#Windows presentation foundation

[4linos]

fractured silence 2.

yang jeongin x idol!reader

synopsis: when your pregnancy complicates your secret relationship, the emotional distance between you and your boyfriend grows, leaving you unsure of where you stand and what the future holds.

warnings: pregnancy, angst, hurt/comfort, miscommunication.

wc: 9747

[fractured silence part 1, fractured silence part 3]

The morning light filtered through the windows of the makeup room, casting a soft glow on your reflection as a stylist carefully applied foundation to your skin. But despite the gentle hum of conversation between staff members and the usual pre-interview preparations, your mind was stuck on the night before.

Jeongin’s words still echoed in your head, playing on an endless loop.

You’re being really annoying lately.

Just leave me alone for a bit.

You don’t need to keep asking about everything.

No matter how many times you tried to push them away, the weight of his frustration sat heavily on your chest. The way he had snapped at you, the sudden shift in his behavior, it didn’t make sense.

He had been so sweet, so supportive. He had promised to stand by your side. But now?

Now, he was shutting you out, and you didn’t understand why.

You wanted to call him again, to demand an explanation, to ask if he really meant what he said. But a part of you was scared of the answer.

What if he did mean it?

What if he was regretting everything?

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on the present. You had a long day ahead, interviews, schedules, promotions. You couldn’t let yourself break down right now.

You could deal with Jeongin later.

But then, your manager, Jinhee walked in.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” she said, her voice neutral, but something about the way she looked at you made your stomach twist.

You barely hesitated before nodding, carefully getting up from the chair. “Of course.”

You excused yourself from the stylists, smoothing down your outfit as you followed Jinhee out of the room and down the hall.

She didn’t speak right away, just kept walking, and with every silent second, the tension in your body grew.

She led you into an empty practice room, the door clicking shut behind you. The room was dim, the large mirrors reflecting your nervous expression as you turned to face her.

And then, she finally spoke.

“Is it true?”

Your breath hitched.

She didn’t need to clarify. You knew exactly what she was asking.

Your stomach dropped.

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. You couldn’t lie, not to her. But you also didn’t know how to answer.

“I—” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but she cut you off with a sigh.

“Just tell me the truth.”

She wasn’t angry. That was what scared you the most. If she had come in screaming, furious, maybe it would have been easier to handle. But the disappointment in her eyes, the quiet weight in her tone, it felt so much worse.

You swallowed hard, feeling your body go rigid. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, and suddenly, the room felt too small.

How did she know?

You had been so careful. You had only told the people you trusted the most your members, and Jeongin.

So how?

Your silence must have been answer enough because Jinhee, sighed again, crossing her arms.

“The company knows.”

The words hit you like a freight train.

Your hands clenched at your sides. “What?”

“JYP reached out to us,” she explained, her voice still calm but firm. “They said they received the information and wanted to confirm it with HYBE. I don’t know who told them, but someone did.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Someone… told them?

Your mind raced, grasping for answers, but there was only one name flashing in your head, one person who had been acting off ever since he told you he had spoken to Chan.

Jeongin.

You felt like the ground had been ripped out from beneath you.

Had he told them?

No, that didn’t make sense. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Right?

Your pulse quickened as you struggled to breathe, to think, to make sense of it all.

“I—I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice shaky.

Jinhee studied you carefully. “Look, I don’t know what’s going to happen yet. But I wanted to warn you before things get worse. HYBE is upset, JYP even more so. You need to be prepared.”

Prepared?

For what?

For the company to scold you? To make you hide even more? To tell you what you already knew that you had just risked everything you worked for?

Your hands trembled, and you clenched them into fists to steady yourself.

Jinhee took a step closer, her voice softening. “Are you okay?”

You wanted to say yes.

You wanted to say that you had everything under control, that you were handling it, that you weren’t standing on the verge of breaking.

But you couldn’t.

Because at that moment, it felt like everything was falling apart.

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t ready to tell them yet.”

Jinhee’s expression remained calm, but there was something almost pitying in her eyes. “I know,” she said gently. “But the reality is, they already know. And I don’t know when or how this is going to unfold.”

Her words sent a fresh wave of panic crashing over you.

This wasn’t supposed to happen yet.

You had been preparing yourself, trying to gather the courage to tell the company when the time felt right. When you had a plan. When you and Jeongin figured things out. But now, it was out of your hands.

You bit your lip hard to stop the tears from forming, inhaling sharply as you fought against the lump in your throat.

Jinhee sighed, her tone softer now. “I’ll try to find out more. Who reported it, what the company plans to do, but for now, just focus on today’s schedules. Alright?”

You nodded stiffly, even though you knew, deep down you wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else. This was going to cloud your mind for the rest of the day, no matter how hard you tried to push it down.

With a weak “thank you,” you turned on your heel and left the practice room, your mind racing as you made your way back to the makeup room.

The moment you stepped inside, the other girls turned to you, their faces filled with quiet concern.

Jinae gave you a soft smile. “Everything okay?”

You forced a smile back, even though your chest felt tight. “Yeah. Just… manager stuff.”

They didn’t push, but you could tell they knew something was wrong. You could see it in the way Chae watched you closely, in how Minsu subtly reached out and gave your arm a reassuring squeeze. They weren’t fooled, but they weren’t going to force you to talk.

You appreciated that.

Taking a deep breath, you reached into your bag, fingers scrambling as you searched for your phone. Your hands were trembling slightly, but you ignored it.

You needed to talk to Jeongin.

You needed to hear him tell you that this was a mistake that your company somehow got the information wrong. That he hadn’t done this. That someone else had leaked it.

You tugged your phone out and barely mumbled a rushed “I’ll be right back” before slipping out of the room again.

Your heart was pounding as you rushed down the hall, gripping your phone tightly as you dialed his number.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

Four.

He wasn’t answering.

You pressed your back against the cool wall, closing your eyes briefly as the call continued ringing.

Pick up. Please.

On the very last ring, just when you thought it would go to voicemail, the call connected.

Jeongin’s voice came through, but it wasn’t the warm, concerned tone you were used to.

It was irritated. Bothered.

“What is it?” he asked, exhaling heavily like he had just been interrupted from something important.

Your stomach twisted, but you pushed past the hurt.

“They know.”

There was a long pause.

Too long.

You could hear your own heartbeat in the silence.

Then, barely above a whisper, you asked the question you were dreading.

“…Did you tell them?”

More silence.

And then before he could even say anything, he sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

Your breath hitched.

That was all the confirmation you needed.

Your grip on your phone tightened as you stared blankly at the tiled floor, your entire body going rigid.

“Why?” Your voice came out shaky, raw. “Why would you do that?”

Jeongin exhaled again, but it wasn’t frustrated this time. It was tired.

“Because—” He hesitated. “Because they were going to find out eventually.”

You blinked rapidly, your vision blurring. “So what? You decided to throw me under the bus first? Were you..were you trying to save yourself?”

Jeongin’s breath hitched at your accusation. “No—”

“Then why?” you asked again, your voice cracking. “Why would you go behind my back like this? We were supposed to handle this together.”

“I was handling it,” he argued, but there was something defensive in his tone. “I told Chan. And he—he lost it. He said this could ruin everything. He was scared, and I—” He cut himself off, like he didn’t know how to explain. “I thought if I told them first, it would be better than them finding out through rumors or scandals.”

You let out a bitter laugh, one that held no amusement. “Better?”

Jeongin didn’t answer.

You wiped at your face harshly, even though the tears hadn’t fallen yet. Your chest ached, your throat felt tight, and suddenly, you felt so small.

So alone.

“You promised me,” you whispered. “You promised you’d stand by me.”

“I am—”

“No, Jeongin,” you cut him off. “You’re not.”

Another silence.

The longer it stretched, the more your heart shattered.

You waited, waited for him to say something, to tell you that he was still here, that he hadn’t just broken the trust you had in him.

But nothing came.

And suddenly, the weight of everything, the pregnancy, the company knowing, the overwhelming sense of betrayal became too much.

You couldn’t do this. Not right now.

You swallowed down the sob threatening to escape and exhaled shakily. “I have to go.”

Jeongin must have heard the shift in your tone because his voice softened immediately. “Wait—”

But you didn’t wait.

You hung up before he could say another word.

And this time, you didn’t call back.

The moment you hung up, your phone lit up again, Jeongin’s name flashing across the screen.

He was calling you back.

You clenched your jaw, gripping the phone so tightly your knuckles turned white. You weren’t ready to hear whatever excuses he had. You didn’t want to listen to his apologies, not when the damage had already been done.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you pressed down on his contact, tapped Block Number, and shoved your phone back into your bag.

You didn’t want to cry. Not now. Not here.

But the weight of everything pressed down on you, threatening to crush you. You were upset with Jeongin, for going behind your back, for making such a huge decision without you. But you were also upset with yourself, for trusting him so blindly, for believing he would never do something like this.

And, most of all, you were upset at the situation itself.

If you weren’t an idol, would things be different? Would you and Jeongin be able to celebrate this pregnancy instead of hiding it in fear? Instead of worrying about your careers, your fans, your companies?

Would he have told you first? Would he have stood by you like he promised?

You swallowed back the lump in your throat and forced your feet to move, step after step, back toward the makeup room.

You had to keep it together.

The moment you walked in, the makeup artists called you over for touch-ups, their chatter filling the room. You sat down in your chair, trying to school your expression into something neutral, something presentable. But your hands were still trembling in your lap.

Jinae, who was seated in the chair next to you, noticed immediately. She turned to face you, her expression careful but concerned.

“Okay,” she said softly, just loud enough for you to hear. “What’s going on?”

You opened your mouth, ready to tell her it was nothing, that you were fine, but the words wouldn’t come.

Because you weren’t fine.

You were barely holding yourself together.

Jinae saw the hesitation in your eyes and reached over, placing a gentle hand on your arm. She didn’t push, didn’t demand answers, just let you know she was there.

You let out a shaky breath, but before you could even begin to explain, Jinhee walked in.

She scanned the room before her eyes landed on you. “It’s time. Let’s go.”

You forced yourself to nod, swallowing down the emotions threatening to spill over.

As you stood up, Jinae did too, falling into step beside you as you followed Jinhee down the hallway. The quiet hum of conversation from other staff members, the distant sounds of rehearsals from different rooms, it all felt muted compared to the storm raging inside your head.

And then, finally, you found your voice.

Still staring straight ahead, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “Jeongin told JYP.”

Jinae froze mid-step, her head snapping toward you. “What?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “They know. HYBE knows. Jinhee just told me.”

Jinae’s expression darkened, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.

“He told them?” she repeated, anger lacing her voice.

You nodded again, your throat tightening. “Without telling me first.”

Jinae let out a slow, controlled breath through her nose. You could tell she was trying to keep her emotions in check, but the way her jaw tensed, the way her eyes flashed with barely-contained fury, it was clear she was pissed.

“How could he do that?” she muttered under her breath.

You didn’t have an answer.

You had asked yourself the same question over and over since you hung up on him.

The worst part was you wanted to understand. You wanted to believe that he had done it for a reason, that he wasn’t just thinking about himself.

But right now?

All you could feel was betrayal.

Jinae clenched her jaw, shaking her head. “He should’ve told you first. He should’ve talked to you before running to his company.”

You exhaled shakily. “I know.”

Jinae looked like she wanted to say more, to do more, but she held back. Instead, she just reached over, giving your hand a quick, reassuring squeeze.

“We’ll figure this out,” she murmured. “Together.”

You nodded, even though the fear in your chest hadn’t lessened.

Because now, the secret was out.

And you had no idea what would happen next.

You forced yourself to smile, to laugh, to nod along to every question thrown your way during the interviews. You kept your posture straight, your voice steady, and your expressions perfect.

Like nothing was wrong.

Like you weren’t falling apart inside.

Jinae, Minsu, and Chae played along, keeping the energy high, subtly guiding the conversation whenever they noticed you slipping. They had your back.

And finally, finally the interviews ended.

As soon as the cameras shut off and the lights dimmed, you let out a quiet breath, exhaustion settling deep into your bones. You just wanted to go home. To crawl into bed and shut everything out.

-

Back in the dressing room, you changed into your regular clothes, tugging on your hoodie in an attempt to disappear into yourself. The girls were still chatting softly amongst themselves, Minsu occasionally glancing your way with concern.

You knew they wanted to talk, to ask if you were okay, but before they could

The door opened.

Jinhee, stepped in, followed by a man who immediately made the room go silent.

Jun.

Everyone knew Jun.

He was one of the higher-ups at HYBE, one of the kinder ones. He wasn’t the type to belittle idols, wasn’t unnecessarily cruel, but he was serious about his job. If he was here, now, looking this upset

It wasn’t good.

The door shut behind them with a soft click.

Jun crossed his arms, his jaw tight. He exhaled sharply, his expression unreadable, but the tension in the room grew thicker by the second.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“Why did nobody tell the company about what was going on?”

The weight of his words sank in, pressing down on your shoulders like bricks.

You opened your mouth, scrambling for something to say an excuse, an explanation, anything. But before you could, Jinae stepped forward, her arms crossed, her stance firm.

Her tone was sharp, filled with an almost practiced defiance.

“What exactly was there to tell?”

Jun exhaled through his nose, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Jinhee, stepped in before he could respond. “The tip-off didn’t come from Jeongin himself.”

Your eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering in your chest.

“What?” you asked.

She sighed. “It came from his team, from his management.”

Silence.

The realization settled over you like a cold wave.

It wasn’t Jeongin who had run to JYP.

It was the people around him.

The same people who managed his schedules, his appearances, his career. The people who saw him as an investment before they saw him as a person.

You swallowed hard. “Why?”

Jinhee’s expression darkened slightly. “Because they’re angry. And because they want to make sure he isn’t mentioned in any articles if this ever gets out.”

Your heart dropped.

They wanted to keep him safe.

They wanted to leave you out to dry.

Your mouth felt dry, and you turned toward Jun. “What’s going to happen?” you asked, your voice quieter than before. “Is the company really that angry with me?”

Jun sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before meeting your eyes.

“Yes,” he admitted. “But more than that… they’re angry that JYP wants to throw you under the bus while keeping Jeongin completely out of it.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Of course. Of course JYP wouldn’t want their idol wrapped up in a scandal.

You knew how these things worked.

A dating scandal was already risky enough. But a pregnancy? That could end careers.

And HYBE wasn’t exactly known for handling these situations with kindness, either.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides.

“So what?” Minsu cut in, her voice sharper than usual. “They want to act like Jeongin had nothing to do with this? Like she just what? Got pregnant on her own?”

Jun didn’t answer.

Because that was exactly what JYP was trying to do.

Erase Jeongin from the narrative. Make it seem like this was your burden alone. Let you take the backlash, while he walked away unscathed.

Jinae scoffed. “That’s bullshit.”

Jun let out another breath, his expression softening just slightly. “I agree,” he admitted. “Which is why I fought back on it.”

You blinked in surprise.

He continued, “I told them that if Jeongin is involved, then he is involved. If this goes public, we’re not going to pretend otherwise.”

Your chest tightened.

This was it.

The reality you had been dreading was now in motion.

It was out of your hands now.

You weren’t just scared anymore.

You were terrified.

The air in the room was thick with tension, the weight of Jun’s words settling heavily over everyone.

You felt frozen in place, your fingers clenched tightly into your hoodie sleeves as your mind tried to process everything at once.

It wasn’t Jeongin who had told. It was his management.

And now, JYP was working to wipe his name from the situation entirely.

Your company was angry, not just at you, but at them, for trying to shield Jeongin while leaving you and your group to take the fall.

This wasn’t just about you anymore. It was about Jinae. Minsu. Chae. It was about everything the four of you had built together, all the sacrifices you had made to get where you were now.

And the idea that it could all crumble around you because of this? Because of something you didn’t even do alone?

It made you feel sick.

Jinae, standing with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, was the first to speak up.

“What happens if this gets out?” she asked, her voice firm but controlled. “What if Jeongin’s name ends up in the articles anyway?”

Jun sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before answering. “JYP is serious about this. If his name is mentioned, they’re prepared to deny everything.”

The words hit you like a slap.

They would deny it.

Act like it wasn’t true.

Act like you were lying.

Your stomach twisted painfully, and your fingers curled into fists at your sides. You didn’t know why you felt surprised, this was the industry, after all. This was how things worked.

But still, after everything, after how Jeongin had promised to stand by you, after how he had told you over and over again that you weren’t alone..

The thought of him standing back while his company erased his involvement made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t explain.

Jun continued, his voice softer this time. “But I don’t want that to happen.” He looked at you then, his eyes steady. “Because like Minsu said, you didn’t make this baby on your own. It’s unfair for you to be the only one taking the fall while they get to walk away untouched.”

Jinae scoffed under her breath, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”

Minsu, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke, her voice laced with frustration. “So what happens now? What are we supposed to do?”

Jun exhaled, his expression unreadable. “For now, we wait. HYBE is still discussing how to handle this. We don’t want this leaking before we can control the narrative.”

Control the narrative.

Of course.

This wasn’t just about you, it was about the company’s image. About how they could twist the situation to protect themselves.

Even if Jun had good intentions, even if he seemed to be fighting for you, you knew at the end of the day,

You were just another idol.

And idols were replaceable.

Your hands trembled at your sides, and you felt Chae gently brush against you, a small, silent reminder that you weren’t alone.

But it didn’t feel like enough.

Because even with all of them here, even with their support

You had never felt more alone in your life.

The weight of the conversation bore down on you like an avalanche, suffocating and inescapable. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your thoughts spiraling as you struggled to grasp what this all meant for you, what it meant for your future, for your career, for everything you had worked so hard for.

Your voice felt small when you finally spoke. “What should I do?” you asked, eyes locked onto Jun, the only person in the room who could give you a clear answer. “What does the company want me to do?”

Jun sighed, his expression unreadable. “I know you’re not going to like this idea,” he said carefully, measuring his words. “But this is your best option.”

You held your breath.

“A long hiatus.”

The room felt impossibly still.

Jun continued, “You could take time to rest, have the baby, get through postpartum, and then come back completely recovered and fully rested.”

A long hiatus.

You felt the words settle into your bones, heavy and suffocating.

Your gaze flickered to the girls, searching their faces for any sort of reaction. Jinae looked torn, her brows furrowed in concern. Minsu shifted uneasily, arms crossed as if she was holding herself together. Chae’s lips were pressed into a thin line, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

They didn’t want you to go.

But they also knew it was your only choice.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to nod. “I don’t want to ruin this for the group,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “So I’ll go.”

You weren’t just doing this for yourself, you were doing it for them.

Because soon, you’d be showing.

Soon, no amount of oversized clothes or careful angles would be able to hide the truth.

And even if you could push through the exhaustion, the nausea, the constant changes happening in your body,

You couldn’t keep performing like you used to.

Dancing, training, long hours of travel, non-stop schedules, none of it was safe for you or the baby.

So this was your only option.

You tried to lighten the mood, offering a small, tired smile. “At least I’ll get to see my family after so long.”

Jinhee, who had been quietly observing, nodded in agreement. “Honestly, this is your best option. You’re lucky the company is being this understanding.”

You nodded again, but there was a part of you that knew

This wasn’t just understanding.

This was damage control.

This was them taking you out of the public eye before the situation could spiral out of their control.

Jun shifted, ready to leave now that the decision had been made.

But before he could take a step, you reached out, gripping his sleeve and pulling him aside, away from Jinhee, away from the girls.

His brow furrowed in slight confusion, but he stayed put, waiting for you to speak.

Your voice was barely above a whisper, raw and desperate.

“Please,” you begged. “Don’t let them drag Jeongin into this.”

Jun’s jaw tightened.

You knew he didn’t like hearing that.

You knew how unfair this was that Jeongin should be held accountable too.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to let that happen.

“I don’t want to ruin his career,” you continued, eyes pleading. “Please.”

Jun exhaled sharply, clearly irritated, but after a long moment, he gave you a brief nod.

Your shoulders sagged with relief, but deep down, you knew

This wasn’t over yet.

-

The days following that conversation were a blur of forced smiles, quiet panic, and the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you.

You continued attending schedules as if nothing had changed, knowing that soon, you’d have to step away from it all. The company hadn’t made an official statement yet, but the decision was final. You’d be going on hiatus. You just didn’t know when or how they would announce it.

Your members were glued to your side now more than ever. Jinae, Minsu, and Chae hardly let you out of their sight, as if they were afraid you’d disappear before they were ready. Jinae, in particular, was fuming about the way JYP had handled things, but you kept telling her to let it go.

What else could you do?

The hardest part, however, was Jeongin.

You had blocked his number that day, but that didn’t stop him from trying to reach you. Calls from unknown numbers. Messages from Chan. Even handwritten notes delivered through a mutual friend.

All of them said the same thing.

I’m sorry. Please, talk to me.

But you couldn’t.

Not yet.

Not when your entire world was already crashing down around you.

It wasn’t until a few nights later, when you were back at your dorm, that everything truly hit you. You had been holding it together all day, smiling through meetings, pushing through rehearsals, pretending that nothing was wrong, but the moment you were alone in your room, the weight of it all became unbearable.

You curled up on your bed, pressing your face into your pillow as silent tears streamed down your cheeks.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

You had always known being an idol meant sacrificing a normal life. You had accepted that. But now, it felt like you were losing everything, your career, your relationship, your sense of security piece by piece.

A soft knock on your door startled you.

“Hey,” Jinae’s voice came through the door. “Can I come in?”

You wiped your face quickly, sitting up. “Yeah.”

She opened the door gently, stepping inside and closing it behind her. She didn’t say anything at first, just sat down beside you on the bed.

“You don’t have to keep it all in,” she said quietly.

The dam broke.

You turned to her, burying your face into her shoulder as you sobbed. She didn’t say anything, just wrapped her arms around you, holding you tightly as you cried.

When you finally calmed down, she pulled away slightly, brushing some hair out of your face.

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” she said, “but you need to talk to him.”

You tensed. “Jinae—”

“I’m not saying to forgive him,” she interrupted. “But you need answers.”

You swallowed hard. Deep down, you knew she was right.

You couldn’t avoid Jeongin forever.

And whether you liked it or not, you still loved him.

You just didn’t know if that was enough anymore.

Jinae didn’t say much after that. She just gave your hand a light squeeze and stood, telling you softly that she’d be right outside if you needed her. You nodded, still clutching your pillow, your chest aching in that specific way grief and betrayal seem to carve into your ribs.

Once the door clicked shut, the room felt too quiet. Too still. It was just you and your heartbeat pounding against the inside of your throat.

With a shaky breath, you reached for your phone. Your hand hovered over his name, still blocked.

You stared at it for a long time.

Then, with one swipe, you unblocked him. And before your brain could catch up to what your heart had already decided, you hit call.

He answered on the first ring.

“Y/N—” his voice was sharp, panicked, breathless. “Why did you block me? I’ve been trying to reach you for days, I’ve—”

But you didn’t let him finish.

“I need to ask you something first,” you said. Your voice was raw, still hoarse from earlier tears, but there was a steel edge to it now. “Why did your team tell my company?”

Silence. Just the faintest sound of him exhaling on the other end.

You knew that silence. It was guilt.

“Jeongin,” you said again, quieter. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come to me first?”

He finally answered. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that,” he said, voice low, frustrated but more at himself than at you. “Chan—he freaked out when I told him. He’s been so stressed, and when I told him I was trying to keep it between us until we figured it out, he said I was being selfish. That I was risking everything.”

“So you told them,” you said, bitterness curling at the edges of your tone.

“I didn’t want to,” he said, quickly. “I had to. He made me tell management. I— I should’ve told you. I know. That’s why I lashed out on you the other night. I was already a mess, I didn’t know what to do and I took it out on you, and that was wrong.”

“You think?” you snapped, your voice cracking with the emotion you’d been holding back. “You called me annoying, Jeongin. After everything, I was scared, I was alone, and you made me feel like I was a burden.”

He went quiet again. You could hear his breath catching like he was pacing or shaking his head, angry at himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I swear to you, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of that. I was just scared. I still am.”

You wiped a tear before it could fall, swallowing the ache in your throat. “They’re putting me on hiatus,” you told him, voice hollow. “Starting soon. Over a year.”

The silence on his end cracked like thunder.

“What?” he whispered. “Already?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “I didn’t really have a choice. They’re angry. But… they’re trying to protect me. Us.”

He didn’t speak for a long moment. You imagined him sitting down, running his hand through his hair the way he always did when he felt helpless.

“I don’t want you to go through this alone,” he finally said. “You and the baby… I should’ve been better. I should’ve fought harder for you, not against you.”

You sighed, pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as the tears fell again. “I don’t know if I can trust you right now.”

“I know,” he said. “But I’m going to fix that. I promise.”

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t. Because you wanted to believe him.

But part of you was still shattered.

So you stayed quiet as he whispered “I love you. And I love our baby. Please… just let me prove it.”

The silence that followed his words felt heavy, and you hated that it still stirred something soft in your chest, the way he said “I love you” like it wasn’t a question, like it was something that remained, no matter how messy things had gotten between you.

But you had to be honest.

“I hated that you shut me out,” you said, voice trembling but steady. “The second things got hard… you shut me out like I didn’t matter. Like we didn’t matter.”

There was a pause. You could hear a soft exhale from his side of the call, almost like he was bracing himself.

“I know,” Jeongin said quietly. “And you’re right. I did. I just… I didn’t know how to handle it. Everything happened so fast, Chan got scared, I panicked, I felt like I was being pulled in ten different directions. But that’s not an excuse. I should’ve come to you. I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve trusted us.”

You didn’t answer right away, your fingers gripping your phone tighter as his voice cracked just slightly on the last word.

“I’m sorry,” he added, and this time it sounded so sincere, so raw, you had to close your eyes. “Just… let me make it right. Let me prove to you that I can be better. That I want to be better. For you, and for the baby.”

A long breath escaped you, your shoulders sagging under the emotional weight you’d been carrying for days. “Okay,” you whispered. “Okay, Jeongin.”

You could hear the shift in him, like his body physically relaxed through the call. A little smile laced his voice when he said, “Thank you… really. Thank you. You have no idea how scared I’ve been. I missed you so much. How’s the baby?”

That question, gentle, hopeful, real made something stir inside you again. A different kind of ache. One that reminded you that this wasn’t just about pain and betrayal. There was still something beautiful in the center of all this chaos. A little life. A little piece of both of you.

“They’re okay,” you murmured, brushing your fingers lightly over your still-flat stomach. “I haven’t had a check-up since last week, but everything looked good. I’ve been eating more, resting when I can. The girls are spoiling me.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound familiar and warm. “Good. You deserve to be spoiled. Both of you.”

There was a small pause.

Then, you said it softly, hesitantly, unsure how it would land. “When the hiatus gets announced… I might be going home for a bit.”

The smile you heard in his voice faded almost instantly. “Home?” he repeated, and you could already hear the resistance in his tone. “Like, back to your parents’?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “The company thinks it’s better if I’m away for a while. And honestly… I miss it. I need some space. Somewhere quiet. Familiar.”

“I get it,” he said slowly, but you could tell he didn’t like it. “But… that means I won’t see you. At all.”

