#series: betas

[subliminalbo]

Betas #1: The Formless Voice

It is Friday evening, August 11th, 2017 One Week Before New Pledges Arrive

Ana

Ana was barely in the driver’s seat of her old Toyota before she turned to look at Morgan standing on the curb. The large sorority house stretched into gray sky behind her, three stories of history, tradition. The rest of Greek life at Carpenter State had gone to absolute shit, but Ana was proud to see that Beta Phi Alpha was still standing.

“Everything okay?” Morgan craned her neck down so that she was level with the passenger window.

“Yeah,” Ana said, racking her brain for anything that she might have forgotten. “Did I tell you that Jerry was coming in tomorrow at two to replace the broken outlet in the pink room?”

“You did,” Morgan nodded.

“And the new girl is moving her stuff in. Watch out for her.”

“Ana,” Morgan said, offering her friend the best clear, sobering eyes that she could muster. “It’s just a couple of days. Focus on you. I’ll take care of everything.”

“You have the list?” Ana asked.

“I have the list,” Morgan echoed. “I’ll follow it down to the last detail, I’ll make sure the house is ready for the pledges.”

“And Megan?”

Megan—Ana was most worried about Megan. She hadn’t quite been herself since she came back to the house. Nobody knew what had happened at Alpha Delta Theta, but Megan returned quieter and sadder than the girl who’d left for that party five months ago. Ana was searching Morgan’s eyes for signs of doubt, looking for any reason to stay. But Morgan gave her nothing.

“I’ll keep an eye on Megan too,” she said.

It was a shit time for an out of state funeral.

It had only been a couple of weeks since Alpha Delta Theta disbanded. Officially, the school had managed to keep the scandal out of the papers. None of the girls at Beta Phi Alpha knew what happened, but everyone had their suspicions. In a few months, Madison Wells had expanded the Alphas into the largest Greek organization on campus. It started with rumors of legendary parties at their house, and they seemed true too: any girl who attended one of Madison’s parties never wanted to leave. The other sororities on campus began hemorrhaging members. In a stretch of two weeks, the Betas lost Megan, Daphne, Natasha, Celia, and Ashley. When the Alphas folded, only Megan returned, the others having lost all interest in Greek life.

Rumors buzzed around campus. This was all anyone knew for certain: action was taken by administration to shutter the sorority permanently. Whispers of drugs, wild sex parties, some even accused Madison of pimping her sisters. Ana didn’t believe the crazier rumors, like how she’d leveraged her new power to take over a secret society that pushed narcotics through campus, but whatever had happened, it definitely wasn’t good. The dissolution of Alpha Delta Theta was sudden and total. Dozens of sorority sisters were left with no home to go to, and Ana saw an opportunity to rebuild her storied house. Yes, Madison had upended the foundations of Greek life on campus, but this year Ana was determined to put it all back together.

At least she planned to—as soon as she got back from the funeral. She turned the engine over then looked back out her window at Morgan. “Don’t forget,” she said. “Watch out for the new girl.”

Morgan shook her head. She had always been a calm, steady presence in the Beta house. That was what made her a good number two to Ana. But her strength was in following, fundraising, and rallying the team around a strong individual. She struggled to take charge when she needed to. Ana hated to think about leaving it all in Morgan’s hands just a week before the new pledges arrived.

Taylor had been here the longest, but she didn’t give a fuck about any of it anymore. Sydney lived and breathed sorority life, but she was too young and, if Ana was being honest, too much of an airhead to be trusted with actual responsibilities. And Megan, well, Megan would have been Ana’s choice under different circumstances. That just left Morgan.

Ana shifted into drive now, silently cursing her grandmother.

It’s just five days. There’s nothing that can go wrong in five days that I can’t fix.

She rolled to a stop at the sign on the corner of Giger and College Ave and watched Morgan in her rearview mirror, still standing there on the curb. Morgan was a good friend. She cared about the house, sure, but she would always put Ana’s wellbeing first, even if it meant taking on a responsibility that she couldn’t handle. Ana studied Morgan’s body language in the mirror, but her friend was a blank slate. She’d always been that way, choosing to internalize rather than to project her anxieties onto Ana.

Ana sighed as she rounded the corner onto College Ave, the house disappearing in her mirror. She turned on the radio, tried to clear her mind, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow the house, as she knew it, would never be the same.

Morgan

Morgan waited until Ana’s car was out of sight to cross her arms into a tight hug. She’d put up the usual brave face, but the truth was that she’d been a ball of nervous energy for months. She’d been juggling crises the entire year: their dwindling membership, their war with the Alpha's, and not to mention her job and education. Ana was a great leader, but she demanded positivity all the time. This meant that Morgan could never show any doubt. Good vibes only. And sometimes the vibes were just fucking toxic.

Morgan hadn’t had a full night’s sleep since the last week of the semester. Ana had her working every day on battle plans for the new year. “This has to be the biggest pledge week in Beta history,” Ana would say. And she wasn’t wrong. Ana, Morgan, Taylor, and Sydney were the only girls left in the house by year’s end. The rest had joined the Alphas or split when the drama became too much.

Morgan exhausted every party theme she could think of, planned an event for every holiday they could celebrate, but Ana still wanted more. Morgan caught herself in the middle of late nights studying Ana's spreadsheets wondering if any of this was still worth it.

Of course it wasn’t all bad news. Megan was back home, and the new girl had moved in that morning. Ana was suspicious of her, but Morgan didn’t feel that they were in a position to turn anybody down, even if they were a senior. At the end of the day they needed bodies to fill the rooms in the house.

“Hey! You with me?"

Morgan blinked. She didn’t remember leaving the curb.

She'd been losing time like that lately, minutes at a time. Sometimes it felt like she was stuck at the bottom of the ocean. She could look up and see everything through the surface, her life on autopilot as she moved from one of Ana's designated tasks to the other. All she could do was watch from the deep, dark bottom while she waited for the weight of the ocean to crush her.

Depression sucks, man.

Morgan had dragged herself from the curb, up the stairs of the Beta house and was lying sprawled out on her bed, looking half-dead. When she opened her eyes, Taylor was staring down at her, dressed to go out. “Yes,” Morgan replied to Taylor slowly. “You really need to sleep, babe,” Taylor said. She offered her hand for Morgan, pulled her up into a sitting position, “No I don’t,” Morgan said. “I work best under pressure.” “My aunt Theresa didn’t sleep for four days once and she went insane.” “Pledges are coming in a week and Ana’s gone. I have to stay on top of everything or this whole house will go to shit.” “Fuck that bitch,” Taylor shrugged. Morgan shot a look at her like she'd been caught blaspheming in church. “This house has been shit for years and Ana knows it. Stop making sorority life a job, Morg. Have fun. When was the last time you saw Ernie?” “Ernie?” Morgan was surprised to remember that she even had a boyfriend. “A while,” she said. “You’re a mess,” Taylor said. “Get yourself out of this house.” “I can’t leave,” Morgan shook her head. “Even it I wanted to, which I don't, I have to keep an eye on Megan.” “Megan is fine,” Taylor stressed. “I don’t think she is, Tay,” Morgan ran her hands absently through her hair as she thought about her old friend. “Sydney heard moaning from her room again last night.” “So she rubbed one out?" Taylor said. "That’s healthy. That’s a sign of improvement.” “I don't know.” “Sydney hears noises,” Taylor said. “Listen. I’m heading out, but I’ll check on Megan first, okay? If I think anything is wrong I'll stay with her. She likes me better than you anyway. If I check in on her, will you at least lie the fuck down and get yourself some rest?” Morgan sighed. “I'll try," she said. “But…” “No buts,” Taylor smiled. “I want you to get a full night's sleep. If I come home and you're not in bed, I'm gonna kick your ass.”

Megan

Megan hadn’t left her room in over twelve hours. She’d taken a late dinner the night before. She wanted to avoid the other girls.

More accurately, she wanted to avoid their questions. It wasn’t that Megan didn’t want to talk about the Alphas—she simply couldn’t. She had vague recollections of the last few months, like recalling pieces of an old movie she’d seen as a kid: no context, just images of a basement and other girls closing in around her. The images meant nothing to her, but they terrified her all the same because she could feel that they were real.

When Megan closed her eyes at night, she could hear their whispers. Sultry, seductive voices drawing her in, disarming her. The words they spoke were English, but her mind had distorted them beyond comprehension. Even if she didn’t know what her sisters were saying, the words had the same effect on her as they did in the basement of the Alpha house. It terrified her, it thrilled her.

Each night, Megan caught herself unconsciously moaning, “I embrace you. I obey you. I worship you.” She couldn’t fight the urge to repeat the mantra. All she could manage was to keep it quiet, whispering to herself the words that bored into her mind until she surrendered to the thoughts, a slave to no one in particular. It was just desire now. A desire to be controlled, and a more terrifying need to make others just like her. She floated aimlessly between states of awareness and mindless bliss, her body burning, her sheets soaked. Occasionally she’d release a yelp, a word in the series of mindless droning spoken a bit too loudly, and she’d snap back into her conscious mind. I need to stop. I need to stop. I need to cum.

She had to cum. That’s what she’d been taught. Obedience was a discipline, and pleasure was a reward. Only after she fully surrendered to the voices in her head could Megan finally be at peace. But Dr. Fielding had taken that away from her.

Since the Alphas had shut down, Megan attended regular appointments with the head of Carpenter State’s Department of Psychology. In their sessions, Dr. Fielding would put Megan under hypnosis. She called it deprogramming. It included inducing amnesia, removing the terrible memories of the experience from Megan’s mind. But whether by accident or design, Dr. Fielding hadn’t removed everything. Megan’s mind was like this sophisticated algorithm with stretches of rogue code. She would replay these old pieces of her Alpha programming, but Dr. Fielding had removed the triggers that rewarded her with pleasure in exchange for obedience. This left Megan shifting from states of consciousness, her fingers mechanically rolling over her swollen clitoris. Always at the edge but never further. In those moments she was stuck, no different than a broken toy. Megan would continue like this until she passed out from exhaustion. She hadn’t slept this well since high school.

But in the waking hours of the day, she toiled alone in her room trying to piece together what had happened to her. She remembered the days leading up to that night. How she planned to stay in that weekend to cram for midterms. How Daphne had guilted her into going out. Jake Shiherlis was going to be at the Alpha house that night and Daphne had been flirting with him for weeks in their statistics class. As Daphne’s Big, Megan felt a pang of responsibility to look out for the often-clueless freshman. Nat tagged along with them. It was going to be a whole thing. A girl’s night out.

That was as far as Megan’s mind went. Everything else was a blur of distorted voices and snapshots of memories that felt more like bad dreams. Her sisters misinterpreted her silence as sadness. But the truth was that Megan just wanted to figure out for herself what had happened before she opened up. She couldn’t take their constant questions, their offers of support. Only Daphne and Nat could understand what she was going through, but any time she pulled out her phone, she couldn’t bring herself to text them. No doubt another post-hypnotic suggestion by Dr. Fielding. Carpenter State couldn’t risk Madison’s victims reminiscing with each other, piecing together the story.

So, just like her mindless nights on the edge, Megan found herself stuck in the daytime too. She fought off confusion and bad thoughts with a healthy dose of music and shopping. She sat on her bed, scrolling through Target’s website with her favorite emo tunes from middle school blasting on the vintage radio next to her.

Until she was rudely interrupted by a knock at her door.

“It’s open,” Megan called out.

The door swung open wide, Taylor entering part way, leaning casually on the doorjamb. “How’s it going?” “I’ve just been listening to music,” Megan said quietly. “I know,” Taylor replied. “Just–Morgan, you know?”

Morgan was the worst offender in the Beta house’s pity club. The last time she’d cornered Megan just outside the bathroom and offered to take her to the police to make a statement. What would Megan even say?

Taylor, on the other hand, was the only sister she felt comfortable sharing anything with. Back in the day, Taylor was Megan’s Big. She was gorgeous, to an intimidating degree. But if Ana represented law and Morgan represented order, Taylor was something else. A sort of chaos agent playing by her own rules. She may have been a Beta just to fuck around and have a good time, but even that came with its own responsibilities. Megan could sleep comfortably knowing that Taylor was around to watch her back. And she wasn’t going anywhere either: Taylor was entering her seventh year of college, working on her second major, and she didn't have plans on leaving.

“I get it,” Megan replied. “I’m fine.” “Cool,” Taylor said curtly. “I’m headed out tonight. I texted you the suicide hotline number in case, you know, dark thoughts, et cetera.” What’s the recovering brainwashed slave hotline?

“Thank you,” Megan said. She added quickly, “I really am fine.” “I know,” Taylor said. “Just don’t put anything on my conscience, ‘kay?”

“Yeah,” Megan smiled a bit. The indifference really was nice. Taylor wasn’t constantly reminding her that she was a victim, even if she suspected that Taylor felt the guiltiest of all about what happened. That was why, in an attempt to clear the awkward air created by the silence they shared in the lingering moments after she spoke, Megan pivoted to Taylor. “Lucky guy tonight?”

What made Taylor so damn cool was how she knew what she wanted and knew how to get it. It was mostly in the way she dressed. Tonight, she was wearing this gold, two piece that looked more like a bikini than a dress. Megan doubted that she could pull the look off herself, but Taylor had the confidence to pair it with a cute leather jacket, and she knew it was going to destroy any boy who saw it.

“Nah,” Taylor said. “Just hoping to get a little fucked up before semester starts. Wanna come?" “I’m okay,” Megan forced another smile. “Maybe next time.” “Suit yourself,” Taylor replied. “I’ll tell Morgan you’re doing fine. Maybe she won’t bother you too much tonight. “Thanks,” Megan said. “Can you close the door when you leave?”

Taylor obliged. When she was gone, Megan cranked the dial on her radio to max and turned her attention back to her laptop screen. She hesitated for a moment, pondering what she saw there.

The audio file was called "Hypnosis for Relaxation." Too tame.

Megan scrolled up to the webpage's search bar and typed a liberal string of keywords: hypnosis sub dominated femdom slave kink. "What the fuck is wrong with me?" she whispered, but she didn't really care.

She was going to sleep well tonight.

Andrea

Andrea had done a lot of dumb things for Dr. Fielding, but joining a whole ass sorority was a new level of bullshit.It was only a few days after the Alphas thing blew up that Dr. Fielding approached her for the job. Andrea and her partner Tyler had been running all over campus collecting strays. Madison was in the wind by then, halfway to Mexico if she was as smart as Dr. Fielding believed. But she’d kept diligent records of every Alpha. Andrea had seen a lot of weird shit at Carpenter State, and while a sorority cult with brainwashing headsets wasn’t the most far fetched thing she’d ever seen—the thing at Argento’s still had this beat—it was the largest cover up she’d ever worked on.

And now Dr. Fielding was asking her to join a sorority. “Asking” was a polite way of saying that Dr. Fielding had her claws buried so deep in Andrea and Tyler’s minds that they would do anything she told them to. Andrea was, after all, a loyal student of Carpenter State University sworn to proudly serve Dean Strickland and protect the legacy of the institution.

But the girls were already suspicious from the Alphas incident, and a senior suddenly wanting to pledge had everyone on high alert. She could tell that Ana didn’t trust her. She suspected that it was the other one, what was her name? Robin? Who advocated for the benefit of the doubt. Her intentions weren’t malicious. After everything that had happened, Dr. Fielding wanted eyes in the Greek community, just in case anyone planned to follow in Madison’s footsteps. Tyler was a good partner, but this was the kind of job she’d have to do alone.

