#they built up all of this just to give us nothing

[faeylayn-blog]

"Dragon, I've come to slay you!" Confused, you look at the unarmored child pointing a wooden sword at you. Her eyes are shot through with blood red and the dried tears have left salt tracks down her cheeks that glisten in the icy realm you call your own. You’ve seen that look of determination before, by several humans with some emotional wound they seek to cover by trying to take it out on a valuable prize.

You lock eyes as your bulk shifts to align with hers in the narrow cavern. “So I see. And I have no doubt that you would do your utmost in your attempt. But I wonder…” You pause as she stumbles and struggles to maintain her posture. “If you might wish to rest and recover before you do so? You would need all your strength to slay a dragon such as myself, wouldn’t you?”

She grips her sword even more tightly, forcing it to remain pointed at your eyes. “You can’t trick me! I - I - I’m going to get you! You won’t make me stop so you can beat me while I’m not ready!”

You raise a claw to your chest, exaggerating the innocence to her accusations. “I have no intention of it. I simply think that it would not be a fair fight as you currently are. I give you my word that I will do nothing to harm you until you wish to fight me.” Your arm opens to a large alcove of soft plants and cushions you often nap in and quietly offer, “It’s such a long climb up to my home, surely you could use a few moments to catch your breath at least?”

Without waiting for an answer you turn to walk into the alcove, stoking a fire in the corner and looking around for the teapot your last human friend had left with you decades ago. Where did that damn thing go? 

Behind you, a shuffling series of the lightest footsteps follows you accompanied by a very shaky “W-well, ok maybe.” A small yawn rises behind you as you set the teapot above the fire.

You turn to see the child rubbing her eyes while bouncing from one foot to the other in the opening from the main cavern. “So… umm… is this your… lair?”

A light chuckle escapes your throat. “I suppose you could call it that. But it is my home. Please, feel free to take a seat.” 

She warily eyes every corner of the alcove as though a trap might jump out from any shadow. You smile as she hoists herself up onto a pillow and sinks into the soft platform. 

She lets go of her wooden sword as she tries to sit up. It’s little more than two large sticks crudely tied together with a childish knot holding the cross-like shape. You clear your throat, “That’s quite a formidable weapon you’ve got there. Did you fashion it yourself?”

The child looks around in a panic before seizing the sword and holding it tightly to her chest. “Y-yes. I… I figured I’d need a strong weapon… to fight a dragon and all.” She eyes you, looking for any sign of anger or a need to defend herself.

“It certainly seems like a good idea if that’s what you need to do.” The teapot begins to whistle and you turn to take it off the fire, pouring some hot water over peppermint leaves and taking the tray over to her pillow. She’s not clutching the weapon as tightly when you place the tray down. “Do you like peppermint? I’ve been told it’s quite good after a long trek in the cold.”

You step back and loaf on the ground, and her shoulders lose the tension that had built up. She reaches over and takes the cup, sniffing it, “Mmm peppermint is my favorite.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” You search her face for the anger and determination that dominated her eyes when she first yelled out to you, but it’s been replaced with a calm softness that appears to come very easily to her.

“You’re a lot nicer than I’d thought you’d be.”

You stretch your neck and grin. “I certainly try to be. So you can imagine my surprise when I heard you say you wanted to kill me. I don’t know what I did that has earned such enmity.”

The child stopped drinking and just stared into her cup for several long moments. Shadows from the fire began dwindling as the flames turned to coals. A crack. A pop.

“It’s not that. It’s my dad. They wanted to get the dragon he talked about. They took him. He… “ she rubbed her eyes again. ‘He told me stories. I thought I could find you, and then maybe they’d give him back. Maybe.” The fiery energy from earlier was now barely smouldering as she looked drained. She closed her eyes but she had no more tears to cry. “I…. I had to do something.”

Her father told her stories of a dragon on top of this mountain. It can’t be… “You’ve done quite a lot, more than you could imagine. It’s taken so much for you to come all this way. Right now it’s time to rest, child.”

“Hmm, yeah… You promised, right? You aren’t going to hurt me? I… can rest?”

“I promise you. Please sleep.”

You watch her drift off into exhausted slumber. You’ll have to thank her for letting her know what happened. 

You turn and walk out to the mouth of the cavern, each step building a rage you’ve not felt in many years.

She’ll be safe to stay here. But it’s time to pay an old friend a visit.

"Dragon, I've come to slay you!" Confused, you look at the unarmored child pointing a wooden sword at you.

[downbadf0rficppl]

love in the dark

Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

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

Word Count: 12.5K (CRAZY IK)

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

Take your eyes off of me so I can leave

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is never ending, we have been here before

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please, stay where you are

Don't come any closer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't try to change my mind

I'm being cruel to be kind

The words hit like a slap in the face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t.

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

You mustn't underestimate that when you are in doubt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t believe that for a second.

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

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

But she wasn’t there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t.

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

They’ll come. They have to.

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

But no one did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please, don't fall apart

I can't face your breaking heart

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

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

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

“Are you seriously ignoring me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, it clicked.

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

But you couldn’t.

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

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

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

You didn’t owe anyone anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

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

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

I'm trying to be brave

Stop asking me to stay

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I want to live and not just survive

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her chest tightened. “Baby, listen—"

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

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

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

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

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

It feels like we're oceans apart

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is so much space between us

Baby, we're already defeated

A year later…

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

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

That was when you saw her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

Everything changed me

And I don't think you can save me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You saved me.

The evening had been everything and nothing like you expected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fin.

[bunni-v1]

so shadow milk legendary costume is coming so can we get more content of pre-corruption smilk 😝😝😭 pretty please and thank you ♥️

🍓Again I’m gonna call him Blueberry Yogurt because typing out pre corruption is annoying as fuck. Anyway, yes you can pookie mwah mwah mwah! These are short, but I still hope u like them :)

-Blueberry Yogurt is veryyyyy different from Shadow Milk. Shadow Milk describes his past self as a “Goody two shoes wet rag with no personality,” and while he’s being dramatic I don’t think he’s far off.

-Blueberry Yogurt is contemplative, gentle, kind, and above all else caring. He loves his subjects and his friends and he aims to share his knowledge with everyone. He’s in all sense of the word harmless. A sweet cookie with nothing but good intentions.

-He’s, essentially, his position as sage. And he doesn’t mind that, but he’s never really considered that he could be anything more. It’s what he was baked for, of course.

-Booooriiingggggg, as Shadow Milk would put it. But Blueberry Yogurt was content with things, it’s only after he realized cookies turn from the truth — mixed with the understanding of the sheer amount of power he held, that his mind changed.

-You we’re part of that realization. That, maybe, he could be more than what he was. That the life he lived wasn’t all it seemed to be. He was never made to fall in love, but he did, whose to say there isn’t more for him out there?

-But before that, he was likely the perfect partner to have. He cares a lot about his partner and their well-being, and he wants to be their total equal, even if they’re weaker than him.

-He spends a lot of his spare time with you. He’s an incredibly busy cookie with too many things to do, but he will always find time to spend on you. You are a high priority in his life, and he makes sure you know that.

-He likes having you around him, even when you aren’t doing the same things. Just you being there brings him peace of mind and makes him feel content.

-You being educated is equally important to him, so he takes the time to have conversations about serious topics. He’s particularly fond of reading with you and discussing the books with a critical eye. He won’t let you be blind to the truth, and if you’re afraid of it, he’ll work with you to ensure you aren’t.

-He’ll take you around the town when he visits, and most cookies know you as “The Sage’s Lover”. He won’t admit it, but that fact makes him proud. He loves to show you off, and he loves the fact that others know you’re together.

-Oh he does this cute thing where he’ll sweep you up in his arms and dance around with you. He’ll press you tightly against his body and swirl around like you’re at a real ball.

-He is so much more open about how much he loves you. He has no reason to hide or fear his affections for you, so he just doesn’t. His love is unabashedly displayed through physical touch as Blueberry Yogurt.

-Soft and gentle kisses pressed upon you dough. He burns into your dough his love for you so that you never forgot how much you are adored.

-He pulls you close and whispers his adoration like a prayer, as if to convince you of his love for you. Like you might forget if he doesn’t remind you so tenderly.

-He treats you to beautiful dates in locations you’ve only dreamed about, each one more heartfelt and romantic than the last. They’re built specifically to wow you, and he’s phenomenal at his job.

