#3/4 drop in anchors

[ba9go]

it's not winning (if it's not with you)

fluff ��🐑🐑 sfw

prohero!bakugou katsuki x prohero!reader, fem!reader (bkg calls u his wife), established relationship

"we’re joined by none other than the pro-hero dynamight, who has recently climbed the ranks to secure the coveted number 2 spot in the hero rankings! known for his explosive quirk and even more explosive personality, bakugou katsuki has—"

"they know who i am," pro-hero dynamight, your husband, grumbles. he's grumpy as ever, arms crossed and glaring at the news anchor, who shrinks away slightly in fear. "keep it short, i've got places to be."

you want to be mad at him for giving his pr team a hard time yet again, but your heart warms at his words. when he says he's got places to be, you know he means coming home to you.

"r- right! so sorry about that! dynamight, you must be ecstatic about climbing the ranks! how does it feel to—"

"always feels good to beat icyhot," he interrupts just as an image of pro-hero shoto pops up on-screen. katsuki flashes a smirk at the camera, and you can't help but grin. "can't say i'm surprised 'bout it, though."

"o- oh! right," the poor news anchor lady laughs nervously. "you must be ecstatic! congratulations on the big win, dyna—"

"nah, i haven't won yet," dynamight shrugs.

"oh. um." the news anchor lady looks like she's about to burst into tears and quit her job on japanese live television. she flashes a worried glance off-camera. you wonder if she's plotting her escape.

you don't blame her, honestly. you're perplexed by katsuki's response too.

katsuki points directly into the camera, and you feel like it's directed at you even before he speaks.

"my wife's gotta catch up to me first."

your grin spreads, and you feel like you're back in u.a., falling in love with katsuki all over again. "challenge accepted, dynamight."

you fling yourself at katsuki when he comes home later that evening.

"number 2!!" you cry happily, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. "you're the best, 'suki. m'so proud of you."

"thank you, darling," katsuki grins a real toothy grin at you, and you know you're looking at a winner. despite his nonchalant act on tv, katsuki knows he's won. he's dreamt of this for so long. he's ecstatic.

katsuki cups your cheeks and rubs his nose against yours sweetly, before letting his hands fall to your waist. he smirks. "did ya catch my interview earlier?"

katsuki snickers as you roll your eyes and push at his chest playfully. "yeah, yeah. your wife's falling behind on the rankings, got it."

"falling behind?" katsuki's smirk drops as he raises a brow at you. "no, you ain't. you worked hard as always, number 4."

"i'm still behind," you pouted.

katsuki smiles at you as he pats your head affectionately.

"join me in top 3," katsuki says. it sounds like an order, a demand, but despite the challenge in his words, his tone is warm and encouraging, and his eyes are full of love.

you can feel it. he believes in you.

"next time, we'll be number 1 and 2," you grin.

"damn right. izuku can eat our dust."

🐑🐑🐑

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @nemisimp @an-na-bella @valeriyaaak @buggie07 @v3n7s @deimosjay @iguanahykhv @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @notmeduhh @dreamcastgirl99 @yoyolovesdaiki @busdriver-move-that-ass

[kathryn-maraudersversion]

Serpents & Stars Part 4

Summary: You are not falling for the Marauders. You are not. They, however, seem determined to prove otherwise. And when James Potter pushes you a little too far, you finally snap.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders (James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin) x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9

Your plan was simple.

You were going to pretend nothing had changed.

You were going to ignore the way your stomach flipped when James smiled.

You were going to ignore the way Sirius’ teasing didn’t bother you as much anymore.

You were going to ignore the way Remus’ quiet warmth made your chest ache.

You were not falling for them, and you were going to prove it. The next morning, you arrived at breakfast with a purpose. You sat at the farthest end of the Slytherin table, as far from the Marauders as physically possible.

Did that stop James from finding you? Of course not.

Did it stop Sirius from sliding into the seat beside you like he belonged there? No.

Did it stop Remus from watching you, patient and knowing as ever? Absolutely not.

James leaned in, all confidence and mischief. “Miss me, sweetheart?”

You took a deep breath. Don’t react. Don’t react. Don’t react.

“I wish I could say I didn’t know you,” you muttered, stabbing your eggs aggressively.

Sirius snickered. “She’s in a mood today.”

Remus sipped his tea. “She’s been avoiding us.”

You froze, damn Remus and his stupid perception.

“I have not,” you said, voice clipped.

James raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t show up to the library yesterday.”

“I was busy.”

“You left the great hall the second we arrived.”

“I had things to do.”

Sirius smirked. “You ran away from us last night.”

Your jaw clenched. “I. Did. Not.”

James tilted his head, studying you, and then the bastard grinned. “Ohhh,” he said, something dangerous and delighted flickering in his eyes. “You’re scared.”

You slammed your fork down. “I am not scared of you, Potter.”

James’ smirk only widened. “Not of me. Of us.”

That was it. The last crack in your armour shattered.

You stood up so fast your chair scraped against the floor. The entire Great Hall turned to look.

But you didn’t care.

You glared at James, anger burning through you like wildfire. “You think this is funny, don’t you?”

James blinked, clearly not expecting this much rage.

Sirius sat up straighter, intrigued. Remus, of course, just watched.

“You think you can just waltz into my life and what? Wear me down? Make me fall at your feet?” Your voice was low, sharp, venomous. “Because it’s a game to you, isn’t it? The thrill of the chase, the Slytherin girl who hates you, the one challenge you haven’t won yet.”

James frowned. “That’s not-”

You laughed, but it was bitter. “Well, congratulations, Potter. You win.”

His eyes widened. Sirius’ smirk faded. Remus’ jaw tensed.

You took a step closer, your voice dropping. “You want to know why I’ve been avoiding you? Because I let you get in my head. I let you make me think-” You cut yourself off, inhaling sharply. “But I won’t make that mistake again.”

You turned to walk away.

And that should have been the end of it.

But James Potter was a Gryffindor.

Which meant he had absolutely no self-preservation.

He grabbed your wrist before you could leave. “Wait.”

His grip wasn’t tight, but it was firm. Anchoring.

And when you looked at him.

Gone was the teasing glint in his hazel eyes. Gone was the cocky smirk. There was only sincerity. Frustration. Something raw and real.

“Is that really what you think?” James asked, voice low. “That we’re just playing with you?”

You couldn’t answer because if you said it out loud, it would mean you believed it and deep down, you weren’t sure you did.

Remus sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You are impossible.”

Sirius leaned forward, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “You think we don’t mean it? That we don’t actually care?”

Your throat felt tight.

“You call it a game,” James murmured, “but we’ve already lost.”

Your breath caught.

James let go of your wrist, stepping back. “Go on, then. Walk away.”

Sirius leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. If that’s what you really want.”

Remus just nodded, as if he already knew you wouldn’t.

And that was the problem because you could. You could walk away. Right now. Leave them behind. Pretend this had never happened. You could end it here. So why weren’t you moving? Why did your feet feel like they were glued to the ground? Why was your heart pounding like it was trying to tell you something? You clenched your fists. You were so close to freedom.

So why-

Why did it feel like letting go of them would be the real loss?

Taglist: @amatoanima @flaviaandbooks @nymanas @maraudersgirlsposts @bridkesby @yvessentials @treefairy-28 @navs-bhat @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @zoleea-exultant @hermionelove @starmaniii @kitcat912

[multi-fandom-imagine]

【𝗠𝗶𝘇𝘂'𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗙𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂】

A/n: I love her.

Mizu is not a woman built for softness—but she gives it to you anyway, in her own way. Sharp hands. Quiet praise. Brutal honesty. You’re the only one allowed behind the mask, beneath the blade. And when she takes you? It’s never casual. It’s control. It’s reverence. It’s hers.

