#Conference stage set design

[itendtothinkalot]

in this economy? (part 1)

summary: you needed money. he needed a fake girlfriend. easy deal, right? except he’s your best friend’s boss. and you’re one minor inconvenience away from setting something on fire. he’s cold, rich, emotionally unavailable. you’re loud, broke, and very good at pretending this isn’t slowly turning real.

genre: fluff | fake dating

characters: ceo!heeseung x f! broke ass reader

words: 12k?

warnings: none in this part

a/n: damn didnt know tumblr had a word limit so heres a 2 parter i didnt realise would be a 2 parter

part 2

You were in your final year of college, living what could only be described as the off-brand version of Hannah Montana. Two jobs, endless assignments, zero glam. You had the double life down—student by day, overworked part-timer by night—except instead of rocking out on stage, you were rocking a polyester apron and a mild caffeine addiction.

Despite working like a hamster on an espresso wheel, your bank account stayed somewhere between “embarrassing” and “haunted.” Thanks, student loans. They followed you like an ex who couldn’t take a hint—except this one charged interest and occasionally sent you emails that made your eye twitch.

Still, you powered through. Broke, yes. Sleep-deprived, absolutely. But functioning? Debatable.

Fortunately, your best friend Jake—resident golden boy, and somehow always suspiciously well-rested—had just landed a Big Boy Job. He was now the personal assistant to the Lee Heeseung. Which sounded impressive… you guessed. You wished someone had warned you what a big deal this guy was, but no one did. You didn’t know. You really didn’t.

You were three bites deep into your third roll of bread, barely chewing anymore. It wasn’t about manners—it was about survival. Tuition was due, your rent deadline loomed like a jump scare, and your bank account balance looked like a bad joke.

Jake sat across from you at the glossy conference room table, watching you with an expression that landed somewhere between mild horror and disbelief.

“Slow down,” he said, nudging the breadbasket just out of your reach. “The bread’s not running anywhere.”

You glared at him, a crust still stuck to your bottom lip. “Easy for you to say. You’re not living on instant noodles and silent sobbing.”

He wrinkled his nose. “You literally had coffee and a spoonful of peanut butter for breakfast.”

“Because I couldn't afford a second spoonful.”

Flipping through your notes with one hand and clutching a half-eaten roll with the other, you tried to cram half a semester’s worth of marketing strategy into your already overloaded brain. You were multitasking. Efficient. A legend, if legends were broke and hungry.

Jake looked personally offended. “This is a workplace, you know. There are millionaires walking around here. You’re dropping crumbs on a seven-thousand-dollar chair.”

You paused mid-bite. “Seven what now?”

He tossed you a napkin with the kind of disappointment only a best friend could perfect. “Just—try not to look like a starving Dickens orphan if my boss walks in.”

You frowned. “Your boss?”

And that’s when the air changed—like a cold draft had slinked in through invisible cracks. Jake straightened. The playful glint in his eyes flickered out.

Speak of the devil in designer slacks.

The door creaked open, and in walked the heir to Luxen Technologies: Lee Heeseung.

Cold. Polished. Annoyingly symmetrical.

You promptly choked on your bread.

"That's your... boss?" you asked, staring as the man strolled in like he was walking on a Calvin Klein runway in slow motion, his coat flaring just slightly, hair annoyingly perfect.

Sure, he was good-looking. Objectively. Like, if you had a dollar for every sharp angle on his face, you could maybe afford two spoonfuls of peanut butter.

But you didn’t have time for men. You barely had time for yourself.

Here you were, fully dependent on your best friend and roommate’s snack stash and corporate pantry privileges, inhaling free carbs like your life depended on it—which, honestly, it kind of did. This had become your daily routine: roll out of bed, survive uni, raid Jake’s office for bread and maybe some emotional support tea every morning.

Jake sighed, already bracing for impact like someone who'd lived through this exact scenario too many times. “Look, you have to leave before he comes over and kicks you out.”

You snorted, entirely unbothered, and waved him off like he was being dramatic—which, to be fair, he usually was. Reaching for another roll from the meticulously arranged snack spread (which you were absolutely not supposed to touch), you said breezily, “He wouldn’t do that. Right?”

Jake didn't answer immediately. Instead, he gave you the kind of look reserved for people about to learn something the hard way. “He’s kicked people out for less,” he muttered, casting a wary glance at the growing constellation of crumbs you were generously distributing across the sleek, glass conference table—like you were decorating it for a carb-themed holiday.

Your chewing slowed. “Oh,” you said, mid-bite, hand frozen halfway to your mouth.

Silence.

The kind of silence that prickled.

Something shifted in the air, and you felt it—like animals sensing a predator approaching. You turned your head slowly.

And there he was.

Lee Heeseung. In the flesh. A few steps away and looking like he’d just walked into a crime scene. He was tall, sharp, and immaculately put-together, holding a tablet in one hand like it offended him. His eyes scanned the table, then landed on you—the uninvited guest currently mid-chew, hoarding bread rolls like it was your last meal.

If disapproval had a face, his was it.

Your brain, bless its useless soul, screamed: Run.

Your stomach had other plans: Finish the bread first.

And your hands? They casually reached for two more rolls while maintaining steady eye contact with the most terrifyingly attractive man you’d ever seen.

Honestly, if you were going to get kicked out, you might as well be full.

You glanced at Jake. With as much dignity as one could muster while chewing, you gave a dramatic bow, wiping a suspicious smear of butter off your cheek with the back of your sleeve. “Good day, Mr. Sim. I shall see you again tomorrow. Absolutely lovely businessy chat. So productive. Okay. Bye now.”

Jake snorted. Loudly. But you ignored him, choosing instead to hoist your laptop bag like a makeshift shield, holding it in front of your face in an attempt to avoid the burning scrutiny of one Lee Heeseung. Eye contact was the enemy. Recognition was a death sentence. And above all else: pantry access must be preserved.

If he ever put two and two together—that the very person chewing her way through his conference table like a feral carb-goblin was you—you were done for.

Goodbye, free bread. Goodbye, Jake’s fancy office snacks. Goodbye, dignity… not that there was much left to begin with.

You began edging toward the door, sidestepping like a raccoon caught red-pawed in the middle of a kitchen raid, trying not to look suspicious. Which only made you look so much more suspicious. And to make matters worse, the more you tried to vanish, the longer Heeseung stared.

His eyes followed you with a slow, assessing calm—like a predator trying to decide whether the strange creature in his territory was worth the energy to chase. He didn’t say a word. Just watched. Silently. Intensely. Unreadable.

Probably wondering who let the help in.

“Smooth,” Jake muttered behind his hand, clearly enjoying every second of your descent into awkwardness.

“Shut up,” you hissed, tripping slightly over your own bag strap on your way out, a quiet wheeze of panic slipping from your lips.

You didn’t dare look back until the elevator doors had closed behind you, safely sealing you in a metal box where embarrassment couldn’t reach you. Heart pounding. Mouth dry. Still tasting sourdough.

So that was him, you thought. Jake's boss.

And if he ever figured out who you were? You were screwed.

Meanwhile, back in the war zone formerly known as the conference room, Jake turned back around slowly to face his boss.

Heeseung didn’t look up. He was scrolling through his phone like none of that had just happened. “What time’s my meeting again?” he asked casually, thumb gliding across the screen.

“Three,” Jake replied quickly, slipping back into assistant mode with the smoothness of someone who really needed to keep his job. “Then another one at five with the UX development team. They’re presenting the wearable AI prototype.”

Heeseung gave a brief nod, still scrolling.

There was a beat of silence. Jake almost allowed himself to exhale.

And then—“Who was the girl?”

Jake blinked. “Girl?”

Now Heeseung did look up. One perfectly shaped eyebrow lifted just a fraction. “The one eating the bread like it owed her money.”

Jake choked. “She's just...she's my friend.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes, the phrase clearly not satisfying. “Your friend. In my conference room. During working hours. Helping herself to my carbs.”

“To be fair,” Jake offered, voice cracking like a freshman in choir, “they’re technically Luxen’s carbs. Also, you don’t even eat the bread—”

“She wiped her mouth with her sleeve,” Heeseung said, looking deeply betrayed. “Do people do that?”

Jake had no idea if he was supposed to laugh, apologize, or call security on your behalf.

“She’s harmless,” he said quickly. “You won’t even see her again. I think."

Heeseung hummed, a noncommittal sound that somehow said everything. His gaze drifted back to his phone.

But Jake caught it.

A flicker at the corner of Heeseung’s mouth—so quick it almost didn’t happen.

Not irritation. Not disapproval.

Curiosity.

Almost.

—

Heeseung sighed.

It wasn’t that he hated his life. Far from it, actually.

He liked working. Loved it, even. There was something deeply satisfying about losing himself in spreadsheets, contracts, and a calendar so tightly packed it could give a scheduler heartburn. He was good at it—no, great at it. The kind of great that turned heads in boardrooms. The kind of great that earned nods of respect from executives twice his age. Even his notoriously competitive older brother and stone-faced father begrudgingly acknowledged his brilliance when it came to the company.

They weren’t jealous of his success—not exactly. Just… quietly resentful that their grandfather, the patriarch of the empire, seemed to have written Lee Heeseung in bold letters at the top of every metaphorical will, wish list, and family legacy blueprint. Heeseung was the golden boy. The prodigy. The one who could do no wrong.

Well—except in matters of the heart.

His grandfather, a man of steel nerves and silk pocket squares, had one tragic flaw: he was a hopeless romantic. The handwritten-letters, crying-during-Hallmark-movies, “Love conquers all” kind. Back in his youth, he had famously eloped with Heeseung’s grandmother after her parents forbade the match. It was the tale he recited at every family dinner like a dramatic bedtime story, wine glass in hand, pausing for emphasis with misty eyes and unnecessary violin music playing in everyone’s heads.

Now, he’d made it his personal mission to marry off every last descendant like he was casting a period drama.

And naturally, he took particular offense to Heeseung—the youngest, most accomplished, and most emotionally unavailable—refusing to so much as glance at romance. Not a flicker. Not a whisper. Not even the vague interest of someone who knew love existed in the same universe.

So imagine Heeseung’s horror when, despite all logic, he found himself distracted. Haunted, even. By the mental image of some girl with a mouthful of carbs, an unapologetic sleeve-wipe, and crumbs on her cheek like a personal brand.

Utterly ridiculous.

Infuriating, even.

There were precisely three things Lee Heeseung could not abide during work hours:

Unexpected visitors.

Long-winded conversations.

Family.

So, naturally, all three arrived in one dramatic flourish when the office doors slammed open with the subtlety of a wrecking ball wearing designer shoes.

“Seung!”

Heeseung didn’t glance up. He didn’t need to. That voice had the energy of a Broadway debut and the volume to match.

“Why is he here?” Heeseung asked flatly.

Jake froze mid-sip of his iced Americano, nearly choking on the absurdity of being blamed for something he had very clearly tried to prevent. “I told him not to—he didn’t even call—”

Heeseung finally looked up, just in time to watch the hurricane make landfall.

Grandpa Lee swept into the room like he still ran the place, all charisma and cologne, his cane purely decorative and his expression full of self-satisfaction. Former CEO. Founder of Luxen Technologies. Current full-time menace to his grandson’s blood pressure.

“Grandpa,” Heeseung said through clenched teeth, voice just shy of a groan. “You can’t keep barging in here every time you have a thought.”

“Of course I can,” the old man said cheerfully, already heading for the plush chair across from Heeseung’s desk. “It’s my building. My company. My bloodline. And also, you left Sunday dinner early, again, so I brought the discussion to you.”

Jake slowly sank into his seat, doing a decent impression of a man attempting to fuse with office furniture. He opened his laptop, not to work, but to pretend like he was somewhere—anywhere—else.

Across the room, Heeseung dragged a hand down his face, the weariness in his expression not from deadlines or meetings but from the familial storm that had just rolled in, all bluster and dramatic flair.

It wasn’t that Heeseung didn’t love his grandfather. He did. Deeply. He’d grown up listening to Grandpa Lee’s stories—some romantic, some insane, all borderline exaggerated. He loved the old man’s fire, his flair for theatrics, his unwavering belief in love.

But the thing was, Heeseung didn’t believe in love. At least not for himself.

Love happened, sure. It was cute in theory. Like puppies. Or those couples who held hands in grocery store aisles. But for Heeseung? The concept belonged in other people’s lives. He had things to build. A company to run. An empire to uphold. There wasn’t room in his carefully scheduled, emotionally vacuum-sealed world for candlelit dinners and grand declarations.

“Seung,” Grandpa Lee began, already digging into the contacts on his ancient phone like he was summoning a spell. “One of the kids—from—uh—SunTech, I think. His granddaughter—”

“Not interested,” Heeseung groaned, dragging his chair out and dropping into it like a man preparing for battle. He turned on his computer and focused all his energy on his Google Calendar, as if the overlapping blocks of color could protect him from whatever matchmaking scheme was brewing.

“She’s your age,” Grandpa insisted, swiping through what looked like a very poorly lit photo. “Exceptionally bright. Lovely eyes. Probably fertile—”

“I don’t care,” Heeseung said, without even blinking.

Grandpa Lee scoffed so hard, Jake briefly checked the air conditioning to make sure it wasn’t just the vents.

“Jake, my boy,” the old man thundered, turning to Jake with the dramatic flourish of a stage actor mid-soliloquy, “you best prepare an umbrella for tonight. The ancestors are going to cry from how rude my grandson is.”

Jake coughed behind his hand, clearly losing the battle not to laugh.

“Rude?” Heeseung repeated, eyes still fixed on his screen. “Didn’t you run away from your family to marry Grandma?”

“She was the love of my life,” Grandpa snapped, puffing out his chest like he was about to monologue about moonlight and destiny. Again.

“And didn’t you yell something along the lines of—what was it?” Heeseung pretended to think for a beat, then smirked. “Oh right. ‘Kiss my ass.’”

Grandpa Lee’s face wrinkled into an affronted frown. “You little—!”

He stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor, cane in one hand like he was about to duel.

Jake peeked up from behind his laptop, eyes wide, mildly alarmed.

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, looking irritatingly calm. “Just saying, if rebellion for love was good enough for you, maybe rebellion against love is good enough for me.”

“You’re twisting my legacy, you arrogant little–” Grandpa snapped.

Heeseung let out a long-suffering sigh. “I love you, Grandpa,” he said, not without sincerity, “I really do. But I don’t think—”

Whack.

The cane came down with expert precision, connecting with the top of Heeseung’s head before he could finish the sentence.

“Ow—! What the hell?! Grandpa!” Heeseung hissed in pain, one hand flying up to his hair as he recoiled in disbelief.

“That,” Grandpa Lee said, lowering his cane with the pride of a seasoned warrior, “was for being stupid. I may be old, but I’m not senile.”

Jake, valiantly trying to remain neutral, let out a sound that could only be described as a muffled snort, quickly masked behind his coffee cup. He was, unfortunately, enjoying this far more than his employee handbook allowed.

“You assaulted me,” Heeseung muttered, rubbing his scalp and glaring at the very man who used to tuck him in with bedtime stories about elopements and destiny.

“That wasn’t assault,” Grandpa countered, straightening his lapels. “That was discipline. You’re welcome.”

“You could’ve said something.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Jake quietly slid a packet of ice from the mini fridge toward Heeseung’s desk like a peace offering. Heeseung took it with a scowl, pressing it to his head as Grandpa settled back into the chair he had so dramatically abandoned.

“I’m not saying fall in love today,” Grandpa continued, voice a touch gentler now. “But open your eyes. One day, someone is going to walk into your life—and she won’t give a damn about your meetings or your title or your five-year plan. She’ll probably be a disaster. A whirlwind. And exactly what you need.”

Heeseung stared at him, unimpressed. “You’ve been watching those stupid dramas again, haven’t you?”

“I like them,” Grandpa sniffed, unbothered. “They speak to the soul. And unlike you, they have range. Emotional range."

Jake lost the battle with his laughter, letting it escape in a quiet wheeze.

Heeseung gave him a sharp look. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Not at all,” Jake said, already typing something into his notes app with far too much amusement. “Should I call Legal and ask about emotional damages from relatives?”

“Call a therapist while you’re at it,” Heeseung muttered.

Grandpa Lee stood again, “I’m not cancelling the date with SunTech’s granddaughter,” he announced, as if this declaration were final, written in stone, sealed by the ancestors themselves.

Heeseung groaned, already feeling the migraine bloom behind his eyes. “Grandpa. Cancel it. I’m not sitting around awkwardly sipping tea with some random girl—”

“Not random. SunTech’s granddaughter,” Grandpa corrected, his tone haughty, as though the corporate pedigree alone should be enough to send Heeseung into a frenzy of romantic interest.

“You don’t even know her name.”

“It’s something to do with the sun,” Grandpa said, waving a dismissive hand. “Sunny? Sunrise? Sunhwa? Something celestial. The details aren’t important.”

“Oh, I think they are,” Heeseung deadpanned.

“Seung.” His grandfather’s voice softened with a rare touch of sincerity. “Please. Just one date. One.”

Heeseung hesitated. Not because he was considering it, but because he was trying—desperately—to find a way out that didn’t involve disappointing the man who once taught him how to drive and also how to spot a bad merger.

“I can’t,” he said finally.

“And why not?”

Heeseung opened his mouth, then closed it. Thought. Thought harder. Came up with absolutely nothing. His brain was a clean whiteboard where excuses usually lived, but today, apparently, they’d taken the morning off.

He glanced at Jake. Still in his chair. Still sipping his iced Americano. Still laughing silently behind his laptop like this was a free improv show with catered snacks.

“Because…?” Grandpa prompted, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Jake?” Heeseung said, turning toward his assistant like a man clinging to the edge of a lifeboat.

Jake blinked. The sip of coffee in his mouth stalled somewhere in his throat.

Oh, no. Oh, no no no.

Heeseung’s eyes screamed Help me. Jake’s brain screamed Why do I work here. But somewhere between panic and pity, an idea emerged—terrible, reckless, and unquestionably effective.

Jake cleared his throat. “Because,” he said slowly, “Mr. Lee already… has a girlfriend.”

The room went still.

Utterly, impossibly still.

Heeseung blinked once. “I what.”

Grandpa Lee's gaze sharpened like a hawk spotting prey. “You what?”

Jake could feel the weight of both their stares, but he pressed on, fully embracing the reckless commitment of a man now in far too deep.

“Yes,” he nodded, his voice unnaturally bright. “He has a girlfriend. Very real. Extremely non-fictional. You just haven’t met her yet.”

Heeseung turned to him slowly, his face a portrait of stunned betrayal. “Jake.”

Jake gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Go with it.”

Grandpa folded his arms, skeptical. “And why haven’t I met this girlfriend?”

Jake hesitated for only half a second—just long enough for his brain to spin a web of half-truths and whole lies. “Well, it’s still new. They only started seeing each other last month. And Heeseung’s, you know…” He looked at his boss meaningfully. “Shy.”

Heeseung let out a sound that could only be described as internal screaming.

“Shy?” Grandpa repeated, eyebrows raised like the concept was foreign.

Jake nodded solemnly. “Very reserved when it comes to feelings. Doesn’t like to share until he’s sure. That’s why he hasn’t said anything. It’s still early, and he’s trying not to mess it up.”

For a moment, Grandpa said nothing.

Just stood there, his sharp eyes narrowing, gears visibly turning behind them like he was piecing together a very juicy puzzle.

Then—“It’s that… Bread Girl, isn’t it?”

Heeseung blinked. “Bread girl?”

The name rang a bell. Faintly. Something Grandpa had muttered earlier about a chaotic woman who’d been assaulting his company’s carb inventory with reckless abandon. Right. Jake’s friend. The one who'd been in his conference room. The one who chewed like it was a competitive sport and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

Jake’s eyes widened in alarm. “You… you saw her?”

“She knocked into me on her way out of the conference room just now,” Grandpa said, nostrils flaring like he was reliving the moment. “Nearly knocked my cane out of my hand. I was ready to launch into a full lecture on manners and public decency—until I saw the amount of bread she had crammed in her arms.”

He smiled, clearly delighted. “That’s when I knew. She wasn’t being rude. She was just in love. Hungry and in love. My favorite combination.” And without further warning, he pulled Heeseung into a firm, proud hug. “Keeping my granddaughter-in-law well-fed. That’s my boy.”

Heeseung stood there like a mannequin in a hostage scenario, arms limp at his sides, staring over Grandpa’s shoulder with wide, blinking disbelief. His gaze locked on Jake, who looked dangerously close to either exploding with laughter or faking his own death.

Was he going to throw his best friend under the bus?

Apparently, yes.

“Yep,” Jake said with a helpless shrug. “That’s her.”

Heeseung opened his mouth to protest—but then paused. The wheels in his brain, previously stuck in panic mode, began to turn. Slowly, reluctantly, but undeniably. There was an idea forming. A stupid, dangerous, possibly reputation-ruining idea.

But it might just work.

“She’s… shy,” Jake added, already spinning the web a little further, clearly hoping Heeseung would not kill him in his sleep later. “Which is why she hasn’t been introduced yet. It’s still… new.”

Grandpa pulled back just enough to give Heeseung a squint of suspicion. “New?”

Heeseung hesitated.

And then, with the kind of sigh one gives right before jumping off a metaphorical cliff, he nodded. “Yeah. We, uh… only started seeing each other last month.”

“She’s still adjusting,” Heeseung continued, falling into the role with the grim acceptance of a man who’d rather fake a relationship than go on another one of Grandpa’s curated matchmaking setups. “Not really used to… all this.”

“All this?” Grandpa gestured around the office.

“The… CEO thing,” Heeseung said, waving vaguely. “The attention. The—uh—pressure. You know how it is.”

Grandpa narrowed his eyes further, scrutinizing his grandson with the intensity of a man deciding whether to believe a magician or demand to see what’s up his sleeve.

Finally, after a beat of silence: “So you’re saying the girl who wiped her face with her sleeve in your conference room... is your girlfriend.”

Heeseung nodded once. “Yes?"

Grandpa considered. Then smiled. “Well, damn. That explains the crumbs.”

Heeseung exhaled slowly, like he’d just avoided death by PowerPoint. “So you’ll cancel the SunTech date now?”

Grandpa chuckled, already heading toward the door. “Of course, of course. I would never interfere in true love. But now that I know she’s real…” He paused dramatically at the door. “I expect to meet her properly next week. Bring her to dinner. No excuses. And tell her to bring an appetite. There will be baguettes.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence.

Then Jake leaned forward, voice dry and just the right amount of judgmental. “You do realize what you just did, right?”

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, groaning as he pinched the bridge of his nose like he could physically squeeze the consequences out of existence. “Jake… I’m gonna need your friend’s phone number.”

Jake stared at him. Blinking. Processing.

“She’s going to kill me,” he muttered.

—-

You were halfway up the street, your backpack tugging at your shoulder and your feet dragging after a long day, when someone came jogging toward you from the bus stop.

“Hey! Hey hey—!” Jake’s voice rang out, breathless but chipper, his hand waving like he was flagging down a taxi.

You squinted at him. “Why are you running like I owe you money?”

He didn’t bother answering. Just grinned—way too wide, way too bright—and looped his arm through yours, tugging you along.

“I brought you dinner,” he announced, tone suspiciously light.

You stopped walking, brows pinched. “What?”

Jake held up a plastic bag in front of your face with exaggerated pride. The aroma hit you first, warm and familiar. You peeked inside.

Your eyes widened. “Is this—Sue’s? As in the good roast chicken?”

“With the chili oil packets,” Jake said smugly, clearly pleased with himself.

“You went all the way across town?” you asked, mouth falling open as you cradled the bag like it was gold.

He nodded, almost bouncing. “And there’s more.”