-He also gives you gifts all the time, hand made or things he found around the kingdom, it doesn’t matter. They’re all things you’ll make good use of, he makes sure of that.

-His goal is to make you feel considered and thought of. Again, he’s very successful. Everything he does takes you into account, and you become a very important part of his day to day life.

-One thing he does that Shadow Milk keeps is his love for carrying you around. It’s not a strength thing, he isn’t showing off, he just loves carrying you around. He feels like he can really care for you like that, so he does it as much as he can.

-He’s also very protective of you. He doesn’t stop you from engaging difficult topics and finding out truths, but he does stop others from disturbing your peace. It’s the one time he’ll use his magical abilities for selfish reasons, his need to keep you safe and happy winning out his morals for once.

-This is why when he feels himself… slipping… he sends you away as soon as he can. He doesn’t want you to think of him differently, and he’ll even take extra measures to ensure he won’t find you once he’s fully gone. (It’s the most annoying thing about himself, if you ask Shadow Milk. He plans for everything far too well.)

-It does ache and pain him to be so far from you when he does it, but it’s more important to him that you are safe. Even if it means you have to be safe from him.

[blazinbeautywrites]

Behind the Scenes

Note: Due to the rampant uprising of plagiarism on this site and others I am stating once and once only that this is my ORIGINAL work. If I find out that you have stolen/taken any part of my work I will handle you and the situation the way I see fit.

None of the pics or gifs I use belong to me unless stated otherwise. Full credit goes to the originators of said gifs and pics.

A/N: Whew I'm a lil rusty and this is my first time writing for Aaron so please bare with me.

Summary: Aaron has fallen for his co-star and has a feeling she wants him to. A night out with his favorite girl reveals just how much tension has been built up between them.

Length: 2,498 words

Genre: Fluff (kinda), smut

Aaron was irritated. His car was late, a bird shit on him, and to top it all off, he had to drop out of a role he really wanted due to a scheduling conflict. But all these little inconveniences dissipated once he heard her laughter. Kiki Davis. His beautiful and talented co-star whom he had a little crush on. When they first met she was so warm and welcoming and he immediately felt comfortable in her presence. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Her energy was quite the contrast to the dark, gory horror film they were starring in together. He began making his way to hair and makeup when he heard her sweet voice.

“Okay I see you buff daddy all big and shit in ya lil suit.” Kiki said, smiling big trying to hold back her laughter.

“Girl you play too much but you look good your damn self, spin around for me real quick.” Aaron said, staring down at her shorter frame. Kiki raised her eyebrow at his boldness. Usually he would give her a cute laugh and blush a bit but she enjoyed this more confident version of him. Doing as he asked, she began spinning, showing off her beautiful figure in her cute little dress. He couldn't help staring at her ass and the way it sat up so nice. All he wanted to do was lift her dress up and spank her. Kiki noticed the way he was looking at her and gave him a wide smile. She moved closer to him and as she felt her nipples slightly graze his chest she scaled her eyes from his wide chest, neck, lips, and finally his beautiful eyes.

“You know, if you wanted to see my ass, all you had to do was ask.” And with a wink and a smile she was gone, whisked back to hair and makeup. Aaron was stuck. His own assistant ushered him to his waiting room. He had no idea how the hell he was going to make it through this press junket.

************************

“It was the craziest thing I'd ever seen. The way they just kept slipping and sliding, it was never ending.” Kiki laughed as she recounted watching the stunt people coordinate a chase scene on set while having to run on a bloody floor. Aaron was so enamored with her he completely missed the interviewer asking him the same question.

“Aaron? You okay my man?” The interviewer laughed, causing the audience to giggle.

“Yeah, you okay Aaron?” Kiki teased. Aaron had to recover fast so he said the first thing that came to mind.

“Ummmm, I actually loved Kiki's fight scene. I feel like she gave it her all and it was nice watching how she mixed her karate and boxing training. It was really cool to watch her in her element.” Aaron said as he looked at Kiki and smiled. Kiki winked at him and that sent a shiver down his back.

“Of course you'd pick one of my scenes as your favorite. I expect nothing less from the man who's madly in love with me.” Kiki joked. The whole audience “ooooohed” and laughed at that. Aaron looked Kiki dead in the eyes, not backing down.

“And so what if I am? What then?” Aaron challenged. Kiki's smile dropped, expecting him to go shy or laugh off her flirting like he always does. She was not prepared for him to flirt back. Oh the stakes have definitely been raised.

“Oh Aaron. Trust me baby, you don’t want this smoke.” Kiki said. Aaron still wasn’t backing down.

“Kiki, Kiki, Kiki………..I want all the smoke.” He replied. The audience erupted in chaos after he said that. Aaron and Kiki stared each other down with a pure, intense lust.

“Is it me or is it getting hot in here?” The interviewer asks, earning some laughs from the audience. The interview continues with a little more light flirting and more on set anecdotes from Aaron and Kiki.  Once the interview was done, their assistants came to bring them backstage. Before Kiki can enter her dressing room, she turns to Aaron, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Sooooo some of us are going to the Moonlight Lounge. You wanna come?” Kiki asks.

“I’d love to. I have to stop home first but I’ll meet you all there.” Aaron said. Kiki watched him walk away and she knew she was in trouble. She also knew that she would definitely have a piece or at least a taste of that fine ass man, tonight.

*****************************

The Moonlight Lounge 9:02 pm

Some of the cast and crew were already a bit tipsy by the time Aaron arrived. He was amused seeing them all let their guard down. He saw Kiki and their other costar, Vanessa Leon, sitting by themselves talking and laughing. Vanessa saw Aaron before Kiki did and smirked whole making eye contact with him.

“And looked what the cat dragged in. Hey handsome.” Vanessa flirted, making Aaron smile.

“Hey V, see you've had a few drinks already.” Aaron chuckled. 

“Boy I've only had like 3 of these weak ass cocktails.” Vanessa said. Judging by her hiccups, he could tell that they were getting to her. After damn near falling over she excused herself to the restroom.

Aaron took a look at Kiki and almost lost his cool when they made eye contact. He appreciated the way her dress accentuated her curves and breasts. He could just imagine sucking on them while she rode him. 

“There you go staring off into space again. What's on your mind, pretty eyes?” Kiki asked.

“Nothing. Just thinking about how much I enjoyed working with you this past summer.” Aaron spoke. Kiki’s eyebrow rose and she gave him a wide smile.

"Awww I really enjoyed working with you too. You wanna get out of here? I’m kind of over this and I’m ready to take this dress off.” Kiki said. Aaron gave her a devilish smile and helped her to her feet. Just as they were about to walk out of the door, they saw Vanessa coming from the bathroom.

“Leaving so soon yall?” She asked.

“Yeah and maybe you should be heading out soon too V?” Kiki said.

“Oh girl I already called my man to come take my ass home.  I don’t know why I thought I could hang. I am not in my 20s anymore. But yall get home safe.” Vanessa replied.

After saying their goodbyes, Aaron led Kiki to his car. He opened his passenger door and helped her secure her seatbelt before getting in himself. He let her put her address in his navigation system and they headed to her house. After a 20 minute drive filled with sexual tension and light conversation, they’d arrived at her beautiful, secluded Los Angeles home. Aaron parked and quickly got out to open her car door. Kiki thanked him and began walking towards her gate, punching in the code. After opening her front door, Kiki let out a sigh of relief and took off her heels. Aaron followed suit, taking off his own shoes. He watched as she sashayed to her kitchen to grab them something to drink. He was so entranced by her ass that he didn’t hear her ask what he wanted to drink. 

“Aaron?” Kiki called out confused. He snapped out of it at the sound of her voice and made his way into the kitchen. He looked in her fridge and saw she had a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. He grabbed it and let her direct him to her glass cabinet and he poured them each a glass. They stood in a comfortable silence and just stared each other down. Kiki had some wild ass thoughts floating in her head that made her giggle. She took a sip and relished in the sweet taste of the cool wine. Aaron raised a brown, intrigued by her little outburst. He moved closer to her, stopping just short of her smaller stature.

“And what’s so funny Ms. Davis? He teased. He invaded her personal space, once again admiring her dress and how it clung to her gorgeous figure. He moved a piece of her hair out of her face with his finger then slowly trailed his finger down her arm. 