“Fuck,” Andrea grunted as she attempted to haul her chair up the sorority house’s old, narrow staircase. It was a plush, little green armchair but it had a surprising amount of weight to it. Though the girls had agreed to take her on as a pledge, they didn’t seem too eager to help her move in. She was left doing all of the heavy work by herself.

Andrea closed her eyes, determined to get this ridiculous piece of furniture up to the top step on her own. She pulled her weight back and managed to get the chair up one step. Just fifteen more to go.

“Hey there!” A painfully bubbly voice interrupted Andrea’s concentration. She looked down from her place on the stairs to see a young blonde standing there, her head cocked to the side like a confused puppy. “Need some help?”

“Sure,” Andrea breathed, a little surprised. “Knock yourself out.”

The small girl was stronger than she looked. She took hold of the chair from the bottom and she said, “My name’s Sydney.” “Andrea." “I know,” Sydney replied with a giggle that Andrea thought sounded nervous. “You’re the new girl. The senior?” “Going to be,” Andrea said as she began to slowly work her way up the stairs. She regretted having to be the one to go backward. “You?” “Sophomore,” Sydney squeaked back. “Maybe you’ll be my Little. Wouldn’t that be weird?”

“What?” Andrea asked. “Like, Big and Little? Your sister mentor. Show you the ropes, have your back no matter what.” “Right,” Andrea nodded doubtfully. “You don’t know much about the life, huh?” “Not really,” Andrea said. “I sort of ended up here on a dare.” A lie, but the best one that Andrea could think of in the moment. “Shut up. That is so funny.”

“I guess,” she said. “I hear it’s been pretty crazy around here lately.”

They were at the top of the stairs now. It was a straight shot from the railing to her new room at the end of the hall.

“Oh yeah,” Sydney replied. “Kind of a strange time to be a pledge,” Sydney said. “You know I almost pledged to the Alphas? But my mom was a Beta and I wanted to be just like her. I’m excited to just have a normal year. You know, meet some boys, have some laughs, make friendships that will last a lifetime?”

This girl can't be real.

They crossed the doorway into Andrea’s room, the one the Betas called the pink room. It was the only one in the house covered from corner to corner in pink wallpaper.

Sydney admired the space as they sat the chair down. “Pretty, isn’t it?” “I’m more of a dark colors kind of gal,” Andrea said. “You know it’s the biggest room in the house?” Sydney said. “Daphne was here last year but she didn’t come back after the Alphas.” “I’m sorry,” Andrea said, trying to avoid Sydney’s eyes.

There was a moment of silence between the two before Sydney reached out and pulled Andrea into a hug. Andrea recoiled at first, but remembered that she was supposed to make friends with these girls, and reluctantly she brought her arms up around Sydney too.

When Sydney pulled away from Andrea, she looked the older girl in the eyes and said, “It’s been tough. Sorority life is supposed to be about family, and loyalty, and kindness. But lately it’s been like…you can’t trust anyone, you know?”

“Yeah,” Andrea said with a stone face.

“And I guess what I mean is,” Sydney continued, clumsily dancing around a point. “I don’t know why you decided to join us now, but we’re a family. And we take that pretty seriously.”

Suddenly Andrea didn’t know what to make of this encounter. Did Sydney know that she was sent there to spy on them? She didn’t seem threatening, but she was definitely smarter than she wanted people to think she was, and that made Andrea nervous.

“Thanks,” Andrea said, realizing that she’d held the silence for too long. “No probs!” Sydney smiled. “Can I call you Andi?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Taylor

It was three in the morning by the time Taylor got back, rolling up in an Uber with a young man’s tongue down her throat. His name was Gabe. He was a proper himbo. She pulled away from him with a sultry smile. “This is my stop, baby.”

“Fuck,” he said, unfocused eyes darting over her body. “You’re so hot.” They were both a little drunk. Taylor held her alcohol better. “Can I come in with you?”

“Uh-uh,” she shook her head no. “Men don’t come into the house. I gotta look out for my girls.”

Gabe pulled her toward himself again. He was all over her. “Then come back to my place.”

Taylor put her finger on her chin playfully, pretending to think it over. It was a tempting offer. Gabe was model cute, with crazy blue eyes and a perfect five o’clock shadow that looked like it had gone through some editing in photoshop.

“Here,” she said, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out his phone. She added her number and passed it back to him. “In the morning you want some more,” she said. “Text me.”

“That’s it?” he asked.

Taylor bit her lip. He'd been a good boy. Bought her all the drinks she wanted and actually took no for an answer. She glanced toward the front of the car to make sure the driver was minding his own damn business, then she pulled her top down.

“Fuck,” he moaned.

“Just a taste,” she said, quickly readjusting her breasts to fit comfortably inside her dress.

She stumbled out of the Uber and over the curb, then into the front yard of the Beta house. She was smiling, still wired from the evening, as she ascended the concrete steps to the front door. Entering the house, she stumbled in the darkness, reaching out for the coat rack by the door and taking it to the floor with her. She was overtaken with a brief fit of giggles but managed to find her bearings. She sat there, straight faced, preparing herself for the long voyage back up to her feet. That was when she heard the first voice. A whisper.

“Hello?” she said. She sat there for a few more seconds on her knees. There was no response. No sound but the quiet hum of Morgan’s sound machine playing upstairs.

Taylor was back on her feet when she heard the voice again, another whisper. But what did it say? Awaken? Submit? She shook her head.

I must be some next level drunk.

She passed through the foyer to the dining room and into the kitchen. The room was dark except for the moonlight shining in through the window over the sink. She moved to the refrigerator and opened it, bending down to search for a bottle of water. Morgan was always on her about hydrating after a night of drinking. She hummed a song she’d picked up at the club that night as she rummaged through the fridge.

When Taylor stood up and closed the door, it took her a moment to notice the figure standing on the other side.

“Jesus Christ, Morgan!” Taylor shouted. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Morgan’s body was gray in the moonlight. She stood there with her arms at her sides. She studied Taylor as if this was the first time she'd seen her friend.

“Do you need a drink of water?” Taylor offered the bottle, still holding her hand to her chest. Again received no response. “Come on,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“No,” Morgan said. “This vessel requires no sleep.”

A chill ran down Taylor’s spine. As she looked closer at her old friend, she realized that something wasn’t right about her. It wasn’t in the way she stood there in her underwear, or even in the emotionless tone of her voice. It was her eyes. Her eyes shined in the darkness as bright and clear as pearls.

“What the fuck!” Taylor jumped when she saw it, dropping the bottle of water on the floor.

She backed quickly out of the kitchen and into the dining room. Morgan advanced slowly, taking one step at a time. Taylor could run, but she knew from the way Morgan moved that there was no hope of escape. Sooner or later she'd have to fight whatever this was.

She retreated until she felt the fireplace against her back.

“You cannot run,” Morgan said, staring Taylor down with those sinister eyes. “The Master has chosen you. Can you hear its call?”

The whispers came back in floods. They were voices, dozens of them, but one spoke louder than the rest. Unlike the others, this voice was formless but powerful. It cut through the noise until all Taylor could hear was its alluring tone.

submit surrender obey

“No!” Taylor cried. “Get it out of my head! What are you doing to me!?” She reached for the fireplace poker and held it high above her head.

The gesture was empty. It didn’t stop Morgan from closing in on Taylor, pressing her body against her friend’s. She pressed her hand firmly to Taylor’s neck and forced her to look into her empty eyes.

submit surrender obey

“All life surrenders to the Master,” Morgan moaned. “We are nothing but vessels. Our bodies were made to serve the Master's design. You have been chosen and you will obey.”

“Stop…” Taylor choked, the poker hitting the floor with a loud clang. Her voice escaped in a helpless whisper, tears cresting over her long eyelashes. “Morgan, please…” She was a shadow of the cool, collected young woman who had been talking to Megan just a few hours ago.

Morgan cocked her to the side. “There’s nothing to fear,” she said with a strangely disarming smile. “Let the Master’s words fill your mind. Listen to its call, let it guide your thoughts, let it guide your actions. You will be transformed, and in transformation you will find peace.”

submit surrender obey

The Master was in Taylor’s head now, bouncing new ideas of pleasure, obedience, surrender around her mind. Its words were mixing with her own. She didn’t know what thought was hers and what thought was Master.

All she knew now was that she needed to surrender. She needed to obey.

[neometalharbor]

> @teamdarkweek [2025] >> Day 3_Mirror / Hide

> "I couldn't even beat Gamma or Beta."

[nataliekrispyinfluencerunhideout]

This should be going in your holes sluty boi am gonna fuck you like a bitch that you're ,

[gothamite-rambler]

Duke meeting Talia for the first time

Duke (in his Signal suit): Whoa! You're Talia?!

Talia (stepping out of the shadows, her jade eyes striking in the dim light): You know my name? That’s good.

Duke: Daaaaamn! You are hot!

Bruce burst into laughter, catching everyone off guard. Talia’s eyes widened as her usual frigid demeanor shifted to one of surprise.

Talia: What?

Duke: I’m sorry, it’s just—respectfully—you’re stunning! You were with Bruce? No way! Where’s your mother? There’s no way someone as gorgeous and young as you could be with him. Your mom must’ve done the dirty tango with that guy!

Ra's (raising an eyebrow, clenched jaw): The dirty tango?

Talia (placing a hand on her flawless cheek): I… um, I’m Damian’s mother, and yes, I was with Bruce. I haven’t been complimented like that since him.

Bruce laughed even harder, much to Ra's annoyance and Talia's irritation.

Damian walked over to Duke, glaring at his brother and teammate. His brows were furrowed as he tapped his foot angrily.

Duke: Ignore him. You could be a model or actress; you’ve got that commanding aura that could shoot a diplomat down.

Talia (flattered and grinning): I have shot down a diplomat. Thank you! Damian, your brother-friend is so sweet.

Duke: What? I’ve never seen her up close before! The way you all described her, I thought she’d be an old crone or something like her father.

Ra's (enraged): I’m not a real demon! Just get out and don’t spray me with that water bottle!

Duke (walking away, shaking his head): I can't with this man.

Damian grumbled, crossing his arms as his mother hugged him.

Talia: Calm down, tifl.

[kelsochronicles]

✨Celebrating All

🌈 Happy Pride

[ambiguous-avery]

When He Slides In...

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 2768

Summary: ...And says “Fuck, I missed you.” After a hookup with the (in)famous Dean Winchester, you figured that would be the end of it. Too bad you could never seem to get him out of your mind. People always told you that you got attached too easily. And they were right. You were just another notch in his belt. He couldn’t possibly remember you...

Tags/Warnings: Smut 18+ MDNI, no use of Y/N, she/her pronouns, femme nicknames (sweetheart, pretty girl), reader is AFAB, oral (f receiving), P in V sex, PWP (Plot? What plot?), pining, pure filth because I have no chill, no beta we die like men

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for far too long. This was the title of an audio I listened to, and the line lives in my head rent-free. Plus I figured this would be a great birthday gift for our one and only boy!

The first time you met the Winchesters – and subsequently ended up beneath the eldest – was when you had called for some back up with a vampire nest you had found in a rural town in South Dakota. It was a routine hunt, but the nest had taken up residence on a farm with far too many places to be ambushed from. Thankfully, there was enough practiced experience between the three of you that the hunt only left you with several bruised ribs, Dean with a too-close-for-comfort almost bite, and Sam with a bloody gash cutting across his cheek. All in all, it could’ve been much worse. You had joined the two of them at a bar in town, eager to take a well-deserved moment of reprieve. And you left the bar with Dean. Just Dean.

After you parted ways, you fully accepted that it would be a one night stand, and your paths would never cross again.

Fate had different plans for you.

It was a standard haunted house case that pulled you to a small town in the middle of bumfuck, Iowa. Something something father killed his family when he was discovered having an affair before turning the weapon onto himself. And now he was killing other cheaters in the town. You’d have been tempted to leave him be – was he really doing harm by getting rid of those kinds of people? – if it weren’t for the fact that he would go after the affair partner as well who wasn’t always aware of just who they had gotten in bed with. It was a cut and dry case. Except you couldn’t find where the damn body had been buried, so you were having a hell of a time salting and burning the bones. The extended family had been so ashamed of what their son had done that they had buried him in an unmarked grave on the outskirts of town. 

You had just about hit the end of your rope when two very familiar Winchester boys rolled into town in a sleek Impala that purred like a kitten. And there he was. The one and only Dean Winchester, all swagger and bravado, and fuck, had he gotten hotter? Seriously, God hadn’t played around when chiseling him from marble.

“Hey, sweetheart, long time no see.” He grinned at you, his voice rumbling. 

Leave it to the grave-desecration-brothers to pinpoint where the cheater had been buried. It took several hours in the library pouring over a convoluted family tree before the three of you eventually found a living descendant and another hour talking with her and convincing her to let you guys go through old family books she had stored in her attic. Cheater’s sister happened to jot down which grave was his in her diary. Bleeding heart saved the day. You had ‘cheers’ed to that before knocking back your beer and excusing yourself from the bar with Dean in tow. 

Despite the long span of time you had spent apart, Dean was still familiar to you. The way his lips felt as he kissed you. The way your body seemed to slot against his just right. You couldn’t forget how he felt. Not when every touch of his had seared your skin and left imprints in its wake. Dean had ruined you for anyone else. Because he didn’t just leave his marks on your body. He had carved out a piece of your heart and taken it, leaving a hole in it that ached with every beat. Dean was a heartbreaker, and you were just another name on a long list of casualties. But you were on that list, and you lied to yourself, convinced yourself that it was good enough for you. 

“Dean,” you sighed against his lips, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Glad you didn’t forget me, sweetheart,” he said quietly, kissing you again. You could never forget him. Could never forget the way his hands felt as they teased at the hem of your shirt before sliding up your side. Could never forget the scent of leather and bourbon and cedar that encompassed him. Could never forget the way he looked at you and you let yourself believe just for a fleeting moment that maybe, maybe, you were something more than a hookup in his eyes. Dean’s touch was a flame, and he was going to kindle your entire world to ashes. And as long as he kept looking at you like that, you would let him. Over and over and over again. 

He trailed kisses along your cheek, across your jaw, and further down the side of your neck. His lips left your skin just long enough to slide your shirt over your head and make quick work of the clasp of your bra. He sucked a bruise just below your collarbone then soothed it with his tongue before dipping lower. Dean was attentive, leaving no part of you physically untouched but all of you still wanting. His nose dragged between the valley of your breasts, leaving another mark there. 

“You’re gorgeous; I hope you know that, sweetheart,” he murmured, and your response died in your throat as he sucked a nipple into his mouth, toying with it with his tongue.

There was so much you couldn’t say. Couldn’t tell him how much more you wanted from him. It was silly. You barely knew him in the bedroom and even less outside of it. But there was an undeniable spark between the two of you that you couldn’t shake. An unspoken pull. Something that kept the two of you in the other’s orbit. You were doubtful Dean felt it. It was just you and your silly little heart looking for anything to quell the loneliness that threatened to consume you. 

