#anyways back to compartmentalization

[eternallynamelessvoid]

HEAVY VENT

I was very mad and depressed while writing this.

I want to burn the world to the ground.

I want to burn the ass-hats all the fucking way down until their faces are charred and smoldering inky messes.

God the US is going to turn into a fucking dictatorship and then what do I do? Fucking die?

Like seriously.

At this point I’m not even scared of my own fucking amnesia or dissociation because then I won’t have to deal with the god damn shit-fuckers.

I’m so so scared.

Im so, so scared.

My teachers say we live in a time of peace, but then there’s a genocide happening and governments want to fuck us all over and rob us of our last breath.

They want to remove retirement. And LGBT. And colored-folk. And anything that’s not a white rich man.

God I have never wanted to shoot myself so bad in so long. I can only hold on so long.

It’s like everything is dying and guess what?

GUESS WHAT

IM NOT EVEN FUCKING OLD ENOUGH TO DO FUCK ALL. What do I do? Sob hysterically while 80+ year olds decide the fate for everybody else. ISNT THAT GRAND?

IS THIS WHAT AMERICA WAS SUPPOSED TO FUCKING LOOK LIKE?

I want to cry.

[acourtofquestions]

Overhead, the stars shone clear and bright, and though Mala had only once appeared to him at dawn, on the foothills across this very city, though she might be little more than a strange, mighty being from another world, he offered up a prayer anyway.

Then, he had begged Mala to protect Aelin from Maeve when they entered Doranelle, to give her strength and guidance, and to let her walk out alive. Then, he had begged Mala to let him remain with Aelin, the woman he loved. The goddess had been little more than a sunbeam in the rising dawn, and yet he had felt her smile at him.

Tonight, with only the cold fire of the stars for company, he begged her once more.

A curl of wind sent his prayer drifting to those stars, to the waxing moon silvering the camp, the river, the mountains.

He had killed his way across the world; he had gone to war and back more times than he cared to remember. And despite it all, despite the rage and despair and ice he'd wrapped around his heart, he'd still found Aelin. Every horizon he'd gazed toward, unable and unwilling to rest during those centuries, every mountain and ocean he'd seen and wondered what lay beyond... It had been her. It had been Aelin, the silent call of the mating bond driving him, even when he could not feel it.

They'd walked this dark path together back to the light. He would not let the road end here.

[sagaduwyrm]

I just rewatched The Winter Soldier for the nth time and it's just such an amazing movie. The perfection of the weapons designed to 'stop threats before they can happen' shooting themselves down because they, and the philosophy they symbolize, are the real threat, and that Captain America, who uses a shield instead of a weapon, leads the charge against them. It messes me up every time.

[thevioletcaptain]

.

[orcelito]

I wrote. 1k words today!!!!!!!! For dad vash au!!!! So the document is now 3.5k words long (almost a third of them written just Today)(I've been working on this WIP off and on for Months now.....) so that's exciting!!!!!

Idk there was just a feeling midday of like. My brain being surprisingly clear?? Weird bc I didn't get enough sleep last night. But I took full advantage of it.

Hope that this kinda thing keeps up. Maybe I can actually fucking post something finally.

[kxllerblond]

i walk up to the mic:

guys do you think the fact clark tends to get close with people who have dangerous jobs or lives and vanish for months at a time fucks with his ability to like...really bond and feel normal things for people.

like he gets close with these people but then constantly has to convince himself he's super chill and ok if he never sees them again??? like the man constantly just has to vibe with the "it is what it is" and "fuck it, we ball." mentalities.

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

Not to pretend I'm no longer losin my damn mind or anythin but it does make me feel kinda sick now. Thinkin bout the way I was this close to convincing myself I'm (still) in love w/ him

[lady-luckk]

what did you expect?

# pairings: yandere sugar daddy harem x sugar baby reader

# synopsis: eight obsessive lovers think they’re the only one���until their secrets collide. now, you’re trapped between devotion, danger, and the illusion of choice.

# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession and possessiveness. if you are uncomfortable, please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI

# notes: reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated!

# parts: part 1 𖤓 part 2 𖤓 part 3

# tags: @hopingtoclearmedschool , @yawnzzx, @hasty-desert, @enchantingarcadecreation, @cannyyyyy, @lianobody, @bokkito, @lordkhrisangel, @kiyo123456789, @iris-arcadia, @sleepycow21, @agustdxjiminx, @theangxz, @plus-ultra-girl, @slowlyswimmingmoon, @whiteoakoak

you don’t move.

you don’t breathe.

you just listen.

the front door handle jiggles. the back one, too. your apartment is small—too small for this. for two men who shouldn’t know each other to be reaching for you at once, calling you baby like it means something different on their tongues.

you back into the wall, calculating. the money. the gifts. the lies. the men. you��ve always kept it separate—clean, compartmentalized. eight lives. eight masks. never crossing. never slipping.

but something’s cracking.

“just open the door,” says one—closer now, coaxing. elijah? no—lucas? they blur together in the panic.

“i saw the light on,” the other murmurs through the rear entrance. “you home, sweetheart?”

you inch toward the hallway. your mind races through excuses, through escape plans. one of them is going to see the other. one of them is going to know.

and then what?

the front door knocks again. harder. louder. not a request, now—a warning.

your phone lights up on the counter.

eight missed messages.

three voicemails.

your name repeated like a prayer and a threat.

they’re closing in, and they still think they’re the only one. still think you belong only to them.

but if this is the night the truth comes out—

you might not get to leave.

your phone lights up again.

another message:

“i know you’re in there. don’t make me wait.”

you don’t recognize the number. but the tone is familiar. possessive. low. someone who thinks waiting is beneath him.

your throat tightens.

the front door handle clicks. the back one rattles. your apartment feels like it’s shrinking, the walls pressing in with every second.

you don’t even have time to figure out which one is standing where.

all you can think about is the second bedroom elijah wanted to fill. the silk robe nathan said you’d grow into. the prenatal vitamins matthew left like it was the most natural thing. the way kai stares too long at your stomach. how xavier whispers to it like there’s already something growing inside.

your stomach twists.

you never agreed to anything. never promised forever. you gave them smiles and touches, laughter and attention—and they gave you gifts. trips. jewelry. money. enough to live comfortably, to stay just out of reach.

but now they’re all reaching.

the back door knob jolts violently. a voice, clearer this time: “you’re not answering. why aren’t you answering me?”

your fingers dig into the edge of the counter. your heart is racing. this isn’t normal. this isn’t love.

this is a trap.

a cage lined with velvet and diamond-studded handcuffs.

another message buzzes through.

“i saw him. who was he?”

your blood runs cold.

they’re watching. maybe more than one. maybe all of them.

you inch toward your bathroom, silently lock the door behind you. your fingers fumble for the window. it’s too narrow to crawl out of, but you crack it anyway—for air. for escape. for the illusion of safety.

your phone vibrates again.

“we were supposed to be forever.” “you lied to me.” “i’m outside. don’t make me do something you’ll regret.”

you slide to the floor, curling against the tub, breath shaking in your chest.

you’ve played this game so well.

smiled through dinners. laughed at their jokes. let them believe they were the only one. and maybe, for a while, it was fun.

but now?

now the game is over.

you’ve always known how to lie. how to perform.

but tonight, you’ll have to survive.

because one of them has found out.

and maybe—just maybe—they’ve told the others.

your knees press into cold tile.

somewhere outside, voices blur into one another—soft at first, like murmurs carried by wind, then louder. firm. insistent.

you don’t breathe.

two voices. not yelling. not yet. but the fury simmers beneath every word, masked only by the fact that they think they’re alone with you.

they don’t know about each other.

not yet.

and that window—the sliver you thought was escape—is now the perfect peephole. one of them paces by it, a familiar silhouette cloaked in tailored wool. you recognize the glint of his watch in the moonlight. lucas.

composed. deliberate. terrifying.

he’s not supposed to be here.

none of them are.

your phone buzzes again. and again. and again.

a dozen names. a dozen new messages.

where are you? are you avoiding me? i saw your lights on. i’ll wait all night if i have to. come outside, baby. please. i miss you. don’t make me come in.

a shiver rips down your spine.

you open your texts, hands trembling. a photo loads. grainy. zoomed in. taken from across the street.

it’s you. earlier today. unlocking your front door.

you never saw him.

another one loads. this time, through your bedroom window. you’re changing. your back to the glass.

you slam your phone face down.

this is spiraling.

they’ve been watching. waiting. marking time.

and now, they’re slipping. losing patience. showing teeth behind velvet smiles.

a soft knock—again. back door.