Kiki was stuck. All she could do was stare at him wordlessly. She got lost in his eyes and before she realized what she was doing, she’d kissed him. She pulled back quickly, embarrassed she’d let herself lose control like that.

“Shit I’m so sor-.” She couldn’t even finish her sentence as Aaron pulled her against him and kissed her back. Kiki gasped out of shock and Aaron used that opportunity to introduce his tongue to hers. Kiki was tonguing him down and he loved how sloppy it was. He tested the waters and slid his hand down to her ass, giving it a light squeeze. Kiki moaned into the kiss, spurring him on. He now had both hands on her ass and was rubbing and squeezing her to his heart's content.

“See this ass right here....it's gon get you in trouble.” Aaron spoke against her lips. Without warning he slapped both of her cheeks so hard, she just knew that he’d leave marks.

“Hmmm do it again.” Kiki purred. Aaron was happy to oblige. He gave her what she wanted and Kiki almost collapsed into his arms. She was in a state of euphoria. Aaron realized he’d accidentally unveiled one of her kinks. He would definitely be using it to his advantage. “So you like to be spanked? Hmmmm.” Aaron playfully taunted. He was in heaven. He’d finally got to see what Ms. Kiki Davis was about and he was more than ready to show her what the fuck he was about. He picked her up and sat her on her kitchen island, careful not to knock over their forgotten glasses of wine. Kiki’s was burning up on the inside. This man had her feral as hell and she couldn’t wait to rip his clothes off. Aaron was just as needy and wasted no time in pulling down the front of her dress.

“Mmmm, imma enjoy these.” He said as he latched onto her left nipple. He played with her right as he flicked his tongue against her warm flesh. Her moans were music to his ears and he loved knowing it was him that had her feeling this way.

“Yeessssss fuck babyyyyyy.” Kiki moaned. She’d never had an orgasm from nipple stimulation but there’s a first time for everything. Aaron switched sides and gave her right nipple the same treatment as the left. Once he’d had his feel, he pulled back and gave her a once over.

“You really are fucking beautiful. I’m glad I finally got you alone.” He said as he dragged his hands down to her ankles and brought them up onto the counter. He held one leg in his hand and admired her pretty lavender painted toes. She felt like he was staring into her soul as he picked up her foot and planted soft kisses on her ankle. Without warning, Kiki felt a warm, wet sensation and watch as Aaron’s tongue swirled around her big toe. He moaned and she almost came right then and there. She was enjoying the feeling of his mouth on her so much that she hadn’t noticed that he’d raised her dress up a bit and was slipping his pointer finger in her underwear.

“Oh my fucking god.” Kiki whined as Aaron’s finger circled her clit. His movements were slow and calculated as he continued to suck on her toe. The dueling sensations had Kiki feeling like she was floating on a cloud. He added his middle finger to the mix and she began grinding up against him.

“Fuck you’re so damn wet. I can hear that pussy talking to me. I bet she tastes even better than she feels.” He praised. He pulled his fingers from her underwear and put them in his mouth. He closed his eyes and savored her taste. He dipped his fingers into her entrance and collected some of her juices. He brought his fingers to her mouth and watched as she licked her own essence from her fingers. He kissed her once more and as they kissed, Kiki could taste herself on his tongue. Aaron took his spit and cum covered fingers and circled them around her nippled. He sucked her nipple back into his mouth and cleaned up his mess. He gently nudged her backwards so she could lay down on the counter. She spread her legs and felt a cool breeze on her soaked underwear. Aaron effortlessly lifted her up and slid off her underwear. He wasted no time diving into her pussy. He licked a long stripe up her center and began eating her out like a starved neanderthal.

Kiki grabbed his head and grinded against his lips, chasing her orgasm. He was breaking her down in the best way and she couldn’t get enough.

“Right there right there right there-OH FUUUUCK.” Kiki screamed. Aaron moved back and watched as she squirted. He leaned down and caught some of her juices, drinking from her as if she was his personal water fountain. He watched as she made a mess all over her kitchen, smiling smugly at his handiwork. He rubbed her thighs, helping her come down from her high. Kiki was shook. That was one of her most powerful orgasms ever and it was all because of her fine ass co-star. 

“You good Ms. Davis?” Aaron asked her, still smiling at her.

“Nigga wipe that smug ass smile off you face and help me down.” Kiki said, amused that he was so impressed with himself. After being placed on the floor, she walked to her hall closet, grabbing a big towel to clean up her mess off of her island. She knew she’d have to deep clean but tonight was not the night for that. While she cleaned up the floor, Aaron grabbed her from behind, and held her against his body.

“You know I’m not done with you right?” He whispered into her ear. She smiled and turned around in his arms. She gave him a quick kiss then pulled him towards her living room.

“Oh I know. Now go sit down so I can eat that dick up.” Kiki commanded. Aaron obeyed her and sat down on her sofa and watched as she crawled to him, stopping just short of his legs. He could just tell that she’d devour him and he was prepared to go all night with her.

He finally got his leading lady.

[softness-and-shattering]

Most of my autistic friends expect that their friendships will one day out of the blue blow up in their face as people vent built-up frustrations about behaviours that annoyed others that was never ever communicated to them, and/or because of whats called "the double empathy problem" which describes one of the main ways allistic-autistic communication goes sideways. Ive been in social groups - discord type groups - where the autistics get kicked out because we are speaking plainly and askingd questions, and the mods or admin or other authority figures interpret these questions as deliberate insubordination and challenges to their authority, get "tired and fed up" with "the disrespect" and start kicking people. I have seen this happen in disability groups.

And its not all black and white. Like sometimes I can pick up on social cues because I have deliberately learned them, or learned them the hard way. I can even sometimes say one thing and mean another, but I dont often. I might pick up on one cue and totally miss another. Sometimes I just dont know why someone is saying something, theyre obviously implying something but I dont know what. This can get tricky when someone wants to indicate something without being able to be quoted about it, and sometimes I need to ask them to clarify and if theyre still dodgy I have to guess and hope I got it right.

And sometimes we're aware of unspoken rules but we dont recognise their authority over us because theyre bad or nonsensical. We tend to stick to rules if we understand them and they make sense. When theyre crap rules, I dont care how much money someone makes I will treat them the same as everyone else. I dont care how many high status cars someone has, we are equals.

Im getting off track - my point is that basically every autistic I know has ongoing trauma of friendships and social groups suddenly turning on them for no discernable reason and no warning and absolutely no previous indication that anything was wrong - sometimes after being explicitly told everything was ok the day before. This happens to us all the time. Its so damaging and so hurtful.

Personally I dont second guess as a general rule. I someone has a problem with me I trust they will tell me about it and we can problem solve and introspect. If Im not told, no matter what vibes Im picking up bc I dont know if the vibes are real or my own anxieties, I will act like nothing is wrong. If someone wants to blow up at me that has reflects zero on me and entirely on their inability to speak up about whatever was bothering them. Thats not a me problem. I cannot do anything with zero information.

Lemme induct you in an autistic way of bring and introduce you to a script you can use. Something like "hi friend, can I talk to you for a second about the meeting yesterday? [If Y continue, if N ask when you can talk to them about it.*] So I dont know if you noticed, but you spent the whole time tapping your fingernails on the table, and honestly the noise was distracting and mightve been irritating for some people. I just thought you should know bevause I dont think anyone else was going to bring it up with you. Could you please find a quieter way to stim/do what you need to/move in the ways you need to to concentrate. Ok thank you, no ones super upset just mildly irritated I think. I just figured someone should actually tell you"

Or even "hi. You spent the whole meeting earlier tapping on the table and it was pretty loud. Could you please find a way to be quieter in meetings, its just a bit distracting for some people? Awesome thank you".

Just be polite and straightforward, say what you want and what the problem is. Assume competence, sometimes we make deliberate choices against the status quo for important reasons not cluelessness. And give time for them to figure out an alternative, be undsrstanding if they cant. Just use your words, communicate clearly. It might feel a little confrontational but believe me its not as bad as bring dropped as a friend or fired out of nowhere. That sucks**

*Dont just say "can we talk", give a reason, otherwise they will likely spend the time between notification and meeting inventing every worse case scenario they can possibly think of. A couple words of context goes a long way.