You narrowed your eyes. “More?”

“I ordered your bubble tea too. It should be here any minute.”

You gasped, hand flying to your chest. “Taro oat milk with brown sugar pearls?”

Jake mimicked a solemn oath, placing a hand over his heart. “Taro oat milk. Brown sugar pearls. No ice. Less sweet. Just how you like it.”

Your face lit up immediately. “You’re my favorite person. EVER!”

“I know,” he said, leaning into you with an overly sweet smile. “Just remember...that I love you. I love you. Deeply. Eternally. Unconditionally.”

You snorted, nudging him away with your elbow. “Okay, drama queen.”

But then he paused. His voice dipped just slightly, soft but steady. “I’m serious. I love you.”

You froze for a second.

Your smile faltered.

There was something off in his tone—too sincere, too heavy for a roast chicken and bubble tea run. You turned to look at him properly.

“Jake,” you said carefully.

He straightened, schooling his face into something resembling innocence. “Yeah?”

Your eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

Jake blinked, feigning confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You only say ‘I love you’ like that when something’s wrong. It’s your guilty voice. So what is it? Did you clog the sink again? Spill something on the couch? Sign me up for something I didn’t agree to?”

His laugh came out high-pitched and thin. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Jake.”

“It’s not bad,” he said quickly, holding up both hands.

“Oh my God,” you groaned. “What did you do?”

“It’s not illegal,” he added, stepping back slightly as you took a slow, threatening step forward.

“Jake.”

He held out the roast chicken bag like a shield. “Eat first. Yell later.”

You snatched the bag but kept your gaze locked on him, lips pressed into a flat line. “Talk.”

He scratched the back of his neck, clearly stalling, eyes darting around like he was hoping a car would hit him and end the conversation.

—

The door to your shared apartment swung open with a slam, and you stormed in like a woman possessed.

Jake had barely made it through the front door before you launched yourself at him like a sleep-deprived hurricane.

“YOU—YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE—”

“Wait—WAIT—THE CHICKEN—!” he squeaked, still trying to kick his shoes off as you flailed your arms with righteous fury.

You were half-thrashing, half-swatting at him with the plastic bag still clutched in your hand, the scent of roasted garlic and chili oil trailing behind every slap. Jake yelped, stumbling backward as he grabbed the nearest couch cushion to shield himself.

“IT’S FIVE HUNDRED PER DATE!” he shrieked. “WHY ARE YOU YELLING—”

“I’M YELLING BECAUSE YOU SOLD ME LIKE I'M SOMETHING YOU CAN BUY FROM THE STORE!” you cried, swinging the chicken like it owed you rent.

Right then, Jungwon’s bedroom door flew open with a bang. His hair was sticking up in all directions, eyes wide with panic, an oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder like it had lost the will to live.

“WHAT’S GOING ON?” he demanded, voice still hoarse with sleep. “Is someone dying?!”

“HES A FUCKING IDIOT, THAT’S WHAT’S GOING ON!” you shouted, jabbing a finger at Jake like a prosecutor presenting Exhibit A.

From behind the couch cushion, Jake winced. “Okay, I understand that you're mad."

Jungwon blinked, processing. “Dude, what the hell did you do?"

"HE WANTS ME TO FAKE DATE HIS BOSS!” you screamed again, nearly vibrating with rage.

Jake raised a finger. “For money,” he added helpfully, as if that made the entire situation perfectly reasonable.

Jungwon stood there for a beat, then tilted his head. “...Is the boss hot?”

The entire room fell into silence.

You turned to Jake slowly, brows lifting. “Wait. Is the boss hot?”

Jake’s grin spread, lazy and far too pleased with himself. “You tell me. You met him.”

Your brain stuttered. Froze. Replayed the memory of a tall man in a dark suit, judging you with cold eyes while you stuffed your face with carbs like a gremlin.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, dropping onto the couch like gravity had finally won. “You’re all insane.”

Jungwon wandered over and sat beside you, already reaching for the plastic bag. “I’m just here for the roast chicken,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Can someone pass me a leg?”

Jake, still crouched like a man dodging emotional bullets, gently placed the bag on the coffee table like it was a sacred offering. Then he looked over at you, head tilted, eyes wide and hopeful.

“So,” he said softly, “can I explain now? No hitting this time?”

You stared at him.

He grinned anyway.

And unfortunately for him, he was still within arm’s reach.

—

You sat on the couch like a judge ready to deliver a life sentence, arms crossed so tightly your shoulders were starting to cramp. The look on your face could’ve wilted houseplants. Jake, for once in his life, had the good sense to sit on the floor at a safe distance, hands folded on the coffee table like he was about to pitch a startup you were morally opposed to.

Jungwon sat cross-legged between you, gnawing on a chicken leg and swiveling his head left and right like a referee at a very dramatic tennis match.

“So,” Jake began carefully, voice high and overly gentle, “first of all, I just want to say that I love and appreciate you—”

“No,” you cut in, eyes locked on him. “Start with the part where you volunteered me—your best friend, your roommate, your tragically broke companion in poverty—to pretend to date Lee Heeseung. The CEO. The multi-billionaire. Your boss.”

Jake opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again.

Jungwon, through a mouthful of chicken, offered, “That guy’s scarier than my thesis supervisor. And mine once made someone cry over a missing footnote.”

“THANK YOU!” you shouted, pointing at Jake like you were about to sentence him to community service.

Jake threw his hands up. “Okay, okay, yes, I panicked! Grandpa Lee was in the office, demanding to know why Heeseung was single, and I didn’t know what to say! So your name just—came out!”

“Like a demon leaving your body?” you snapped.

Jake pointed a finger at you. “Also, this is kind of your fault!”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“HE SAID YOU BUMPED INTO HIM!” Jake practically shouted, voice cracking. “And he saw, like, four bread rolls in your arms!”

“It was three!” you yelled, scandalized.

Jake flailed. “Okay, THREE! Doesn’t change the fact that Grandpa Lee saw you, assumed you were stealing company bread, and decided obviously you and Heeseung were secretly dating.”

You stared at him. “In what world does that even make sense—”

“SO THIS IS YOUR FAULT!” Jake yelled dramatically, pointing like you’d been caught on a crime scene.

You gaped. “I didn’t know the old man I bumped into was Heeseung’s grandfather! How is that my fault?!”

“I don’t know!” Jake shouted back. “But somehow it is!”

Jungwon raised a hand without looking up. “To be fair, you did look suspicious carrying that much bread.”

“I WAS HUNGRY!” you barked.

Jake groaned. “Look, I didn’t plan this, okay? It happened. It’s done. And now we just need to go along with it for a few fake dates—three, four tops—and we’re good.”

You glared. “This is literally fraud.”

Jake held up a finger. “This is capitalism—and you get paid. Five hundred per date.”

You opened your mouth to yell again—then paused.

Because five hundred… times four…

Your gaze dropped to the roast chicken on the table, suspiciously thoughtful.

Jake leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “You’re doing the math.”

“No.”

“You are.”

Jungwon didn’t miss a beat. “Two grand.”

“Shut up,” you and Jake snapped in unison.

You sagged into the couch like the weight of student loans had finally won. “He’s not even going to like me.”

Jake tilted his head. “He already noticed you. Asked about the girl who ‘wiped her mouth with her sleeve like she was raised in the wild.’”

Jungwon snorted so hard he nearly choked.

You exhaled, long and slow. “...Fine.”

Jake’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“But if this backfires,” you said, pointing a chicken drumstick at him with all the gravitas of a loaded weapon, “I’m shitting in your room.”

Jake didn’t even blink. “That’s fair.”

Jungwon nodded solemnly. “Reasonable terms.”

—

As Heeseung always said—often, and with great pride—he wasn’t the relationship type.

Too much work. Too much noise. Too many unnecessary emotions clogging up the schedule.

People around him dated like it was a seasonal hobby. Fell in love in spring, broke up by fall, recycled the whole cycle again by winter. But for Heeseung? It had never been appealing. He didn’t need anyone. He liked being alone. He thrived alone.

He was an expert at sidestepping dating scandals. A pro at slipping out of flirty conversations with a well-timed smile and a conveniently urgent phone call. He could survive dinner parties full of “When are you getting married?” aunties without so much as a twitch in his left eye.

Composed. Controlled. Untouchable.

Until now.

Now, he was sitting in his office—his very sleek, very expensive office—surrounded by floor-to-ceiling glass, watching the Seoul skyline stretch out like a smug reminder that his life was supposed to be pristine.

And it was. Mostly.

His suit was charcoal grey, custom-tailored. His coffee, bitter and scalding, sat in its perfectly symmetrical spot on the table. His hair, of course, was slicked back with enough precision to win a military medal. Everything in his life was polished.

Everything… except this one absurd detail.

He exhaled slowly.

Jake.

Jake and his chronically reckless mouth.

This wasn’t the usual “Oops, I told the intern you’d review their pitch” kind of trouble.

This was “Oops, I told my grandpa you’re dating a girl you don’t know, and now she’s coming to a meeting at 2:30” kind of trouble.

Heeseung had handled high-stakes mergers. He’d stared down stone-faced investors and charmed half a dozen billionaires before lunch. But now? Now he was apparently in a fake relationship.

And paying for it.

Five hundred dollars per date.

He wasn’t sure which part offended him more—the relationship, or the invoice.

Jake had made it sound like she was some half-wild creature who pillaged the office pantry and vanished into the wind. Which… wasn't entirely inaccurate. But what Jake didn’t know—and what Heeseung would rather jump out the boardroom window than admit—was that he had noticed her.

Actually, he’d remembered her quite clearly.

Big eyes. Crumbs on her cheek. Confidence like she owned the place, despite clearly not belonging there. She’d looked him dead in the eye with a mouthful of bread and the pure, unbothered energy of someone who’d never been told “no” in her life. Honestly? It was a little bit impressive.

And yes. Fine. Maybe she was cute.

Not that it mattered.

Because Heeseung didn’t do feelings. He didn’t get involved. He didn’t believe in all that heart-fluttering, stars-aligning nonsense.

Cute or not, this wasn’t going to turn into anything.

It was just a favor. A fake setup. A temporary solution to a very loud grandfather.

That was all.

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and breathed through his growing irritation. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to perform feelings. He didn’t want to drink overpriced coffee with some girl pretending to be his girlfriend so his matchmaking grandfather could sleep peacefully at night.

A quick glance at his watch: 2:27 p.m.

—

You were pinching Jake’s side like your entire financial future depended on it.

“Ow!” he yelped for the third time, swatting at your hand. “Okay, I need those ribs!”

You didn’t care.

You were terrified.

No—beyond terrified. Every synonym in the English language applied. Petrified, horrified, on-the-verge-of-spontaneous-combustion. Your heart was trying to launch itself into space. Your soul was threatening to exit your body via sheer panic.

“Breathe,” Jake said gently, trying to peel your claw-like grip off his hoodie. “You’re gonna be fine. You look amazing. Honestly, if you weren’t my best friend, I would've totally tried to kiss you by now.”

“You’re not helping, Jaeyun,” you hissed, teeth clenched, eyes wide and manic like you’d just seen the end of civilization.

“Right, sorry,” he said quickly—still grinning, because Jake had zero fear of death, apparently.

You glanced at your watch.

2:25.

Ten minutes until showtime.

Your heart was doing Olympic-level gymnastics. Your stomach was performing Cirque du Soleil. Your brain was stuck on a loop of elevator music and “what if” scenarios.

You looked ahead—at the sleek, modern glass door of Heeseung’s office. Too clean. Too intimidating. Too expensive-looking. Even the potted plants screamed, You don’t belong here.

The panic hit like a freight train.

Without thinking, you grabbed Jake’s arm and yanked him back, nearly slamming both of you into a very offended-looking potted plant near the elevator.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, voice shaking, hands clammy. “I cannot do this.”

Jake blinked. “Whoa—okay. Deep breath. You can do this. You’re just nervous.”

“Nervous is messing up a group project. This is like—I don’t know—faking a relationship with a corporate cyborg while praying I don’t end up blacklisted from every job ever.”

Jake made a soothing gesture. “He’s just a guy. A guy in a very expensive suit with the social skills of a brick and a caffeine addiction that’s borderline medical.”

You let out a half-sob. “Jake, what if I say something weird? What if I trip? What if he hates me on sight and then cancels the whole thing and somehow calls my school and gets me expelled just for existing—”

“Hey.” Jake grabbed your shoulders, firm but gentle. “Look at me.”

You did. Barely.

“You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re gorgeous. You’re the only person I trust with this because you’re the only one who could handle him. Even when he’s acting like some emotionally stunted AI in a suit.”

You sniffed. “I hate you.”

Jake smiled, soft and annoyingly sincere. “Love you too. Now breathe, princess.”

You inhaled. Exhaled.

Inhaled again. Slower.

It helped. Barely. But it helped.

Jake stepped back and nudged you gently toward the glass doors. “Go in there. Pretend you like him. Pretend you’re not thinking about chicken. Smile. Look mysterious. Say something deep like, ‘I don’t really believe in love.’ He’ll be confused. That’s how you win.”

A dry laugh escaped you—half squirrel, half dying engine. But still. A laugh.

Your watch blinked again.

2:28.

Showtime.

You straightened your shoulders, fixed your expression into something halfway pleasant, and took a step forward.

Let the corporate fake dating games begin.

—-

Heeseung sat alone in his office, posture perfect, fingers wrapped loosely around a coffee cup. His suit was sharp, pressed so crisply it practically gleamed. His expression, as always, unreadable.

Except for the slight crease in his brow.

Because she was late.

He glanced at his watch.

2:31.

Not catastrophic. But still. He didn’t like being made to wait. Especially not by someone he was paying.

He exhaled quietly, sipped his coffee, and shifted his gaze to the window—

—just in time to watch a girl crash headfirst into the glass office door.

He blinked.

There was a muffled thud, followed by a dramatic, “OW, MY FACE!” and Jake’s voice yelling, “OH MY GOD, ARE YOU OKAY?!”

The girl stumbled back, one hand pressed to her forehead, the other still valiantly clutching a bubble tea with a bent straw and a leaking lid. Her dress was cute, her hair a little windswept, and her face was lit up in full, blazing embarrassment.

Heeseung stared.

“This is your fault,” she snapped at Jake, rubbing the growing red mark on her forehead.

“If you hadn’t roped me into this, I wouldn’t have walked straight into your invisible death door.”

Jake gasped, wounded. “My fault?! Are you blind?! The door wasn’t even moving!”

“I was panicking! I thought you were going to shove me through it like a sacrificial lamb!”

“You were already walking!”

“You said, ‘smile and act normal’ right before I hit it. What part of that was helpful?!”

“You looked cute! Until, you know… the impact.”

Inside the office, Heeseung remained still. Coffee in hand. Silent. Watching.

Through the glass, their chaotic little argument carried on without shame. You were waving your hands in frustration; Jake was holding your elbow with exaggerated concern, both exasperated and wildly entertained.

It was loud. Messy. Unprofessional.

It was… oddly funny.

A faint tug pulled at the corner of Heeseung’s mouth before he even noticed it.

Not quite a laugh. Not quite a smirk.

Just… the suggestion of something warm.

Jake finally spotted him and started waving like a man trying to signal an aircraft.

“Let’s go already! He hates tardiness.”

You turned.

Your eyes met Heeseung’s through the glass—annoyed, wide-eyed, bubble tea still clutched like a fallen soldier in one hand.

Heeseung raised his coffee in silent acknowledgment.

And nodded.

You swallowed. “Great,” you muttered. “He saw all of that, didn’t he?”

“Every second,” Jake said cheerfully.

You groaned and took a cautious step forward. Jake placed a hand on your back and gently—but undeniably—shoved you through the door like you were an offering to royalty.

He guided you across the room like a handler walking a nervous show dog.

“Mr. Lee,” Jake said smoothly, already shifting into his polished Assistant Mode. “This is my friend.”

Heeseung didn’t respond right away. His gaze remained fixed on his coffee mug, fingers tapping lightly along the rim like it was conducting an orchestra only he could hear.

You stood stiffly in front of him, hands clasped like you were about to deliver a public apology. Jake stood beside you with the smug energy of a man watching chaos unfold exactly as he planned.

Finally, Heeseung looked up.

His eyes moved from Jake to you.

To your forehead.

Back to your eyes.

“…You’re late,” he said flatly.

You blinked. “It’s 2:32.”

“Yes,” Heeseung replied. “Which is not 2:30. Like we originally planned.”

Your jaw twitched. “Psycho,” you muttered, just loud enough for a small god to hear.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

You straightened. “Sorry. I meant… yes, I know. Won’t happen again.”

Jake nudged your side and whispered, “Off to a strong start.”

—

The past five minutes were the longest of your life.

You stared at your feet. Then your thumbs. Then the floor again, like something might appear to save you. A trapdoor, maybe. Or the sweet embrace of the earth swallowing you whole.

Heeseung, meanwhile, had been staring at you. The entire time.

Not speaking. Not blinking. Just… watching.

Jake sat between you like a silent referee, sipping his coffee with the energy of someone watching a sitcom he’d accidentally created.

It was weird. Weird. Weird. Unbearably weird.

Finally, mercifully, Heeseung cleared his throat. The sound cut through the silence like a scalpel.

“I prepared a contract,” he said, voice calm. Businesslike. As if you weren’t about two minutes away from passing out in his office.

You blinked. “A contract? For something as—” you stopped, but it was too late—“as stupid as this?”

There was a pause.

Heeseung’s brow lifted. Just slightly. “Stupid?”

You froze. Your mouth opened. Nothing helpful came out.

“I didn’t mean—it’s not—I’M stupid,” you blurted, clapping your hands over your face. “That’s what I meant. I’m stupid. Please ignore everything I say for the next ten years.”

Jake choked on his drink.

You kept your face buried in your palms, wondering if anyone in the building would trade places with you. Janitor? Security guard? Plant in the corner?

Heeseung said nothing. For a long second.

Then, very dryly: “Good to know.”

You groaned.

Jake leaned over, voice low and unhelpfully cheerful. “You’re doing great.”

“Mr. Lee has written up a draft of the contract,” Jake said, slipping into full assistant mode, posture straight, tone clipped and professional.

You squinted at him. “Ew. Why are you talking like that?”

Jake glanced at you, then back at Heeseung with a sigh. “I’m working, you idiot,” he muttered under his breath.

“Oh. Right.” You scratched your neck, sheepish. “Forgot.”

Across the table, Heeseung bit his bottom lip—subtly, quickly—but it didn’t go unnoticed. His gaze lingered on you, and for the first time since you walked into the room, something shifted. His eyes didn’t look annoyed anymore.

Amused, maybe. Just slightly.

Dangerously close to smiling.

Jake cleared his throat, snapping back to task. “In the contract,” he continued, “you’ll find a breakdown of the terms—including Mr. Lee’s expectations, your responsibilities as his… companion—” he winced a little at the word “companion,” “—and a list of things you’re explicitly not allowed to do.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Like what? Wear Crocs in public?”

Jake didn’t miss a beat. “Actually, yes. Clause six.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”

Heeseung finally spoke, smooth and unbothered. “I don’t joke about footwear.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

Jake leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee again like he was watching live theatre.

“Okay… and what else?” you asked, trying—and failing—to sound chill.

Jake cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “Clause five…Physical…”

Heeseung looked up, expectant. “Yes?”

Jake made a face like he was already regretting his entire existence. “Do I… have to explain it?”

“Yes,” Heeseung said calmly, without even looking up from the contract. “It’s in the terms.”

You squinted at him. “Terms? What is this, fake dating or joining the military?”

Jake pressed on. “Physical contact. Mr. Lee has stated that there should be… none. Or at least not without clear, mutual agreement. No uninvited touching. No sudden… anything. Basically—don’t grope the CEO.”

You choked. “What?! I wasn’t—Why would—That wasn’t even on the table—”

Jake raised both hands. “I’m just reading the clause!”

Your face went red. Hot. Instantly.

You turned to Heeseung, eyes wide. “Not that I was planning to touch you or anything! Like, why would I—Not that you’re—okay, you are technically—”

You made a sound that wasn't even a word and slapped a hand over your own mouth.

Jake let out a slow, gleeful exhale. “This is so much better than I imagined.”

You groaned and sank lower in your seat. “I hate it here.”

Heeseung, annoyingly composed, glanced up at you. His expression unreadable… but his lips twitched. Barely.

You swore he was enjoying this.

You had been in the office for an hour.

One full hour.

Sixty minutes of your life you were never getting back, spent listening to Jake read through a contract like a local news anchor trying to make tax reform sound exciting.

“…Clause twelve: Should the second party—meaning you—be asked to attend any corporate function, you will refrain from referring to the first party—meaning Mr. Lee—as ‘my sugar daddy,’ even in jest.”

You blinked. “That… needed to be clarified?”

Jake didn’t look up. “You’d be surprised.”

You slowly slid further down in your seat, gripping your bubble tea like it was the last tether to your sanity. Your legs had gone numb. Your dignity had long since packed its bags and fled the room. And the worst part?

You still had to sign this thing.

All this—for a whopping two grand.

Across the table, Heeseung was unmoved. He hadn’t spoken in the last twenty minutes, just sipped his now-cold coffee and occasionally made a small note in the margins like he was preparing for a stockholders’ meeting instead of a fake relationship.

Jake flipped the page. “Clause thirteen…”

You groaned. “There are thirteen?”

Jake looked up. “We’re only halfway through.”

You dropped your head to the table.

This was your life now.

—

You had officially entered hour two of your Fake Dating Orientation.

Jake, your overly enthusiastic best friend and traitor to your dignity, was seated across from you like a talk show host who’d been waiting all day for the drama. He’d already gone through the entire contract. Twice. And now, unfortunately, it was time for the “chemistry test.”

“We’re going to do a little practice,” he announced, clasping his hands together. “Let’s see how well you two can sell this.”

You blinked. “Sell what, exactly?”

Jake beamed. “That you’re in love, of course.”

You visibly recoiled. “Oh god.”

Heeseung, seated beside you, didn’t say anything, but his entire body tensed like he’d just been told he had to perform on a game show. His fingers gripped the armrest, jaw tight.

You glanced at him.

He glanced at you.

Then you both looked in opposite directions so fast it would’ve given a chiropractor whiplash.

Jake leaned forward, utterly enjoying himself. “Okay. Pretend you’re on a casual third date. You’re into each other. You’re comfortable. There’s hand-holding. Eye contact. Smiles. Soft laughter. Possibly some light touching of the knee if you're really ambitious.”

You turned your head just enough to catch Heeseung already looking your way. Your eyes met. Instantly, you looked back at the floor.

Your cheeks were burning.

So were his ears.

Jake let out the loudest, most exaggerated sigh in human history. “You two haven’t even held hands yet.”

“I don’t—this is ridiculous. I don’t need acting lessons,” Heeseung muttered, running a hand through his hair in mild frustration, clearly more flustered than he was willing to admit.

“Clearly you do,” you mumbled under your breath.

He turned his head slowly. “Your face is flushed.”

You raised a brow. “Your ears are red.”

That shut him up.

For a second, the two of you just stared at each other. Not blinking. Not smiling. Like two cats waiting to see who flinched first.

Then you both sneered. Simultaneously.

Jake, watching from the corner of the room like a director overseeing a painfully awkward indie film, clapped once. “Amazing. So natural. This is going great. Really convincing chemistry.”

You and Heeseung didn’t look away from each other.

He raised an eyebrow like this was some kind of silent battle.

You narrowed your eyes in return, mouth twitching.

Jake clapped his hands together like a game show host about to announce the bonus round. “Alright. Let’s take it out there.”

You squinted at him. “Out where? Hell?”