“i brought dinner,” someone says. sweet. calm. too calm.

matthew.

he always brings food. always watches you eat, like he’s studying your habits, waiting for signs. now, you wonder if he’s been dosing it.

your stomach flips.

you think of the vitamins. the tests. the new toothbrush that just appeared one morning in your bathroom—same brand as his. the silk sheets that mysteriously matched the ones in leo’s house. the second toothbrush. the tracking app you didn’t install.

your name echoes from the hallway.

not a question. a command.

“open. the. door.”

you flinch.

they don’t know they’re all here. yet.

but if they find out—if they see each other—what happens next won’t be about love. or even possession.

it’ll be war.

and you?

you’re the trophy they’ve all convinced themselves belongs to them.

you inch toward the closet. pull back the false panel you had installed months ago—just in case. it’s small, meant for shoes. cash. secrets. but it might buy you time.

you crawl inside the space.

the sound of a door opening echoes through your apartment.

but you never opened it.

you never said a word.

someone just let themselves in.

you press yourself into the farthest corner of the crawlspace, knees to chest, breath held so tight your lungs ache. the door creaks open—slowly. deliberately. like whoever entered doesn’t need to hurry.

your phone vibrates once more against your thigh.

you don’t look.

you already know.

footsteps now. one pair. deliberate. heavy. someone confident.

they don’t call out.

don’t ask for you.

they already know where you are.

floorboards groan. the closet is close.

you clamp a hand over your mouth. heart jackhammering. one wrong move and they’ll hear you breathing.

and then—

a pause.

no movement. no voice. just silence so thick it buzzes.

until another sound slices through it.

“they’re not answering you either, huh?”

a second voice.

your stomach drops.

they’re both inside.

“maybe they’re out.”

“they’re not.”

silence again.

“how do you know?”

“because their phone’s still here. and the lights are on.”

lucas. that calculating edge in his voice.

and elijah. smoother, but colder. too calm for someone this angry.

“who the fuck are you?” lucas asks, voice low, sharp.

“funny. i was about to ask you the same thing.”

you hold your breath.

“you’ve been watching them.”

“so have you.”

“don’t play dumb—why are you here?”

“same reason as you. they belongs to me.”

something slams. hard. a chair? a table?

you flinch.

“you don’t even know them.”

“i know everything i need to. and i know you’re in my way.”

they’re circling each other. measuring. two wolves in the same cage.

you stay frozen.

silent.

until—

another voice.

“both of you need to shut the hell up.”

matthew.

“they’re not a fucking toy you get to bicker over. they’re ours.”

the temperature in the apartment drops.

“ours?” lucas repeats, cold.

“you think they belongs to us?”

a pause.

“no,” matthew says. “i know they do.”

another voice. softer. hesitant.

nathan.

“…what’s going on?”

four.

four of them now.

you bite down on your knuckles to keep from making a sound.

the walls are closing in.

“they’ve been lying to all of us,” lucas says, sharp and sure. “don’t you get that?”

“and yet you’re still here,” elijah snaps. “so are you really mad? or just jealous?”

“jealous?” matthew scoffs. “i’ve already planned our future.”

more footsteps.

another knock.

“hey,” kai says from the hallway. “is something wrong?”

“you too?” lucas hisses.

you hear a breath hitch. kai.

“…wait. you’re all here?”

“no one invited you, kid,” elijah says, voice like steel.

“they didn’t invite any of us,” lucas snaps.

the air goes still.

“they’ve been playing all of us,” someone whispers. maybe nathan. maybe damien. maybe someone new.

“you shut your mouth,” leo growls. sudden. vicious. “don’t talk about her like that.”

“why?”

“because they’re still ours.”

“you really think they wants any of us?”

“they don’t need to want us,” damien finally speaks. “they need to understand.”

“understand what?”

“that this ends tonight.”

your blood turns to ice.

they’ve stopped talking.

and now?

now they’re moving.

together.

you hear the footsteps draw closer. eight sets. slow. united.

no longer fighting each other.

they’ve made a choice.

and you’re the one they’ve chosen.

your phone lights up one more time.

you should’ve picked one of us. but now we’ve picked you. all of us.

your breath catches.

you can hear them in your room now. feet shuffling. drawers opening. your closet door creaks.

you press yourself deeper into the hideaway, heart slamming against your ribs.

then—

a hand brushes the panel from the other side. gently.

and a voice.

“there you are.”

you don’t scream.

you don’t move.

you just stare as the panel starts to shift open—slow, deliberate.

but it’s not just one hand.

another one grips the edge from the other side.

and another.

and another.

different sets of fingers. different grips.

they’ve all found you. at once.

and for the first time all night, they’re not fighting each other.

they’re working together.

the last thing you hear—before the panel gives way completely—is a chorus of voices, soft and smiling, overlapping in perfect, practiced harmony:

“we forgive you.”

darkness falls as the panel opens.

and they reach in.

[quarterlifekitty]

Simon is, typically, a rigidly compartmentalized person. You can only be as successful as he is in his line of work by keeping things orderly (as much as his depression den of an apartment suggests otherwise).

He doesn’t talk about work when he’s with you. It’s not hard for him. He quite honestly forgets about his occupation when you’re at the forefront of his attention.

One day you’re watching some grim suspense movie with a brooding male lead, who you’re attracted to for reasons obvious to you but maybe not to Simon. Anyways, he gets the shit knocked out of him during a CQC scene, and Simon’s been very quietly and politely stewing jealously as you ogle the guy on screen with rapt attention. So he remarks upon it.

“Man doesn’ ‘ave two bloody brain cells t’rub together. What a shite strategy.”

So you can’t help but smile and ask— how would you have done it?

And that’s how it starts. Anytime your movie of the night has fistfights, firearms, torture— you’re practically clinging to his arm with hearts in your eyes asking for his commentary. And how’s he gonna deny his pretty bird when she’s asking so sweet? Not to mention how easily it seems to put you in the mood, hearing him talk shop and show off how competent he is in his field. His fingers are as deft with you as they are with a knife or a reload.

One day he comes home in a mad panic. Got a call when he was on base about something precious to him being taken away. Some stupid personal vendetta from a world away, maybe. Finds blood. The bodies of men unconscious from grievous, deep wounds. No sign of you through the house. It’s dark, and the light switches won’t turn on the lights.

When he finds you, you’re backed into the bedroom closet behind the heavy coats, knife poised in your hand and held backwards— the way he told you grants more leverage, more force. From the look of things, it seemed like you’d taken all of his impromptu lessons to heart.

And while he holds you when you realize it’s him, dropping the knife and clinging onto him like a baby koala as your tears seep into his hoodie… fuck, he’s turned on.

[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.

[navydoves]

Estranged

✎ᝰ summary. a fight with you leaves caleb with lingering, frustrating feelings. feelings he can only express one way.

✎ᝰ cw. masturbation, sex toy, orgasm denial, just regular denial lol, desperation, whimpering and whining

✎ᝰ a/n. i had to give y’all some caleb food lmfao. not proofread, spare me.