** I came across a youtuber who, idk for sure if theyre autistic but they talk with an extremely flat effect (meaning, little tonal variance between words, not much expression in the voice, every word comes out more or less the same, "robotic"), which is an autistic trait. They mentioned in a video that they had a 'normal' job before youtube, until one day they found themself fired, given reason was their flat effect scared people and made them seem unfriendly and unhappy to be there and interacting. Sounded like it was completely out of the blue. Thats a job lost due to ableism though possibly no one involved sees it that way. Some people cant change how they speak or dont want to. Shouldnt have to. But at least mention it, see if the person is willing to adjust, and consider if it truly disqualifies them from being able to perform the job or is it just a little unusual.

I saw some snippet of a callout post for an autistic trans woman where they list social faux pas she committed, and I think we allistic people should all feel 100x more ashamed of not telling people in the moment how we feel about what they're doing. I think its extremely evil and cruel to not only lie to an autistic person and blame them for it but also to feel justified shaming them for your behavior. And it's currently the social norm to do that

[honeysorwell]

all of it (all of you) 

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x hairdresser!fem Reader

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Link on AO3

Chapter 3

Tag list: @janeyseymour @italianaidiota @chloeelou02x (and if you want to be tagged too just let me know.)

Warning: idk... maybe redheads (if you are Y/N)

Once again, thank you all very much for embracing my work with such affection.

Enjoy!

The nerve on that... redheaded slut!

The thought repeated in a loop in the hairdresser's mind as she remembered the words that the woman whose hair she had dyed and dried with such care had said to her a few minutes ago. She thought of that hair that shone under the salon light after her care, and felt her anger triple size.

The redhead's words boiled her blood like nothing else had since she arrived in this country, and that's what made her mutter lost and angry phrases to herself as she washed her utensils in the storage room after finishing the hair of that... that... woman.

How miserable it must be to live with someone as unhappy as her.

Beautiful women really are the devil.

It's a shame that people like that can't simply be ejected from the planet for good.

"What happened?" Angelina's voice is sweet but worried as Y/N's friend enters the storage room, closing the door carefully behind her.

This concern only becomes more evident when Y/N thumps the brushes she used on the table in front of them before answering.

“A stupid American with an attitude just belittled my work.”, the hairdresser doesn’t even bother to look up at her colleague with a strong accent and Greek descent, who still wears the mask on her face that is part of her uniform for her nail appointments.

“Do you want us to throw water on her? I think she’s still in the parking lot and the hose is up there in front of the window.”, Angelina’s question is so honest that it makes Y/N smile genuinely.

“No…”, is how the Brazilian answers her friend after thinking for just a few seconds, “I don’t want to give her a reason to come back here, and it would be sad to ruin what I did to her hair. But thank you.”

Before leaving and returning to her appointment, Angelina gently kisses her friend's hair, but the affectionate gesture is not enough to calm Y/N's angry heart.

The hairdresser takes a deep breath and drinks a few glasses of water before returning to work. Luckily, an adorable little girl who is always asking her about Portuguese words shows up with her father for a haircut just before lunch, and her curiosity and charisma manage to bring a few genuine smiles not only from the Brazilian woman but from everyone in the salon.

But the discomfort still remains subtly buried in Y/N's chest until the end of the day, and inside her car, questions that the hairdresser rarely asked herself now bubbled uncontrollably in her mind. The fact that all the traffic lights were red for her, turning a twenty-minute drive home into a forty-minute drive didn't help it either.

Was she really not good enough? Was everything she had built over the years nothing more than an illusion?

It couldn't be. This pretense could not have fooled so many people, so many clients, and in two different countries... And Andrea.

Andrea Rossi was a very competent woman. The Italian woman had all those years of experience and such a sharp tongue, Y/N can't imagine the older woman falling for the illusion created by her, a woman who is just in her mid-twenties.

Unless it was out of... pity.

Before she even realizes it, the hairdresser finds herself sitting impatiently on her own sofa in the same way she does in the waiting room for routine appointments, and then she picks up her own cell phone and calls the first contact on her saved list.

"Hello?"

"Hello... Andrea?", the Brazilian woman's voice sounded broken from her first words and she already started to hate herself for it as she tried to control her breathing.

"Y/N?", her name comes out of the phone like a question itself, and the Brazilian woman feels terribly guilty for realizing that, yes, she woke Andrea up in the middle of the night.

10 pm. A particularly fair time for a woman of Andrea's age to be sleeping, especially considering that she is now retired.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to wake you."

"No problem, ragazza. Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes I am and I... I hope you are too.", the Brazilian woman breathes for a few seconds and, while courage still floods her body, she speaks again, "Andrea, I would like to ask you for something."

"If I am in a position to give it to you, it is already yours, my dear..."

The older woman's answer floods Y/N's heart with such great affection that the Brazilian woman knows it is dangerous when she feels so vulnerable. The questions she really wanted to ask the older hairdresser almost escaped between her lips.

Do you think you could tell me that I am good at what I do? Like really... really good?

"I... Do you know the red hair color you created especially for that client of yours? The one you recommended to me to be your hairdresser?"

“Melissa’s redhead? Yes, I remember it, dear.”, the sound of Andrea’s voice sounds so uncertain, her confusion almost makes Y/N back down.

“I was wondering if you would allow me to share it with another professional. And I know it’s your creation and I have no right to ask you to do so, but here I am anyway.”

“Y/N, that color is yours now and you can do whatever you want with it. I’ll hardly use the same measurements for anything else where I am now.”, the older woman says with a laugh, before speaking again with a slightly more concerned tone, “But... If you’ll allow me to ask, are you really okay? Why would you want to do this?”

Andrea’s question is sweet, her concern comes from a place of such care that it almost makes Y/N cry, but that only makes Y/N feel worse as she drowns in all her self-deprecation and her anger towards this... Melissa.

Because if it weren’t for her, her grotesque attitude, and her insensitive words, none of this would have happened.

Andrea personally asked the Brazilian hairdresser to take care of this... Melissa and ten other clients, and the Brazilian woman were so happy about it. That was such an honest way to show how Andrea trusted her, and Y/N just wanted so much to prove herself worthy of that.

And everything had worked out well with the other clients the hairdresser had already met. But with this woman she just... couldn't.

For a second, Y/N starts to wonder how someone as kind as Andrea could meet and share her presence with someone so... unfortunate. And willingly.

And then the hairdresser finally comes to her senses.

Y/N knew absolutely nothing about the relationship between the two women.

Were they family?

The thought sounds loud and echoing in the Brazilian woman's mind and she almost chokes on her own saliva just imagining putting Andrea in such a delicate situation against the rude redhead or even putting herself against Andrea, if the older hairdresser found Melissa's behavior respectable.

She genuinely doesn't think the older woman would do that... but today was exhausting and Y/N doesn't want to paint this unfortunate possibility with the colors of certainty by actively telling Andrea what happened. Maybe any other day, but not today.

"No... It's not important..." is how Y/N chooses to answer the older woman, even though she knows that Andrea probably knows she's lying, so the Brazilian woman starts to justify herself in the best way she can to avoid the Italian's question, "And it's also so late, I shouldn't have called you to talk about something so trivial at this time. Forgive me, Andrea."

"Don't worry about me, dear. And I really meant it when I told you that you could call me whenever you wanted, ragazza."

"Thank you. Have a good night, Andrea."

"You too, ragazza."

After hanging up the cell phone, a bitter taste returned to the hairdresser's mouth. Looking at her small apartment and without a single docile soul to ease her worries, Y/N took a deep breath, trying to push away the lump that insisted on forming in her throat.

The rational part of the hairdresser knew that she shouldn't take it personally. That Melissa was just another grumpy client, one of those who seem to take pleasure in spreading bitterness wherever they go. But, no matter how much she repeated this to herself, the wound opened by that redhead's cruelty wouldn't heal.

The following days were difficult as Y/N tried to focus on the other clients, the laughter, the compliments she always received. But, deep down, the redhead's disdainful voice still echoed in her mind, undermining her confidence. And so, the Brazilian woman began to actively notice small details that she had previously ignored. First, it was a cut that didn't turn out exactly as it should in her opinion, then it was a shade of dye that could perhaps be more vibrant, followed by a fringe that could be a little longer to look more like the reference in the photo.

Each day created more and more doubts that, like a shadow, began to settle in the hairdresser's heart.