1. The Sword Polishing Room—On Her Lap, Wet and Waiting

It’s the quiet after training. The room smells of oil and steel. Mizu sits cross-legged, shirt undone, your thighs straddling hers. She doesn’t even undress you—just pushes your robes aside and pulls your panties to the side like an afterthought. One hand keeps working the cloth over her blade. The other is between your legs, working slow, calculated circles. She fucks you with her fingers so steady you’re trembling in her lap, and when you beg? She doesn’t look up. “Focus. Come for me like you’re learning something.”

2. In the Springs—Her Fingers Under the Water, Her Mouth on Your Neck

She never lets her guard down. Not in public. Not around strangers. But the springs are different. The steam wraps around the two of you like a secret, and Mizu pulls you into her lap beneath the surface. Her fingers are already inside you before you can fully relax. “Keep your voice low,” she warns, licking along your neck. “Or I’ll make you come harder.” She makes good on that promise. You almost drown on a gasp.

3. Against the Wall of an Enemy’s Home—Right After a Kill

Her blade is still wet. Her eyes are wild. And you? You’re the only thing anchoring her. She pushes you against the wall the moment the target drops, pressing her thigh between your legs and grinding until you moan. “You wait for me like this?” she asks, tone dangerous. “Dripping wet while I kill for us?” Then she drops to her knees, licks up your thigh, and makes you come with her mouth still tasting of violence. She fucks like she needs to burn the rage out of her, and you let her.

4. Under the Floorboards of a Tea House—While People Walk Above You

It’s supposed to be a hiding place. It is—but not for long. The second the trapdoor shuts, Mizu has you on your back, hands sliding up your thighs with practiced ease. “No one knows we’re here,” she whispers, voice like smoke. “So why are you shaking like they’ll hear you come?” She fucks you slow, deliberate, while the sound of footsteps above only makes your pulse race. You break when she says your name like a threat and a vow in the same breath.

5. On the Tatami Mat—With a Wooden Sword Between Your Legs

It starts as training. She teaches you grip, form, control. But when she stands behind you, correcting your stance, her hands linger. She slides the bokken between your legs, hips grinding the length into your soaked folds, and suddenly you’re begging. “Say please,” she demands. You do. She rocks it against your clit while her hand covers your mouth, breathing against your neck. When you come, she holds you upright, whispering, “Next time, I’ll use the real blade.”

6. On Her Back, Letting You Take Control—Just Once

Mizu doesn’t give up control easily—but sometimes she wants to be undone. So she lays back, arms folded behind her head, watching you climb onto her lap with a dark, unreadable gaze. “Show me what you want,” she says. You ride her face, her fingers, her thigh—whatever she gives. But she doesn’t break eye contact. Not once. And when you finally break, gasping her name, she flips you effortlessly and pins you down with a smirk. “My turn.”

7. Bound in Silk Rope, Legs Spread, Eyes Locked on Hers

Mizu doesn’t rush the tying. She treats it like an art—each knot perfectly placed, every wrap of silk as calculated as her swordplay. You’re spread on the floor, wrists bound above your head, legs pulled open and secured in a way that leaves you trembling. She doesn’t say much—just watches you, fingers teasing the edge of your folds until you’re begging. “You’re so easy to ruin like this,” she murmurs, slipping two fingers inside. “But I always put you back together, don’t I?” You nod. She makes you come again before undoing a single knot.

8. In the Woods, Strap-On Buckled Tight Under Her Robes

She takes you for a walk where no one will follow. The air is cool, your hand in hers, her thumb brushing your palm with deceptive tenderness. But the second she finds a secluded clearing, Mizu pushes you against a tree, robes falling open just enough to reveal the leather harness strapped low on her hips. “Turn around,” she orders. She fucks you from behind, one hand on your throat, the other covering your mouth as her hips snap hard and fast. You’re crying into her hand, stuffed full and breathless. She doesn’t stop until your knees give out.

9. Rare Submission—When You Pin Her Down

It’s late. Her guard is lowered. You’re straddling her hips, wrists held down, watching her fight the urge to flip you and take back control. But she doesn’t. Not tonight. “You’re testing me,” she says, voice flat—but her pupils are blown wide, chest rising fast. You ride her slowly, taking your time, teasing her just like she does you. She bites her lip until it bleeds. When she comes, it’s with a quiet gasp and her fingers clutching the sheets. You lean down and whisper, “You’re mine too, you know.” She doesn’t argue.

10. In a Crowded Temple, Fingers Hidden Beneath Your Robes

Mizu prays in silence—but today, her hand slips under your robe mid-ceremony, fingers curling up inside you while others kneel just feet away. Her expression never changes. She keeps her eyes ahead, her posture perfect. You, however, are shaking beside her, trying not to let your knees buckle. “Don’t disgrace yourself,” she murmurs, lips unmoving. “Hold it in.” You come with a silent scream, robes clutched tightly in your fists. She keeps her hand there, deep and still. “We’ll atone later,” she says. But she doesn’t remove her fingers until the ceremony ends.

11. Over the Sheathed Blade, Grinding Until You Break

The sword is laid between your thighs, sheathed but firm, cold metal against your heated skin. Mizu sits back, watching—eyes hungry but hands behind her back. “Show me how desperate you are,” she says. You ride it slow at first, hips grinding along the length of her blade, gasping at the pressure. When you speed up, she still doesn’t move. “Use it,” she commands. You come hard, shaking above her sword, whispering her name like a prayer. That’s when she finally gets up. “Now,” she says, undoing her robes, “I’ll give you something sharper to come on.”

12. After Battle, Covered in Blood, With Her Face Between Your Thighs

She’s not clean yet. The blood’s still drying on her chest, the sweat still clinging to her neck—but the second she sees you waiting by the fire, she drops to her knees. She spreads your thighs apart and eats you like she hasn’t tasted peace in months. Her tongue is sharp, her grip even sharper, fingers bruising your thighs as she keeps you still. “You keep me alive,” she murmurs between licks, “so I’ll worship you properly.” You don’t argue—not with your legs over her shoulders and her mouth making you scream into the night.

13. In the Dojo, On Her Knees, Hands Behind Her Back.

You’d never expect Mizu to kneel for anyone—but tonight, she does. She strips her own kimono, folds her hands behind her, and bows her head before you. “Command me,” she says. And you do. You ride her face slowly, pulling her hair, grinding on her mouth until she moans into you. It’s intoxicating—seeing her so undone for you. But when you come, she licks you clean and stands with a gleam in her eye. “Now,” she says, cracking her knuckles, “my turn.”

[short-honey-badger]

Miss Twilight 4

You arrive at Buggy Town and catch up with Crocodile

*things get even more steamy! The next chapter will be the final one to this mini story!*

Part 1 -> HERE Part 2 -> HERE Part 3 -> HERE Finale -> HERE

Crocodile stands on the docks outside of Buggy Town. There is movement all around him, the men under the Cross Guild working to get the latest navy ship repainted and refitted for their own purposes. They would have even more work in the coming hours. You’d rang Crocodile again and told him that you were around two hours out from the island and that you expected him to be there waiting for you. He’d snickered at your order but had easily agreed.

Now he stood at the edge, watching as a navy vessel drifted closer and closer to the docks. If he squinted, he could see several figures at the bow of the ship, and he couldn’t help but shift his weight in anticipation. You were almost here, and then he could sweep you away.

Finally, the ship slides up to the docks and weighs anchor, the ramp coming down to bang against the wood. He waits impatiently for you to disembark, and his lips curl up in a welcoming smirk when he sees you waltz down the plank like you owned the place. Miss Goldenweek and several other pirates follow you down, but he doesn’t pay them any mind. His focus is on you and you alone.

Your face hurts even as you grin up at your boss, coming to a stop in front of the devil fruit user. Buggy is already welcoming in the other pirates, his crew directing them on where to go. Mihawk is nowhere to be seen, though Crocodile knows that the other man is probably waiting in his office already. He frowns as he takes you in, hook coming up to rest under your chin and tilt your face this way and that.