You sighed. “That’s kind of the point, Jeongin. I need time. I need to think. And I need to be somewhere that doesn’t feel like it’s falling apart.”

He was quiet, clearly trying to figure out how to respond without pushing too hard. “I want to be there for you,” he finally said, and there was a quiet desperation behind the words. “I know I messed up. But I want to be part of this, even if I have to earn back your trust. Even if I only get scraps of you for a while.”

“I’m not doing this to punish you,” you told him softly. “I just… I need to feel safe again. And right now, that means going home.”

He didn’t fight it. Not really. He just let out a small, broken sigh. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll wait. Just… keep texting me, okay? Updates about you. About them. Even if I can’t be there. Just let me know you’re okay.”

“I will,” you promised, and your heart ached again at the quiet hope in his voice.

The call ended gently this time. No harsh words. No slamming silence.

Just two people, scared and trying.

Trying to figure out how to stay whole while everything around them changed.

-

The past few days had felt like a blur. Everything was moving too fast, yet at the same time, it felt like you were wading through thick, heavy air, each step forward feeling heavier than the last. You knew this day was coming, but knowing didn’t make it easier.

Today, your company would announce your hiatus.

Even though you had agreed to it, even though you had accepted it as your best option, the reality of it hit differently now that it was here. Your group had worked so hard to get to where you were. You had dreamed of this for years, sacrificed so much, given every piece of yourself to this life. And now… you were stepping back.

It terrified you.

What if things changed while you were gone? What if the group went on without you and you came back only to feel like an outsider? What if the fans turned their backs on you? And worse, what if they never took you back?

The girls had been with you all morning, refusing to leave you alone as you refreshed your phone, waiting for the official statement to drop. Minsu had even stolen your phone at one point, forcing you to sit down and eat something while they all kept an eye on the internet for you. You appreciated them more than you could put into words. They had been your rock through this, never once making you feel like a burden, never once making you feel like you were going through this alone.

When the statement finally did go up, your heart practically stopped.

Your company had kept the announcement simple.

"Due to health-related concerns, Y/N will be taking an extended hiatus from all group activities. We deeply apologize to fans for the sudden news and ask for your understanding as she prioritizes her health and recovery. Thank you for your continued support."

That was it. No further details, no hints at the real reason, just a vague explanation that left everything open to speculation. Within minutes, the internet was ablaze with reactions. Fans were confused, some were worried, some were already coming up with wild theories. It was exactly what you had been dreading.

And then there was your statement, an apology letter written by you, reviewed by the company, and now posted for the world to see. You had rewritten it a dozen times before finally settling on something that felt like you. It wasn’t much, just a brief message apologizing to the fans, thanking them for their love and support, and asking them to wait for you.

You didn’t dare check the comments.

Instead, you sat there, your hands shaking, your breath uneven.

Minsu immediately reached for you, pulling you into a hug. “Hey, it’s okay,” she murmured. “We’re right here. We’re not going anywhere.”

Jinae sat down beside you, rubbing your back. “They’ll understand. And the ones who don’t? They were never really here for you in the first place.”

Chae nodded. “And besides, this isn’t forever. You will come back. And when you do, we’ll be right here waiting.”

You bit your lip, nodding as you blinked back tears. “I just… I hate leaving like this. I hate lying to them.”

Jinae squeezed your shoulder. “I know. But you’re not lying, okay? You do need this break. You do need to take care of yourself. And when you’re ready, you will tell your story. On your own terms.”

You exhaled shakily, nodding again. “Thank you,” you whispered.

The moment was interrupted by the buzz of your phone on the table. Minsu handed it back to you, and your heart skipped when you saw Jeongin’s name.

Jeongin: I just saw the announcement. Are you okay?

Jeongin: Call me if you need anything, okay?

You stared at the messages for a moment before typing back a quick, I’m okay. Just overwhelmed.

Almost instantly, the typing bubbles appeared.

Jeongin: I know. I wish I could be there with you.

Jeongin: Just say the word, and I’ll come.

You swallowed hard, fingers hesitating over your screen. You wanted to see him. You missed him. But you weren’t sure if you were ready for that yet.

Instead, you just typed, Not yet. But soon.

His response came immediately.

Jeongin: I’ll be waiting.

The first few weeks of your hiatus were strange. For years, your life had been nothing but rehearsals, performances, interviews, and constant movement. Every single day had been filled with something, training, traveling, promoting. You had barely had time to breathe, let alone do nothing.

But now, your days felt… empty.

The girls would wake up early and rush off to schedules, photoshoots, meetings while you stayed behind. At first, it felt like a much-needed break. You could sleep in, take long showers, eat at a normal pace instead of scarfing down meals between rehearsals. You caught up on dramas you had missed, scrolled through social media, and actually had time to sit and just exist.

But then, the boredom hit.

At first, you tried to keep yourself occupied reading, sketching, even attempting to write lyrics for fun. But there was only so much you could do when you were practically trapped inside. The company had strongly advised against going out too much. They didn’t want any risk of you being spotted, and more than that, they wanted to avoid any unnecessary speculation. That meant no public outings unless absolutely necessary, no random shopping trips, not even visiting family.

You understood why, but it was suffocating.

Most days, you were alone in the dorm. The silence was deafening.

The only thing keeping you sane were the calls.

Jeongin called you every night without fail. Sometimes he’d call during the day too, quick check-ins between his own schedules. He always asked how you were feeling, if you were eating well, if you needed anything. Some nights, he’d talk until you fell asleep, his voice the only comfort you had in the quiet.

“You must be so bored,” he said one night, chuckling softly over the phone.

“You have no idea,” you sighed. “I’ve been staring at the ceiling for an hour.”

Jeongin laughed. “I wish I could come over.”

“Me too,” you admitted.

There was a pause before he spoke again, softer this time. “Are you still feeling okay? Any nausea?”

“A little, but it’s manageable.”

“Are you craving anything? I can send something over.”

You smiled. “You already send me too much.”

“I like spoiling you,” he said, a little defensive. “Let me.”

You could practically hear the pout in his voice, and it made your heart ache. You missed him so much. The secrecy, the distance, it was starting to weigh on you.

The girls checked on you constantly too, sending messages throughout the day. If they had free time between schedules, they’d FaceTime you, making sure you weren’t completely losing your mind.

Minsu: What are you doing?

You: Laying down.

Minsu: AGAIN?!

You: What else am I supposed to do??

Minsu: Okay, new plan. I’m buying you puzzles or something. You need enrichment.

Jinae would bring back snacks for you after schedules, sometimes forcing you to sit with them while they ate so you wouldn’t be alone.

Chae started watching the same drama as you just so you’d have something to talk about.

They did everything they could to make you feel included, even when you weren’t physically there.

But still… it was hard.

Hard not to feel isolated. Hard not to feel like the world was moving on without you. Hard not to worry about the future.

How long would you be able to hide this? What would happen when the truth did come out?

And the biggest fear of all, would things ever really go back to normal?

-

Days turned into weeks, and soon, you found yourself slipping into a routine. Wake up, eat breakfast alone, scroll through your phone, maybe watch a drama or read something, take a nap, wait for the girls to return, talk to Jeongin at night, and then repeat.

It was monotonous, isolating, but at least predictable.

However, your body was changing.

At first, it wasn’t noticeable, just small things. You felt more exhausted, even though you weren’t doing anything strenuous. Some days, you’d wake up starving, and other days, the mere thought of food made your stomach churn. You caught yourself resting a hand on your belly absentmindedly, still struggling to grasp the reality that you were really pregnant.

But then, the real changes started.

Your clothes didn’t fit quite the same. Your favorite pair of jeans felt too tight, your stage outfits (that you still tried on for fun) didn’t zip up as easily. Even the girls noticed.

“You’re starting to show,” Chae said one evening as you stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of your hoodie.

You sighed. “I know.”

Jinae walked up behind you, resting her chin on your shoulder. “You’re okay with that, right?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know…”

You knew the inevitable was coming. You couldn’t hide this forever. Your hiatus could only serve as a cover-up for so long before questions started piling up.

And then, of course, there was him.

Jeongin.

He had been great, supportive, reassuring, always checking in. But he was still an idol. He was still promoting, still going on schedules, still in the public eye. He could pretend like none of this affected him, but you knew it did.

And your worst fear? That, despite all his promises, he’d start to resent you for it.

One night, when the girls were still out at a schedule, Jeongin called you unexpectedly.

“Hey,” you answered softly.

“You sound tired,” he said. “You okay?”

You let out a small laugh. “I think I’m always tired now.”

He chuckled. “That’s normal, right?”

“That’s what they say.”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, this time quieter.

“I want to see you.”

Your heart clenched. “Jeongin, you know that’s risky.”

“I don’t care.”

You sighed. “I care.”

He groaned. “I just, being away from you this much is killing me. I don’t know how much longer I can take it.”

Your fingers tightened around the phone. You missed him too. So much. But what could you do? It wasn’t just about you two anymore.

“Just a little longer,” you whispered.

Jeongin didn’t respond right away. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer, sadder.

“I don’t want to miss this,” he admitted. “Any of it. I want to be there.”

You felt tears prick your eyes. You knew he meant it. But you also knew that wanting something and being able to do something were two different things.

“Soon,” you whispered, more to yourself than him. “Soon.”

You weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

-

The night had started off quietly.

You and Chae were curled up on the couch, a fluffy blanket draped over both of you as you watched a movie. It was one you had already seen before, but neither of you really cared, it was just something to fill the silence, something comforting. Chae had been extra clingy with you lately, almost as if she could sense that you needed it. She would randomly hold your hand, rest her head on your shoulder, or link arms with you when you walked around the dorm.

Tonight was no different. She was snuggled up against your side, her head resting on your shoulder while you absentmindedly rubbed circles on the back of her hand. The warmth, the weight of her against you, it was nice. It made you feel less alone

You had barely thought about your phone call with Jeongin earlier. You had buried it deep in your mind, knowing that thinking about it too much would only make you feel worse. But then..

A knock at the door.

Chae lifted her head slightly. “That might be Jinhee. She said she’d stop by to drop off something the company got you.”

You hummed in response, standing up and stretching before making your way to the door. You didn’t even hesitate before unlocking it and pulling it open.

And that’s when you saw him.

A man in all black, hood pulled up, mask covering his face, hands reaching out..

You screamed.

Chae shot up from the couch, panic flashing across her face as she rushed toward you. But then

“It’s me!”

You froze.

That voice, deep, familiar, warm.

Jeongin.

Before you could even fully process what was happening, he pushed himself inside, shutting the door quickly behind him and pulling down his mask and hat.

You smacked his chest hard.

“What the hellare you doing?!” you hissed. “You scared me half to death!”

Jeongin winced, rubbing the spot where you hit him. “Okay, ow—first of all, I did try to warn you, but you screamed too fast.”

Chae, who had been standing frozen in shock, finally snapped out of it. “Jeongin?! Are you insane?!”

He gave her an apologetic look before turning his attention back to you.

You were still fuming. “You cannot just show up like this! Do you know how risky this is?! What if someone saw you?!”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I was careful. No one saw me.”

“That’s not the point!”

“I had to see you,” he said, eyes searching yours. “I couldn’t just sit around anymore.”

Your breath hitched. The raw emotion in his voice, the desperation, it made your heart ache.

Chae, sensing the tension, cleared her throat. “I… should probably go to my room.”

You turned to her, still flustered. “Chae, you don’t have to—”

“I should,” she said, giving you a knowing look before walking past you. But as she did, she whispered, “Just don’t be too loud, okay?”

Your jaw dropped. “Chae!”

Jeongin chuckled under his breath as Chae disappeared into her room, leaving the two of you alone.

You sighed, rubbing your temples before looking back at him. “You are so reckless.”

His expression softened. “I know.”

Silence settled between you. Now that the initial panic had worn off, all that was left was the overwhelming need to be near him. To touch him, hold him, feel him after weeks of nothing but phone calls and longing.

Jeongin must have felt it too because, in the next second, he was stepping closer, arms wrapping around you tightly, pulling you into his chest.

And just like that, you melted.

You buried your face into his hoodie, inhaling the familiar scent of him warm, fresh, safe. His hands ran soothingly up and down your back, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go.

“I missed you,” he murmured into your hair.

Your fingers gripped his hoodie tighter. “I missed you too.”

More than you could even put into words.

The warmth of Jeongin's hand on your belly startled you for a moment, but it was a comforting surprise. His fingers brushed gently over the curve that was just beginning to show, the faintest outline of a baby bump that was slowly becoming impossible to hide. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering a moment longer as if he never wanted to pull away.

“I know this is scary,” you trailed off, not sure how to express everything running through your mind.

Jeongin laughed softly, the sound lifting some of the heaviness from the room. “We’ll get through it. Together.” He pulled you in again, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. You melted into him, letting yourself feel safe, even if just for a moment.

You leaned against him, both of you sinking back into the couch together. His arms enveloped you like a shield from everything you were worried about the company, the fans, the possible backlash. For now, in his arms, you were allowed to forget about it all, just focusing on the warmth between you.

“What have you been doing all day?” he asked, his voice soft but full of concern.

“Honestly? Just… being bored,” you admitted, resting your head on his shoulder. “I don’t have anything to do anymore. No schedules, no rehearsals… Just sitting here, waiting for time to pass.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like torture.”

You nodded, feeling a little sad. The reality of the hiatus was starting to sink in, and the boredom that followed was nothing like you’d expected. It wasn’t peaceful, it was suffocating.

The two of you stayed like that, just cuddling, letting the quiet of the moment settle around you. You didn’t speak much; it wasn’t necessary. The simple act of being close to him, feeling his presence, was more than enough.

But then, you heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. You didn’t think much of it at first, probably Jinae coming back from the studio a little later than usual. However, when the door swung open and the soft click of heels followed, you immediately knew it wasn’t just her.

Jinae entered first, Jinhee followed closely behind her, her expression unreadable but not necessarily friendly.

The moment you saw her, you immediately jumped to your feet, pushing Jeongin away from you in panic. He stood up quickly as well, his eyes flicking to yours, a mixture of confusion and concern on his face.

Jinhee wasted no time. “What is this?” she asked, voice sharp. “Jeongin, you shouldn’t be here at all.”

Jeongin opened his mouth to speak, but Jinhee cut him off immediately. “No.” She shook her head, her gaze hardening. “You need to go. Now.”

Jeongin hesitated, looking at you as if searching for your permission. You bit your lip, not wanting to make it harder for him but knowing you didn’t have a choice. He had to leave. You nodded, your throat tightening, and though he didn’t want to, he respected your silent decision.

“Alright,” Jeongin muttered quietly, his voice thick with disappointment. He walked towards the door, but before leaving, he paused and glanced back at you. “I’ll… call you later, okay?”

You didn’t trust yourself to say anything, so you simply nodded, giving him a small, forced smile. Your chest felt heavy as you watched him leave, the door clicking shut behind him.

Jinhee turned to you, a disappointed look on her face. “You knew better than this. I don’t care if you’re lonely or if he’s the only one who makes you feel better. You have to think about the bigger picture.”

You couldn’t argue with her, but it stung more than you expected. You were trying to keep everything together, trying to follow the rules, but it was harder than anyone understood. You nodded apologetically, the weight of the situation pressing down on you.

Jinhee didn’t seem to want to lecture you more. She handed you a small, neatly wrapped package. “This is from the company. For you and the baby.” Her tone softened just slightly as she added, “You’ll get through this. Just… take care of yourself.”

You took the gift from her, your fingers trembling slightly. “Thank you,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. She gave you a curt nod before turning to leave, the door closing quietly behind her.

You stood in the middle of the room for a long moment, staring at the gift in your hands but not really seeing it. Your mind was on Jeongin. On the way he looked when he left. You hated that you had to let him go like that, even though you knew it was necessary. You had to be smart. You couldn’t risk anything right now.

You excused yourself early that evening, retreating to your room under the pretense of needing rest. But, in truth, you just wanted to be alone. You didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Soon, your phone buzzed.

It was Jeongin.

You picked it up immediately, despite the heaviness in your chest.

“Hey,” his voice came through, soft but filled with concern. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.”

You sniffled, sitting on your bed as you responded, “It’s not your fault. I just… I don’t know what to do anymore. Everything is just…”

“Stressful?” he finished for you.

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah. It’s just been so much, and I’m not sure I’m handling it very well.”

“I hate seeing you suffer like this,” he said, his voice full of empathy. “I can’t stand it. You don’t deserve any of this.”

“I don’t know what I deserve anymore,” you replied softly, the tears starting to sting your eyes again.

“Hey,” he said firmly, “you deserve so much. You deserve to be happy. And I promise, we’ll figure this out. You and me, together. Just like we always have.”

You swallowed hard, the tightness in your throat almost too much to bear. “I hope so.”

“I’ll make sure you’re okay,” he assured you. “You’re not alone in this.”

“I know. I just need you to be patient with me. I’ll figure it out, but… it’s going to take some time.”

“I’ll wait. For as long as it takes.”

You closed your eyes at his words, feeling a bittersweet warmth settle in your chest. You didn’t have all the answers, and the path ahead was far from clear. But with Jeongin by your side, you were starting to believe that, maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

For now, that was enough.

//

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[fs taglist: @laine2353 @emilyywhyy @d3kstar @lenfilms..]

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[someonegoood]

THE CORPORATE EQUATION chapter 1 ✫ jeon jungkook

after Jeon resigned as CEO, meeting his son —the new CEO— was not a good experience. Despite the tension, you notice hints of vulnerability beneath his moody exterior.

CONTAINS: corporate!au, ceo!jk, headofhr!reader, grumpy x sunshine, slow burn, accidental vulnerability, mutual pining, emotionally unavailable jk, bickering turned bonding, fluff & angst :)

NOTE: this will be a mini series. thanks so much for reading!! this work is not revised and english is not my first language :)

my main masterlist! ❀ the corporate equation masterlist!

chapter one: the new CEO

Life has a strange way of changing in the blink of an eye. One moment, you’re comfortable in the routine of your daily life, and the next, everything shifts—like the wind knocking over an entire stack of carefully arranged folders. For you, this particular change had come faster than expected. Jeon, the former CEO, had resigned abruptly, leaving the company in turmoil. There was little time to adjust, and even less time to process what was happening.

Jeon had been a constant at the helm for years. His presence had shaped the company's foundation, and you had respected him for his sharp, calculated leadership. He had guided the company with precision and there was always an understanding that he could be trusted to keep the ship steady. But now, his son, Jeon Jungkook, was stepping into his shoes. You knew little about him, except for the occasional gossip that had floated through the company—rumours that painted him as cold, unapproachable and... gorgeous.

Today was the day. You went through your morning routine on autopilot. Coffee brewed in the corner as you brushed your hair, choosing practicality over flair. A pencil skirt, a pastel blouse, and your trusty blazer—a combination that felt like armour against the unpredictability of corporate life. You grabbed your bag and headed out the door.

At this time of the morning, the bus stop was alive with the quiet energy of early morning commuters. A mix of sleepiness and determination hung in the air as people shuffled about with their eyes fixed on their phones or the horizon. You settled into your usual seat by the window, gazing at the familiar cityscape rushing by. Buildings stacked against one another and the occasional cyclist weaving through traffic—it all felt comfortingly ordinary.

By the time you reached the office, the hum of whispered speculation filled the air. As you walked through the halls, exchanging polite smiles with colleagues, you couldn’t help but notice how everyone seemed to carry a certain tension in their movements.

Soojin appeared at your side. Her usual cheery demeanour was like a ray of sunshine cutting through the tense atmosphere. She was holding a steaming cup of tea, her neatly styled bob bouncing slightly as she walked. She started working at the same time you entered the company, therefore you've become really good friends.

“Good morning!” she chirped, setting her cup down on the counter. She leaned against it, her bright eyes scanning your stack of papers. “Prepared for our big meeting with the new boss?”

“Morning, Soojin,” you replied, offering her a small smile. “Yeah, just making sure I have everything in order. First impressions matter, right?”

“Absolutely,” she said, nodding emphatically. “But don’t stress too much. From what I’ve heard, Jeon Jungkook isn’t exactly the chatty type. Rumour has it he’s more about the Finances Department than the HR one.”

You gave a small laugh, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’ve heard that too. But, you know, I’m still hoping he’ll be open to ideas. We'll present the proposal for improving employee morale that I think could really make a difference.”

Soojin raised an eyebrow, her expression somewhere between impressed and skeptical. “Employee morale? The one Dohyun and you made up? Bold move. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great. But with all the talk about how cold he is, I wouldn’t be surprised if he shuts it down...”

“Maybe,” you admitted, straightening your papers and tucking them into your folder. “But I have to try, right? If we don’t focus on the people here, everything else will eventually fall apart.”

Soojin tilted her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “That’s what I like about you. Always seeing the bright side, even when everyone else is freaking out. Just… don’t let him discourage you, okay? From what I hear, he can be a bit intimidating.”

You chuckled, though you couldn’t completely mask the nervous flutter in your stomach. “Honestly, how bad can he be? He’s human too, right?”

Soojin shrugged, her expression playful but knowing. “Sure, he’s human. But some humans are more like icebergs—most of them are hidden, and what you can see is cold and sharp.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Soojin said with a grin, taking her cup of tea and stepping aside as Dohyun, another member form the HR team approached, nodding a greeting to both of you. The three of you started to walk towards the conference room. “Anyway, you’ve got this. Just be yourself. If anyone can charm an iceberg, it’s you.”

Her words were meant to be encouraging, but as you adjusted your blazer, you couldn’t shake the growing knot of anxiety in your stomach. If Jeon Jungkook really was as cold and impenetrable as the rumours suggested, this meeting was going to be anything but easy.

The long, polished table gleamed under the overhead lights, the leather chairs arranged neatly around it. You set your notebook and pen in front of you, taking a moment to mentally prepare for the meeting ahead. The other members of the HR team began to trickle in—Soojin with her ever-present cheerful energy, Dohyun looking focused as always, Joonho balancing his coffee precariously in one hand, and Minji projecting her usual calm authority.

The room was alive with small talk until the atmosphere shifted. A hush fell over the space as the door opened, and in walked Jeon Jungkook.

Your first thought was how young he looked, though the sharp lines of his suit and the intensity in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t someone to be underestimated. He exuded confidence, the kind that came with knowing you didn’t need to say much to command a room. His gaze swept over the table, assessing each face with a precision that made your heart quicken. When his eyes landed on you, they lingered for a fraction of a second longer than expected, and the weight of his attention was almost tangible.

He was handsome.

He took his place at the head of the table without so much as a greeting. His assistant, Hajun, followed closely behind, setting a sleek portfolio in front of him.

"Let’s get started," Jungkook said, his voice low and firm, cutting through the silence like a blade.

You straightened in your seat, your pen poised to take notes. The meeting began, and it was immediately clear that Jungkook operated differently from his father. He listened, but his responses were curt, his tone leaving little room for argument. When your turn came to speak, you offered your carefully prepared suggestion for improving workplace morale—an idea you were confident would resonate with his father, the former CEO.

“Good morning, everyone,” you began, glancing around the table before focusing on Jungkook. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and you had to resist the urge to look away. “I’d like to propose an initiative to improve employee morale and engagement. We’ve seen a lot of changes recently, and I believe it’s crucial to invest in the well-being of our team during this transitional period.”

But Jungkook’s expression didn’t shift.

After a few seconds, he decided to say something. “That’s too idealistic,” he said flatly. His voice was calm, but the dismissal stung all the same. Every team member looked astonished, “We don’t have the resources to entertain abstract ideas right now. We need to focus on tangible results, not wishful positive thinking.”

The room went silent, all eyes shifting between you and him. A wave of heat rose to your face, but you refused to let it deter you. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and replied.

“I understand your concerns, Mr. Jeon,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “But I respectfully disagree. Employee morale isn’t an abstract idea; it’s a measurable factor that directly impacts productivity and retention. If we don’t address the root causes of disengagement now, we’ll face bigger problems down the line—higher turnover, lower performance, and potentially a damaged reputation.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by your rebuttal. His pen paused mid-tap, and he leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze narrowing as he studied you. For a moment, the room was still, the air thick with anticipation. Jungkook didn’t speak immediately, his expression unreadable as his gaze lingered on you.

Finally, he nodded, though it was more an acknowledgment of your persistence than an agreement. “Noted,” he said simply before shifting his attention to the next person on the agenda.

As you sat back down, your heart was racing, but you kept your composure. Soojin shot you a quick, encouraging smile from across the table, and you gave her a subtle nod in return. Jungkook’s dismissal still stung, but you couldn’t help feeling a small sense of victory. You had stood your ground, and even if he hadn’t agreed, you knew you had planted a seed.

Whether he realized it or not, Jeon Jungkook was going to hear you out—eventually.

Despite his half-rejection, you couldn’t help but notice the long hours Jungkook kept. He stayed in his office long after everyone else had left, his office door always ajar, the flicker of his desk lamp visible through the cracks. Curiosity gnawed at you, as you were heading home yourself, you decided to stop by and check in on him. Your offices were facing each other, therefore you could see everything he was doing.

You knocked lightly on the doorframe, unsure of what kind of reception you would get.

"Mr. Jeon?" you began, your voice tentative. "I noticed you’re still here. Is everything okay?"

Jungkook glanced up at you, his expression unreadable. His eyes were sharp, calculating as they locked onto yours. "I don’t need a babysitter," he muttered before quickly returning to the papers in front of him. There was no warmth in his tone, no indication that he appreciated the concern. But there was something else—something beneath his cold exterior—that you couldn’t quite place. A flicker of frustration, of exhaustion, maybe. It was there, but only for a split second.

You had expected him to shut the door in your face, but instead, he let you stand there for a few seconds longer before the silence stretched uncomfortably between you.

"I just thought… maybe you could use a break. It’s important to recharge, too," you said, trying once more, hoping to break through that thick wall he had built around himself.

He didn’t respond, just stared at you as though trying to decide whether or not your presence was a disruption. When he spoke, his voice was lower, edged with something you hadn’t heard before—a mixture of stress and frustration.

"I don’t have the luxury of downtime," he muttered, his gaze turning back to the papers in front of him, his fingers tapping against the desk in a rapid rhythm. "My father was right to step down when he did. This place it’s too much to handle..."

You didn’t know if you were meant to hear this. Jungkook’s voice cracked just slightly as he spoke, a rare moment of vulnerability that cut through his otherwise unyielding exterior. But before you could respond, he snapped, his tone returning to its familiar sharpness.

"Just go. I’ll manage," he said, his gaze hardening once more as he gestured toward the door.

As you left, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Jungkook was difficult, a person wrapped in layers of pride and frustration, but there was something about that brief moment of honesty—something raw—that made you wonder if there was more to him than the impenetrable CEO persona he projected.

You didn’t know what the future held, but one thing was clear: this man, this new CEO, was not the cold-hearted figure he appeared to be on the surface. And perhaps, in time, you could find a way to break through that wall he had so carefully constructed around himself.

The HR office buzzed with an unusual energy, a rare break from the grind. Joonho’s birthday had turned the space into a small celebration, complete with an assortment of pastries from the bakery down the street. Laughter echoed as everyone gathered around, sipping coffee and chatting.