"That woman... She has no right to make you question yourself like that, Y/N.", is what Angelina says to Y/N seriously during a calm lunch that the two woman share, only to make all the vulnerability in her eyes overflow in a few tears that run down her face against her will.

That cry, with the fact that the Brazilian woman couldn't even respond to her friend's words, made Angelina's blood boil.

"We're going out tonight. On me!", the Greek woman says as a declaration, and without any excuses to deny her friend, Y/N just nods her head affirmatively.

That night, the nightclub that the Greek woman had chosen was pulsing with life. The strobe lights cut through the darkness to the rhythm of the music and in the middle of the dance floor, Y/N and Angelina swayed their bodies, trying to free themselves from the tensions of the day.

Y/N was still visibly uncomfortable, but Angelina was on a mission determined to cheer her up.

“Forget about that woman, Y/N!” the manicurist shouted, grabbing her friend’s hands and pulling her closer, while the two laughed and twirled together, “Today we’re going to find someone here who will only give you the nicest compliments.”

After a laugh, Y/N finally began to relax, letting the music take over her. Angelina, with her extroverted way, made funny faces and steps as she observed particularly clumsy people on the dance floor, making sure that Y/N didn’t have time to think about anything other than smiling with her friend.

The two were in tune, laughing and dancing so much that for a moment, Y/N felt that nothing could make her happier than a drink.

When the second glass was ordered by the two women, Y/N noticed a man at the very end of the bar who was struggling a little to order a drink in the middle of the crowd. He was tall, blond, young and... quite clumsy. She noticed how he showed his ID to the bartender without being asked and awkwardly held a beer while his cheeks began to redden thanks to the bitter taste of alcohol even with the bright lights.

And there Y/N was sure that it would be a sin not to let Angelina devour that guy alive.

“Lina.”, the hairdresser called her friend’s attention and made sure to only point to the man in question with the tip of her chin when her friend’s eyes were paying full attention to her, “Your type, right there.”

When Angelina looks at the man in question and automatically bites her lower lip, Y/N wants to laugh even louder than before.

It took a little persuasion for Y/N’s coworker to leave her alone to go meet her newest prey, promising that it would only be for a while and that she would be back soon. But the Brazilian woman keeps saying how happy and well she is just staying by the bar and that if she gets tired she will just call an Uber and go home.

As soon as she is officially alone, pushing her hair out of her face with her fingertips while she continues drinking and moving softly to the rhythm of the music, a tall man with bright red hair approaches the hairdresser with a confident smile.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, with a thick Philadelphia accent that made Y/N shiver.

Jesus. No.

He was handsome. Really nice to look at and seemed quite confident, which really pleased the hairdresser, but... No. God, no! Y/N really didn’t want any Philadelphia beauties in her bed tonight.

She was as polite as she could be, refusing with a shake of her head and turning her body away from the man.

But everything turns into a snowball when, less than a minute later, another man's voice rang in her ear.

"You're stunning. Come dance with me, will you?"

British? Oh...

So, happy not to hear an accent even remotely similar to that of that unhappy client that wouldn't leave her head, Y/N lets her best flirtatious smile escape her lips and then turns to... the greenest eyes she's seen in... well... two weeks.

Not that she's counting.

Y/N hates to admit it, but she felt a chill down her spine and barely tried to hide her look of pure disappointment. It was as if that red-haired hurricane who treated her so badly had shared her physical features among the people in that place who liked her enough to catch her attention.

After denying this man, the Brazilian woman begins to observe the people around her better, deciding that being the one who initiates contact this time will decrease her likelihood of suffering yet another disappointment.

Unfortunately, fate did not agree with Y/N ​​when her eyes met the eyes of a tall, smiling woman who was already looking back at her, as if she had been watching her from a distance and was actively waiting for a single opportunity to approach her.

And, of course, she was probably the only red-haired woman in that place.

It was as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on her.

“No, thank you.”, was the incredulous murmur that Y/N let slip between her lips before downing the drink in her hand in one go, leaving the alcohol to deal with the irritation that had begun to grow inside her.

Because there, she only saw red.

It wasn’t fair.

The hairdresser just wanted a nice night, but the universe simply decided that she didn’t deserve that.

The Brazilian woman took out her cell phone, her hands now shaking with anger, and typed a quick message to Angelina.

“I’m going home. Thanks for the night. I love you.”

Without waiting for an answer, Y/N called an Uber and, as soon as a car accepted, she left the club with those flashlights, loud music, and annoying clones.

She should have calmed down on the way home, the end of a night filled with good music and alcohol always has this effect on her, but the truth is that the hairdresser went home more irritated than ever.

The Brazilian woman frowns the whole way home in that Uber, just imagining how leaving the house that night was a waste of time and money.

She appreciates Angelina's attempt to cheer her up, but the hairdresser now knows that she should have just bought takeout and stayed home miserable.

Opening the front door to her apartment, Y/N thinks that maybe casual sex can save the rest of her week. But meeting someone new, especially after the redhead ghost that apparently started stalking the hairdresser's ming, was out of the question.

But maybe...

Before even taking off her clothes and heading to the shower, Y/N starts scrolling through her contact list, purposefully skipping all the redheads along the way.

She stares at a friend who had a habit of being adorably overly physical for a while longer before giving up, only to start looking at the Instagram of a former coworker’s brother who had the most beautiful brown eyes. However, his latest photos make it quite clear that he has now started dating a girl with a funny smile who is apparently the principal of a Philadelphia school.

“Good for him, I guess,” Y/N mutters softly to no one in particular.

Just as she’s about to log out of the app, a particularly demanding mother of a client (who had already made it more than clear that dating a younger woman was not a problem at all to her) posts a picture of herself

She has the most adorable doe eyes and such a seductive smile, but even Y/N knows that it is particularly humiliating for either of them to initiate such contact for this purpose after 2 am. Especially when that client’s daughter has an appointment early next week.

So she just likes the photo, not caring about being the first one to do it, and accepting that the best thing to do that night is just go to bed.

With the delicious buzz of alcohol and loud music from the club in her ear while Y/N is getting ready to sleep, the hairdresser starts repeating to herself that tomorrow she will feel better. Tomorrow someone nice and attractive will come her way and all the miserable and snotty clients will simply die burned in a really big pizza oven.

But none of that happens.

The bitter taste in the hairdresser's mouth just won't go away, and with her mind so unhappy she rejects any and all advances from potential dates because they all look like... that woman.

Sometimes it's the hair, sometimes the angry look, sometimes the voice...

It's just... horrible.

A kind of self-inflicted celibate retreat that simply decides to stalk the hairdresser for weeks.

Luckily for her, the rush of Y/N's work took over all her energy. And the lack of vitality to sustain her anger, in turn, caused something to start changing in the Brazilian woman's mind. Little by little, the anger gave way to just hurt and sadness.

It was no longer an anger that consumed her, but one that made her reflect.

Y/N loved what she did. She loved transforming hair, yes, but she also loved transforming people's days and self-esteem. The Brazilian woman knew that the work that day with Andrea's client had been good, after all, Melissa had tried to give her a tip.

Whether it was out of guilt or generosity, it didn't matter.

The client, despite her harsh words, had left satisfied — Y/N saw Melissa's look of approval in the mirror at the end of the appointment, even if disguised. That woman's words were not about Y/N, but about something she carried inside herself, something that Y/N could not fix.

Andrea had told her a few months ago that the naivety that lived in Y/N's heart, believing that everyone would recognize her effort, could be a problem in Philadelphia. She said that no matter how much love professionals who work with the public have for their work, they should know that it will never be enough to shield them from the cruelty of others.

These were precious pieces of advice, but they had been clouded in Y/N's mind by her anger. But now that she remembered those kind words, all the others sounded fresher and fresher in her memory.

The older woman had told her time and time again that separating empty criticism from those that really mattered and understanding that not everyone who sat in her chair would leave happy, in addition to being certain that this was not a reflection of her ability, were more important things to learn than getting the exact angle of a pessimistic woman's cut right.

And it was these words of wisdom from Andrea Rossi that made the anger that was boiling in her chest begin to lose its strength. That indignation that made her relive Melissa's speech over and over in her mind, began to transform into just an unhappy memory. Not overnight, but with the help of small moments like when a longtime client hugged Y/N after a haircut, saying she felt renewed, or when a teenager, upon seeing her new look, smiled so wide that her eyes lit up.