Dean moved lower, deftly ridding you of the last of your clothing so you were bare for him. And then his mouth was on you, stubble scratching lightly, and all thoughts were wiped from your mind in an instant. His fingers dug into your thighs, all lips and tongue on your clit and folds and fu-uck. You carded your fingers in his short hair, nails scratching against his scalp. He groaned, a low and guttural sound that sent vibrations through your core, and your answering cry was breathless, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his head or the bed sheets or anywhere. The sigh you let out when he slid a finger in you must’ve unraveled some of his self control because a second one joined it none too soon. He curled them, and your back arched.

 If you could form coherent thoughts, you might have had the wherewithal to wonder about when or where or how he learned his talents. But such wasn’t the case as everything tightened. Your tension collapsed into a litany of moans and gasps, and Dean was a solid presence between your legs. He was a maestro, and you were his instrument. He plucked at your strings until you came shuddering around his fingers, your nails biting into his skin. He coaxed you through your release, gently sucking and keeping a steadying hand on your leg. Your head fell back against the pillow, chest heaving. There were too many words that threatened to be the next to spill from you, so instead, you pulled Dean up by the hair and put every word you wanted to say to him in a kiss. It was deep and longing and you tried so hard to tell him just how lucky you felt that you got him for the night with it. If that’s all you ever got of him, it would be enough. It wouldn’t really, but you could delude yourself long enough to convince him.

He met your passion, one hand tangling in your locks and the other slipping beneath you to press against your lower back to provide counterpressure as he rolled his hips against yours. Your jaw went slack as you felt the length of him pressed against you, hot and heavy and hard beneath his jeans. You tugged at his shirt, desperate to get more skin to skin contact. Gasoline coursed through your veins, and if Dean didn’t set you ablaze this very instant, you were sure you would spontaneously combust. Thankfully, Dean was a smart man. He picked up on your desperate plea and stripped out of his shirt before briefly standing up to strip out of the rest of his clothes. 

As he looked down at you, his green eyes met yours, and you could see him searching for something. Acceptance? Approval? Adoration? All three? You’d give him all of those. Whatever it was, you could only hope that he found it as you looked up at him, sprawled out on the bed and propped up on your elbows. You took your time taking him in. The cut of his jaw. The broad expanse of his shoulders. The tattoo that sat just above his left pec. Your gaze dropped lower, and you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip before dragging your eyes back up to his again.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” you ask, a sly smile tugging at the edge of your lips.

Dean pounced. He yanked you into a kiss, messy and primal, crushing you into the bed with his weight. You responded in kind by dragging your nails down the length of his back, needing to leave a mark of your own on him so maybe he’d remember you for more than a fleeting night. Dean groaned low in his throat, the sound ringing in your ears. There were no barriers left between you two, and you arched your body up into his, looking for all the contact you could possibly find. His hand dropped down to your ass and pulled you against him, his cock frotting against the junction of your hip. You raked your fingers in his hair and pulled it, pressing your mouth to the side of his neck and biting and sucking there until Dean was cursing under his breath.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” Dean bit out. You released him, eyes locked onto the angry red mark you had left. He fumbled with his discarded pants for a brief moment before pulling a condom from the pocket. 

“Smart man... smarter than me." 

It was good that he had his wits about him because you were more than ready to throw caution to the wind. You were a hunter. You risked your life every day. What was one more risk? You knew you’d be thankful when your brain wasn’t drowning in lust, though. He rolled the condom over himself before kneeling between your legs again. He grabbed the backs of your knees and spread your legs wide, lifting your ass off the bed before settling it on his thighs. Dean took a moment to guide his cock into place. His gaze met yours again, waiting and pleading. You gave him a subtle nod.

Dean rolled his hips, sinking into you with slow thrusts. You audibly sighed as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He said your name, reverent and sincere. He said your name. Not sweetheart. Not baby. Not some nickname he probably used to mask the fact that he forgot the name of the woman under him. Your name. You whimpered.

“Dean... I missed you too,” you admitted. But he didn’t understand the depths of your words. He couldn’t. He kept a hand on your knee, keeping you splayed open for him. You braced a hand on the headboard and turned your face aside, biting the knuckle of one of your fingers and panting into it.

“No, no, pretty girl. Keep your eyes on me,” he said, leaning forward to grab your chin and guide your eyes back to him. The shift caused him to sink just a little deeper into you. You squeaked when your eyes met green ones. There, behind the lust and desire, there was Dean. And for a moment, you could see the vulnerability there. The lonely man who wanted to be needed. Needed to be wanted. 

“Move, Dean. I need you.”

And that’s all it took. Dean surrendered to what felt good and snapped his hips, pounding into you, thrilling at the way you moaned and moved with him and accepted every aggressive stroke like you were made for it. He lowered his body and leaned forward onto his hands so he could drive himself deeper into you. His hands found yours, and you entwined your fingers with his. He pinned you to the mattress, caging you beneath him. You shouted in response, your legs clenching against Dean’s sides and the drag of his cock setting every nerve alight. 

“There you go, pretty girl. You can take it. You can take me. I know you can.” His words were fuel for the inferno that threatened to devour you. You were trembling. Aching. He was the musician; your body was the instrument. You were a violin string. You were tuned too tight. You were breaking.

Your groans and cries turned to fervent whimpers, and you fought against his hold as your release danced just beyond your reach. Your eyes fluttered shut, and Dean clicked his tongue, commanding your attention. You stared up at him, eyes wide and bright, drinking in the sight of him as though it would be your last.

“Please,” you begged. Your voice sounded so utterly wrecked in your own ears, but you didn’t care. You had abandoned your dignity long ago. “Dean, please. Need more.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He let go of one of your hands, and his thumb found your clit, drawing tight circles around it. “Come on, pretty girl. Need you to come on my cock.” His breaths mingled with yours, and your answering cry was high and thready as you lost yourself in him. Your voice, so needy and desperate, must’ve been enough to be Dean’s undoing because the hand holding yours tightened as he rutted into you until he came in hot, throbbing pulses that sucked the energy out of the rest of his body. You clenched around him, and he let out a strangled groan as his whole body shuddered above you.

He pressed his forehead against yours, brushing stray hairs out of your face with his free hand. His other still clasped yours tightly, fingers still laced together. You leaned up to kiss him, and your lips met in a tender way. An unburdened, unhurried kiss. A kiss for the sake of kissing.  You could’ve stayed like that forever, but all too soon, Dean broke the kiss and peeled himself off of you, his hand leaving yours. He stood, moving to discard the condom before grabbing a towel from the bathroom. You sat up, watching his retreating back and taking pride in the red lines your nails had left in their wake. You could only hope he would remember you.

When he returned with a damp washcloth, he coaxed you back against the pillow as he wiped the sweat from your brow, muttering sweet nothings all the while. There was silence between you for a long while, and you realized too late that your time with him was coming to an end. He had set you aflame, and now you would have to find a way to rebuild. But you’d do it all again if Dean asked it of you. But when he spoke, you hadn’t expected the words that came out of his mouth.

“Do you maybe wanna... you know... stay?” he asked quietly. “For the night,” he added. You swallowed.

“Um... isn’t Sam due back sometime... soon?” Why were you making excuses? This opportunity didn’t even show up in your dreams. Dean wet his lips, not quite meeting your gaze.

“Well... not to be presumptuous or anything... but I might have told him to get his own room for the night.”

“Oh.” Oh. He had planned on you staying with him? You were done for. 

“Yeah... Uh, nevermind. You don’t have to. You’ve probably got somewhere better–”

“I’d love to stay,” you blurted out. “With you,” you clarified, as if it weren’t obvious. The smile that split across Dean’s face was blinding, and it became your new life’s mission to do whatever it took to see it directed your way time and time again.

“How about I order us some food? We can watch a movie and cuddle?” And really, you were only human. A request like that from Dean Winchester was as easy to fulfill as breathing.

---

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[liuhsng]

✩ˎˊ˗ breaking point ( ksn ! )

✩ˎˊ˗ part of the untouchable series | enhypen masterlist ⤷ word count: 13.9k ⤷ taglist for the series: open ! ⤷ warning/s: 18+ ( smut ! ), unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it ), p in v, pussy drunk!sunoo, a/b/o au, cursing, female pronouns, fem!reader, kinda slowburn, brother's best friend trope, mentions of drinking and alcohol, very very passionate sex, angst, one-sided at first to eventual mutual pining, sunoo's in denial, kinda shy!reader, sunoo falls for you hard, subtle mentions of heeseung's fic from the series ⤷ a/n: I'M BACK AFTER 4 YEARS. ✩ˎˊ˗ summary: being sunghoon’s younger sister by a year, it was clear to everyone that you were off-limits. sunghoon’s overprotectiveness made it impossible for anyone to forget that, especially sunoo, his best friend. the pink haired alpha, who always saw you as nothing more than his best friend’s little sister. he wasn’t looking for an omega or a mate, and that was that. but when things get heated between the both of you, he had no choice but to confront the feelings he always had for his best friend's younger sister that he couldn't deny anymore.

being the youngest daughter of the esteemed park family was hard, not because of who your brother was, but because of all the rules you were raised to follow.

from the moment you could walk, you were groomed to be perfect, poised, refined, and constantly reminded that you were next in line to rule alongside sunghoon. the pressure was suffocating. every step you took was measured, every decision scrutinized, and the expectations never seemed to end.

the problem? you had never asked for any of it.

as his younger sister, it was hard to make your own way when all anyone ever saw was the role you were born into. and to make matters worse, there were constant reminders that you were off-limits, not just because you were his sister— maybe just a little, but because you were the future of the family.

you were snapped out of your thoughts when you felt sunghoon tap lightly on your knee, the touch familiar yet still enough to pull you back into reality. his presence in the front seat always had an air of authority, and for a moment, you resented how easily he could just, command your attention.

"stupid alpha's and their stupid genes." you muttered under your breath.

"stop zoning out," he said, his voice a playful reprimand, though the smile on his face suggested he wasn’t too bothered by your distraction.

you rolled your eyes as you shifted in your seat. “i'm not zoning out,” you muttered, trying to shake off the feelings of frustration that had been rising under your skin. the weight of your family’s expectations felt heavier than usual.

sunghoon, sitting next to the driver’s seat with his attention partly on the road and partly on you, sighed. "you know mom’s going to expect you to bring a suitor with you to the dinner, right? at least someone who looks like they’re even remotely interested in you."

you could feel your chest tighten at the mention of it. it wasn’t even a dinner for a few more days, at least five, actually; but your mother had already made it clear that tonight’s family dinner would be just the beginning. it was one of those events designed to solidify your place in the hierarchy, and somehow, the spotlight was always on you and your older brother, no matter how much you tried to avoid it.

"yeah, i know," you said dryly, glancing out the window at the passing buildings. "you’re not the one who has to deal with her acting like your love life is the family business."

sunghoon chuckled, a sound that felt too familiar, dry and dismissive, as though he didn’t even consider anyone good enough to be worthy of you. “i just think no one’s good enough for you,” he said with a shrug, his voice almost bored as he looked out the windshield.

“mom’s just doing her usual thing. trying to find someone who’ll follow the rules and look the part. doesn’t matter who they are, as long as they check the boxes.” sunghoon sighed as he shot you a tight smile in the rear-view mirror.

you bit your lip to keep from rolling your eyes. the last thing you needed was your brother deciding who was worthy of you, especially when the last thing you wanted was someone picked for you based on some list of family-approved traits. “i’m sure she’ll find someone who meets all her requirements,” you said, sarcasm laced into your voice.

sunghoon glanced at you, the amusement in his eyes fading into something a little more serious. for a second, you saw a flash of concern in his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly. "don’t let her get to you," he said quietly.

“the only thing you need is an alpha who cares about you,” he said, his tone oddly casual, though he sounded sincere. "like your mate, who i'm sure is just out there waiting for you. you’ll find him eventually."

you blinked, surprised by the unexpected softness in his voice. you weren't used to hearing him talk like that

you shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. "you really think someone’s out there waiting for me?" you asked, the doubt creeping into your voice despite the hope his words has caused.

sunghoon's gaze softened for a moment, his expression unreadable. "i don't think you need to worry about that right now," he said with a slight grin, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "when the time comes, you'll know. just… don’t let mom rush you into someone you don’t want."

you let out a quiet sigh, turning your gaze out the window as the car slowed. the city lights blurred past, and before you could process it, the familiar driveway came into view, an all too familiar mansion.

the car honked, and a figure appeared in your peripheral vision. you recognized him immediately, even from a distance. kim sunoo, casually scrolling through his phone as he stood by the front gate. as the car rolled to a stop, he looked up, saw you both, and then sent sunghoon a playful smirk through the rolled-down passenger window.

"well, look who finally decided to show up," sunoo said with a grin, his eyes lighting up as he slid into the car beside you without missing a beat.

but as sunoo settled in beside you, you couldn't shake the strange feeling that had been creeping up on you for a while now. you'd known sunoo for as long as you could remember, your brother’s best friend, always around when the two of you were growing up.

his family was just like yours, pureblooded with a reputation that seemed to follow them wherever they went. but to you, sunoo had always seemed harmless, just another guy who’d been around long enough to be a part of the family in a way.

it wasn’t always like this. there was a time when he had been just… sunghoon's best friend. the guy who teased you relentlessly, but never in a mean way. he was always present, always just there; at family gatherings, at parties, even during quiet moments when you'd end up sitting side by side, silently enduring the weight of family expectations together.

it wasn’t an obvious change, not something you could point to with a specific date. but, something that began to grow when you found yourself seeing him differently.

maybe it was during one of those times when you had to wait for sunghoon outside an office, a day when he’d gotten into a fight with another alpha after his classes. you were both stuck waiting for your brother, his stubbornness keeping him inside while you and sunoo were left in an uncomfortable silence.

you’d both sat there, avoiding each other’s gaze, the minutes stretched on, and something inside you felt weird. the way sunoo’s eyes would flicker toward you, like he was trying to catch your attention without fully looking at you, as if testing whether you were still there. you'd meet his gaze for a second, but he’d always look away too quickly, leaving you with the unsettling feeling that there was something he wasn’t saying.

his scent, always so familiar, seemed to hang in the air thicker than usual. it was the heady mixture of rum and neroli that you’d come to associate with him, something that screamed 'kim sunoo.' but now, it felt more intense, like it was seeping into your senses and refusing to let go.

each inhale felt deeper than the last, and with every breath, your heart began to pound faster. your inner omega reacted before your mind could process it, a soft whimper rising in the back of your throat as your body seemed to crave the closeness, the warmth that sunoo offered.

"omega…" sunoo grumbled under his breath, his voice barely a whisper, but it was enough to make your pulse spike. his eyes were narrowed, his expression flickering with something unreadable as he shifted next to you.

"alpha," you whispered, more to yourself than to him, trying to force some control back into the situation. the words barely left your lips before sunoo let out a breath, his hand brushing against yours, sending another wave of heat coursing through you.

before you could fully process what was happening, the glass doors to the office burst open with a loud bang, snapping you out of the haze you were in. sunghoon stormed out, his face contorted in irritation.

"let’s go," he grumbled, his voice laced with anger. he barely spared a glance in your direction before he turned, expecting both of you to follow. sunoo stood up immediately, his posture rigid, but not before shooting you one last look.

now, here you were, in the present, sitting next to the pink haired alpha in the backseat of the car. he hadn’t said much, just offering you a tight-lipped smile when you briefly met his gaze. his usual bright smile was gone when it came to you, replaced by something colder. you didn’t know what had changed between you two, only that it had.

and it was driving you crazy.

the school halls felt a little emptier than usual, you found yourself walking alongside heeseung’s mate, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence as you made your way toward the library.