“Who did this to you?” He demands quietly. Never had Crocodile seen you so injured before, and it makes rage swell up in his chest at the sight of your bruised and swollen face.

“A pair of marines. It was necessary to my plan, though. It doesn’t hurt that bad anymore,” you say with a shrug, and then give him a mean little grin, “I tossed them overboard after we took over the ship.”

“Mhm, I would have liked to see that,” Crocodile murmurs, and you shrug a shoulder, the smile on your face turning teasing.

“I’m sure you would have, Wani,” you say, and he drops his hook and instead offers his arm to your delight.

“Come along, Miss Twilight. I’ll show you the beginnings of our Utopia.”

After Crocodile leads you through the tent city, he cuts off to the building that housed his office and personal rooms, showing you your own room that was just down the hall from his. He leaves you, and you gladly take the time to take a much needed nap and then freshen up after. As much as you’d wanted to stay with him, it’d been a long couple of days of travel, and you were exhausted by the time he stopped at your room. You feel far better now that you’ve had time to take a shower and change into something a bit more your style. You can’t help but grin madly when you open the closet and see a selection of expensive fabrics in all different colors. You knew that Crocodile had chosen each one of them specifically for you, and it made your heart thump in affection for your boss.

Now dressed in something better than the rags and oversized clothes you’d stolen from the navy, you felt more like yourself. You tame your hair into something decent and slap on a little makeup that you find inside the drawers of your vanity before you leave your room, stomach rumbling in hunger.

You find his office with ease and knock on the door, entering when you hear his deep voice bid you inside. You’re surprised to see Dracule Mihawk in the office, standing to the side of Crocodile’s desk with an unopened bottle of wine tucked under his arm. You step further inside the office and take a seat when your boss bids you to.

“So you’re Miss Twilight,” Mihawk drawls, and you meet his golden eyes, trying not to squirm under the examining gaze that he is looking at you with. The swordsman must not find anything wrong, for he smirks and walks closer to hand you the bottle of wine, “Welcome to the Guild.”

You take the bottle and look at it, curious despite yourself, and find that it’s one of those expensive wines that you would see stocked behind the counter at the bar in Rain Dinner’s. You give him a grateful smile, “Thank you.”

The former warlord hums and steps past you, “You’re welcome. I’ll leave the two of you to enjoy it.”

You watch him walk out the door and then share a look with Crocodile, a smirk on your face as you tilt your head to the side, “I see that you’ve made a friend.”

The big man scoffs and rolls his eyes, “We have mutual interests,”

“I’m sure that’s all it is,” you tease, and then soften when your boss just puffs on his cigar, the look on his face vaguely unimpressed. You shift a little awkwardly. It’s been a little over a year since the last time you’d seen him, and that was before he’d been cuffed and carted away to Impel Down. He hadn’t changed, not much anyway, but it was enough to leave you doubting yourself.

Crocodile eyes you from across his desk. He doesn’t like that you look so nervous, but he understands why. He stands from his chair and you track him, eyes never leaving his face as he rounds the desk and stops beside you, the back of his golden hook coming up to rest under your chin like earlier. He meets your eyes, searching your face before he kneels down at your side. Your eyes go wide, and you lick your lips, stomach flipping in nerves.

“You don’t have to look so frightened, my dear,” Crocodile rumbles, and his flesh hand rises to cup the side of your face, holding you in a way that you hadn’t thought him capable of. You give him a small smile, turning your face more into his hold.

“I know, it’s just been so long since I’ve seen you. I feel like I don’t know how to act,” you admit quietly, and the devil fruit user huffs at you. His thumb drags along your jaw and then up to gently tug at your lips. You can’t help but wince a bit. They are still healing from the hit you’d taken to the face.

Crocodile’s brow furrows, and that same rage from earlier feels thick in his chest, “You should have given them to me. I would have made them suffer for this.”

He had planned on sweeping you off your feet and taking you straight to his rooms where he would spend the next several days worshiping you like you deserved. Learning your body piece by piece as he took you apart, but with you injured, Crocodile didn’t want to harm you further.

“I know you would have, Wani,” you murmur, and feeling bold, you turn and press your lips against the palm of his hand, lingering there and watching his purple eyes soften at your affection, “But watching them be eaten by the seakings was just as enjoyable.”

Crocodile hums, lips tugging into a smirk. His long fingers curl under your jaw. He adores your ruthless behavior, and it makes arousal curl hot in his stomach. He is desperate for you but holds himself back for now. He would give you time to heal. Slowly, he pulls away, fingertips trailing along your flesh as he stands and picks up the bottle of wine that Mihawk left behind.

“Come with me. I’ve had the cooks make your favorite,” He says, and you stand to follow him out of his office and to the private dining room on the floor below this one. You can’t help but feel all gooey and soft inside, cheek flushing darker at the thought of Crocodile knowing what you like.

That feeling intensifies when your boss pulls out your chair for you and pops the bottle of wine, pouring the both of you a generous glass before he sits in the spot across from you. Food is already laid out on the table, and you have a hard time not immediately digging in. You politely wait for Crocodile to begin before you take up your fork and start eating.

Before you know it, conversation is flowing like the two of you had never been apart for over a year. Crocodile regales you with his tale of escaping Impel Down and the fight with the navy afterward. You congratulate him on the creation of the Cross Guild, for you knew that Buggy the Clown wouldn’t be innovative enough to pull something like this even if he is the face of the organization. He asks about your capture, and you roll your eyes at yourself.

“After I heard about the Cross Guild, I knew that then would be a good time to show back up. That I could be useful to you, but I slipped up. I snuck on board dressed as a marine, and the Vice-Admiral didn’t recognize me. I didn’t know that he’d never had any transfers inside of his unit, so I stuck out. He dropped me off at the ship I brought to you for transport to Impel Down a few weeks ago, but that obviously didn’t happen.”

Crocodile huffs and shares a smirk with you, “Obviously not.”

He then frowns and sets down his fork to reach across the table, taking your free hand in his and meeting your eyes, “You could have come back before this. I would have gladly taken you at my side, my dear.”

You squeeze his hand softly, a shy smile tugging at your lips, and you flick your eyes away in embarrassment, “I didn’t want to be a burden, Crocodile.”

Crocodile rolls his eyes at you, “You have proven yourself to me for years, darling. You don’t have to do so any longer, if you wish.”

He didn’t care if you wanted to retire from working for him. Crocodile simply wanted you by his side, so if that meant losing your capabilities in the field, then so be it. It sounded corny and disgustingly domestic, but all he wanted now was to wake up to you next to him. To be able to touch and kiss you whenever he wished, to have you at his side when all of his plans finally came to fruition.

“I want you to do what you want, but I want you to be at my side when you do.”

Your heart thunders in your chest. You’d always known that there was a tension between the two of you, a mutual attraction that you’d always been too afraid to act on, fearing that Crocodile would send you away. But now? Now you want to act on it.

You stand before you can lose any courage, keeping his hand in your own as you walk around the table. Crocodile follows you, scooting his chair back away from the table when you are by his side. Without missing a beat, you reach out with your free hand, your fingers sliding along his throat and then up to smooth against his strong jaw. Your thumb drags up his cheek, and then you are leaning down to seal your lips against his.

At first, it’s a simple press of lips, the two of you mapping one another out with careful tugs and gentle pulls of your lips, but it doesn’t take long for it to turn heated. Crocodile has waited years to finally have you, and he would be damned if he didn’t get to taste you properly.

Crocodile tugs you by the hand, sending you forward and into his chest, one of your knees landing in the chair, but it still isn’t close enough for him. He manhandles you into his lap, his arm wrapping around your waist as he drags you flush against his chest. You groan into the kiss, mouth dropping open when his tongue prods forward, hissing when it rubs against the still healing cuts.