Jake ignored the comment. “The office. The hallway. The real world. You two need a test run.”

Heeseung exhaled through his nose. “This is stupid.”

Jake raised a brow. “Should I just go ahead and reschedule that SunTech date, then? I’m sure she’d love a Thursday dinner.”

Heeseung shot him a look. “You’re forgetting you work for me.”

Jake smiled sweetly. “And you’re forgetting you need me to fix this mess.”

You, meanwhile, were sprawled on the couch like an exhausted Victorian heroine. “I’m bored.”

Jake turned, hands on hips. “You’re getting paid five hundred dollars per date to fake-date a CEO. Try to look alive.”

“Fine,” you groaned, hauling yourself up. “Let’s get this over with. What exactly do you want us to do? Gaze longingly into each other’s souls and whisper sweet nothings about fiscal responsibility?”

Heeseung rolled his eyes. “She’s really dramatic.”

“And you’re really uptight,” you shot back.

Jake clapped again, delighted. “Perfect. Just like a real couple.”

You both glared at him.

“Okay,” Jake continued, stepping into director mode. “Stage one: casual physical affection. We’re going for subtle intimacy. Nothing over-the-top. Just enough to make people go, ‘Hmm. They might be sleeping together.’”

Heeseung nearly choked on air.

You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

Jake gestured between you like a choreographer. “Heeseung, arm around her waist. And you, try not to look like you’re being taken hostage.”

Heeseung looked vaguely alarmed. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Jake said cheerfully. “Like you’ve touched another human being before. Preferably without looking like it’s a tax audit.”

There was a long pause.

Then, reluctantly, Heeseung stepped closer. His hand hovered awkwardly near your waist like it had never been introduced to the concept of touch.

You raised your eyebrows. “You’re not disarming a bomb.”

He cleared his throat. “You’re… shorter than I thought.”

“I’m wearing flats.”

“Still. Noted.”

Jake watched with glee as Heeseung finally, finally placed his hand on your waist—so lightly it was barely there. You tensed anyway. Because apparently your nervous system hadn’t signed off on this level of contact.

Jake turned to you. “And you, sweetheart, try not to smile like you’re being held at gunpoint.”

You bared your teeth in what could only generously be described as a grimace.

Heeseung glanced at you. “That’s your fake dating face?”

“It’s a work in progress.”

“You look like you’re about to offer me life insurance.”

You sighed. “Okay, let’s not pretend you’re Mr. Suave. You touched me like I’m made of porcelain and trauma.”

“I didn’t want to overstep.”

Jake, now leaning on the doorway like a proud parent at a talent show, was positively glowing. “This is amazing. I should be charging admission.”

You groaned. “Are we done yet?”

“Almost,” Jake said, eyes twinkling. “Now walk out there. Just a quick lap around the office. Arm around her waist. Maybe whisper something flirty if you’re feeling bold. Bonus points if someone drops their coffee.”

You turned to Heeseung, who looked like he’d rather be hit by a bus.

He glanced back at you.

You both exhaled.

And in perfect, miserable unison, you muttered, “Let’s just get this over with.”

—-

At the entrance of Heeseung’s office, Jake had—because of course he did—another brilliant idea.

“Let’s try a… scenario,” he’d said, eyes gleaming like he’d just discovered a new form of social torture. “Something romantic. Circumstantial. Like you just got caught in a moment. You know, one of those ‘oh, didn’t see you there, just happened to be holding each other and laughing softly’ kind of deals.”

You and Heeseung stared at him in silence.

Jake pointed to the glass wall just beside the door. “Over there. That’s your stage.”

So now, here you were—pressed awkwardly to the side of the office entrance, standing shoulder to shoulder with Lee Heeseung, the human embodiment of a luxury watch ad.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

“I’m gonna be completely honest,” you whispered, glancing up at him. “I forgot the plan.”

He looked down at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “There shouldn’t be a plan.”

You frowned. “What?”

“This kind of thing,” he said, voice lower now, thoughtful, “should be natural. If we rehearse every little move, it’ll look fake.”

You didn’t respond right away.

Because honestly?

You had no idea how to make it look real.

You’d never been on a fake date before.

Actually, you’d never even been on a real date.

You’d spent your entire life chasing deadlines, side gigs, tuition payments, and discount ramen packs—love had never exactly made it into the schedule. Flirting was an optional elective you never had time to take. The closest you’d ever gotten to romantic tension was arguing with a vending machine.

And now here you were. Being gently stared at by a man with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and eyes like he was actually trying to understand you. You had half a mind to pull the fire alarm and flee.

Instead, you cleared your throat and said, “Right. Natural. Got it. So should I just… laugh at nothing? Flip my hair and pretend you said something charming?”

Heeseung smirked—actually smirked—and looked away. “You’re really bad at this.”

“I’m trying,” you hissed.

“I can tell.”

You gave him a sharp look. “Well, you’re not exactly oozing romance either, Mr. Emotionally Constipated.”

He huffed a small laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “Do you always insult the people you fake date?”

“Just the ones who critique my performance before the show starts.”

He glanced back at you then, gaze lingering a bit longer this time. “You’re nervous.”

You stiffened. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re fidgeting.”

“No, I’m—”

“You keep tapping your fingers.”

You looked down. Your hand was, in fact, tapping against your thigh like it was performing a solo.

“…It’s called rhythm,” you muttered.

Heeseung just gave you a look.

And for a moment, just a moment, the tension shifted. Slightly softer. Slightly less unbearable.

Heeseung exhaled slowly and said, almost reluctantly, “Let’s just… be still for a second. Pretend we’re mid-conversation. Look relaxed.”

You nodded.

Neither of you moved.

From inside the office, Jake was pressed dramatically against the glass, holding his phone up like he was filming a nature documentary.

You both ignored him.

Mostly.

Then, quietly, Heeseung said, “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

You blinked. “What, pretend to be someone’s fake girlfriend?”

He didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow.

You hesitated. Then sighed. “I’ve never been any kind of girlfriend.”

Heeseung looked at you.

Not judgmental. Not surprised.

Just… quiet.

And for the first time, you wished this moment wasn’t fake. Just for a second.

Then Jake knocked on the glass like a proud zookeeper.

“THAT LOOKS AMAZING!” he yelled. “Now do a forehead touch!”

You turned back to Heeseung, mortified.

“Don’t,” you warned.

Heeseung nodded. “Absolutely not.”

But when he looked at you again, his ears were pink. And this time, yours were too.

—-

The next few days were absolutely unhinged.

When Jake told you Heeseung was meticulous, you thought he meant the occasional Google Calendar reminder. What he actually meant was: this man plans your fake relationship like it’s a Fortune 500 company launch.

From Monday to Friday, he had everything scheduled down to the minute.

Monday

"Coffee shop. 2 p.m. Look approachable."

Those were his exact words. Not cute. Not casual. Approachable. Like you were a storefront. You showed up early—naturally—and promptly spilled oat milk across the table trying to jab your straw into your cup. It exploded like a dairy crime scene.

Heeseung just stared at you. Then slid a napkin across the table, deadpan. You muttered, “You're welcome for the entertainment.”

You made fun of his black coffee. “You drink it like a bitter old man who’s lost faith in humanity.”

He looked at your lavender oat milk iced monstrosity. “And your drink choices are one of a six-year-old’s.” 

You laughed. 

He didn’t.

But his eyes softened. Just a little.

Tuesday

PR strategy, according to Jake: “Be seen. Look adorable. Pretend you like each other.”

You: showed up in his office.

Also you: immediately raided the pantry and stole three muffins.

Heeseung watched from his desk. Said nothing. Pretended to type very seriously while clearly watching you.

You plopped down on his couch, opened your laptop, and made very dramatic “working” noises.

At one point, your laptop screen dimmed. Before you could even react, he walked over silently and plugged in your charger.

You blinked. “Oh. Thanks.” He just shrugged and returned to his desk. But you caught it. The ghost of a smile as he sat down. Like he was trying not to like you. Failing, obviously.



Wednesday

You accompanied him to a fake business lunch.

There were women in designer outfits, expensive perfume clouding the air, and stiletto heels you were sure doubled as weapons. They looked at you like you’d crawled out from under the table.You sat there in an old blouse your mom gave you, heart thumping in your chest, suddenly hyper-aware of the ketchup stain you thought you removed.

You fidgeted. Overthought. Considered hiding under the table.

Then Heeseung leaned in, so close his breath grazed your ear. “You’re doing fine.” That was it. Just those words.

And you didn’t remember a single thing after that. You just nodded and smiled and let those three words replay in your head like a calming song.

Later, in the car, you kicked off your heels like they’d personally betrayed you. He raised an eyebrow.

“A little dramatic, no?”

“I’ve suffered,” you whined.

 He handed you a water bottle and rolled the windows down.

 “You’re welcome,” he said.

 You rested your feet on the dash. Caught him looking at you at a red light.

 He looked away too fast. Suspiciously fast.

Thursday

You brought takeout to his office, unannounced.

He looked up when you entered, blinking like you’d just done something absurd. “You brought food?”

“Yes. Humans eat. Shocking, I know.”

You sat on the floor beside his desk. He joined you. In a full suit. Cross-legged like a model student, tie undone, sleeves rolled to his forearms. You offered him a dumpling. He took it. No hesitation.

 You grinned. “Isn’t it so good?”

He chewed. “Greasy.”

“But good?”

He hesitated. “If I say yes, will you stop bothering me?”

“No.”

“Then yes.”

You pretended not to notice the way his eyes lingered on your face longer than they needed to.

Friday

You were late. By five minutes.

He texted: “Late.”

You texted back: “Cry about it.”

He didn’t reply.

You arrived out of breath, annoyed, hair windswept and bag hanging off one shoulder like you’d run a marathon to get there.

He just handed you a drink. Your favorite.

Didn’t say anything. Didn’t look smug. Just passed it to you with one hand and opened the door to a rooftop garden with the other. Of course he had a rooftop garden. Because he was secretly the male lead of a tragic romantic comedy and you were starting to hate how well the role fit.

You sat on the bench beside him, knees brushing under the table. “You’re so serious all the time,” you said, teasing. “Do you even know how to smile?” He scoffed. 

“Do you even know how to tell a joke?”

 “Excuse me—I am hilarious.”

 “You’re… something.”

—-

You lay in bed, burrito-wrapped in your blanket, one arm tucked under your head and the other dramatically thrown across your eyes like a Victorian ghost overcome by mild emotional instability.

Your ceiling stared back at you like it knew.

And unfortunately, your brain did that thing it loved to do: play a full highlight reel of the past week.

It had been five days.

Five fake dates.

You were getting paid five hundred dollars per day to pretend to like Lee Heeseung.

That was the deal. The entire deal. Nothing more, nothing less.

And honestly? Not a bad one. Amazing hourly rate. Low stakes. You just had to hang out with a man who looked like a luxury perfume ad and acted like a spreadsheet given life.

You could do that.

You had survived retail during Christmas and three years of sharing a bathroom with Jungwon.

And yet… somehow, you were the one spiraling.

Because Heeseung wasn’t awful.

Actually—he was kind of…

Nice.

Underneath the sleek suits and emotionally stunted persona, he was… oddly considerate. The kind of guy who noticed when your laptop was dying and plugged it in without comment. Who remembered your coffee order after one chaotic spill. Who didn’t flinch when you shoved dumplings into his mouth like a sleepover buddy instead of a business partner.

And okay, fine. He was also really easy on the eyes.

With his annoyingly sharp jawline and those lips that were probably illegal in several countries. And the way his tie loosened around his neck by Thursday, and how he laughed—actually laughed—at your dumb joke on Friday.

You groaned and rolled onto your stomach, burying your face into your pillow.

“Nope. No. Absolutely not.”

You barely knew him. You’d been fake-dating for a week. You didn’t even know what kind of music he liked. For all you knew, he could be a hardcore jazz saxophone guy. Or worse—he liked podcasts about finance.

This wasn’t real. You were faking it.

Professionally.

And still…

You wondered what it would feel like to hold his hand with no one watching. No “scene” to pull off. No Grandpa to impress. Just… you. And him. And the quiet weight of something unsaid.

You wondered—horrifyingly—what it would feel like to kiss him.

Just once.

Just to see.

You smacked your forehead. “I need therapy.”

The worst part? It wasn’t even entirely about Heeseung.

You were realizing, in a slow, sinking kind of way, that your romantic life was… embarrassing.

Jake, your best friend-slash-chaos goblin, didn’t count. Jungwon, your honorary brother, sure as hell didn’t count. And your last date had been someone who said “let’s split the bill” and then left you with it.

You hadn’t been around someone kissable in a long time.

And now you were being paid to fake-date someone who might actually ruin your life if you let him.

You groaned into your mattress again.

At this rate, you were going to fall for your fake boyfriend before your first paycheck cleared.

—

Heeseung was not sleeping.

It was after midnight. The city outside was quiet. His entire house was dark.

And all he could think about… was you.

Which made no sense.

You had shown up in his life like a whirlwind. Unpredictable. Loud. Crumb-covered. You drank rainbow-colored lattes and wiped your mouth on your sleeve and called his contract “stupid” without blinking.

But you’d also fed him dumplings on the office floor—the office floor—which he’d never sat on in his life. But then you’d whined, kicked your feet like a brat, and said, “Just join me. Or are you too much of a rich bitch to?”

And that was all it took for Lee Heeseung—the picture of corporate perfection—to sit beside you, cross-legged, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You’d teased him until he smiled without realizing. You’d let your legs rest on the dashboard and talked about nothing like it mattered. And you hadn’t cared who he was. Not the CEO. Not the heir. Just… Heeseung.

He exhaled, staring at the ceiling with all the enthusiasm of a man confronting his own emotional shortcomings.

Was he really catching feelings after five “fake” dates?

Apparently, yes.

Which was alarming.

He had spent his entire adult life navigating business galas and high-end blind dates with elegant, polished women. The kind who wore heels taller than his emotional range. He knew how to charm. How to play the part.

And yet none of them had ever stuck.

None of them made his hands twitch when they leaned in.

None of them made him smile like an idiot when they were five minutes late.

But you?

You with your loud opinions and easy laughter and tendency to steal muffins like they were currency?

You were dangerous.

And you were fake.

A fake girlfriend, in a fake arrangement, for a fake relationship.

And yet here he was—imagining what your hand might feel like in his. What your laugh might sound like in his apartment, in the morning, when you were still sleepy.

Heeseung groaned and dragged a hand down his face.

This wasn’t good.

He was supposed to be managing this. Keeping things professional. Keeping his head clear.

Instead, he was lying awake at 1:34 a.m., thinking about your smile and the way your voice got all soft when you called him out for being too serious.

God help him.

He was catching feelings.

And he was completely, utterly screwed.

part 2

[platonicaxaxe]

Deathtrap & Bob ⁴

Bob Reynolds (sentry) x Ex Assassin Reader

Summary: Anxious Blonde Bob trains with Deathtrap

The Bob(sentry) Masterlist here

Inside the sleek, high-ceilinged Avengers Tower, the atmosphere buzzed with frantic energy. Assistants in headsets weaved between bustling makeup artists, hair stylists, and suit technicians. Tables were stacked with press kits, bottled water, and neatly folded cue cards. Camera crews were setting up tripods while lighting specialists adjusted panels to ensure every hero would sparkle—literally.

In the center of it all stood Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, heels clicking furiously on the floor as she barked into a comm tablet.

“Chop-chop, people!” she called out, not even glancing up. “We need this press conference to prove that the new Avengers aren’t just here for PR fluff and action-figure deals.”

She spun around dramatically, eyes locking on Mel, one of her top assistants who was holding a clipboard like it was a shield. “This is for the people, Mel. Real heroes. Real impact. Got it?”

Mel hesitated. “Yeah, but don’t you think—”

“Just do what I say, Mel,” Valentina cut her off with a raised finger. “Send the invites. Confirm the press. Go. Run. Now.”

Mel scurried off like his shoes were on fire.

Valentina turned on her heel, surveying her team of so-called heroes now being prepped like runway models in a high-stakes fashion show. Each one stood under a halo of spotlight and scrutiny.

Bucky was having his new vibranium arm polished to a near mirror-shine. It gleamed cold and lethal, a sharp contrast to the bored expression on his face.

Ava Starr stood a few feet away in her newly reinforced Ghost suit, her eyes narrowed in discomfort as someone fussed with the fabric on her shoulders. “Don’t touch the stabilizers,” she warned a stylist with a glare.

Across the room, Red Guardian grinned like a kid on his birthday, striking heroic poses every time a photographer passed by. “Tell them to get my good side! Actually, never mind—I only have good sides,” he boomed.

Yelena sat slouched in a makeup chair, arms crossed and lips pursed, dodging mascara like it was a projectile. “Why do I need blush? I don’t blush, I bleed.”

John Walker adjusted his shield, which still had a dent that made it look vaguely taco-shaped despite endless repair attempts. “This thing’s a design choice now,” he muttered defensively.

Then, there was Bob.

Standing awkwardly in the middle of the chaos in his usual green knit sweater and baggy brown square pants, he stuck out like a kindergartener on a field trip. His hands were deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched, and a quiet look of worry on his face.

Valentina approached him slowly, folding her arms. “Honey… are you really going to wear that to the press conference?”

Bob looked down at his outfit. “I-I thought it was… comfy.”

“You look like you’re about to pitch a tent at a national park, not represent Earth’s Mightiest Heroes,” she sighed. “Go. Suit up. You know which one.”

Moments later, the double doors to the conference hall opened.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

A wall of camera lights hit them like a storm.

And then, he appeared.

Bob stepped out onto the stage, now fully transformed into his Sentry persona. The gold and navy suit clung perfectly to his tall frame, the golden “S” emblem gleaming beneath the chandeliers. His hair—freshly dyed and styled by three very exhausted stylists—glowed under the lights.

He still looked a bit nervous, though. His lips twitched slightly and his eyes kept scanning the crowd like he was searching for a familiar face to anchor him.

Valentina leaned toward him, whispering behind her smile. “You look like a god. Own it, sweetheart.”

Bob swallowed. “I-I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“That’s just anxiety,” Val said smoothly. “Or fame. Maybe both. Either way, smile. You’re not in Kansas anymore.”

As the reporters raised their microphones and the questions began to pour in, Bob took a deep breath and straightened his back.

Somewhere in the sea of blinding flashes and murmured voices, someone shouted:

“Who’s the guy in gold?!”

“That’s Sentry,” someone else whispered. “He’s the most powerful one. And the shyest.”

Bob’s lips quirked into a soft, unsure smile.

And in the crowd, Valentina smirked with satisfaction. Her Thunderbolts weren’t perfect—but they were about to make headlines.

The conference lights had dimmed, the applause had died, and the cameras had finally stopped flashing. But inside Bob Reynolds, the storm was only beginning to churn.

Backstage, Valentina paced like a general preparing for war. The team—still half in costume, half in post-event exhaustion—gathered in the sleek conference room behind the press hall.

"Alright," she said, voice sharp. "We’ve got momentum now. This is when we strike. First mission briefing, now—"

But Bob was gone.

He’d quietly slipped away the moment the press conference ended, his heart pounding too loudly to hear anything else. His footsteps echoed against the sterile tile floor as he pushed open the bathroom door and rushed inside.

He gripped the edge of the sink tightly, eyes locked on his reflection.

Blonde hair. Pale face. Sweaty brow.

The suit was gone—replaced by his familiar sweater and brown pants—but the image still didn’t feel like him. The Sentry lingered in his eyes. The power he tried so hard to contain hummed beneath his skin like a distant warning bell.

He took a shaky breath and reached for his phone.

I'm coming over, I hope you don't mind.

He hit send and stared at the screen.

No reply.

“She probably left it on silent…” he mumbled to himself, trying to reassure his spiraling thoughts. “She always does…”

He couldn’t wait. He needed to see her.

Bob left the bathroom, brushing past a pair of security guards and entering the hallway. Valentina spotted him immediately through the meeting room glass.

“Robert! Hey! Robert!” she called after him, voice laced with authority.

He didn’t stop.

Yelena stood up, intercepting Val’s advance. “Let him go.”

Val blinked, surprised. “What?”

“He’s overwhelmed. He needs her. She… grounds him,” Yelena said plainly, arms folded. “You try stopping him now, you’ll have bigger problems than a PR stunt.”

Valentina hesitated, then exhaled and waved her hand in surrender. “Fine. But if he misses this mission, you answer to the board.”

Outside, Bob moved with unusual determination. The noise of the city wrapped around him—honking cars, distant chatter, the subway rumbling beneath the sidewalk.

He stopped briefly by a familiar fruit stand and placed a few bills on the counter.

“Two apples, please,” he said quietly.

The vendor looked up, startled by the seriousness in his tone. “Sure thing, friend.”

Bob took the apples and slipped them into his backpack. His fingers brushed against his blankey inside—his little anchor—and he zipped the bag closed.

As he turned the corner, he didn’t notice the large figure stepping in his path until it was too late.

Bump.

Bob stumbled slightly. The apples rolled inside his bag.

“You again?” came a voice—gravelly, mocking.

It was him. The same tattooed thug who tried to jump him weeks ago.

Bob didn’t flinch.

He stepped around him without a word.

“Oh, so now you’re too good to apologize?” the man sneered. “Wearing your golden cape today, little hero? Or are you still hiding behind your girlfriend’s fists?”

Bob’s jaw clenched. Something cold stirred inside him—not fear. Not Void. Just… power.

He turned slowly.

“I’m not looking for a fight,” he said quietly. “Just let me go.”

“Too late for that.”

The thug shoved him hard, sending Bob skidding across the pavement.

But Bob didn’t fall.

He stopped himself mid-slide, feet dragging like anchors, and when he stood upright, there was a flicker of gold in his eyes.

The streetlights around them dimmed slightly, reacting to the subtle shift in his energy.

The thug lunged, fist cocked—but before it could land, Bob raised a glowing hand.

Wham!

A golden shockwave burst from his palm, not violent—but powerful enough to knock the man back several feet into a stack of crates. The air rippled like heat waves on concrete.

The man groaned, slumped over.

Bob took a deep breath, lowering his hand slowly. Sparks of energy danced around his fingertips before fading.

No Void. No darkness. Just control.

The people on the sidewalk gasped, some backing away, others pulling out phones—but Bob didn’t stay.

He turned and walked, his stride faster now. He was still buzzing inside, but he kept his emotions in check. He needed to get to her. To Yn.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, the Sentry whispered—not in threat, but as a presence.

You’re stronger than you think, Bob.

And this time, he believed it.

Without hesitation, Bob ran to the nearest alley and looked up to the sky. His heart was pounding, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He didn’t think—he just leapt.

This time... please.

Bob focused, summoning every ounce of energy, every fragment of control he had over the Sentry within. His eyes glowed faint gold, and the wind rushed around him as his feet slowly left the ground.

He flew.

Wobbly at first, unbalanced—but he was in the air, really flying.

For the first time.

His wide eyes filled with tears, and a smile cracked on his face before—

Boom!

He crashed down outside Yn’s cabin, right into the tall grass beside the porch with a loud thud and an ungraceful roll.

Inside the cabin, Yn dropped the mug of tea she had just poured. Her eyes widened, and she rushed outside barefoot.

“Bob!?” she shouted, spotting his hunched figure crawling out of the tall grass.

“I was… I was gonna surprise you,” he muttered, dazed, blinking up at her.

“I was about to get ready to pick you up,” she said, crouching beside him, voice filled with concern. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He gave a weak nod, and she quickly helped him up. He leaned on her, wincing a bit, and she guided him inside the warm, rustic cabin.

The inside smelled faintly of cinnamon and pine. The fireplace flickered low. She led him to her bed and sat him down, gently brushing dirt from his cheek.