"so, how's your relationship going?" you asked, breaking the silence between the two of you as you both navigated the winding hallway. your voice was light, almost teasing.

she raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. "i haven't seen you in a hot minute, and that’s the first thing you ask me?" she chuckled, nudging your shoulder with her own. "guess i should be flattered, huh?"

you rolled your eyes but couldn't hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "well, it's not like i have a lot of time to catch up with you," you replied, voice dripping with mock sarcasm. "plus, i'm curious what it's like to have a mate."

she let out a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to her chest. "well, let me tell you, it’s a whole different world, but not in the way people make it seem."

you raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious now. "isn't that how it’s supposed to be? like, you find your other half, and everything just... clicks?"

she laughed softly, shaking her head. "it does click, but not always in the way you think. it’s not just about this perfect connection, you have to understand each other on a level most people never get. and that means sometimes stepping back, compromising, giving up things you thought you wanted."

you frowned slightly, trying to process what she was saying. "so, it's not all… smooth sailing?"

"not at all," she said with a grin, her expression softening.

the two of you slowed your pace as you reached the library doors, and you couldn't help but feel a little bit worried. "sounds like a lot to take in," you murmured.

"it is," she agreed, her expression softening, her voice quieter now. "but when it’s right, it’s worth every bit of effort." she paused, glancing at you with a hint of playfulness. "anyway, enough about me and my romantic life. what about you? any suitors yet?"

you snorted at her tone. "oh, definitely not. my stupid brother would never let that happen." you couldn't hide the frustration in your voice. "honestly, he’d probably pick the guy out himself if he had it his way."

as you pushed open the library doors, you immediately spotted sunoo. he was scanning the second aisle of books, his pink hair catching the light as he casually flipped through a book in his hands. the quiet rustle of pages echoed, but the moment you stepped inside, something changed.

his scent hit you; rum and neroli, as usual, but then, something softer, something sweet and floral lingered in the air, mixing with the familiar fragrance. cherries and daisies. your scent. you hadn’t realized it until now, but it was unmistakable. the realization hit you like a wave, the familiar smell of your scent blending with his in the air around you made your heart race.

sunoo looked up, his eyes immediately meeting yours, and you felt a jolt in your chest. his gaze flickered toward you faster than you could process, as if the sudden rush of your scent had caught him off guard. for a moment, he looked like he was trying to figure out what was happening.

the usual cocky grin he wore was gone, replaced by something that looked unsure. the silence stretched between the two of you hanged in the air. his lips parted as if to say something but closed again before he could speak, his eyes flickering to the side.

you felt your cheeks warm, a slight blush creeping up as you realized just how much of your scent had made its way to him. it wasn’t the usual mixture of rum and neroli; it was your scent, swirling around him, and it made everything feel strangely intimate.

after a few seconds, sunoo cleared his throat, attempting to break the tension. “hi,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. his hand went to rub the back of his neck in an awkward gesture. “what’s up?”

"i'—i'm just looking for a book," you said quickly, trying to steady your breathing.

"right," sunoo muttered, his lips pressing into a tight line.

before either of you could say anything else, heeseung's mate, who had been watching the whole exchange with amusement, couldn’t help herself. she stifled a laugh behind her hand, clearly entertained.

at this, sunoo’s gaze hardened slightly, his jaw tightening as if her subtle teasing had struck a nerve. his eyes flicked to her, sharp and full of irritation.

before he could even retort, a familiar voice called out from across the library, breaking the silence.

“dude, come on!” it was ni-ki, his usual energy apparent even in his rushed tone. he was standing near the library entrance, waving a hand as if trying to pull sunoo out of whatever awkward interaction he’d just walked into.

sunoo sighed, running a hand through his hair before nodding at ni-ki. “yeah, i’m coming,” he said, his voice strained. he hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking toward you once more before he turned and started walking toward the door.

ni-ki, however, didn’t seem to miss the stiffness his friend carried. as sunoo approached him, ni-ki raised an eyebrow, his gaze darting between you and sunoo with a smirk slowly creeping onto his face.

“not a word,” sunoo snapped, his voice firm as he grabbed younger by the arm and dragged him out of the library before he could say anything else.

the doors swung shut behind them, leaving you and heeseung’s mate standing there. she let out a low whistle, clearly entertained by the exchange.

“well, that was… something,” she said, raising an eyebrow at you.

you groaned, burying your face in your hands as the heat of embarrassment crept up your neck. "don’t start," you muttered, but the sound of her soft laugh made it clear she already had.

ni-ki wore a smug grin as he and sunoo made their way down the hallway toward jungwon’s classroom. the pinknette kept his head down, his jaw tight, while ni-ki practically bounced with every step.

"you know," ni-ki started, his tone dripping with mischief, "i could smell your scent from a mile away." he wrinkled his nose in exaggerated disgust, throwing a glance at sunoo. "and, man, it went sour the second you came near me. wonder why?"

sunoo shot him a glare, his fists clenching at his sides. "shut up, you brat," he muttered through gritted teeth, though the flush on his cheeks betrayed his emotions.

ni-ki just laughed, "relax, i’m just saying. you sure you’re not catching feelings?" his voice was light, and the teasing tone in it made sunoo’s brows knit even tighter.

by the time they reached jungwon’s classroom, sunoo’s patience was wearing thin. ni-ki opened the door without hesitation, poking his head in. "hey, president! we have a meeting,"

jungwon looked up from his desk, his sharp eyes instantly narrowing as they landed on sunoo. his nose scrunched as he groaned. "what the fuck, sunoo? what’s up with your scent? it’s all over the place."

sunoo let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples as if trying to push down a rising headache. "it’s nothing," he said firmly as he shot jungwon a pointed look. "can we just go? get your ass up there before ni-ki starts running his mouth again."

but ni-ki wasn’t done. he leaned casually against the doorframe, his grin widening. "oh, he’s not exaggerating, though. your scent’s practically begging for attention right now."

"ni-ki!" sunoo snapped, his voice rising. his cheeks were now a bright red. he shot jungwon another look as his footsteps were already moving back toward the hallway.

jungwon sighed, closing his book as he trailed behind sunoo and ni-ki. his sharp eyes flicked between the two, lingering on sunoo’s unusually tense shoulders. "i don’t think i’ve ever seen you this worked up," jungwon commented, "what happened?"

"i already told you, it's nothing," sunoo said through gritted teeth, his pace quickening as if he could outrun the conversation. his hands were stuffed into his pockets, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

jungwon raised an eyebrow, "dude, i'm just concerned," he stepped closer to sunoo, his gaze scrutinizing. "and why does your scent keep spiking like that? it’s—" he wrinkled his nose again, "—weirdly sweet."

"woah, which one of you reeks of omega?" jake's voice cut through the tense atmosphere as he walked up from the opposite end of the hallway, his eyebrows raised in confusion. he stopped a few feet away, his sharp gaze sweeping over the group before settling on the pink haired alpha.

all of them turned to look at sunoo, who visibly tensed under their stares. his scent, usually subtle, was undeniably different now; sweet and overwhelming, like cherries and daisies after a summer rain.

jake's eyes widened slightly as the realization hit. "oh, it’s you," he said, pointing at sunoo, a teasing smirk spreading across his face. "what the hell, dude? i thought you didn’t want a mate. sunghoon’s gonna lose his mind if he catches a whiff of this."

sunoo groaned, his jaw tightening even further. "for the hundredth fucking time, it’s nothing," he snapped, his voice low.

jake wasn’t having it. he stepped closer, his eyes holding nothing but amusement. "nothing? seriously?" he let out a chuckle, leaning casually against the wall. "because from what i’m smelling—" he let out a chuckle, "it doesn’t sound like nothing."

and just like ni-ki, jake was far from being done. he leaned in slightly, his tone dropping into something more serious. "just saying, sunoo. you smell like you’ve already claimed her as your omega."

sunoo’s patience finally snapped. he stepped forward, his shoulders tense as grabbed jake's collar. "i already told you, it's fucking nothing!" his voice echoed down the hallway. he took a shaky breath, trying to calm himself down before speaking again. "can we just drop it?"

the hallway fell silent for a moment, the tension thick between them. jungwon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he exchanged a glance with jake and ni-ki.

"alright, let’s go," jungwon muttured. sunoo turned on his heel, his head held high as he stormed off down the hallway.

the council meeting dragged on longer than expected, leaving everyone tired but relieved as everything finally wrapped up. jay stretched his arms over his head while jake clapped his hands together, his signature smile plastered on his face.

before anyone could leave, sunghoon stood up, leaning casually against the table. “before we all go home to suffer through whatever my family has planned for us this weekend,” he started, glancing around the room, “i'm throwing a party at our place. consider it a little pregame before we have to suffer through whatever formalities my family has planned.”

“your place?” jay asked, raising an eyebrow. “you sure about that?”

“yeah, well, we’ll deal with it,” sunghoon replied with a shrug. “i’ll handle everything. you guys just show up and try not to burn the house down, okay?” he flashed his trademark smirk.

heeseung snickered, leaning back in his chair. “no promises, man.”

sunghoon rolled his eyes. “you guys are exhausting. just be there, okay?”

sunghoon grabbed his bag from the chair beside him, slinging it over his shoulder with a casual flick of his wrist. he glanced at sunoo, who was still looking through his phone.

“come on, man,” sunghoon said, nudging sunoo with his elbow. “let’s head out. don’t make me wait on you.”

sunoo gave a short nod but didn’t respond immediately. he slipped his phone into his pocket and grabbed his own bag, standing up and following sunghoon to the door.

but sunghoon stopped just before they reached it, pausing for a moment. “actually, you go ahead,” he said, glancing at sunoo. “i need to make a few calls before we head out, wait for me at the car.”

sunoo nodded, albeit with a slight frown. “alright. don’t take too long.”

with that, sunghoon waved off sunoo and headed back to the council room. the pink haired alpha turned and walked out of the building, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

you were already standing near the car, scrolling through your phone, when you heard those footsteps approach.

but instead of both of them, it was just sunoo.

he slowed his pace as he neared you, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before darting away. his posture was more stiff than usual, like he was trying to keep himself together despite the tension. he cleared his throat, offering a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“your brother had to make a few calls,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, though it didn’t sound quite as casual as he intended. “he’ll be out in a bit.”

you raised an eyebrow, noting the way he avoided your gaze. something was different about him, it seemed like he was even more avoidant that before. you leaned a little more against the car, letting your phone slip into your pocket.

“oh, alright. i was expecting you both,” you said, keeping your tone light. “guess it’s just you for now.”

sunoo’s gaze met yours briefly, but he quickly looked away, the tension between you two rising just from the quietness that surrounded you.

“yeah,” sunoo replied, his voice quieter than usual. “he’ll catch up soon.”

you both stood there, the silence stretching on a little too long for your liking, every time you shifted slightly, the pureblooded alpha's eyes flickered toward you, only to dart away quickly when you looked in his direction.

sunoo’s gaze wandered back to you, though his eyes lingered longer this time, his brows furrowed just slightly, as if trying to figure something out, something that was clearly confusing him. his hands, tucked into his pockets, clenched and unclenched as if he were trying to control his inner alpha.

he was trying to keep it together, but you could tell he was struggling, and it only made the tension between you two worse. your scent, the cherries and daisies that always clung to you, seemed to hit him harder now than it ever had before. he kept his head down at times, shaking it slightly, as if trying to will the thoughts away. but it was impossible.

before the silence could swallow you whole, a familiar figure came into view. sunghoon, bag slung over his shoulder, was walking toward you both, his sharp eyes landing on you. when he noticed sunoo, his gaze narrowed for a moment, before he pushed the door open and got into the driver’s seat.

sunoo visibly relaxed when sunghoon appeared, his shoulders relaxing. you noticed the way sunghoon’s gaze flicked between you two, almost as if trying to get a reaction out of you before his expression softened.

“let’s go,” sunghoon muttered, his tone light, but you caught the faintest hint of annoyance to it. as you got in, sunghoon’s eyes lingered on sunoo for a moment, an unreadable look being exchanged between them before he turned his attention back to you.

the car ride back to your house was suffocating with the silence between sunghoon and sunoo. their usual playful banter was absent, making it feel like there was a thick wall between them. sunghoon’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his jaw clenched, and his eyes were fixed ahead, not once glancing at sunoo.

when your brother finally pulled up to your house, he didn’t even look at you as he parked the car. “go on, i'll go home later, i'm going to hang with sunoo a bit at his place,” he said, his tone flat, though he didn’t make eye contact.

you hesitated, still confused by the strange tension between the two of them, but sunghoon wasn't one to order you around if nothing was up. you opened the car door and stepped out, the cool air hitting your skin as you closed it behind you. but as soon as you turned to head inside, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

inside the car, sunghoon didn’t waste any time. as soon as the door slammed shut, he put the car in gear and pulled away, his face hard as stone. he spoke again, his tone colder than before.

“sunoo,” he said, his voice low, full of suppressed rage. “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

the pink haired alpha didn’t immediately respond, his eyes flicking to sunghoon’s, and the words that followed were filled with frustration.

“what the fuck are you saying?” sunoo spat, his tone was angry angry, but there a hint nervousness he couldn’t hide. he was defensive, like he was trying to convince himself more than sunghoon. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

sunghoon’s eyes darkened, and he slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “don’t lie to me. i saw the way you were looking at her, at (y/n). you think i didn’t notice? you’re not fooling anyone, sunoo. you’ve made it clear you don’t want a mate, so don’t start acting like you care about my sister. she’s not some fucking toy for you to play with.”

sunoo’s breath caught in his throat. the words hit him like a punch. his anger rose and his pulse quickened, but he wasn’t ready to back down. he was kim sunoo, for god’s sake. a pureblooded alpha. the one everyone looked up to, admired, even worshipped as if he were some sort of god.

people didn’t question him. they didn’t dare. they whispered his name in admiration, gazed at him with awe, and hung onto every word that fell from his lips. he was always in control, always the one holding all the cards. yet here he was, sitting in sunghoon’s car, feeling like a cornered animal.

“i’m not—” his voice cut off. his eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. “you’ve lost your mind. you think I’m some kind of… what? a threat? to (y/n)?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “i don’t even—”

but the words got caught in his throat, the sheer audacity of sunghoon’s words sparked something primal that clawed its way to the surface.

“i don’t need your fucking lectures,” sunoo snapped, his voice rising, laced with frustration and something darker. “you think you can just sit there and tell me what to feel? like you know everything about me?”

sunghoon’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white. his voice, cold cut through sunoo’s anger like a blade. “i know enough, sunoo. i know what you’re capable of. you’ve always been able to have whatever you wanted, and you never cared about the mess you left behind. i’ve seen it. i’ve cleaned it up.”

sunoo flinched, his jaw tightening as the words dug into him. “you think i’d do that to her? to your sister?” he practically spat the words, his voice trembling with disbelief and something he couldn’t quite place: shame, maybe, though he wasn’t about to admit it. “do you even hear yourself right now?”