“Okay, okay!” Minji said, clapping her hands for attention. “We have an important task for you, sunshine.” Her tone was teasing, but her expression was determined as her gaze landed squarely on you.

You raised an eyebrow, your mouth still full of a bite of croissant. “Me? What’s this ‘important task’?”

Dohyun chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “You’ve got to invite Mr. Jeon to join us.”

You blinked, startled. “Jeon Jungkook? The CEO? Are you serious?”

Joonho nodded vigorously, his cheeks slightly pink from the attention everyone was showering on him. “Come on! It’s my birthday, and maybe you can get him to crack a smile. Plus,” he added with a sly grin, “you’re the only one brave enough to talk back to him.”

Minji, ever the voice of reason, stepped in with a gentle smile. “It’s worth a try. Even if he says no, it’ll show that we’re trying to include him. And who knows? He might surprise us.”

You sighed, setting your half-eaten pastry on the edge of your desk. “Fine, I’ll do it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you if he declines.” The team erupted into cheers and laughter as you smoothed down your blouse, squared your shoulders, and made your way toward his office.

The door to Mr. Jeaon's office was slightly ajar, but you hesitated before knocking. A voice from inside stopped you—a woman’s voice, clear and firm. You hesitated outside his office door, adjusting your grip on the folder in your hands, but before you could knock, a low, feminine laugh drifted through the gap.

"Come on, Jungkook," the woman purred, her tone smooth and teasing. "You can’t keep shutting the world out. At some point, even you need a little... release."

Your breath caught, and your fingers froze just above the door. The casual intimacy of her words, paired with the warmth in her voice, made your face heat.

Jungkook’s reply was quieter but firm. “This isn’t the time for distractions. You know that better than anyone.”

“Oh, please,” she shot back, amusement dancing in her voice. “You’ve been coiled so tight since taking this job, I’m surprised you haven’t snapped. What’s the harm in loosening up a little? Just for tonight? As we used to...”

The suggestion hung in the air, heavy and charged. You felt your heart hammer in your chest. Should you turn back? But the folder in your hands reminded you of why you were here—no matter how awkward it might be.

Gathering your courage, you knocked lightly, hoping the sound would cut through whatever tension had been brewing inside.

The voices went silent.

“Come in,” Jungkook called, his tone now sharp and businesslike.

You pushed the door open cautiously. Jungkook stood behind his desk, phone in hand, his expression unreadable. His tie was slightly askew, and there was a faint flush at the base of his neck. The woman’s voice was gone, though the faint click of a phone being disconnected told you she was still on the other end of the call just moments ago.

He met your eyes, and for a split second, you thought you saw something flicker there—annoyance? Embarrassment? It was gone before you could decipher it.

“Miss,” he said, his voice cool. “What is it?”

You cleared your throat, trying to push past the awkwardness. “I just came to invite you to join the HR team. We’re celebrating Joonho’s birthday, and we thought it would be nice to include you.”

Jungkook raised a brow, the tension in his jaw softening slightly. “I’m busy,” he replied, gesturing to the neatly organized stack of documents on his desk. “And I don’t need any of that.”

His words were dismissive, but there was a faint edge to his tone like he was still distracted by the previous conversation.

“I see,” you said, masking your confusion with a polite smile. “Well, the invitation’s there if you change your mind. Have a good evening, Mr. Jeon.”

As you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but wonder about the woman on the phone—and the look on Jungkook’s face when he thought no one was watching. Was he dating someone? Seeing someone? Or just a fling...? You suddenly stop in your tracks, You shouldn't be thinking about our boss's private life.

Later that evening, as the office grew quiet and most of your colleagues had left, you found yourself lingering in the HR office as every other day. The leftover pastries from Joonho’s birthday were spread across the table, and your gaze fell on the last remaining matcha cream puff, Joonho’s favourite and, coincidentally, the one you had secretly saved for Jungkook.

You still couldn’t shake the tension from earlier—the clipped way he’d dismissed your invitation and the strange conversation you had overheard. The woman’s sultry tone and Jungkook’s responses echoed faintly in your mind, leaving you with more questions than answers. But one thing was clear: whatever weight Jungkook carried on his shoulders, it was heavy.

You picked up the pastry and carefully placed it in a small box, folding the lid neatly. Grabbing a purple sticky note, you scribbled a simple message:

"Eat it, please! We would have loved to have you today – Miss Y/N"

It wasn’t much, but it felt like the right thing to do—a small gesture to remind him that someone in this office cared, even if he tried to push everyone away.

With the box in hand, you made your way to his office. The lights were still on, but the room was empty, his jacket slung neatly over the back of his chair. You stepped inside hesitantly, placing the box squarely in the centre of his desk. The sticky note caught the glow of his desk lamp, and you smiled faintly at the absurdity of it all.

Would he eat it? Would he crumple up the note and toss it in the trash? You had no idea.

You turned off the light in his office as you left, leaving the pastry and the quiet note behind. As the elevator doors closed and you descended to the lobby, you couldn’t help but wonder if this tiny act of kindness might crack the icy façade Jungkook seemed determined to maintain.

If nothing else, you’d tried—and that was enough for now.

The quiet hum of the office after hours was a rare solace for Jungkook. He leaned back in his chair, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he replayed Yuna’s voice in his head.

“Jungkook,” she had said, her tone dripping with something he couldn’t quite place—mockery, concern, or maybe a blend of both. “You can’t keep running yourself into the ground. You’ve always had this... obsession with proving yourself. It’s exhausting just to watch, honestly.”

Her words cut deeper than he wanted to admit. Yuna had always known how to push his buttons, her insight into his insecurities as sharp as ever. “You’ve been coiled so tight since taking this job, I’m surprised you haven’t snapped. What’s the harm in loosening up a little? Just for tonight? As we used to...”

He’d ended the call quickly, his jaw tight as he shoved the phone into his pocket. He hated that she still had that effect on him, that she could twist his emotions with a single conversation.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the weight of her words as he pushed open the door to his office. He froze mid-step, his gaze landing on the small box sitting on his desk. The office was dim, lit only by the city lights filtering through the large windows, but the glow of his desk lamp illuminated the neat handwriting on a sticky note:

"Eat it, please! We would have loved to have you today – Miss Y/N"

For a moment, Jungkook just stood there, staring at the note. His brow furrowed as he approached the desk, setting down the files he’d been carrying. The box was small and unassuming, but the gesture felt oddly personal—out of place in the structured world he inhabited.

He peeled the note off the box and read it again, his lips pressing into a thin line.

You.

He thought back to earlier that day, to the way you had stood in his office, your invitation soft but genuine. He’d brushed you off, too preoccupied with Yuna’s voice still echoing in his mind to give you the consideration it deserved. And yet, here you were—persisting in your quiet, unassuming way.

Curiosity got the better of him. Jungkook opened the box to reveal a matcha cream puff, the delicate pastry perfectly intact. He hesitated, his mind swirling with conflicting thoughts.

Why would she do this? What was she expecting in return?

But as he sat down and leaned back in his chair, the sharp ache in his chest from Yuna’s words began to dull. He picked up the cream puff, taking a small bite. The sweetness melted on his tongue, a stark contrast to the bitterness of these past days.

Jungkook glanced at the sticky note again, the corner of his mouth twitching as if it might curve into a smile—but it didn’t quite get there.

“Eat it, please,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he let the tension in his shoulders ease. The pastry wasn’t just a dessert—it was a reminder that not everyone wanted something from him. As he finished the cream puff, Jungkook placed the note back on his desk, staring at it longer than he intended.

“Miss Y/N,” he said softly, her name a strange comfort in the quiet of his office.

He didn’t know what to make of you yet, but one thing was certain—you were different, and that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

previous / next

[bloomzone]

Ultimate reset day routine guide !

A reset day is ur opportunity to pause, recharge, and realign urself for the week ahead !

but ? what to do in a reset day ?

Morning foundation

⊂⊃ Wake up gently

⪩⪨ . Set a consistent wake-up time even on your reset day

⪩⪨ . Avoid immediately checking your phone I'm begging you

⪩⪨ . Take 5 deep breaths and set an intention for the day

⪩⪨ . Drink a full glass of water to hydrate your body

[ drinking a glass of water first thing in the morning especially warm water is more than just a wellness trend. My father who’s always been health-conscious used to emphasize this simple habit. He believed that the beneficial bacteria present in your mouth after a night of rest can play a healing role in your body. By drinking water before brushing your teeth, you allow these microbes to travel down your digestive tract, potentially supporting gut health and immunity. While this idea isn’t widely studied in modern medicine, it aligns with traditional holistic beliefs about preserving the body's natural microbiome. So before you reach for your toothbrush or eating consider starting your day with a warm glass of water it might be doing more for your health than u think ! ]

⊂⊃ Mindful morning ritual

⪩⪨ . Meditation or quiet reflection (10-20 minutes)

⪩⪨ . Journaling : write down thoughts, gratitudes, or goals

⪩⪨ . Light stretching or yoga to awaken your body ( I highly recommend hinafit on yt )

⪩⪨ . Healthy breakfast that nourishes rather than rushes because it's a reset day

Physical reset

⊂⊃ Environment refresh

⪩⪨ . Declutter your main living spaces : focus on surfaces and high-traffic areas

⪩⪨ . Make your bed with fresh linens if needed , don't forget ur pillowcase

⪩⪨ . Open windows for fresh air circulation

⪩⪨ . Light cleaning : vacuum, dust, or organize that one specific area that you've been procrastinating

⊂⊃ Personal care

⪩⪨ . Shower or bath with intention : use it as a transition ritual

⪩⪨ . Skincare routine : give yourself extra attention

⪩⪨ . Comfortable clothing that makes you feel good

⪩⪨ . Grooming tasks you might have been putting off

Mental & emotional reset

⊂⊃ Digital detox

⪩⪨ . Phone on airplane mode

⪩⪨ . Unsubscribe from emails that no longer serve you

⪩⪨ . Clear digital clutter : delete photos, organize files, clear downloads

⪩⪨ . Social media break : step away from comparison triggers

⊂⊃ Mental clarity activities

⪩⪨ . Brain dump : write everything on ur mind onto paper

⪩⪨ . Weekly review : assess what went well and what didn't

⪩⪨ . Goal realignment - check if you're on track with ur priorities

⪩⪨ . Creative time : draw, write, craft, or engage in any creative outlet

Nourishment & preparation

⊂⊃ Fuel ur body

⪩⪨ . Grocery shopping for the week ahead with a planned list

⪩⪨ . Meal prep : prepare 2-3 meals or snacks for busy days

⪩⪨ . Hydration focus : drink plenty of water throughout the day (u should be doing this everyday >⁠.⁠<)

⪩⪨ . Mindful eating : enjoy meals without distractions

⊂⊃ Week ahead preparation

⪩⪨ . Calendar review : know what's coming up

⪩⪨ . Outfit planning : lay out clothes for important days

⪩⪨ . Task prioritization : identify your top 3 priorities for the week

⪩⪨ . Workspace organization : clean and organize your work area

Evening wind - down

⊂⊃ Relaxation & connection

⪩⪨ . Nature time : go for a walk, sit outside touch grass and also u can watch sunset!

⪩⪨ . Connect with loved ones : call family, spend quality time with household members

⪩⪨ . Read something that inspires or entertains you

⪩⪨ . Gentle movement : yoga, stretching, or a leisurely walk

⊂⊃ Reflection & gratitude

⪩⪨ . Gratitude practice : write down 3-5 things you're grateful for

⪩⪨ . Weekly wins celebration : acknowledge ur accomplishments

⪩⪨ . Lesson learned : reflect on one thing you learned this week

⪩⪨ . Tomorrow's intention:- set one clear intention for the next day

Customization tips ✧

💭 For busy schedules (2-3 Hour reset)

﹙ ✿ ﹚ Focus on the essentials:

30 minutes: declutter and clean one space

30 minutes: meal prep or grocery shopping

30 minutes: digital detox and mental clarity

30 minutes: planning for the week ahead

30 minutes: personal care and relaxation

💭 For extended reset days (full day)

﹙ ✿ ﹚Add these elements:

- Longer creative projects

- Deep cleaning or home organization

- Extended nature time or outdoor activities

- Learning something new ( start learning a language? skill practice ? )

- Extended social connection time

here is a checklist so u can write down in ur note app or notion :

Reset day checklist

﹙ ✿ ﹚Physical Environment

○ Clean and organize main living spaces

○ Fresh linens and towels

○ Groceries and meal prep completed

○ Workspace organized for the week

﹙ ✿ ﹚Mental & Emotional

○ Digital detox period completed

○ Journaling or reflection time

○ Week ahead planned and prioritized

○ Gratitude practice completed

﹙ ✿ ﹚Physical Self-care

○ Extended personal care routine

○ Movement or exercise

○ Nourishing meals prepared at home and eaten

○ Adequate hydration throughout the day

﹙ ✿ ﹚Preparation

○ Calendar reviewed for upcoming week

○ Important tasks identified and prioritized

○ Clothes planned for key days

○ Mental intention set for the week ahead

Remember sweetheart , ur reset day should feel restorative, not overwhelming. Choose the elements that resonate most with u and adapt the routine to fit ur life. The goal is to feel refreshed, organized, and ready to tackle whatever comes next. start small and build your perfect reset routine over time ! The BEST reset day is one that leaves you feeling both relaxed and energized for the week ahead. Stay healthy !

@bloomzone 🍀

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @jozzieblood @buckysteveloki-me @dragonoftheshadows @plaidconvers @kateawolf13 @keira-kaz2y5 @frog-fans-unite @doilooklikeagiveafrack @verynormalsstuff @nynxtea @iminyourceiling @seventeen-x @mgchaser @y0urgirl @lovely-seb @laughterafter @mysuperlaserpissnumber1fan @irasciblemogwai @svtbpbts @vivalas-vega @chonkybonky @bmyva1entine @6urmom @homiesexual-or-homosexual @aoi-targaryen @bitter-semi-sweet @soflegacy @kath-666 @hiireadstuff @highhopes1008 @sineminuse @hawkinsavclub1983 @buckingforbuckybarnes @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @huang-the-geek @joewhs @witchywannabe3263 @iyskgd @ironenemycollective @bumblebeebutter @sizzlingstarlightsky @buckybarnesslutshop @starstruck-cowgirl @angelicdarkn3ss @confused-simp-jpg @hufflepuffsforjoy @nicolebarnes @avatarobsessedgirly @escapismurmom @paige0103 @dollface-xoxo @read-just-cant-stop @sycamoregirl444 @raikan624 @iwritememesnotprophecies @imissbenswolo-blog @Icolumbia1988

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

Tw: cussing, knives, inappropriate physical contact (if you squint)

Part 12

Words of Command - Part 13

Sunlight paints long shadows across the common room. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the Manhattan skyline, the buzz of the city barely reaching the tower’s polished quiet.

You're curled in a chair, legs tucked under you, reading something on a StarkPad. Bucky’s nearby—as always—standing against the wall like a sentinel, arms crossed over his chest, eyes scanning the room with quiet calculation.

His long hair falls in his face until he brushes it back absently, metal fingers catching in a few strands.

He doesn’t talk much. But he watches you constantly. Not with suspicion, but with a kind of reverent curiosity.

Then, the quiet shatters.

Tony enters with a flourish, coffee in one hand, sunglasses still on indoors like he’s making a point.

“There she is,” he announces, motioning to you with a dramatic sweep. “Thumbelina, belle of the ball!”

You blink up at him, confused. “Im sorry ... the what now?”

He saunters closer, holding out his tablet like a game show host presenting a prize. “Charity gala. Tonight. Right here in the Tower. Black tie, expensive champagne, morally ambiguous billionaires and their equally suspicious foundations. Great press opportunity.”

You set your pad down slowly. “You want… me to go?”

“Please.” Tony smirks. “You’re more than a receptionist now, sweetheart. You’re RoboCop's handler-slash-life coach-slash-whatever-it-is you do that makes him not kill people on sight.”

Your face warms. “I’ve never been to anything like that…”

“Well, it’s time. Media’s gonna want to know the miracle behind Stark Tower’s latest murder puppet.” He gestures toward Bucky, who stiffens at the sound of his name but doesn’t move.

You shrink a little at the word “murder,” casting a glance toward Bucky. He hasn’t moved. His eyes remain locked. But you see the shift in his shoulders. The twitch of his jaw. As if that word bruises him.

“I’ve never…” you start, voice small. “I don’t really go to events like that.”

Tony waves it off. “You’ll be fine. Wear something sparkly. Nod politely. Drink the champagne. Smile at the cameras. And to make sure you don’t face-plant into the chocolate fountain—”

The elevator dings.

“—And since the Manchurian Candidate here can’t exactly walk a red carpet without someone yelling ‘assassin' ...we’ve arranged you a plus one.”

Agent Collins steps out in a dark suit, sans tie, mousey hair slightly tousled as if he hasn’t quite gotten the hang of being 'fancy'.

His smile is sheepish and nervous, and when his eyes land on you, it softens further, you recognize him from the bookshop.

“Hi,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “I heard you might be going tonight. If you want someone to go with you… I’d be happy to help you through it.”

He’s trying to be casual. He fails.

You feel for the guy, he looks like he might faint. “That’s… kind. I mean, thank you. I—”

You never get to finish.

The air in the room changes.

Bucky turns like gravity shifted. Slow. Deliberate.

His eyes pin Collins in place—not rage, not overt aggression, but a quiet, intense scrutiny. His body language alters subtly—he steps closer to you, standing just slightly in front of your seat, a wall of steel and muscle.

His metal hand flexes at his side.

He says nothing at first.

Then, in that calm, low voice that chills and comforts all at once

“He doesn’t go with you.”

Tony doesn’t miss a beat. “Okay, let’s dial it back. This isn’t the ‘glare him into submission’ hour.”

Bucky doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. “No.”

You reach up gently, your fingers brushing the hem of his sleeve. “Soldat…” you whisper.

He immediately lowers his gaze to you. “Doll,” he says softly, almost pleading. “I don’t… I don’t trust him. You don’t know what he’ll do. I should go.”

Tony sighs loudly, stepping between you and Bucky with a practiced “I’m so tired of this” look.

“No can do, Metallica. You’re the literal definition of ‘liability’ right now. You so much as breathe wrong and three headlines read ‘HYDRA Redux.’ Collins here is boring enough to be safe.”

Collins stiffens slightly, half-offended. “Thanks… I think?”

Tony spins back to you. “Look, Thumbelina, the world’s watching. You’re in the room for a reason now. And trust me—press love an underdog. Especially one who managed to tame the Tin Man with tea and bedtime stories.”

You glance over at Bucky. His eyes are on you now—dark and fixed, unreadable—but there’s a slight tilt to his head, like he’s trying to process what just happened.

Agent Collins blinks. “Hey, I was just doing what I was told—”

“She doesn’t need you.”

“Okay—easy there, big guy,” Tony says quickly, stepping between them with a hand out. “You can put the Terminator routine on ice. You're not going.”

Bucky’s eyes snap to Tony with glacial sharpness. The line of his jaw is granite now, his chest rising and falling like he’s restraining something feral.

“She’s not going with him,” he growls, the words clipped.

Tony scoffs. “And you’re not going at all, Terminator. You’re a walking PR nightmare. I’m pretty sure the invite didn’t say, ‘and bring your emotionally repressed Soviet war machine.’”

You step forward quickly, placing a hand on Bucky’s arm. You feel the muscle twitch under your palm—coiled like a spring.

“Soldat,” you whisper, soft but clear.

His breath catches.

His head turns slightly toward you. His expression changes—not softened, but sharpened with focus. That voice—that name—grounds him.

You keep your tone gentle. “it's ok ... Stand down... please”

It takes him a heartbeat.

Then he exhales through his nose and drops his shoulders a fraction. Still stiff. Still fuming. But he listens.

Because it’s you.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Christ. This guy’s like a rescue pit bull. Looks adorable curled up next to you, but God forbid someone tries to touch his leash.”

"Jesus Tony, can you go 5 minutes without a insult please" you say but there’s no real bite in your voice.

Agent Collins backs off a step, hands raised. “Hey, it’s fine. Really. I didn’t mean anything.”

Bucky’s metal fingers twitch again, but he keeps still, eyes locked on you like you're the only thing that matters.

And in his mind? You are.

You gently shift closer, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “It’s just one night,” you say quietly. “And you’ll be here when I get back.”

That flicker—fear maybe—crosses his face again. Subtle, buried. But you see it. He doesn’t know what he is without you in the room.

He leans down slightly, voice rough and low near your ear. “Doll, he'll keep you safe ?.”

"Yes, so will Steve, Tony and Nat, I promise only a few hours and I wont be alone" You place a hand against his chest. “Help me pick a dress. Please?”

It confuses him. But it also… distracts him. In a good way. He nods once, slow.

The bedroom Stark put you and Nat in is spacious but cold in its luxury—clean lines, chrome details.

You stand before a full-length mirror, barefoot in a silk robe, hair half-done and a knot of anxiety building in your stomach.

On the bed, four dresses are laid out like options in some bizarre game. All elegant. All a little intimidating.

Nat lounges at the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other, sipping a cocktail like she isn’t the deadliest woman in the room.

“You're overthinking it,” she says with a smirk, eyes watching your reflection. “You’ll look good in all of them.”

You chew your lip, tugging your robe tighter. “I don’t know how to be at something like this. What do I even talk about? What if I trip? What if I—”

Nat sets her glass down and rises in one graceful motion. “You walk, you smile, and you keep your answers vague and charming. If you don’t know something, just say it’s classified.”

You blink at her. “Classified ... does that actually work?”

She shrugs, amused. “People love mystery. You already have half of Stark Tower wondering what your deal is these days.”

Your voice softens. “And what about Bucky?”

Nat sighs, her tone changing. “He’s not going, you know that. Too many people, too much noise. But Steve and I will be there. If anyone gives you trouble—and if you wanna check on him just come back up”

“They won’t even see you coming,” Steve’s voice echoes from the hallway, followed by a low whistle. He steps into the doorway with a reassuring smile.

You turn as a low sound draws your attention to the far corner of the room.

Bucky.

He’s been standing silently for the last fifteen minutes. His arms folded, shoulder leaning into the wall. He’s tense—not in a dangerous way, but like someone wound too tight, every inch of him ready to react.

He watches as you hold up a sleek black gown against your body. Natasha raises a brow.

“You like this one, Soldat?”

His eyes narrow. “Too easy to move in.”

You frown. “I thought that was the point.”

He steps forward slowly, his boots heavy on the floor. “Don't want 'em looking at your throat in that"

You laugh under your breath. “It’s just a dress”

He doesn't smile.

You hold up a deep red gown next. Bucky stiffens slightly.

“That one’s…” he tilts his head, metal fingers flexing, eyes fixed on your reflection. “You look like they’d spill blood just to walk next to you in that.”

Natasha grins. “That’s a yes from the Soldier.”

You eyes widen as you look away. “I don’t want to look like—like that.”

He steps closer, dropping his voice, eyes locked on yours. “You look like you.”

You tilt your head. “That a problem?”

He doesn’t answer. Just watches. The weight of his stare is tangible.

There’s a knock at the door. Steve answers, but Bucky’s already moved again—this time positioning himself just slightly in front of you.

Agent Collins stands awkwardly in the hallway, wearing a tailored suit and holding a single white flower in his hand. His smile falters the moment he sees Bucky.

“Evening,” he says, offering the flower to you. “Figured, uh, a boutonnière was too much.”

You take the flower gently. “Thanks, that’s sweet.”

Bucky doesn’t move, but his jaw tightens. “You bring a knife?”

Collins blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You’re taking her into a crowd. You better have something besides your weak smile.”

“Soldat,” you warn gently.

His head lowers, eyes meeting yours. “You sure about him, Doll?”

Collins clears his throat. “I’m literally government-trained. I think I can handle—”

Bucky moves so fast no one knows what he's planned until the click echoes through the air—Steve’s combat blade is suddenly off Steve's belt and balanced in Bucky’s metal hand, tip down.

"Jesus ... c'mon pal" Steve mutters, a look of shock on his face.

“Soldat, stop ... please?” you ask softly, stepping closer to him.

He hands the knife back to Steve with a quick flick and mutters, “I was gonna hurt him.”

Nat smirks. “He’s like a cat leaving dead mice on your porch. It’s his way of caring.”

You reach up and gently press your hand to Bucky’s chest again. “It'll be two hours ... three tops?”

His hand—flesh this time—comes up and briefly hovers near your arm. Not touching, but close. “Don’t like not being with you.”

Your breath catches. “I’ll be back up in a few hours, Promise.”

He nods, once.

Bucky stands at the window, arms folded, his silhouette sharp against the glass. Outside, Manhattan glows in gold and steel, a city that doesn’t feel like his.

Behind him, your scent still lingers faintly in the air—soft and clean, like soap and warmth.

Steve stands a few feet away, watching Bucky with the quiet worry of someone who knows exactly how close to the edge he is.

“You don’t have to pace,” Steve says gently, holding out a small device. “Here. It’s a comm.”

Bucky doesn’t turn around. “What is it?”

“You’ll be able to hear her. Talk to her too, if she calls you.” Steve’s voice is calm, measured. “Just keep it in your ear. No one else will hear. I figured… it might help.”

There’s a beat. Then Bucky turns, slow and cautious, like the offer itself might be a trap.

“You’ll stay with her?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. She’s downstairs with Collins.”

That name twists something sharp in Bucky’s chest, but he doesn’t say it aloud. He takes the earpiece in his gloved hand, inspecting it like a weapon.

“You left this for me?” he asks, voice low.

Steve lifts a box and sets it on the table—a plain, scuffed cardboard container. Inside, photos. Dog tags. Cracked gloves.

Bucky doesn’t open it. Just stares.

“I thought you might want it, when you’re ready,” Steve murmurs.

The room sparkles with chandeliers and white marble floors, filled with the sound of glasses clinking and superficial laughter. You feel like you’re wearing someone else’s skin in your gown—elegant, beautiful, but too seen.

Your heels click softly against the floor as you cross to the balcony, a little overwhelmed by the crowds and the attention. Tony’s somewhere inside charming a senator.

Natasha is holding court near the bar, and Agent Collins is distracted in conversation with a UN rep.

Then Steve appears beside you, quietly, offering a warm smile.

“Hey. You doing okay?”

You nod, then glance out over the city. “Don’t like crowds"

He reaches into his pocket and hands you a earpiece.

“This is from Bucky. Or rather—for Bucky. I gave him one too. Just press this small button to talk. It’s a secure line. Just you and him.”

Your eyes widen. "Thank you Steve”

You slip the earpiece in, tucking it carefully behind your ear.

“Press it when you’re ready,” Steve says softly, giving your hand a squeeze. “and I’ll be close, if you need anything.”

You step farther onto the balcony, where it’s quieter, and press the small button with trembling fingers.

Your voice is soft, barely a whisper. “Soldat? Can you hear me?”

There’s a pause.

Then, low and rough in your ear

“Doll.”

You smile in relief, the sound of his voice grounding you. “I wanted to check on you. Steve said I could.”

His breath stutters. You can hear it. Like the soft shift of metal against fabric. “You’re too far.”