You want more, and whine softly in the back of your throat when Crocodile breaks the kiss, leaning back so that he can gaze upon your flushed face and heavy lidded eyes. He smirks and leans back in to peck your lips, making you chase after him.

“As much as I would like to continue,” he rumbles and shifts under you, his cock already hard and aching in his pants just from a simple kiss, “I would much prefer to have you in full health. I do not want to hurt you, my dear.”

You snort and drop your head into the crook of his shoulder, scooting forward so that your knees touched the back of the chair, a pout on your lips, “You could never hurt me, Wani, but okay.”

Crocodile holds you close, dropping to press his lips to the top of your head. They would have plenty of time to explore one another in the coming days. The two of you would just have to wait.

[sanesaviour]

Omg can’t believe I finished drawing all of them (at least ones I’ve planed)

MJ🌹

Headcanons:

1. She is super popular, everyone knows her, everyone wants to be friends with her, she is invited to every party… but still she likes to spend most of the time with Peter and Harry

2. She lowkey roasts Flash Thompson every chance she gets, especially when he tries to act tough

3. She figured out Peter was Spiderman way before he told her - his excuses were just too bad. She just waited for him to admit it himself… she knows like everything about Spiderman, if she ever got web shooters she’d use them way better than Peter did his first time and she keeps a hidden stash of spidey photos she’s too embarrassed to admit she takes for fun, despite being a serious journalist

4. She and Peter are childhood best friends, they went through lot together and their friendship is most valuable thing for both of them and even if they argue they always make up quickly, they know each other too well to stay mad for long

5. I think Harrys and MJs relationship is bit complicated, they went through fighting for Peters attention (Harry was 2nd friend of Peter ever so MJ was naturally jealous about it), to being “friends” just to make Peter happy, to secretly crushing on each other, to being real friends… but after Venom incident Harrys and Peters friendship strained and so did his friendship with MJ, she still wants to help him tho

6. Luke & MJ - Luke is one of the team who gets along with MJ best (besides Peter), he sees MJ as Peter’s anchor and keeps an eye on her whenever things get too dangerous

7. She always admired Ava’s no nonsense attitude but on the other side Ava at first did not like MJs party girl vibes at all… but after she get to know her better, bc of Peter, they actually make quite good duo and they start spending lot of their free time together

8. Sam is really impressed by her from beginning, he tries to be friends with her so hard, he just can’t keep eyes of her (she is naturally really beautiful) and she knows it! She randomly drops lines like “you are such an amazing FRIEND” just to make sure he doesn’t get any wrong ideas. But she likes him tho but only as friend… also after some time MJ has theory that Sam is way too invested in pages dedicated to make fun of Spiderman or just mocking Spiderman in general. She has notebook labeled “Nova (?)” where she gathers evidence (after finding out that Peter is Spiderman it’s pretty easy to find out who are the other members of spidey team lol, also when they find out she knows they immediately starts to blame each other for telling her and she just hit them with “you really think it was that hard to guess”)

9. MJ thinks Danny is weird and his calm zen wisdoms sometimes gets on her nerves… she respect him, but still thinks he’s weirdest person in their circle

10. Even tho she is not superhero, she saved the team before - usually by using her investigative skills or just quick thinking.

[boo-cool-robot]

Hieron Zine Comic: The Violence of Its Maintenance

[Read the left side as one storyline, the right side as another]

"For every inside, an outside." / "Every border implies the violence of its maintenance."

For me and @wellnoe's piece for the Hieron Zine, we were excited to tell a story about Hella’s semi-involuntary status as a mascot of Ordennan empire and borders as a literal technology of death that played with comic borders and formatting! The title is, of course, from the Ayesha A. Siddiqi quote.

Script for the comic below the cut, which also serves as a rough image description:

Layout note: Panels are small relative to the page and “float” in the gutter space. Adelaide swims freely between them and speaks to Hella inside the panels’ borders. The comic is laid out vertically, mostly in two columns. Panels on the left are labeled L, the center labeled M, and right labeled R. Panel numbers denote which row of the overall page they’re on.

Page 1: 3 Rows 

Panel M.1.A: Adaire hunched over a map of Hieron in a dimming twilight room.

Panel M.1.B: Close up of the map having Nacre added to it near the shore, and an outline sketched of its border, the pencil in Adaire’s hand. 

Panel M.1.C: Adaire’s hand in close-up, partially erasing the border around Nacre. 

Panel L.2: Hella outside the Ordennan border, at a tall gate. A guard looks at her suspiciously from the other side. 

Adelaide to Panel L.2: Adelaide looks at Hella condescendingly. 

Adelaide: Do you imagine that walls will keep Nacre’s gift out? 

Panel R.2: Hella and Hadrian ride in a halfling-driven cart through the refugee camp towards the Ordennan military camp. Hadrian watches Hella for her reaction to seeing the refugees. 

Panel L.3: Hella displays the emblem of the Tristes to a crowd of cheering soldiers, brandishing her sword in a stabbing gesture. 

Soldiers: Is that– From the cleansing of Nacre– She killed the queen! 

Adelaide to panel L.3: For every inside…

Panel R.3: Stornras Glasseye shows Hella and Hadrian a map of Ordenna’s planned invasion of Velas. 

Adelaide to panel R.3: …an outside. 

Page 2: 4 Rows

Panel L.1: Hella reads the book about her family being a line of traitors, inside the undersea cave. She is hunched over awkwardly, wet from swimming in, and visibly perturbed. 

Adelaide to Panel L.1: Adelaide reads over Hella’s shoulder. She’s draped over the panel like a cat, one hand dangling inside and the other holding an apple to her mouth.  

Adelaide: Our dear father did like that ancestor of yours, only for her to betray Nacre and then Ordenna. Varals love to hang people out to dry.  

Panel R.1: Hadrian and Hella interrogating Iduna Fel. Hella holds a torch up. Iduna, seated and hands bound, looks up at them and snarls at the torch, speaking of how Quintrona should burn Rosemerrow to stop the undead. 

Iduna Fel: We should be burning every place–every person–the curse has touched. 

Adelaide to Panel R.1: A family of traitors fits right in with the Tristes.

Panel L.2.A: Hella is on tour of Ordenna. She looks out distantly at the countryside. A clothesline with clothing hanging from them forming figures like people separates Hella in the panel from a mine like the ones her father worked.

Panel L.3.B: Hella on tour in an urban center, looking lost. Train tracks separate Hella from a guard station. 

Ordennan soldiers: Queenkiller! It’s the Queenkiller! 

Adelaide to panels L.2: Adelaide’s teeth are bared, her lazy demeanor dropping for one vicious moment. 

Adelaide:At least I remember that you should be called Kingkiller as well. 

Panel R.2: Hella and Hadrian walking back through the refugee camp. Refugees do laundry, multiple clotheslines crossing the panel, the clothes partially obscuring Hella and Hadrian. 

Adelaide to panel R.2: Do you believe your people to be better than me? They decide who dies to expand the borders of Ordenna. 

Panel L.3: Hella marching in front of a company of Anchor in a square formation, Ordennan soldiers crowding around them. Hella is smiling stiffly, uncomfortable. She is wearing a shiny new uniform. 

Panel R.3: Hella standing equally stiffly in front of a line of Pala-din that guard the Ordennan camp from the refugees. She watches a circle of refugees cooking and crafting, going about the business of their survival. Some are visibly undead. Two of the refugees are a Nacreite young Black sibling pair with an older boy and younger girl, invoking Calhoun and Adelaide.  Hadrian in the background examines a pala-din, his stance mirroring theirs. 

Adelaide to panel R.3: Adelaide looks at the siblings in panel R.3 but speaks over her shoulder to Hella on the left. 

Adelaide: Is it so monstrous that Nacre grows so that more may live after death? 

Panel L.4: Hella alone in a lavish Ordennan bedroom, looking out of place and small. Maybe in plain underclothes and curled up on a chair, looking angry.

Hella: Yes! 

Her dialogue fills up the panel, crowding her. 