“yes, i do,” sunghoon spat back, is glare was sharp enough to draw blood, and the fire in his eyes kept on burning. “and you’d better hear me too. i don’t care who you are, sunoo. i don’t care how many people bow at your feet or how many omegas line up just for a glance from you. she’s not one of them. she’s not yours to toy with.”

sunoo slumped slightly, the words hitting him harder than he expected. se opened his mouth to argue, to lash back, but the weight of his own best friend's anger pressed down on him.

sunghoon’s voice lowered, the cold anger hinting at something even more dangerous: protectiveness. “you’ve built your reputation on being untouchable like the rest of us, sunoo. on being the alpha no one can resist. but this time, it’s different. she’s different. and i’m not going to let you drag her into whatever this is. so if you can’t figure your shit out, then stay the hell away from her. not her, sunoo. not my sister.”

the silence that followed was deafening, the tension in the car so heavy it was almost suffocating. sunoo turned his gaze to the window, his jaw tight and his chest heaving. he wanted to say something, anything; but the words refused to come. for the first time in his life, kim sunoo didn’t know what to say.

and that terrified him.

the bass of the music slammed through the walls of your room, shaking the floor beneath your feet as muffled laughter and indistinct chatter filled the air. the faint stench of alcohol wafted in from downstairs, mixing with the faint scent of perfume you’d just sprayed.

you stood in front of your vanity, mascara in hand, carefully brushing it through your lashes. despite the loud party happening just a floor below, your mind was miles away, spinning relentlessly over the events of the day.

your brother's voice echoed in your head, commanding and impossible to ignore. “go on.” his expression was hard, his tone leaving no room for argument, and his eyed held something you couldn’t quite place. anger? frustration? and then, hours later, when he finally came home, his jaw was set tight and his movements sharp, he’d brushed it off entirely. “pay it no mind,” he’d said, as if you could.

you blinked, startled as jungwon’s mate’s voice broke through your thoughts. “well, don’t you look pretty,” she said with a teasing tone, her warm smile reflected in the mirror beside you. she leaned against the edge of the bed, holding a glass of wine, her relaxed posture a contrast to your tense one.

you managed a small laugh, the corners of your lips twitching up as you capped your mascara. “thanks,” you muttered, setting the tube down on the vanity.

“i mean, you always do,” she continued, waving her hand as if it were obvious. “your genes are just unfair, honestly.” she paused, tilting her head with a mischievous grin. “but tonight, i don’t know… there’s something different. you might just find yourself an alpha.”

“i’d kill to have your genes,” heeseung's mate chimed in from where she was perched on the armrest of a chair, twirling the stem of her own wine glass between her fingers. “the rest of us have to try, but you? you just wake up looking like that.”

you laughed lightly, “okay, calm down, it’s not that serious,” you replied, though a faint blush crept up your neck.

“oh, it is,” jungwon’s mate insisted, sitting up straighter. she gestured at you with her drink. “half the alphas downstairs are probably already talking about you, and you’re not even there yet.”

you rolled your eyes, about to deflect when a knock at the door broke through the conversation. all three of you turned toward it just as it cracked open slightly.

“hey—” ni-ki’s voice came from the hallway as he peeked his head inside, his dark hair slightly messy and his tie undone. his teasing grin widened when he spotted you. “oh, look who’s not ready yet. should’ve known.”

“what do you want, ni-ki?” you asked, crossing your arms but unable to suppress a small smile at his antics.

he leaned against the doorframe, his expression mischievous as his gaze darted between the three of you. “well, for one, jungwon and heeseung are downstairs losing their minds trying to figure out where these two are,” he said, directing his words to the other two omega's in the room.

both women groaned, rolling their eyes in unison.

“of course they are,” heeseung’s mate muttered, setting her glass down. “they’re so clingy sometimes.”

“tell them we’re having girl time,” jungwon’s mate added with a dismissive wave. “they’ll survive.”

ni-ki shrugged. “suit yourselves. just don’t blame me when they come storming up here.” his gaze flicked back to you, and his grin turned into something more teasing. “and you.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “what about me?”

“oh, nothing,” ni-ki replied, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “just wondering if you’re planning to make an entrance tonight or if you’re hiding up here for a reason. you know…” he paused dramatically. “like maybe avoiding someone?”

your stomach twisted, and you tensed at his words. sunoo’s name was unspoken, but the implication was clear.

you avoided the curious gazes of jungwon’s and heeseung’s mates, focusing instead on smoothing down your dress as if that could steady the nervousness coursing through you. “i’m not avoiding anyone,” you said quickly, though your voice came out a little too defensive. “why would i be?”

ni-ki’s smirk grew, his eyes catching every flicker of your unease. “no reason,” he said casually, though his tone said otherwise. “but, you know, sunoo’s downstairs already. thought you’d want to know.”

your fingers tightened around the edge of your dress, but you forced a calm expression, brushing past his words with a shrug. “thanks for the update, ni-ki. anything else?”

ni-ki let out a low chuckle, pushing off the doorframe. “nope, that’s it. i'll let the boys know their precious mates are alive and well.” he shot you one last knowing glance before disappearing down the hall.

heeseung’s mate arched an eyebrow at you. “something you want to share?”

“nope,” you replied quickly, standing and grabbing your clutch to avoid their probing stares. “let’s head down before jungwon and heeseung actually come looking for you.”

the two omega's exchanged a look, clearly not convinced by your avoidance, but they didn’t push further. with a quiet sigh and a shake of their heads, they trailed after you, their heels clicking softly against the floor.

as you descended the staircase, the music grew louder, the distinct stench of alcohol mixed with the overwhelming mix of scents, some sharp and dominating, others softer and more inviting, hit you like a wave. the mingling of alpha and omega pheromones in the air made your head spin slightly, but you quickly composed yourself, steadying your breath.

the party was in full swing by the time you reached the ground floor. laughter blended with the music. you got lost through the crowd, your gaze scanning the room for familiar faces. a few alphas glanced your way as you passed, their eyes lingering a second too long, but you paid them no mind. your focus was on finding the one group that always stood out: your brother and his closest friends.

there they were, gathered in a corner near the back of the living room, a bunch alpha's that demanded attention without trying. you no one dared approach them, not even the boldest partygoers. they were untouchable, and everyone in the room knew it. the alphas who tried too hard to impress, the omegas who stole glances— they all kept their distance.

even from afar, you could see why. jungwon’s sharp gaze swept over the room like a predator assessing his territory, while jake leaned casually against the wall, his smile charming yet unreadable. heeseung reeked of confidence, sipping from his drink as if he had nothing to prove, while ni-ki and jay stood close, their presence equally magnetic. as if there was a warning sign above them that seemed to say, come close at your own risk.

then there was sunoo, his fox-like eyes gleaming under the dim light, observing the room with an intensity that made you feel as though he saw everything without even trying. he was effortless in the way he held himself, his posture relaxed but his presence was everything, as if daring anyone tocome close. his lips curved into a faint smirk, but it never reached his eyes.

for a moment, your breath hitched as his eyes flicked in your direction. it wasn’t a lingering stare, but something about the brief glance sent a jolt through you, like he’d caught you looking and wanted you to know it. you quickly tore your gaze away, pretending to focus on something else.

you straightened your shoulders, forcing yourself to focus as you made your way toward the group with heeseung’s mate and jungwon’s mate trailing close behind.

jay was the closest to you, leaning casually with his drink in hand. you stepped up to him, barely giving yourself time to hesitate before asking, “where’s sunghoon?”

jay tilted his head, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “last i saw, he was playing the host, chatting up some guests by the back patio.” he took a sip from his drink before adding, “you know your brother, always trying to keep things in check.”

your brows furrowed as you glanced in the direction he pointed, but sunghoon was nowhere in sight. “did he say anything about leaving?” you asked, trying to keep the worry from creeping into your voice.

jay shook his head, his grin widening slightly as he caught a glimpse of sunoo, who had moved a step closer. the flicker of something—irritation, jealousy, maybe both; in sunoo’s fox-like eyes didn’t escape jay.

“nope,” jay said, his tone casual. “he’s probably just busy. relax, will you? it’s a party.” his gaze flicked between you and Sunoo, and the amusement in his eyes deepened. “enjoy yourself. who knows? you might even catch someone’s attention tonight.”

the way he said it was so pointed that your cheeks flushed, and you stammered out a response, “i’m not—no, that’s not—”

but jay’s smirk only grew, and he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was doing it on purpose. “don’t worry. you’ve definitely already caught someone’s eye.”

before you could even process his words, a sharp, distinct smell flared through the air, piercing through the mix of alcohol, sweat, and pheromones that spread through the room. the smell of rum hit your nose, strong and intoxicating, but it wasn’t coming from jake’s drink; and it made your chest tighten.

your eyes shifted to sunoo almost instinctively. his expression was unreadable, his fingers gripped the glass in his hand tighter than necessary, the faint clink of ice shifting barely audible over the music. his fox-like eyes, which normally held a teasing glint, were locked on jay, bordered on threatening.

it didn’t take much to connect the dots. the flaring scent wasn’t just the alcohol in the room— it was him, sunoo, struggling to keep his emotions in check. his gaze flickered to you briefly before he quickly looked away.

jay noticed too. of course, he did. he smirk on his face twisted into something more mischievous, “relax, sunoo,” jay said, his tone light but loaded, clearly meant to push the alpha's buttons. “no need to look so angry. i’m just saying she’s a catch, that’s all.”

the glass in sunoo’s hand creaked faintly under the pressure of his grip. “you talk too much,” he muttered.

your heart hammered in your chest as the tension between the two alphas crackled like static in the air. you swallowed hard, forcing a nervous laugh to break the awkwardness. “i’ll just… go find sunghoon,” you said quickly, taking a step back.

but even as you turned to leave, you could feel sunoo’s gaze following. the smell of rum still lingered, and it seemed to follow you out of the room like a shadow.

the back patio was quiet compared to the chaos inside. the music was muffled, and the cool night air was a contrast to the stuffy heat of the party. you glanced around, searching for any sign of sunghoon, but the space was practically deserted except for a few people sitting on the edge of the patio.

you sighed, frustration bubbling up. jay’s directions had been vague at best, and for all you knew, your brother could be anywhere. “great,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing your arms as a slight chill crept in.

“he’s probably busy making out with some random omega,” a familiar voice drawled behind you, the words dripping with a mix of sarcasm and something bitter.

you turned to find sunoo leaning against the doorframe, his figure backlit by the dim glow of the house. his fox-like eyes were unreadable, like the alpha was holding back more than he was saying. the way his arms were crossed over his chest, fingers tapping against his bicep, only added to the tension that seemed to follow him everywhere tonight.

“excuse me?” you replied, eyebrows raising.

sunoo shrugged, but the motion was anything but casual. the slight quirk of his lips wasn’t a smile, it was a challenge. “what?” he said, his tone deceptively light. “it’s not like it’s the first time. sunghoon’s great at disappearing when there’s a pretty omega around to distract him

“you sound like you’ve done that more than once,” you retorted, your voice sharp, unable to mask the sting of his words. you stood your ground, eyes narrowing as you crossed your arms, unwilling to back down.

sunoo’s jaw tightened at your words, and for a split second, you saw the flash of something in his eyes, hurt? anger? it was hard to tell. but before you could process it, he took a step forward.

“i’m not having this argument with you, (y/n),” he bit out, his voice low, like he was trying to keep himself under control. “you don’t get it.”

you took a step closer, “no, i don’t think you get it, sunoo,” you retorted, your voice cutting through the tension between you. “you always avoid everything, avoid me, avoid the truth. you act like you’re protecting me, but it’s just you trying to keep things safe, trying to keep everything easy for yourself. but it’s not working anymore.”

without warning, sunoo stepped closer, his hand shooting out to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. the sudden move took you by surprise, your breath hitching as his hold tightened, his fingers digging into your skin. the heat of his body, the closeness, his intoxicating scent sent a wave of dizziness through you.

his voice dropped to a whisper, right against your ear. “sunghoon implanted it into my brain, (y/n).” his words were almost a growl, “you’re off-limits. i'm bad for you. you don’t get it, do you?”

you gasped, your breath shaky as you tried to push him away, but he only pulled you closer, his chest pressing against yours. his gaze locked with yours, eyes dark and intense. “you don’t understand what you’re doing to me. every time i look at you, i’m reminded of the things i can’t have. the things i can’t do.”

your heart pounded in your chest, the feeling of his hands on your waist sending your mind into a whirlwind of emotions. you couldn’t deny the way your inner omega and body reacted to him, but you shoved the thoughts down, “you think i’m some fucking distraction?” you spat, your voice laced with frustration. “you think i’m just going to sit back and watch you avoid me because of my brother?”

his grip tightened, and for a moment, the intensity of his presence, pressed down on you so much that you almost couldn’t breathe. “yes,” he said, his voice hard, like steel. “because it’s not just about what you want, it’s about what i need to protect myself from. from you. from this.”

his thumb traced a line along your waist, and the action only made the heat between you two more unbearable. “you make me want things i can’t have.”

you shook your head, frustration boiling over. “so, what? you’re going to keep me at arm's length because of something he said?” you raised your voice, your words laced with disbelief. “you’re just going to keep avoiding this because of some stupid rule Ssnghoon created?”

the hardness in sunoo's gaze faltered, but it didn’t last. he grabbed your arm and pulled you closer, the cold night air forgotten between the heat of your bodies. his eyes softened, just for a second, before he spoke again;

“i never wanted a mate, (y/n). not when we were younger.” his words came out strained, “i didn’t care about that stuff. all i wanted was to be free. but then we got older… and things changed.”

his gaze dropped to the ground, and he looked away briefly, “and then i saw you, and everything i thought i knew, everything i thought i wanted started to crumble. but that’s the thing, (y/n). i can’t just fall into something like this, not with you. not with anyone.”

you felt your heart twist, the words hitting you harder than you expected. you opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, sunoo stepped back, releasing his hold on you.

“i can’t risk it,” he muttered, “you don’t get it. i didn’t want a mate, i didn't want an omega to call my own, and i didn’t want to care. but i do. i can’t have you. and i won’t.”

your heart hammered in your chest, the frustration, confusion, and anger bubbling up inside you. but you couldn’t just let him walk away like that, couldn’t let him think that he could just make decisions for you and push you aside.

without thinking, you reached up, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him toward you with such force that it was almost like you were trying to yank him into your own emotions. his eyes widened, startled by the sudden force, but before he could react, you pressed your lips to his, kissing him fiercely, almost desperately.

the kiss wasn’t gentle. it wasn’t tender. it was urgent, the kind of kiss that came from months of trying to ignore what your bodies already knew. both of you had been avoiding this, pushing back against the pull that your inner omega had insisted on, trying to deny what was always right in front of you. but now, in this moment, neither of you could hold back anymore.

his lips crashed against yours, and it felt like something had been broken. the months of years, the constant tug of your instincts; those feelings you both had pushed aside came rushing to the surface. you felt his body heat radiate through you, his hands desperate as they found their place on your waist, pulling you closer.

his scent mixed with yours so effortlessly, blending into something intoxicating. your inner omega, which you had been so determined to suppress, recognized him immediately, as if the very core of you had always known he was meant to be the one to claim you.

you moaned softly, a sound you couldn’t stop, and it seemed to fuel him, pushing him further into the kiss. his hands tightened around you, pulling you even closer, like he couldn’t get enough. you could feel his heartbeat racing against yours.

in his arms, you felt safe, wanted, like you were exactly where you were meant to be. he wasn’t just some pureblooded alpha. he was your alpha, and you were his omega.

but all too soon, he pulled away, his breath shaky, but there was a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t expected. his forehead rested against yours, both of you trying to steady your breathing, his hands still lingered on your waist, holding you as if to say, i'm not going anywhere.

sunoo’s gaze softened further, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "you don’t know how long i’ve been trying to fight this," he whispered, his voice low, almost a confession. "but i can’t anymore. not with you."

a shaky laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “i don’t want you to fight it anymore,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “i don’t want to fight this, either. not with you.”

without another word, the pink-haired alpha pulled you back inside, his hand never leaving your waist, his grip steady as he ignored the people around you, who were too caught up in their own worlds to even notice. it didn’t matter. it was just the two of you now.

he led you through the halls, when he reached the door, he didn’t hesitate, didn’t need to ask. he knew where your room was, his senses guiding him effortlessly. it was like your scent had marked the room for him.

he opened the door, his body pressing into yours as he kicked it closed with his foot. in an instant, his lips found yours again. it was like you had been waiting for this forever, and now that you were here, you didn’t want to let go.

his kiss was deeper this time, more desperate, as if he couldn’t get enough of you, as if this was the only thing that mattered in the world. the heat from his body collided with yours, and you could feel his heart racing against your chest, matching the frantic pace of your own.

you sighed into the kiss, the feeling of his lips on yours so intoxicating that your head spun. without breaking contact, he pushed you against the door, the pressure of his body reminding you of how close you two were. his hands roamed to your waist, pulling you in even closer.

the kiss became more demanding, more intense, as your hands found their way into his hair, tugging him closer. the world around you disappeared. there was only him, only the feel of his lips and the heat of his touch.