“I’m still in the building,” you reassure him. “Just downstairs. On the balcony.”

Another pause. “It’s loud.”

“I know. But you’re safe. I’m safe too.”

You can hear the tension unraveling slightly in his shoulders, the metal creaking faintly as he eases back into a chair—or maybe the floor. Wherever he feels most stable.

“Are you sitting down now?”

“Yeah. Got your voice in my ear.” His voice lowers, almost reverent. “Don’t need more than that.”

The night drags on, glittering and exhausting. You sip from a champagne flute more to keep your hands occupied than anything else.

Agent Collins has been at your side most of the night—at first polite, now looser, sloppier.

His shoulders crowd you against a marble pillar as the party noise swells.

His laugh is a little too loud now, his hand brushing your waist like he thinks he's charming.

You stiffen automatically, heart kicking up into your throat.

His fingers graze your waist again as he leans in close. “You’re real pretty, Stark’s lucky to have you around…”

You flick your eyes around the room without moving your head.

Nat is at the far end, deep in conversation but watching like a hawk.

Steve, standing near the bar, catches your uncertain glance immediately, posture sharpening.

Sam and Bruce, talking by the grand staircase, straighten subtly, clocking your body language.

But before they can act—you remember the comm tucked into your ear.

You press it lightly, pretending to adjust your hair.

Your voice is feather-soft, almost hoping he can hear it.

“Soldat?”

The answer comes immediately, rough in your ear like gravel softened by velvet.

“Doll.”

Your knees almost buckle in relief.

“Everything’s good upstairs?” you murmur, trying to keep the conversation casual so Collins doesn’t notice.

“Window’s open. No threats.” You can hear the faint mechanical whirr of his metal fingers flexing. “You cold, Doll?”

You smile faintly despite the situation, the smallest tilt of your lips. “A little.”

He’s silent for a moment. You can almost picture him scowling out the window, body taut as a wire.

“Come back up soon. Don’t like you down there.”

His voice is protective but neutral. He doesn’t understand yet that Collins isn’t just background noise.

You shift slightly as Collins’ hand brushes your lower back again, too familiar.

“Soldat…” you whisper under your breath. “Can you just keep talking?”

“Should be with you, Doll,” he rumbles instantly.

You hum softly, pretending you’re still focused on the party as your friends start to converge on you discreetly.

“I wish you were down here with me,” you say, voice so small he almost misses it.

He doesn’t understand the context, not fully. But the possessiveness in his voice is pure instinct—bone-deep and absolute.

You barely shift, instinctively trying to shrink into yourself as Collins' hand drifts too far down your back, his voice low and slurred near your ear. The weight of it makes your skin crawl.

Then—

A shadow crosses the marble floor, boots thudding lightly.

Steve Rogers steps into the space with the ease of a man used to commanding a battlefield.

His hand claps firmly onto Collins' shoulder—friendly enough for appearances, firm enough to jar the agent back a step.

“Son,” Steve says with a smile so mild it’s almost chilling. “Think they need you back at SHEILD.”

Collins stammers something unintelligible, already paling under Steve’s calm, blank-eyed authority. He stumbles off, muttering apologies, disappearing quickly into the crowd.

Before you can catch your breath, Natasha is already there—silent and predatory, like a cat weaving around your side. "You okay?"

You nod once, shaky, feeling your chest finally start to loosen again.

From the far side of the room, Sam breaks away from his conversation with Bruce, eyeing you critically over the crowd.

He approaches with an easy, exaggerated swagger, a crooked grin playing across his lips.

“Well now,” he says loudly enough to draw curious glances but quiet enough to stay lighthearted. “Looks like somebody just survived the Hunger Games over here.”

You blink at him and a breathless laugh bubbles out of you.

Sam doesn’t miss a beat. He offers his hand like a courtly knight from some old movie.

“Come on, Short Stack. You owe me a dance after all that damsel-in-distress action.”

You stare at him, not sure if he’s joking or serious.

Natasha rolls her eyes affectionately and nudges you forward with a smirk.

Steve, standing sentry-like behind Sam, gives you a tiny nod.

The music is slow, dreamy, the kind that swells around the chandeliers and polishes everything with a golden glow.

Sam, despite his usual cocky bluster, is surprisingly gentle as he leads you into a simple sway, he's always been brotherly with you, not to the same extent as Tony but close.

“See? Not so bad,” he says, spinning you lightly so the skirt of your gown flares out. “I mean, you’re no Beyoncé, but you’ll do.”

You giggle, feeling calmer already.

In your ear, the comm crackles to life again.

“Doll?” Bucky’s voice, low and questioning.

You lean your head subtly against Sam’s shoulder so no one sees you tapping the comm switch near your ear.

“I’m okay, Soldat,” you whisper. “Sam’s just… making me dance.”

There’s a beat of pure silence on Bucky’s end. You can feel the blank confusion.

“Making you…Is he hurting you, Doll?”

You nearly trip over Sam’s feet trying to smother a laugh.

Sam feels you stumble and grins.

“No, Soldat,” you murmur. “It’s… fun.”

Another heavy pause, like Bucky is trying to compute fun like it’s a foreign word.

Sam notices you biting your lip, eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Is that your bionic-boy-toy on the line?” he teases, twirling you again.

“Tell him, you got moves.”

You roll your eyes at Sam, but can feel your cheeks burning even hotter.

“Soldat,” you whisper sweetly into the comm, “Sam says I've got moves."

On the other end, you hear the low, almost imperceptible grind of Bucky’s metal hand tightening into a fist.

“He talks to much,” Bucky growls, clipped and possessive.

Sam, oblivious to the full conversation, keeps up his chatter.

“You know, I know he's seen some shit, but that dude’s basically a cybernetic gorilla.” he says conversationally.

You almost miss a step again, laughing at Sam’s attempt at humor.

Bucky’s voice is still in your ear, low and territorial.

“Say the word Doll, I'll come get you"

"It's ok, Soldat, Im coming home” you whisper—your words settle something volatile inside him.

Sam dips you theatrically just as the song ends, making you squeal.

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

I loved your defiant darling for your nightwing x reader x star fire series

Can I request maybe a darling who after being kidnapped starfire maybe tries to do their makeup or their hair because they think their depressed after being kidnapped

ᴘᴀɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ʙɪʀᴅ

ɴɪɢʜᴛᴡɪɴɢ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x sᴛᴀʀғɪʀᴇ (ʏ)

I shall return 🙌

ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ!

The room smelled like vanilla and something floral, sweet in a way that clung to the air, thick as honey. It wasn’t yours. You didn’t own anything that smelled this soft, this saccharine. Your things smelled like detergent, like soap and the fleeting ghost of fresh air from when you could still crack open a window and decide how much of the world you wanted to let in. Here, the air was controlled. Stagnant. Even the artificial light was curated, warm enough to feel like a sunset but never dim enough to invite the comfort of darkness.

It was a prison dressed in soft linens and foreign perfumes, and Kory had the audacity to hum while she rifled through her little acrylic containers of makeup.

“You are looking most sad,” she said, eyes flicking to yours in the mirror, half-lidded and unreadable. “Dick worries.”

It wasn’t a question.

She picked up something small and glossy—a tube of pinkish-gold—before setting it down and reaching for something darker.

“I do not believe the sadness is good for you,” she continued, tone light, like she was discussing something as inconsequential as a rain forecast. “Your body is unhappy. Your shoulders are tense. Your lips are dry.” Her eyes flicked back to the mirror, assessing. “This shade would be very nice on you, I think.”

You didn’t respond. It was easier not to. Easier to stare at the mirror with the kind of dull resentment that made your bones feel old, aching under the weight of fury that had nowhere to go.

Dick had tried to talk to you earlier. He had that damn patience, the kind that stretched and stretched like old elastic, never quite snapping. He’d sat on the couch, all loose limbs and easy charm, something bright in his eyes that never matched the sharpness of his mind. He had always been too good at talking. Always been too good at getting people to listen.

“You can be angry,” he had told you, voice softer than you wanted it to be. “But you have to understand that we’re doing this for you.”

And Kory—Kory, who was strong enough to tear through metal like paper but touched you like spun glass—was here, running a warm hand over your temple, brushing a stray strand of hair away before pressing something cool against your cheek.

Foundation. Or concealer. Some liquid thing meant to even out your skin tone, to smooth over imperfections, to make you presentable.

“You will feel better when you see how beautiful you are,” she assured, her smile unwavering, her fingers too gentle, too warm. “When you look good, you feel good, yes?”

The laugh that tore from your throat was sharp and humorless.

“Kory,” you said, flat and dull, staring past her to your own reflection. “I’ve been kidnapped.”

Her expression didn’t change. Not really. A flicker of something, maybe. Something too brief to catch before it smoothed back into certainty.

“I know,” she said, voice still light, still sweet. “That is why you are sad.”

Not because your freedom had been stolen. Not because Dick had taken away your phone and Kory had melted the lock on the door and their eyes were always on you, tracking your movements, patient, unwavering, like you were something fragile.

You let out a slow breath, something cold curling in your chest. “I’m not playing along with this.”

She hummed again, pressing her thumb against your jaw, tilting your face a little more toward her. “You do not have to. I will take care of it for you.”

The thing in your chest coiled tighter.

Her grip was light, but you knew, in the same way you knew how fire burned and ice numbed, that it didn’t have to be. If you jerked away, if you tried to move, she could hold you still like it was nothing.

But she wouldn’t.

Because she thought this was love.

Because she thought she was taking care of you.

Because she thought sadness was something that could be brushed away with mascara and foundation and the careful sweep of blush over your cheekbones.

Kory was still talking, something about color palettes and how your undertones suited golds and warm shades, and you wondered if she actually believed this would help or if she just wanted to make you easier to look at.

You let your eyes drift back to the mirror, to the way her fingers moved, precise and delicate, like she was painting something that belonged to her.

The air still smelled too sweet.

And when the door creaked open and Dick stepped in, blue eyes scanning, assessing, always watching, the thing in your chest curled so tight it hurt.

[goldfades]

Hii, can we get a dad fic of his son winning the hesiman and joes reaction (He praises his father as a role model and talks about the burrow foundation) His grandparents are in the audience and reliving that night their son won and how similar their grandson is to his father.

(this is obviously when hayes is older)

The hotel room buzzed with quiet excitement as you smoothed the soft fabric of your dress, stealing a glance at Joe in the mirror. He was standing by the window, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit, though his hands lingered longer than necessary—his movements slowed by the emotions already creeping up on him.

“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” he murmured, his voice thick with pride as he caught your eye.

You walked over, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. “Our baby boy. Well, not so much a baby anymore,” you teased gently, but your voice held the same awe.

Joe chuckled softly, but the sound was strained, like he was fighting to keep his composure. “It’s like... I blinked, and he went from learning to hold a football to this.” His hands covered yours where they rested on his stomach, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “And now he’s winning the Heisman.”

“You know he gets it from you,” you said, your voice quieter now. “The way he carries himself, how hard he works—he had the best role model growing up.”

Joe turned in your arms then, his blue eyes meeting yours, glassy but bright. “You had just as much to do with it,” he insisted, pulling you closer. “He’s got your heart, your determination... your stubborn streak.”

You laughed at that, shaking your head as you ran a hand over his chest. “I’m pretty sure he inherited that from you.”

For a moment, you both stood there in a quiet bubble of pride and disbelief, letting the weight of the night settle around you.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for this,” Joe admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Seeing him up there, hearing him speak... I’m gonna lose it.”

“That’s okay,” you said softly, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “You’re allowed to be emotional. It’s a big night, and you’re so proud of him.”

Joe took a steadying breath and nodded, glancing toward the framed photo on the bedside table—a snapshot of Hayes as a wide-eyed kid in his first set of football pads, grinning up at his dad like he was his whole world.

“He always said he wanted to be just like you,” you reminded him. “And now he’s not just like you—he’s his own person, and he’s incredible. You did that, Joe. We did that.”

Joe smiled, though his throat bobbed with the effort to hold back tears. “We really did.”

As you reached for his tie to straighten it, he caught your wrist, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“For what?” you asked, your brow furrowing slightly.

“For this life,” he said simply. “For him. For everything.”

You didn’t have time to reply before a knock at the door broke the moment, signaling it was time to head out. Joe exhaled deeply, shaking off his nerves as he reached for your hand.

“Let’s go watch our boy make history,” he said, his voice steadier now but no less full of pride.

And with that, you walked out together, ready to witness a moment that would live in your hearts forever.

The auditorium hummed with anticipation, the air thick with pride and joy as nominees’ names were announced, each one celebrated by the audience’s polite applause. But none of them mattered to you—not really. Not when your son, your Hayes, sat just a few rows ahead of you, the spotlight grazing his broad shoulders as he clasped his hands tightly in his lap.

Joe sat beside you, his knee bouncing with nervous energy, his hand gripping yours tightly. On his other side, Robin leaned forward in her seat, her hands clasped under her chin like she was praying, while Joe’s dad sat stoically, his jaw tight and his eyes glistening. The Burrows weren’t outwardly emotional by nature, but tonight was different.

“Hayes Burrow,” the presenter called, her voice ringing through the packed auditorium like a song, and for a moment, time stood still.

You heard the gasps, the applause, the eruption of cheers from the people around you, but all you could focus on was Hayes as he stood, the spotlight now fully illuminating his face. His mouth hung open in disbelief, his cheeks red as he turned back to look at you and Joe.

“He did it,” Joe whispered, his voice breaking as he clapped, his eyes glued to his son.

You could barely see through your tears, clapping alongside him as Hayes made his way to the stage, shaking hands and exchanging hugs with everyone who reached out to him. When he finally stood at the podium, the audience quieted, and he adjusted the microphone with slightly trembling hands.

“Wow,” Hayes started, his voice cracking just enough to make the room chuckle sympathetically. He smiled nervously, running a hand through his light hair—so much like Joe’s. “I, uh, I don’t even know where to start.”

His eyes scanned the room, finally landing on your row. His lips curved into a soft, grateful smile. “First, I want to thank God for this opportunity. None of this would be possible without Him.”

The crowd murmured in approval, and Hayes’ gaze flickered back to the microphone. “To my coaches, my teammates, my friends—you all made me better every single day. I’m standing here because of you.”

He paused, his smile faltering just slightly as he took a steadying breath. “But, um, there’s one person I have to thank above everyone else—my dad.”

Joe’s breath hitched beside you, and you saw him blink rapidly, trying to keep the tears from falling.

“Dad, you’ve been my hero since the day I was born,” Hayes said, his voice thick with emotion. “You showed me what it means to work hard, to stay humble, to never give up no matter what. I’ve always wanted to be like you—not just on the field, but off of it too.”

The room was silent now, save for the occasional sniffle as Hayes’ words reached every corner.

“You taught me that football is more than just a game—it’s about the people, the community, the impact we can make. Watching you build the this empire and seeing the lives you’ve changed... that inspired me more than I can ever put into words.”

Hayes’ voice cracked, and he quickly wiped at his eyes before continuing. “And, Mom,” he added, his gaze shifting to you. “You’re the glue that holds us together. Your quiet strength, your endless love... I wouldn’t be here without you either. Thank you for believing in me, for being there for me every single step of the way.”

By now, the tears were streaming freely down your face, and Joe’s grip on your hand tightened. Robin was openly crying beside him, clutching her husband’s arm as he nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“To my grandparents,” Hayes continued, turning slightly to acknowledge them. “You’ve always been there for me too. Your stories about Dad’s career, the sacrifices you made for him—they remind me of what family is all about. I hope I’ve made you proud tonight.”

Hayes took another deep breath, his confidence growing as he smiled at the audience. “This award isn’t just for me. It’s for everyone who’s believed in me, everyone who’s helped me along the way. I’m so grateful, and I promise to keep working hard, on and off the field, to make a difference.”

The audience erupted into applause as Hayes stepped back from the microphone, wiping his eyes and flashing a wide grin.

Joe was the first to stand, clapping loudly, his face wet with tears. You followed, your heart bursting with pride, as did Robin and Joe Sr., their hands shaking as they clapped.

“That’s my boy,” Joe said quietly, his voice trembling as he looked at you. “He did it.”

“He did,” you agreed, your voice just as unsteady.

As Hayes made his way back down the aisle, he stopped to hug you both, holding onto Joe for an extra moment.

“Thank you, Dad,” he whispered, his voice muffled against Joe’s shoulder.

Joe pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, his hand resting on the back of Hayes’ neck. “I’m so proud of you, Hayes. So, so proud.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the applause and the love of your family, everything felt perfect.

masterlist! thank you for reading <3

[rafayelgod]

🔞 WARNING ADULT CONTEN, NSFW, BDSM, HARDSEX, NOT FOR KIDS, CALEB FANFICTION! 🔞

Caleb - Run Hide and Seek 🥵🔞💦

🔞 Content Warning: This story contains mature themes, including explicit sexual content, dominance, and portrayals of a step-sibling relationship that is sexual in nature. Reader discretion is advised.

Caleb × You

The afternoon sun slanted through the living room window, casting a warm, golden light across the comfortable space. You were curled up on the large armchair, a mug of tea warming your hands, while Caleb sat opposite you on the couch, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he recounted a story from your shared childhood.

"Remember that time," he began, his deep voice rumbling pleasantly, "when you convinced me there was a dragon living in the big oak tree in Grandma's backyard? You were maybe five, all wide eyes and serious little faces."

You giggled, pulling your feet further under you. "Hey! You totally believed me for a whole week!"

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. His dark hair caught the light, and his purple eyes were soft with nostalgia as he looked at you. "I did. You were always such a brilliant storyteller, weaving tales out of thin air. And you'd drag me out there with a makeshift sword - a broom handle - ready to slay it."

Villa Vacation

"And you, brave soldier, were always right there beside me," you teased, a playful glint in your eyes. It was true. From makeshift dragon hunts to building secret forts in the woods behind Grandma's house, Caleb had always been your partner in crime, your protector, the one person who understood your wild imagination and joined you in it wholeheartedly. Even after Grandma was gone, leaving just the two of you in the quiet house, those memories lingered, threads connecting your past and your present, a foundation built on shared secrets and unwavering affection. He'd always tell you these stories, about your silly antics, about his own childhood fears and triumphs, weaving a tapestry of your intertwined lives.

The scent of pine and damp earth filled the air as you walked hand-in-hand through the beautiful, sprawling woods surrounding the villa you'd rented for your holiday. After weeks of Caleb's demanding schedule as a Colonel and your own busy life, this escape felt like a dream. The sun dappled through the canopy above, casting shifting patterns on the leafy ground.

"Did you know," Caleb said, squeezing your hand gently, "they say this particular forest stretch has whispers of ancient magic? Local myths about forest spirits who play tricks on travelers."

"Ooh, tell me more!" you said, eyes wide with playful interest. You'd always loved hearing him talk about myths and legends, his smart mind absorbing everything. "What kind of tricks?"

He smiled down at you. "They might make you see things that aren't there, or lead you astray. Some legends even say they can steal memories... or hearts." He paused, his gaze lingering on yours.

You grinned, enjoying the fantasy. "Well, I hope they don't steal my heart," you said, leaning up and planting a quick, soft kiss on his cheek. "It's already taken."

Caleb immediately stopped walking, his tall frame freezing. A faint blush, a sight you always found incredibly endearing, crept up his neck and across his cheeks. His purple eyes widened slightly in surprise.

You laughed, the sound light and cheerful in the quiet woods. "Look at you, blushing like a schoolboy!" You poked his cheek gently. "My big, tough Colonel, flustered by a little kiss?"

He cleared his throat, his blush deepening. "It's... it's not just a 'little kiss' when it's from you," he muttered, his voice a little gruff.

You loved seeing him like this, the usually composed and dominant man reduced to a blushing mess. It only encouraged you to tease him more. You leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "Maybe those forest spirits are getting to you, huh? Making you think naughty thoughts?" You fluttered your eyelashes innocently. "Like wanting to pin me against one of these trees and show me just how much you missed me?"

His blush deepened further, but a slow, dark smirk began to spread across his lips. His eyes, moments ago soft, now held a possessive intensity that sent a familiar thrill through you. You felt his hand tighten slightly around yours. You glanced down, and couldn't help but notice the definite bulge pressing against the front of his tactical pants. Success.

You grinned, a mischievous spark igniting in your eyes. His reaction was exactly what you wanted. "Oh, look," you said, leaning up again and pressing another quick kiss, this time closer to his ear. "Looks like Colonel needs to relieve some... tension."

You didn't wait for him to respond. Giggling, you pulled your hand from his and turned, breaking into a run back towards the villa. "Catch me if you can!" you called over your shoulder, already weaving through the trees.

"Hey! Be careful!" he yelled after you, his voice laced with amusement and a hint of urgency. The chase was on. You could hear his footsteps behind you, long, powerful strides covering the ground quickly. You laughed again, the joy of the game exhilarating. You didn't slow down until you burst out of the tree line and sprinted towards the villa's entrance, slipping inside and letting the door click shut behind you. You were hiding.

°°°

You were already halfway across the living room when you heard Caleb's voice, closer now, carrying clearly from just outside.

"Hide properly, Pipsqueak," he warned, his voice low and playful but with an unmistakable edge of anticipation. "Because once I find you... I'm not letting you go."

A shiver, not of fear but of delicious anticipation, ran down your spine. You needed a good hiding spot. You scurried towards the far corner of the open-plan room, squeezing yourself behind a large, decorative ceramic vase nestled amongst some lush potted plants. Heart pounding, you pressed your back against the cool wall, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

The front door opened slowly. Footsteps, deliberate and slow, padded into the room. He was clearly enjoying this, drawing out the suspense. You held your breath, listening intently. He was circling, his footsteps soft on the polished floorboards.

"Where could my beautiful little Hunter be?" he murmured, his voice teasingly close. "Did she run off with a forest spirit? Or is she playing a game?"

He was getting closer. You could practically feel his presence. You peeked slightly from behind the vase. He was standing a few feet away, hands on his hips, purple eyes scanning the room with a predatory gleam. He knew exactly where you were, didn't he? He was just playing with you.

Before you could even think about making a break for it, he was there. He rounded the vase in a single fluid movement, his eyes locking onto yours.

"Gotcha."

He breathed, his voice a low growl that sent a jolt through you.

You instincts screamed to run again, but he was too fast. He moved instantly, pinning you against the wall in the corner. His large hands flattened on either side of your head, trapping you. His body was pressed close, leaving no room for escape.

"Trying to get away from me?" he murmured, his voice losing its playful tone. It was deeper, possessive now. His purple eyes burned into yours, intense and unyielding. "Tsk tsk. Didn't I tell you? Once I have you..." He lowered his head, bringing his face close to yours. "...I'm not letting you go. Not ever." His gaze dropped to your lips, then lower, to your neck. "And I'm going to do absolutely anything I want with you."

His words sent a thrilling shiver through you. You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks as his lips descended, not to your mouth, but to the sensitive skin of your neck. He kissed and sucked, his mouth devouring that pulse point. You gasped, startled by the sudden intimacy, and instinctively squirmed against the wall, a small, helpless sound escaping your throat.

But his hold was firm, his body a rigid wall against yours. There was no escape. After a moment of futile struggle, you surrendered, tilting your head back to give him better access. His lips continued their assault, biting gently, sucking harder, already promising a mark. He pinned his body even tighter against yours, leaving no space between you. That's when you felt it - the undeniable proof of your earlier teasing, hard and pressing against your lower abdomen. His cock was fully erect against you.

"C-caleb?"

Your blush deepened, spreading down your chest. A wave of heat washed over you, and you felt a answering ache begin to bloom deep within you. You were just as affected by him as he was by you.

He lifted one of his large hands from the wall, sliding it around your leg. With surprising strength, he lifted your foot off the ground, hooking it around his hip, tilting your pelvis against his.

"Caleb, wait..." you whispered frantically, glancing around the open room. "The couch... or the bedroom..."

He didn't listen. His eyes, when he looked at you, were darkened with need, promises of dominance swirling in their depths. His free hand went to the button of his tactical pants and, with a practiced flick, unbuckled them, pulling the zipper down in a single, swift movement. The sound seemed impossibly loud in the quiet villa.

He shifted slightly, aligning himself. You felt the warm fabric of his pants brush against your thigh as he adjusted his position. The head of his cock nudged against the thin fabric of your shorts, warm and heavy.

"No waiting," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Right here. Right now.. Ahh,"

He pushed gently, finding your warmth, your wetness. You gasped again, clutching his shoulders as his engorged cock found your entrance. He didn't hesitate. With a slow, deep thrust, he slid inside you.

You cried out softly, the sudden fullness, the heat, the sheer rightness of him settling deep within you, stealing your breath. Your head fell back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. You could feel every inch of him filling you completely.

"Fuck..." he groaned, burying his face against your neck again, breathing heavily. "Ah- mmh so damn good..." His body pressed harder against yours, leveraging your tilted hip to bury himself even deeper.

He was still biting and sucking fiercely at your neck, leaving a trail of delicious bruises, as he began to move his hips, a slow, deliberate roll that sent waves of exquisite sensation through you. The initial shock gave way to pure, unadulterated pleasure. You couldn't help but moan, a soft, drawn-out sound that vibrated in your chest.

He pulled his head back slightly, his eyes finding yours. His usually calm face was a mask of intense pleasure and deep, raw need. He bit down on his lower lip, his gaze challenging, knowing. He looked incredibly sexy, completely primal. Seeing him like that, so consumed by you, made your knees feel weak, made you want to melt right there against the wall. He was teasing you, controlling every movement.

"Did you like that Pipsqueak?" he whispered, his voice husky, laced with dark humor. "Running away, only to be caught and filled right where I found you?"

You couldn't speak, only managed a weak nod, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

He smirked again, a slow, predatory expression. "Good," he said, the word a low rumble. He began to move again, his thrusts slow, deep, and agonizingly sensual. Each movement was a deliberate invasion, pushing you against the wall, making you feel utterly taken. "You shouldn't run from me like that," he murmured, his voice close to your ear as he leaned back in to kiss your neck. "Not when I get this hard thinking about how good you feel... how much I want you."

He moved again, a deep, slow drive that made your body arch into his. "Every single time I look at you...Aah," he hissed, his hips pausing for a moment, buried deep inside you. "...I want this. I want to be in you. Mmh, All the time." He pulled back slightly, then plunged back in with deliberate force. "Do you feel that? Hmm? Do you feel.. How much I want you?"

Just when you thought you couldn't take the slow torture anymore, his hand moved. It wasn't rough, but firm, wrapping around your throat. He didn't squeeze hard, just enough to apply a light pressure, enough to make you gasp and force your eyes to lock onto his face.

His eyes were burning, intense purple orbs that held you captive. The dominance radiating from him in that moment was overwhelming, intoxicating. "Ah.. ahh Caleb,"

You didn't feel scared, you felt a rush of something primal, a deep-seated part of you that absolutely craved being dominated by him like this, owned by his gaze, his touch, his body filling yours.

"Aahh," His mouth opened slightly, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips. He leaned his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. With a final, powerful thrust, he pulsed inside you.