Panel R.4: The refugees notice Hella and Hadrian and look at them warily. The boy steps in front of his sister. Hella looks small in the crowd of people. She holds a hand out to the boy. 

Page 3: 3 Rows

Panel L.1: Hella in a lavish Ordennan ceremonial chamber, on a stage. She is dressed in fine clothing given to her. A pearl-studded brooch with an Ordennan motif is being pinned on her by some military-uniformed functionary. 

Military functionary: For you, the spoils of our first battle. 

Gathered soldiers and civilians: Queenkiller! Queenkiller! Queenkiller! 

Panel R.1: Hella makes an awkward ‘open your hand’ gesture to the boy, who warily opens his hand. 

Refugees: Isn’t she….That’s the Queenkiller. The Queenkiller?

Panel L2: Hella, with her head bowed, has her arms and shoulders draped with garlands of gems and pearls looted from Nacre. The ends of the strands run down out of the bottom and side of the panel. 

Military functionary: May you always bear the fruits of our holy empire. 

Panel R.2: The boy has a handful of apple candies poured into his palm. He looks up, defiantly. A few candies fall down outside the panel. 

Adelaide, to both panels L.2 and R.2: She holds the end of a pearl garland in one hand and an apple candy in another 

Adelaide: Then tell me…What are you going to do about it, Hella Varal? 

Panel M.3.A: Adaire’s hand drawing the refugee camp in Knoll Hollow into a map of Rosemerrow. 

Panel M.3.B: The Ordennan military camp being drawn outside the refugee camp. 

Panel M.3.C: The wall around Rosemerrow being drawn between the refugee and Ordennan camps as a border. 

Title Text: The Violence of Its Maintenance 

Subtitle: Story and words by Will Xia (boo-cool-robot)

Art and lettering by Brenna (wellnoe)

[deerspherestudios]

I hope you have a wonderful break! I really enjoyed the new update of the game and I can't wait for more aaa !! <33

And I agree about Mychael having different sides to him, the story feels more authentic and especially combined with the action/motion scenes, the game feels so immersive! I really, really love your work on it! The writing, the coding, the visuals, everything!! Even the bad endings is so heartwrenching </3 (ending 4 is my top fav bad ending hehe)

I also wanna ask how you did the moving scenes with the sprites? Like with Mychael falling off the bed because MC punched him (my fav scene, its so funny) and the one with him snatching MC's wrist to avoid touching the mushrooms. Was it hard to figure it out how to do it?

Aaa sorry for the ramble! >< I really love the game :'D and Mychael! Heres a tight hug for him🫂 <33

I've explained the snatching MC's hand animation here!

As for the punch and some other motions, that's actually Ren'Py's transformations.

Ren'Py Ramblings below:

I'm gonna be 100% honest, a lot of these I took from the Lemma Soft and Reddit forums of people providing codes for various movements. It's incredibly helpful and I'm lucky to have found these and being able to implement them into my game!

I can credit them if people ask me to, but I usually google "hit animation renpy/ drop animation renpy/ tremble animation renpy" and got these!

For the 'slap' at the start of Day 3:

transform drop: zoom 6 xalign 0.5 yalign 0.2 ease 0.2 zoom 1 xalign 0.5 yalign .45 easein .175 yoffset -30 easeout .175 yoffset 0 easeout_cubic 1 yoffset 1200

For the 'slap' in Ending 4:

transform slap: zoom 6 xalign 0.4 yalign 0.5 pause.1 ease 0.2 zoom 1 xalign 0.5 yalign .45 easein .175 yoffset -30 easeout .175 yoffset 0

For the 'trembling' in Ending 4:

transform shake: linear 0.090 xoffset -2 linear 0.090 xoffset +0 linear 0.090 yoffset -2 linear 0.090 yoffset +0 repeat

Afterwards I adjust them to my liking. For example, drop and slap are the exact same, with changes in the position and slight timing, since in drop the beginning anchor point is the center of Mychael's face in the sprite image:

And then implement them afterwards as usual:

show [sprite] at [drop/slap/shake]

Hope that helps!

[dotthings]

Some spn Cas history (because yay facts!! Facts are fun!!)

Misha was a guest star in S4. Castiel was originally planned to be a 3 episode and done character, but Misha was so electrifying as Cas, had great chemistry with Jensen, and Cas turned out to be such a compelling character, the show kept him around.

Misha was promoted to regular in S5 and continued in S6.

He was dropped from the show for S7 because Gamble and Singer decided to write out Cas. The network did a lot of fans a solid for once, called up the EP's, and went "hahahaha you aren't really planning to get rid of that fan favorite pretty angel are you???? hahaha ok no really bring him back" and literally refused to let spn get rid of him.

There was for sure a listlessness factor in S7 once Cas was removed. J2 were the anchors in the early seasons. In later seasons, J2M really became the show's center supports, more than just J2. (No, this is not arguable. This is reflected in canon story, and Cas's growth as a character and plot role and emotional role and in promotion for many years. No, I don't care who is offended that I said it. It's not a point of argument).

Jeremy Carver took over as showrunner in S8 and brought Misha in for an 8 episode arc, so Misha was a guest star in S8. Carver wanted to rebuild the character and in S9 Misha was promoted back up to series regular, and he stayed at that status the rest of the series.

Originally, Misha's regular status was denoted by having him third in opening credits after Jared and Jensen, before the "guest starring" section. Eventually Misha was given an "and" credit.

The "and" credit is a contract status thing. It's for series regulars of particular note, usually for a particularly noteworthy performance. Tony Head was "and" status on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. When he stepped back to recurring, Alyson Hannigan became the "and" status.

Some have tried to paint Misha's "and" designator as a sign of his lesser importance, but it's the opposite. It's a promotion and a sign of respect.

A further note, zero fans have attempted to supplant Jared and Jensen as the "top leads" of the show, but it's abundantly fair to label Misha a 3rd lead, given the proportion of Cas's plot and emotion impact on story and Misha's longevity and status. It's semantics, really. If someone gets offended if you say he's a 3rd lead, they're aren't worth your time. Eh, okay, "main character" isn't wrong either, but I'm suspicious of people who break out in hives over calling him "3rd lead"--but main character is a descriptor for Cas's role. SPN at times had 3-4 series regulars, with J2 as the only two constants the entire run of the show, which is why we say J2 are the 2 top leads. But Cas and Misha's importance are also facts.

Misha was "guest star" in S4, 7, and 8. Eventually he got "special guest star" credit during his guest starring era on spn, another indicator of an actor/performance/character of note, but not a series regular. He was a series regular for S5, 6, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15. (No this is not arguable. These are production facts. Some people still, after all this time, try to erase his regular/main character status on spn, and they aren't working in facts).

[mockerycrow]

Soft Moments: Price Edition (GN!Reader)

john price masterlist

Summary: Random soft moments I thought of with the 141 (separately) <3 — mostly you taking care of them! This is PRICE’S SOFT MOMENT.

[WARNINGS: tooth-rotting fluff!]

John had stayed up all night to complete reports that were due in the morning; his eyes burned from the lack of sleep, his eyelids felt heavy, and his mouth was dry—which could have been from the cigars he smokes, but he also kept up on his water intake. He steps inside of his home, dropping his duffel bag to the side right next to the mud mat at the front door. John closes the door and locks it, a heavy sigh leaving his lips.

The exhaustion nips at his body bit by bit and he reads the time— 4:32 AM. He cringes, his lips pulling back as he stares into the darkness of his living room, contemplating why he hasn’t left the service yet because he will have to up in about an hour and a half. John unties his shoes and leaves them by the door, although he doesn’t bother to undress too much. He removes his coat and his hat, tossing it somewhere on the couch before he makes his way down the hall to your shared bedroom. John can’t see you, but once his fingers find you, he’s wrapping his arms around you and he falls into a deep slumber near immediately.