And that's why when Olivia, the salon receptionist, calls her name and tells her that a redheaded woman is there looking for her, that thought of that woman barely crosses Y/N's mind.

Olivia had already told her that Melissa accepted the measurements for her hair color, what more could she want?

But there she was. With her hair in waves, a pair of sunglasses perched on top of her head and a heavy-looking dessert platter in her hand.

"Oh. You. What do you want?", Y/N asks with a frown full of tiredness and disbelief, which she doesn't bother to hide.

Y/N’s question isn’t meant to hurt, but the redhead still takes the words with a thud and becomes so surprisingly uncomfortable that the hairdresser suddenly drops her bravado upon hearing the redhead’s request.

“Can we talk somewhere else?” Melissa’s voice is restrained and hopeful, silently wishing that Y/N would invite her to some private spot within the crowded salon, away from the curious eyes of the salon, but Y/N surprises her.

“Parking lot.”

It’s not exactly what the redhead wanted, but it’s worth much more than the idea of ​​the hairdresser just saying no and turning her back to get back to work.

Melissa knows that would be her own reaction.

When Y/N opens the salon door and holds it open gentlemanly until the redhead can walk through without any problems while holding the big tray in her hands, the teacher lets out a low, relieved sigh before starting to talk.

“I would like to apologize to you.”, Melissa says bluntly, handing the dessert platter with the tiramisu to the hairdresser, “And this is my way of doing it.”

“I’m waiting.”, the Brazilian woman says as she crosses her arms over her chest, activly ignoring the dessert platter in front of her and looking expectantly at Melissa, completely ignoring the last sentence said by the redhead.

“Waiting... for what...?”, the redhead asks, partly confused and partly anxious for something she believes she has no chance of achieving.

“You said you want to apologize to me. I’m waiting.”, is what Y/N says to her in a soft voice, looking directly into the green eyes in front of her in expectation.

Then, after understanding that the hairdresser, wisely, would not make it easy for her and taking a deep breath, Melissa begins:

“I’m sorry for insulting ya, Y/N. I... I was deeply unfair and cruel and, honestly, I didn't even mean the things I told you, about you or your work... I just... I've had Andrea as my hairdresser and my family's for over ten years and she's been a part of my life for much longer than that. And that had been such a stressful week at the school where I work... I think it was all just too much and I dumped it on you undeservedly.”

When the Brazilian woman just lowers her head and nods, still silent, Melissa finds even more courage to continue speaking.

“I know I'm justifying my actions but I really need to... at least let ya know that I'm not like that,” the second and third-grade teacher says softly and in a low voice, before shaking her head and correcting herself, “I mean, I'm a little sharp around the edges but... Not without reason like I was that day. I mean... Sometimes I am... But not when it comes to someone I met through Andrea.”

After a moment of silence, Y/N looks Melissa in the eyes again, barely noticing the anticipation that had been created there when she asks:

“So this…”, the hairdresser says, pointing at the woman in front of her as a whole in a curious manner, “Is it all because you want my services, after all?”

“I… I’m not here for that. I’m here to apologize because I really regret how I behaved with ya and it’s eating me alive.”, Melissa’s answer comes seriously and along with a negative shake of her head that almost makes her dizzy.

“But…?”, the hairdresser begins, with a glimpse of a playful smile that also draws an identical one from the redhead’s lips when she finally gives in.

“But, I would still like to be your regular. If you’ll have me.”

Normally, Y/N would say no.

Normally, Y/N would say that she understands that people are sometimes rude, but that she doesn't need that in her life.

But the woman really appreciated Melissa's apology and saw the truth in her words. She doesn't know exactly how the redhead works inside a school, but she can imagine the kind of stress she must be witnessing on a daily basis, and this is the last straw needed for her to forgive her.

"People have their bad days. Just don't do that ever again, understand? Not with me. I'm not someone who usually gives people second chances.", Y/N answers seriously, giving her condition and only when she receives an affirmative nod from the redhead does she awkwardly take the dish from Melissa's hand, her fingers brushing against the teacher's for a brief moment due to her concern in holding the dessert firmly in her hand.

"Thank you. I can't wait to try whatever this is.", the Brazilian concludes, with a sparkle in her eyes full of curiosity towards the dish that made Melissa's heart race, filled with pride, "I've never received food from a client before..."

"Tiramissu. Family recipe.", Melissa's voice now sounds more confident and cheerful, and Y/N enjoys witnessing this more than she realizes as she smiles and nods in agreement with the redhead's words.

Only when Melissa, now embarrassed by the silence that takes over the empty parking lot, decides to say goodbye to the hairdresser is the Brazilian woman's voice heard again.

“Wait... This dessert platter... What do I...?”, the question begins to form on Y/N's lips but Melissa interrupts her gently, as she does with her students when they forget to clean their snow-covered feet before entering the classroom.

“Can I pick her up next time I come here... for my coloring?”, is a hopeful question once again, and Y/N likes this Melissa much more than the one she had in her chair and the hairdresser could not be more grateful to have a glimpse of her.

“I can fit you in next week at the same time Andrea asked me to.”

“That would be great. Seriously. Thank you, hon.”, is how Melissa says goodbye and, with just that last word, Y/N can feel the skin on her face heat up, even with her hands firmly holding the cold dessert platter.

[xosnsd]

I’m still bitter that they didn’t think it was important enough for Jinx and Caitlyn to have a one on one conversation with each other and then have them fight it out.

Does Jinx know one of the councilors was Caitlyn’s mother? Are we suppose too assume she finds out during the time jump, off-screen? Is that not important enough address to ON-SCREEN????

Why establish this entire arc for Caitlyn that starts with Jinx, but you don’t see the importance of them interacting?

I know Jinx is a genius and in the game she gets away from being caught by Vi and Caitlyn numerous times, but isn’t Caitlyn supposed to have these super, amazing detective skills? That’s one of her defining traits in the lore.

I find it hard to believe that not once could she locate Jinx in the span of those months.

Also, Vi and Jinx don’t even speak about Caitlyn at all. Sometimes the writing for both of the sisters gives the impression that they don’t even remember what happened in season 1.

Yes, I know she chose “Jinx” and accepted that they both changed, but she went from being very obsessive to acting like Caitlyn doesn’t even exist really quickly. What happened to her very severe abandonment issues?

[puppppppppy]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[pepper-potts-in-charge]

Pepper’s controlled smile never faltered, but inside, everything was a mess of jagged edges and burning questions she wasn’t ready to face.

He was still there. Still waiting.

Her gaze flicked to him again—just for a split second—but even that tiny glance felt like she’d broken some unspoken rule. He wasn’t the same Tony Stark she used to know. No, this one was different. The cocky grin, the way he always managed to command attention... it all felt like a distant echo now.

The room swirled around her, laughter and conversation overlapping, the sharp clink of crystal flutes. But it was like the noise was muted—everything felt distant, like it was happening far away, and she was left alone in the suffocating quiet of her own thoughts.

She could still feel him.

Every inch of him.

The weight of his eyes on her, the pull she could never quite escape. No matter how much she wanted to, no matter how many times she tried to tell herself that this was over, that they were over, she couldn’t shake it. Not with him standing there. Not when everything she’d buried so carefully rose to the surface again.

She shouldn’t care. She really shouldn’t. He was Tony Stark—he always had the world at his feet, didn’t he? She’d seen it. She’d watched him win and lose, rebuild and break down, like it was all part of some grand performance.

But when he looked at her like that, it wasn’t just Tony Stark—the billionaire playboy who changed the world one invention at a time. It was him—the man she used to believe in. The man who had meant everything.

And now... now he was standing there, giving her nothing but the same unresolved ache she’d been trying to outrun. Maybe it wasn't just 'who had meant everything', no matter how much she was forcing herself to believe. It was 'who still did'.

She took another sip of her drink, hoping the cool liquid would steady her, calm the rush of feelings that suddenly felt too much. Too loud. Too real.

She wasn’t ready for this. Not yet. Not when she’d spent weeks convincing herself that this was the right choice. The right thing.

But every time she let herself breathe, every time she looked at him—his posture tense, his eyes burning with something unspoken—everything she’d built up in her mind crumbled. And for just a moment, she didn’t want to be the strong, composed Pepper Potts. She wanted to be the woman who had let herself fall in love with him. The one who didn’t overthink, didn’t second-guess, didn’t pretend.

