life. I’d never had that level of positive reinforcement before– for the first time in my life, I felt better than mediocre, and it made me proud of my own skills. Once I knew I was good at something it became a lot easier to talk to people.

(This is where you need to bear in mind that I’m not what the kids call “mentally stable” so like…. this might not be healthy) For a solid two years, I played this mind game where whenever I felt like somebody was judging me or being unkind to me, I picked one of my more angry favorite fictional characters and imagined them yelling back at that person. It worked really well for me because it let me fight back without actually doing it myself. I don’t really get angry, so I imagined someone getting angry on my behalf. Thing is, after awhile I really could think things like “I don’t deserve this” and “hey asshole back the hell off” in my own voice. I don’t know if I can explain that any better

Practical tips for maintaining a conversation:

Ask questions. It’s a lot easier to have a conversation if they’re doing most of the talking, and they won’t think it’s weird if you seem interested. Just keep them talking by asking for more information about whatever they just said.

They’ll get more comfortable (and more talkative) the more emotion you express. Listen actively. Nod along. Say stuff like “Really??” Your eyebrows are your friends. React to the stuff they say.

If you don’t know what emotion you’re expected to express, draw your eyebrows slightly in, rest a hand on your mouth/chin, and say “interesting.” They’ll interpret that as whatever response they were expecting.

 I feel more comfortable if I’m prepared, so I straight-up have memorized anecdotes that I practice until they go smoothly. I mostly use stories about my siblings, but I also have this speech about communism that I use every time someone asks me what I’m thinking about.

I don’t know what kind of English you speak, but I realized a long time ago that if I amp up my accent, other southerners trust me more and everyone else sees me as less threatening. If that applies, use it.

Don’t be ashamed of your interests. It might seem embarrassing, but other people don’t see it that way. Niche comic book knowledge actually goes over pretty well at parties. Related tip: find The Interest of the person you’re talking to, and your life will get a lot easier. Let them teach you about it and they literally will not shut up. It’s great. Also you get good recs that way.

Tips to get people to like you:

Be helpful. Good in two ways: if you don’t know what you’re supposed to be doing and that makes you feel anxious, ask whomever is in charge if there’s something you can do to help. They’ll be charmed, and you won’t feel awkward anymore. Also good because people really like the folks that do them favors. They also like the people they did favors for, so let people do things for you if they offer.

Everybody likes the kid that brought food. Bake cookies. Bring cookies. New friends. Even if you don’t talk to them afterwards, they’ll have a positive opinion of you. I never spoke to the majority of my dorm neighbors, but they all liked me because I set candy and juice boxes in the hallway every holiday. In a classroom setting, offer to share your gum, buy extra scantrons, and lend people your pens. 

I befriend people solely by throwing gifts at them until they feel my love. Ask any of my mutuals. They’ll tell you.

Kindness honestly goes a long way? A lot of people, especially young people, really need someone to be kind to them, and they’re not used to getting that. If you can be that person, it’ll help them and it will make the two of you a lot closer. That’s how real friendships start. 

Always be respectful of other people’s trust. If they tell you important things about themselves, treat it seriously. Try to understand how they feel, and then let them know that you understand. Don’t tell other people’s secrets.

Tips for forcing yourself to Do The Thing:

I keep my to do list on post-it notes stuck to my dresser, one item per note, so I can pull them off one at a time as I do them. It’s more satisfying that way.

Personally I’m a lot more willing to do the things I hate if I feel like I’m doing them for someone else. Easiest way is to get one of my friends to ask me to do it (Hey in an hour text me and tell me to go to the grocery store). The best way is to bargain with one of my friends (if you call your doctor, I’ll make a real dinner tonight)

Again… I don’t know if you’re coming from the same place as me, but it really helps me to be open about my problems. I just tell my friends about my mental health issues, and then they help me to work around them.

Treat!!! Yo!!!! Self!!!! Seriously reward yourself for getting things done. Give yourself an episode of The Office for every page you write. Buy yourself ice cream for getting your errands done. If you’re going to do something stressful, have a plan for something relaxing afterward (I’ll go to the induction ceremony, and then I’ll go to the puppy store and pet a beagle)

[Eliza voice] 🎶 T a k e  a  b r e a k 🎶 If socializing is hard for you, realize that you don’t have to do it all the time. It’s okay to opt out, especially when you won’t lose anything by doing it. Personally, I go out of my way to make sure that no one speaks to me on the bus, walking across campus, or during lunch. Those are me-times. You can make sure people get the memo by wearing big headphones, bringing a book (even if you’re only pretending to read it), and avoiding eye contact. 

I find music really helpful for prep/recovery too. It works best if you find one song and play it on repeat until you get to the stressful thing, and  then do the same thing on the way back. Focus on one element of the song at a time. If you do it right, you can hit this meditative sweet spot where you stop thinking about what you have to do.

Stress relief (take it with a grain of salt because I am 95% stress at any given time):

Make your bedroom into a happy place. Pick a strong scent and make that part of the atmosphere– your brain will start to associate that scent with calm. My room smells like Irish Spring soap. When you finish something stressful, go to your room, take a few minutes to lie down and relax, breathe in and out, smell the happy smell. You did it.

Do stupid shit that makes you happy. Blow bubbles on your porch, put colored glassware on your windowsills so the sunlight turns red and blue, sing in your bathroom so it echoes all over the place. 

I hate admitting this with every fiber of my being, but exercise does actually reduce stress. So does eating healthy and sleeping normally, but I’ve never tried those last two.

If something makes you happy, keep it around. Save birthday cards, display presents from your friends, keep a happy tag online so you have a list of stuff to come back to. Your brain will remember the positive reaction, so it’ll undo some of the damage when you’re upset. 

Making other people happy will make you happy. Easiest method? Hit that anon button on the asks, pick the top five people on your dashboard, send them a nice message. Wait for excited response

It’s okay to google “cute babies” and scroll through pics until you feel alive again

I find it helpful to make things. I don’t know, there’s something about spending a long time on a project that makes me feel more productive, especially if there’s a visible product.

Things to remember: 

They aren’t watching you. They don’t care if you mess up. Your brain is lying to you.

Your worth is inherent and cannot be diminished by any of your actions or failures

Odds are the people you meet now won’t be the same people in your life in a few years. That means you don’t have to impress them. If you embarrass yourself in front of the lady at the brochure stand, it doesn’t matter. You probably won’t ever see her again.

It’s okay if this is hard for you. You don’t have to love meeting people.

You don’t have to like everyone. You don’t have to be friends with everyone.

It’s okay to say no. I repeat: it is okay to say no.

You’re going to be okay. You have a destiny, and you will fulfill it. It’s going to turn out exactly as it should. You don’t have to worry about your future.

These things get easier with time.

There’s no shame in seeing a therapist or talking about your problems

You have talents. You are interesting. You deserve attention and praise.

You know where to find me if you need anything