"Mmh, yes," he groaned, clinging to you. He didn't pull out immediately, just buried himself against you, holding you tightly. You felt the warmth of his release flooding into you, a potent wave that mirrored your own building climax.

He didn't pull out right away, staying connected, breathing heavily into your neck. After a long moment, he finally stirred, his hand releasing your throat. He carefully pulled out of you, the sudden emptiness making you ache. He kept his arm around your waist, steadying you.

He didn't let go. Instead, he easily scooped you up into his arms, holding you against his chest as if you weighed nothing. Your legs automatically wrapped around his waist, your head resting on his shoulder. He carried you effortlessly through the villa, past the couch and towards the bedroom, his large frame radiating protective warmth.

You knew, with absolute certainty, that the night was far from over. And you were more than ready for it. He carried you to the large, comfortable bed in the bedroom and gently laid you down. He didn't waste time. He was inside you again, and again, and again. Each time was more intense, more possessive than the last. By the third time, you were completely sated, body heavy and humming with residual pleasure. He finally pulled you into his arms, shifting so you were curled against his chest, your head tucked under his chin. You drifted off to sleep, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm beneath your ear.

°°°

Morning light, soft and diffused by the villa's curtains, woke you gently. You stirred, feeling soft fabric beneath you and a strong, solid weight around you. You were still tucked against Caleb's chest, his arm a warm, protective band around your waist. His breathing was slow and even, the remnants of sleep still lingering around him.

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. He stirred, his arm tightening around you instinctively.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep but instantly softening as he felt you against him. One of his hands came up to gently stroke your hair.

"Morning," you whispered back, snuggling closer. You felt utterly content, loved, and cherished.

He kissed the top of your head. "Sleep well, Pipsqueak?"

You hummed in response. "Better than well." You tilted your head back to look at him. His dark hair was slightly mussed from sleep, and his purple eyes, though still a little hazy, were already filled with that familiar, intense affection when he looked at you.

He smiled, a genuine, tender smile that reached his eyes. "Good. That's all I want." He tucked you closer. "Woke up and you were right here. Best feeling in the world."

"Mmm," you agreed, tracing the line of his jaw with your finger. "It's pretty good waking up next to you too, Caleb."

He chuckled softly. He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then lingered on your lips for a soft, tender kiss. "You know how much I love you, right?" he said, his voice quiet and sincere.

You felt your heart swell. "I know. And I love you too. So, so much."

"More than anything?" he teased, a playful glint returning to his eyes.

You laughed. "Much, much more." You pressed a kiss to his chest again. "You're my favorite adventure."

His arm tightened around you, holding you securely. The quiet intimacy of the morning, the warmth of his body against yours, the easy flow of comfort and love - it was everything. After the intensity of the night, this gentle tenderness was a perfect grounding. You were safe, loved, and exactly where you belonged, wrapped in the arms of your handsome, possessive, wonderfully complicated stepbrother and boyfriend.

- The End - 🌚💦🔞

©Melody (Follow for more hot stories) 🌚💦🔞

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑈𝑠

pairing: past wanda maximoff x fem!reader / present natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: When you see Wanda again after the secret relationship you shared during your college years, you realize the lasting impact she had on you. Haunted by flashbacks of your time together, you struggle to reconcile the memory of the Wanda you once knew with the woman she has become a decade later.

content warnings: angst, homophobia, a few homophobic slurs, internalized homophobia, heartbreak and grief, some smut, tragedy

word count: 7.1k+

Masterlist

A/N: This is heavily inspired by the song Us. By Gracie Abrams ft. Taylor Swift. I would recommend listening to it simply because it is a masterpiece and the foundation of this fic.

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

“Babe, are you ready?” 

Green eyes peek around the doorframe, delicate fingers working a dangling diamond studded earring through a slightly reddened ear. There’s a gentle smile on Natasha’s face, a strand escaping her perfectly curled hair and falling somewhat in front of her face. It brushes softly against her cheek, a sharp exhale moving it as a wince appears on her face. 

“Here, let me,” you say, curling a single finger in her direction. You place your makeup brushes onto the vanity in front of you, your fingers gentle as you pluck the earring from Natasha’s hand. 

It’s a beautiful piece. The golden metal is dainty, yet solid, woven into complex swirls that catch the dying rays of sunshine streaming in from your window. Your hands are careful, threading the earring through her skin like a seamstress, with confidence that comes from years of practice and love woven into each measured touch. 

“Perfect,” you mutter. You both know you’re not just talking about the earring. 

Natasha smirks at you, full of confidence that is only slightly contrasted by the pink flush rising to her cheeks. You laugh slightly, the sound low and full of warmth as you turn back towards the mirror. 

Strong hands rest lightly on your shoulders as Natasha’s fingers firmly rub circles into your skin. You can feel the tight knots give away beneath her ministrations and sigh in relief as you brush highlighter onto the highest point of your cheekbones. Green eyes track your movements lazily, taking you in like it's the first time she’s seeing you. You find it quite romantic and tell her just as much.

“Well,” the bright smile on Natasha’s face shines through the word, “That was my goal, detka.”

A soft shove from you has Natasha’s hands wrapping around your own as she pulls you to your feet. You sway slightly, blinking against the headrush that comes from changing positions too quickly. Arms wrap around your waist as strong as the pull of gravity, unwavering and inevitable. 

“You look beautiful,” Natasha murmurs, her lips brushing yours. 

“Compared to you, I am nothing.” The words flow from your lips easily, the truth of them lying comfortably under your skin, feeling like the steady weight of a cat curled up on your chest. You kiss away any protests, your tongue swiping against hers when she tries to speak. 

“We should go,” Natasha manages to say, the words separated with the firm kisses she places against your lips. “We’re about to run late, and I know you hate it when people are inconsiderate with their timing.”

You nod against her, your hands squeezing her waist gently as you breathe deeply through your nose, unwilling to part your lips from hers. 

“Sweetheart.”

Natasha’s tone is firm, her hand pressed against your sternum as she pushes you away. It's gentle, almost hesitant. You know that if you pressed back against it, she would crumble like a sandcastle at high tide. It's for that very reason that you don’t, not wanting to disrupt her carefully planned evening. 

“Lead the way, my love.”

—

You find yourself hanging from Natasha’s arm, feeling every bit like a trophy. Shining, and put on the highest shelf, gazes sliding appreciatively over you before moving on to the next impressive thing. You wonder how long it will be before the dust begins to collect. 

A man, standing close to your wife. His fingers twitch, his eyes glancing dismissively at you. He’s talking just a bit too loud for the short distance between him and Natasha, and you feel a white-hot rage rising before you take in the fake smile plastered across her face. 

It's too wide, showing too many teeth and yet not enough at the same time. Her eyes are sharp, the soft crow’s feet that normally appear at the edges nowhere to be found. The pressure of her fingers against your waist grounds you, leaving you feeling every bit like a rock standing solidly against the crashing waves. 

The man moves on, loses interest. You don’t mind. The memory of him is already floating away, being replaced by the soft look Natasha is sending your way. You feel shiny again, not a speck of dust in sight. 

Dragging your eyes around the room, you let yourself get lost in the sea of bodies. 

Natasha had brought you to some important work event. It was essentially a party, disguised under layers of professionalism in celebration of a multi-million dollar partnership with their rival company. 

There was an undercurrent of tension, being slowly filtered into a sort of understanding and grudging respect. The alcohol probably helped. 

A woman’s laughter rang around the room. The tension in the air shuddered and released its hold slightly. 

You amend your statement. The alcohol definitely helped. 

Lazily, you return your gaze to the room. Natasha is slowly walking you towards the center of the room, leading you with gentle touches at your waist. You feel every bit like a lamb, awkward with growing limbs as it is shepherded into a crowd. 

Bouncing around the room, your eyes take in the multitude of people. Features start to blur together. A pointed nose, blue eyes almost hidden under thick eyeliner, shimmering dresses that catch the light and make your head spin.

Your eyes catch on brunette hair. Soft, flowing like a calm river on a warm summer's day. 

Startling slightly, you blink, a memory dredging its way to the front of your brain like molten lava, slow and inevitable. 

Brunette hair, falling effortlessly over strong shoulders. The scent of vanilla washing over you and enveloping you like a well-known embrace. Green eyes sparkling down at you as soft lips move. You focus, dragging your eyes away from the perfectly manicured nails softly brushing against your desk. 

“Mind if I sit here?” 

A feeble shake of your head, and rapid blinking as you attempt to return the moisture lost to wide-eyed staring back into your eyes. 

She’s beautiful. 

Her words are kind, a small smile seemingly locked into place on her lips as she regards you. Green eyes roam your face, lingering around your lips for just a second too long.

“I’m Wanda.”

The memory slams into your skull, reverberating painfully around as you feel an age-old, nearly forgotten crack in your heart reopen. It takes your breath away, the weight in your chest feeling like a paperweight, settling down on the last few pages of a story full of loss and anguish. 

Natasha’s speaking to someone, her raspy voice filtering through your ears. It’s nothing like the cadence of melted butter you still sometimes hear in your dreams. It's different, better. You wonder when the lies will morph into a semblance of truth. 

You take a deep breath, letting those thoughts slide back to where they belong. In the back of your mind, locked away and left to be forgotten. It wouldn’t do you any good to dwell on the past, with its looming, crumbling chess pieces that dance around you in a game that you don’t quite understand the rules of. 

“Ah, fuck.” Comes Natasha’s voice, the words mumbled directly in your ear. 

You twist your head, shaking it free of cobwebs sticky with memory as you take in your wife. Her eyes are locked on something across the room, the faint furrow of her brows the only sign of displeasure etched on her face. Her lips are moving, mumbling something about an important blah blah man blah blah, rich and influential at her rival company blah blah…

Smiling slightly, you hide your amusement with practiced ease as you turn your gaze towards the man, no, a couple heading your way. Your eyes barely register the neatly parted blonde hair of a tall man, his eyes locked on Natasha with a calculating sort of look in them before your eyes slide over to the woman on his arm.

Fuck, indeed. 

Your heartbeat rushes through your ears, a dull ringing cascading through them as you feel your breath catch. Everything has gone numb, or cold, or tingly. You’re not really sure. Everything is too much and the room is too hot even as goosebumps rise on the surface of your exposed flesh. You suddenly see yourself in a third-person view, your mind projecting outside your body as you go rigid at the sight of her.

Wanda Maximoff. 

Green eyes, brighter and lighter than the ones you stared lovingly into at the altar. Her gaze flickers over to you, not fully meeting your eyes, a forced sort of dissonance playing out briefly on those perfect features before she focuses on Natasha.  

Another memory slams into you, rising unbidden from the depths of your mind before you can stop it. 

Soft laughter, echoing around the room before it's absorbed by the four walls surrounding you. Green eyes, smiling at you before returning their focus to the pen and paper in front of her. 

Wanda writes something down, your eyes tracing the elegant script that flowed easily from her fingertips. Something scratches at the back of your mind, a tendril of something fond, warm. It feels like coming home, future impressions of familiarity beginning to take root. 

“Let me see,” you’re saying, moving closer. Your hands reach for the book. No, it's a leather-bound journal. You’d picked them out earlier, after walking to the store with Wanda from your English literature class. 

“No, oh my god,” Wanda was saying, giggles erupting from her as she half-heartedly wrestled the journal away from you. Her hand lands on your knee, her cheeks a little too flushed. It reminds you of the cherry she’d eaten earlier, licking the whipped cream from her milkshake off before smiling and sucking the fruit into her mouth. 

Her hand stills, awkward and stiff for a moment. You don’t comment on it, shifting your body weight to be slightly closer to her. The warmth from her palm spreads through your body like a slow creek, new and small and promising bigger currents down the road. 

“Let me read yours out loud and I’ll let you read mine,” you offer, taking her journal gently and placing yours in her lap.

“It’s just poetry,” the words flow from your lips, but you know it’s more than that. It’s the very contents of your soul, laid bare for her to see, wrapped under layers of grammar and careful wording. It’s a confession, it’s a sin, it’s something twisting and beautiful and as graceless as a newborn foal. Her eyes meet yours, your thoughts reflected back at you as her fingers twitch slightly on your knee. 

Wanda’s hand takes your journal, those green eyes skimming the words as her lips move silently.

You don’t look away, you can’t look away. Her hair is falling over her shoulder, as delicate and soft as the words written before you. There’s a palpable tension in the air, low and thumping like a familiar heartbeat. 

Green eyes, flickering back to you. Something behind them that you can’t interpret. You feel like she can see your every thought, the very contents of your being laid out before her as she analyzes each individual piece. It’s frightening and it’s intoxicating, and you look away. 

You’re reading her words now, the sentences flowing and mashing together in your mind as you pluck the strings of her mind with your careful hands. It’s beautiful and well-written, layered with so many truths and lies that you can’t begin to interpret the true meaning of her sentences. 

Something tingles at the base of your skull, warm and light as it blossoms through your head. Understanding. Or, the semblance of it. 

You look up. Light green eyes stare back into yours. They’re captivating, and you wonder if they ever left. If she watched you the same way you did her, attempting to unravel her very being through carefully constructed lines and flowing script and words layered with meaning. 

Those green eyes have the power to shatter you. You pick up your pen. 

“So what is it that you do?” The man is speaking. 

Your mind crashes back into the present, another hairline fracture appearing on the surface of your heart. You can practically feel it, the torment running deeper than the illusion the thin crack offers. It’s bone-aching, and you suddenly feel exhausted. 

“I’m a copywriter,” Natasha answers, sounding casual. You can sense the clipped tone and undercurrent of frustration, and your hand gently traces circles against her wrist. “I graduated with a degree in English Literature.”

“Ah,” the man says, sounding every bit as pretentious as he looks. “My wife got a degree in that as well.”

Another crack, splintering into you. Your eyes flick down, catching the ring on Wanda’s finger. It’s shining and big, the diamonds glittering back at you, the mockery of it seeping into your soul. The meaning of it is every bit as surface level as what you assume Wanda’s feelings for this man are. You know better, she had told you just as much. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever love a man in the way I’m meant to.” 

You don’t have to ask what she means. You don’t respond, a gentle sigh escaping you as the weight of her head rests solidly on your shoulder. The clock on your nightstand blinks back at you, the numbers twinkling in the early morning. Pens and paper and journals are strewn around you, a poetry book facedown in your lap. Your voice had grown too tired from reading, but neither of you seemed to mind the comfortable silence stretching around the room.

Until now.

“I know,” you say. There are not many words you can speak.

It's simple. That’s a lie. It’s not, it’s complicated and it's painful and there’s nothing you can do to take that away from her. You wish you could. You would do anything to let Wanda’s soul have respite in your presence, to be unburdened from thoughts of sin and duty, to be able to finally breathe properly. 

Soft fingers find your hand, tangling with your fingers almost hesitantly. Your palm slides easily against hers, and you swallow the lump in your throat. Your hands fit like a jigsaw puzzle, feeling like the final piece as it clicks into place. Confusion and frustration sliding away as the picture finally makes sense. 

“Poetry feels like prayer.” Wanda’s voice is quiet, and you know what she means. It feels holy, even with the words only spoken in the sublunary space of your dorm room. Her head twists on your shoulder, and you feel your gaze drawn to her like the inevitable magnetic pull of the earth. Her green eyes peer up at you. “Will you pray with me?” 

Picking up the poetry book in your lap, you begin reading. Your thumb runs over the pages. Staring at the words in front of you, you wonder why they’re blurry. You realize later, after Wanda had fallen asleep from being lulled into comfort by your voice, that it had been unshed tears. 

You let them fall.

“Yes,” Wanda is saying, and her voice is exactly the same as you’d remembered. She’s speaking, saying something about the university she’d attended and how she got her degree. The only thing you can focus on is the familiar lilt of her words, the smooth cadence you’ve memorized and seared into your brain. 

It’s painful, but you can’t take your eyes off of her. Natasha’s hand moves slightly against your waist, and you blink. The man next to Wanda has his arms almost possessively around her shoulders, his hawkish eyes watching you. 

You look away. 

“Oh, you and my wife went to the same University,” Natasha says, trying to be helpful. You don’t appreciate it. Her words are genuine, but the statement falls short, a beat of awkward silence stretching into an eternity as you try to respond. What could you even say?

Yes. We did. I fell in love with the confident, full-of-life brunette who looked at me like I hung the moon, and I looked at her like she painted the stars just to give the moon some company. I loved her as easy as breathing, and now my lungs never feel full enough, my breaths labored and weighted with the words of love I breathed into her ear that I can’t take back, won’t take back. 

Refuse to take back. 

“We must have missed each other,” Wanda says, her eyes flashing in your direction, but not fully meeting yours. “It’s a big school.”

A polite smile plasters itself onto your face, too small and stiff to be sincere. Your heart clenches painfully, a small part of your mind begging Wanda to meet your eyes. God, it feels just like when you were at University. 

Her husband’s fingers tighten slightly around her shoulder, pulling her further into his side. You wonder if Wanda feels like she’s suffocating yet. You hope not, you want her to breathe. To fill her lungs with light and hope and passion and… not whatever this is.

Another memory, sludging through your mind like a heavy foot through quicksand. 

You don’t talk to Wanda much outside of class and the late-night poetry readings in your dorm. She blames it on her busy social life, being in a sorority is apparently no joke. You’ve learned to keep your head down when you see her in public, her eyes always lingering near you, but never fully meeting yours, too focused on the sorority sisters that always seem to surround her. Appearances are everything to her, you know that. 

But god, it hurts. 

It still doesn’t cut quite as deep as the weekend her parents came to visit. 

Wanda had grown up the daughter of a pastor, a well-spoken man with a quiet, hidden-in-the-shadows wife. You’d watched from afar, noticing the small glances her mother would send her way, and the nervous twitching of her fingers as she adjusted Wanda's collar, or brushed a piece of invisible lint from her daughter's skirt. 

Per usual, Wanda was nothing short of perfect. Her hair was perfectly curled, laying gently over her shoulders as the brunette strands glowed in the sunlight. She’d done her makeup just subtle enough to perfect her already dainty features, but not enough to rouse suspicion that she was promiscuous. 

You’d watched her do her makeup many times, her hands perfecting the art. You wondered how much of her father’s influence and mother’s worry controlled the easy flick of her brush as it spread a light blush across her cheeks. 

Tracing your gaze down her form, you glance back to the book in front of you. A poem glared up at you, the words swimming off the page as you remember the subtle curve of Wanda’s spine, her head bowed slightly as her father spoke into her ear. 

Wanda was full of life, shining brightly and standing out amongst the rest of the population at this university. Or perhaps that was simply your own observation, after all, your entire waking moments were consumed by thoughts of her. 

The point is, she wasn’t… docile. Or submissive, or meek like her posture suggests when her father lays a hand on her shoulder. You can’t tell if he’s gripping his fingers tightly or gently around her, but either way, Wanda doesn’t make a move to remove his hand. 

She’s nodding, her head turning towards him. You can see her smiling easily at him, saying something back. 

His hand returns to his side, and you hope that you imagine the slope of her mother’s shoulders relaxing. The way her fingers twitch towards her daughter, wanting to replace the feeling of his hand against her skin, but choosing to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear instead. Always deflecting her true intentions.

Wanda’s face turns towards her mother. You see the momentary look that passes between them, but you’re unable to interpret it from across the quad. The moment passes, and her mother returns her attention back to her husband. Always a faithful, obedient wife. 

When Wanda and her parents pass by the table you’re seated at, she doesn’t spare you a second glance. Her green eyes are focused on some unimportant thing in the distance, her father’s lips moving near her ear again. You silently plead with her to look your way, to take solace in the silent comfort you can provide. 

Her green eyes don’t meet yours. You feel a crack appear on your heart, and you swallow harshly as you stare blankly at the poetry in front of you. Shoving the crack down where you’ve displaced all the other ones, you begin to read. 

The poem is a romantic one. Full of yearning and hope and unbridled passion. The only thing you can think about is how incredibly tragic it seems. 

Natasha’s thumb is slowly moving, caressing your hip as she holds you loosely by her side. Not possessive, but not without care either. You’re grateful for the touch, and focus on it as Wanda’s husband continues to talk about… what is he talking about?

You don’t really care. 

The version of Wanda that you knew and the woman you see in front of you clash in your mind, splintering your thoughts. You’re also aware of your wife beside you, and guilt creeps into your heart. 

You chose Natasha. You’re happy with her, you stood across from her and declared your love and promised her that you would love her until the end of time. You intend to stand by that, to uphold your promise. Imagining a future without her seems impossible. 

But you’d also imagined a future with Wanda once. It didn’t seem right to just ignore that. And it was impossible to keep the memories at bay. Not when she was standing before you for the first time in ten fucking years, with her perfect hair and her natural looking makeup and her light green eyes and the scent of vanilla washing over you and and and-

Breathing in, feeling the comforting scent of vanilla enveloping you in the strong embrace of a familiar lover. Wanda’s hair just beneath your nose, the silky strands brushing against your cheek and chin as you place a gentle kiss on her head. 

Her arms are wrapped around you, her breaths even. You aren’t asleep, but you let her think that you are. It's easier for her to be herself when she thinks nobody is watching. Her fingers slowly dance along the exposed skin of your stomach, softly tracing nonsensical patterns against you as you feel your heart pound steadily. 

A poetry book rests at your side, forgotten in the favor of holding her in your arms. You understand what all the poets mean, with their suffering and their longing written painstakingly on pages of crinkled paper beneath their ink-stained hands, as you hold Wanda gently against you. This moment feels too precious, too raw to ever be put into words, to write down for the world to see. 

No, you’d much rather keep this moment pure and untouched, resting in your heart alongside the inevitability of Wanda Maximoff. 

You can feel her in your soul. Or rather, maybe it’s your soul that’s bleeding and filling the space between you two. You hope that it is mixing with Wanda’s, filling the painful parts of her that she pushes down and cushioning them with warmth. Is it too much to hope that she’ll carry a part of you with her forever? Is it selfish to take the willing parts of her soul that bleed into yours and keep them there until they’re so ingrained in the fiber of your being that you would lose yourself if she took it back?

Maybe that's the true definition of love. 

Natasha's hand grips you tightly, her fingers tense around your hip. Her eyes are locked on Wanda’s husband, his drawling voice grating your nerves. You risk a glance at Wanda, recognizing her blank look at the ground for what it is. Escape. 

She used to tell you about the places she’d go inside her mind when life got to be too much for her. It sounded peaceful. She could be whoever she wanted inside her own head, without the pressure of her father or the quiet concern of her mother and the encompassing guilt that she was never making the right choices. You hope she's there right now, and return your gaze towards her husband. 

“I mean,” Her husband's eyes are sharp, glinting dangerously at your wife. “It’s so nice that they allow so many… diverse individuals to work with your company.” 

His eyes travel down her body before flicking over to you briefly. 

“Is it hard to keep your lifestyle and work life separate?” he asks, and your blood boils. You see Wanda’s head lower further. “I imagine it's quite difficult to relate to your peers, with a secret like that.”

Natasha is seconds away from exploding, tearing him down with sharp words and securing her own termination in the same breath. 

You find your voice, the quiet strength of your words surprising you. “I’ve been out and proud since I was in high school. I’ve never been ashamed of who I am. And neither is my wife.”

Wanda’s eyes cut sharply over to you, that specific shade of light green filling your vision. 

“Why the fuck would you give this to me if you didn’t want me to interpret it that way?” You’re not yelling, you never would. Not at her. Never at Wanda. But you can feel the frustration leaking into each syllable, and you hate the way that Wanda’s shoulders seem to hunch in on themselves. 

“I never meant for you to…” Wanda can’t continue, her eyes locked on the poetry book you’re clutching between your fingers. 

“You never meant for me to fall in love with you?” 

A flinch, green eyes staring at the carpet and gentle fingers clenched uselessly over the back of a chair. The words bounce around your dorm room, settling in with a tentative weariness. 

“Why would you give me this poetry book about romance and passion and fighting for love if that’s not what you wanted me to think about you?” you set the book down on your desk, the pages flipping open. You can see the smudged ink of your annotations. That was a flaw of yours, always writing too fast as you try to keep up with the thoughts in your head. 

“That’s not what I mean I-” Wanda’s eyes are locked on the book and you watch her swallow harshly. Her voice is shaky, her head bowed. You hate it, and there’s nothing you can do to make it better. “I can’t love you.”

“You don’t love me?”

“That’s not what I said.” Wanda’s voice is quiet. 

Oh. 

“You don’t understand,” Wanda has unshed tears in her eyes. You want to wipe them away, your fingers twitching, unsure if you’re allowed to anymore. “My family means everything to me.”

Oh.

The weight of tragedy settles in, burying itself deep within your bones and wrapping around your heart and squeezing. All of the cracks you’d smothered appear at once, splintering and creating new fractures with each labored pump of poisonous blood coursing through your body. 

You finally understand what the poets mean. The metaphors and desperation, the weight of grief and longing and the way it sticks to your very soul like a parasite that you keep feeding and nurturing because the pain of forgetting is worse than the crushing travesty of remembering. 

Wanda is talking, and for the first time, you’re not paying attention to her words. She’s saying something about her parents and financial dependence and them cutting her off and all you can hear is that she’s stuck and scared and trying to protect herself and you can’t choose her path for her. 

It’s agony, it’s grief and it’s nothing like what you imagined as you innocently read the words scattered across the pages of your poetry book. It’s so much fucking worse. Wanda’s hand is on the doorknob of your dorm, her vanilla scent already fading from your walls as she looks at you with longing and grief and something devastating hidden and suppressed deep within her soul. You wonder if this will be the last time her green eyes ever look at you with genuine emotion shining through them. 

You wonder if you’ll ever escape the numbing chill of loneliness that settles beneath your skin like an old friend. 

Vision, you’d learned his name at some point during the conversation, seems at a loss for words for the first time since you’ve met him. His face is steadily reddening, the tips of his ears practically scarlet as you watch the hand on Wanda’s shoulder tighten.

“I’ve seen your name credited a lot, you must be very good at what you do.” Wanda’s voice is melodic, her words placating yet genuine. She’s mending the rift, her words an unspoken apology for her husband’s behavior as he stands sullen beside her. 

Natasha smiles and begins speaking.

It’s strange, to see the woman you’re in love with talking with Wanda. There was a time when you thought you’d never find someone who made you feel the way Wanda did. You were convinced that your love would live and die with her. 

Then, you met your wife. 

Natasha was everything you could have ever hoped for. She loved you openly and proudly from the moment she met you. Her commitment to you had never waned, her gestures true and meanings genuine. You’d never trusted somebody more, never felt as comfortable with another person. 

She stood by your side when others did not. She held you when you were sick, and stayed by your side when you were at your lowest. The day that you had married her was the best day of your life, and your vows were nothing short of pure truth. The green eyes that had looked at you from across the altar were vibrant and dark, your love for that shade of green far surpassing the one you’d loved all those years ago. 

So why did it still hurt to think about Wanda?

If you had to choose. Right now, Natasha or Wanda, you knew you’d choose your wife in every lifetime. But that didn’t explain the splintering cracks reappearing on your heart the longer you stayed in Wanda’s presence. 

Music rattles the floor, a plethora of swirling hues surrounding you. Your senses are dulled by the fiery liquor burning within your veins, your brain finally relaxing. 