࣪𖤐

by morning you had already taken off. no goodbye hugs or wishes, just a simple glance and a hum was all you left caleb before you scurried out of the house with your duffle bag.

the night prior, with great excitement, you informed caleb about your plans to attend this new academy. you usually wouldn’t wait until the last minute to tell him about such a big change in your life, but you knew how he was. protective, worrisome, and a little hovering over you.

and just as you expected, the whole ordeal ended in an argument with caleb upset you didn’t tell him sooner, and you upset that he couldn’t understand why you didn’t.

expectedly, he didn’t want you to go. he practically begged for you to stay, maybe at the very least delay until next training season so he had more time to with you right now, but you fought back. you were passionate about being a hunter, and accommodating your life for caleb to this extent was unacceptable.

and as much as caleb wanted to scratch at the floors and walls and get on his knees to grovel like he was at gunpoint, he knew you’d lose respect for him. so after a few hours of fighting, he let go. the one thing worse than not seeing you was knowing you didn’t want to see him.

the night after that was quiet, and the morning even more so. nothing about your shuffling through the house walls was comforting. he knew you were about to take your leave. as much as it hurt him, he did really want to see your face before you left.

so when he peaked out his bedroom door and caught a glimpse of you down the hall, uninterested and dismissive of his existence, a hole was shot right through him. it was best to leave you alone now. you couldn’t ignore him forever, even if you were leaving for the time being.

the front door closing was painful too, but it gave caleb a space to think over his thoughts now. he replayed every moment of anger you displayed the night before. the hurt in your eyes and voice had him rethink his role in your life. he didn’t want to let you go, never ever. not even if you were old and greying, he wouldn’t be able to let go.

while compartmentalizing was easy in the space fleet, it was harder when it involved you. you were caleb’s life, his reason for existence. even this argument was making him sick just from mere memory.

the full day went wasted with caleb wallowing in his own regret and frustration, and by the time night hit, he was at his wits end.

lights dimmed and body stripped of his loungewear, caleb could do nothing but force himself into the slippery hole he bought for himself.

his face was planted into his pillow right by a polaroid of you taken at one of the arcades you two frequent. you loved those photobooths, and despite most of the prints being him and you, caleb made sure to snag a couple with only you in them. for mementos sake, of course. he didn’t see himself using them for this…

each aggressive thrust into the pocket pussy threatened to pierce it entirely. the outline of caleb’s cockhead pushed into the rubber silicone of the toy and stretched the material out a little bit more with every moment. emotion was not devoid here, he was giving it—you—every ounce of his frustration.

“agh, im so sorry, im so sorry,” he whimpers. “come back… i need you to come back. i was so—ngh—fucking stupid. please… please please…”

the concoction of his emotions and the sensations of pleasure made it hard for caleb to keep his eyes open and on the picture of you, but he forced himself to anyway. he forced himself to be reminded why he was doing this—for what he was doing this for. to reprimand himself, to hope you’d somehow come bawling back to him.

“you wanna be a—ah—big girl, go doing stuff on your own… but you forget that i need you…” caleb hisses while shaking his head at the polaroid of you. “i need you… why don’t you need me the same? i’m the one who takes care of you.”

the sounds of pleasure in the room were abundant. not just of caleb’s rough groans and needy whimpers, but also the wet slaps caused by his thick cock insisting into the silicone of a pussy.

see, caleb had intentionally picked this specific design of toy out. it was a pocket pussy that most closely matched your skin tone and most closely resembled your folds. this way, he could imagine this was truly you and that he wasn’t pathetic enough to seek faux warmth in a sex toy. but he could never, ever replicate the true warmth of your body, of your insides. not that he knew what you felt like, of course, you’ve yet to let him in. he’d only briefly seen you bare and vulnerable, but that sight was etched into his mind like knife to wood.

it only made this whole ordeal more frustrating.

“i… fuck, i know you what’s best for you. couldn’t you at least have told me earlier? dumb girl—ah, ngh—you don’t know how much i love you.”

the sloppy wet noises coming from the pocket pussy only seemed to grow more desperate. what started off as a completely dry and somewhat tight toy had become a mess of sloshy arousal, simply from caleb’s pre-cum. the more he fucked it, the less it seemed like you. in caleb’s head, maybe you would writhe and moan, even reciprocate and squeeze around him every time he did something you liked. he wouldn’t be fucking the cum into silicone sadness, but instead, a warm and loving womanhood that was built to fit him perfect.

but fuck, fuck, fuck. he couldn’t have that. you weren’t even here.

“mngh, fu… i-i have to… cum… fuck!”

caleb hisses and quickly yanks the fleshlight off of his cock and let’s out a low groan of frustration at the sudden orgasm denial. his knees shook gently and almost gave out from weakness but he stills himself. his other hand grabs the picture of you and brings it to his lips for a gentle kiss, almost as if to release that frustration in the form of affection for you. he spends the next few minutes catching his breath and making out with the polaroid of you, weakly murmuring praises and apologies as if he was by your ear.

below, his cock throbbed angrily at the rejection. it bobbed up to his stomach and dribbled more obscene drops of precum onto his abdomen. it was practically jumping, reminding caleb of his neglect.

gently, caleb turns over and lays on his back, legs spread and cock aimed at the dripping entrance of the pocket pussy. he keeps the polaroid of you in his left hand while his right moves the silicone toy over his cock, punishing it again for not being you. the movement was slippery and wet and coated caleb’s cock in leftover precum. immediately, pleasure jolts back into his body, causing his eyes to roll back.

“ah, fuck, oh god,” caleb whines, “fuck i wanna cum again… fuck fuck fuck, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum.” he squints at the polaroid again and feigns a loud groan. “ah… ah, i almost came. fuck, d’ya’see what you do to me, my dumb girl? oh god…” caleb doesn’t relent in his masturbation, though. he continues moving the fleshlight over his pulsing cock in the same rhythmic movement, again, letting the cockhead spear the top and stretch the material in a filthy manner.

the polaroid of you was shaky in his hand. this cruel game he was playing with himself with denial and regret was overwhelming just as much as the physical pleasure was.

“i miss you, i don’t even know when you’re gonna be back. i spent all that time—“ caleb hisses in pleasure,”—all that time fighting with you, couldn’t even get a few dates out of it.”

he squeezes the flashlight to bring back some tightness, causing him to groan once more. he lays the polaroid slightly on his face and almost whimpers from seeing your face so close. “fuck, don’t hate me. don’t hate me, my sweet girl. i just… ack—“

the sloppy strokes and squeezing of his cock caused caleb’s cock to ache once more and threaten to release an intense orgasm. he stills the pocket pussy once more and cries out soft sounds of your name. it only took another minute or so for the ache to go down, but the frustration within him did not quell.

once more caleb shifts positions. this time on his knees and elbows again. he puts the pocket pussy right underneath his cock and the polaroid of you on the pillow right where he could look down on it. without hesitation, he slips himself into the pocket pussy and almost curses at the feel. it was overstimulating to say the least, but he didn’t want this to end. this was his repentance, his devotion.

“fuuuuck,” caleb drawls out, his voice raspy and low.

he starts thrusting into the pocket pussy with slow, rhythmic strokes to ensure he didn’t build an orgasm too fast again. over your picture like this, it was easier to imagine the real you underneath him, taking his cock nice and deep just like the fleshlight was.

the mere visualization was enough to push caleb to a core shattering orgasm, but he withheld it with every muscle in his body.

slow, deep pounds was what he was giving the silicone pussy. it wasn’t just masturbation, it was practice at this point.

this is how he’d do it for your first time. as soon as you were trained to take him fully, he’d thrust himself nice and deep, battering you gently with his girth until you had no choice but to orgasm.

ideally it’d be raw, no barriers between you and him. and ideally, he’d cum inside you, but you might adverse to those ideas. but none of that mattered, not when you were hundreds of miles away and with your friends, training and bettering yourself as a person instead of being with caleb.