She felt a wave of frustration rise in her chest, and before she knew it, she was turning her head just enough to catch his gaze again. And this time, it wasn’t a glance. It was a look that said everything, even without words.

For a moment, she almost wanted to say something—anything—that would break the tension. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not here. Not in front of all these people. Not when the truth would destroy them both.

And yet, the unspoken connection lingered. The pull. The ache.

It always had been there, hadn’t it? Even when they thought they had it under control. Even when they both tried to convince themselves they were done.

But no. Not yet. Not while Tony was still standing there, still waiting for something neither of them was ready to give.

So, she did what she always did. She buried it. And she turned away.

But the weight of his presence? That never left. It never would.

SATURDAY OPEN RP! GOLDEN GALA CHARITY EVENT HOSTED BY EMERSON ENTERPRISES CEO!

The atmosphere within the main ballroom is spectacular with all the golden accents on top of black table clothes. The room is decorated to the nines with everything that could ever be done. James has his staff to thank for that.

The guests start to trickle in slowly but surely. The splendor of it all actually makes some of them gape in awe.

James knows he's going to have to go around the room talking to each one throughout the night, and maybe they will talk to each other. Tonight is about making connections and possible friendships with the people of the city. They have to band together to fight what could possibly come. This is his strategy.

This is just one step of many to take down HYDRA.

But they aren't on his mind tonight.

He greets everyone with a smile when he walks up to them. And they greet him in return when they want to speak with him.

The auction will be towards the middle of the event followed by dancing. He's pretty sure the ones with children won't stay for that.

Mingle and have fun.

Even though there are Anti-Mutant protestors threatening to show up at any moment.

At least Rumlow isn't going to be here.

//OOC Instructions: Mingle, have fun, and make some chaos happen.//

@luna-draven-barnes @wilsonfisk-thekingpin @under0-0s @the1-and-only-peggycarter @thund3randrain @thebestmerc-1 @the-daily-bugle-official-blog @nearthewaters @theoldcapsicleicle

If I missed your tag, I'm sorry, I can't remember everyone that I talked too for some reason (probably fibro brain fog) and anyone is welcome to join!!!

[stupidrant]

Since we’re on the topic of video games, im tired of these fucking remakes. Ive said it before but i’ll say it again each time. These companies dont wanna invest in an actually good remaster or port and would rather waste their time with these remakes bcuz “ooh look how shiny and better the graphics look!!1!1!1” often times it has an empty feeling because everything has to be ultra realism super 6000. Its gotten so bad that now regular gamers are starting to gaslight you into playing or enjoying them. So much has been lost artistically, (like the cool UI designs) that it’s now considered “juvenile” and that i need to “grow up” and “accept it” 😂

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Still haven't messaged my mom back. And I don't think I'm going to.

[honourablejester]

Honestly, this (the crafting, modifying and inventing rules) is one of the most exciting parts of BitD so far for me. The rituals were what first sparked for me, because the idea that I can just invent spooky magic rituals for my character is delightful, but the gadgets and alchemicals are also delightful. Both Whisper and Leech were the playbooks that first called to me, and this kind of thing is very much part of why.

Vague gadget ideas I’ve been dabbling with:

The obvious, goggles that let you see into the ghost field. No self-respecting Leech is going to leave that the preserve of Whispers and their spooky masks! There is nothing magic has wrought that science cannot equal! Potential details: will highlight ghosts in red if they’re feral?

On a similar theme of goggles, goggles that give you something like Dishonored’s Dark Vision power, the ability to see the presence of living people through walls (it works by sensing Plasm, obviously), basically giving you a sort of life-focused x-ray vision.

A palm-mounted device like a shock buzzer that acts as something of an inversion of the Lurk’s ‘Ghostly Veil’ ability: it temporarily forcefully shunts someone else into the ghost field, rendering them insubstantial, for those moments when you need someone to let go of you right now or you desperately need to not be fighting them. Might have unfortunate effects on the victim, which will undoubtedly invoke long-term consequences.

Higher level, but if we’re thinking weapons and we’re already in the realm of lightning, gaslamp fantasy, demon-slash-lifeforce powered weaponry … I mean, is it too much to ask for a death ray? Some sort of hideous little thing that forcefully rends someone’s ghost from their still-living body, or drains them of Plasm (and stores it as power, because then we could have a self-powering hand-held murder machine). How does that interact with the spirit bells of the crematorium? (This one’s obviously going to be a long clock and several interim stages to develop).

… I promise I’m not looking at the Leech playbook purely to play a monstrous Victorian-esque mad scientist? Honest, yer honour. But. Well. A life of crime probably would be necessary to fund and advance my research? And in my defence, the first thing the book itself suggests trying to invent is a flamethrower, so I don’t think a death ray is all that out of left field?

I do think fiction is the answer here, alongside building on things suggested or built from other abilities/items in Blades itself. What Dishonored power to you want to replicate? What crackpot silver age of comics device do you want to cobble together and power by demon blood in your semi-flooded underground lair (that you must perforce share with the rest of your crew, do try not to blow us all up or summon some sort of horrific demon on top of us, darling)? Do you want to rip off Stephen Strange and make an arcane amulet that allows you to rewind time a few seconds? How would you feel about a death ray?

This is a steampunk fantasy setting where electricity exists and is literally powered by demon blood, where ghosts can be captured in bottles and sold on the black market, and the light from the shattered sun has been replaced by fish bioengineered with life energy until they glow bright enough to grow plants. Go nuts. Play with life, death, lightning, magic, machinery, biology! Frankenstein your way to a hideous future funded and inspired by your life of crime!

(Or, you know. Be a little bit more practical and focus on simpler things like glass cutters and breaching charges and sonic grenades that can confuse and delay the deathseeker crows. Or a contact vapor that instantly erases the last, say, 30 seconds or so of someone’s memory. Or a watered-down version of Drift Oil that instead of making you float for an hour simply makes you lighter and more agile, as if you were operating in moon gravity. It takes all kinds, you know).

But yes, I do understand the difficulty. When I was homebrewing a class for Heart: The City Beneath, a similar fiction-focused ttrpg, I found myself trying to nail down the concrete limits of various abilities as if they were for a more mechanical system, before realising that Heart does not work like that. You can just say ‘if you succeed your roll, this ability turns you invisible until you’re out of the current situation’. It’s a genuine shift of mindset. You have to pull back out of stats and bonuses and durations and ranges, and just go ‘this lets you do [cool thing], tell me what that looks like in this situation’.

Have to say, one of the biggest hurdles in introducing one of my usual gaming groups to a system like Blades in the Dark is the idea that items don't have defined stats and are instead props to twist the fiction in interesting ways. It often feels like I'm using therapy speak on a very literally minded engineer.

Player: Alright, I've spent some downtime crafting, what can I make? Me: What would you like to make : ) ? Player: Like, is there a list? Me: Nope : ) , you're limited by your imagination and what we agree would be best for the story. Player: Well are there suggested guidelines for what an appropriate item would be? What Bonuses It can give me? Me: Items don't really give bonuses : ) , now how about you tell me what emotions finishing this project stirs in your character? Player: What was even the point of this? Also stop saying ": )" I don't know how you're doing that with your mouth.

Honestly it's a fascinating study in what assumptions ttrpgs make about the people playing them: Namely that a prospective BitD player has some personal skill or desire to act as a storyteller, and doesn't put much emphasis on the nitty-gritty of the rules.

[tardis--dreams]

I actually realized i hate work. Won't be putting any effort into this anymore ♡

[alisaint]

not saying this in a negative way but so many people are used to writers switching up and suddenly enshittifying their story for lowly shock value that when a writer does follow the standard age old process of setting up a reveal/story and then following through on it and expanding it, you get people denying the most obvious and blatant and in-your-face facts of said story simply because they've grown so used to shitty storytelling that they believe 1 + 1 is 3 instead of 2. sad!

[movie-robotnik-positivity]

I don't think Robotnik ever saw Stone's affection as genuine. He's used to people only valuing him if he's useful. His own bosses call him a freak, yet they put up with him because of his "perfect operation record". He isn't even shocked when he learns the goverment erased him, he expected it and had a contingency plan ready.