“Dude, come on don’t just stand there like a weirdo,” Kate pulls you away from the wall, spilling your cup in the process. 

You both look down at it for a moment, before bursting into peals of laughter that leave you clutching her shoulder for support as she bends at the waist. Her dark hair falls neatly over her shoulders, her backward cap holding it in place. 

The music drowns out most of your laughter, but you’re aware of the eyes on both you and Kate as you wipe tears from your eyes. She’s pulling you closer to the DJ, dancing sloppily with you. You can’t bring yourself to care about the people around you. There was one goal tonight, get absolutely sloshed at the local college bars and then pass out on Kate’s couch to forget about the whole thing. 

“Who the fuck let the sloppy, drunk dykes in?”

Kate doesn’t hear the words, but you do. You turn to face the group near you, the liquor making you bold. It’s a bunch of sorority girls, with their skin-tight dresses and judging eyes watching you with caked-on mascara. Your heart drops when you see Wanda standing in the middle of them. 

Your blood runs cold, a surge of sadness and fury sweeping through you. It’s confusing, but most of all, it’s fucking infuriating. 

Behind you, Kate stumbles, her elbow knocking into your side. Your arms wrap around her, keeping her upright as she mumbles an apology in your ear. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Wanda whisper something to one of the girls, their eyes on you and filled with mirthful laughter. 

“You’re right, Wanda,” the girl says, loud enough for the whole group to hear. “These dyke sluts would probably jump on the nearest dick they could find, since nobody else wants to fuck them.”

The blood rushes to your ears, and Kate’s gasp reverberates around your skull. The bar seems quieter than before, and a multitude of eyes are on you and the blonde bitch in front of you is smirking like she just stole your favorite candy and Wanda is laughing and pointedly avoiding eye contact with you but her smile wavers slightly as her eyes grow sad for a split second before she remembers where she is and you’re so fucking mad and it all just seems so goddamn tragic and-

Your fist connects solidly with that stupid, smug smirk that the blonde girl proudly plasters on her face. There are gasps and Kate whooping loudly in your ear and arms wrapped around you and pulling you towards the door and alcohol making your head spin and fuck you’ve never felt more alive. 

Wanda’s eyes finally meet yours. They’re filled with shock, but just before she turns away, you see a sliver of gratitude and the hint of an apology glimmering in their depths. 

Needless to say, both you and Kate are banned from that bar. 

Your wife is laughing. The echoes of mean laughter from Wanda and her sorority sisters fade into the background noise of your brain as you refocus on the conversation. Natasha’s soft chuckles bring a smile to your face before you can stop it, your lips turning up as you look at her. 

She’s effortlessly pretty, her eyes crinkled slightly at the edges even as her gaze flickers warily over to Vision. Her arm is wrapped around your waist, solid yet unrestrictive. 

Wanda’s eyes linger around the fingers that lightly draw circles against your hip. She seems to shake herself, eyes quickly moving back towards safer territory as she focuses on Natasha’s face. You don’t miss the fleeting expression of longing that flits across her face, her appearance seeming soul-crushingly tired for a mere moment before it smooths over in a way that speaks to years of practice. 

You wonder if she’s remembering the same night that rises to the front of your mind. You try to combat it, to stay in the moment. Natasha's fingers squeeze your hips lovingly, and you descend into the memory with bone-deep guilt. 

The concrete is cold beneath you, the wind picking up slightly and threading its way through your hair. You shiver, feeling Wanda adjust her body closer to yours. You’re aware of her heat spreading through you. Her hand fits seamlessly in yours, and you wonder when loving Wanda became as easy and inevitable as breathing. 

“Do you think the poets compared their words to the stars?” Wanda asks.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” you say, breathing in her vanilla scent. It’s hard to focus on her words when her body is pressed fully against yours, your left side burning with warmth and something else that you’re almost scared to identify. 

Wanda chuckles, the sound heating your cheeks further. 

“Well,” she pauses. That’s one of the things you love about her, how careful she is with her words. “Do you think they viewed their words, their poems, as unattainable yet beautiful and pure?”

You’re quiet. You can think of something that is also unattainable, pure and completely inevitable. It’s not poetry, and it’s not the glittering stars that take up your vision. She’s lying right beside you, her nose bright red from the wind and a future stretching out ahead of her that she is able to mold into something beautiful and something that is completely her own. If only she had the courage to do so. You hope she does. 

“Of course they did. They’re poets,” you respond, and Wanda hums. “Do you feel that way?”

Wanda doesn’t respond, and that’s enough of an answer for you. 

The silence stretches on, but it's comfortable. Wanda is shifting silently, more of her body pressing against you, the wind having died down a while ago, leaving no easy excuses for her leg pressed fully against yours. 

“You wanna know what I think?” Wanda’s voice is quiet, yet firm. 

Turning your head, you look at her. She looks back, her lips mere inches away from yours. You can feel the soft, warm breath escaping her lips and hitting your face as she speaks. 

“I think that you’re like the stars,” Wanda begins, her green eyes sparkling at you. They glance down imperceptibly, almost too quickly for you to catch. You notice, of course you do. “You're incomparable, chemical almost.” 

Wanda trails off, her eyes firmly focused on your lips. You understand, you always do. 

“I can’t tell if you’re a curse or a miracle,” you whisper, feeling Wanda lean in. The tension vibrates palpably between your lips and hers. “But I don’t really care.”

Soft lips collide with yours, a seismic shift that causes your head to spin for a moment. It’s perfect and pure and something bordering on holiness and you find yourself never wanting to leave this moment. Then, Wanda’s lips are moving against yours and the heat inside you is rising and her hands are everywhere and you can’t get enough of her and-

Her moans feel almost reverent, stretching out into the minimal space between you as she arches herself closer to you. Her skin is pressed against yours, warm and alive and feeling every last bit like an all-consuming force that you gladly pull closer. Your fingers slip inside her easily, the feeling of her bringing tears to your eyes. You want to live in this moment forever, with the taste of her on your lips and her thighs impossibly soft around you, her head thrown back as she chants your name like a prayer. 

You’ve never believed in God. But in this moment, you finally know what it truly means to worship. 

A man’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. 

“Well, as lovely as it’s been to meet you…” Vision trails off, and Natasha simply raises an eyebrow. 

“Thank you for the wonderful conversation,” Wanda’s smooth words cut in, another unspoken apology and excuse for her husband's behavior. “We should probably be leaving, it’s getting late.”

Green eyes glance at her husband, whether for permission or in reprimand, you can’t tell. Either way, it gets Vision to move, a firm head nod directed towards your wife before he’s striding towards the door, pulling Wanda with him. 

She’s leaving. Again. 

A final memory claws its way to the surface. You know this one. It's a memory that you’ve kept hidden in the deepest part of your brain, in a place full of sticky cobwebs and scarce lighting, meant to be forgotten. 

It’s inevitable.

Wanda is almost at the exit, her husband's hand possessive against the small of her back. It speaks of ownership, of pride. You despise it. It’s nothing like the soft, loving touch of your wife’s hand against your waist.

The turn of a head and soft brunette waves falling gently around delicate, hunched shoulders. Soft skin, glowing slightly in the dim, red lighting of an exit sign. Green eyes, piercing yours in the same manner that they had all those years ago. 

Your breath catches, lodging itself painfully in your throat. Or maybe it's just your chest, and what lies beneath the surface. A heart, with cracks all along the surface, squeezing painfully, the tension, the agony almost too much to bear. 

A single tear slides down your cheek. You hear Natasha murmuring something in your ear, a gentle hand wiping your face dry. 

There’s a mask sliding into place over those perfect features that you’d memorized a decade ago. Green eyes, light in shade, sliding past you as if you’re an insignificant, forgotten trophy on the highest shelf. And then she’s gone, out the door with only the faint scent of vanilla and a permanent memory etched into your mind. 

The cracks splinter, and without warning, shatter completely.

“Pick up, pick up… please just… fucking. Ah, just, goddamnit pick up the fucking phone Wanda.”

You’re drunk, the phone feeling awkward and heavy in your hands. The sound of a dial tone beeping ricochets through your mind, and you clumsily jerk the phone away from your ear.  Blearily, you take in the four previous calls you’ve made to Wanda. 

One more try can’t hurt. Right?

You firmly press your finger against her name, the sound of your phone dialing her number washing over you. The tiny numbers in the corner of your screen read somewhere between one or two in the morning, but you don’t care. All you need is for Wanda to pick up. 

A sound, different from before. You hear quiet breathing on the other side of the line. 

God, you’ve missed that sound. The feeling of her head resting against your shoulder or chest as slow measured breaths fill the four walls of your dorm room. The small puffs of air hitting your skin when she shifted, burying her face in your neck. 

You say as much, the words spilling out of you. You’re not sure if Wanda is listening, but you hope she is. 

“Fuck, I- I just miss you so much. It feels like I’m dying every time I see you, and I can’t take your eyes avoiding mine anymore. I mean,” you hiccup, the sound pathetic even to your own ears. It doesn’t matter. 

“Don’t you miss us?” you say, your voice quiet. The soft breaths on the other end of the line hitch, and you grasp at it. “I miss the flame of what we were, I don’t even really know what we were, but… I miss the small reign we had. Even if it was just in the space of my dorm room. I would go through the pain of you every day if it meant I could be close to you. I-”

You lose the words, the regret pouring through you as quickly as a flooding river. The words can’t escape fast enough. 

“Do you regret us? I know we were a secret, and I was okay with that. I would have done anything, kept anything private, secret even, just to keep you in my life. You know that Wanda.” You draw a shaky breath. You hope that you don’t imagine the same type of breath on the other end of the line. 

“Do you miss it?” You ask, hating the way your voice cracks gently. You hear Wanda’s sharp, soft inhale. “Do you regret the secret of us?”

Click.

---

Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch @marvels--slut @justabrokensunshine @dorabledewdroop @wandsmxmff @esposadejoyhuerta @captivepotato

Dm or comment to be added!

[reidology13]

A House In Nebraska

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

cw: angst, references to sex, very mild and metaphorical cannibalism, depression, no happy ending wc: 1.4k a/n: wrote this in like two days after having literally no motivation for monthsss and I'm actually so proud of it. a little different to my usual stuff, but probably one of my favourite pieces that i've ever written!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

As the sun set below the horizon, memories slipped in alongside the shadows, filling the cracks in the foundation of your mind. Most nights you still thought about him, the soft and sweet boy from your reckless youth.

It was a sweltering summer the year you moved to California for university, made worse by the fast shift from East to West Coast. Friends hadn’t been high on your list of priorities, and by the end of your first semester, the window had passed, your peers dividing easily into their social groups. You existed comfortably on the edge, too overwhelmed by schoolwork for the ever-present loneliness to take hold, merely a vague sensation contributing to your exponentially pessimistic worldview. It haunted your empty dorm that first year, that room you never let become a home, caught up in all the wrong things and refusing to admit that you were stuck. 

And then you saw him, a scrawny little thing lingering around one of your professors during the first days of your second year. Her TA, he said, and you pulled him aside after the lecture to interrogate him, chest tightening when he laughed at your reaction to his age. The same age as you, starting his third doctorate, you thought he was the most amazing person you’d ever met. You told him as much, revelling in the gentle flush that spread across his cheeks, that you had brought out of him.

His eyes found yours during every class, his hand found yours in the courtyard afterwards, fingers intertwined over lunch. 

The night you snuck him into an old abandoned building on the outskirts of the campus, dragging him behind you through the gap in the chicken wire fence. He complained, droning on about the legal repercussions, although he never once tried to stop you. That seemed to be how he coped, if he spoke through every possible scenario, he would be prepared for the absolute worst. The way your first kiss had been preceded by what seemed to start as a question, unravelling into a tangent about consent. You’d ended up kissing him, partially to shut him up, mostly because rambling looked far too good on him.

You kissed him again that night, in that old house while he tried to explain the potential health and safety risks—from unsound infrastructure to rot and germs—until he lost the ability to talk at all. He didn’t seem to care much about any hazards after that, in that quiet room of easy movements and confessions.

As the chill of fall grew, the draughty old remains were nothing against even the mildest of winds, and you were pushed out of your makeshift home. You found small cafes with cozy corners where you could pretend there was no one else. And when the sign flipped to ‘closed’ you trudged through the yellowing leaves or rain to your dorm, thankful for the single-room setup that had caused you such isolation that first year.

It took you three months to find the right birthday present for him, a skinny purple scarf whose thread seemed to be woven from his essence. You wrapped it around his neck and told him that the colour brought out the green flecks in his eyes while he tried to kiss you in thanks. You let him, and you let him promise that he would never get rid of it, that he would wear it until it fell apart, and you promised that if that day ever came, you would find him an even better one.

You split the Halloween celebrations, the evening reserved for a costumed horror reading at a local library, followed by a Halloween party in a warehouse. He made it five steps inside before the loud music and pathogen-infested landscape had you taking him back to your dorm for a Halloween movie marathon and caramel corn under warm blankets that you both agreed was far better.

Then there was the first Christmas, gifts traded between soft kisses and whispers of a future you were so sure was yours to keep.

Winter gave way to spring, flowers sprouting on the lawn, handcrafted for him to weave through the strands of your hair and tuck behind your ear. You migrated back to your vacant house that was quickly filled with life—memories, moments, experiences, two heartbeats bound by one rhythm—and nothing more.

When you were evicted from your dorm that summer, he offered up his university-funded, off-campus apartment. There was little about him that managed to surprise you by then, but you did find yourself disconcerted by the realisation that in a year of knowing each other, you’d never seen where he lived. Not that it mattered for long, toothbrushes resting side by side in his bathroom, reminiscent of two figures curled up on the couch and tangled in pristine sheets that smelled like him.

He’d finished his doctorate in engineering halfway through the year, you’d ordered chicken tandoori from his favourite Indian place down the street and watched Doctor Who reruns in celebration.

In the midwinter chill, you snuck back under the chicken wire fence, his old jacket wrapped around you where you stood on the edge of the world you’d built. There was no complaining voice in your ear, no spindly hand in yours, no soft breath on the back of your neck, only icy wind brushing through your hair. The silence was eerie, no long-winded rambles that should have been boring, would have been, if they’d come from anyone else’s lips. 

Sat on the frigid concrete floor until your legs went numb—whether from the cold or the lack of movement, you didn’t know—and only then did you move to that dirty mattress in the middle of the floor. You lay on his side, and you swore you could feel the outline of his body under you, the impression he had left sticking to your skin. Tears fell, spreading as they hit the fabric, forming dark circles to match those that stained the skin under your eyes. You pulled his jacket tighter around you, breathed in the smell of him that was fading all too quickly.

You’d moved back home after finishing your Master’s four years ago, found a scrawny little studio apartment in D.C. that you could barely afford the rent for, but at least you could say you were independent. That seemed to be your measure of success these days—how little you needed anyone else. 

Over the years, you’d spent too much of your time thinking about him, where he was, what happened after he was taken away. Him and his stupid layers in the West Coast heat, you doubted he would survive the winters in the East. He’d probably ended up as a researcher, one day his name would show up in some important paper alongside a possible cure for schizophrenia, he’d always wanted to find one.

Sometimes, you’d open up the box under your bed, empty it piece by piece, and pack it away again. There was no logical reason for it, it was a ritual of what had to be self-harm, reliving every moment and contemplating how you lost it. It was less common now, but you still pulled the jacket on over your pyjamas when the winters grew especially cold. Flicked through the polaroids of you he’d been obsessed with taking that first spring, the pictures of him few and far between. A camera shoved in his face while he complained that he never looked good in them, the rare candid shots that he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

It felt like a dream, a year and a half of peace jutting out awkwardly from everything that came before and afterwards. An anomaly only proven real by the visual documentation of those photographs. Maybe he had taken them for the sole purpose of never letting you forget, and maybe you didn’t want to. Maybe you didn’t want to use a flimsy glue stick of amnesia to fruitlessly seal the cracks in your heart that he’d left you with. 

Maybe you wanted to carefully split it into each little segment with delicate fingers, laugh on a picnic blanket as you fed it to him piece by piece until you were a part of him he wouldn’t be able to leave behind.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

tysm for reading!!

Tags: @reidmoony-toast - Comment to be added <3

[cry4mina]

Orion’s Belt

(Sana x fem!reader)

Word Count: 7.5k

Fluff/Light Angst/ Smut

Summary: You and your bestfriend Sana take an impromptu vacation after her boyfriend dumps her sparking some interesting interactions and confessions. Tw: friends to lovers, suggestive, sex, drinking, swimming, anxiety on planes, food, thunder storms, cuddling. Let me know if I missed anything! A/N: Halfway proof read! This is a lot different than the others that I've posted and I hope you enjoy it just as much! Thanks to @neoplatinum for listening to me ramble off ideas and pushing me to finish this! Feedback always appreciated and DMs are always open!<3

—

“Sana! Are you ready to go? We have a flight to catch!” shouting from the foyer of her penthouse after letting yourself in with the spare key she gave you, patiently waiting for the Queen Femme to gather herself for your impromptu vacation.

“Yes, Y/n! Just give me a second!” flustered at being rushed by you, her best friend, though this entire vacation was her idea, how could she not already be prepared for it? 

Being best friends of about 4 years meant you and Sana did almost everything together and if she needed you, you were present with no hesitation. Sana purchased the tickets, booked the hotel, and sprung it on you two days before you were scheduled to leave, knowing you would agree immediately.

You and Sana met at a coffee shop downtown on a rainy evening in July all those years ago. Enjoying your latte and watching the rain trickle down the window when she caught your attention and told you she liked your shoes with a brilliantly beaming smile that knocked the wind out of you. You ended up talking for hours and have been inseparable ever since.

You have seen every emotion play across her face over the years, knowing her like the back of your hand and always anticipating what she needed or wanted. She loved that about you and always reciprocated the same tenderness and care.

Two massive suitcases emerge from the doorway, followed by Sana looking elegant as ever, wearing a strapless sundress that flowed off her figure perfectly, hues of peach lightly woven in a filigree pattern around the edges of the white fabric, giving her skin an celestial glow. Her hair is down and slightly messy which was not normal for her, but given her emotional state- and how much she had to pack this morning -you understood. She was just not herself today. 

Sana was going to pack last night but found herself laid on the couch on the phone with you, crying and stressing about her now ex boyfriend and how he broke up with her over text message for seemingly no reason, a few days prior. Confused by the action and saddened by the surprise separation, how could she organize a suitcase if she couldn’t even organize her mind?

The boy she had found herself in a relationship with was not someone you liked, in any sense of the word. The way he spoke to her was vile and always figured he was using her for a social status boost. It was hard to watch the relationship develop unevenly, one-sided in the way of Sana trying to make it work and him not caring in the slightest.

Hoping you were wrong, you said nothing to Sana about it. If she wanted the experience of being with him, you weren’t going to try to convince her to leave him, you knew better that to meddle in her business. Just being around for her if it all fell apart and it took 6 short months for the foundation to crack, cascading the rest of the relationship with it. Sana standing in the middle of the ash and smoke, sifting through the pieces of rubble for the parts of her she wanted to keep.

Truthfully, it hurt you knowing she was with him. The way he would ignore her speaking to talk to everyone else and being too emotionally distant and cold with her. Sana deserved better than this rude and callous man and you wished she knew how badly you wanted to give her the world. 

The anger you felt towards him was justified, you could treat her better even if you were hiding the feelings you developed for Sana. It was a difficult task, considering who she was as a person, so supportive, empathetic, kind and always willing to help anyone who needed it. No wonder you fell for her,  especially with how affectionate you were with each other after becoming so close. 

Always cuddling on the couch, holding hands, and leaning on each other. After almost drunkenly making out multiple times, you always assumed there was something there but never asked or acted on it in fear of losing the strong friendship you built with her over time. 

“Okay, okay, I’m ready. Let’s go.” huffing through the tense air surrounding her. The inflection of her voice drenched in stress with a hint of sadness as she tried to carry on like nothing was happening, catching the single tear that fell from her alluring eyes as it smoothed over her cheek.

You made an empathetic face at her, holding your arms out knowing she will find her way into them, burying her face in your neck, eyelashes tickling you as she sniffles and sighs, finally allowing herself to partially fall apart in your arms and you were just happy she felt safe enough with you to do so. 

Internally, your veins are screaming white fire as Sana leans into you more. Holding her was like holding the personification of the sun, and you were melting underneath her embrace. Warm tones of amber and sandalwood emanate off of her and fill your nose causing your heart to skip a beat, pulse quickening, as you try to push the clouds away from over her head. 

Hands rubbing the middle of Sana’s smooth back in attempts to comfort her through this time, she regains composure, straightening up while you are wiping the additional tears, a small giggle leaves her lips as she grabs her suitcases and waits for you to open the door for her like you always did. 

“Why was your heart beating so fast? I could feel your pulse in your neck.” chuckling out of puzzlement as you both step out the front door into the warmth of the bright summer sun, immediately throwing her sunglasses on to hide her eyes from the rays and the public. 

“Uh…I’m…angry.” telling a half truth as you try to keep your composure knowing she was watching your body language fly through a few different emotions before settling on calm.

She always knew when you weren’t being honest. Your tells were easy for her to pick up on, even if she never expressed that. The way your eyes would veer away from her, always to the floor, pupils constricting with worry of her finding out the truth. What if Sana already knew what you thought you had tactfully hid from her?

The thought sends a slight chill down your spine, bones cracking as you put your luggage into the car while she climbs into her passenger seat. Seat always adjusted to Sana perfectly, she would grill you if it was ever adjusted to anyone else, no matter who it was. 

Turning the car on and looking over at her, sitting with her feet on the dashboard scrolling through her phone looking for the perfect song. Bluetooth was set up to attach to Sana’s phone first because she loved to play DJ and who were you to deny her any happiness, you wanted to give her any reason to smile even if it was as simple as controlling the music.

—

The flight went by quickly, thankfully. Only an hour and 15 minutes of a clenched back and trying to remember how to breathe properly, you weren’t fond of flying. Sana held your hand and checked in with you multiple times through the short flight, she couldn’t stand to see you so anxious in your own skin, but it did bring her great joy to know you’d be willing to face your fears for her. A true testament to how much you loved her and who you were as a person.

—

A 2 bedroom villa by the beach was your home for the next week. It was about as big as a 2 bedroom apartment, still fancy and spacious but with a modern twist. Crown moldings, vaulted ceilings, every amenity you could ever imagine in place. 

There was a small metal spiral staircase to the side of the living room, curious about what it was, you pointed it out to Sana.

“What's this lead to?” questioning the warped metal twisting into the ceiling.

“Go find out!” Motioning her hand up the stairs, your head tilts in curiosity, smacking your lips and then running full speed up the stairs as Sana laughs from below, finally following you when she hears you gasp loudly. 

Tongue pinched between her teeth and smile wide as ever, climbing up the stairs to see your face. You are gobsmacked, hands over your mouth and eyes wide with wonder as you’re taking in the loft with a huge skylight with a conversation pit underneath it. 

“I know one of our favorite things to do together is stargazing so when I saw this, I thought it would be perfect for our week long adventure!” eagerly shouted as she threw herself around you, pressing her chest against your back and resting her chin on your shoulder. 

“This is perfect!” placing your hands over hers on your stomach and leaning into her warmth, and knowing you’d be spending the majority of your nights suspended under the stars with Sana talking about life and enjoying each other's company. 

“Alright, let’s go! We have plans!” suddenly heading for the exit, lightly pulling on your arm trying to get you back down the stairs to get ready. 

“Plans?! Where are we going?” Quizzically as you trample down the stairs, Sana pulling you the entire way.

“It’s a surprise! Did you pack that one outfit I told you to?” as she pulls her suitcases into one of the rooms to get settled.

“Yes…should I put i-”

“Yes. Put it on and give me 30 minutes.” Closing the door quickly behind her, giving no time for arguments or rebuttals. 

Glancing at the clock, the time reading 6:33pm, you pull out the outfit requested by Sana and lay it flat on the bed. A bright red crop top, paired with black slacks, and a black blazer. It was a little dressier than what you would normally wear but it was her break up vacation and if she enjoyed you in this outfit, she’d get you in this outfit. 

—

Steam rises to the ceiling as you sing to yourself in the shower, washing the travel off of you to get a little more comfortable. You wonder how Sana is doing. It’s only been about 10 minutes since you parted but knowing she was going through a tough time, you couldn’t help but worry a little as she seemed very cheery since you arrived on the island. 

Recalling the first time you and her went stargazing together, it was a cool night in October when she called you unexpectedly. Missing her family immensely, reaching out to you for some comfort. 

Water rushing down your back as you live in the memory of Sana coming over to your apartment with that gloomy look living in her eyes. Dragging her to the patio and telling her to get into the hammock you had set up for yourself a few days prior, for this exact reason. 

Laying closely together, holding her as you asked her questions about her family, what they did for a living, about the special memories she had with them from her childhood. By the end of it she was smiling and giggling recalling them with you.

Silence fell between you as you both relaxed and looked up at the sky when you suddenly pointed up at the shimmering night, singling out a radiant sparkle in the blackness of the sky.

“That’s Venus…do you see those 3 stars in a row? That’s Orion’s belt!” enthusiastically talking about the stars and planets in the sky that you could see. She always loved listening to you speak so passionately about things you loved. 

That was the first night you almost kissed, sober, for the first time. Sana had gotten up to use the bathroom and fell back into the hammock face first, always so clumsy, and was merely a half an inch from your face. 

Feeling the heat of her breath on your skin burnt you as the moment tensed, bones stiffening in the face of your best friend. Pull like magnets in your chests as you inched closer before she forced herself away from you, throwing her hands over her mouth, muttering an apology and basically running inside.

Leaving you to remember the way your chest fell into itself and the ache of wanting to feel her lips on yours. That’s the only time you were almost able to do what no one ever could, get Sana to make the first move. 

Always against it with everyone else, she doesn’t chase. If you want her, show her otherwise you’ll get locked into the friend zone, never to be seen in a romantic light again. A familiar sadness creeped into your stomach. Not chasing her was hard for you, but you were so paranoid about ruining the friendship that you just couldn’t bring yourself to play the game.

A sigh relieves some of the compression in your chest as you dry your hair, hoping this would be the night that you finally got over yourself enough to tell her how you felt about her. It was intimidating to think about, considering you still had a week on this island with her and what if it isn't reciprocated?

Slipping into the outfit laid out on the bed, adjusting it accordingly and stepping into the living room noting that Sana wasn’t out of her room yet, of course. Late to everything, as always.

Placing yourself on the couch and peering at the clock, 6:59pm, patiently waiting for her to emerge and deciding to get a little more comfortable, you laid down and scrolled through your phone, eyes getting heavier as the minutes passed until you finally dozed off. 

—

The door opens lightly and Sana steps out in a long black sleeveless dress, cinched at the waist to show off her figure and a slit all the way up to her upper thigh. Hair tied up in a sophisticated bun and make-up flawless, finally ready to go. 

Hands placed on her hips, shifting her weight to one leg when she sees you asleep on the couch, letting out an eye roll and a small giggle that stirs you awake. 