“mm, that feels so good, sweet girl. feels so so good,” caleb huffs, pretending to praise you by looking at your smiley photo. “if you’d let me, i’d apologize to you like this—ngh—but you won’t right? won’t let me pleasure you yet, won’t let take care of you, won’t tell me where you’re going, won’t let me love you properly.”

a new wave of frustration was building again within caleb. his judgment was clouded and impaired even all these hours later. he tried to hold back his passion, but the thrusts just kept getting harder and harder.

“i’ll beg baby, i’ll beg for your forgiveness,” caleb growls softly. “i’ll beg and once you do forgive me, cause i know you will, i’ll make it up to you and teach you that everything you need is right here.”

he gives a punctual thrust to emphasize the last word. the pocket pussy at this point was nothing short of ruined and beaten up by a man’s fervor. and yet, it was the closest he could get to you so wear and tear was not on caleb’s mind.

he leaned down slightly to the polaroid of you and gave it a gentle kiss as if he was actually kissing your cheek. he nuzzled the plastic and whined as he felt his orgasm approach again. but this time, it felt more powerful and greedy than the last two he denied. interrupting this one would send pain throughout his body, it’d break his spirit in the moment.

caleb’s hands clenched onto the sheets to steady himself and his thrusts. the fleshlight stood no chance against his strong cock, and soon, it would be completely owned and claimed in desperation.

“hah… ah… ahhhh, fuck fuck fuck, i need to cum!” caleb cries out before planting his face into the pillow right beside your photo. his body could no longer take the denial and pain and it punished caleb with an intense orgasm that ripped right through his cock and into the pocket pussy.

the entire lower half of caleb’s body twitched and jolted at such an intensity that he could barely steady himself. several spurts of cum filled the sex toy up with ease and soon it was oozing out of the stretched hole and dripping onto the bed sheets. he gave a few more half-hearted thrusts into the hole before pulling out completely and collapsing onto the bed.

the pocket pussy was just as spent as caleb was. it’s stretched material was milky white both inside and out. it had been punished senselessly.

caleb had also been punished, but by you. an orgasm so strong could only be mended by thinking of you, but that was too painful right now. he rolled to his side and took the polaroid of you in his hands and smiled at your printed expression. it was bittersweet, to say the least.

a part of him wanted to reach for his phone and text you just to check up, but realistically he knew you wouldn’t respond. wounds were still fresh and he’d have to wait at least a few days. he just had to try not to kill himself in that time.

the smile from him drops and a somber face replaces it.

“i miss you,” caleb whispers, “and it’s only been a day. i’m the worst ever, right? my whole job is to keep you here and safe, to protect you from everyone else out there, but… the fact that you’re gone means i failed. i don’t why you’re so eager to leave me, sweet girl. you’ll find out independence isn’t that fun, you’ll come back to me again and i’ll say i told you so. but, until then, learn how cruel everyone else is.”

the smile reappears. he doesn’t make an effort to get up and clean himself or the fleshlight. he just stays where he is, admiring your photo.

gently, he places it down next to him on the pillow and pulls up the bedsheets to cover half of the photo—still leaving your face visible.

“goodnight pip, i’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

࣪𖤐

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're a Star- chap three preview

Pairings- Pornstar! Satoru x shy f!reader

Warnings - mentions of fingering and sex, reader is in her head, yearning, mutual pining. light angst as the two of them are just very different (FYI Satoru won't be having sex with anyone but reader from last chapter on - his dick quit working lol) preview is 1k words god lmao, this chap is gonna be LONG fyi

“Ah!” Her moan echoes too much, he pauses then, quiet as he just stares at the camera like he’s staring at you.

You’ve lost it.

You tip him as you’d intended to, quickly shutting your laptop and damn near hyperventilating. What’s wrong with you!? His job is to fuck women, so you saw him touching one, what do you expect? The man had a gang bang scene just yesterday, and dinner with you tonight. You have to shove it all down then, you have to remember what he does.

It didn’t mean it wasn’t special though, for you.

Did he do things off camera with-

Stop it!

The phone rings a few minutes later and you just stare at it, lost in your own head, wishing you could compartmentalize it so much better, that you could separate the two. You were so stupid for engaging and knowing, but at the same time, to not have Satoru seems like something you can’t compute, even if it is just as a friend, even if you can’t be sexual.

Maybe you read it all wrong, that night.

Satoru calls again, shaking out his hand as his co star is now fucking herself quite expertly on a dildo, since Satoru can’t get hard for anything - it’s worse today than yesterday - he decided to turn it into a guided masturbation video. At least his fucking fingers still work, despite jerking off to you so much his cock is raw, remembering your lips surrounding it.

Even fingering her he’s picturing your pussy, fuck he wants to just bury himself in it again, he knows the two of you are ‘friends’ or whatever the fuck this was, but it’s exceedingly difficult when it’s affecting him like this. He keeps wondering if you all sleep together, will it make it worse or better? Was he all in his head, as if you would go for someone like him if he did date.

Date- he doesn't date- how could he, what was he thinking lately?

He saw your name in the stream and his stomach had dropped - and why, you’re just a friend, it was fine if you wanted to see a bit of a stream and tip, he knows it is to be supportive. You’re supportive and sweet, so sweet, god your taste and scent still haunt him, he’s been dying to see you tonight, in any capacity, but when he saw the name he felt awful.

He only wants to fuck you, touch you, but he has a career and commitments, to get her to agree to this instead of fucking was already difficult and he was slowly losing it as his cock kept refusing to work. Even if he could get it up, he didn’t like the idea of fucking someone else at all, after the debacle of a gang bang yesterday. But even touching someone was doing nothing for him.

Now he saw you leave so quickly, and decided to gently smack his co star’s ass, smiling as he bent her over, murmuring he needs a break. She eagerly took over the spotlight, the opportunity was a huge one for her anyway as a smaller star. Satoru keeps staring at your picture, sighing as he notices the little reflections in your glasses, touching the screen softly.

You saw him touching someone, did you care, did it bother you-

Why is he thinking like this!?

He calls again, and you answer, much to his relief, as his hands let go of the bathroom counter he’d gripped too tightly. “Hey Satoru, sorry I popped in, I thought it was um… you…”

“Jerking off?” He finishes the sentence, leaning back against his wall and shutting his eyes.

“Yeah, I didn’t know you did um… shoots at home. You should get back to it, why are you calling me, silly? Looks like um… you were, ah… doing… good.” You’re breaking out every voice, cursing yourself quietly, why can’t you just speak? You’re shoving it all down, trying not to cry - there’s no reason to!

“Ah, yeah I thought I’d try to teach people how to make women cum, they fail often you know.” He tries to make it light, as his stomach clenches, a sick feeling when he hears your forced laugh.

“That’s very true. Someone should give you a Nobel prize for this work.” He snorts then, as the laughter becomes a little more genuine. “No you’re amazing at that. Why not show them how?”

“You thought I was amazing, hmm?” His tone changes, cock throbbing when he just hears your sigh, picturing you vividly in his mind, while the sounds of his co-star echo, moans and squelching wetness that does nothing for him.

Didn’t he used to enjoy all of this?

“You know I thought that.” Your heart pounds, you have to remember, Satoru is amazing and just because you’re hurt, you can’t be mad or upset at him. He’s not yours in any way, even if you’re starting to wish he was.

“Isn’t your co-star waiting?”

“She’s occupying herself fine. It’s not… sex…” Because I can’t get hard unless it’s you. “It’s just a tutorial.”

“Oh,” your relief shouldn’t exist, you shouldn’t care, but to hear that does make you slump over just a bit, before taking a breath. “Do you want to do dinner another day, it’s already four-”

“No, no!” Satoru panics then, since when does smooth Pornstar Satoru freak the fuck out and act desperate?