Bob’s hands trembled as he held his knees, breathing shaky. His chest heaved—like he had been holding it all in since the press conference.

“I-I feel so—”

But the words caught in his throat. His lip quivered.

Yn didn’t wait.

She wrapped her arms around him, gently laying him down onto the bed with her, holding him as if to keep the world from falling apart around him.

“It’s okay,” she whispered softly. “Let it out. Let it all out. We’ll talk when you can, hm?”

And that was all it took.

Bob’s walls collapsed. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he buried his face into her shoulder. His fingers clutched her hoodie like a lifeline.

“I-I tried to be what they needed… what she wanted… the hair, the suit— I couldn’t breathe. I just wanted to come here. I-I needed—”

“Shh…” she whispered, fingers gently running through his hair. “You don’t have to explain right now. You’re here. You’re safe.”

Minutes passed.

The only sound in the cabin was the crackle of the fire and Bob’s quiet sobs, slowly fading into deeper breaths as he relaxed in her arms.

They lay like that for a long while, no words needed.

Because in that small cabin outside the city, wrapped in each other’s arms, Bob Reynolds could finally fall apart—and somehow feel whole at the same time.

“Hey,” Yn said softly, brushing her fingers against Bob’s hand. “Let’s go for a walk, hm?”

Bob looked up at her, eyes a little puffy but calm now. He nodded.

They both stood, Yn grabbing a soft hoodie to throw over her shoulders while Bob tugged at the sleeves of his familiar green sweater. The cabin door creaked open as they stepped outside into the crisp night air.

It was quiet—beautifully so. The moon cast silver glows through the trees, and the woods whispered with the rustle of leaves in the gentle wind. Crickets hummed softly beneath the blanket of stars.

"You know what I do when I get overwhelmed?" Yn asked, walking ahead slightly, letting her fingertips glide over the low-hanging pine needles.

Bob chuckled, catching up beside her. “You go to the music shop and pretend not to see me awkwardly stalking the vinyl section?”

Yn laughed and gave him a playful nudge with her shoulder. “Okay, that too,” she admitted, “but I meant this. Right here.”

She stopped and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of moss and pine.

“I walk here. I listen. I breathe. I let nature remind me that the world doesn’t expect me to be perfect. It just expects me to exist. And sometimes… that’s enough.”

Bob looked around, letting the quiet seep into his bones. It was so different from the constant buzz of New York, the flashing lights, the pressure of headlines and eyes.

“That sounds… peaceful,” he said.

“It is,” she nodded. “And maybe it’ll help you too.”

Bob looked down at his feet for a moment, his voice almost a whisper. “Well, Bucky did advise me to take walks... said it helped with his own thoughts. I tried, but—” he gave a soft sigh—“not sure it ever worked.”

“Probably because your walks were in the busy, noisy streets of New York while, y’know, stalking me from behind hotdog carts,” she teased with a grin.

His cheeks flushed instantly as he scratched the back of his neck. “I-I wasn’t stalking, I was… observing… from a respectful… twenty feet.”

She giggled and gently slipped her hand into his. Bob blinked but didn’t pull away. His fingers trembled a little, but then he tightened the hold.

Yn slowed her pace. “Bob… I know it’s not easy. You carry something huge inside you. Something that scares you. But you’re still trying to be good. Still trying to be you. And I think that’s… incredibly brave.”

Bob swallowed thickly, heart thudding in his chest. “You don’t think I’m… too broken?”

She stopped, turned to him, and reached up to touch his cheek. “No. I think you’re healing. And healing people? They don’t scare me.”

His lips parted slightly, eyes searching hers for any trace of doubt—but there was none.

They stood in the silence for a while, under moonlight and the rustle of wind through trees. The kind of silence that spoke louder than any words.

Then Yn whispered, “You’re safe here, Bob. With me. Always.”

He nodded, blinking back a shimmer of emotion. “Thanks, Yn… for letting me be the quiet version of me. The one who doesn’t always have to be glowing.”

She smiled. “That version? He’s my favorite.”

They walked a little deeper into the woods, where the trees gave way to a small clearing drenched in moonlight. The air was still, thick with pine and possibility.

Yn turned to Bob with a small smile, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie. “Well, since we’re here… just nature, no noise, no eyes—why don’t we see what the Sentry can do?”

Bob blinked, nervous. “Wh-what, here? Now?”

“Why not?” she shrugged, taking a step back to give him space. “No pressure. Just you, me… and the moonlight.”

“I-I don’t know if I can really—control it all yet.”

“I’ll be right here,” she said gently. “You’re not alone in it.”

He hesitated for a moment, heart hammering in his chest. But Yn’s calm gaze grounded him. So he took a breath and closed his eyes.

The air shimmered faintly as golden light began to trace around his body—soft at first, then brighter. His sweater fluttered lightly as the energy rose, swirling around him like a sentient breeze.

“Okay…” Yn said softly, stepping in like a coach. “Let’s start small. Try levitating, like you did outside my cabin.”

Bob furrowed his brow and slowly rose a foot off the ground, arms out like a nervous airplane. His face tightened with focus, feet wobbling mid-air.

“You’re doing great!” Yn said, hands cupped around her mouth. “But maybe don’t look like you’re constipated.”

“Th-this takes concentration!” Bob said through gritted teeth, wobbling in the air.

Yn giggled. “Breathe, Bob. You’re glowing like a sun—don’t let it burn you.”

He exhaled slowly. The wobble eased. He floated smoothly now, golden aura pulsing like a heartbeat. Then, slowly, he lowered himself back to the ground.

“Okay, okay,” he said, panting slightly. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“You did amazing,” Yn grinned. “Now… let’s try strength.”

She led him toward a fallen log the size of a minivan. “Think you can lift that?”

“I-I mean… maybe?” Bob blinked.

“You’re a powerhouse, Bob. Come on.”

He rolled up his sleeves awkwardly—then realized he was glowing again and didn't need to—and placed his hands under the log. With a breath and a grunt, he lifted it slowly, golden light threading through his arms like molten wires.

The log rose into the air.

He looked up, wide-eyed. “I—I’m doing it!”

“Now toss it.”

“What?!”

“Toss it! Gently!”

He flung it, more out of panic than grace, and the log tumbled like a spinning coin before crashing into a pile of leaves, bursting into splinters.

Bob flinched. “Oops.”

Yn clapped. “Ten out of ten for dramatic effect.”

Bob chuckled, running a glowing hand through his now-blond hair. “I still feel… unbalanced. Like it’s not me doing it.”

“You’re not a machine, Bob. You’re learning. And every time you try, you take back a little more control.”

She stepped closer and placed a hand on his chest, over where his heart beat, fast but steady.

“You’re not the power. You’re the person who chooses how to use it. And that’s what makes you strong.”

He looked down at her, eyes shimmering gold now. “You really believe that?”

She smiled. “I believe in you.”

He took her hand, holding it like a lifeline.

“Then maybe… just maybe, I can believe in me too.”

The training slowly fizzled into laughter. After a couple more power stunts—and one accidental tree getting split in half—they finally collapsed onto the soft grass in the clearing, breathless and flushed from both the exertion and the joy.

Bob lay flat on his back, the golden shimmer from his earlier stunts still faintly dancing around his fingertips. Yn curled up beside him, her head nestled gently in the crook of his arm.

The moonlight dappled through the branches above them, stars beginning to wink awake in the purple-stained sky. A light breeze passed, rustling the leaves and brushing against their skin like nature’s lullaby.

They were both giggling softly, the kind of laughter that bubbles up after adrenaline and comfort collide.

“You know,” Yn said between breaths, turning slightly so she could look up at him, “you look good blonde, by the way.”

Bob turned beet red. “I—I do?”

“Yeah,” she grinned, nudging his side with her elbow. “You look like a golden retriever who just got promoted to god-tier.”

Bob chuckled awkwardly, hiding his face with his free hand. “I wasn’t sure. I thought I looked like… like a banana with anxiety.”

“Well, now you’re my favorite banana,” she teased.

He laughed harder, a real, full laugh that crinkled his eyes and made his chest shake. “Th-that’s the weirdest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

She shrugged, resting her cheek against his arm again. “We’re weird people.”

They fell into a warm silence after that. Bob slowly turned his head to look at her, her hair haloed by the moonlight, eyes half-lidded in peace.

“Hey, Yn?” he said softly.

“Hmm?”

“I think… this is the first time I’ve felt safe. Like… really safe. Since everything changed.”

She looked up at him again, her hand gently finding his. “Then that means we’re doing something right.”

Bob held onto her words like a blanket, wrapping himself in them.

And beneath the quiet woods and glittering sky, the Sentry didn’t feel like a weapon.

He just felt… human.

“I know what we’re going to do tomorrow,” Yn said with a spark in her eyes.

Bob looked at her, resting his cheek on her shoulder, slightly out of breath from their laughter. “What is it?”

She smirked, tapping the tip of his nose. “You’ll see.”

Morning dew clung to the grass like tiny stars as they jogged through the forest path behind Yn’s cabin. The air was crisp, the world still wrapped in the serenity of sunrise. Birds chirped overhead while soft beams of golden light filtered through the trees.

Bob kept pace beside Yn, a little clumsy but doing his best. His blonde hair was pulled back slightly by a band she’d given him, and his old green hoodie bounced with each step. Despite the peaceful setting, he was already panting. “Y-you said this was a jog, not a sprint.”

Yn just laughed, not even winded. “We’re almost there, loverboy.”

They rounded a bend and emerged at a breathtaking lakeside clearing. Mist hovered above the water, and the surface mirrored the rising sun in quiet ripples. The area was secluded, peaceful—a hidden world untouched by chaos.

Bob stopped in awe. “Woah… This place is—”

“My little sanctuary,” Yn said proudly, stretching her arms toward the lake. “This is where I usually train.”

Bob turned to her, surprised. “You train alone?”

“Since I got out of the Red Room,” she replied, her voice steady but soft, layered with quiet strength. “Yeah. It’s where I learned how to be me again.”

There was a beat of silence between them.

“Will you be my training buddy now?” she asked, breaking the moment with a wide, playful grin.

Bob blushed faintly but smiled back. “W-well yeah, b-but I don’t really… know how to fight,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“We’ll learn,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him gently to the center of the clearing. “Come on.”

They began with the basics.

Yn stood in front of him, adjusting his stance, gently tapping his knees with her foot to reposition him. “Wider. You’ll fall over if your legs are too close.”

Bob wobbled a little. “L-like this?”

She circled him. “Closer. But not like a penguin, soldier.”

Bob gave a nervous laugh. “I-I’m trying.”

Yn stepped in and took his hands in hers. “Try to push me.”

“What?” he blinked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she said, standing firm. “Push.”

Bob hesitated, then gave a soft shove.

She didn’t move an inch.

“Okay,” he muttered, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re… weirdly strong.”

“Years of fighting and espresso,” she teased. “Now again.”

They went on for an hour—stance, balance, simple dodges. She guided him step-by-step, her touch steady and reassuring, and though he stumbled (a lot), he laughed with her, even when he tripped over his own foot and fell into the dirt.

She offered a hand. “Training 101: fall with style.”

After catching their breath by the lakeside, Yn turned serious.

“Now let’s try something else,” she said, kneeling beside him. “Close your eyes.”

Bob looked at her, unsure. “What for?”

“Feel the sun. The breeze. The sound of the water.” Her voice softened, coaxing him into calm. “Let the power in you rise slowly. Like the tide. You’re not fighting it—you’re listening to it.”

He closed his eyes.

Breathing in. Breathing out.

Golden light flickered along his fingertips, dancing like flames but gentle. Controlled.

Yn smiled. “Good. Now lift that branch.”

Bob raised his hand and the thick log beside them levitated shakily.

“Focus,” she said, stepping behind him, placing a hand on his back. “It’s not about the strength. It’s about clarity.”

Bob’s breath steadied, and so did the log, floating with surprising grace.

“I-I’m doing it…” he whispered.

“You are,” Yn whispered back, beaming.

The log gently lowered to the grass.

He opened his eyes, stunned.

“You did amazing,” she said softly, and Bob turned to her with a tired, proud smile.

“I-I wouldn’t be able to without you,” he said.

“You just needed someone to believe in you, Bob.”

They sat beside each other on the soft earth, the sunlight warming their skin and the lake glistening like a mirror of stars.

Bob took her hand, golden energy still humming faintly at his fingertips.

And for the first time, his power didn’t feel like a threat.

It felt like his.

In the high-rise war room of the tower, tension ran like electricity through the air. Valentina's stilettos clicked rapidly across the floor as she paced in frustration, throwing quick glances at the mission timer blinking red on the monitor.

“He’s still not back?” she barked, flinging a tablet onto the conference table. “This mission is in three days and our golden boy is out playing house with some girl?”

Yelena raised an eyebrow but didn’t say a word.

Val pointed sharply toward her. “Don’t give me that look, Belova. I know you know something. Where is he?”

Yelena shrugged. “Relax. He’s not lost. He just… took a breather.”

Valentina spun, eyes wide. “A breather? He’s the Sentry! He doesn’t get to vanish! Do you even understand what kind of storm I’m dealing with from the U.N. press office? He’s a nuclear-level asset in a relationship with a complete civilian and—God knows—probably barefoot in the forest somewhere meditating under a pine tree!”

Yelena smirked, chewing her gum louder. Ava stood by the window, lips twitching slightly but kept her arms crossed. John Walker was staring at his phone like it was the most interesting thing in the room. Red Guardian was slowly stirring sugar into his coffee.

Valentina kept rambling. “We’re finally getting attention from major allies! The press conference went viral—viral! You know how many eyes are on us right now? We can’t afford to have our headline hero MIA because he caught feelings for some soft-voiced farm girl who sells jam and reads sad poetry!”

Yelena gave a dramatic yawn.

Val's eyes narrowed. “What is this? You’re all unusually quiet.”

No one answered.

A tense silence followed—until Red Guardian slowly took a sip of his coffee and muttered, “Perhaps… he is exactly where he needs to be.”

Val's head snapped toward him. “And where is that, exactly?”

Red Guardian looked over to Yelena. Yelena glanced at Ava. Ava blinked once and looked at John.

All of them avoided Valentina’s eyes.

“Great,” she muttered. “Now you’re all suddenly Buddhist monks and fortune cookies.”

John cleared his throat. “Look, Val. He’ll be back. He always comes back. Maybe he just needed a break from…” he gestured vaguely around the tower, “...all this.”

“He doesn’t get a break!” Val snapped. “He’s not a puppy. He’s a symbol. He is hope. He’s public trust. The Sentry’s dating life cannot override protocol. I’m trying to run a global initiative here, not a matchmaking show!”

Yelena turned her face slightly to hide a grin. Ava blinked at the ceiling. Even John gave a short cough that suspiciously sounded like a laugh.

Valentina glared around the room. “What? What is it now? You all know something I don’t, don’t you?”

The team said nothing.

Yelena popped a bubble and said with a grin, “Maybe if you spent less time micromanaging his hair color and more time listening, you’d be slightly more informed.”

Valentina blinked. “Excuse me?”

Ava finally spoke up, voice calm. “He’s with someone who helps him stay grounded. That’s all that matters.”

Val threw her hands in the air. “Grounded?! I didn’t pull him out of a psych spiral and rebrand him for him to disappear into the woods like some myth!”

Yelena raised her brows, exchanging a quick glance with Ava.

A myth.

If only she knew.

But no one told her. They all knew better. It wasn’t their place—and if Valentina found out Bob was dating The Deathtrap, she'd either panic or try to spin it into a media circus.

Red Guardian murmured, “Let him breathe. You’ll have your golden boy back soon.”

Valentina narrowed her eyes. “He better be camera-ready when he returns. Blonde and brilliant. I won’t tolerate any more stunts.”

The team watched her storm out of the room.

As the doors slid shut, Yelena burst into a quiet laugh. “Camera-ready, she says…”

Ava allowed herself a rare smile. “He’s training harder than ever.”

John chuckled. “And I bet he’s sleeping better too.”

Red Guardian grinned. “Deathtrap always had a way of making even monsters feel human.”

The room quieted again, the weight of the secret shared between them. Outside, the mission timer kept ticking.

But somewhere far from the tower, in a place no cameras could reach, Bob was learning how to breathe again.

And he was in the safest hands possible.

[sycamorelibrary754]

Happy Easter

Summary: You are three weeks from your due date, but the thought of you and Natasha missing Easter at the Barton’s farmhouse in Iowa was simply inconceivable. What will you do if your little bundle of joy makes an early, unexpected entrance?

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Natasha x reader, Avengers x reader (platonic).

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: None

A/N: Happy belated Easter! I wanted to post this fic on Easter, but there wasn't enough time. This is part 3 of Happy Thanksgiving and Merry Christmas! I recommend reading those stories first, but it can be read as a stand-alone story as well. This was so much fun to write. I hope you enjoy it! 

"Does anyone know where the purple egg dye is?" you inquired, scanning the table as you addressed the Barton kids. "I could have sworn we had two cups of every color." Cooper and Lila were fully engrossed in the Easter egg decorating contest, meticulously crafting their designs, while Nate seemed to relish in using every color available on the table. "Oh, it's on the counter.”

You were just about to rise from the kitchen table, no easy feat at this stage of your pregnancy. It felt like yesterday when you surprised Natasha with your pregnancy at Thanksgiving in front of her family and announced to the team that they would all be aunts and uncles at Tony’s annual Christmas party. Your due date was three weeks away, but missing Easter with Clint’s family in Iowa was out of the question.

“Don’t get up, Y/N. I got it!” Nat said as she jumped up to grab the paper cup of purple egg dye behind you.

"Thanks, sweetheart," you said as Nat placed the cup on the table.

"How are you feeling?" Natasha asked as she gently caressed your cheek. "Maybe you should take a break?”

“Nat, I promise I’m okay. Come sit back down and color some Easter eggs with us,” you replied, trying to put your wife at ease. 

Natasha was looking forward to Easter, too, but she was more focused on you and the final weeks of your pregnancy. Dr. Cho had given you the green light to go, with the condition that you'd have daily check-ins by phone and go on bed rest as soon as you returned home.

"Auntie Nat, look at this!" Nate proudly showed off an egg with The Black Widow symbol on it.

"Look, Auntie Nat," you echoed with a smile.

"This is amazing! Maybe I should have you design my next suit instead of Stark," she said.

"Shall we start the judging?" Clint asked as he entered the room with Laura.

"Yep, all set," Cooper confirmed.

"Just a sec," Lila said, focused on decorating her egg. "There, done."

"Where are Yelena and Kate?" Laura asked.

"We're coming!" came a shout from the living room.

"It's not a Fabergé egg, you two, come on!" Nat yelled.

"Tada!" Kate exclaimed, revealing a beautiful purple egg with green and orange stripes.

You whispered to your wife, "So that's where all the purple dye went.”

You placed your egg on the table with all the others. Pink and blue with red polka dots. Symbolic of your current anticipation over the impending arrival of your bundle of joy. You and Nat both agreed you wanted to be surprised.

“Hmmm, this is going to be a tough decision,” Clint said, stroking his chin. “As you all know, you will be judged on creativity, technique, and presentation.”

Walking back and forth in front of the kitchen table, you couldn’t help but giggle at his mock seriousness. 

“Allow me to confer with my fellow judge,” he said. After a few moments of hushed whispers with Laura, Clint returned to the group. “We thank you all for your participation. You all decorated beautiful Easter eggs. The competition was tough this year, but one egg stands head and shoulders above the rest,” pausing for dramatic effect. “The 2024 Barton Easter Egg Decorating Champion is Nathaniel Barton!” 

You shouldn't have spent so much time on the sketches!” Yelena said, slapping Kate on the arm. 

“Yes!!” Nathaniel cheered. 

“You are hereby awarded this Lindt Milk Chocolate Gold Bunny,” his father said, handing him the gold-wrapped chocolate as big as his head.

“That you will share with the rest of the family and not eat in one sitting,” Laura added.

“Aww!” Nathaniel whined. 

*^~^*

You spent the evening on the porch, surrounded by the laughter of the kids playing on the lush green lawn as the sun set over the farm. Laura served her delicious homemade Lemonade as you shared stories and reminisced about old times. The air was filled with nostalgia so vivid that you could almost reach out and touch it. Natasha sat next to you, holding your hand gently, her calloused touch a reminder of the strength and resilience she had acquired through years of training.

You were taken by surprise as you felt the baby begin to kick.

"Wow!" You exclaimed as you gently placed your hand on your belly.

All eyes turned to you. Though unspoken, everyone shared the same nervous anticipation as your wife for the approaching due date.

"Are you alright, malyshka?" Nat asked, her eyes filled with concern as she squeezed your hand.

"I'm okay. The baby is kicking. Here, feel." You said as you took her hand and gently guided it to your stomach, trying to find the right spot. 

“Oh,” Nat squeaked. “I’ll never get used to that feeling.”

“Move aside, sestra; I want to feel my little plemyannitsa or plemyannik.” (Niece or nephew).

Yelena playfully bumped her sister out of the way with her hip and eagerly reached to touch your stomach.

"Wow, that's amazing!" she cried out. "Hey there, little one. I'm Aunt Yelena, and I will spoil you rotten!"

"Have you two settled on a name yet?" Kate inquired.

"No," you sighed. "We just can't seem to agree. Since we both want to be surprised, it's been twice as hard to come up with two names."

"Don't worry, you'll know when you see the little bundle of joy," Laura reassured.

"This wouldn't be an issue if either of you were open to any of the names I've suggested," Yelena added with a grin.

“Yelena is not an option,” Natasha frustratedly replied.

“What about—“ 

“Neither is Alaska! That isn’t even a name!” Your wife is exasperated.

“It could be!” Yelena said. “What about—“

“Or Wolfgang!” Nat interrupted.

“You lack all originality, sestra,” Yelena berated.

^*~*^

The soft glow of the table lamp reflected off your glasses as you delved into the pages of your latest beloved read. You placed your bookmark between the pages at the sound of your wife closing the bathroom door and crawling into bed beside you.

"Did you get a chance to talk to Helen today?" Nat asked as she helped me fluff up my pregnancy pillow.

"Yeah, I did. She was glad to hear that the swelling in my ankles went down and suggested taking a warm bath to help with the discomfort," you replied, shifting to get comfortable against the pillow.

"Mmm, a warm bath does sound amazing," Natasha hummed as she settled down on her side, facing me.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you’d be joining me?” You said softly, with a sly grin and a raised eyebrow.

“Of course I would, detka,” leaning over and kissing your baby bump. 

You gently squeezed Nat's hand, feeling a wave of anticipation as your due date drew near. Thoughts of what your baby would look like and who they would become filled your mind. Would they inherit Nat's fiery red hair, or perhaps have your Y/E/C eyes? The anticipation was almost overwhelming, but knowing that Natasha was by your side made it all feel possible.

"Are you looking forward to the Easter egg hunt tomorrow?" You asked, pulling yourself out of your daydream.

Nat giggled, "You make it sound like I'm the one participating."

"Well, you might as well be. I can never tell who's more excited, you or the kids," you replied.

Natasha glanced down at our intertwined hands and then back up at you. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds.

"I think it's because holidays in my childhood weren’t real. We filled the photo album with fake pictures and empty boxes. But this," looking around at the small details of Clint and Laura’s farmhouse, "Is real, and I’ve always done my best to help ensure that Cooper, Lila, and Nate have everything I didn’t. A carefree childhood filled with love," Natasha explained.

"You’ve done a wonderful job with Clint’s kids, Nat. They love you so much, and I know you’ll be just as amazing with our little one," you said, doing your best to reassure her. “Goodnight, Natasha,” kissing her lips. 