“Good morning, sleepy head!” shouted at you in a volume you weren’t anticipating. Eyes widening as you take in your surroundings and re-calibrate from the deep sleep you found yourself in moments prior.

Eyes shifting over Sana, your breath is pulled from your body. Blood running blue as all hints of oxygen drained from your lungs, sucked into a vortex of pure bliss as you felt the weight of the love you had for the human in front of you, who was effervescently shining brightly in front of you. 

“Sana,” sleepily escapes your lip, awe breaking through the grogginess of your voice, “You look stunning…wow.” If she was drenched in diamonds the delicacy that was her elegance would refract the same amount of light, glowing with the embodiment of pure love that she willingly gave to those who she felt were worthy.  

Staring without care and mouth hanging open, you couldn’t help but gawk at her. A moth to a flame, eyes glued to her figure. Absolutely trapped in your skin as your body temperature rises, flushing your skin a lovely shade of pink. 

“I could say the same to you…” looking you up and down before batting her eyes at you. Watching you stand, completely engrossed as you stretch again, bones rattling under the stiffness of the slumber you found on the couch. 

Neither of you can take your eyes off each other when heading for the door. The closeness causes a slight tension between the two of you, fingers tingling from nervousness at the close proximity, breathing becomes a little more difficult. 

This was going to be a long night.

—

Arriving at your reservation at the local fancy restaurant, you were unable to focus on anything but Sana. Following every refined movement, from sitting in the chair you pulled out for her, to looking at the menu. You were in the clouds, heart eyes evident, completely oblivious to what was happening around you. 

“Do you know what you’re going to order?” questioned without removing her eyes from the wine menu, tabbing through the selections and settling on the sweetest bottle of rosé she could find. 

“Uh…nope, actually. I was distracted.” dropping your head in shame as you quickly find the entrees, picking the ribeye and closing the menu quickly. Eyes back to Sana but she’s already peering at you making eye contact that blinds you, forcing you to look away from her and noticing the emptiness of the restaurant.

The waiter approaches the table and introduces himself, letting you know what the house specials were before asking about what drinks you were interested in for the evening. This prompts Sana to order the wine she was looking at on the menu. 

“We will take this bottle, please” Sana says pointing at the page, hearing the drag of her finger on the thick paper as she underlines the name with her nail. 

“Oh, before you go, why is it so empty in here? During the summer I would assume it would be busier.” Politely asking, I guess she noticed too. 

“It’s the stormy season so most people wait until right before fall to visit.” smiling and leaning to get the bottle of wine for the two of you. 

“…storms?” whispered from the woman made of living porcelain, showing a crack that misted fear onto her perfect complexion. 

The waiter comes back over, shows both of you the bottle before slicing the foil and uncorking it, pouring Sana a little for a taste test. She swirls the glass lightly and takes a sip before letting out a satisfied hum. The waiter takes the go ahead and fills her glass, doing the same for you moments later and leaving quickly. 

“Thanks for agreeing to come with me on this trip, I’m feeling much better already.” An energy emitting off of her that was abnormal. Was Sana being shy? Sana? Shy? How bizarre. 

“You know I’d do anything to make you feel better.” confidently said back in a tone that was a little flirtier than normal. Allowing the boldness to flow before you could stop yourself. Sighing as if you are ashamed, your arms swing to cover your chest and legs crossed trying to escape the awkwardness.

Sana notices and smirks, “I know you would. I'd do the same for you. I think that’s why our friendship has been so great!” raising her glass to you before she sips it lightly, you do the same back, offering it as a cheer but it was really a muffled cry. 

The smile she lets out as she finishes her sentence was an insult to the injury. The word friend branding your chest and the smile the salt rubbed mercilessly into the wound, stinging a little more than normal tonight considering the way she was looking at you earlier.

Growing somber as the night continues on, throughout the meal and through the ride home you barely said anything, not that Sana minded. Your company was enough but it was weighing on her that you were seemingly bothered by something she couldn’t see. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Y/n? You seem off since dinner…” worried as she swipes the card to open your hotel door, launching it forward to let you in first. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I think I’m just tired is all.” a melancholic response from you as you head into your room and close the door lightly behind you before she could ask you anything else. 

Sana stands in the living room by herself in silence, saddened by something she didn’t really understand. Holding her own hands as she gazes down at the floor biting the inside of her cheek, wishing she had the guts to follow you. 

Rain splashing on the windows lightly and a small rumble in the distance, winds howling pushing and pulling the building as it creaks under the force, reminding her of what the waiter said at the restaurant. Stormy season.

“Great.” rolling her eyes at the idea of being in an unfamiliar place and having to deal with the sound of thunder and the flashes of lightning. A fear she’s had since she was a child, alive and well in her 20s that you usually helped her through, but you were upset and she wanted to give you space if you needed it. 

“If y/n can face her fear of flying, then I can face this.” Hastily going into her room, changing into something more comfortable and curling up in the bed, scrolling on her phone as the storm rolled in, tapping on the window a sign of the loud clashes that were going to sing through the sky as anytime now. 

—

Closing the door behind you lightly and plopping onto the bed, you run your hands over your face roughly and deeply inhale, followed by an exhale of equal size as you try to shake off the feeling of dread. 

“Friendship” the word locked between your ears, spiraling and echoing through your memories of all the times you thought there was something between you and Sana. 

Sadness wells up in your throat, choking on the indirect rejection slushing through your brain as the rain falls outside. Thunder rolling in the distance, Sana was going to text you when it got bad you already knew. 

Sighing heavily as you stripped off her favorite outfit of yours, throwing it carelessly out of your sights. Reaching for a pair of cozy black sweatpants and a black wife pleaser tank top. 

Not even bothering to remove the comforter off the sheets, you lay face first into the pillow and sigh heavily trying to release the build up of grief you had been carrying for some time, without alerting Sana. 

Dizzy in a sense, hopelessness washed over you when your phone vibrated about 45 minutes later with a text from Sana. 

Satang<3: are you awake? 

Satang<3: this thunder is kinda scary…

A playful grin lay across your face and you start typing but a knock interrupts the attempt.

 Adrenaline flushes your system as you stand and pull the door open, revealing Sana, wearing an oversized t-shirt that covered whatever bottoms she could have on. Anxiety brewed within her about the commotion outside, jumping closer to you as the thunder clapped loudly against itself. 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” breathed to you through chattering teeth, eyes wide and pouty as she tried to convince you, not that you needed it. 

Visibly shaken up, she takes a big step forward towards you. Your arms immediately open for her out of habit. Half holding, half guiding her to the right side of the bed and allowing her to crawl in between the silky sheets first. 

Taking your place next to her, you click the TV on and find a channel with a random sitcom on to drown out the noise of the clattering outside, hoping Sana could focus on something other than the storm. 

“Maybe we could go to the beach tomorrow?” said unexpectedly through the sound of the laugh track playing loudly, covering the static of the 

“But you hate the beach.” in awe at what you were suggesting to her.

“But you love the beach.” retorted sarcastically with a grin.

Beaming at you as she playfully smacks your arm, leaving her hand carefully placed on your bicep, a form of physical touch, her love language. She squeezed it tightly as the thunder rolled, creeping closer with every minute. 

Her eyes are recklessly running around the room as the lightning illuminates the sky, droplets pounding on the roof in intense waves as the storm thrashes into the night, leaving you to care for your favorite person. 

 You left your arm up and over her shoulder, pulling her closer to you. She is quick to koala herself around you with her head on your chest, listening to your racing heart, and half smiling as she falls asleep in the safety of your warmth.

—

Waking up to the sound of Sana’s sleep heavy breaths was something you always looked forward to when you found yourself sharing a bed. She was so at peace and calm, it was hard to ignore how exquisitely perfect she was. 

Laying with her face in your neck, her closed eyes softened as her brows furrowed in her sleep, small squeaks leaving her lips, followed by a groan muffled by you, sent your body into system overload. What could she possibly be dreaming about that would cause such a sound to leave her perfectly pink lips? 

Her hand slides up your torso gently, her breath hitching as her fingertips smooth over your ribs, bone by bone. Heartbeat visible in your chest as she rolls onto her back and audibly moans your name.

The way it rolls off her tongue makes you instantly insatiable, clenching your thighs together tightly for some form of relief and trying not to assume what she was dreaming about. The way her hips were rocking was enough for you to put all the pieces of the puzzle together, not assuming but knowing that she was having a wet dream about you.

Sneakily stepping out of the bed and turning to see her lazily thrusting her hips in her sleep and continuing to whimper sparked something in you that was indescribable. Unable to shift your eyes away from Sana as she continued on, wonder if this was a common occurrence for her.

Stepping into the bathroom to try and remember how to breathe, you hold yourself up on the sink and turn the cold water on, splashing it in your face a few times to bring you back down to earth. Was she really thinking about you that way? Was it just a one time thing? It’s not like you could just ask her, that would be weird. 

“Y/n?” breaks your train of thought causing you to freeze instantaneously. Statued by the sink, wondering if she remembers what she was just moaning over. You were sure to never forget it. 

“I’m in the bathroom…I’ll be out in a second.”

Hearing her stretch from the other room, you quickly change into your bathing suit, a simple black 2 piece, and walk back into the bedroom.

Sana was still half asleep until she saw you in that swimsuit in front of her, you had been working out and it was showing. Abs toned, arms on the more muscular side; she silently swooned seeing you in this light. 

  “Do you still want to go to the beach today?” sitting on the bed next to her trying to address her directly but she won’t look you in the eyes. 

“Yeah, I guess. Let me change.” calmly leaving her mouth as she gets up and walks out of the room silently and completely shutting you out of whatever she was feeling. 

Now perplexed at what was happening, you stare at the door she just left through in complete disbelief. She was always so cheery in the morning and to see her not shining, caused a little bit of worry in you. 

Following her out into the living room, only for her to shut the door behind her. A sigh ringing through the air after the door closes, you try to brush it off by going to put together your beach bag. Silently gathering towels for the two of you, bringing a few water bottles and snacks and wishfully hoping you’d be able to help her get out of her head today. 

–

The calmness of the waves washes over the shore, creating a relaxing white noise as you and Sana lay in the lounge chairs, enjoying the stillness of the environment and being able to relax in peace.

Margaritas were the drink of choice today, it was 11am and you were already on your third one. Sana just kept ordering them for the both of you and you were on vacation. Who’s to say you can’t let a little lose and get a little drunk with your best friend?

Sana’s demeanor was still off, but she had more of a bounce in her step after an hour or two. The margaritas slowly revived her affectionate personality that she hid away that morning. 

Back to smacking your arm playfully and smiling back at you with everything you said when she suddenly stands and runs right to the ocean, waves putting up a weak fight pulling her in as she turns around and eggs you on in joining her.

“Come on! The water’s not that cold!” Yelled at you from feet away as you made your way to her. She was a liar, the water was freezing cold on your legs as you scooched closer to her in the water finally making it to the waist deep water Sana was at. 

“So c-cold!” escapes your lips as you try to get used to the frigid waters coating your body when a splash causes a loud gasp to leave your mouth followed by a small giggle from Sana. 

Gawking at her while she laughs at your reaction, you jump over to her and grab her by the waist, playfully wrestling with her in the water. Being sure to handle her with care as you tangle, she drapes her arms around your neck, clinging to you tightly. Her legs soon follow, wrapping themselves around your torso so she’s flush against you, slyly smirking centimeters from your face. 

“Awh, have I made you upset?” oozing seductively from her lips as she slides her arms down your back to toy with the knot holding your top to your chest. 

“You wouldn’t.” challenging the threat she was intimidating you with, drunkenly. 

“Oh but I would.” squinting her eyes at you while she tugged lightly allowing the knot to loosen slightly.

Unmoving as you let her pull the strings, her face so close you can see the mischievous glint in her eyes and smirk elongating as she leans into you further, connecting your lips as one of her hands shimmies up to the back of your neck, continuing to lay soft sweet kisses on your face, making her way to your neck for a light bite. Attempting to repress all the noises your lungs wish to release as your legs clench together. 

“You like this, don’t you? I bet you’ve thought about this before, hm?” whispered into your ear as she felt you tensing underneath her. Teeth tug on your lobes lightly as the question burns in your ears like a form of torture, snapping you back to the reality you were in. 

Sana was drunk, heartbroken, and leaning into you for validation…that’s the only way this could actually be happening right?

“Sana...we can’t do this.” hesitantly stated as she cups your face lovingly, you can’t help but rest your head there affectionately. 

“But…why not?” woefully questioned as she rests her chin on your shoulder, re-tying the knot to secure the top covering you, immediately respecting what you were saying and not crossing the boundary. 

“Because we’ve both had too much to drink and I don’t want it to happen thi-…” unaware of a larger wave coming to crash down on you mid sentence, completely drenching both of you from head to toe. 

Chuckling out of surprise, you look over to find the scowl Sana seared into her visage. Her eyes are bright red, breath stuttering as she sniffles.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” scanning the visible parts of her body for any hint as to why she would be so upset.

“I’m fine, y/n. A lot of salt water in my eyes and I'm just ready to go.” getting out of the water and making her way over to where you had set yourselves up for the morning. 

“You want to leave so quickly?” completely confused by her as she gathered everything silently. Making the choice to let her stew in whatever she was feeling, unsure of how to proceed with this but wanting to improve the sudden change in mood, wrapping yourself in your towel and following her back to the hotel. 

–

It was barely 1pm by the time you got back to the room, surprised that she only wanted to spend a few hours in the sun. Asking her multiple times if she was okay on the way back but she only gave one worded replies that didn’t give you any context to why she was turning within herself and away from you.

Setting all her stuff down by the door before walking straight into her room, not closing the door behind her, taking that as an invitation, you followed her like a lost puppy to the threshold. Sana turns around and halfway glares at you as she starts to try to untie the knot at the base of her neck.

“Can I help you, Y/n?” with a tone that harshly fragmented your heart. Never having spoken to you this way, you were taken aback completely, wondering if the alcohol had something to do with the overwhelming sense of unwelcomeness that creeped into the space, darkening the overall mood and instigating fight, flight or freeze within you.

“Oh…” mournfully uttered as you stepped out of the room that was clouded by whatever seeped from Sana’s consciousness, what could you have done to generate such an irritated response from her? Swiftly marching to the room you both spent the night in, footsteps can be heard swiftly trying to catch up to you.

“Y/n, wait!” as you close and lock the door behind you.

Immediately stripping out of the swimsuit when you heard the door rattle slightly, as the person on the other side of it rested their forehead against it. Hearing the sniffles produced from Sana as you force yourself to not offer comfort to the woman who had just snapped at you for a reason you weren’t aware of. 

–

The clock reads 9:53pm as you lay in the conversation pit under the skylight. Last night might’ve been stormy but tonight was perfect for stargazing and that’s exactly what you planned to do, with or without your best friend.

Laying by yourself and staring straight into the sky, admiring the randomness that was the star's patterns, connecting dots as you see the constellations play out in front of you. God, this sucks alone. Missing Sana at every passing moment.

Was she just drunk earlier or were her actions real? Sana had always flirted with you in her intoxicated states but it had never felt as intense as the moment in the water today. Remembering the taste of her sweet lips in the salty air, you craved them constantly, but was it romantic or was it just a drunken moment she was having? 

She did just go through a breakup and the alcohol wasn’t exactly something that made emotions easier to deal with. Maybe she was trying to seek comfort in you, as messed up as that is to say. Maybe she knew you cared for her romantically and she wanted to push the limits and see how much you really wanted her?

The rattling of the metal staircase pulls you out of the toxic trance you were in, not bothering to look up as you picked a star to fixate on instead of looking at Sana who was standing in the doorway.

“May I come in?” a delicate smile can be heard in her words as she asked where your boundary was. That was more like her. Instead of a verbal response, you simply patted the cushioning next to you without looking at her, summoning her over to you. 

Gracefully sauntering over and laying down next to you, she let out a long sigh almost relaxing into the atmosphere as she looked over at your face. You could feel her eyes burning a hole into your cheeks but refused to look away from the skylight. 

Her hand finds its way to your stomach as she lays on her side, snuggling you with her head on your shoulder. Your heart picks up again, even with not wanting to have the conversation that needed to be had, she still made you feel like pure bliss. 

“I’m sorry I snapped at you…I just thought-” cutting herself off, swallowing nervously as she starts to quietly weep into your neck.

Shutting your eyes tightly, you try to hold in the emotions that seemed to be brimming out of both of you rapidly. Your fingers lightly trace her back as her quiet sobs drip from your skin.

“Sana, it’s okay. We weren’t sober, I know you didn-” 

“I just thought you felt the same way.” slicing through the air like a knife, chopping your sentence in half. 

Heart pulsing in your ears as you grow red, feeling your heart pumping forcefully as you try to wrap your mind around what she just uttered. You’re completely immobile as you remember all the small moments that could be seen as romantic. Candle lit dinners, the days spent on the couch, the physical touch that was constant between the two of you…has she always liked you this way? Or were you misunderstanding what she was saying?

“What do you mean by that, Sana?” carefully asking the question that charred the tip of your tongue, leaving the build up of fiery love inside of you, knowing this would alter the state of your friendship forever and possibly change the trajectory of your life. 

Sitting up promptly, to ensure you can hear and see her completely, pulling you up with her.

“Y/n” a sigh breaks the sentence as she braces for what’s to come “…I love you.” 

Patiently waiting for the realization of what she’s saying to roll over your face, she continues. 

“I tried dating other people to get over you because I was worried that if I told you, you wouldn’t feel the same way and it would come between us or that it would end badly. And everyone I dated was nothing compared to you, and just made me want to be with you more…you treat me so well that it puts everyone else to shame,” looking down at the floor and toying with a string sticking out of the cushions that covered the floor. 

“And when we were at the beach, I saw the way you looked at me and the alcohol encouraged me to make a move, and you know I never do that but…I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I swear. I misread the signs I thought you were giving me and -sniff-” continuing on to try to over explain her actions but you were in a complete state of euphoria.

Floating on cloud nine as Sana makes her plea for you to stick around, you reach out around her waist and hoist her into your lap, one leg on either side of your waist. 

Hand raising up to cup her surprised face as you lean into her without a second thought, lips passionately connecting as you show her what you always wanted to say out loud. 

Passionately tangled in a heated make out session, you remove her shirt quickly and trail light kisses down her exposed neck to her collarbone, her hand clenching your hair as she whimpers softly under your curious touch. 

“Y/n, I need you” breathed into your mouth as you effortlessly shift positions so you are on top of her, removing your shirt hastily not wanting the fabric to be between the touch of you and her velour skin. 

Grasping at your pants, trying to remove them quickly she nervously fidgets with the button and you let her panic for a second, enjoying the neediness radiating from her brow, as her half lidded eyes fill with frustration. 

Giggling as you look down at her, she halfway glares at you with a smile. Playfulness of your friendship seeps into the moment and you both welcome it in a moment of unseriousness. 

Reaching down and undoing the button of your pants and hers quickly while smirking at her boldly, she rolls her eyes at the move and unzips your pants, sliding her outstretched hand into your underwear and through your wetness. 

“I can’t wait to taste you” sultry tone ringing in your ears as you allow yourself to succumb to Sana in a way you only dreamed about. 

Reaching up behind you to unclip your bra sneakily before she rolled you over so you were on your back, fingers still circling your clit through the movement, causing a few slight gasps and light moans out of you. 

She removes her hand and discards your pants and panties to leave you completely naked. Squirming underneath her as you watch her remove the rest of her clothing, anticipation high as she kisses down your neck leaving small bites and a trail of marks down your chest. 

Taking her time descending your body and learning every place her touch will drive you mad, she hovers over your pussy and smiles up at you. 

“You know once we do this…there’s no going back, right?” waiting for permission from you to continue on. Even with how eager she was, she wanted to make sure that you knew this was an act of you committing to each other.

“Sana, please…” breathed into the night as your hands covered your face, the want palpable in the air as you tried to scoot closer to her mouth.

“Please what?” tracing her fingers between your hip bones and down your hips to your inner thighs.

The whine you release is guttural,  full of the desire that’s been burning for her for what felt like centuries. Moving your hands from your face, through her hair gripping it heavily as you moan the words she’s been waiting to hear. 

“Sana, please fuck me, I need you.” sighing heavily as she kisses your inner thigh while you beg for her to touch you.

“Good girl” mumbled into your thigh as she parts your lips and finally tastes your slick. Leaving nothing for imagination as she explores your folds. 

Her hands reach up to play with your hardened buds as she devours you. Latching onto your clit and circling it lightly with her tongue, moaning into your core as she sucks. 

Writhing underneath her while she feasts on your desire, directing her head where you want it by her hair as you groan her name senselessly. 

Bliss dripping off you, as you fixate on what she looks like between your legs. The eye contact has you spiraling into a void of pure lust as you start to buck your hips into her mouth, slowly grinding against her lips. 

Feeling her smile into you as finger dancing on the edge of your entrance, seeking permission to fill you the way you always dreamed she would. Not allowing her to thrust into you, but instead you force your hips down into to fuck yourself on her fingers while you still have enough thoughts in your head to do so.

Half laughing at you while you continue to buck your hips into her, moaning uncontrollably as you feel your stomach tighten. 

“You must have been dreaming of this for years…I never knew you wanted this so badly, baby. I’ll show you how it’s supposed to feel” taunting you between the damp sounds coming from your core.

Curling her fingers through your wetness to hit your g-spot perfectly as she lets you control the pace and tempo at which her fingers press it, mouth not letting go of your clit as you fuck yourself against her. 

“I’m -fuck right there- gonna cum.” shakily exhaled between grunts as groans as she starts to pump her fingers inside of you, hips faltering as she does, relentlessly sucking and swirling her tongue on your swollen pussy as you gush into her mouth, screaming her name. 

A light sheen of sweat coating your skin as she lets you ride out your orgasm on her fingers before pulling them out of you slowly, leaving you gasping for more. Making eye contact with you as she licks her digits clean, smiling in almost a predatory way as she comes up to kiss you passionately. 

Tasting yourself on her caused your hips to start rutting against her again, grinding on the memory of her between your legs as you try to maneuver your hands between hers when she swats it away. 

“I’ve waited too long for this, for you…and I’m not finished, my love.” sinking her teeth into your neck roughly before finding herself back where she was about to force another orgasm out of you. 

This was going to be a long night, only hoping for more passionate nights under the stars with your love, Minatozaki Sana.

[old-powwow-days]

The first major solo museum presentation of fourth-generation Navajo weaver Melissa Cody (b. 1983, No Water Mesa, Arizona) spans the last decade of her practice, showcasing over 30 weavings and a major new work produced for the exhibition. Using long-established weaving techniques and incorporating new digital technologies, Cody assembles and reimagines popular patterns into sophisticated geometric overlays, incorporating atypical dyes and fibers. Her tapestries carry forward the methods of Navajo Germantown weaving, which developed out of the wool and blankets that were made in Germantown, Pennsylvania and supplied by the US government to the Navajo people during the forced expulsion from their territories in the mid-1800s. During this period, the rationed blankets were taken apart and the yarn was used to make new textiles, a practice of reclamation which became the source of the movement. While acknowledging this history and working on a traditional Navajo loom, Cody’s masterful works exercise experimental palettes and patterns that animate through reinvention, reframing traditions as cycles of evolution. Melissa Cody is a Navajo/Diné textile artist and enrolled member of the Navajo/Diné nation. Cody grew up on a Navajo Reservation in Leupp, Arizona and received a Bachelor’s degree in Studio Arts and Museum Studies from Institute of American Indian Arts, Santa Fe. Her work has been featured in The Barnes Foundation, Philadelphia (2022); Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art, Bentonville, AR (2021); National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa (2019–2020); Museum of Northern Arizona, Flagstaff (2019); SITE Santa Fe (2018–19); Ingham Chapman Gallery, University of New Mexico, Albuquerque (2018); Navajo Nation Museum, Window Rock (2018); and the Museum of Contemporary Native Arts, Institute of American Indian Arts, Santa Fe (2017–18). Cody’s works are in the collections of the Stark Museum of Art, Orange, Texas; the Minneapolis Institute of Arts; and The Autry National Center, Los Angeles. In 2020, she earned the Brandford/Elliott Award for Excellence in Fiber Art.

Melissa Cody: Webbed Skies currently on exhibition at MoMA PS1 through September 9nth, 2024

IDs Under the cut

Top to Bottom, Left to Right: White Out. 2012. 3-ply aniline dyed wool. 17 × 24″ (43.2 × 61 cm)

Deep Brain Stimulation. 2011. Wool warp, weft, selvedge cords, and aniline dyes. 40 x 30 3/4 in. (101.6 x 78.1 cm)

World Traveler. 2014. Wool warp, weft, selvedge cords, and aniline dyes. 90 x 48 7/8 in. (228.6 x 124.1 cm)

Into the Depths, She Rappels. 2023. Wool warp, weft, selvedge cords, and aniline dyes. 87 x 51 9/16 in. (221 x 131 cm)

Lightning Storm. 2012. 3-ply aniline dyed wool. 14 × 20″ (35.6 × 50.8 cm)

Pocketful of Rainbows. 2019. Wool warp, weft, selvedge cords, and aniline dyes. 19 x 10 3/4 in. (48.3 x 27.3 cm)

Path of the Snake. 2013. 3-ply aniline dyed wool. 36 × 24″ (91.4 × 61 cm)

[muiitoloko]

Valentine's Chains

Summary: On a cold Valentine’s night, Judge Turpin’s rigid control is tested when he offers his wife a gift—only to receive one in return that shakes the foundation of his world.

Pairing: Judge Turpin × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Possessiveness.

Author's Notes: Well, that's the last story about Valentine's Day. I'm definitely out of ideas; I think I've found my writer's block again 😅

Also read on Ao3

The steady clatter of hooves against the cobblestone streets filled the carriage as Judge Turpin sat in rigid silence, his gaze fixed on the world outside. London’s streets, always bustling with merchants and beggars alike, had transformed into something unbearably saccharine on this wretched February evening. Gaslights flickered against the damp air, illuminating shop windows decorated in garish displays of red and pink. Bouquets of roses, tied with ribbons, adorned market stalls, and confectioners peddled their decadent chocolates to lovestruck fools.

Turpin exhaled sharply through his hooked nose, his fingers tightening over his knee, his black leather gloves creaking under the strain.

Valentine’s Day.

A ridiculous affair, a triviality designed for weak men who sought to win affection through frivolities instead of command. The idea that one would need a marked day to express devotion was, in his mind, absurd. If a man were strong, if a man were in control, his love—his possession—should know without the need for flowers or chocolates.

His hazel eyes flickered toward a young couple beneath the glow of a streetlamp. A man, dressed in a modest wool coat, was presenting a velvet box to a blushing woman, her gloved hands trembling as she opened it. A delicate necklace shimmered inside, catching the lamplight. She gasped, overcome with adoration, before throwing her arms around the fool’s neck, her lips pressing to his cheek in earnest gratitude.

Turpin scoffed under his breath, his gloved fingers twitching against his knee. How easily women were won over by baubles. How little it took for them to melt.