HURT FEELINGS AHEAD for both of them actually. These cuties suck at feelings. Don't have an exact date but it's in the works. Taglist is closed by you can sub on Ao3 or follow me here for updates! I don't tag anyone but perm tags in my previews so if you're on the list dw I will tag you in 3!

perm tags- @alt--er--love @nanasukii28 @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @satoao-main @fairygardenprincesss @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @ibreathesmut @s777athv @twinklywinkly @akiii143 @squeezyvalkyrie @cookielovesbook-akie @oinksa @grignardsreagent @shokosbunny

[casssmalefantasy]

you, me, and ted's tuesday - paige bueckers x reader!

s: the team’s back at uconn for summer training, and one thing leads to another… and another… and suddenly you and paige bueckers are making out at ted’s on live.

w: drinking, alcohol use, suggestive flirting, public kissing, instagram live chaos, drunk, but consenting adults, fluff, soft morning after vibes, team teasing, and cursing.

word count: 5.6k?

it all starts with paige lounging back on your couch, one leg over the armrest like she owns the place, which is funny because it’s your team apartment, not hers. she’s casually sipping from a water bottle like she didn’t just loudly say…

”we should go to ted’s tonight.”

you blinked up from your phone. “ted’s? it’s a tuesday.”

she grinned. “exactly. it’s like, initiation or whatever. welcome the freshmen. it’s a team bonding rite of passage.”

“you just wanna drink,” azzi called from the kitchen.

“and dance,” paige said, unbothered, already pulling out her phone.

it didn’t take long before everyone was on board. especially the freshmen. it’s hard to say no to paige when she turns those blue eyes on you, even harder when she’s grinning like she knows you’re gonna say yes.

so now, you’re standing in front of your mirror, keeping it casual.

ted’s isn’t anything to dress up for—you throw on a white tank top, grey sweatpants that hang low on your hips, and your go to pair of jordans. a little makeup, a little lip gloss, and you call it a day.

when you walk out into the living room, azzi immediately whistles.

“oh we’re in trouble.”

you roll your eyes. “this is literally sweatpants.”

“yeah, and somehow you still look hot. unfair.”

you flip her off as you slide your phone into your back pocket. most of the girls are ready, still waiting on kk and yanna.

paige’s already by the door, leaning against the wall, eyes flicking up to you when you walk in. slow. lingering, but she doesn’t say anything.

she never does.

—

ted’s is... not that bad tonight.

still full, but not suffocating like it usually is. mostly locals and a few straggling summer students. the air smells like beer, faint sweat, and cheap tequila. the lights are dim, neon signs glowing red and blue. music’s loud, mostly drake and hip hop remixes.

you’re one shot in and already loose. second shot has you laughing with your head tilted back. by the third, you’re behind the bar for some reason, helping the bartender pass out drinks like it’s your job.

and the more drunk you feel, the more it’s hitting you.

paige.

paige bueckers is attractive.

she’s always been attractive, obviously. but usually you can compartmentalize it. bury it under practice schedules, team meetings, and shared snacks on the bus. not tonight.

tonight she’s in a fitted white tee, hair down, dancing in the corner with ice, rapping along to “headlines” by drake like she’s performing at the fucking grammy’s. drunk paige is loud, giggly, and clingy as hell—which you learned your freshman year.

maybe it’s the tequila, or the way her voice drops when she sings the bass notes, or how she keeps glancing over at you like you’re a secret only she knows. either way, you’re staring.

ice has her phone up, and you assume she’s taking a pic until—

“wait—” you squint. “is that tiktok live?”

ice grins. “say hi to the people.”

“absolutely not,” you mutter, waving anyway.

paige catches sight of you and immediately yells, “YOOOOO LOOK WHO IT IS.”

you want to disappear into the floor.

“she’s lying,” you say, still smiling.

“nah nah nah, don’t be shy now,” paige’s grinning, stumbling toward you, clearly tipsy and glowing.

“WHO ORDERED SHOTS?”

you laugh. “you did, two seconds ago.”

she turns to you, eyes all shiny, drunk, and happy.

“you having fun?”

you nod. “yeah. it’s a good night.”

“hell fucking yeah it is,” she yells, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

you don’t even flinch when her hand slides to your waist.

you don’t realize how close you’re standing until she leans in and whispers, “you look really good tonight.”

your stomach flips.

you swallow. “you do too.”

paige smiles slow, and then her hand’s trailing down your arm again. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“say it like that. i’m drunk and you’re pretty and this is dangerous.”

you laugh, nervous. “well maybe you shouldn’t be this close then.”

“you want me to back up?”

“…no.”

she tilts her head, eyes locked on yours, and then ice yells from behind her, “yo the live wants more paige!”

paige turns, facing the camera, yelling “WASUUPPPPP!” with a crooked grin, clearly drunk.

you grab your drinks and nudge her. “your shots are here.”

she doesn’t hear.

“PAIGE!” and she finally turns.

“huh?”

you hand her the shot. “cheers.”

you both take your shots—her hand lingers on your hip.

and then she looks at you like she needs you. eyes hooded, lips parted. she leans in, voice barely audible.

“kiss me.”

your brain short-circuits.

“what?”

“make out with me,” she says, bolder now.

“come on.”

you shake your head, smiling. “paige this is ted’s.”

“so?”

“we shouldn’t,” you say, but it’s weak. very weak. especially when she grabs your face, thumb brushing your jaw.

“i want to,” she says, and she’s got that look again, the one that’s ruined you since freshman year.

her hand’s on your cheek now, thumb brushing just below your lip. “please,” she whispers.

and you cave. obviously.

you kiss her.

it’s quick at first, like you’re testing the waters. then she pulls you closer and you both lose yourselves in it, years of tension unraveling with one messy, breathless kiss.

neither of you notice ice glancing back at the live, the camera accidentally catching the way paige’s hands are on your waist and your fingers are buried in her hair.

“OH SHIT,” ice yells. flipping the camera around fast.

you pull back, startled. paige’s lips are flushed. your hands are still on her cheeks.

“that was not supposed to be on live. i didn’t even realize.” ice says to caroline

you and paige don’t hear her. not really. you’re too busy looking at each other. drunk and caught and smiling.

paige pulls back, breathless, lips curved.

“again?”

you nod, and she kisses you again, slower this time. like it means something.

when she finally pulls away, she grins.

“i’m gonna say hi to the live again.”

you blink, dazed, watching her bounce back to ice and caroline like she didn’t just change your life.

the rest of the night is a blur of touches and stolen kisses, fingers brushing yours when she passes by, her arm around your shoulder while you laugh into her neck. you’ve never felt more like hers.

—

you don’t even remember the ride home. someone drove. maybe caroline? you’re buzzed and giggly in the backseat, paige’s head on your shoulder.

she ends up in your bed somehow. she curls up beside you in one of your old uconn shirts, makeup smudged and hair messy, and she’s out before you can even say goodnight.

—

you wake up tangled together.

her arm’s around your waist, your leg’s over hers, and you both blink into the soft morning light filtering through your blinds.

“morning,” she mumbles, voice rough.

“morning.”

you hesitate, unsure what to say. unsure if she remembers.

but of course she does.

“so…” she says, stretching. “last night?”

you hum. “yeah…”

“i don’t regret it,” she says.

your heart stutters. “what?”

“i don’t regret kissing you. or making out with you. or telling you you looked hot.”

you go quiet, taking it in.

“do you?” she asks, suddenly serious. “regret it?”

you shake your head. “no. not even a little.”

she smiles, all soft and sleepy. “i’ve always had feelings for you, you know.”

your eyes flick to hers. “you have?”

“since the day you joined the team. you were the only freshman who didn’t get nervous around me.”

you laugh. “i was nervous as hell, paige.”

she grins. “could’ve fooled me.”

you pause, then admit, “i’ve always liked you too. i just… didn’t wanna ruin what we had.”

she shifts closer. “can i kiss you again?”