He wakes up—not from his alarm, but from you shaking him awake. He groans and fights to peel his eyelids open, and he’s so tired. His limbs feel like they’re being weighed down by anchors, but he manages to sit up and look at you. You look back at him and cup his cheek, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “Good morning, John,” You mumble. “You got home late, huh?” His eyes fall back to being closed and he lets out a quiet “mhm”, feeling your thumb brush against his cheekbone. He opens his eyes when he feels you get off of your shared mattress, and you grab his hand. “Come on, I’ll help you shave today.”

John’s eyebrows raise for a split second in response, and you pull him out of bed. You stifle a laugh at how sluggish he seems—you feel bad because you know why he’s so tired, but your boyfriend who is usually so alert, so loving, is so exhausted—but he’s still loving. You lead him into the bathroom and you have sit on the closed toilet lid, and you rummage around for his shaving cream and razor. John fights every tired bone in his body to stay upright and awake, and he’s successful when he narrows his eyes at you. “Can I have a cuppa?” He utters, his tone lifting to indicate it’s a question. You put the razor and shaving cream on the sink counter and you glance at him, humor lacing your words. “Will you stay awake long enough for me to get it?”

John snorts and nods, which prompts you to swiftly leave the room. You return only a minute or two later with a steaming mug, and nudge a slumped over John with your foot. “Hmm?” He groans, sitting up as quickly as he can. “Liar.” You tease, holding out the mug to him. John hums noncommittally and he takes the mug from you and takes a gracious sip, and then he sets it on the sink counter as you lather your hands with his shaving cream. He lets out a long and slow sigh as you rub the shaving cream in the spots where he needs it, sparing his beloved mutton chops as silently requested. His stubble feels rough under your fingertips, but you ignore the feeling as you massage the cream into his skin.

John lets his eyes fall closed, enjoying the sensation of your fingers on his face, on his jaw, how careful you try to be with him, no matter what. You always try your best to help him out with anything because you know he has a demanding career, and you try to make it a bit easier for him—especially for when he gets home late on days like these. He has the urge to lick his dry lips, but he’s so tired to the point where even moving his tongue feels like the most intense chore he could do. Instead, he melts into your touches, focusing on the way your fingertips brushing against his face gives him goosebumps, how loving your touch is—

“John.” He clears his throat gently and makes a little “hm?” noise like before, and he hears your quiet laugh. “You were falling asleep on me.” You whisper, slowly dragging the razor in a downwards motion, cutting his stubble. “I’m quite tired, love.” John responds, voice groggy and slurry. He hasn’t even bothered to open his eyes and you roll your eyes with a smile on your face, and you press a soft, loving kiss to his temple which he leans into. “I know, John,” You murmur. “I know.”

[i-wanna-write]

If One’s Different, One’s Bound to be Lonely - Wolverine Fanfic

Fic Synopsis: We know Wolverine and Sabertooth but the reader is known as Jackal. Just like the other two, their mutation is animalistic, lending them healing factors, enhanced physical abilities, and animal senses. This fic details their relationship with the Anchor!Wolverine and how they ended up meeting the Worst!Logan

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Chapter Warnings: Violence, cutting, mentions of sex but no smut, ANGST, brief mention of rape but no details/descriptions

Word Count: 3.5k+

A/N: We’ve finally reached a movie!!!! This chapter doesn’t have much dialogue but moves the plot along!

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///

It’s been years since your intimate night with James. You recall it having been 1965 or ‘66 when you two finally gave into your instincts, sharing that night together.

He left a few days later, leaving to join the Vietnam war with Victor. It made you feel weird. You felt different knowing you wouldn’t run in to him. That you wouldn’t move and see him randomly in the woods, or at a gas station, or a bar.

Rather than dwelling on that thought for long, you fell back into a your old routine. Moving every 3 months, hunting for food, and reading. Only this time, you had soemthing to look forward to - the end of the war.

And It finally did end - in 1975. So your focus shifted to waiting for James to return. To looking forward to where your life would take you next, maybe James by your side.

Months though turned into years, and years turned into five. Now it’s 1980 and you haven’t seen James. It’s been about fifteen years and at this point, your night with James and all past run ins seem like a dream.

A year or two ago you found a cabin in Canada, secluded just how you like it. You were in town to stock up on food when you visited the library with the intent to steal some books. However, you somehow ended up with a job there.

The job allows you to be around the thing you love, and not interact with most people. You simply organize the books and put them away once they’ve been returned. You may have to answer the occasional question, but for the most part, you’re alone.

Just how you like it.

The library is quiet so you have no overwhelming sound. Not many people visit so you don’t have to fight your instincts. You can just be around what you love in silence.

Your days consist of work, reading, and watching the moon at night. Your cabin is secluded enough you are able to enjoy the silence of nature, no sounds of the city to bother you.

All that led you to now, partaking in your usual nightly routine. You’re currently sitting on the porch, whiskey in hand as you watch the moon rise into the sky. If you had to guess, it’s almost a full moon and you like thinking the animals will soon be noisier.

You take a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air. With your mutation you’ve come to understand through the years that another reason you love solitude is the smell. Being in cities and around others was never a pleasant aroma.

You take another breath when you catch a familiar scent. You immediately tense, feeling your heartrate begin to increase. Your mind has to be playing tricks on you.

It can’t be.

You haven’t smelt the familiar whiskey and cigar in so many years.

Your gaze moves from the moon to the tree line to the first floor when you see a familiar build. There standing, flannel donned with a bag slung over his shoulder, is James.

You rise, forgetting your whiskey and immediately running off the steps and towards him. He seemed to have the same thought as you meet in the middle. His bag dropping as you jump into his arms, legs hugging around his waist.

Your own arms are around his neck while his own hold you up by your ass. Your lips immediately find his and you moan on the contact.

They’re soft, tasting of tobacco and solely James. Your mouths move hastily against each other, neither of you able to get enough of the other. He presses his tongue into your mouth and you let him take over the kiss, content to just be in his presence.

The kiss ends all too soon but James doesn’t let you go. He allows your legs to drop form his waist but keeps his hands on your ass, keeping you close. Your head is tucked into his chest, his own resting on your head.

You’re both silent a moment, just relishing in being together again. His heart pounds strongly beneath your ear and you have to stop tears from falling. He’s finally here.

“Fuck I missed you sweetheart.” He whispers against you before placing a kiss on your head.

“Fifteen years James.” You mumble against his chest.

“I go by Logan now.” You pull away at that, looking into his brown eyes, eyes you missed so much l, as you arch an eyebrow.

You’re able to take him in. Though fifteen years has passed he still looks the same. His hairs is longer than before, tufts still on either side but more prominent. He has a few wrinkles and there seems to be bags under his eyes.

You frown at that, not knowing what he’s been through. You lower your hands from his neck, grabbing his to take them off you. You grab his right hand in your left.

“Come, I’ll make dinner and you can tell me anything you want.”

…

That night, after dinner and many moments together to try to make up for the past years, the two of you lay in bed, sweaty and naked. He shared with you how Victor and he fought in the war for a few years before Victor fucked it up.

Ever the narcisstic masgonist he is, he attempted to rape a vietnamese woman and killed a Senior officer who tried to stop him. This led to himself and Jam- Logan, being brought in front of a firing squad.

He shared how he and Victor were than imprisoned because the bullets obviously didn’t work. How they were approached by a man named William Stryker to join a team of mutants.

They took him up on the offer.

James decided to go by his biological father’s surname - Logan. You finally learned how Victor and James were half brothers - that they shared the same father. It was only revealed when Logan went through puberty, as his mutation showed itself and Victor, being older, already had the mutation.

He shared how, throughout his time with weapon X - the mutants team - it turned into something he didn’twant to be a part of. The other mutants on the team and Stryker himself were brutal. Viscous. They couldn’t control themselves and had no empathy for those they were after or can across. All this was what James was against.

So he left.

He finally left Victor.