“I hope you're right, detka,” Nat said, kissing your lips in return and laying a hand on your stomach. “Goodnight, malen'kiy (little one).

*^~^*

The following day, you awoke to the sun shining through the window and a soft breeze that caused the curtains to dance gently on the wind. Your back was aching, and you were tired, but you were determined to make it through today. You slipped into the most comfortable maternity outfit you had. Natasha helped you with your shoes, and you both went downstairs to the kitchen. 

“Happy Easter, you two!” Clint said upon seeing you two enter the kitchen. 

You sat down at the kitchen table as Laura placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of you and Nat, along with two glasses of orange juice. The kids were already eating and arguing over who would find the most Easter eggs this afternoon. 

Yelena and Kate walked in a few moments later, clad in bathrobes and their hair disheveled. 

“Against the idea of showering and dressing before breakfast, were you?” Natasha asked.

“Kate Bishop kept me up all night with her snoring, and Lucky and Fanny woke me up by sitting on my face,” Yelena mumbled as she flopped beside you. 

“Hey, that’s how dogs shows affection,” Kate interjected.

“So, I should consider your snoring a Valentine?” Yelena deadpanned. 

After breakfast, the kids ran upstairs to prepare for the Easter egg hunt while Clint got a head start on hiding the eggs. Nathaniel insisted Nat accompany him to help find his Easter basket, but she hesitated to leave you.

“Go ahead, babe. I’m fine.” Motioning for her to follow her namesake. 

“So, how are you really feeling?” Laura asked, now that Nat was no longer in the room. 

You let out a deep sigh, “Tired and sore,” resting your head in your hands. “But this quality time with you all means so much to both of us. I can make it one more day before going on bed rest.”

Laura rubbed her hand softly on your back, “Why don’t you sit in the family room with Kate and Yelena until the fun starts.” 

“Okay, that’s a good idea. Make sure Yelena and Kate haven’t snuck into the Easter candy,” you laughed. 

Laura helped you to your feet and then began to clear the table. As you started to walk, you felt a minor twinging pain in your stomach. You winced but thought nothing of it. With the amount of shifting the baby was doing these days, you had every spasm and cramp in the book. Unfortunately for you, you were in a house full of spies, and Laura picked up your discomfort. She made a mental note to watch you as the day progressed.

*^~^*

"Look, there's one!" Cooper exclaimed, pointing at the leather seat of the tractor in the front yard. He dashed towards it, but Lila beat him by a step. "Ha! Slowpoke," she teased.

From your spot on the porch, you glanced over and saw my wife hoisting Nathaniel onto her shoulders to carefully grab an Easter egg from the crook of an old sycamore tree. 

After about 15 minutes, everyone's baskets were full of eggs. Now came the fun of opening them all. You watched as all three kids dug into their baskets, opening the eggs to find mini Hershey bars, M&M's, jelly beans, or starbursts.

Nathaniel walked over to you and placed an Orange Starburst in your hand. "Here, Aunt Y/N. I know the Orange ones are your favorite."

"Aww, thank you, Nate," you said, kissing his forehead.

As you were about to open the soft toffy candy, a sharp contraction cut through my stomach. “Aaah!” you reached for your stomach as you bent over at the knees. Much stronger than anything you had felt before.

Natasha rushed to your side. “Y/N?! Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Reaching for your hand.

"I don’t know," you grunted.

Natasha's voice quivered with anxiety as she tried to rationalize the situation. "This—this can’t be it. We’re still three weeks out," she said, her mind racing with worry. "Maybe it’s just false labor."

That was the moment when your water broke. "Oh God—" you took a sharp breath as another contraction hit.

"Okay, not false labor," Nat conceded.

"It’s okay, Y/N," Laura reassured you calmly, gently taking your hand. "Most first births are a long labor. But we’re going to get you inside, okay?"

You felt a surge of panic. "What? No, no. I can't have the baby here. I'm not ready. We had a birth plan; I don't have my overnight bag!" you started to ramble, the anxiety rising in your voice.

"You're not boarding a Quinjet now. “I'm going to call Helen,” Clint said as he started to run inside.

"What's wrong with Aunt Y/N?” Nathaniel asked.

"Nothing, sweetheart, but the baby is coming a little bit earlier than we thought," Laura said calmly as she and your wife Nat gently guided you up the steps and into the warm and welcoming embrace of the house.

"Cooper and Lila, please grab a soft, warm blanket and clean towels from the linen closet?" Laura called out to the older children, her voice steady and reassuring.

I'l boil some water and tear up some sheets!" Kate announced frantically.

"This isn't Little House on the Prairie," Yelena quipped. She looked at you and Natasha with a warm yet nervous smile. "I’ll call Mom and Dad.”

"I thought you said this was a long process?" you managed to say between deep breaths, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"Yes, but there's nothing wrong with being prepared, honey," Laura replied with a comforting smile, her hands steady as she and Nat helped you onto the bed.

Natasha gently grasped your hand and locked eyes with you. "Y/N, look at me," she said reassuringly. “You’re okay, and I'm right here with you. Let's take a deep breath together.”

You took a deep breath, trying to follow Natahsa's lead. The air came out shakily as it moved around the sharp pain of the contraction.

"Do you remember your Lamaze breathing?" Nat asked, her voice calm and reassuring.

"I think so," you replied, trying to focus on the breathing technique you had practiced during the prenatal classes.

*^~^*

Contractions came and went over the next few hours. You were thankful that childbirth was part of the first aid classes all SHIELD recruits were required to take. Otherwise, the prospect of giving birth in a farmhouse in the middle of Iowa would have been more terrifying than it already was. 

You heard the front door open and the screen shut behind it as footsteps hurriedly approached the bedroom. When you saw Dr. Cho, you just about burst into tears. 

Helen! Oh, thank goodness," you exclaimed just as another contraction began, your face twisted in agony.

"Y/N," Helen responded, rushing to your side and gently pushing the sweaty strands of hair away from your eyes. "Clint and Laura briefed me. They said that you're handling this wonderfully. Let me take a moment to set up, and then we'll check your dilation progress.”

Okay," you managed to say, catching your breath. "Where's Bruce?"

He's in Kamar-Taj with Wong. Something about ten rings? I'm not entirely sure, but don't worry, both of you," she reassured, meeting your and Natasha’s fatigued and apprehensive gazes. "I have a backup.”

Thor strode into the room, effortlessly carrying a collection of Helen's equipment that seemed as light as a feather in his hands.

"Thor? What are you doing here?" Natasha asked, clearly puzzled.

Thor glanced at your wife, then at you, then at Laura, and then at Helen.

"Hello, everyone," he said shyly. "I was, uh, Helen and I—Dr. Cho. She invited me for Easter, and we were enjoying a nice glass of Asgardian Mead when—"

"When Clint called," Helen finished. "Anyway, he's here to help, right?"

"Of course," Thor replied. "I've never witnessed a human birth before, but I've been present for the births of many Gods and am well-versed in many newborn blessings."

You and Natasha locked eyes, your nervousness quickly replaced with gratitude as you realized the significance of having another close friend by your side during this pivotal moment in your lives.

Natasha expressed her gratitude to Thor, finally breaking the silence. "We're both thankful that you're here," she said, her voice filled with sincerity. 

You nodded in agreement, silently acknowledging the sentiment.

"It's my pleasure, ladies," Thor replied warmly.

“Thor, can you bring the rest of my equipment in from the Quinjet while I check to see how far Y/N is dilated?” Helen asked.

“Sure, and do either of you need anything? He asked.

Some ice chips would be great, you said in a tired voice. “Thank you.”

“Water,” Natasha said.

Shortly after Thor departed, Yelena entered, engaging in small talk as they crossed paths in the hallway. "What's the God of muscles doing here?" she inquired.

"It's a long story," Helen responded.

"I spoke with Melina. She and Alexi are en route and should arrive by morning. At least, I think that's what she said. It was hard to hear her over Alexi's ecstatic screams in the background."

"Okay, Y/N, you've done most of the hard work in my absence. You're just about at 10 centimeters. It’s time to start pushing. You two are going to parents soon," Helen announced with a smile.

“Oh my God,” you said, looking over at Natasha. 

“Hey,” your wife said, running her hand through your hair, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you said.

*^~^*

“Push. Push, just a little more! Come on, push for five seconds. 5…4…” Helen counted down.

Gasping for air, you exclaimed, '3-2-1 oh!!' as you fought to catch your breath.

Thor gently wiped away the sweat from your forehead with a cloth.

“You're doing great, Y/N. The next contraction should be coming in about twenty seconds," Helen encouraged, glancing at the monitor. 

“I can’t,” you cried. “I can’t push anymore, I can’t.”

Natasha reassured you, "Yes, you can, Y/N. You're so close," she reached out and firmly took hold of your hand.

“Oh God, twenty seconds, my ass!” You shouted.

Natasha screamed in pain and fell to her knees beside you as you squeezed her hand. “Fuck, detka!”

"Here, Lady Y/N," Thor said, taking her hand in his, "Give my hand a good squeeze; you won't hurt me. And when you reminisce on this moment, you will remember that a God has faith in you. You can do this!" Thor's voice was solid and reassuring, his eyes filled with genuine belief in your strength.

Your eyes shone with tears as you held Thor's hand tightly, feeling the strength in his grip while Natasha enveloped you, her arm supporting your back.

I can see the baby's head. Are you ready to push one more time, honey?” Helen asked, “Here we go, on three: 1... 2... 3!”

You let out a final scream and then collapsed back onto the pillows, trying to catch your breath. As the room fell silent, the innocent cries of your and Natasha’s baby filled the air.

"It's a boy!" Helen exclaimed with joy.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at Natasha, who was also crying. It was more emotion than you had ever seen Natasha show before.

Helen held up your son for both of you to admire. His little head was adorned with the beginnings of red hair. 

"He's absolutely perfect," Nat exclaimed with a radiant smile as she affectionately kissed your temple.

Thor carefully cut the umbilical cord, and then Helen gently passed the newborn over to Laura, who began to clean him up. 

Overwhelmed with emotion, you exclaimed, "He's so tiny! Where'd he go?"

Natasha reassured you, "It's okay. They're just wrapping him up," as she wiped away her tears. Concerned for the baby's well-being, you cautioned, "Okay, well, be careful with him. He's really tiny!”

Moments later, Laura tenderly announced, "Here he is," and placed your precious son on your bare chest, swathed in a soft blanket.

"Hi, baby boy," you whispered, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I know you."

As your voice reached his ears, his little Y/E/C irises opened, revealing a world of innocence and wonder.

At that moment, gazing at your son, you experienced a love so profound it felt as though your heart had been laid bare.

Natasha tenderly kissed his head and softly murmured, “Dobro pozhalovat' v mir, moy malen'kiy mal'chik.” (Welcome to the world, my little boy).

We’ll give you a few minutes," Helen said with a reassuring smile as she closed the door behind her. In the serene stillness that followed, the only sound was the gentle cooing of your precious newborn son.

“I can't believe he's finally here,” you said.

"I know. He’s so beautiful," Natasha said, her gaze fixed on the newborn.

"It looks like he’s going to take after his Mama," you chuckled, running your hand over the delicate red hairs sprouting from his scalp.

"Yes, but look at his eyes—sparkling Y/E/C like yours. Wow," Nat said.

You remarked, "I guess this narrows the names down, then."

Nat sighed in relief, "Thank goodness I don't have to explain to my sister why we didn't choose Yelena."

Looking into your wife's eyes, you asked, "So what do you think?"

*^~^*

A short while later, a gentle knock on the door signaled Helen's arrival as she peeked inside. "Hey, you three. I need to conduct a few routine tests, and there are some eager people outside who can't wait to meet your son."

"Please, come on in, everyone," you welcomed them.

You couldn't hold back the tears as you witnessed the heartfelt expressions on their faces as they laid eyes on your baby boy. It was as if he instantly captivated them, just as you were when you first saw him.

"Oh, my goodness," Laura exclaimed as Clint enveloped Natasha tightly. Tears glistened in his eyes as he held his best friend close.

"He's beautiful, Natasha," Yelena said, her eyes brimming with tears. "Privet, malen'kiy plemyannik," she whispered (hello, my little nephew).

"He's so cute, Y/N! Oh my gosh," Kate exclaimed as your son wrapped his tiny hand around your finger.

"He is lovely," Thor added, his voice filled with warmth. "Strong and brave, like his mothers."

Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel gathered around you, admiring the newborn in your arms.

"Everyone," Natasha began, her hand resting lovingly on your back. "We have someone special we'd like you to meet.”

“This is Nikolai Odison Romanoff," you announced with a proud smile.

"Nikolai! What a beautiful first name," Clint exclaimed, wiping his eyes. "It suits him perfectly."

"Oh, my, Odison," Thor said wide-eyed. "Ladies, this is an honor fit for someone else. I wasn't even supposed to be here, I—" 

"But you were, Thor. You were here when I needed someone the most," you said, looking at him with gratitude. "We'll never forget what you did for us."

The God of Thunder exhaled, visibly touched by your kind words. "I'm truly honored, Y/N. Thank you," he said, kissing your cheek.

Excuse me, ladies," Helen said, "May I borrow him for a moment? We'll be right back.”

Nikolai began to cry at the loss of contact with you, and the sound tugged at both your and Natasha's heartstrings. "It's okay, little one. It's okay," Helen soothed him. 

Then, looking up at your wife, you added, "There is something else we wanted to ask. 

“Clint and Laura, we would be honored if you would be Nikolai’s godparents,” Natasha said.

“Of course!” Clint declared.

“Nothing would make us happier,” Laura added.”

The couple hugged you both in appreciation as Helen returned with Nikolai. 

“You have a healthy little boy on your hands! Born March 31st, 2024 at 7:23pm. He weighs five pounds and eight ounces and measures 16.5 inches long," she said as she gently placed your son in Natasha’s arms. "He's a bit small, but that is because he was impatient and arrived a bit early," Helen explained with a warm smile. "Nothing to worry about.”

Natasha cradled the baby in her arms, swaying gently back and forth as a soft yawn slipped from his tiny lips.

“We’ll spend the night here, but I want to bring Mom and Nikolai back to the compound tomorrow. I want to perform a thorough examination in my lab before sending you all home.” Helen explained.

"Of course, whatever you think is best," you agreed.

Natasha nodded in approval before a sudden realization struck her. "Oh, Mom and Dad! They're on their way here."

"They can join us if you'd like," Helen suggested.

"That would be great," you said. "Right, Nat?"

"Yeah, great," Natasha said, her mind racing as she tried to imagine the chaos of the Quinjet flight home with Alexi and Melina.

Yelena couldn't help but burst into laughter, fully aware of what her sister was thinking, until Kate elbowed her in the ribs.

"We'll leave you all to get some rest," Helen said. "I'll be outside if you need anything, and I'll be back in a little while to help you with breastfeeding him.”

"Thank you, Helen, and all of you, for everything," you said, feeling the exhaustion and emotions of the day overwhelming you as tears began to fall.

After exchanging warm embraces, everyone exited the room, leaving you and Natasha in peaceful solitude with your precious newborn son, savoring the tender moment.

Natasha gently settled Nikolai in Nathaniel's bassinet, a family heirloom lovingly retrieved from storage by Clint and Laura. As your little one drifted into a peaceful slumber, you both couldn't help but marvel at the miracle of life, watching his tiny chest rise and fall with each breath. It was a moment you never wanted to forget.

“Rest, detka. I'll take care of Nikolai," Nat offered, her voice filled with warmth and reassurance.

"I can stay up; it's fine. You should rest," you insisted, determined to take responsibility.

"Y/N, you've just brought new life into the world. You deserve to rest for the rest of your life," Nat chuckled, her eyes filled with affection and concern.

She settled beside you on the bed and enveloped you in a comforting embrace.

"Look at your face," Nat suddenly remarked, her expression softening with genuine admiration.

"I must look a mess," you replied, a tired smile tugging at your lips.

"No, Y/N, you look absolutely beautiful," Nat insisted, her words filled with sincerity. "I've never seen your face more radiant than it is right now.

Natasha's soft lips met yours in a tender kiss, and in that moment, you felt the truth of her words resonate deep within you.

*^~^*

The following day, Laura prepared a delicious breakfast and brought it to you and Natasha in bed. Both of you had barely gotten any sleep with Nikolai waking up every couple of hours. Despite feeling utterly exhausted, you didn't mind one bit. This weariness stemmed from the joy of caring for your precious newborn son on his very first night.

Twenty minutes later, the tranquil moment was interrupted by familiar voices outside. Natasha gently pulled the curtain back to glimpse her parents making their way up the front porch steps.

Yelena strode into the room with her arms folded and a mischievous smile on her lips. "Brace yourselves," she teased, "The grandparents have arrived.”

"Where's my little guy?" Alexi eagerly shouted as he entered the room.

"Shh!" Natasha hushed him with a grin, motioning to Nikolai nestled in her arms. "Oh, look at him!" Alexi whispered in awe. 

"Mom, Dad, this is Nikolai,” Nat said, wiping a tear from her eye.

"He's beautiful, Natalia," Melina murmured.

"May I hold him? I washed my hands," Alexi asked eagerly.

"Of course," you replied, carefully passing the baby to Alexi. The sight of the mighty Red Guardian tenderly cradling your newborn son made you smile.

"Hello, Nikolai. I'm your dedushka," Alexi said affectionately. "You're so adorable; yes, you are."

As he spoke, Nikolai slowly opened his eyes, and you could have sworn you saw your father-in-law's heart swell with love. 

Alexi gently placed the baby in Melina’s arms. Your mother-in-law had always been a complex and enigmatic figure. She was one of the longest-tenured widows, and her resilience made her one of the strongest women in your eyes. As she cradled your newborn son in her arms, a single tear traced its way down her cheek, revealing a depth of emotion and vulnerability that you had never seen before.

Yelena inched toward you and whispered, “He won them over faster than you did.” 

*^~^*

The next morning, Thor joined in to assist with packing while Clint hurried to the store to purchase an infant car seat for Nikolai. You were a family of two when you arrived, and you were leaving a family of three.

After a swift diaper change, Natasha placed your precious bundle of joy in his carrier. "Time to head home, Nik," you said, taking his tiny hand in yours. 

You bid farewell to everyone and securely placed Nikolai's carrier beside you on the Quinjet.

Nat smiled as she prepared the Quinjet for takeoff. Your first Quinjet ride," she said. "You're already an overachiever, moy sladkiy mal'chik" (my sweet little boy).

Your phone suddenly vibrates with a flurry of notifications.

"The team group chat is blowing up, sweetheart," showing Natasha your phone.

Nick Fury: Congratulations on the arrival of your precious son, Nikolai! It's heartwarming to see the Avengers family welcoming the newest member. Everyone at SHIELD looks forward to meeting him and supporting you and Natasha.

Steve Rogers: Hey, Y/N and Nat, huge congratulations! I'm so excited to meet Nikolai, the newest addition to our Avenger family. 🎖️

Wanda Maximoff: Congratulations to you both! All those cliches, those things you hear about having a baby and motherhood—all of them are true. Motherhood is the most beautiful things you will ever experience. I’ll drop off some food for you both in the morning. 🥰

Clint Barton: Hey, Y/N! Make sure Nikolai is securely fastened in his infant carrier. I hope he sleeps the whole way back. If he gets fussy, ask FRIDAY to turn on the cabin pressure stabilization. It's a feature I insisted Stark add to the Quinjet after SHIELD found out I had kids. You're welcome. 😏

Laura Barton: I know things didn't go as planned, but I'm grateful we could share in your special day, Y/N. Nikolai is absolutely beautiful! Please let Nat know that I'll give her a call tomorrow. 😊

Tony Stark: Rushman! Y/L/N! Congratulations on the arrival of your precious son. Nikolai will bring you endless joy and fulfillment and become your favorite reason to lose sleep for the rest of your lives. 😉

Pepper Stark: Congratulations, you two! I'm so happy for you and Nat. I can only imagine how incredible it must feel to look into Nikolai's eyes and feel like everything is right in the world. Please don't hesitate to reach out if there's anything I can do to help. Sending lots of love! ❤️

Bruce Banner: I'm truly sorry I couldn't be there; I’m thrilled for you and Natasha. I can't wait to meet Nikolai! 💚

Maria Hill: Congratulations, Y/N and Nat, on the arrival of baby Nikolai Odison! I can't wait to meet the little bundle of joy and see those tiny fingers and toes. The name Nikolai Odison Romanoff is absolutely beautiful. I spoke with Thor this morning, and the honor deeply moved him. 🥹

Thor Odinson: I am incredibly grateful to have been present for the birth of your son, Nikolai Odison Romanoff. Your decision to include me in this momentous occasion is a great honor, and I want to assure you that I will always be there to support and care for all of you. The arrival of Nikolai is a joyous event, and I am committed to being a steadfast presence in his life. ⚡

Peter Parker: Y/N! Congratulations on the arrival of Nikolai! I'm so thrilled for you and Nat. What does he look like? Does he have your hair or Natasha’s? What color are his eyes? I'm already thinking about all the adventures we'll have with him. I'm going to text Nat right now. I can't wait to meet him! 💙

Yelena Belova: Give my little nephew a kiss and hug from me. Also, heads up - Mom and Dad are considering staying with you for eight weeks to help care for Nikolai. Happy Parenting! 😂

Kate Bishop: Yelena is sitting next to me, and she can't stop laughing, so I'm going to assume that everything is going well. Please give Nikolai a kiss and hug from me! 🩵

*^~^*

You and Natasha stood together at the front of the Quinjet, the hum of the engines surrounding you as the aircraft soared safely through the sky. 

“Nikolai is sound asleep. I don't think your parents have taken their eyes off our son since they got here,” turning around to see Melina and Alexi lovingly admiring their grandson. 

Nat lovingly reached for your hand. “Our son,” she repeated with a big smile.

Nat took her place in the pilot's seat and turned off the autopilot as you settled in beside her.

"Come on, Y/N. Let’s go home.”

[lieutenantbatshit]

until i found you. (hwang jun-ho x reader)

Summary: You meet Hwang Jun-ho at a prestigious police conference where you're invited as a guest speaker. The moment you lock eyes from across the room, there's a spark. Throughout the conference, you catch each other's gaze again and again, drawn into a silent exchange neither of you fully understands yet.

A/N: Jun-ho is my current fixation lately. In-ho still holds a special place in my delulu heart but Jun-ho is becoming my bias wrecker 😩 why are the Hwang brothers so damn fine

The hum of polite chatter filled the auditorium as the sea of uniforms, sharp suits, and the occasional flash of polished badges reflected under the stage lights. You stood at the front of the hall, just a little off-center from the podium, your presentation slides illuminating behind you with quiet authority.

The conference was about a cross-border event — a joint police training and strategy summit between Korea and other Southeast Asian nations. You’ve been invited as a guest speaker, someone with deep experience in cross-cultural criminal justice cooperation. Your name was announced earlier, your credentials were read aloud to a roomful of attentive faces.

But one face — one set of eyes — kept pulling your focus.

He sat in the third row from the front, his uniform neat, his posture perfect. There was something in the way his gaze lingered. It was steady and analytical, but soft at the edges. Every time your eyes flicked across the crowd, they locked with his. Not in a challenging way, but like he was trying to memorize you.

You finished your speech to a round of professional applause, and as the moderator wraps up with closing remarks, people began to rise, gather their folders, and shift into conversation clusters. You slipped your notes back into your bag when you heard soft footsteps approach you.

“Excuse me,” a voice said. You glanced up to see him, and there he was, the man you kept locking eyes with. 

He offered you a modest smile, the kind that’s all in the eyes, and gave a slight bow before speaking. “I wanted to thank you for your talk. It was… different. In a good way.”

You smiled back. “Different is better than boring, right?”