“yeah.”

and she does. slow and sweet and a little bit sleepy.

—

when you walk out of your room, azzi’s at the kitchen counter sipping coffee, and she looks up immediately.

smirking at the two of you.

“morning,” she sings.

you flush. “don’t.”

“what? i didn’t say anything.”

“it’s not what it looks like.” you say smiling.

paige stretches behind you, shirt riding up just a little, completely unbothered. “unless it looks like we made out at ted’s,” she says.

ice glances up from the couch. “had a good night, didn’t y’all?”

paige grins. “i mean… yeah. let’s just hope no one screen recorded the live or CD is gonna kill me.”

ice makes a face.

paige turns to her. “wait. bro don’t tell me—.”

“about that…” she says.

paige frowns, walking over to ice. “what? did they post it already?”

“yeah,” ice says. “but that’s not the bad part.”

“what’s the bad part?” paige asks clearly confused.

ice winces. “i might’ve accidentally shown the live you guys making out for like… two seconds.”

you choke on your coffee.

“what?!” paige laughs, eyes wide. “ice—”

“i didn’t mean to!” ice yells. “it just… happened! i flipped the camera and didn’t realize what y’all were doing!”

you cover your face, mortified.

paige shrugs. “whatever. we were drunk. it’s fine. as long as it’s not everywhere.”

paige then laughs and says “you’re banned from being anywhere near us when we’re drunk and live streaming. deal?”

“deal.”

you just shake your head, smiling as you take another sip of coffee.

paige glances back at you, eyes soft.

you can’t help but smile.

summer’s off to a wild start—and you have a feeling it’s only just beginning.

[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 4

Previous | Next

[Series Masterlist]

Content Warning: Ectopic pregnancy; blood; violence; gory description; medical procedures; I have 0 medical knowledge; if I've missed any warnings, please let me know.

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

The Emergency Room was already humming when you stepped in. You walked through the sliding doors, scrub top sticking to your shoulder blades where your bag had rested, your badge swinging with each step. The scent of antiseptic and saline entered your senses.

“Williams.” Dana’s voice floated over from the nurses’ station. Clipboard in one hand, coffee cup in the other. “You’ve got that ‘I slept four hours and regretted every minute’ look.”

“At least on nights no one expects me to look awake,” you scoffed.

“I didn’t want to seem too well-rested,” you replied, suppressing a yawn. “Bad for team morale.”

You weren’t sure when the hospital had started feeling more like reality than your apartment. You hadn’t slept well since changing to day shift over a week ago, your body not adjusting to sunlight had left you in limbo.

Your first case came in less than twenty minutes later.

Code Blue—female, late twenties, syncopal episode, hypotensive. Report from EMS said she collapsed in her apartment bathroom, pulse thready, GCS dropping en route. ETA two minutes.

The trauma bay swelled with motion before the doors even opened. You reached for gloves without thinking, your brain already mapping out differentials: ruptured AAA? Sepsis? Internal bleeding?

Then she was wheeled in—ashen, barely breathing, soaked in sweat. EMS was shouting vitals, and someone called out, “Positive pregnancy test. LMP unknown. No trauma history.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Get her on O2,” you snapped, stepping in. “Two large-bore IVs, run a bolus. CBC, coags, type and cross. I want a pelvic—”

“She’s hypotensive,” Perlah said. “BP seventy over forty and falling.”

Your eyes scanned the abdomen—distended, rigid.

Robby was suddenly at your side, already snapping sterile gloves on. “Could be ectopic.”

You didn’t need to answer. The look you shared said enough.

“Let’s do the bedside,” he said, and you nodded.

He handed you the ultrasound probe with steady hands “Transabdominal first,” you murmured, angling the screen. “Uterine stripe is empty…”

“Check Morrison’s pouch.”

You slid the probe, and there it was: free fluid collecting near the liver. You didn’t need a positive pregnancy test anymore.

“She’s bleeding out,” you said, your voice low but calm. “Internal rupture.”

Robby met your eyes. “OR, now.”

“Call OB,” you barked. “We need the rapid transfuser. Get a trauma pack—no, two.”

There was blood. Too much of it. But your hands stayed steady as you started the line. Robby worked the airway, quick and efficient, while you coordinated the push to surgery. The two of you didn’t speak beyond commands to the residents, but the rhythm was still there—tight, fluid, unspoken.

When the gurney finally wheeled her out, you stayed frozen in place for a second, gloves soaked, the adrenaline still ricocheting through your chest.

You peeled off your gown and leaned against the wall just outside the trauma one. Breathing finally caught up to you. The world tilted back into focus.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low. Quiet enough that it didn’t carry.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically. Then, softer, “It’s just… fast.”

He watched you for a moment. “You’ll learn to breathe in the middle of it.”

You weren’t sure if that was meant to be comforting, but you took comfort in it anyway

At lunch, you leaned beside him on the rails of the rooftop. It had become habitual to find yourself up here with him during your shifts, finding a small moment of quiet.

“You ever get used to it?” you asked, not quite looking at him. “The… not knowing how things end?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back, hands gripping the rails “No,” he said finally. “You just get better at compartmentalizing.”

“That sounds bleak.”

“It’s honest.”

Another pause. Your eyes flicked toward him, catching the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. Not quite from age. More like from carrying too much.

You tilted your head. “You ever take a day off?”

He glanced over at you. “You ever stop asking questions?”

You smirked. “Touché.”

A pause.

“You talk like someone who’s burned out and pretending not to be.”

He glanced at you, surprised. “You talk like someone who sees more than she says.”

You didn’t answer that.

Late afternoon hit you like a sledgehammer. A code blue on 4 East, two pediatric lacerations back-to-back, and a psych hold in Room 9 who threw a bedpan at you because you wouldn’t let him leave AMA.

You didn’t know Robby had seen that until you found an energy drink waiting at the nurses’ station.

No note. No acknowledgment.

You almost smiled. Almost.

You blamed your lack of sleep, but your last case got to you. It was a diabetic foot ulcer gone septic. The smell alone made your eyes water, and the patient was aggressive and confused.

You powered through the dressing, the orders, and the call to vascular. You didn’t realize how tightly your jaw was clenched until you stepped out of the room and leaned against the wall, eyes closed.

“Hey.”

You opened them to find Robby standing in front of you, arms crossed, watching you with something like… caution. Or concern.

“You good?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just… one of those days.”

“You handled it.”

“Barely.”

He looked at you, long enough that you felt your stomach twist. Not unpleasantly. Just… uncomfortably aware.

“You’re allowed to struggle, Williams. Doesn’t make you weaker.”

You nodded, swallowing past the thickness in your throat.

“I just hate that I care so much,” you said. “About getting it right. About being good.”

He hesitated. Then, softer, “That’s exactly why you will be.”

There was silence between you then. Not awkward. Just… still.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Eventually, you broke it. “If you say something profound and walk away dramatically, I swear I will beg Dr. Shen to take me back-”

He snorted. “I’ll save the theatrics for tomorrow.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t leave until nearly eight. Your shift had ended an hour ago, but you’d found yourself lingering—checking your charts, double-reading labs, pretending like you hadn’t just been waiting for your heartbeat to slow down.

You finally stepped out into the night, air cool against your skin. You were halfway to the parking lot when you heard footsteps behind you.

“You always stay this late?” Robby asked, walking up beside you.

You shrugged. “I was just being thorough.”

He tilted his head. “And the real reason?”

“I don’t know how to turn it off,” you confessed quietly.

He nodded like he understood. Because maybe, he did.

You walked in silence for a while, the gravel crunching beneath your sneakers, headlights flashing in the distance.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he said, just as you reached your car. “You’re not just surviving this place. You’re learning it.”

You looked at him. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

A pause. His voice dropped slightly, not softer but lower. “And you’re not easy to intimidate.”