He keeps calling Stone a sycophant and a barnacle, because why else would someone stay with him if not to gain something? Clearly, Stone is just a suck-up wanting to ride his coattails. And Ivo is fine with that! He gets his ego stroked and in return Stone gets a slice of the world-domination pie. Mutually beneficial!

This symbiotic relationship gives Ivo a sense of control and ensures that Stone won't abandon him like everyone else. It also keeps him detached: of course Stone waited months or him to return from space, that's his job. His admiration is inevitable, and meaningless.

Ivo develops a genuine, irrational attachment to Stone, one he's able to rationalize as just being transactional. Those emotional walls shield him from the fear of abandonment that comes with caring for another person.

Except...even after Robotnik becomes a liability, Stone stays. There's no benefit, no plans of ruling humanity, not even a paycheck. Yet despite everything, Ivo tries to keep the old boss/employee dynamic going. He can't fathom the idea that someone would stay for anything other than convenience.

Then Gerald shows up, and for the first time Ivo allows himself to put down those walls. As an orphan he had built up this idealized image of family that he thought he could never have. People will use you then toss you aside when convenient, but family? Family is different. Family will always be there for you and love you no matter what. Family won't abandon you.

And suddently Stone's grovelling is no longer necessary. Why would he need someone who just pretends to like him when he now has all the unconditional love he's always longed for? That's obviously why Stone got so jealous, it couldn't have been real concern, he was just afraid of losing his comfy position as the lapdog of humanity's new king. Between a sycophant and family, the choice felt obvious.

And, of course, Gerald turns out to be just like everyone else in Ivo's life: just another person trying to get something from him. The second he stopped being useful, he was tossed aside.

His image of family is once again shattered, but those emotional walls are already down. Now that Ivo experienced that betrayal he was so afraid of, now that he's about to die, he's finally able to be honest with himself.

Looking down on Earth, he realizes there had only ever been one person on that blue marble who actually cared. Someone who had always been there, even when there was nothing to gain. Stone had never abandoned him.

But he had abandoned Stone. He tossed him aside, just like Gerald did to him. Now that he's able to understand how Stone felt, this is his last chance to make things right.

In his final moments, with nothing to fear, Robotnik puts down his emotional walls and opens up as best as he can. Stone had done so much for him, asked for nothing in return, and now it was his turn to do the same. Ivo helped save the world, not for recognition or convenience, but simply out of love.

Stone had always been a sycophant to him, yes, but he had also been a friend. A sycofriend.

[shadow4-1]

"Can you just pretend to love me tonight? Please?"

Simon's never gotten a request like this before.

He's never had any qualms about selling his body. Whether it was for his cock, units of his blood plasma, or his war honed body. He's always done what he's had to - anything to stay off the streets and keep a full belly.

The girls who've paid him always wanted a brute, someone to mount them and take them for all they were worth. That was what he was used to, not some doe-eyed sweet thing begging him to be gentle.

"I want to feel loved." You admit, leaning back on the motel bed, thighs crossed in nervousness. "I um...I know I'm not very pretty-"

Simon leans forward on his knees and kisses you gently. Well, he tries to. The tip of your teeth graze painfully together as he mouths you. You squeak beneath him, hands going up to his shoulders to try and push him off on rabbit instinct. He pulls his mouth off of you just enough to mutter an apology.

"Sorry." He swallows.

You look up at him with impeccably beautiful eyes brimming with tears. You seem to finally understand there's nothing gentle about him even when he tries to be. Simon wants you to call him off, send him out of the cheap hotel. He knows he can't be as sweet at you want - as you deserve. He's just physically not built for that. At least, he's sure of it nowadays. He has a brief memory of holding his newborn nephew but it slips away just as quickly as it came.

"Can we just...go slow?" You ask again. Simon can hear the waver in your voice. You're unsure if you want to continue, but you seem to trust him for some reason. "Really, really slow?"

"Yeah."

He can do slow. He can do glacial. If there's one thing he can do, it's be measured, methodical. He wasn't a Lieutenant for nothing.

For the first time in years, he takes his time. He's used to the fast paced, hungry fucks that pay his rent in thirty minutes. This is...new, not wholly uninvited. He kisses down your collarbone, down the swell of your breasts. He nips at the lacy fabric (you dressed up for him when he was expecting just to rip it all off) as he makes his way down further. He laps at the skin beneath your belly button, making your belly flutter. Ticklish. He likes that.

Simon noses his way between your thighs, easily spreads your legs with his thick forearms. As he kisses down your cloth covered mound he admits he likes how you smell. Usually the taste of women turns him off. He prefers men, but desperate women pay more. You're desperate alright, although its a different type of desperation. Something about the nervous wetness staining your new panties has his cock jumping in his trousers. He presses his nose to the fabric, inhales deeply, and relishes in your shy squeak. Simon starts to understand your desire.

You want to be explored, mapped, and consumed slowly. You want to give up control but feel as if you can stop at any moment. You want to be seen, tasted, then completely devoured.

Instead of slipping your panties to the side, he licks his way down your thighs. You squeal and try to squirm away from the sudden sensation but he doesn't stop. He kisses down your calves and across the top of your feet. His hands are so large that they wrap around your soles completely. Simon pushes them up until they're up by your ears. He knows the position is uncomfortable for you, but he likes the view of your soft, cloth covered mound.

He nips at the back of your ankles and calves, licks down the expanse of your thighs, ans nuzzles into the gusset of your panties. Simon relishes in the squeaks and gasps ans twitches of your expectant body. It's been so long since he's teased someone, much less a sweet lil' thing like you.

Your scent is heady, comforting, nothing like he's experienced before. He finds he really likes just inhaling you in. You whimper, thighs shaking already. He hasn't even licked you yet. Simon finally admits to himself that you're stroking his ego.

He plants a firm, sweet kiss to your cloth covered cunt. The fabric is practically soaked through. He can smell your taste on the tips of his lips. His curiosity wins. He takes a firm, long lick from bottom to top. Simon tastes you, but also the flowery tang of your favorite fabric softener. You taste good. He wants more.

Simon finally releases his hold on your thighs. On instinct, or perhaps strain, they fall apart. You try to sit up but he tugs your body further towards the edge of the bed. He can feel the tension in his old knees from kneeling, but he ignores it. You've opened up your body to him. He wants to take full advantage of it.

Simon goes back to lapping at your clothed cunt. He doesn't stop until his tongue is raw from brushing repeatedly over the stitches. Drool drips down his chin.

"Off."

You huff in confusion, trying to sit up. Instead. With too easy of a tug, off come your panties. There you are. Simon knows he should slow his movements but he doesn't care. You haven't stopped him yet, and he'll be damned if he doesn't get those sweet lips in his mouth. He spreads you apart with his middle and forefinger. You're a sight to behold. Perhaps not pornstar perfect anatomy, but you're delicious looking nonetheless. He eyes your glistening, dripping slit. As bad as he wants to force his tomgue deep inside you, instead he presses a firm kiss to the hood of your clit. You jolt, trying to back away or pull him closer, he can't tell.

Simon follows your movement. He mouths hungrily at your clit, flattens his tongue and practically drools against it. He laps at you with a muted fervor. He doesn't want to hurt you. He can tell you're sensitive. It must've been awhile since the last time you'd had a man willingly do this for you. A damn shame.

Your shaky little moans are like music to Simon's ears. He follows them like a map. He circles your clit, traces the entrance of your hood, even dips lower to tease the sides of your inner lips. You seem to like that alot based on the sounds you make. He sucks on your inner wings and you squeal, thighs wrapping hard around the sides of his head. He does it again and and again until you're hiccuping in delight. Your slick drips down his chin and throat. You're such a good girl for him.

Simon knows he's going to make you cum, it's just a matter of time and technique. He has both on his side. He uses his other hand to pet at your entrance. He tries to commit your anatomy to memory, and so he takes his time dipping the pads of his fingers against your fluttering slit. Despite it obviously having been awhile, your cunt holds no resistance. In fact, it practically swallows up the tip of his middle finger. Fuck yeah, that's what he likes to see.

With measured ease, Simon slips his whole finger inwards and upwards inside of you. You keen and gasp and he can feel your insides twitching. You're tight. So tight he can feel his finger already starting to cramp up from the resistance.

If he's going to fuck you right he's still got some work to do.