In turn, you shared with him your time apart. Your job at the library and how you’ve lived in this cabin awhile now. You live a quiet life, not worrying about being found out or running to the next cabin.

You were almost happy there.

He of course teased you about ‘becoming domesticated’. How he was off using his instincts while you were the one who ignored them. How the two of you seemed to have switched.

But you tell Logan how he was always the piece missing. How you missed not hiding your true self and instincts like you did with him. How being with him, you didn’t feel different. Didn’t feel lonely.

So Logan settled in with you, getting a job as a local lumberjack, putting his flannels to use. You lived a quiet life together for six years. You both left each morning to go to work, returning for a quiet night of dinner, whiskey, and sex.

Until everything changed again.

…

Tonight you and Logan lay in bed naked, tangled in your sheets and drenched in sweat. You’re laying with your head on his chest, right arm playing with his chest ahir. One of his arms is around your waist, the other smoothing your hair back and forth, a cigar hanging from his lips.

You tried to stop him from smoking in bed but it was a losing battle. Besides, the scent of them became soothing to you and now helps you fall asleep everynight. That, and just knowing he’s here, safe and with you.

The only lights in the room are his cigar and the moon. The embers alight Logan’s face, showing his stubble that lines his jaw and his deep brown eyes. To you, he looks the most peaceful in moments like this.

Like he hasn’t fought in numerous wars, seen terrible things, done terrible things. It’s moments like this you cherish the most. You can both be yourself and not care about all the factors of the outside world.

Logan catches your eyes and gives you a quizzical look. “What?” He asks, cigar between his teeth.

“Nothing.” You say to him, continuing to just stare.

“I can feel your eyes on me.”

“Just admiring your beauty.” You say, smiling brightly.

Logan chickles. “Smartass.” He says before taking the cigar from his mouth to place a kiss on your forehead.

You smile at the feeling, always feeling safe with him.

“Want to hear a story I read today.” You ask him.

He places the cigar back in his mouth, taking another drag. You watch as the smoke leaves his mouth, always amazed at how cool he makes it look. It’s funny that nothing can really kill him. So he may as well relish in the things the average human cannot do so often without the risk of cancer.

“What’d you read about today, sweetheat?” He places his hand back onto your hip, pulling you closer if possible.

“It’s about why the moon is so lonely.” You start, your voice soft. “It used to have a lover named Kuekuastheu and they walked the skies together. Everyone was jealous of the relationship but a spirit, Trickster was the most envious and planned to break the relationship.

He told Kuekuastheu that the moon wanted some wild roses from the normal world. So he went to get them, not knowing that once you leave the spirit world, you can never come back.

When Kuekuastheu returned he found out he couldnt re-enter. The moon was so sad so she got help from the sun to give her light power to her love. Keukuastheu asked the Master to turn into a wolf because when he went into the forest, he saw how harsh men were.

He saw how they cut a wolf to get its fur and eat it, so he chose a wolf to help them. He made people fear them and good came out of it, for whenever a wolf barred its teeth, it was a better option to run rather then hit or kill it.

But Keukuastheus still loves the moon so much that at night he goes to the cliff top and howls her name. For she can never be with him again.” You finish, a tear leaving your eye as you can’t imagine that kind of loss.

“You know what Keukuastheus means in the Native American language?” Logan whispers, looking you in your eye.

You shake your head. The sad fable did not reveal that.

“Wolverine.” Logan says.

You frown at that, suddenly not liking the symbolism. You don’t want to be his moon. He your Keukuastheus.

“Well, now it’s creepy and sad rather then romantic and sad.” You point out, a pout forming on your lips.

Logan snorts, shaking his head. He discards his cigar with his hand on your waist, stuffing it into the ashtray on his night stand. He then re-grabs your hip, pulling you half on top of him before lowering his head into your hair, giving your head one more kiss.

“It’s just a fable sweetheart, go to sleep.”

You close your eyes, feeling safe, happy, and not alone.

…

You're standing in your kitchen, making dinner for you and Logan. Another bright side of settling down near a town is frequent grocery shopping. You’d be lying if you said you missed hunting rabbit and deer as your source of daily protein.

You’re in the middle of seasoning some steaks, prepared to peal potatoes when the front door opens. A smile graces your face, surprised but happy Logan is home early.

“You’re home early.” You say, turning to face him.

Only it’s not Logan. Instead, it’s someone you havent seen in twenty years.

Victor.

“Sorry frail, figured you and I have some catchin’ up to do.” He says, walking closer to you.

You take in the man you loathed from the moment you met him. He still looks the same. Short hair on the top of his head with stubble lining his jaw. His canines are on full display, his claws grown on his hands which are at his side.

“Wasn’t expecting company.” You say, watching his every move, ready to fight if needed.

He continues to walk closer to you, looking around the place you’ve grown to call home. He slides his nails over the top of the couch, ripping it and you watch as the stuffing falls out. He moves closer to you and you take a step from the counter, knowing not to get yourself backed into a corner.

You watch as Victor leans his head up, nose flaring as he takes in the scent around him. He flashes you a smile. “Seems you and the runt might end up with some runts of your own based on the smell of this place.”

“What do you want Victor.” You say, arms crossed over your chest.

You know he’s not here for chit-chat. But you’ve ripped his throat out twice and you wont hesitate to do it a third.

Victor shrugs. “I mean, we’re practically family. Just wanna see how my little bro is treating his misses.”

“Cut the shit.” You snap, anger rising and teeth threatening to elongate. “I know what you’ve done the past years and I know sure as shit you’re not here to ‘catch up’.”

Victor smiles again, shaking his head. “Knew he didn’t like you just for your looks.” He crosses his own arms across his chest, mirroring you. “My… Colleague, has an interest in you. He wants a little meeting.”

You let out a laugh. “Not a chance in hell. And i suggest you fuck off before I make you.”

“I’m not sure, domestication seems to have made you soft.”

You growl at that, teeth elongated and claws growing. You know he’s bating you into a fight. You know he is. But your instincts are telling you to attack. To go for the throat. To finally make his heart stop beating.

Your instincts win out.

With a growl, you go to attack. Victor is just as ready. The two of you meet in the middle, his claws slicing into your shoulders while your own enter his stomach.

You grunt, pulling away and turning back to look at the man. He moves to attack again and you take the defensive, blocking the hit. You quickly turn, claws out and manage to slice his arm. He looks down at it, rage in his eyes before coming at you again, teeth bared.

He goes for your throat but you manage to get your own hand up, him taking a chunk out of your arm. You groan at the pain and grab the nearest thing, your potatoes peeler, and shred it down his face so he lets go.

You go to attack again as he’s momentarily distracted, swiping at his throat and managing to scratch him but not missing the jugular. Blood sprays your kitchen and you grab a chair, aiming to hit him. He quickly rips it out of your hands and growls.

He lands a punch to your face, your head going to the side and body flying back as you land on your on your ass and elbows. He rushes over to you but you move your legs, swiping his out from under him. This time he’s the one to land on his back and you quickly straddle him.

“Want to be with a real man?” He grunts to you, bucking up his hips.

You grimace in disgust and lean down, teeth aiming for his neck. They never get to make contact as he bucks again, this time with his hands on your hips and flip your position. His hands immediately find your neck and they enclose around them.

You feel your breathing cease and throat start to crush. You try to move you head up towards him, teeth bared to snap at his arms. Your hands are on his face, scratch any surface you can get but to no avail. He’s older, stronger, quicker, and more feral.

“Thanks for the rematch frail.” Victor says before you feel a pinch in your neck and everything goes dark.

…

“It’s amazing she isn’t already with child.” A voice calls you out of your unconsciousness.

You slowly open your eyes, the vision blurry before coming into view. You’re met with a room that looks like a hospital operation room, the scent of saline and disinfectant meeting your nose.