You almost smiled. “I fake it really well.”

“I can tell.”

He looked at you like he wanted to say something else. Like he almost did.

Instead, he stepped back.

“Night, Williams.”

You climbed into your car, closed the door, and sat there for a long moment before starting the engine.

He still hadn’t said your first name.

And somehow, that felt like its own kind of tension.

[mypoisonedvine]

dark dilf delinquent season cillian lusting after the new neighbors daughter; who not so coincidentally has a penchant for undressing with her curtains open 🫣 & sneaking in guys who kinda (definitely) maybe resemble cillian? from her club nights 😭

he’s dark & like kinda pathetic but we love him anyway

i feel like this is too specific but I can’t get the thought out of my head 🥲

it is very specific but I'm not mad, and I love writing a pervert <3 but a dilf AND a pervert?! yes please!! obviously I love this concept cause I went a liiiiitle overboard with it, oops...

𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧 | neighbor!reader x dilf!cillian

length: 3.3k

warnings: m and f masturbation, voyeurism, slightly dark but not very much, unspecified age gap, infidelity

When it first started, he really was just trying to read. It wasn't his fault that the book was boring, or that your curtains were open, or that he caught a glance of you in your window.

It was innocent then, too— he liked watching you do normal things, like put on jewelry or laugh on the phone with a friend. It made him smile... he wasn't sure why, but it just made him feel a little better after a long day, seeing you up there, reminiscing on his younger days as he got a distant view of yours...

But it had been months since it started, and it was far from innocent now. He'd become an expert at compartmentalizing the shame; he'd become addicted to the cycle, to the watching and the waiting and the sick anticipation— not to mention the fear that someday, you'd notice him watching. The fear, and yet, the hope.

"Fuck," he panted under his breath as he wanked himself— not too fast yet, but certainly much faster than the slow and teasing strokes he liked to start off with. You were taking off your shirt, pulling it over your head and folding your arms in that crazy origami way girls do that he'd never totally understood; he bit his lip as his eyes dragged over your back, trying to imagine how it would feel to run his fingers up your spine until you arched it just right—

He heard the kids yell downstairs and he stopped for a second, heart pounding with nervousness as he feared they might come up and knock at the door. He used to only do this when they were gone... but he couldn't pass up an opportunity like this, a perfect view of you stripping in the window.

The noises stopped and his movements started again, fisting his cock with a stifled groan as you reached behind your back and undid the clasp; even having seen your tits probably a dozen times by now, his mouth was slack and dry in anticipation of you turning around and letting him see them again.

You teased him for a while longer, messing with your hair and stretching your arms up until he found himself mumbling between panting breaths: c'mon, baby, show me— lemme see, sweetheart, fuck, please...

Sort of like willing a stoplight to turn green, it's obviously not possible but it will work at some point: you turned and faced the window, your eyes shut with a sigh as you started to open your jeans. He had to grip his cock's leaking head tight just then, too overwhelmed with the view of your breasts— he was afraid to come too soon.

He'd never had to hold himself back like this before, never delayed his gratification— because, normally, it's totally antithetical to the point of masturbation. He only ever jerked off for the gratification, and he only ever watched porn to help get there a little faster... but you, you were so much better than porn. The thrill of doing something wrong, the longing of knowing you (if not very well) in real life, the lack of control over you and being, in a sense, at your mercy as you undressed as slow as you wanted... it was all just terribly erotic. And he refused to let himself come until you let him see a little more.

You slid your jeans down your legs and he actually bit his lip, just to muffle his moan. "Yes," he whispered to himself, cock pulsing in his grip as he watched you step out of them, turning around to lay them over your bed— and giving him the perfect view of your ass in those cute cotton panties as you did it. "Fuck," he grunted, twisting his hand over his tip and feeling his hips jerk instinctively— he couldn't think of the last time he was so sensitive. "See what you do to me?" he chuckled to himself— he wished you could see it, but then again, he had his lights off in the room for a reason. All you could see was a dark window, and for now, he preferred to keep it that way.

You laid back on your bed, looking relaxed and contented as you ran your hand down over yourself— fuck, is she about to--?

You slipped your hand into your panties, and he tilted his head back with a heavy sigh, only allowing himself a second to shut his eyes as his balls tightened up, threatening to blow it all right then and there. He'd never actually seen you touch yourself before— though he had seen you take a vibrator out of your bedside drawer and, infuriatingly, go to take a shower where you presumably got to use it with complete privacy. The image in his head had been plenty to get off on that night, but seeing you now as your fingers moved under the thin fabric, your lips opening for what he hoped was a quiet little moan? It was almost too much to bear.

You spread your legs a bit, the angle giving him a hint of a view of what you were doing; he sat up in the chair, leaning to the side a bit, desperate for a better look at how you were touching yourself. Were you just rubbing your clit, or were you going to put a finger or two inside? "Baby," he panted to himself, watching your tits get harder as your hand moved, "baby... y-yeah, just like that, fuck..."

The sight of you playing with yourself was just too beautiful; he had to keep reminding himself to shut his mouth so he wouldn’t make too much noise, but then it would just fall right back open again as you arched your back.  

“Feels good?” he noticed, raking his gaze over every sign of your pleasure.  “Tell me how good it feels…”

He wanted to imagine your voice, then, the way you’d respond to him: feels so good, Cill.  You’d never actually called him that, you always called him Mr. Murphy.  He tried not to acknowledge how much that turned him on, but anyways, he couldn’t conjure your voice in his head anyways.  He hadn’t spoken to you in weeks, not since you’d babysat for him and his wife… he tried not to acknowledge how much that turned him on, either.

Seemingly out of nowhere, you took your hand out of your panties and expanded your cheeks with a big sigh; he knit his eyebrows together, watching you roll over and grab your phone off of the nightstand by your bed.  His sicker side instantly assumed you were going to find some porn to watch, but your lackadaisical attitude about the whole thing made it seem more like you’d had a sudden mid-masturbation urge to check Instagram.  Kids and their phones, he thought to himself, even though you were far from a kid— he was just much, much further from one than you were, is all…

And, this should come as no surprise by now… that turned him on too.  He’d come to be weirdly fascinated by his own perversion, finding it just as shameful as he did sexy.

His phone vibrated on the desk and his screen lit up— he wasn't going to answer it at first, nothing was more important than watching you right now... but then it went off again. He looked at it and back at you, seeing you getting up suddenly and walking around the room... surely you hadn't come already? It certainly didn't look like it.

Even though he couldn't imagine why you'd stopped so abruptly, he figured it was a good opportunity to make sure the messages weren't important. He awkwardly got up and grabbed his phone, feeling a bit strange about walking around with his jeans open and his erection poking out. Unlocking his phone to read whatever was sent, he felt a massive sigh leave his chest as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

He never even saved your number, but he recognized the previous conversation you'd had-- just a few texts back and forth about a little backyard gathering your parents were having, and some question about when you needed to come over to watch the kids, but you usually messaged his wife about that kind of stuff.  But since he’d committed those brief conversations to memory, it took him only a split-second to know it was you— and, obviously, seeing that you'd just texted him, he thought his heart might just stop right then.  He had to blink some blurriness out of his vision to even read them, with how fast the damn thing was beating.

hi mr. murphy.

turn on the lamp on the desk.

He whipped his head around to look back at you, only to find you smiling around a bitten lower lip, staring right into his window.  Fuck.  Fuck!

He set his phone down, not sure what to do— and quickly locking the screen as he realized you’d probably seen the glow of it.  He groaned softly again as he watched you sit down on your bed again, facing directly towards him, those pretty legs spreading nice and slow as your hand moved over your panties again.  Fuck.