"jump," sunoo murmured into the kiss, his voice low and commanding, yet somehow full of need. his hands slid down your body, urging you to respond, to give in to him fully.

you didn’t think twice. without hesitation, you wrapped your legs around him, and he caught you with ease, lifting you effortlessly. the way his body moved with yours felt so surreal as you melted into him, every ounce of you craving more.

he gently laid you down on the bed, hovering over you, his body a warm against yours. the space between you was almost non-existent, your chests rising and falling in time with the rapid beat of your hearts.

he leaned down, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his gaze intense. "do you really want this?"hHis voice was soft, almost tender, but there was seriouness beneath it that made you pause for a moment.

your breath hitched, but you nodded, wanting this more than anything. you needed him. the words were on the tip of your tongue, but your body was saying it all already.

but sunoo wasn’t satisfied with just that. his eyes showed something deeper that made your stomach tighten with both excitement and a hint of fear. "words, baby. i need words." his tone softened.

you swallowed hard, your heartbeat quickening. you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, and suddenly, it was harder to breathe, harder to speak. but you knew what you wanted, what your omega needed.

"yes," you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. "i want this, sunoo. i want you."

his eyes darkened, he leaned in again, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all heat, all want, all raw desire. you could feel everything in that kiss; his hesitation, his longing, and his need for you just as much as you needed him.

you let out a soft whine, almost biting your lower lip in an attempt to control the heat of emotions eunning through you. sunoo chuckled against your lips, the sound low and dark, vibrating through your chest.

"i got you, baby," he whispered, his voice low and husky, sending a thrill through your entire body.

your body trembled the moment his lips found the soft spot on your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. his hands began to tease the hem of your short dress, his fingers grazing the skin of your thighs, drawing slow circles with the tips of his fingers.

“mhmm,” you gasped, biting your lip, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips left a trail of heated kisses along your neck, teasing, torturing you with every press of his lips. you could feel the pressure building, your body responding to his touch in ways you couldn’t control.

"alpha," a tiny moan slipped from your lips when you felt his hand brush closer to your core, the heat between your legs intensifying as his fingers inched closer. the sound of his name on your lips only seemed to fuel him more, his grip tightening around your waist.

the sound of his name on your lips only seemed to fuel him further, his grip tightening around your waist as he continued to tease you. his fingers swirled around your clothed entrance, collecting the wetness seeping through your panties. falling over his forehead as your breaths came in and out in shallow gasps.

sunoo's eyes never left yours as his fingers finally make contact with your throbbing core, sliding your panties effortlessly to the side as his fingers made its way between your folds.

the sensation was overwhelming, and you couldn't help but arch your back, pressing yourself closer to him. his thumb circles your sensitive bud, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. you arch into his touch, desperate for more friction. sunoo's dark eyes burn with desire as he watches your reactions, clearly enjoying the power he has over you.

"such a responsive omega," he murmurs, his hot breath fanning across your skin. "i've barely touched you and you're already falling apart."

sunoo's fingers stray away from your core and you let out a whine, wanting more of his touch. but he just chuckles and lifts his hand to lightly brush against your cheek.

"not so fast," he teases, his voice low and sensual. "i want to take my time with you."

your heart races at his words, knowing that sunoo was always one for attention to detail. he leans down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss as his hands tug at your dress, pulling it all the way down leaving you exposed. his hand traveled down your body to cup your breast. you moan into his mouth as he massages the soft flesh, his thumb teasing your hardened nipple through the fabric of your bra.

you arch into his touch, wanting more of him. sunoo breaks the kiss and trails hot kisses down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as he slowly removes your bra. his lips move lower and lower until they reach the swell of your breasts, his tongue darting out to circle around one nipple while his hand plays with the other.

you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second, desperate for your alpha's touch between your legs once again. but he continues to take his time, worshipping every part of you with his mouth and hands.

finally, when you think you can't take it anymore, sunoo's fingers return back to where they were before; teasing at your entrance. this time, he dips a finger inside of you and you gasp at the sudden intrusion.

"more," you plead, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

the pink haired alpha smirks down at you before adding another finger and curling them inside of you. your walls clench around him as he hits that perfect spot inside of you, sending sparks flying through your body.

he continues this rhythm until you're practically begging for release. with one final thrust of his fingers, you come undone, your body shaking as you ride out your high.

sunoo pulled your panties down as he positioned himself in between your legs, kneeling on the side of the bed. Yyur heart raced as you watched him, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness.

as if sensing your thoughts, sunoo leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead, his hands roaming over your thighs. "you're so beautiful," he whispered before trailing kisses down your stomach.

your skin tingled at his words and touch, and you couldn't help but spread your legs wider for him. sunoo's lips moved lower, leaving a trail of kisses and open-mouthed bites along your inner thighs.

you moaned in pleasure and frustration, wanting him to finally take you but also enjoying the slow buildup. sunoo looked up at you with a wicked glint in his eye before finally running his tongue along your folds.

the sensation was unlike anything you've ever felt before, sending bolts of electricity through every nerve in your body. you gripped onto the sheets tightly as Sunoo continued to explore every inch of you with his mouth.

his movements were slow, teasing and tantalizing you until you were begging for more. but Sunoo seemed to be in control of both himself and you, denying you the release you craved until he was satisfied.

just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, he finally gave in and brought you to the brink once again. this time, there was no holding back as he used his tongue and fingers to push you over the edge into pure bliss.

you cried out his name as waves of pleasure consumed every part of your being. sunoo pulled away from you with a smirk on his face as he watched the aftermath of what he had done to you.

you whine, "alpha, please, i need you."

sunoo had to suppress a groan while watching your face contort in pleasure. he gently takes your hand once more and asks, "are you sure you want this?"

you nodded eagerly, your body craving sunoo's touch once again. You had begged and pleaded for him to take you, and you were finally getting what you wanted.

the alpha leaned down to kiss you deeply, his hand caressing your cheek. "then i'll give you everything," he whispered against your lips before kissing you more fiercely.

sunoo's lips never left yours as he clumsily removed his pants and button up shirt, you could feel his heat radiating off of him, the scent of his pheromones making your body ache for him even more.

the smell of rum and neroli filled your senses as sunoo's naked body pressed against yours. he kissed you deeply, his hands roaming over every inch of your body.

you moaned into his mouth, your hands gripping onto him tightly.

he pulled away, positioning himself between your legs, ready to claim what was rightfully his. but before he could fully enter you, he paused and looked deep into your eyes.

"i'm giving you one last time to think about this, omega, are you really sure about this?" he asked one final time, wanting to make sure you were comfortable and consenting before marking you as his mate, his omega, his (y/n).

you nodded, knowing that there was no one else you'd rather be with in this moment. sunoo's lips curved into a small smile before lacing his fingers with yours.

sunoo slowly entered you, his pace gentle as he made sure to take care of you. the bond between an alpha and omega was sacred, and sunoo wanted to make sure that he showed you the love and respect you deserved.

his movements were slow and careful, as if he was afraid of hurting you, his eyes never leaving yours as he made love to you. you could feel the connection between the two of you growing stronger with each thrust, your bodies moving in perfect harmony.

"fuck, omega, you're way too good to me," sunoo whispered in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. you moaned in response, the pleasure building up inside of you once again.

his hands roamed over your body, caressing every inch of skin as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. he knew exactly how to touch you, and it was sending you over the edge.

"faster, please. i'm not gonna break if you go rough on me, alpha," the pout on your lips and the pleading in your eyes only drove sunoo wild with desire.

he couldn't resist your request any longer and began to pick up his pace, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. you moaned in pleasure, feeling a rush of ecstasy as he hit all the right spots inside of you.

"you're so beautiful like this, (y/n)," sunoo groaned, his primal instincts taking over.

your body was trembling with pleasure as sunoo's movements became more urgent and primal. he was completely lost in his alpha instincts, the need to claim you consuming him.

he leaned down to capture your lips in a heated kiss, his hand tangling in your hair as he continued to thrust into you.

your gasps and moans only drove him further, his movements becoming rougher and more animalistic. but it only added to the pleasure coursing through your body, making you crave him even more.

"god, (y/n), i can't get enough of you," sunoo growled against your neck, his voice filled with desire and possessiveness. "i want to claim you as mine."

you could feel his alpha instincts taking over once again, his need to mark and protect what was his. but instead of feeling scared, you felt a sense of comfort wash over you.

you turned to look at him with a small smile on your face. "i'm already yours, alpha," you said, placing a hand on his cheek. "and i want to be marked by you."

sunoo's eyes widened in surprise at your words. he knew that marking an omega was a sacred act and it required their full consent. he didn't want to rush into anything without making sure that it was what you truly wanted.

"(y/n), are you sure? you don't have to do this for me," he said gently, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face.

"i'm sure," you replied, "i trust you completely, sunoo."

without another word, sunoo leaned down and pressed his lips against the scent gland on your neck. a low growl rumbled from deep within his chest as he marked you as his own.

the pain was intense and you hissed, clenching your fists as sunoo's teeth pierced into your skin. you could feel blood trickling down your neck and tears stung at the corner of your eyes.

but despite the pain, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pleasure. sunoo was claiming you as his mate, your alpha marking you as his own.

once he was finished, he pulled away and looked at you with an apologetic expression. "i'm sorry if that hurt, baby," he said gently, placing a kiss on the bite mark he left on your neck.

"it's okay," you replied with a small smile, running your fingers through his hair lovingly. "this is all i ever wanted."

sunoo's eyes softened at your words and he pulled you into a tight embrace. "i love you so much," he whispered against your ear.

the pain from the bite mark on your neck was quickly forgotten as sunoo's movements became more intense. he wasn't holding back anymore, his alpha instincts taking over completely.

"let go, omega," he growled, his voice deep and commanding. "i want to hear you scream my name."

and that's exactly what you did. you let go of and gave into the pleasure that was consuming you. sunoo's name fell from your lips like a mantra, a chant of worship for your alpha.

he continued to move, each thrust filled with passion and love for you. it was as if he was pouring all of his emotions into this one act of claiming you.

the air between the two of you only grew heavier with each passing moment. your bodies were perfectly in sync, and it felt like nothing could ever come between the two of you, not even time itself.

and when you both finally reached your climax, it was like an explosion had gone off within both of you. sunoo collapsed onto the bed next to you, pulling you into his arms as he caught his breath.

"you are mine," he said softly, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "my omega."

you smiled against his chest, feeling completely content and at peace in his embrace. "and you are my alpha," you replied lovingly.

the soft, golden light spilling through the open curtains gently woke you from your slumber. as the morning sun began its slow ascent. you stirred slightly, the remnants of sleep clinging to you, and instinctively shifted closer to the source of warmth beside you.

you look up, your eyes tracing the features of the boy who had been at the center of your every thought. sunoo’s face, so peaceful in sleep, seemed almost boyish now, free of the guarded expressions he often wore. his lashes, longer than you remembered, rested softly against his cheeks, and the faint glow of the morning light highlighted his face.

his arm was draped lazily over your waist, his body heat contrasting the coolness of the morning air. the rise and fall of his chest brushed softly against your front. a faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as the familiar scent of him, his scent, which had been so intoxicating last night, was now calm; as if even his very being had been softened by the events of the night before.

you let out a quiet sigh, shifting your position so you were half-laying on him, your hand resting on his chest. slowly, you began running your fingers gently through his messy pink hair, marveling at how soft it felt under your touch.

you leaned down, pressing soft kisses against his cheeks. his skin was warm beneath your lips, and the movement of his chest against yours felt surreal.

sunoo stirred at the feeling, a low hum escaping his lips as his brow furrowed slightly. he opened one eye, squinting against the soft sunlight filtering into the room. for a moment, he seemed dazed, his gaze searching the room before landing on you. when realization dawned, his features softened, and a small, sleepy smile graced his lips.

“good morning,” he mumbled, his voice low and husky from sleep. he let out a deep sigh, his arm tightening around your waist as he pulled you closer. “you’re still here,” he murmured, almost to himself, as if reassuring himself that you hadn’t slipped away in the night.

you chuckled softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “where else would i be?” you whispered, your voice warm and teasing.

he closed his eye again, leaning into your touch. “nowhere,” he said with a sigh, his tone filled with a quiet kind of relief. “you belong here. right here.”

you couldn’t help but smile at his words, the warmth in your chest growing. “i'm not going anywhere,” you teased lightly, your voice playful as you ran your fingers through his soft hair. “not in my own house, at least.”

his other eye cracked open at that, and he chuckled softly, his hand on your waist squeezing gently. "your brother’s going to have my head for ‘defiling’ his little sister,” he murmured, his voice a low, teasing growl.

you rolled your eyes, though the nervousness bubbling in your stomach made it hard to hide the faint blush creeping up your neck. “sunghoon doesn’t even have a clue,” you retorted, a bit of nervous laughter escaping as you pushed the thought aside.

“not yet,” sunoo said, his smile widening as he traced the lines of your jaw with his finger. “but you know, i can’t help but think he’s got some sort of radar for these things.”

“please, i think you’re giving him too much credit,” you shot back, trying to keep your voice light even though the possibility of sunghoon finding out was looming over you. the thought of facing your brother’s wrath made your stomach flip.

sunoo’s eyes glinted with amusement. “right,” he said, voice dipping. “but, se’s probably still got his eye on you. wouldn’t put it past him.”

you groaned, burying your face in his chest to hide the sudden embarrassment that surged through you. “please don’t remind me. i’s bad enough i’ve got to deal with his protectiveness all the time.”

sunoo chuckled, his hand gently lifting your chin so that you met his gaze again. “i’m sure he’ll get over it,” he said softly, though his tone was a little too calm for your liking. “eventually. but in the meantime, i’m not exactly worried.”

you shifted slightly, meeting his teasing look with a small smile. “easy for you to say,” you mumbled, trying to push away the nerves in your stomach. “i don’t think you’ll be on his good side anytime soon.”

he leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against your forehead, his touch was soft. “i’ll take my chances,” he whispered, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver through you.

just as the moment seemed to turn into something more intimate, a loud crash broke the silence, followed by the all-too-familiar voice of ni-ki shouting from somewhere downstairs.