He chuckled, low and slightly bashful. “Definitely.”

There was a beat of silence before you tilted your head a little and asked, “I didn’t catch your name earlier…?

“Oh, right,” he said quickly, his eyes widening like he couldn’t believe he forgot. “Sorry. I’m Jun-ho. Hwang Jun-ho.”

“Nice to meet you, Jun-ho,” you offered your hand as he shook it gently. It felt formal, but at the same time, something was lingering in the gesture.  He scratched the back of his neck and then held something out in both hands. “I… thought you might like this. It’s not much.”

You glanced down and saw it — a hanji bookmark. It was delicately crafted, with a design of a single magnolia blossom inked in soft watercolor tones. At the bottom, there’s a tiny Korean proverb written in Hangul: 시작이반이다 — “Starting is half the task.”

“It’s handmade,” Jun-ho said quickly. “By my mom, actually. She likes to craft. I carry a few when I travel.”

You ran your fingers gently along the textured paper, feeling your heart catch a little. You couldn’t help but smile. “This is beautiful. Thank you.”

He shrugged with a small grin, as if he was glad you liked it but unsure how to say it out loud. Then, his hand slipped into his pocket, pulling out his phone.

“If it’s okay… could I get your Instagram? Or whatever you use,” he added, with the faintest blush on his cheeks. “For professional networking, of course.”

You stifled a smile as you typed in your username on his phone. He sent a message immediately, just a wave emoji, and you both shared a small, private laugh before another officer called his name from across the room.

“Duty calls,” he said, giving you a two-finger salute. You gave him one back as he headed off. 

You left the venue a little later, the bookmark tucked carefully between your planner. The sun dipped low over the skyline as your ride dropped you at the hotel entrance. You found yourself smiling throughout the ride, as you couldn’t help but think of Jun-ho.

As you were about to head inside your hotel, your phone buzzed, which made you blush even more. You read the text, pressing your lips as you felt yourself giggle internally.

“I would love to have lunch with you tomorrow if you’re still here.”

You stared at the screen for a beat, your heart hammering. You weren’t sure what tomorrow would bring, but tonight?

Tonight felt like the start of something quietly extraordinary. 

——

You arrived five minutes earlier at the quiet little hanok-style cafe tucked into a side street, just a few blocks from your hotel. The sky was hazy with the warmth of the early afternoon, and the scene of roasted barley tea drifted from the open windows. The carved wooden sign above the doorway gave off a warmth that matches the soft glow in your chest.

You were nervous, and you hated that you were nervous. It had been a long time since you went out on a date.

As you stepped inside, the hush of the cafe wrapped around like a well-worn poem. He was already there.

Jun-ho sat at a corner table, near a window with paper screens casting soft golden light over his face. His uniform was replaced by a casual dark button-up, sleeves rolled slightly at the wrists. He looked at his phone, lips slightly pursed, but as if he sensed you, he lifted his head.

And then, he smiled.

It wasn’t wide nor showy. It was quiet, just the barest curve of his lips and his eyes softened, but it hit you harder than you expected.

“You’re early,” you said, trying to sound casual despite the flutter in your chest.

He stood, brushing nonexistent crumbs off the table. “You beat me by a minute. I was just… making sure I had the right place.”

You laughed softly and nodded. “Looks like we’re both terrible at pretending we’re not excited.”

He smiled, then gestured for you to sit. You slid into the seat across from him, suddenly aware of how close the table was. It was close enough to notice how warm his eyes were, and close enough to hear the subtle nervousness in the way he cleared his throat. 

“Thank you for meeting me,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you… I mean, I hoped you would.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the honesty. It made your stomach twist in the best way. “I was hoping you would ask.”

And there it was again — that moment where your eyes locked just a little too long, and you felt like the room became quiet around you. 

After placing your orders, you sipped your tea to distract yourself from the wild thump in your chest, but your curiosity won.

“So,” you began, watching him over the rim of your cup. “I’ve been wondering, what made you want to become a police officer?”

Jun-ho leaned back slightly, cradling his cup between his palms. “Ah… that’s a bit of a story,” his gaze dropped for a second, then lifted again. “But mostly, it was my older brother.”

“He was a police officer, too?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Actually, he raised me. He was… everything. You know those people who just get it? He was like that. He’s brave and steady. The kind of person you wanted beside you when the world fell apart.”

“He sounds incredible.”

“He is,” Jun-ho said softly, his fingers still resting on the cup. “I remember watching him graduate from the academy. He looked so proud in his uniform. That’s who I want to be — someone people can trust.”

You watched the way his face shifted between pride and something quieter. “He would be really proud of you,” you said, meaning it more than you expected. 

He looked up, and for a second, it was like the words settled into his chest. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “That means more than you think.”

The silence between you wasn’t awkward. It felt warm, like a gentle tide coming in. Your food arrived, and the conversation softened into laughter, into stories. You asked about his life, his favorite childhood memory that included fishing with his brother on a rainy day, his current guilty pleasure with an embarrassing addiction to cheesy Korean crime dramas, and his surprisingly poetic habit of swimming at night to clear his head.

And as you listened, you caught yourself staring. He was kind, thoughtful, a little shy, and so quietly beautiful. You weren’t expecting this — you weren’t expecting him. 

When you took the last bite of your food as the sun began to stretch longer across the street outside, you both rose reluctantly. 

“I didn’t think today would turn out like this,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm.

“Me neither,” he replied, slipping his phone into his back pocket. “But I’m glad it did.”

You hesitated, unsure if this is where the spell breaks, but then he spoke again.

“Would you… want to walk for a bit? Or do you have to head back?”

You nodded before your heart could second-guess it. “I’ve got time.”

You and Jun-ho walked side by side down a quiet street near the cafe, neither of you quite ready to say goodbye. There was a gentle hush between you as if it was comforting, like a song you didn’t want to end.

Your eyes caught on something neatly lined up beside a storefront, seeing electric scooters for rent down the alley. You stopped walking, much to Jun-ho’s surprise.

You grinned and pointed. “Those. Have you ever ridden one?”

He followed your gaze and blinked. “The scooters? Not… really. Not properly.”

You turned to him with a sudden mischievous glint in your eyes. “Want to?”

He chuckled, his eyebrows raising like he couldn’t believe you were serious, but the corner of his mouth lifted in that smile that’s fast becoming your favorite. “Right now?”

“Unless you’re scared,” you teased.

“I’m not scared,” he said, his eyes narrowing playfully. “You are so going to crash into something.”

Five minutes later, after figuring out the app and securing two scooters, you both rolled shakily into a quiet park trail, laughing like kids on summer break. The wind rushed through your hair, and your laughter echoed under the trees. You glanced sideways to see Jun-ho beside you. He was focused, a little awkward, but grinned like he hadn’t in years.

And in that moment with just you, him, the golden sky, and the light breeze, you felt it.

You weren’t thinking about your career or your hotel room or the thousand things you’ve left unanswered in your life. You thought about the way he shouted “Watch out!” as you nearly veered off the path, how he reached out instinctively to steady your scooter, his hand brushing your arm with a spark that shot down your spine.

Eventually, the path sidened into a quiet overlook facing the river. The sun dipped enough to paint the water in liquid gold. You both slowed to a stop and hopped off, breathless and flushed with laughter.

Jun-ho leaned against his scooter, arms crossed, watching you try to smooth your windblown hair. “That was…” he began, searching for the word.

“Exactly what I needed,” you finished for him, chest still rising with joy.

You stepped forward to stand beside him, eyes on the horizon, and then he did it.

Jun-ho reached out gently and brushed something from your hair, his fingers lingering just long enough to make your breath catch. Then, just as softly, he tucked a loose strand behind your ear. You looked up at him, and he didn’t look away. 

The air stilled between you. It wasn’t heavy nor expectant, just full. Full of possibility and something real.

“I’m glad I met you,” he said quietly, like it’s a secret he’s only just realized.

You knew by the way your heart skipped, by the warmth that bloomed across your chest, by the way your body leaned ever so slightly toward him. It was just a crush — it was that quiet kind of love, the kind that sneaks up on you, gentle and whole.

“I’m glad I met you, too,” you whispered.

Jun-ho didn’t try to kiss you, and didn’t rush the moment. Instead, he turned to face the river again, but this time, his hand brushed against yours. His pinky curled around yours in a quiet, wordless gesture of trust. 

And you held it there. Just two hearts, and two hands. But one soft, beautiful beginning.

You and Jun-ho stayed like that, side by side, pinkies linked, watching the sky shift from gold to lavender. He didn’t speak for a moment, as if reluctant to break the peace you’ve both fallen into.

Then, in a quiet voice, he spoke. “There’s a gala night tonight as part of the conference. I wasn’t planning to go, but…”

You glanced at him, curiosity tugging at your lips. “But?”

His eyes flicked to yours, then down to your still-linked hands. “But I’d really like to go if you’ll be there.”

Your chest tightened at the simplicity of the question. He wasn’t trying to impress you — he just wanted to share the night with you.

You nudged him with your shoulder. “Is this you asking me on a second date?”

Jun-ho blinked, then laughed under his breath, caught off guard but clearly amused. He shook his head slightly, that smile tugging at his lips again. “Well then,” he said, turning toward you a bit more. “Yes, I’m asking you on our second date.”

You met his gaze, holding it. “Then I’ll be there,” you said. “Second date approved.”

There was a moment where you both just stood there, like something between you had quietly deepened. He cleared his throat. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Looking forward to it,” you replied, meaning every word.

And when you walked back together, a little slower than necessary, the city fading into gold behind you, your heart felt full, as if it already knew.

This night might just become one you’ll never forget.

——

Back in your hotel room, the door clicked shut behind you as you exhaled with a shaky kind of giddiness. You pressed your back to the door for a second, grinning at nothing. Well, actually, at everything. At him.

Jun-ho.

The way he touched your hair, the way he looked at you like you were something rare, the way he asked you to the gala, not with grandeur, but with sincerity.

You crossed the room, heart fluttering as your step toward the bed where your dress hung, pressed and untouched until now. You hadn’t even considered going to the gala before, not until he gave you a reason. 

The fabric was a deep, elegant shade, something that catches the light in soft shimmers. As you slipped it on, zipping it up slowly, you couldn’t help but imagine his reaction. The way his eyes might linger just a second too long.

You turned to the mirror and smoothed your hands down the fabric, applying light makeup, brushing your hair with extra care. But more than anything, you felt the flow from inside — the kind that no lipstick or highlighter could match.

The feeling of being wanted. Of being seen.

Not just for what you presented at the conference. Not for your resume.

But for you. 

You heard the knock — three soft taps, a pause, and a fourth like a heartbeat. You smoothed your hands down your dreess and opened the door.

Jun-ho stood here, stilling at the sight of you. He work a tailored black suit, shirt collar neat, tie a deep navy, His hair was freshly styled, though a strand already rebels against gravity. His eyes traveled over you slowly, not a in way that objectifies, but like he was seeing something too lovely to name.

“Wow,” he murmured, blinking once. “You look…”

He trailed off, clearly searching for a word that would do you justice. 

You smiled softly. “I’ll take a ‘wow’.”

He laughed under his breath, his cheeks tinged pink. “Fair enough.”

The drive to the venue was short, filled with gentle music and even gentler conversation, your hands nearly brushing between you. When you arrived, the ballroom glowed beneath a canopy of chandeliers, each crystal catching the light like raindrops frozen mid-fall.

The crowd inside were elegantly dressed — officers, speakers, professionals from different corners of the conference — but the moment Jun-ho offered you his arm, it was like everything faded into soft blur. 

All you saw was him.

You walked in together, and more than a few eyes followed. At the far end, a long, wide table has been prepared for selected guests. Jun-ho led you there, pulling out your chair before sitting beside you. Around you, small talks started, light conversations about caseword, training protocols, someone making a joke about badge polish, but none of it really landed for you, and definitely not for him.

Because you were both leaning subtly toward each other, your knees brushing under the table, and neither of you moved away. Jun-ho murmured something about the chandeliers reminding him of the snowfall near the mountains back home, and you smiled like he was sharing a secret no one else to hear.

At one point, someone two seats down chuckled. “You two look like you’re at a private dinner.”

You glanced up, startled, but Jun-ho scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, lips pressed into a smile.

“We’re just catching up,” he said casually, though the way he looked at you afterward betrayed something deeper.

You met his gaze, and your heart already knew.

The din of the ballroom continues, glasses clinking, music weaving into the air. But for you, time has softened into a slow, golden rhythm. It wasn’t loud nor showy.

A quiet knowing. A feeling that maybe… the space between you and Jun-ho was always meant to be filled.

A fork clinked against a glass somewhere down the table, as someone gave a short toast. Applause followed, then more laughter filled the air.

And then, the band kicked in with that unmistakable brass intro.

“Do you remember… the 21st night of September...”

Your eyes widened, heart leaping with excitement. “Oh my god,” you whispered, turning to Jun-ho with your hands already halfway up in the air. “I love this song.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Of course you do.”

You didn’t give him time to be smug. You stood up quickly and reached for his hand. “Now,” you grinned, tugging him up from his seat. “Dance floor. Let’s go.”

He laughed and let himself be pulled to the center of the room, where a few guests had already started to move. The music filled every corner of the ballroom, infectious and golden, like the soundtrack to a memory that hasn’t been made yet.

You start swaying, playfully off-beat, shaking your arms with abandon just to make him laugh harder. He laughed hard, his eyes crinkled as his dimple peeked, his expression somewhere between “I can’t believe this happening” and “I wouldn’t trade this for anything”. 

Then suddenly, he steps in, and he moves.

You froze mid-twirl, eyes wide. “Wait, what? Jun-ho… you can dance?”

He smirked, one eyebrow raised. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Because you look like you listen to crime podcasts while folding laundry in your free time,” you said breathlessly.

He chuckled, spinning you once, just enough to make your hair fan out, and pulled you gently back toward him.

“Grew up with an older brother who made me learn every Earth, Wind & Fire song,” he admitted, sliding effortlessly into step beside you. “He said rhythm was essential for any undercover work.”

You laughed, the image of a younger Jun-ho dancing around a tiny apartment flashing in your mind. He caught your hands again, and this time, he led. You both moved in sync, like you’ve done this a hundred times. Like your bodies already knew each other’s stories.

People around you clapped along or cheered, but none of it mattered. Your world has narrowed to his hands on yours, his confident smile, the way he moved with you — not in front of you, not over you, but with you.

The chorus hits as you both sing the words, half-laughing, half-sincere. And it felt like September — warm, golden, and a little nostalgic and electric. 

You can’t remember the last time you felt this light, this free, and this alive. And when he twirled you again, his hands strong and sure, you realized that you trusted him.

Not just with your hand, but maybe with your heart.

The final notes of September faded out, laughter and applause echoing as dancers began catching their breath. You and Jun-ho were still in the middle of the dance floor, cheeks flushed, and hearts racing.

“I can’t believe you were holding out on me,” you said between breaths, managing to tease him still.

He grinned, slightly out of breath himself. “I had to save some surprises.”

But before you can answer, the band shifts. The moon changes as soft guitar chords ripple into the air, something gentle, longing, and familiar.

“Georgia… wrap me up in all your…”

Your breath caught. You know this song.

Jun-ho’s eyes softened as he heard it too, and without a word, he stepped forward again. This time he was slower, more intentional. He then offers his hand.

No more playfulness. No more crowd.

Just the two of you.

You slipped your hand into his, and he drew you in. He placed one hand lightly on your waist, the other cradling your hand with a gentleness that makes your chest ache. You rest your free hand on his shoulder, and just like that, the rest of the ballroom disappears.

You swayed together under the golden lights, moving as if the music was written just for the two of you. His eyes didn’t leave yours. There was no teasing now, only a quiet intensity, a kind of silent honesty that only showed up when words fell short.

Your fingers curled slightly against his shoulder. 

“I would never fall in love again until I found her…”

Jun-ho’s voice was barely a whisper when he spoke. “I used to wonder if I could ever feel this… light again.”

You tilted your head up at him. “And now?”

His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Now I don’t want this moment to end.”

Neither do you.

Because in his arms, the world felt still. You’ve never felt so completely seen, so carefully held in someone’s presence. You leaned your forehead against his, and he closed his eyes at the contact, breathing you in like the only thing anchoring him.

When the chorus builds, he draws back just enough to look at you again. You can feel it between you. It was unspoken, but alive in every heartbeat. 

You nodded, and that was all he needed

Jun-ho leaned in slowly, giving you every second to change your mind, but you didn’t. You closed the distance the rest of the way, your lips meeting in a kiss that wasn’t rushed nor dramatic.

It was warm, certain, and true.

A kiss that said “I see you,” and a kiss that answered, “Me too.”

When you parted, your hands were still linked, your smiles quiet and glowing. The music faded as the night continued, but something between you had changed. 

What started with glances across a conference turned into a story that was only just beginning.

----

|| REQUEST HERE ||

[girlactionfigure]

It's always nice to see the brilliant Mordechai Kedar.

After a long day at the Ambassadors of Truth conference held by עמיחי שיקלי - Amichai Chikli I had some quiet time to ask questions.

Of course I asked Dr. Kedar about the Gazan protests.

He said: "Oh Hamas doesn't arrange protests like that but Fatah (the Palestinian Authority) does and there are rumors they are paying the protestors"

Now that there are reports that Hamas executed Odai Naser Saadi, a leading voice in the protests, Kedar's analysis makes sense. Before that the question was why Hamas wasn't shooting them - now, perhaps we have the answer, they wanted to wait to do it on their own terms.

But it does not really matter, the bottom line is the same:

These aren't the protests of people who want peace with Israel. They are the protests of people who want to convince the West that they should be allowed to stay in Gaza, trying to create an image of "innocent civilians VS Hamas". These are protest designed to set the stage for taking power in Gaza.

All of them celebrated the invasion of Israel. They gathered in the public square to watch the footage of the invaders torturing, raping, burning and slaughtering Israelis - and they laughed and cheered. Not one of them helped a hostage or provided information to the IDF - not even for the millions of dollars offered and the opportunity to take their family someplace safe.

Not one.

Don't allow yourself to be fooled.

Today there were reports on the news that officials in Ramallah are very pleased with the demonstrations in Gaza. They hope that successful demonstrations will be their path to being gifted control over Gaza.

For those who do not know -

Ramallah, the Palestinian Authority, is run by Fatah. The difference between their ideology and that of Hamas is in HOW to achieve the destruction of the Jewish State.

The end game is identical.

Their children are raised with the same curriculum, tv shows, music etc. Their leader is the financer of the Munich Massacre, continuing that work today with Pay-for-Slay benefits for those who murder Jews. PA officials have applauded October 7th and promised to recreate the success.

Putting the Palestinian Authority in charge of Gaza is exactly the same as leaving Hamas in charge.

Forest Rain Marcia

[hey-syia]

Between The Lines

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genre: office au, office romance, angst, strangers(?) to lovers, Co-workers to Lovers, fluff towards the end

Summary: Y/n faces unexpected turmoil as she discovers that her new collaboration partner in the office is none other than Kim Mingyu, a figure from her college past associated with painful rumors. As they navigate their professional collaboration, Mingyu's persistent attempts to break through Y/n's guarded demeanor unravel a history of misunderstandings and hurtful rumors.

Warnings: slow burn-ish, reader is bullied in college, puckering of lips against each other, let me know if I missed anything

Word Count: ~3k

My main masterlist

A/N: Happy Carat's Day! This is my first ever fic and I am not sure how this will go. This story is just an idea that has been in my drafts for ages. I hope you like it! Cross-posting it here cause my other account is pretty new and this is not showing up in search results

The harsh hum of the photocopier and the distant murmur of office life formed the backdrop as I stared at my screen, which had just received a notification of an email. The subject line sent a ripple of anticipation through me: "Collaboration Partner Assignment."

Opening the email, my eyes quickly scanned the details. I braced myself for the revelation, but nothing could have prepared me for the name that leaped off the screen – Kim Mingyu. My stomach churned, though I couldn't pinpoint why. Maybe it was the mounting pressure of the project or the unfamiliarity of working with someone from another company. A wave of discomfort washed over me as memories of college days resurfaced, memories I had long buried because of the same name! But it couldn’t be him, right?

I had hoped to leave the shadows of the past behind, but fate had different plans. Mingyu, a name that had once been sY/nonymous with popularity and my own insecurities, was now set to become an integral part of my professional life.

Navigating the familiar hallways towards the designated meeting room, my steps carried the weight of unspoken history. The door creaked open, revealing Mingyu already seated, his eyes lifting from a set of project documents to meet mine. A knowing smile played on his lips, oblivious to the turmoil brewing within me. It was him, Kim Mingyu!

"Y/n, right?" he said, extending a hand in greeting. "I'm Mingyu. Looks like we're going to be partners on this project."

I hesitated for a moment before accepting the handshake. "Yes, Y/n. Nice to meet you."

The sterile hum of the office's fluorescent lights set the stage for a reunion neither of us had anticipated. Mingyu, a name echoing through the corridors of my past, now sat across from me in a conference room. His smile seemed to mock my silent discomfort, reminiscent of college days where he effortlessly commanded popularity, and I existed on the fringes.

"Ready to dive into this project together?" Mingyu's voice snapped me back to the present, his expression oblivious to the tumult of memories that threatened to overwhelm me.

"Sure," I replied, my voice masking the unease within. The corporate battleground was familiar, but the arrival of Mingyu resurrected a dormant storm.

As we settled into the collaborative routine, Mingyu's attempts to get to know me became increasingly apparent. In team meetings, he'd throw casual questions my way, trying to unearth the person behind the professional facade.

"So, Y/n, any exciting plans for the weekend?" he'd ask, a playful twinkle in his eye.

"Same as always," I'd reply, nonchalant. I wasn't one to divulge personal details easily.

But Mingyu was persistent, undeterred by my guarded responses. "Come on, Y/n, there must be something you enjoy doing outside of work. Hobbies? Interests?"

His inquiry probed deeper than the surface, seeking to unravel the layers I had meticulously wrapped around myself. "Not really," I'd brush off, maintaining a stoic demeanour.

In the break room, he'd invite me to join him for a coffee, hoping to chip away at the walls I'd built. "Coffee break, Y/n? It's on me," he'd offer, a friendly smile playing on his lips.

"Thanks, but I prefer working through breaks," I'd decline, my gaze fixed on the computer screen.

Mingyu, always the optimist, remained undeterred by my cool demeanour. "Alright, next time then," he'd say, masking any disappointment that might have lingered beneath the surface.

Our interactions, or lack thereof, became a dance of casual questions met with guarded replies. It wasn't that I didn't notice Mingyu's efforts – I did. The truth was, I had carefully crafted my isolation, and I wasn't eager to let anyone in.

One day, as we reviewed project details, Mingyu tried a different approach. "Y/n, we make a good team, you know? But it would be even better if we understood each other a bit more. What do you say?"

His words held a sincerity that caught me off guard. Maybe it was the vulnerability in his eyes or the genuine desire to bridge the gap. I sighed, relenting just a bit. "Look, Mingyu, it's nothing personal. I'm just here to get the job done."

He nodded, understanding but undeterred. "Fair enough, Y/n. I respect that. Just know, I'm here if you ever want to talk."

The unspoken hurt lingered beneath the surface, but Mingyu never let it show. His attempts to befriend me continued, even if they were met with my persistent nonchalance.

In another attempt to connect, he invited me to a team dinner. "Y/n, we've been working together for a while now. Let's celebrate our progress. What do you say?"

I hesitated, then finally relented, "Fine, but just for a little while."

As the evening unfolded, I found myself in an unexpected situation – Mingyu's infectious charm gradually wearing down my defences. We laughed, shared stories, and for a brief moment, the professional barriers faded.