He felt like he was in a dream or something as he flipped on the lamp— maybe it was an out of body experience.  If he was out of his own body, he at least knew whose he wanted to get into: he never took his eyes off you as he slowly walked back to his chair, sitting back down in it and meeting your half-lidded gaze as you tossed your phone away and used your free hand to toy with one of your hard nipples.  “Fuck,” he said aloud this time, seeing your eyes trail down to his cock— it was still out, of course, sticking up proudly against the black shirt covering his stomach.  Maybe it was proud, but he was a little bit terrified, his face getting hot as he snatched the throw pillow nearby to cover himself with; he saw you laugh, sighing through his nose dreamily as he wished he could hear the sweet sound of it, and then shake your head with a grin.

You stood up then, turning around and bending over as you ever-so-slowly pulled your panties down, making him purr as he got a thorough look at your bare ass.  You looked too damn good bent over like that— what he would give to stand behind you, pushing your shoulders down with one hand as he gave that cute arse a good spank with the other—

He saw you looking back at him, a proud smirk on your face; “Dirty girl,” he scolded under his breath, watching you stand up straight and sit on the bed again.

Your legs were pressed tightly together, and when he look up to your eyes, he found them focusing on the pillow in his lap; you met his gaze again, a pink tongue darting gently over your lips.  A silent promise: I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.  With the way it made his heart pound and his palms clammy, he felt like a schoolboy all over again.

He grabbed the pillow and slowly moved it away, your legs opening at the same pace in perfect time with it; he groaned through a tight jaw as he stared at your pussy, one of your hands running down to spread the sticky lips even wider for him.  “Fuck,” he moaned, holding onto his cock tightly again as he felt totally helpless to the sight of it, unable to look away.  “So fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbled, starting to stroke himself as you bit your lip again and rubbed your clit with two fingers— the nails still had that baby pink polish, the one he’d watched you paint on a few nights ago.  Why was something as simple as that so sexy?

Your mouth fell open, and your head tilted back; he tried to imagine how you’d sound, your sweet voice a little darker and deeper with pleasure.  You rubbed yourself a little faster, a little harder, and he felt his lips curl into a sneer.

“Good girl, like that,” he panted, “play with it for me.  Play with that cute little cunt— f-fuck, yes—”

You looked at him again, eyes glued to his cock, and he felt it flex in his grip as if it wanted to wave to you; he saw you smile, an oddly sweet smile for something so dirty, and he watched your fingers slide down to your tiny, seeping opening.  He nodded in encouragement, watching your face fall into a shockingly innocent gasp as you slid a finger into yourself.

“Yes, baby,” he moaned, “y-yeah, s’it warm inside, sweetheart?  Bet you’re so fucking tight, baby, I know your pussy is so goddamn tight—”

You pumped the single finger in and out, head falling back for a moment, and he squeezed his cock tight again to try to hold back another close call— he’d feel pretty stupid coming so fast with you watching, but he’d been doing this a lot longer than you had… fuck, how long had you known he was watching you?

Your mouth opened wider as you pushed another finger into yourself, and his hips shifted roughly in the chair, his hand moving faster as he growled.  “Fuck, it’s not enough, is it?” he hissed.  “Two little fingers isn’t enough— you need my cock, fuck, you need my fuckin’ cock— I’d fill you so good, sweetheart, I’d be so fuckin’ deep inside you—”

He was almost bucking up into his own hand now, his whole body suddenly pulsing with energy— it was a good thing you weren’t here now, even if he wanted it more than anything: he would’ve treated you awfully if he could’ve gotten his hands on you, fucking you hard and rough, tossing you around, pinning you down… he needed you so bad, he couldn’t imagine having the patience for anything but one of those nasty, fast, rough, animalistic fucks.  He’d fucking ruin you right now, if he could.

You were rough about it, too— roughly pinching and tugging on your tits, roughly fucking yourself on your fingers… you even pulled your hand out and gave your clit a little smack at one point, and he choked on his loudest moan yet as your body jolted.

“Dirty fucking slut,” he growled, “fuck, come for me.  Please, baby, I need to come, I need to fuckin’ come—”

You were saying something, obviously he couldn’t hear a damn word of it, but the shape of your lips made him pretty damn sure you were chanting over and over: yes, yes, yes—

“Come, baby,” he begged, knowing he couldn’t hold himself back much longer, “let me see— show me how you come, sweetheart, show me that pretty face when you come on your fucking fingers— soak them, honey, come for me—”

You were shaking all over, legs quivering and tits bouncing with the force of it— you pulled your fingers out and he could fucking see it, see that cute little hole flexing, and obviously he was done for pretty much instantly.  He moaned roughly as hot ropes of come painted his shirt, rolled down his shaft and shaking fingers, one drop even finding its way down his balls which was sort of pleasantly ticklish…

You looked so gorgeous coming like that, your hand and pussy all shiny with your arousal, your eyes heavy and your lips swollen from all the biting… he blinked quickly as he tried to catch his breath, letting go of his slowly-softening cock and leaning back into the chair.  You smiled at him; funny how, even now, that could make his heart skip.  He watched you stand up and wiggle your fingers in a cute little wave at him as you approached the window, and his tired smile fell quickly when you reached for the curtains.  “N-no, don’t go,” he pleaded softly, leaning forward as if he could stop you somehow, “please, wait—”

You slid them shut suddenly, and he whined a little as he fell back into the chair, running his (clean) hand over his face as he contemplated what he’d just done.  When his phone vibrated again, he jumped up to grab it, but frowned in disappointment when he saw it was from his wife.  Be home in a few, please come help with the groceries.

He tried to type a quick reply, only to grimace when he realized how filthy his hand was.  He wiped it off on his shirt— but his shirt was filthy, too.  Sighing, he set the phone down and took the whole thing off, balling it up to toss into the hamper, leaving him in just his undershirt.

Going straight back to his phone, he opened the conversation with you, praying to see that little grey bubble pop up or something; he started to type a few times, things like will I see you tomorrow? or come over next time the house is empty, but he always felt like an idiot and ended up erasing it.  He didn’t get a chance to think of a good thing to send before he heard a car pulling up in the driveway.  Shoving the phone in his pocket, he sighed and made his way downstairs, navigating around the pillow fort in the living room to get out the front door.

“Just help me with the bags in the boot, will you?” she asked him, not even looking at him, as she rifled through whatever was in the backseat.  He opened it, sighing as he looked at them.  Nothing like a bunch of brown bags to bring you back to reality.

His eyes widened when he heard his wife say your name, and he poked his head around the car to see you standing there, wearing a zip-up and leggings.  “Good evening, Mrs. Murphy,” you smiled, and he figured he looked like a deer in the headlights— if a deer could hold a paper sack full of pasta and biscuits— as your gaze fell on him.  “Hi, Mr. Murphy.”

He opened his mouth to try to respond, but nothing really came out; “Looks like you’re going for a run,” his wife noticed, saving him for the time being as your attention turned to her again. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “figured I could use some exercise.”

He cleared his throat, just a way to try to fight the lump forming in it, but it unintentionally caused both women to look at him again— once again, he found himself uselessly floundering for a response, and only getting out a soft ‘er’ before you said something.

“Aren’t you cold in just a t-shirt, Mr. Murphy?” you asked him, tilting your head.

“It’s fine,” he choked out, “I was feeling kind of hot anyway.”

You smiled at him, then waved goodbye to his wife as you pushed your earbuds in and continued walking down the street— you were acting so innocent that he started to feel like he’d dreamed up the whole thing.  

She probably saw him staring, watching you jog down the sidewalk, that ass looking terribly familiar covered by the athletic leggings; but she didn’t say anything, only shutting the car boot to get his attention as he finally carried the paper sacks into the house.  "She's sweet, isn't she?" she broke the moment of silence as they walked up the driveway together.

“I-I guess,” he tried to sound as non-committal as possible.

“You don’t think so?” she pressed, apparently noticing his cryptic answer.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “maybe she’s not as sweet as she looks.”