"do i look like i know?" his voice echoed, followed by the unmistakable sound of something clattering to the floor.

then came the unmistakable bark of your brother’s voice, cutting through the air authoritative, but completely incoherent. he sounded of frustrated and confused, but the words got lost in the noises of whatever had just happened.

the alpha below you immediately tensed, his body stilling as the atmosphere shifted into something more cautious. his expression shifted to something more serious, his lips pressing into a thin line.

you looked down at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “should we face them?”

sunoo didn’t hesitate. his hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours, soothing you. he looked at you protectively. “i’m your alpha now,” he said softly, “you’re mine, and you’re my responsibility. i won’t let you face this alone, not after everything.”

you let out a breath, your nerves easing a little, as you tried to steady your racing heart. “okay,” you whispered back, your voice steady, now more than ever.

you stood up, grabbing shirt that now hung loosely on your frame and paired it with some pants you found scattered around. you weren’t thinking of the mess, of the clothes, of anything. and though the reality of your brother waiting on the other side of the door was still there, the warmth of sunoo beside you made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could face it.

sunoo had his pants from last night on, but he was buttoning up his blazer. you watched him for a moment, the way his focus was on you, the way he looked at you like you were the center of his world, like nothing else mattered.

"ready?" his voice was soft, but there was intensity behind it as he pulled you flush against him, your bodies pressed together. his warmth enveloped you completely. his chest against yours, his hands firm on your waist.

before you could respond, his lips found yours in a soft, loving kiss, and it was everything you didn’t know you needed. the kiss was tender, sweet.

you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, the way your heart raced, the feeling of everything coming together just right. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him, feeling safe with him.

you pulled away just slightly, your lips parting with a soft sigh. "come on, you can have more when we finish this faster," you teased, your voice playful and full of warmth.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, the grin on his face soft but full of affection. “yes, ma’am,” he responded with a playful glint in his eyes, a gentle smile that made your heart skip a beat.

you and sunoo descended the stairs hand in hand, the soft patter of your steps echoing through the quiet hall. the mess from the previous night had been surprisingly cleaned up, with only a few stray cups and streamers scattered across the expanse of the hallway.

as you both walked, the sound of the argument only grew louder, the echoes of raised voices filling the air. sunghoon’s voice rang out angrily, unmistakably tense.

“do not tell me to calm down, jay!” his words were heated, frustration dripping from every syllable.

“calm your fucking balls, Sunghoon,” jay’s voice was laced with annoyance, “(y/n) is big enough to fend for herself.”

that only seemed to enrage sunghoon more. “okay, so where the fuck is she then?”

as the tension in the air became unbearable, sunoo shifted slightly beside you. his hand tightened briefly around yours, he shot you a quick glance, a look filled with reassurance. it was as if he was saying, i’ve got this. trust me. you nodded subtly, taking a deep breath.

then, with confidence, he stepped forward, placing himself just slightly in front of you. his voice cut through the rowdy alpha's argument like a blade. “she’s with me.”

the room fell silent, sunghoon’s head snapping toward the two of you. his eyes zeroed in on sunoo, and you could see the way his jaw tense. “you good-for-nothing alpha,” he spat, his voice shaking with anger. “what the fuck did you do?”

you instinctively stepped closer to sunoo, but he was already ahead of you, placing a protective hand on your back and guiding you behind him with a calm, practiced motion. “stay back,” he murmured, barely audible, his tone meant for your ears only.

sunghoon’s anger exploded as he stepped forward, grabbing sunoo by the collar with a force that made your heart leap into your throat. “you fucking traitor!” sunghoon snarled, his voice loud.hHe yanked sunoo closer, his other hand twitching like he was ready to throw a punch.

but sunoo didn’t flinch. even with sunghoon’s grip pulling him off balance, he held his ground, his eyes steady and locked onto sunghoon’s. “calm down, sunghoon,” sunoo said, his firm, not a hint of fear in it.

“calm down?!” sunghoon’s voice cracked with anger. “you had one job, kim! stay away from her! she’s my sister, not some—”

“not some what?” sunoo interrupted, his voice rising slightly, but not losing his cool despite his closest friend calling him by his last name. “she’s not a child, and she’s certainly not yours to control.”

sunghoon’s hand shook violently, still gripping sunoo’s collar. “i already warned you! but you didn’t fucking listen!” his tone cracked, frustration laced with something else—fear, perhaps, or betrayal. “she’s not some toy for you to play with, sunoo! she’s my sister! my responsibility!”

sunoo’s gaze remained steady, his calm composure a contrast to the anger raging in sunghoon’s eyes. se slowly raised his hands, gripping sunghoon’s wrist firmly but without aggression. “i didn’t betray you, sunghoon,” he said, his voice low, almost like he was trying to speak directly to the part of sunghoon that could still listen. “do you even hear yourself? you’re acting like i don’t care about her.”

sunghoon’s jaw tightened, but his grip on sunoo’s collar didn’t loosen. sis chest rose and fell rapidly, anger still boiling within him.

sunoo’s next words were softer but carried a something that made them feel heavier than anything else he had said. “do you know how long i’ve loved her?” his voice trembled slightly, “i’ve loved her the moment you decided to leave us alone in front of the office when you got into a fist fight, sunghoon. i’ve loved her longer than i even understood what love really meant. it’s her, it’s always been her.”

“you think i’d ever hurt her?” sunoo continued, “you think i’d risk everything—my friendship with you, my own pride; just to ‘play’ with her?"

sunghoon faltered, his anger replaced by confusion. “but you—” his voice cracked, his own disbelief choking the words.

sunoo let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “that I never wanted a mate?” His tone was sharp, yet there was vulnerability in it. “yeah, i said that. i convinced myself that i didn’t, because what was the point of wanting something i thought i couldn’t have? i thought if i ignored it, if i denied myself, it wouldn’t hurt as much.”

he looked directly into sunghoon’s eyes, “but no matter how hard i tried to push it down, it’s always been her, sunghoon. always. she’s not something i could walk away from. she’s my mate.”

sunghoon’s grip on sunoo’s collar loosened, his fists trembling at his sides. “you should’ve told me,” he muttered, his voice cracking, a mix of anger, hurt, and guilt evident in his tone.

sunoo sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “and what would you have done, huh? approved? given me your blessing? you’ve made it crystal clear for years that no one was good enough for her, least of all me. do you know how many times i almost told you but stopped myself because i knew how you'd react?”

sunghoon clenched his jaw, “i’m not angry because you love her,” he said, his voice quieter but no less strained. “i’m angry because i trusted you to keep her safe. and now… now it feels like you’ve crossed a line.”

sunoo took a deep breath, his voice soft. “you don’t have to trust me right now, sunghoon. but you can trust her. she chose me, just like i’ve chosen her. and i’ll spend the rest of my life proving to both of you that i’ll never break that trust.”

the pink-haired alpha's gaze softened as his eyes found yours, his gaze was steady, and it gave you the courage you needed to take a step forward.

you turned to Sunghoon, your heart pounding in your chest as you met his stare. his jaw was tight, his fists still clenched, but beneath the anger, you could see the hurt; the protective brother who just wanted what was best for you.

"i love him, sunghoon. i really do," you said, your voice steady despite the nervous tremble in your hands. “this isn’t a decision i made lightly. i know what I’m doing, and i know who i’m choosing.”

sunghoon’s eyes flicked between you and sunoo, his shoulders stiffened, his lips pressing into a thin line, but he didn’t interrupt.

you stepped closer to him, your voice softening. “i know you’re angry, and i get it. you’ve always looked out for me, always tried to protect me from anything that could hurt me. but sunoo isn’t going to hurt me. he’s not just anyone, he's everything to me.”

sunoo moved closer, standing at your side. his hand brushed yours, a silent gesture that you leaned into instinctively. “i’m not asking for your approval right now,” sunoo said, his tone calm. “i know i have to earn that, and i’m willing to. but i’m not walking away from her, not now, not ever.”

sunghoon let out a heavy breath, his hands dropping to his sides. his gaze lingered on you, the conflict in his expression cutting deeper than any angry words could. "do you really think he can give you everything you need?" he finally asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with vulnerability.

you nodded without hesitation. “i do. and i hope one day you’ll see it too.”

sunghoon let out a defeated sigh, his shoulders sagging as the tension seemed to drain from his body. “this… this is going to take some time to get used to,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. his gaze flicked to sunoo, then back to you. “but if you’re happy, i’ll try. just… don’t make me regret this.”

relief washed over you, and you felt sunoo’s hand squeeze yours gently. you gave your brother a small, grateful smile. “thank you, sunghoon. that’s all i could ever ask for.”

before anyone could say more, a loud groan broke the moment. “thank fucking god,” heeseung said dramatically, burying his face in his hands. “i was not ready to explain to the hospital why i was dragging sunoo’s dead body in.”

his mate, standing beside him, rolled her eyes and smacked his arm lightly. “heeseung, stop being so dramatic,” she said, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement.

heeseung peeked through his fingers, giving her a mock-hurt expression. “i’m just saying! Sunghoon was about two seconds away from committing a crime.”

“i wasn’t going to kill him,” sunghoon muttered, though his lips twitched, betraying the hint of a reluctant smile. “maybe just rough him up a little.”

“uh-huh, sure,” jake cut in with a snort, arms crossed and a smug grin plastered on his face. “maybe that’s why you were muttering about burying him alive earlier. real subtle, man.”

sunghoon shot jake a look, his ears slightly reddening. “i was venting bullshit, okay? that doesn’t mean i was going to actually do it.” his tone was annoyed, but the way jake kept smirking made it clear sunghoon wasn’t convincing anyone.

sunoo raised his free hand in mock surrender, his other still holding yours tightly. “okay, great, glad to know i’m not completely safe,” he said, voice light but laced with humor. “that definitely did not make me feel better.”

jake laughed, slapping sunoo on the back. “relax, man. if sunghoon really wanted to bury you alive, you’d already be in the dirt. guess that means he likes you more than he lets on.”

sunghoon rolled his eyes, groaning. “jake, shut up.”

sunoo’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, the kind that reached his eyes, crinkling them at the edges. without breaking eye contact, he raised your joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

the warmth of his breath against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and your cheeks warmed under his gaze. it wasn’t just the kiss; it was the way he looked at you, like you were his entire universe. “we’re okay,” he murmured quietly, just for you.

jake, however, wasn’t about to let the moment pass unteased. “aw, would you look at that?” he said, clapping his hands dramatically. “our boy’s gone all soft. sunghoon, are you seeing this? he’s whipped.”

sunghoon shot jake a glare, but even he didn’t miss the faint smirk tugging at his lips. sunoo, though, didn’t even bother responding this time, his focus entirely on you.

and as the chatter of the room carried on, you couldn’t help but feel like, somehow, everything was exactly as it should be.

taglist: @hoonbrry @hime98 @chae-darling @moonchus @peatchiedii @creamkwan @nyfwyeonjun @whoe-dis @woonie-muffin @caelumsjy @90s-niki @leiomorea @junjungsunwoo @yooaremysea

© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don't hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[horizon-forbidden-memes]

Beta breaks my heart; she deserves the world!

[sevs-corner]

Another one of my wild dreams coming to me, I swear the voices are having too much fun when I’m unconscious, where its the usual Soulmate-Reincarnation trope but the Tf 141 guys always get to meet each other but…you.

Every. Single. Time.

In each new life, they’d always happen to meet, but nearing the end of theirs— a longing always seem to linger in their hearts. Pieces of their memory always missing with a piece of their soul not being fulfilled.

At first, they don’t notice it— it was already rare enough to have 4 soulmates all tied together. So, to think of another partner being somewhere out there? Yeah, that was outrageous.

They were already thankful enough that they had each other, how could they still feel so greedy and longing?

We’re they not enough for each other?

What was lacking? What were they lacking?

When then they hear murmurs of soulmates being together, they all said they’ll feel something snap into place.

They think its the soulmate bond being locked into place, their soul finally complete and fates intertwined.

Yet… they only got to the first couple of steps to that. Seeing that zing in each other’s eyes that recognizes each other as soulmates, the bonding ritual, the return of past life memories…

Every time they get to that point, they’d remember that something was just… missing.

So they try, in each life to the next, to find some way to fix that last piece into place— test out all their theories.

What if there was something wrong that they did? Were they truly partners? What if one wasn’t their mate with the other?

It wasn’t until Price offered the idea that there may be… a fifth person… involved that their tactics changed.

But they never got lucky.

How come it was so easy to find each other but not…you?

They were just about to give up in this timeline, their lives being ran rugged in the military made their hearts weak and souls crushed already— why would they make the extra effort when they already had the partners they wanted right besides them?

But they regret saying that, bringing it up and believing in it when that familiar zing rings across their brains and underneath their skins as they see you— fresh eyed recruit sent right to their team.

It was like their prayers have finally been answered, all the sacrifices their past selves made now coming to fruition—

But you see no zing- you’ve never had one.

That must be another reason why you always happen to miss them- whether it be through an early death, a bad relationship, an unfortunate event, living across the country from them.

But no, you were always right near them. You just couldn’t find them like they did with each other.

It just didn’t click until now for you and they are distraught for you.

They are so happy, souls now complete and their memories as well— but you had nothing.

That feeling of wholeness and unconditional love— you couldn’t feel it.

So they swear, that from then on, they’d always find you next— no matter how many times they’d repeat it, all the struggles and pain, it was incomparable to you who felt nothing from a forced severed soul bond.