And yet…

The thought of you waiting at home, unaware of this nonsense, stirred something uncomfortable inside him. You had been a good wife as of late—submissive, obedient, knowing your place. He had ensured that. But he was not blind. He had seen the way your eyes lingered upon the world outside. You were not foolish enough to act against him, but still—he knew there was a longing within you, a quiet yearning for something outside the walls he had built around you.

A weakness he should punish.

And yet…

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face, irritation curling in his chest. Should he bring you something? Some token to remind you that you belonged to him? That he could give as well as take?

Jewelry would be the simplest answer. A necklace, perhaps, something to adorn your throat—a mark of ownership that gleamed for all to see. Or a bracelet, something delicate, fitting, an unspoken promise wrapped around your wrist.

Flowers, however, seemed pathetic. Temporary. They would wilt and die within days, and he would not waste his time on such fleeting things.

His jaw clenched, his irritation mounting. Why was he even entertaining this? He was not some enamored boy courting a fickle maiden. You were his wife. His possession. Did he not already give you everything? A home. Protection. Stability. He had rescued you from the dangers of the world, kept you safe, kept you his.

And yet…

His fingers drummed against his knee, his hazel eyes narrowing at the sight of a well-dressed gentleman stepping from a shop, a bouquet of white roses cradled in his arms. He walked briskly, determination in his stride, his expression unreadable. There was no weakness in him, no foolishness—only duty. As if the flowers were not a romantic gesture, but an expectation. A necessity.

Turpin’s stomach twisted, though he would not name the feeling. With a sharp motion, he rapped his knuckles against the carriage’s roof. The driver slowed at once, pulling the horses to a halt.

“Wait here,” Turpin muttered, his voice clipped as he stepped out onto the damp cobblestones. The air was thick with the scent of rain and the faint perfume of crushed petals. He straightened his coat, his expression carefully composed as he approached the nearest jeweler’s stall, his eyes scanning the modest selection.

A simple necklace caught his eye—gold, unadorned but elegant. It was not ostentatious, not meant to dazzle, but to claim. A reminder. A chain, if one were so inclined to view it that way.

Turpin ran a gloved finger along its length, testing its weight. Satisfactory.

“Wrap it,” he ordered, tossing a few coins onto the merchant’s counter, ignoring the man’s startled gratitude as he took the small, velvet-lined box and turned back toward his carriage.

He sat once more, staring down at the box in his palm, his thumb running over its edges.

Why did this feel like a mistake?

Why did he feel as though he had conceded something?

With a quiet exhale, he tucked the box into his coat pocket, his expression hardening. He would give it to you. Not as some foolish declaration, not as some boyish display of affection, but as a reminder.

You were his and that was all the sentiment needed.

The dining room was bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, the flickering flames casting long shadows along the polished mahogany table. The silverware gleamed, and the scent of roasted lamb and spiced potatoes lingered in the air. Turpin sat at the head of the table, his posture rigid as ever, his knife and fork cutting methodically through his meal.

He had not looked at you once.

The small velvet box lay beside your plate, untouched for the first few minutes of dinner. No ceremony, no grand gesture—just a quiet, almost dismissive placement, as though it were no more significant than the salt shaker beside it. He had not acknowledged it beyond that. Not asked if you liked it. Not glanced up to gauge your reaction.

But you let your reaction be known.

Pushing your chair back with deliberate grace, you rose from your seat, the silk of your dress rustling softly as you moved. Turpin did not pause in his meal, nor did he lift his gaze, his attention seemingly locked onto the food before him.

You stepped beside him, leaning down, pressing your lips gently against his cheek. “Thank you, my lord,” you murmured, your voice warm, sincere. “It is beautiful.”

That should not have pleased him.

He had not done this for your happiness. He had done this to remind you of your place, of his claim over you. And yet, as your lips brushed against his skin, as your voice curled around those words, something unfamiliar and unsettling stirred in his chest.

He did not respond. Did not move. His jaw merely tightened, his grip on his fork briefly stiffening before he resumed eating, as though your touch had not sent a foreign warmth through him.

You stepped back, your smile lingering. But then, as you returned to your seat, you spoke again.

“I have a gift for you as well.”

The knife in Turpin’s hand stilled against his plate. His head snapped up, hazel eyes darkening instantly as suspicion flared in his gaze.

A gift?

His mind churned. You had not left the house—surely not. He would have known, would have been informed. And yet, the mere idea of it sent a slow, simmering anger curling through him.

Before he could demand an explanation, you reached across the table, taking his hand in yours.

Turpin tensed.

You guided his palm, pressing it—gently, firmly—against the soft curve of your stomach.

He blinked.

At first, there was no understanding. Just confusion, his mind working through the gesture with mechanical precision. And then, slowly, the realization settled over him like a heavy fog.

A baby.

His heir.

His fingers flexed instinctively against your stomach, feeling the warmth of you, the delicate hint of the life growing beneath his palm. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Turpin was speechless.

You watched him carefully, a soft, knowing smile curving your lips. “You will be a father, my lord,” you whispered, your fingers squeezing his hand lightly. “We will have a child.”

Turpin’s breath was slow, measured.

He should not care for this.

He should not be overcome by this moment, by this… fragile thing you had given him.

And yet…

His eyes flickered downward, to where his hand remained against your stomach. The thought of his bloodline continuing, of an heir—his heir—growing within you, stirred something deep, something possessive, something almost reverent.

His fingers tightened slightly—not in anger, but in something else, something unfamiliar.

“You are certain?” he asked at last, his voice low, edged with something unreadable.

You nodded, your expression soft, unwavering. “I am.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy, thick with the weight of something neither of you had expected.

Then, after a long moment, Richard Turpin did something he had never done before. His hand, still pressed against your stomach, lingered.

His thumb traced the fabric of your dress in the lightest of motions—so faint, so fleeting, that had you not been watching him so closely, you might have thought you imagined it.

But you had not.

Turpin inhaled slowly, deeply, as though grounding himself, as though steadying something within him and then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the moment ended.

He pulled his hand away, retreating back into himself, his expression hardening once more. But his eyes—his eyes still lingered on your stomach, as though some part of him had not yet let go.

“Finish your meal,” he ordered, his voice as firm as ever, though quieter this time. “You are eating for two now.”

And though his gaze had returned to his plate, his mind remained elsewhere.

And for the first time in his life, Richard Turpin felt something dangerously close to contentment.

A baby.

[zerbu]

The Future of Mod Constructor: (Semi-)Retired

I have made the difficult decision to retire from developing Mod Constructor, except for adding compatibility with patch updates. With the recent news that there will be no Sims 5 and that The Sims 4 will last indefinitely, it's becoming unsustainable. Even the newest version (V5) was only intended to last until The Sims 4 stops being updated.

Although Mod Constructor has helped the modding community a lot, from a programming standpoint, it's not very stable. The more content I add, the more it starts to crumble on its own weight. That's why I had to start from scratch 5 times.

V5 fixed a lot of the problems previous versions had, but not all of them. Part of the problem is that all versions, including V5, were made with Windows Presentation Foundation (WPF), which is a massive pain to work with compared to more modern frameworks. Unfortunately, I didn't really have any other options that would work with the libraries Mod Constructor required.

V5 was as stable as I could get it with the limited tools I had to work with, and was more than good enough to last a few more years to keep the community going until the next Sims game, but not forever.

For the reasons mentioned above, the main branch Mod Constructor repository will remain in perpetual beta and I will no longer be releasing new features, and the only updates I'll be releasing are emergency patch fixes, if necessary.

Of course, Mod Constructor is open source, and if anyone else wants to create their own fork of it, they're more than welcome to do so, but whatever happens, it will be without me running it.

On the bright side, we have the future to look forward to. Whether The Sims franchise ends up getting fixed, or is replaced by a rival game, the future of life simulation games looks to be positive.

[queenshelby]

MINI SERIES: THE SLAVE

PART THREE OF THE DARK & SEXY SERIES

NOTE: This is a series of one shots and mini series for Cillian Murphy & Tommy Shelby in which he acts totally off-canon. Most of these shots are very dark in nature and you should read their individual warnings. All of these shots are requests from readers. Co-written with @darkshelbyfiction! ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER 18. MINORS DNI.

PAIRING: TOMMY SHELBY X VIRGIN READER

WARNING: NON-CONSENSUAL LOSS OF VIRGINITY, CAPTURED READER, SLAVE READER, TOMMY GETTING OFF ON PAIN

NOTE: AGAIN THIS WAS A REQUEST AND I FELT A LITTLE UNCOMFORTABLE PUBLISHING IT...VERY DARK!

It had been two days since you were brought to Birmingham from your home country after promises of prosperity and wealth. 

But the cost for this was higher than you ever imagined when you were sold, by your very own father, as property to the highest bidder. 

Now you had arrived at Thomas Shelby's estate, which stood majestically against the backdrop of lush greenery and manicured gardens. The mansion, built centuries ago, seemed to command the landscape around it, much like how its owner commanded people within it.

A maid named Nadia greeted you at the entrance, leading you up the grand staircase that spiraled upwards into a series of breathtaking domed ceilings and magnificent chandeliers. Each room presented an extravagant spectacle of artistry and craftsmanship; it was as if every corner had been meticulously designed to overwhelm even the most jaded observer.

Despite the opulence surrounding you, something felt unsettling about the silence that enveloped the house. As far as you could tell, there was no one else here except the maids and yourself. This was not just a house, but a fortress - an impregnable bastion constructed on foundations of isolation and distance.

"This way," intoned the maid, gesturing down a long hallway lined with oil paintings depicting scenes of aristocratic splendor. The air smelled stale - it had been many years since anyone had breathed life into this grand edifice.

"I will show you to your room," whispered Nadia, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder.

As she walked ahead, you noticed her movements were careful, almost rehearsed, as if she had done this countless times before.

Her gait betrayed an unnatural rhythm, a pattern formed by habituation rather than choice.

She knew the layout of the house inside out, each twist and turn etched into her memory like grooves on an old vinyl record.

You followed her silently, allowing the grandeur of the mansion to wash over you.

Every now and then, you caught glimpses of your reflection in the polished marble floors, a ghostly image of yourself trapped between reality and illusion. You found yourself feeling strangely calm and collected, despite the circumstances that led you here.

Nadia finally stopped outside a door adorned with intricate carvings and gestured you into a room without windows.

"This is where you will sleep and perform your duties," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. There was something eerie about the maid, an unspoken understanding between her and the master of the house.

Slowly stepping into the dimly lit chamber, you took note of the opulent surroundings: velvet curtains hung from gold-plated rails, plush rugs lay scattered across the polished hardwood floor, and delicate porcelain vases filled with fresh flowers graced every surface.

However, the abundance of luxury did little to ease the unease that settled deep within your gut.

The maid turned abruptly, locking eyes with you. "At night, the room will be locked securely so don't attempt to leave. If you need anything, ring the bell by the bedside table," she told you before fluffing up some of the cushions on the bed. 

"I never..." You trailed off, swallowing back tears that threatened to betray your bravado. You forced yourself to maintain eye contact with the maid, knowing full well that any sign of weakness would be exploited mercilessly. "I have not done anything like this before. I was told that I had to because a lot of money was paid for my services, but understand please that I have no experience," you then stammered, knowing full well that you had been purchased to perform sexual acts for your benefactor. 

"The fact that you are so innocent, and young is precisely why Mr. Shelby has purchased you," Nadia responded coldly, turning away to adjust a lamp on the nightstand. 

"Now, let me explain to you what is expected of you around here," she continued, softening her tone slightly.

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, and your palms slickened with sweat, though you managed to nod affirmatively, meeting her gaze steadily. "Firstly, you must address Mr. Shelby as 'Sir' at all times. Do not forget," she warned sternly.

You swallowed hard, nodding again.

"You will be allowed to leave your room with another maid, between eight o'clock in the morning and eight o'clock in the evening, but not otherwise unless Mr. Shelby is with you," Nadia explained, adjusting a silk pillow propped by the headboard.

You tried to picture a day spent in confinement, the mere thought sending shivers down your spine.

"Mr. Shelby will inform you directly when he requires your services. Most often he will come here to use you for his pleasure, and he usually expects to be attended to at least twice per day, occasionally more often. You should prepare yourself mentally and physically for his needs because it can get quite overwhelming sometimes," Nadia explained and your breath hitched, but you managed to control the panic rising within you.

"And if I refuse?" you asked, causing Nadia to pause and look at you. "Refusal is not an option. Mr. Shelby doesn't tolerate disobedience. You must do whatever he asks."

Your hands shook involuntarily, but you clenched them into fists to prevent further trembling. You nodded weakly, fighting back tears.

"What he wants...is it...painful?" What you didn't know, what you couldn't comprehend, was whether the physical pain of intimacy would be more bearable than the emotional agony of submitting to someone else's whims.

"Sometimes, but he's gentle enough," Nadia replied matter-of-factly. "Now, you must get ready for tonight. He will be visiting you at 8 o'clock and expects you to wear nothing but a pair of undergarments of your choice," Nadia said before directing you to your wardrobe. "You will lie on the bed and wait for him, understood?" she asked and, again, you nodded. 

"I will be back after he is done with you to change the sheets and provide food and water," Nadia then finally explained before she left you alone in the darkness, save for the faint glow of your bedside lamp. You heard the key turn in the lock, sealing you in the room. You sat on the edge of the bed, trying to process everything she told you.

On the bedside table you found a bottle of lubrication next to a bottle of painkillers, both small comforts in the face of the reality of your situation and, when you looked around the room, you also found other items such as restraints hanging neatly from hooks in the wall. You shivered, feeling your anxiety rise.

Then, just before 8 o'clock, there was a knock on the door. You flinched, jumping to your feet and nearly knocking over the lamp.

"It's time," Nadia called through the door. You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. 

You stripped off your clothes, leaving you naked in the dim light of the room. You pulled on a pair of cotton panties, their thin fabric barely covering the shame you felt.

You then laid down beneath the thin sheets and waited for your new master's arrival. The tension mounted as the seconds ticked by, the sound of footsteps echoing loudly in the silent mansion.

There was a creak of the door opening, and an intimidating figure emerged from the shadows. His presence loomed large, filling the space with an aura of dominance and power. He wore only a robe, his toned body visible underneath. You bit your lip nervously, unable to tear your gaze away from those imposing features.

Thomas Shelby, you reminded yourself – a name that would forever haunt your dreams. His cold blue eyes swept over you, assessing your worth.

You stared back, holding his gaze, refusing to cower. 

"Welcome, Love," he rasped, his voice like gravel underfoot, but you remained silent, swallowing the lump in your throat. He moved closer, looming over you like a storm cloud, his scent of sandalwood and spice filling your nostrils.

"I trust Nadia has briefed you on your duties?" he queried, reaching out to stroke your cheek.

Your skin recoiled at his touch, but you refused to pull away. 

"Yes, she did," you mumbled hesitantly, your voice cracking under his scrutiny. He studied you carefully, tracing the lines of your jaw with his fingers.

"Good girl," he crooned softly, a strange sense of pride swelling within you. Your resolve wavered at the compliment, but you steeled yourself, reminding yourself of the reality of your situation as he touched some of your bare skin not covered by the white sheet.

"Relax Love," he then said softly as the heat of his hand seared through your skin, sending quivers up your spine.  "You will get used to this after a while," he went on to say and his voice was comforting, yet the words stung like venom.

Your breath quickened, chest rising and falling in rapid succession, and your hands instinctively curled into fists beneath the thin white sheet covering you. You wanted to scream, but instead, you simply nodded, unable to find any words to respond.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes appraising your form beneath the covers. "I am going to have a look at you now, eh" he said suddenly, reaching down to lift the edge of the sheet away from your body.

You squirmed and turned red, trying to cover yourself. But he pushed your hands aside gently, staring at you with a mixture of lust and admiration. "I cannot wait to feel your tight little cunt squeeze around my cock when I claim you," he whispered, running his fingertips along your inner thigh, causing you to shiver uncomfortably.

"But first, let me have a look at this little virgin hole of yours, eh?" the man said and his words sent a wave of unease coursing through your veins. You could feel the sweat trickling down your face, mingling with the tears pooling in your eyes. You bit your lip, struggling to contain the sobs threatening to erupt from inside you.

With a gentle tug, he pulled your panties down just enough to expose your slit and your heart pounded against your chest almost painfully.

"I have been told that your opening is particularly small" he murmured, trailing his fingers over your slit before parting your labia slightly, exposing your tiny clit.

"Ow!" you gasped, wincing at the sudden stretch caused by his fingers.

"You do have a tight opening indeed," he grinned wickedly, licking his lips.

Thomas gazed at it with fascination, reaching between your thighs. You tried to close your legs, but he firmly held them open, pressing a dry finger against your entrance, probing it gently. 

"Look at that," he breathed, leaning forward to get a better view. "It's barely opened up yet," Tommy groaned as he probed deeper, widening your opening until he found your hymen—a thin membrane that separated you from being fully broken. His fingers brushed against it, sending stinging pain shooting through your core as he toyed with your opening.

"Now, be a good girl and hold still for me," he cooed, pressing the tips of one of his fingers against your entrance. "I need to stretch you out a bit, ready for later," he went on to say as his finger pressed harder, forcing its way into your most intimate space. It felt too big, too foreign. The pain was excruciating, but you did your best not to make a sound. 

"There we go," he muttered, thrusting deeper until his entire pointer finger filled you up. "That's a good girl. Now, let's see if I can get a second one in there," he told you before reaching for the bottle of lubrication he kept on the nightstand and squirting the viscous liquid onto two of his fingers.

"Hold still for me," he reminded you before swiping his fingers across your outer lips and then pushing not one but two fingers right into you.

You cried out and arched your back, biting into your own fist to stop any louder sounds from escaping.

"Shh," Thomas hushed you, rubbing soothing circles into your hipbone as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.

His fingers felt cold and slimy inside you, sliding easily past your resistance, tearing at your hymen with each thrust.

You closed your eyes tightly, gritting your teeth as the sensation of being stretched and torn overwhelmed you.

The sight of his fingers stretching you like this turned him on; he couldn't help but groan and squeeze harder, making sure you knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"Such a good girl," he praised between grunts, watching your petals pulse around his digits, growing wetter and slicker with every stroke.

"See how hard you make me?" he moaned, opening his robe and grabbing hold of his erection, stroking it firmly. "I really want to fuck you now," he determined before he withdrew his fingers from you, leaving you feeling empty and exposed.

"Now be a good girl and turn over and lay flat on your stomach, face down against pillow," he commanded gruffly, pushing your upper body onto the mattress. 

You hesitated, wanting to turn over and hide your nakedness, but fear of displeasing him kept you lying facedown.

"I am going to use some lubrication, but it is going to hurt a lot more if you don't relax Love," he warned sharply, pulling your waist upwards and spreading your legs apart.

As you lay on your stomach and your heart hammered against your chest. The thought of being penetrated by him sent chills down your spine. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping to block out the inevitable.

You whimpered softly, trying to prepare yourself for what was to come, and Tommy smeared a generous amount of lube onto his cock, coating it in a thick layer of slippery fluid. You flinched in anticipation as he positioned himself between your legs.

"This might hurt a bit for the first few days, but you will get used to it after a while. The more we do it, the easier it will get," he said while aligning himself with your entry point.

"Now," he continued, his tone stern. "I want you to stay completely still when I penetrate you," he added, applying another dollop of lube to his shaft. 

You remained silent, swallowing loudly as you attempted to gather your courage. You could hear your own heartbeat echoing in your ears; the rhythmic, thunderous pounding was deafening.

"Do you understand?" he asked quietly and you nodded. Your muscles tensed, ready to endure whatever came next.

Thomas placed the head of his penis at your entrance, teasing you with a slow push. You exhaled loudly, gripping the sheets in your fists.

"Relax and let me in," Thomas urged you, nudging the tip of his member against your entrance. "That's it,"  he sighed, feeling your body yield under his command. His cock slid into you, stretching you wide open, and the friction of entering you caused a shudder to ripple through his body.

"Ah," he groaned, reveling in the exquisite sensation of being enveloped by your warm, tight channel. "Such a good girl," he groaned as he savored the moment, basking in the sensations that coursed through him. Then, he began to thrust, filling you up inch by agonizing inch until every last millimeter of his erection was buried deep within you.

"So tight," he groaned, bucking into you with a force that seemed to shake the entire bed. "Fuck, you're so goddamn tight."

"You are going to be such a good little whore for me, eh?" Tommy murmured into your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck.

"You will take my cock many times a day, love," he growled, his words a dark promise that sent a chill down your spine. "In the morning, afternoon, and evening."

You swallowed loudly, unable to meet his gaze. Your heart hammered wildly against your chest, and you struggled to suppress the sob that threatened to escape.

"Every time I come through that door, you'll be ready for me, won't you?" he asked, his grip tightening around your hip.

"Because I'm going to fuck you whenever I want, Love." Tommy snarled, punctuating his words with hard thrusts. 

For almost an hour, he used you like this, treating you like a rag doll that belonged to him alone until, finally, he was ready to ejaculate inside your raw opening.

"I am going to cum inside you now, Love," he informed you, his cock twitching violently against your vaginal wall.

"Do you want me to fill you up with my seed?" he asked you, his voice laced with lust, his fingers tightening around your hips.

"Yes, sir," you managed to reply, your voice hoarse with exhaustion.

He smiled down at you, satisfaction shining in his eyes. "Good girl," he praised, pumping his cock a few more times before letting out a guttural yell and filling you up with his essence.

As he collapsed next to you, panting heavily, you could feel his warmth radiating into your channel. 

The remnants of his semen trickled down your leg, leaving a sticky trail behind.

"That was a lovely experience, wasn't it?" Tom said, his voice still coarse from exertion. "Now rest. I am going to fuck you again when I come back from my business deal tonight" he added, his gaze lingering on your tender, swollen lips. 

He moved his hands to cup your breasts, palming them gently before pinching your nipples.

"You are going to learn to enjoy it Love," he whispered, his voice harsh and commanding. "And when you do," he paused, his breath hot against your cheek, "you are going to beg me for more," he determined before putting his robe back on and calling one of the maids to help you clean up. 

[useless-catalanfacts]

To celebrate its 1000th anniversary, the Abbey of Montserrat has added light projections. This is a modern take on a centuries-old tradition.

The Abbey of Montserrat is the spiritual centre of Catalonia. It's located in the Montserrat mountain in Central Catalonia, a unique-looking mountain in the middle of a plain, which makes this holy mountain be seen from many parts of the country.

There's written evidence that a small community of monks has lived there since the year 880, but in 1025 one of the monks started the community that continues nowadays. Thus, this year they're celebrating their 1,000th anniversary.

The legend that explains its foundation is the same as many holy places in Catholicism (Found Virgin Marys). In 880, a group of children found a statue in a cave in the mountain. They warned the bishop, who ordered to take the statue to the nearest important church (Manresa), but the statue was so supernaturally heavy that it was impossible to move it. This was interpreted as meaning that She did not want to be moved, and thus a church was built there for Her. (The statue that is worshipped nowadays dates from the 1100s.)

Montserrat has lived through a lot of history. The Virgin of Montserrat became the patron saint of Catalonia together with Saint George. It has survived the Napoleonic French troops who set fire to the convent, and the repression of the Francoist fascist dictatorship. Montserrat became a symbol of Catalan resistance.

But it has also lived through changes in art history. The hermit chapels, monastery and other spaces of the sanctuary have been built between the Middle Ages and the present. One thing has remained constant: the use of art and new technologies to represent the religious stories. In the Middle Ages, with Gothic architecture, a new technology was developed that quickly became loved as a way to represent the more ethereal aspect of God: stained glass windows, an art of colourful light. Nowadays, we have new ways of using light. I see this new "mapping" as a continuation of this tradition.

What do you think of it?

[pennypurr]

Some people genuinely believe Chuuya thinks of Dazai as inhuman and that's bewildering to me. Time for me to activate my autism and analyze the hell out of that one manga panel ᕙ⁠(⁠＠⁠°⁠▽⁠°⁠＠⁠)⁠ᕗ

OKAY, so this panel is from the Dead Apple Manga and takes place during the Dragon's Head Conflict. We can assume it's probably a few months after Stormbringer, which also aligns with Chuuya having Albatross's motorcycle. In this scene Dazai is treating the passing as someone, a person Chuuya likely knew as a coworker, like it's convenient and could benefit them. Is he telling the truth? Yes, as executive candidates the passing of an executive means they may move up in the ranks. Is this a good time whatsoever? Absolutely not, Chuuya has already lost a lot of people he cares about very recently, someone he probably knew just died, and Dazai is being... Himself. This brings me to WHY Chuuya said what he did to Dazai.

Chuuya is incredibly upset by Dazai's blatant disregard for life, and he wants to get under Dazai's skin. This is probably made even stronger by how Dazai was the one who ORIGINALLY baited CHUUYA. Dazai was the one who brought up humanity, and his phrasing of "I'm human too, you know?" means that Dazai may be taking a jab at Chuuya to further upset him. It is this that causes Chuuya to push even further by denying it.

Another thing I would like to point out is that Chuuya doesn't reference anyone specific when saying no one would believe that. While looking at this scene it seems obvious it would be Dazai, we need to take into account how recent Stormbringer was. Chuuya is actively grieving his friends and the life he never got to have. He has also faced SO much dehumanization recently. While we, the readers, may infer that Chuuya is most likely the original due to his scar, Chuuya still needs to take time processing what has happened, what that means, and coming to terms with it.

At this point in time Chuuya may also say things he doesn't completely mean while trying to hurt Dazai. Soukoku was not made overnight. Objectively, Dazai and Chuuya have worked well together since the beginning, but that trust and companionship took a long time to build. We as the readers are seeing a point where it is wavering. The foundation hasn't exactly been the best since it is Dazai forcing Chuuya out of his only home only about a year and a half ago. We see them becoming Soukoku in Stormbringer where they are coming together and Chuuya is reconciling with Shirase, which takes away a lot of the animosity built up between him and Dazai. However, that resulted in more of a window looking towards the other rather than walls coming down.

Bringing back the time period of this panel, Dazai and Chuuya are sixteen. While four years of their partnership aren't exactly... Present? We still have two years for them to grow as people and build one another up. People don't account for how brand new working together is for them. They're two teenagers forced to grow up early and be independent. It is also likely that Dazai and Chuuya just didn't work together often. Chuuya worked in the jewel trade, and Dazai was the main strategist and torture specialist. While they both work in the Mafia and clearly do occasionally partner up together (based on Dazai's trust Chuuya will find him when he's kidnapped), they work in completely different areas and it's completely plausible that they just don't see each other as often as we assume. They are not accustomed to relying on people and are used to being hurt by people they are supposed to depend on. To base Soukoku and their partnership as a whole on this specific scene is not fair because we are missing a lot of character development and looking when tensions are incredibly high. This is a Chuuya who would genuinely celebrate when Dazai left. This is not the Chuuya that looked like THIS as he said that.

In conclusion, tensions are incredibly high during that scene during the Dragon's Head Conflict, Dazai and Chuuya are both doing their best to hurt each other at that point in time, and it is not fair to judge Soukoku's partnership on one scene after just a year of working together. Thank you for coming to my ted talk ♡⁠˖⁠꒰⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠⑅⁠꒱