In the midst of the camaraderie, Mingyu leaned in and said, "See, Y/n? We're not that different after all."

I couldn't help but smile, the walls I had so carefully constructed showing signs of cracking. Mingyu's efforts were slowly paying off, breaking through the layers that shielded me from the world.

As we left the restaurant that night, I couldn't deny the shift in dynamics. Mingyu, once an unwelcome intruder from the past, had become a persistent presence in my present – a presence I was starting to appreciate, even if I wasn't quite ready to admit it.

The echoes of our team dinner lingered in the air as Mingyu and I left the restaurant. Laughter and camaraderie had briefly bridged the gap, but as we stepped back into the office building, I retreated into my familiar shell. The nonchalant exterior was my armour, and I wore it with practised ease.

Days passed, and Mingyu's efforts to break through my walls persisted, but my responses remained unchanged – short, guarded, and distant. The unspoken hurt beneath his eyes grew more evident with each interaction, until one day, frustration etched across his face.

As I sat at my desk, engrossed in my work, Mingyu approached, a determined expression on his face. "Y/n, we need to talk. Meet me in the meeting room in fifteen minutes," he said, his voice carrying a firmness I hadn't heard before.

I raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanour. "Sure, whatever," I replied, my tone as indifferent as ever.

The meeting room, a neutral ground for professional discussions, now became the stage for an unexpected confrontation. As I entered, Mingyu was already there, his arms crossed, and a look of frustration etched across his features.

"What's your deal, Y/n?" he began, his voice tinged with a mix of anger and hurt. "I've been trying to get to know you, to be a good teammate, but every attempt is met with this... this wall you've built. What are you so afraid of?"

I sighed, my nonchalant facade momentarily faltering. "Mingyu, I'm not afraid of anything. I'm just here to work, not make friends."

His frustration bubbled to the surface. "You don't have to make it so difficult, Y/n. We're part of the same team, working towards the same goal. Why can't we at least get along?"

I leaned back in my chair, the familiar defences back in place. "Getting along is not a requirement for getting the job done."

Mingyu's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and disappointment. "It's not just about the job, Y/n. We spend a significant portion of our lives working together. Why make it miserable for both of us?"

His words struck a chord, a brief pang of guilt flickering within me. But I couldn't let him see it. "Mingyu, I have my reasons for keeping things professional. Let's just focus on the project and leave it at that."

He leaned in, his frustration giving way to a determination that mirrored the spark in his eyes. "Fine, Y/n. If that's how you want it, we'll keep it strictly professional. But know that it doesn't have to be this way."

Mingyu's proposal hung in the air, and for a moment, I considered the possibility of a truce – a ceasefire in the silent war that had defined our collaboration. The weight of his words pressed upon me, and I decided to break the stoic facade, if only for a moment.

"Fine," I responded, my tone betraying a hint of resignation. "Let's keep it professional."

As the days passed, our interactions adhered to the newfound agreement. Work discussions unfolded without the previous tension, and the strained atmosphere began to ease. However, beneath the surface, the unspoken distance lingered, a reminder of the unresolved history that bound us.

Late one evening, as the office lights flickered in the waning hours, Mingyu and I found ourselves alone in the workspace. The hum of computers and distant traffic outside seemed to amplify the silence between us. Mingyu broke the quiet, his voice softer than before.

"Y/n, there's something I need to know. The tension between us... is it just about work, or is there something more?" His gaze bore into mine, a silent plea for honesty.

I hesitated, contemplating whether to unravel the layers that guarded my past. In that moment, I decided to breach the unspoken barrier. "It's not just about work, Mingyu. There's history – a rumour that tainted my college years, and I believed you were behind it."

His eyes widened, a mix of surprise and realisation flickering across his features. "Rumour? What rumour are you talking about?"

College, a realm of possibilities, unfolded before me. Amid vibrant campus life, I preferred solitude, finding solace in the quiet corners of the library. My routine, a sanctuary, was disrupted when a rumor about me and Mingyu, the campus heartthrob, began to circulate.

Whispers painted a false picture – a rejected proposal, a scornful comment. The rumor, like wildfire, labeled me as the girl who dared to confess, only to face ridicule. My once-unnoticed existence transformed into isolation as judgmental gazes and hurtful labels became my companions.

The most painful aspect was the misunderstanding – the lie that branded me a loner, rejected and ridiculed. The library, my refuge, now felt like a glass house, the rumor exposing me to the harsh scrutiny of others.

Mingyu, oblivious to the storm, continued his life, while I bore the weight of fabricated rejection. The rumor, a dark shadow, cast a long-lasting mark on my college experience. The isolation, self-imposed or not, became my reality.

"The one where it was said I proposed to you in college, and you rejected me, saying you'd never date a loner like me," I confessed, my voice holding the weight of years of perceived betrayal.

Mingyu's expression shifted from surprise to understanding, a furrow forming on his brow. "Y/n, I never spread that rumor. In fact, I had no idea it existed until now. In fact, I wanted to be friends with you back then and expressed it to some of my friends!"

My defenses faltered as the revelation sank in. The narrative I had carried for years, the resentment that fueled our strained collaboration, crumbled like a fragile facade. "But... why would someone spread such a thing?"

Mingyu's eyes softened with sincerity. "I don't know, Y/n. But I promise you, it wasn't me. I regret that you went through that, and I wish I could've been there to clarify things."

The weight of the misunderstanding hung heavy in the room. Mingyu's admission brought forth a vulnerability I hadn't expected, and the unspoken tension that defined our collaboration began to unravel. As we navigate the murky waters of our shared history, the silence transformed into a hesitant dialogue.

"Maybe," he began, choosing his words carefully, "we can move past this together. Start anew, without the burden of misunderstandings."

In the quiet office, Mingyu and I shared a moment where words seemed unnecessary. His hand found mine, a gentle intertwining of fingers that spoke volumes. Leaning in, he kissed me with a tenderness that felt like an unspoken apology.

The kiss was slow, each movement deliberate, as if time itself had slowed down. Mingyu's lips met mine in a dance of connection, a soft exploration that conveyed a shared understanding. It wasn't just a kiss; it was a promise – a promise to let go of the past and embrace the possibility of something new.

As our lips lingered in the gentle exchange, the weight of misunderstandings lifted. Mingyu's touch, comforting and sincere, became a bridge that spanned the distance between us.

The air shifted after the shared kiss, the unspoken tension replaced by a newfound understanding. Mingyu, eyes reflecting a mixture of vulnerability and sincerity, gently pulled away, creating a space for words to bridge the lingering gap.

"Y/n," he began, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken sentiments, "there's something I'd like to propose."

I met his gaze, a silent invitation to continue.

"How about we take a step into the present? Leave the office behind for a while, just you and me. What do you say to a dinner? A date, maybe?" Mingyu's words hung in the air, a simple yet profound invitation.

The corners of my lips twitched into a hesitant smile, the remnants of the emotional whirlwind we had just weathered. "A date?" I echoed, the word carrying a hint of both surprise and curiosity.

Mingyu nodded, his eyes holding a hopeful gleam. "Yes, a date. No work, no misunderstandings – just two people sharing a meal and getting to know each other beyond the confines of the office."

The idea, once foreign, now seemed like a welcome proposition. A chance to rewrite the script, explore the uncharted territories of this evolving connection. "I suppose a dinner sounds nice," I conceded, the tension replaced by a sense of openness.

His face broke into a radiant smile, the lines of relief and excitement mingling. "Great! How about tomorrow night? I know a place not far from here. Casual, nothing too fancy. What do you think?"

Tomorrow night – a prospect that carried the promise of a fresh beginning. I found myself nodding, the corners of my own lips forming a genuine smile. "Tomorrow night sounds good."

Mingyu's joy was palpable, and as he pulled out his phone to exchange details, the office surroundings seemed to fade into the background. In the quiet aftermath of a shared kiss, the invitation extended marked a turning point – a step away from the weight of the past and into the possibilities of the present.

As we finalised the plans, Mingyu's gaze held a promise – a promise of a date that transcended the ordinary, a date that hinted at the potential for something more. The unspoken tension that had defined our collaboration was replaced by the anticipation of a shared meal, laughter, and the uncharted journey that lay ahead.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Madeline Peltz at Number Two Pencil:

About halfway through the Young Women’s Leadership Summit in Grapevine, Texas, I got a talking to from Turning Point USA comms.

Andrew Kolvet, the organization’s chief spokesman, peeled me away from the line of young women I was speaking to warn me that he had gotten complaints about me, though he couldn’t name what they were beyond “weird questions”, and if I kept interviewing attendees under 18, I’d be removed from the conference. “I’m very familiar with your work,” Kolvet said. He reminded me these girls are “innocent,” and to lay off.

I’m not sure how I got on Kolvet’s radar, though I have an idea. But of course, I was offended by the implication I didn’t have the best interests of my subjects in mind. I spend 75% of my waking hours thinking about young people’s role in the current right-wing movement, the subject of my forthcoming book, so I went to Texas this year to give them a chance to speak for themselves.

If we’re really worried about who is preying on young conservative women, let’s listen in to what was being said on stage.

This year marked the 10th Young Women’s Leadership Summit, the largest annual conference for young women and girls in the conservative movement. The event is designed to pop on Instagram — the halls of the Grapevine, Texas conference hotel lined with cutesy photo opportunities everywhere you turn. The theme this year was “Home Sweet Home,” centered around a stage stylized as a Rococo-era sitting room complete with gold accented window frames and pleasant cream-colored couches, a small chandelier glittering above. The setup was framed by LCD screens, including the ceiling, which displayed whirling background graphics to hype up the crowd as speakers took the stage. It was my second time attending YWLS, a long-held point of fascination in my career, for the bizarre way the event artificially sutures glamorous, well-paid career women in right-wing media like Alex Clark, Dana Loesch, and Brett Cooper with the insistence on settling down and having babies before the audience graduates high school. [...]

This year’s YWLS did a fantastic job bringing together the last year and a half of the Make America Healthy Again movement with rising currents of anti-feminism. No one better exemplifies this intersection than Alex Clark, host of Turning Point’s Culture Apothecary podcast, which offers luminary takes on why sunscreen is bad and raw milk is good. She is, according to Vanity Fair, in “close contact” with Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr., and since she spoke at a viral roundtable of right-wing health and wellness personalities hosted on Capitol Hill last September her social media following has exploded. “If you don’t know me, my name is Alex Clark and the Guardian recently accused me of running a PSYOP to turn American women thin, fertile, and conservative. I’m here to publicly say the accusations are true!” A tinkering of cheers from the crowd.1 She was standing on stage in a tweed mini skirt, matching blazer, bouffant updo, and layered pearl accessories, reminding me more of Sarah Palin than the cottagecore aesthetic around her.

I looked around at the young women and girls sitting near me, fluttery floral summer dresses draping bodies of all sizes and shapes, oversized bows crowning loosely curled hair parted in the middle, listening attentively. “Thin, fertile, and conservative” is of course the exact message I’d been hearing for years from Clark and other conservatives targeting young women. The rise of MAHA has made this set especially body conscious, and to hear it stated so plainly jives with the “masks off” ethos we’re all suffering through under Trump 2. MAHA really just is 00s style disordered eating and fatphobia repackaged for the right-wing Instagram era. After Clark’s opener, we got a Tammy Fae and Jim Bakker impression from Charlie and his wife Erika Kirk. Erika is a former Miss Arizona, who according to Kyle Spencer’s book Raising Them Right: The Untold Story of America’s Ultraconservative Youth Movement and its Plot for Power, first met Charlie while seeking a job at Turning Point USA. “I’m not going to hire you,” he told her when he was done with the interview. “I’m going to date you.” Again, Charlie Kirk’s behavior is something to warn your daughter about.

[...]

But the push is so much more powerful – a top-down message so extreme that it only survives because it is backed by right-wing billionaires. Turning Point has made an active choice to craft this message and sell it as hard as possible, rather than getting carried away by some overwhelming demand from the audience. It’s a piece of a wider war on young people, women in particular: stripping away reproductive rights, including access to birth control, gutting what remains of the social safety net that overwhelmingly benefits women and children, and persecuting, culturally and legally, anyone who strays from the traditional framework of heterosexual marriage.

Turning Point USA’s Young Women Leadership Summit (YLWS) this year features MAHA and “thin, fertile, and conservative” messaging and vibes.

[yell0wsalt]

Fic: Cross that Line

For @meljaymicrofics Day 14: Cross That Line by Tinashe

Relationship: Jayce Talis/Mel Medarda, background Caitlyn Kiramman/Violet

Rating: G

Summary: To look into her eyes and see all the stars there, Jayce knew he was all in with her. He could never imagine having this feeling with anyone else. 

Bridging fantasy to reality starts one day at a time. One question at a time.

word count: 818

These particular thoughts invading Jayce’s mind were reaching a critical peak. He couldn’t focus on anything else. He had to do something about them. Anything.

Talking them over with Caitlyn only made matters worse as their conversations were often interrupted by delightful babbles of her and Vi’s newborn daughter Cassie.

Jayce had fun playing the uncle role in helping entertain and care for the little one at this stage. Caitlyn was more than willing to pass off the baby for “cuddle times with Uncle Jayce.” Setting Cassie to rest on his chest, his chest fluttered, primed to burst. Holding such a tiny human incredibly soft and smelling of talcum powder was a gift to hold dearly. With one hand supporting Cassie’s bum and the other cradling the back of her head, Jayce found himself swept away just as much as Cassie in his gentle rocks and sways.

Even when the particularly offensive toots yanked him to reality, Jayce didn’t even care to muster to squirm or complain. 

While Caitlyn and Vi were okay to manage that part of their childcare, Jayce allowed himself to consider the part of him to indulge in the thought of: What if? What would it be like to experience the down and dirty of it all? 

While Cassie was being tended to by her parents, Jayce buried his face in his hands, tugging at the thick brown shaggy hair falling over his face. 

Maybe it was time. 

He knew exactly what he wanted to do and how. Even though it would be a risk, there was an inherent risk in everything. This was something he was more than willing to take a chance on. Self-containing such sentiments stretched his chest, threatening it all to burst at the seams. 

It was one thing to talk it out with Caitlyn and Vi, however, the best person and only person that mattered in this conversation was traveling abroad for a work conference.

Mel would be back in a couple of days, though. It was perfect timing for Jayce to get matters in line.

Starting off with question number one: should it be store-bought or artisanal?

It was an obvious answer that the latter would be the best. Browsing through the local shops confirmed such suspicions. The cuts and styles were nice and all but she deserved better than what was out on the market. Something that was from the heart. Something that screamed ‘Mel.’ In any case, at least Jayce had an idea of what was popular and typical design choices. 

With his raw materials assembled, Jayce got to work. He didn’t have much time and he wanted it to be perfect for her. Even born from the fires of the forge, with his years of experience, Jayce still took his time playing with and tweaking different designs, sizes, and cuts. 

Every single element had to be perfect for her. 

Jayce let the depth of his feelings for Mel flow through his fingers in molding his craft. When words got lost on him or weren’t enough, he could turn to this. A gift so specific to capture the feeling of being with someone you saw as the love of your life. Jayce didn’t want to miss this opportunity. He would dive in with everything he had. 

One of the late nights working on his project, Jayce carefully inspected his latest iteration from all angles. Wearing a broad toothy smile, Jayce rushed out of the forgery to assemble the proper package.

It was ready.

****

“Mel!” Jayce called to his girlfriend as she offboarded the airship at Piltover’s HexGate. When she turned to find him, Jayce rushed her in a bracing hug. “Welcome back, love. Glad you made it back okay.”

Feeling Mel relax under his touch, Jayce held onto her words. The first ones he was able to hear in a little over a week. Far too long.

“Jayce… I’m back home,” murmured into his chest.

While returning to their penthouse from the airship boarding dock, the couple’s conversation drifted to catching up on Mel’s business travel. Tiring but fulfilling and all that which it entailed. Jayce couldn’t help but be proud of her and all she’s molded herself into becoming. 

Assisting in carrying her luggage from their car to their home, Jayce found the weight of her suitcase paled in comparison to the weight of the tiny box tucked away in his front pocket. 

Soon. 

He would ask her very soon. 

To look into her eyes and see all the stars there, Jayce knew he was all in with her. he could never imagine having this feeling with anyone else. 

His fantasies and dreams over what they could be did not have to stay that way. The bridge to reality was built one question at a time. This one to kick start it all.

Hand in hand he was ready to cross that line 

With her.

[dinodontwait]

Between the Lines

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genre: office au, office romance, angst, strangers(?) to lovers, C-workers to Lovers, fluff towards the end

Summary: Y/n faces unexpected turmoil as she discovers that her new collaboration partner in the office is none other than Kim Mingyu, a figure from her college past associated with painful rumors. As they navigate their professional collaboration, Mingyu's persistent attempts to break through Y/n's guarded demeanor unravel a history of misunderstandings and hurtful rumors.

Warnings: slow burn-ish, reader is bullied in college, puckering of lips against each other, let me know if I missed anything

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: Happy Carat's Day! This is my first ever fic and I am not sure how this will go. This story is just an idea that has been in my drafts for ages. I hope you like it!

The harsh hum of the photocopier and the distant murmur of office life formed the backdrop as I stared at my screen, which had just received a notification of an email. The subject line sent a ripple of anticipation through me: "Collaboration Partner Assignment."

Opening the email, my eyes quickly scanned the details. I braced myself for the revelation, but nothing could have prepared me for the name that leaped off the screen – Kim Mingyu. My stomach churned, though I couldn't pinpoint why. Maybe it was the mounting pressure of the project or the unfamiliarity of working with someone from another company. A wave of discomfort washed over me as memories of college days resurfaced, memories I had long buried because of the same name! But it couldn’t be him, right?

I had hoped to leave the shadows of the past behind, but fate had different plans. Mingyu, a name that had once been sY/nonymous with popularity and my own insecurities, was now set to become an integral part of my professional life.

Navigating the familiar hallways towards the designated meeting room, my steps carried the weight of unspoken history. The door creaked open, revealing Mingyu already seated, his eyes lifting from a set of project documents to meet mine. A knowing smile played on his lips, oblivious to the turmoil brewing within me. It was him, Kim Mingyu!

"Y/n, right?" he said, extending a hand in greeting. "I'm Mingyu. Looks like we're going to be partners on this project."

I hesitated for a moment before accepting the handshake. "Yes, Y/n. Nice to meet you."

The sterile hum of the office's fluorescent lights set the stage for a reunion neither of us had anticipated. Mingyu, a name echoing through the corridors of my past, now sat across from me in a conference room. His smile seemed to mock my silent discomfort, reminiscent of college days where he effortlessly commanded popularity, and I existed on the fringes.

"Ready to dive into this project together?" Mingyu's voice snapped me back to the present, his expression oblivious to the tumult of memories that threatened to overwhelm me.

"Sure," I replied, my voice masking the unease within. The corporate battleground was familiar, but the arrival of Mingyu resurrected a dormant storm.

As we settled into the collaborative routine, Mingyu's attempts to get to know me became increasingly apparent. In team meetings, he'd throw casual questions my way, trying to unearth the person behind the professional facade.

"So, Y/n, any exciting plans for the weekend?" he'd ask, a playful twinkle in his eye.

"Same as always," I'd reply, nonchalant. I wasn't one to divulge personal details easily.

But Mingyu was persistent, undeterred by my guarded responses. "Come on, Y/n, there must be something you enjoy doing outside of work. Hobbies? Interests?"

His inquiry probed deeper than the surface, seeking to unravel the layers I had meticulously wrapped around myself. "Not really," I'd brush off, maintaining a stoic demeanour.

In the break room, he'd invite me to join him for a coffee, hoping to chip away at the walls I'd built. "Coffee break, Y/n? It's on me," he'd offer, a friendly smile playing on his lips.

"Thanks, but I prefer working through breaks," I'd decline, my gaze fixed on the computer screen.

Mingyu, always the optimist, remained undeterred by my cool demeanour. "Alright, next time then," he'd say, masking any disappointment that might have lingered beneath the surface.

Our interactions, or lack thereof, became a dance of casual questions met with guarded replies. It wasn't that I didn't notice Mingyu's efforts – I did. The truth was, I had carefully crafted my isolation, and I wasn't eager to let anyone in.

One day, as we reviewed project details, Mingyu tried a different approach. "Y/n, we make a good team, you know? But it would be even better if we understood each other a bit more. What do you say?"

His words held a sincerity that caught me off guard. Maybe it was the vulnerability in his eyes or the genuine desire to bridge the gap. I sighed, relenting just a bit. "Look, Mingyu, it's nothing personal. I'm just here to get the job done."

He nodded, understanding but undeterred. "Fair enough, Y/n. I respect that. Just know, I'm here if you ever want to talk."

The unspoken hurt lingered beneath the surface, but Mingyu never let it show. His attempts to befriend me continued, even if they were met with my persistent nonchalance.

In another attempt to connect, he invited me to a team dinner. "Y/n, we've been working together for a while now. Let's celebrate our progress. What do you say?"

I hesitated, then finally relented, "Fine, but just for a little while."

As the evening unfolded, I found myself in an unexpected situation – Mingyu's infectious charm gradually wearing down my defences. We laughed, shared stories, and for a brief moment, the professional barriers faded.

In the midst of the camaraderie, Mingyu leaned in and said, "See, Y/n? We're not that different after all."

I couldn't help but smile, the walls I had so carefully constructed showing signs of cracking. Mingyu's efforts were slowly paying off, breaking through the layers that shielded me from the world.

As we left the restaurant that night, I couldn't deny the shift in dynamics. Mingyu, once an unwelcome intruder from the past, had become a persistent presence in my present – a presence I was starting to appreciate, even if I wasn't quite ready to admit it.

The echoes of our team dinner lingered in the air as Mingyu and I left the restaurant. Laughter and camaraderie had briefly bridged the gap, but as we stepped back into the office building, I retreated into my familiar shell. The nonchalant exterior was my armour, and I wore it with practised ease.

Days passed, and Mingyu's efforts to break through my walls persisted, but my responses remained unchanged – short, guarded, and distant. The unspoken hurt beneath his eyes grew more evident with each interaction, until one day, frustration etched across his face.

As I sat at my desk, engrossed in my work, Mingyu approached, a determined expression on his face. "Y/n, we need to talk. Meet me in the meeting room in fifteen minutes," he said, his voice carrying a firmness I hadn't heard before.

I raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanour. "Sure, whatever," I replied, my tone as indifferent as ever.

The meeting room, a neutral ground for professional discussions, now became the stage for an unexpected confrontation. As I entered, Mingyu was already there, his arms crossed, and a look of frustration etched across his features.

"What's your deal, Y/n?" he began, his voice tinged with a mix of anger and hurt. "I've been trying to get to know you, to be a good teammate, but every attempt is met with this... this wall you've built. What are you so afraid of?"

I sighed, my nonchalant facade momentarily faltering. "Mingyu, I'm not afraid of anything. I'm just here to work, not make friends."

His frustration bubbled to the surface. "You don't have to make it so difficult, Y/n. We're part of the same team, working towards the same goal. Why can't we at least get along?"

I leaned back in my chair, the familiar defences back in place. "Getting along is not a requirement for getting the job done."

Mingyu's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and disappointment. "It's not just about the job, Y/n. We spend a significant portion of our lives working together. Why make it miserable for both of us?"

His words struck a chord, a brief pang of guilt flickering within me. But I couldn't let him see it. "Mingyu, I have my reasons for keeping things professional. Let's just focus on the project and leave it at that."

He leaned in, his frustration giving way to a determination that mirrored the spark in his eyes. "Fine, Y/n. If that's how you want it, we'll keep it strictly professional. But know that it doesn't have to be this way."