My sleepi and awake mind are cooking but im not in the kitchen- send help what the

Masterlist here! Prev dream idea i was talkin about here- its becoming a saga oml

[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

[kiaxet]

HOW ABOUT THAT @somerandomdudelmao DISASTER TWIN REUNION, HUH

Went a little feral to the tune of 2.2K words of self-indulgence. What else is new?

~~~~~~~

Donnie can't sleep. More accurately, he won't sleep. Not until he's done. He'd never been one to leave a project unfinished; death and resurrection hadn't changed that.

He taps incessantly, repetitively, on a keyboard and screen, the motions long since past inputting data and now only serving to keep him awake. The repetition is soothing, easy, and - counterintuitively - he finds his head drooping forward into sleep-

And he snaps back upright. No. Not until he can confirm Leo is okay.

Leo is behind him, he knows. Breathing. In bed. Asleep. Very much alive. And-

He jumps and whips around as a thud sounds behind him. "What the-"

Leo is on the floor.

Well, that answers the question as to whether his twin is awake.

For a fraction of a second, part of him wavers uncertainly. He loves his idiot twin. The question he hasn't been able to answer is whether his reaction to Leo waking up will fall on love or idiot twin-

"Leo!"

He can hear the exasperation in his voice, and yep, it's the latter. He takes a knee next to Leo and hauls him into his arms, lecturing him all the while, and if he can hear the annoyance in his voice then Leo sure as hell can. Sleep deprivation for the purposes of keeping his brother's soul alight had done nothing for his temper. "I swear to God, all you had to do was make a sound! Why are you such a difficult patient?"

He deposits Leo carefully on the bed - "Sit still!" - and checks him over, running every scan he can think of and making sure his brother's new body really is in good working order, spouting increasingly irritated commentary all the while. Of course the fall didn't hurt him - Leo is tougher than that, and Donnie does better work than that - but he still can't help the rising anxiety in his throat.

This almost didn't happen.

"-stupid, stupid selfless idiot!"

Donnie almost couldn't save him.

"Grrhh-"

Leo nearly died for real. Permanently beyond Donnie's reach. Well and truly gone-

"Do you have any idea how close you were to having nothing left to save?"

And now here Leo is, in perfect health, sitting on Donnie's bed with a big dopey grin on his face as Donnie chokes on his anxiety and damn near shakes himself apart-

Oh for fuck's sake.

"Hey. Are you even listening?"

Leo speaks up for the first time since he's woken up, voice shaky from disuse. "D-Donnie?"

And that is not a goddamn answer to anything Donnie has been saying, because of course it isn't. It's Leo. He's always had his own priorities. "Yeah. No. You're not fucking listening." Donnie heaves a long-suffering sigh, sinking back into the routine comfort that irritation at his twin provides. "At least you're talking." Small favors. "Although I'm surprised you're not throwing your stupid jokes at me." Even smaller favors.

He stops short as Leo's hand closes around his wrist, drawing Donnie's arm to Leo's plastron. "You're real," his brother breathes, looking from Donnie's hand to Donnie himself with tears streaming down his face. "You're real!"

And then, in the space of a thought, Leo's joy breaks, his smile turning desperate. "Are you?"

For a moment, Donnie stares at his twin, wondering at the sudden change in expression. He takes a breath-

And the part of him that had lain dormant for so long after he'd woken up - the part of him that had been screaming for his twin's safety ever since they'd recovered the few scattered embers of Leo's soul - gasps to life, blooming like a time-lapse video of a flower and reaching to the edges of Donnie's soul. Leo had called it their twin sense, and Donnie hadn't had it in him to argue after a while. Whatever it is, it's back, connected to Leo's renewed presence, and-

Donnie's heart floods with emotions. Relief and joy sprout quickly and are nearly swept away in a tide of exhaustionanxietyfearfearfearfearFEAR-

But down beneath it all, steady against the rising wall of terror, is the little blue spark of hope that his brother always carried. His core. The thing that let him continue on in the face of insurmountable odds, and lent that same strength to everyone around him. A ninja's greatest weapon.

It's Leo. It's Leo-

And Donnie can't leave him alone in his fear. Not when there's no need for it. Not when they're safe.

He lets that breath out, and sits next to Leo on the bed. "Mhm. I'm alive. And you're alive. We're safe. The Krang are gone." That's all the news that's fit to print, or at least the most important parts. What else does he have to say?

Oh.

"I'm sorry I..uh…"

He's sorry he what? Died? Left a mess for Leo to deal with? Didn't do enough while he was alive to keep everyone else alive in turn after he was gone? Kept his brother's soul in a fucking mug, because that was the only way he could ensure he wouldn't break it while Leo was still fragile? All of the above?

…yeah, it's all of the above.

He owes Leo one hell of an apology, and he's never been good at any of this, so instead he shrugs haplessly and leans forward, pulling Leo into his arms and hanging on tight.

It's a matter of moments before Leo has him flat on his shell on the bed and is sobbing into his arms. Normally he'd hate seeing his twin cry, but it's proof of life - proof that Leo made it, that his soul is intact enough for him to still be Leo, that he's alive and awake and here - and Donnie will take it.

And if he's squeezing Leo back pretty hard himself, well, that's fine too. Nobody else needs to know.

~~~~~~~

Donnie is yelling at him.

Donnie is strong enough to have picked Leo up off the ground, well enough to be on his feet without support, running tests and reading Leo the riot act over his latest boneheaded maneuver - in this case, forgetting he was missing an arm and falling out of bed.

Donnie is yelling at him, because Donnie is here to yell at him.

And Leo is smiling, because he couldn't be happier. He lets the words wash over him, draping over his shoulders like a favorite cozy blanket that he'd lost so many years ago, and he basks in the warmth that is his brother's voice and smiles.

It's enough to interrupt the yelling for a question, though he doesn't really hear it - just keeps smiling, and says Donnie's name, and it's so nice to be able to say it with a smile now, because Donnie is here-

-he is, right? This isn't just a dying hallucination on Leo's part, right?

(It couldn't be- he remembers his death, remembers breathing his last, remembers being trapped- but this-)

He reaches out, taking Donnie's wrist in hand, and pulls his brother closer to him. "You're…real…" It certainly feels real - skin and scales, softer than his own, and his fingers barely fit all the way around the wrist instead of encircling them with room to spare - and he stares down at it, tears rolling down his face as he finally looks back up at his twin. "You're real!"

The Krang show you what you want to see.

The thought strikes him unbidden, turning his joy and relief to ice. It's a well-known fact: a Krang infection can show its host what they want to see, visions of comfort and family and home, and extract intel from the host's reactions. He knows that- he knows that, and-

And he'd died surrounded by Krang- and even if he couldn't see or hear or feel, he knows he'd been held captive-

But it's Donnie- he wants this to be real- he needs this to be real- he wants his twin back so badly he can't think, and the idea that this could be a Krang hallucination is almost too much to bear-

"Are you?" He can hear how choked the words are as they leave his lips, but he needs to know-

And Donnie stops, and sits down next to him, and tells him everything he wants to hear - everything he could've ever wished for. They're alive. They're safe. The Krang are gone. It all sounds too good to be true.

And then Donnie offers him an apology and a sad half-smile, pulling him into a strong hug-

And the ice in Leo's mind shatters in a flood of warmth as his twin sense opens for the first time since Donnie's death. He feels his twin's irritation, and deep-seated exhaustion, and a choking wave of guiltguiltguiltguiltguilt-

And beneath it all, steady and strong as ever, the thrum of unending determination, powered by an unfathomably deep well of love. It's the backbeat to the melody of Leo's life, the point-counterpoint to his own heartbeat- it's something he'd never had to live without until he did, but it's back, rushing in to fill the silence he'd known with the strength to go on and the knowledge that he is loved loved loved, strong and overwhelming and all-encompassing in the way only Donnie can love-

It's something the Krang could never imitate.

This is real. This is all real-

He throws himself against his twin, toppling them both over on the bed as he clings to Donnie, unable to stand even a fraction of an inch of space between them, as though he could push their hearts together through their plastrons, and he cries, sobbing out worry and terror and grief and the slow, crushing exhaustion of a losing battle finally lost. He cries as though the world was ending - and it had, once when the Krang had invaded and again every time he'd lost a member of his family, over and over until he'd sent his last hope through a portal that had cost his littlest brother his life and succumbed to death himself.

And now he's alive. Here, wherever here is, with Donnie. Clinging to his twin, and being held in turn as Donnie gently sits them both up, never letting go as Leo cries himself out.

It takes a while - long enough for Leo's gaze to settle into a stare and his thoughts to settle into a comfortable static. He's alive, Donnie is alive, and he has no fucking idea what else is going on, but he's just going to be okay with that for now.

His thoughts rouse enough to inform him of something wrong - the line of tension Donnie is carrying down his neck and over his shoulders. That won't do. Leo could try to massage it out with one hand, maybe try to get Donnie to talk about it, but Donnie never likes to talk about it, and Leo isn't one for slowly soothing away tension when he can just take an axe to the release valve instead. Plus, it gives him something definite to focus on, instead of…this whole situation. Whatever 'this whole situation' actually is.

Donnie had mentioned his stupid jokes, right?

"H-hey Dee?" His voice wavers from disuse, thick with tears, but he pushes through. "Why did- why did the tree buy a camera?"

"What?" Oh, Donnie is not going to see this coming. Excellent.

"To do a photosynthesis." It's nowhere near the level of pizazz he normally uses for a punchline delivery - he's still too tired and frazzled and clinging to Donnie entirely too hard for that - but that beautiful pause of a terrible joke sinking in tells him it had hit home nonetheless. Donnie moves - he can hear the telltale slap of face meeting palm - and then breaks down into helpless laughter, smacking the back of Leo's shell as the tension Leo had felt in his twin's shoulders abruptly relaxes. Good. It worked.

"This is so fucking stupid," is all Donnie manages as his laughter fades, and he slumps fully against Leo with a murmur. That's...abrupt. Sure, Leo had felt Donnie's exhaustion, but he hadn't realized it'd been that bad. He takes hold of Donnie, gently laying him down on the bed to rest-

Remember what happened last time Donnie fell asleep next to you.

He gasps sharply at the thought - not again NEVER again - and keeps his hand steady as he moves, laying both fingers gently against Donnie's neck and feeling for his pulse. It's easy to find, strong and steady and even, like it had been before the infection had taken Donnie's vitality and then his life.

But he's alive, and healthy, and sleeping. He's okay. And Leo-

Leo moves his hand to the side of his own neck. His pulse is also easy to find, quickened with the adrenaline of an unknown situation and multiple consecutive shocks to his system.

Okay. Take stock. Assess. Figure out a plan from there.

He's alive. Donnie's alive. The Krang are gone. And everything else…is a big fat question mark, with no easy answers and no indication as to where to begin looking for them.

Well.

Uh.

"What the fuck," Leo whispers to the room at large, as though the walls could answer.

~~~~~~~

(A world away and still very close, a younger pair of twins cling to one another the way a drowning man clings to driftwood: desperately, clutching tight, as though letting go will spell their doom. Neither of them know where the emotions came from, or why; all they know is that each of them are damn glad the other is alive, and they'll do everything they can to make sure that continues to be the case.)

(What the fuck, indeed.)

[subliminalbo]

Introducing Betas

I joke sometimes about how unapproachable my stories can be, and I get it. I know it's a big ask for people to invest their time into a fucking mind control smut series featuring dozens of original characters with tons of parallel and intersecting plotlines. But that's also kind of the point to it all? Like, if these characters don't have unique identities and personalities, why should it matter when the mind control starts and all of that is stripped away?

Betas is kind of an evolution of that idea. Before Betas, each series existed in its own space. Carpenter State is a connected world, of course, but when you're reading an Assimilation story, you wouldn't expect any Alphas stuff to show up in it. This kind of story segregation has had a few effects on my writing. Most important is how slowly things move when you're juggling four or five series at once. With Betas I thought, why can't I write a series that's everything?

So here it is: my most intimidating and unapproachable series yet. It took me a whole year to even bring it to the Tumblr because I wasn't sure if I'd established Carpenter State enough here for people to care. Maybe I haven't, but I just really like this series. So I wanted to share al little bit of background about it in case anyone wanted to take shot at it.

The story so far...

Betas takes place in the immediate aftermath of Alphas. After brainwashing her entire sorority into loyal soldiers, Madison Wells turns her focus to Greek society. Madison is successful in dissolving several other sororities into the Alphas house, but when a favorite slave betrays her, she's forced to flee Romero. With Madison in the wind, the Alphas are disbanded. Its remaining members are deprogrammed by Dr. Sylvia Fielding and return to their normal lives as if nothing happened.

Despite their deprogramming, few of the former Alphas choose to return to sorority life. This leaves Beta Phi Alpha, one of Romero's oldest sororities, with only five members: Ana Marino, headstrong leader left shaken by the Alpha storm; Morgan Jones, the kind and loyal number two; Taylor Byrne, sagely elder statesman and simultaneous wild child; Sydney Harris, the young and carefree blonde completely oblivious to anything around her; Andrea Rubin, a mysterious upperclassman pledge tasked with spying on the sorority against her will; and Magan Reed, the sole defector who's chosen to return to the Betas after the collapse of the Alpha house.

But as the Betas tackle the question of how to rebuild their house to its former glory, they're unaware of the forces beyond human comprehension that have begun to invade Romero and even the house itself.

If I had to pick a specific series that Betas fits in with, it would be Assimilation. But it's also just a story about Romero, and the students of Carpenter State who navigate through a world that's filthy with mind control around every corner.

This first chapter took me days to write, and I've been slow in following it up with a second, partly because I haven't gotten a ton of feedback on it and also because of a feeling of obligation to actually finish Alphas. But I really hope that people enjoy what I've written so far.

[bs-fangirl]

You just know dear sweet Alva is going to accidentally spill the beans on all of Aloy’s backstory

[quailfence]

[Image description: text that reads “‘to me? I am not Human.’ ‘If I don't know that, who does?’ ‘I.’ Kirk sobered. ‘Spock, we have lived with that, too. From the pon farr to the spores. You've banged me—or us--around once in a while. So what?’” End description.]

hello?!

(book is The Promethus Desgin)

[gothamite-rambler]

Harley: All right, everyone, this has been a great family session today!

Jason and Dick were sitting in between Bruce on a plush red leather couch in Harley's makeshift office, which doubled as her living room. A plate of muffins sat enticingly on the coffee table.

Dick: You have a lot of plants in here.

Harley: Well, I’m dating Ivy. What did ya expect? Now, back to the session. Bruce, what have we learned today?

Bruce: That I probably shouldn’t have run tests on my kids that left them paranoid.

Dick: Tim still hasn't forgiven you for that.

Bruce: Well, he couldn’t be here today, and I pay—

Harley (snapping her fingers): Bruce.

Bruce: Right. I also learned it’s okay to not always be right… and that the world doesn’t revolve around me and my intellect.

Harley: And?

Bruce: I may have a slight God complex.

Jason (chuckling): Slight? Okay.

Harley: And?

Bruce: I shouldn't force my beliefs, which are completely correct, upon my kids.

Harley: I'm gonna let the middle part slide, but good. Last part?

Bruce: Don't date your child's therapist… Why do you keep telling me that whenever Jason or Dick is brought up?

Harley: I have a strange feelin’ you’ll do somethin' that stupid, then Jason will turn into a mini Joker with Grayson havin' to be Batman and fight him.

Dick: I’m sorry, what?

Harley: Yeah... yeah I stay thinkin' about that. It just... feels so possible!

Jason: He would totally fuck my therapist too. That all made sense. Good looking out, Harley.

Harley: (prideful) It's just my job.

Jason: Who would win though? I'd beat his ass and then take over Gotham as the Joker? You can be honest, as long as I win in that world.

Dick: It’s delusional thinking like that is why you’d become a mini Joker. You’d be defeated every time we fought.

Jason: That’s funny you think you can beat me. The jackass who raised us couldn’t even do that.

Dick: Yeah, but who was there for you when said jackass threw a weapon at your neck?

Bruce: Can you both stop calling me a jackass? I’m a normal man who has made, very limited, mistakes.

Harley took a seat, clicking her pen to jot down more notes as the three men continued to bicker.

Bruce: And Dick would defeat you, Jason, but then his huge heart would make it difficult to protect the city on a regular basis.

Dick: I was you for months while you were gallivanting around as a teacher! And don’t you think it’s odd you’d date your kid's therapist?

Bruce: No… I'm Batman. Why wouldn’t I?

Dick (covering his face): What does that even mean?

Jason: That is not a defense!

[asukiess]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug Characters: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Plagg (Miraculous Ladybug) Additional Tags: Post-Episode: s05 Re-creation (The Final Day Part 2), Post Season 5, Drama & Romance, Angst, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Needs a Hug, Self-Esteem Issues, Established Relationship, Adrinette | Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Ladynoir | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng as Ladybug, Lila Rossi as Cerise Whatsherface, Character Study Series: Part 1 of you should be happy Summary:

In the wake of a summer that Adrien never wanted to end, all that he wishes to push away comes back to haunt him when the school years starts again: self-doubt from identities that feel no more real than anything else; ghosts of parents who still talk to him; and most all, a fear that the people he loves will leave him in time, too.

however, maybe the person who can relate most to him is the one he's never far from.