Mingyu's proposal hung in the air, and for a moment, I considered the possibility of a truce – a ceasefire in the silent war that had defined our collaboration. The weight of his words pressed upon me, and I decided to break the stoic facade, if only for a moment.

"Fine," I responded, my tone betraying a hint of resignation. "Let's keep it professional."

As the days passed, our interactions adhered to the newfound agreement. Work discussions unfolded without the previous tension, and the strained atmosphere began to ease. However, beneath the surface, the unspoken distance lingered, a reminder of the unresolved history that bound us.

Late one evening, as the office lights flickered in the waning hours, Mingyu and I found ourselves alone in the workspace. The hum of computers and distant traffic outside seemed to amplify the silence between us. Mingyu broke the quiet, his voice softer than before.

"Y/n, there's something I need to know. The tension between us... is it just about work, or is there something more?" His gaze bore into mine, a silent plea for honesty.

I hesitated, contemplating whether to unravel the layers that guarded my past. In that moment, I decided to breach the unspoken barrier. "It's not just about work, Mingyu. There's history – a rumour that tainted my college years, and I believed you were behind it."

His eyes widened, a mix of surprise and realisation flickering across his features. "Rumour? What rumour are you talking about?"

College, a realm of possibilities, unfolded before me. Amid vibrant campus life, I preferred solitude, finding solace in the quiet corners of the library. My routine, a sanctuary, was disrupted when a rumor about me and Mingyu, the campus heartthrob, began to circulate.

Whispers painted a false picture – a rejected proposal, a scornful comment. The rumor, like wildfire, labeled me as the girl who dared to confess, only to face ridicule. My once-unnoticed existence transformed into isolation as judgmental gazes and hurtful labels became my companions.

The most painful aspect was the misunderstanding – the lie that branded me a loner, rejected and ridiculed. The library, my refuge, now felt like a glass house, the rumor exposing me to the harsh scrutiny of others.

Mingyu, oblivious to the storm, continued his life, while I bore the weight of fabricated rejection. The rumor, a dark shadow, cast a long-lasting mark on my college experience. The isolation, self-imposed or not, became my reality.

"The one where it was said I proposed to you in college, and you rejected me, saying you'd never date a loner like me," I confessed, my voice holding the weight of years of perceived betrayal.

Mingyu's expression shifted from surprise to understanding, a furrow forming on his brow. "Y/n, I never spread that rumor. In fact, I had no idea it existed until now. In fact, I wanted to be friends with you back then and expressed it to some of my friends!"

My defenses faltered as the revelation sank in. The narrative I had carried for years, the resentment that fueled our strained collaboration, crumbled like a fragile facade. "But... why would someone spread such a thing?"

Mingyu's eyes softened with sincerity. "I don't know, Y/n. But I promise you, it wasn't me. I regret that you went through that, and I wish I could've been there to clarify things."

The weight of the misunderstanding hung heavy in the room. Mingyu's admission brought forth a vulnerability I hadn't expected, and the unspoken tension that defined our collaboration began to unravel. As we navigate the murky waters of our shared history, the silence transformed into a hesitant dialogue.

"Maybe," he began, choosing his words carefully, "we can move past this together. Start anew, without the burden of misunderstandings."

In the quiet office, Mingyu and I shared a moment where words seemed unnecessary. His hand found mine, a gentle intertwining of fingers that spoke volumes. Leaning in, he kissed me with a tenderness that felt like an unspoken apology.

The kiss was slow, each movement deliberate, as if time itself had slowed down. Mingyu's lips met mine in a dance of connection, a soft exploration that conveyed a shared understanding. It wasn't just a kiss; it was a promise – a promise to let go of the past and embrace the possibility of something new.

As our lips lingered in the gentle exchange, the weight of misunderstandings lifted. Mingyu's touch, comforting and sincere, became a bridge that spanned the distance between us.

The air shifted after the shared kiss, the unspoken tension replaced by a newfound understanding. Mingyu, eyes reflecting a mixture of vulnerability and sincerity, gently pulled away, creating a space for words to bridge the lingering gap.

"Y/n," he began, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken sentiments, "there's something I'd like to propose."

I met his gaze, a silent invitation to continue.

"How about we take a step into the present? Leave the office behind for a while, just you and me. What do you say to a dinner? A date, maybe?" Mingyu's words hung in the air, a simple yet profound invitation.

The corners of my lips twitched into a hesitant smile, the remnants of the emotional whirlwind we had just weathered. "A date?" I echoed, the word carrying a hint of both surprise and curiosity.

Mingyu nodded, his eyes holding a hopeful gleam. "Yes, a date. No work, no misunderstandings – just two people sharing a meal and getting to know each other beyond the confines of the office."

The idea, once foreign, now seemed like a welcome proposition. A chance to rewrite the script, explore the uncharted territories of this evolving connection. "I suppose a dinner sounds nice," I conceded, the tension replaced by a sense of openness.

His face broke into a radiant smile, the lines of relief and excitement mingling. "Great! How about tomorrow night? I know a place not far from here. Casual, nothing too fancy. What do you think?"

Tomorrow night – a prospect that carried the promise of a fresh beginning. I found myself nodding, the corners of my own lips forming a genuine smile. "Tomorrow night sounds good."

Mingyu's joy was palpable, and as he pulled out his phone to exchange details, the office surroundings seemed to fade into the background. In the quiet aftermath of a shared kiss, the invitation extended marked a turning point – a step away from the weight of the past and into the possibilities of the present.

As we finalised the plans, Mingyu's gaze held a promise – a promise of a date that transcended the ordinary, a date that hinted at the potential for something more. The unspoken tension that had defined our collaboration was replaced by the anticipation of a shared meal, laughter, and the uncharted journey that lay ahead.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

The Arab world wasn’t always veiled in black. Not long ago, cities like Cairo, Damascus, and Baghdad pulsed with modern life. Women wore elegant dresses, walked freely in public, and attended universities alongside men. Intellectual discourse flourished. Secular governance, legal reforms, and cultural expression were on the rise. The roots of aspiration toward enlightenment and progress were planted in these cities.

[ Cairo, 1960s ]

This shift was largely due to the British and French mandates, which introduced secular systems and laid the groundwork for modern governance. These changes set Arab nations on a trajectory toward modernity. However, that trajectory was short-lived.

Thinkers like Hassan al-Banna, Sayyid Qutob, Abul A'la Maududi, and Mohammad al-Ghazali saw the rise of secular laws, women’s liberation, and Western-style education as a calculated attempt to dismantle Islamic identity and replace it with Western moral and cultural norms, so they launched an ideological war against secularization. Movements like the Muslim Brotherhood embodied this resistance; however, in the early stages, they were aggressively suppressed by nationalist Arab regimes that saw them as a threat to state power. Chief among these regimes was Gamal Abdel Nasser’s Egypt.

[ Sayyid Qutb ]

Nasser didn’t only reject theocracy, but also monarchism. His growing popularity and ambition to lead a united Arab world posed an existential threat to the conservative monarchies of the Gulf, especially Saudi Arabia. King Faisal of Saudi Arabia recognized that he and the Muslim Brotherhood shared a common enemy. Under the guise of defending Islam and combating communism, he extended support to Brotherhood figures who had been imprisoned or exiled by Nasser’s regime.

In 1962, King Faisal convened the General Islamic Conference in Mecca, which led to the creation of the Muslim World League, a Saudi-sponsored institution designed to counter Nasser’s pan-Arab secularism with a pan-Islamic ideological front. It became the engine of Saudi-backed Islamic revivalism. What followed was the launch of what would later be known as the Islamic Awakening, an orchestrated campaign to re-Islamize the Arab world.

In 1967, with the Six-Day War, Nasser’s crushing defeat dealt a fatal blow to secular Arab nationalism. His ideological grip on the region dissolved almost overnight. With Nasser weakened and the Islamic Awakening's infrastructure in place, the Arab susceptibility to maintain the modernization brought by the mandates was shattered in real time.

[ King Faisal and Gamal Abdel-Nasser. ]

With billions in petro-dollars, Saudi Arabia funded thousands of schools, mosques, and Islamic publications across the Arab and Muslim world. Clerics, armed with state-sanctioned messaging, replaced intellectuals. Secular curricula were gutted and replaced with rote memorization of doctrine. The hijab, once a rarity in places like Cairo and Beirut, was reframed as an Islamic obligation. Gender mixing, freedom of thought, even music and cinema were labeled Western degeneracy. Within two generations, Arab women lost the freedoms their mothers had enjoyed. Universities became pulpits. Religious dogma shaped civil institutions. Entire societies that once flirted with secular modernity were now enforcing religious orthodoxy. The transformation was rapid, deliberate, and well-funded.

[ School teachers posing for a photo with the Minister of Education in Egypt, 2025. ]

Today, the very engine that reshaped the Arab world is no longer confined to the Middle East. It’s making its way into Europe. Europe now stands at risk of repeating the Arab world’s fall because of ideological infiltration. The same model used to Islamize the Arab world is being applied to Europe. Gulf-funded mosques and Islamic centers are spreading across major cities. Religious schools, community centers, and lobbying groups push for Sharia-based “accommodations” under the language of multiculturalism. Separate swimming pools, halal-only cafeterias, calls to prayer in public. Free speech is being eroded under the guise of hate speech. Secularism is demonized as intolerance, while religious conservatism is portrayed as empowerment.

The same social pressures and ideological tactics that once transformed Cairo and Amman are now visible in Brussels, London, and Berlin. The question now is whether Europe can learn from the Arab world’s fall, or whether it too will walk willingly into ideological submission. The veils, the censorship, the religious courts—they’re not distant cultural artifacts. If Europe doesn’t act, it will wake up to find that the monster didn’t stop at the Arab world’s borders. It just took its time crossing over.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Could I request Miguel O’Hara x Fem Scientist who has been rivals with him before he became Spiderman, and over the years has developed a crush on him

hii, hope you don’t mind but I made this slightly different to how I usually would. for this I had too many ideas and I struggled to make it feel cohesive (it took me too many attempts so I did this instead) I love stuff like this but I had a nightmare trying to connect my thoughts😭😭 thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

rivals?

miguel o’hara x fem!reader

masterlist + taglist

- you work at one of the most prestigious bioengineering companies in Nueva York, and you have a significant role within your field- head of design and development. it's a very competitive and demanding industry

- you've butted heads with many other scientists, but more specifically, your rival, Miguel O'hara, the head of the genetics department at Alchemax

- you're both leaders in your field and highly praised, especially for your age and accomplishments 

- you've met him within numerous occupational settings, usually at conferences and award ceremonies

- you're both valuable assets to your companies and would attend the ceremonies with your bosses and higher-ups, and be asked to speak and share research etc

- today, you were attending Nueva York's annual bioengineering conference and you were excited even though you knew Miguel would be there. it had been several months since the last event you attended, so you were keen to network, share knowledge and present ideas and research

- you were always very busy with work (you worked long, gruelling hours) so, you didn't really have much of a life outside of work. you love what you do, and you're great at it, just sometimes, you wished you could have more balance 

- you and your boss sit in the front row (it's reserved for important people and speakers etc) you notice empty seats beside you and look at the paper on the chair. "Alchemax? really?" you'd say, your words full of disgust. your boss would say something like "speakers are at the front, you know this. just suck it up for two hours. he can't be that bad," but it would be that bad

- a couple minutes later the Alchemax team would arrive, and Miguel would sit next to you. there'd be a couple annoyed huffs from each of you as you're not fond of one another

- he'd cross his legs, and his foot would be in your space, you'd sigh then nudge his leg away "do you mind?" he'd sigh in return, dropping his leg, almost like he was sulking. "fine," then he'd pinch the bridge of his nose- already fed up 

- he'd grow bored listening to all the speakers, so he'd mumble stuff or mock the people on stage. but you wouldn't appreciate it. "would you be quiet? I'm trying to listen," he'd snicker and scoff. "why? they say the same thing every year," then would mimic them, whispering to you- probably leaning into you so you 'could hear him properly' but it was just an excuse to be closer to you. or wind you up or taunt/ tease you

- you have an old married couple vibe, he'd do annoying things and make snarky comments, and you'd scold him (nothing mean, just a couple 'cut it out's and 'you can't say that, she's right there,')

- you'd nudge each other, maybe a little game of footsie, or slight elbowing to keep yourselves occupied during the conference

- you were always fairly civil and would engage in small talk, especially if your bosses were speaking. you'd both be standing there awkwardly, waiting for them to finish talking. Miguel would attempt to break the ice, "you look nice," but you knew he was just being weird, and just making small talk, so you'd say " thanks, and you," then take a sip of your drink and look away

- he'd take a sip of his drink and then look around, accidentally catching eyes with you. you'd meet eyes occasionally, then glance away, like you wanted to look at each other but didn't want to admit it

- your bosses would talk for ages, just gabbing on about recent breakthroughs, so over time, you'd both get so bored that you'd put your differences aside and get a few drinks at the bar

- the alcohol would help with the tension, and you'd actually enjoy your time with him, and he would too. he'd maybe get a little flirty from the liquid courage and would say, "you really do look nice," then would mumble something flattering in spanish into his glass. would say you looked beautiful or something similar

- you didn't want to admit it, but you liked being around him. he was actually a nice person to talk to, quite easygoing and funny too

- you wanted to see him again and not just in a professional environment. you hated that you thought that, but it was true. you doubt that he felt the same way. he hated your guts, well, so you thought. you knew nothing could come of this, you were both too similar, far too similar

- maybe, just maybe he isn't so bad after all 

@sunshiines-stuff @queerponcho @selfryed @idontknowwhattohaveasmyuser

[bubblesandgutz]

Hey Brian,

this TAAS session just popped up on my YouTube favourites - it’s such a killer session. Do you have any memories around this time or particular session? Cheers

youtu. be/ Cc8TJR9geWs

Ah yes, I remember this session.

We were on tour with All The Saints and The Coathangers at the time. It was winter and the routing of the tour had us starting in Seattle and playing across the Midwest and down the East Coast. These Arms Are Snakes were heavy drinkers, but I wasn't really drinking on that tour because I was nervous about us driving at night in winter weather.

The night before this session we'd played at The Milestone in Charlotte, North Carolina. It was now mid-March and we were below the Mason-Dixon Line, so I felt like the icy roads were behind us. I'd told the band I wasn't gonna be the designated driver after the show and my bandmates responded by secretly conferring with the club bartender to make sure I got drunk that night. So he made me a bunch of drinks with some local moonshine and I proceeded to get completely (and inadvertently) wrecked.

The show, as I recall, was a blast. Total mayhem. Steve got picked up by the crowd and chucked into the drum set at some point. I think he was even knocked unconscious, or at least there was a moment where we were worried he might have broken his neck. I was so drunk I had to lean against a pole on stage for support when I was pushing buttons on my pedalboard. Booze was flying everywhere. Someone was throwing confetti. People in the crowd were riding on each other's shoulders. It wasn't even a packed show, but it was rowdy.

The end of the night is a blur. My bandmates found me at the bar drinking a beer, smoking a cigarette (I don't smoke), and playing with the bartender's gun (it wasn't loaded).

Then the next day we had to wake up early to drive to Atlanta to do this video session before loading in for our show later that night. I was brutally hungover. We loaded into this studio in the early afternoon, and I remember I had one of those SKB pedalboards that's made of plastic or rubber and it had a recessed floor so that you could thread your cables underneath it. Well, the recessed floor was full of beer and confetti, and the smell of stale alcohol when I opened the case nearly made me puke.

Playing in the daylight is weird. Playing to cameras instead of people is weird. And playing under those conditions while extremely hungover is the pits. But I thought the session turned out okay, all things considered. It's just a much more reserved version of TAAS than what people saw the night before in Charlotte.

[ljblueteak]

Review of Give My Regards to Broad Street, Nov. 6, 1984

All idealism aside, it's obvious that today's youth view the Beatles as a nostalgic phenomenon from a past era which somehow seems even more intangible since the death of John Lennon in 1980.

Bearing this in mind, one wonders what criteria should be used in reviewing Paul McCartney's Give My Regards to Broad Street. Should it be viewed as a production intended or the general movie going audience, or as one which caters primarily to the McCartney/Beatles fan movement? In all honesty, the film falls flat in the former category, while it soars in the latter and for that reason alone one should go the obvious route: the film is designed for a theoretic pre-sold audience (much like Star Trek or James Bond films) and as such should be judged in that manner.

It's been fourteen years since McCartney's last celluloid appearance (1970's Let it Be) and twenty since the Beatles classic, A Hard Day's Night, yet he has managed to effortlessly step in front of the camera again and exude the same charm and vibrancy which made him and the other Fabs (as in Fab Four, for those of you who missed out on it during the '60s) such a sensation at press conferences and on television appearances.

He has the ability to take his role very seriously, yet at the same time making the audience feel as though he's saying, 'why don't we have a bit of fun and music with me guitar?' It's that quality of Broad Street which allows it to succeed at the level it does.

There is a plot (albeit an extremely contrived one, which focuses on missing tapes for McCartney's new album, and the fact that if they're not recovered by midnight the star's empire will be handed over to an unscrupulous businessman with big ears and sun glasses. Egad!), what's an ex-Beatle to do? Why break into song, of course, and that's precisely the direction the film takes.

While the clock ticks away, the unflappable McCartney takes every opportunity to grab wife Linda, old buddy Ringo Starr, such rock star favorite as Dave Edmunds and Eric Steward, and perform (whether in the recording studio, on the set of a motion picture or in fantasy sequences) new versions of Beatles classics ("For No One," "Yesterday," "Eleanor Rigby,") McCartney solo hits ("Silly Love Songs," "Ballroom Dancing," So Bad,") and new numbers ("No More Lonely Nights," "No Values," "Not Such a Bad Boy").

The musical direction is quite effective, especially considering that it goes against the fast cutting trends of of such films as Flashdance or Footloose. The proceedings are handled smoothly, from the simplicity of McCartney strumming his guitar and cooing a Beatles medley to the elaborate futuristic backdrop of "Silly Love Songs." In fact the only musical sequence that falls flat is an instrumental called "Eleanor's Dream," which is a tedious exercise taking place in the 18th Century that is totally incongruous with the rest of the film.

While the supporting cast, ranging from Ringo to Sir Ralph Richardson (in his lead role) does its job, it's McCartney who's really on center stage at all times, and director Peter Webb manages to make his star shine throughout.

Give My Regards to Broad Street is a pleasant enough diversion to the movies, and, depending on how you regard McCartney and the Beatles, it will either give you cause to sing along, or wish they'd just "Let it Be."

--Ed Gross Jr.

Emphasis mine!

[darkmaga-returns]

Inever set out to be an advocate. I wasn’t a doctor, scientist, or policy expert. I was just a regular person who, like so many, blindly trusted that our healthcare system was designed to protect us.

But life has a way of pulling us into the arena when we least expect it.

After the tragic and unexpected loss of my husband Woody to the antidepressant Zoloft he was prescribed for insomnia, I was thrust into a world I never imagined—one where medicine wasn’t solely about healing, but deeply entangled in a system that prioritizes profit over safety, buries harms, and keeps the public in the dark.

For over two decades, I’ve had a front-row seat to how this system truly operates—not the illusion of rigorous oversight we see in medical journals or glossy pharmaceutical ads, but the reality of how industry influence is woven into every stage.

I’ve met with regulators, testified before the FDA and Congress, filed a wrongful death and failure-to-warn lawsuit against Pfizer, and earned a seat on the FDA’s Psychopharmacologic Drugs Advisory Committee as a consumer representative.

I’ve also spoken at and participated in global conferences like Selling Sickness, Too Much Medicine, and the Harms in Medicine meeting in Erice, Italy—where some of the world’s leading experts acknowledge what few in mainstream medicine dare to say:

Our healthcare system isn’t about health—it’s about business.

And in this business, harm isn’t an accident. It’s built into the system.

The more I uncovered, the more I realized:

We aren’t just patients. We are customers.

[rakesharne]

Mr. India 2025 Rakesh Arne

Rakesh Arne – Mr. India 2025 | From Telangana to the Global Stage🇮🇳 Rakesh Arne from Hyderabad, IndiaCrowned Mr. India 2025, Now Set to Represent India at Mr. World Global 2025 in Indonesia---🏆 National Triumph: Mr. India 2025Rakesh Arne, hailing from Hyderabad, Telangana, has proudly clinched the prestigious title of Mr. India 2025 at the grand finale held at Golden Crown Resorts, Goa, on June 19, 2025. The event showcased the nation’s finest talent, celebrating not just looks and personality but also social leadership, integrity, and compassion.Among fierce national competitors, Rakesh stood out with his remarkable presence, inspiring life story, and unwavering dedication to humanitarian causes. His victory is not just a personal milestone but a symbol of hope for rural youth across India.---🌍 Journey from a Village Boy to National IconBorn: August 25, 1995Native Place: Mahabubnagar, TelanganaCurrent Residence: Rangareddy District, HyderabadLanguages: Telugu, Hindi, English, KannadaEducation: B.Com (Computer Applications), Government City College, HyderabadRaised in a humble farmer’s family, Rakesh was deeply inspired by his father Yadaiah, a social worker who sacrificed his life for society. His grandfather Venkataiah was a freedom fighter—a legacy that instilled patriotism and service in Rakesh from an early age.Despite facing economic hardships, he balanced education with 9+ years of voluntary social work, shaping his future with hard work and values rooted in rural Telangana.---🌟 Crowning Achievements🏆 Mr. India 2025 – Winner🥈 Mr. India 2020 – Runner-Up🌐 Official Representative – Mr. World Global 2025 (Indonesia)🧥 Represented top Indian fashion designers on national platforms📰 Featured in national media for both modeling & social activism🏅 Recipient of multiple National Social Impact Awards---❤️ Social Service & Humanitarian WorkRakesh Arne is not just a model, but a mission-driven changemaker. He is the founder of RAKSHA GLOBAL Foundation, a Telangana-based NGO dedicated to uplifting underprivileged communities.His Impact Includes:💉 Voluntary Blood Donation – 34 times🧒 Rescued 47 child laborers and placed them in orphanages👴 Adopted 77 elderly individuals and placed them in safe old-age homes🧑‍🤝‍🧑 Supported orphans, blind, disabled, and mentally ill individuals👥 Leads 77 active and 3000+ inactive volunteers across India🩺 Organized free medical camps, awareness drives, and charity events🌱 Works toward UN’s 17 Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs)He has also participated as a delegate in the Model United Nations Conference in Malaysia, representing India on an international platform.---🎤 Speaker, Healer & Youth MentorRakesh is more than a titleholder—he is a motivational speaker, certified nutrition coach, and yoga & meditation teacher. He teaches free meditation sessions to youth, promoting mental wellness and self-confidence.He is currently preparing to speak on Josh Talks Telugu and TEDx Telugu platforms in 2025, aiming to inspire rural youth across India with his journey.---📺 Upcoming Projects🚀 What’s Next for Rakesh Arne?Representing India at Mr. World Global 2025 in IndonesiaExpanding RAKSHA GLOBAL across more Indian statesLaunching a YouTube series: “Mr. India Talks” (Youth empowerment, Fitness & Leadership)Collaborating with fashion & health brands as a brand ambassadorAttending public speaking forums, youth summits & global leadership platforms---✨ What People Call HimHe is affectionately known as ‘Rakhi’ – a natural celebrity, loved for his humility, values, and fearless spirit.---💬 Rakesh Arne’s Quote> "If you want to become successful in your life, always be ready to take challenges."> “This victory is for every young dreamer from small towns. I’ve shown that with discipline, service, and courage—you can rise beyond every limitation. Now I’m preparing to represent India with pride at the Mr. World Global platform.”---🔑 Core Philosophy" is my strength.Smile is my weapon."

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