You look down to see you're in only a hospital gown. Your legs are spread open, knees and ankles strapped down. You let out a low growl, teeth and claws growing as you try to free your hands.

You hear a loud, fast beeping and hear someone speak. “She’s awake, sir.”

You try to look around for the noise but cannot see who spoke it.

“Fuckign Mutants, can’t do anything right. Give her another dose, I’m not done extracting yet.”

You have no idea what that means but know it’s not good. You immediately start to pull on the restraints, trying to free yourself. Soon though, you feel another prick in your neck and the world turns dark again.

…

The next time you awake the smell is the exact opposite of the first time. It's the stench of body odor, feces, and blood. You slowly open your eyes to see you’re in a cell laying on a dirty cot.

You immediately rise to your feet only for them to collapse, not able to hold your weight. You slowly stand back up, moving to sit on the edge of the cot.

You look around to notice the room is dark, only one window outside of the cell and in the hall. The cell itself having no window of its own. It consists of only the cot and a bucket in the corner.

Next you move back to your sense of smell, already covering the stenches. You can make out two unfamiliar scents and nothing else. You allow your ears to strain, hearing two separate heartbeats and breaths.

“Hello?” You call out, noticing your voice is hoarse.

“New girl, that you?” A voice calls from your right.

“I guess.” You reply, hand reaching out to rub along your throat as if to soothe the hoarseness.

“They’ve had you sedated for a month. Never saw someone fight as hard.” The voice from your left calls.

Your mind swirls You have no idea where you are. You don’t remember anything that has been done to you. Moments like this you’re grateful but also upset that you have your regenerative ability. You have no idea what has been done to you.

That thought scares you.

“Where are we?” You question.

“A facility they experiment on mutants.” the voice says angrily.

Great. Of course fucking Victor would drop you off here. Your mind thinks to Logan, wondering where he is. If he’s looking for you. If he thinks you’re dead.

You know that when he returned home he saw a blood massacre in the cabin. He probably would have smelt Victor as well as yourself, knowing the two of you fought. The question is, what did Victor do to him once Logan found him?

You don’t have time to think more on that, as an alarm is sounded throughout the hall. You rise, your legs cooperating this time and watch as your cell opens. You rush out, seeing that the two on either side of you are just kids, no older then the age of fifteen.

“Damn!” the boy on your left shouts. “You look like shit.”

You glance down, noticing that you’re in a half ripped shirt and dirty sweatpants. You see that you cell neighbors, the other a girl, are dressed in clean white t-shirts and sweats. Looks like you didn’t get any special treatment.

You lift your head, listening for any sound or smell of someone else. You hear feet moving from outside your hall, following them and smelling they’re all the same as the children next to you. Mutants running towards freedom.

“Come on,” you tell them, turning to your right. “Outside is this way.”

“How do you know?” the girl questions, looking scared.

You tap your nose with your finger, then repeat it to one of you ears. “My mutation.”

You then start running towards the hallway exit, knowing they’ll follow you. You open the locked door easily with your strength, looking out to see more teenagers running in the direction you suspected.

You allow your neighbors to go first before following, running along with the kids. You look around and notice this hallway is just a stretch with doors on either side, you’re assuming housing cells like the one you were just in.

You continue to run, noticing how there are staff on the floor, dead. You hold no ill feelings towards that, happy to just be out of this hell hole where you don’t even remember what you went through.

Soon, sunlight reaches your eyes and you soon exit the facility, grass under your bearfeet. You watch as the children are guided on to a jet, a woman dressed in black ushering them in.

You want answers. You want to know where Logan is, what happened to him. Where Victor is. You wouldn’t mind tearing out his throat, for good this time.

Deciding to not follow the others, you turn to walk towards the tree line. You’ve survived in the woods numerous of times and you know you can do it again. Your plan of action is to find out where you are, get home, then find Logan if he’s not there.

A hand suddenly stops you, causing you to turn and ready to fight. Having grabbed you is a man also dressed in black, similar to that of the woman. He’s wearing sunglasses and is tall, probably six feet with broad shoulders.

“Where are you going, jet’s this way.” The man says, his hand now on your own.

You jerk your hand out of his grasp. “To get answers.” you say, not owing this man anything.

“Revenge wont get you anything.” The man says, trying to persuade you to come with him.

You shoot him a smile, all teeth elonged and claws grown.

“I’m the Jackal. I can get anything.”

You then turn your back to the man, continuing to walk to the treeline.

…

After escaping the facility, you found out you were still in Canada and only about two hundred miles from your home. You stayed moving in the woods for a week, hunting and gathering your strength.

Afterwards, you found a nearby cabin that was empty but lived in. You broke in, helped yourself to a shower and change of clothes before packing a bag of food and leaving. You trekked through the woods for another week, allowing your scent of smell to guide you back home.

Finally you reached it, noticing how it looked run down. You immediately ran in to see the aftermath of your fight with Victor from a month ago. Blood was all over the kitchen cabinets, piles on the floor. The couch was torn apart, the kitchen table broken.

You walked into your bedroom, seeing the room the same as when you were last there. You sat down on the bed, the scent of Logan lingering.

Tears suddenly gathered in your eyes and you let out a sob as they continued to fell. You were angry. So angry. How Victor could come in and take you. How you were able to let yourself be taken and experimented on.

You were frustrated. Confused. You had no idea what has happened to you the past month and frustrated you couldn’t remember. One of the kids said you were sedated for a month and you cannot imagine what happened during that time.

You were sad. Sad for all those kids that undergone something that you might’ve. That they were just different and that meant they could be taken and experimented on.

But most of all you were sad cause you lost Logan again. You had Logan for six years, you were finally normal, not different. But it all had to go and change. And you have no idea where he is or what happened to him.

It seemed you really were the moon, and Logan Kuekuastheu.

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///

Tag List: @randomblogzsblog, @sebastianstanblog, @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @somiaw @sseleniaa

A/N: I cannot find where I found a fuller version of the Moon and the Wolverine story. I hope I did it justice.

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

okay here's part 6! this literally was not meant to be as long as it is, but i got carried away while doing some archery research... and here we are.

hope you guys enjoy! part 7 will be uploaded tomorrow!

(p.s if you're an archer/know archery and i get stuff wrong please don't yell at me, google can only give me so much info hdshdshdh)

the post/thread that started this whole au

dinner scene: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 7 | part 8

there's a masterlist now!

*athena had left not long after midday, but not before saying she’d see them all later at dinner*

*telemachus, odysseus & penelope are all together in the palace gardens*

*penelope is sitting on a bench, with odysseus also laying on it & his head in her lap as they watch telemachus practice using a bow and arrow* 

telemachus: *trying to aim for the centre of the target in front of him*

telemachus: *struggling but wants to show his parents what his training with athena is doing for him*

telemachus: *lets the bowstring go*

*the arrow flies through the air, but misses the centre of the target completely and hits the edge of the target*

telemachus: *drops the arm holding his bow to his side and sighs in disappointment*

penelope: *looks at her son and then looks down at odysseus*

odysseus: *looks up from his son to meet penelope’s eyes*

*both seem to have a conversation through their eyes*

odysseus: *smiles and nods at penelope*

odysseus: *gets up from penelope’s lap and walks over to telemachus*

penelope: *smiles while watching odysseus head over to their son*

odysseus: don’t be disappointed son, go ahead and nock another arrow

telemachus: *does as his father says*

odysseus: now draw and anchor, as you normally would

telemachus: *again does what odysseus asks*

odysseus: *looks at his son’s pose* ah i see some of the problem

odysseus: *gently takes hold of telemachus’ drawn back elbow* 

odysseus: ok your elbow needs to be a bit higher, and just straighten your back a little…

telemachus: *follows odysseus’ instructions*

odysseus: *stepping back so he’s not in the way* that's perfect! now breathe in as you would, but not to the point it hurts! 

odysseus: and then as you go to let the string go breathe out but not all the way, about only half way

telemachus: *breathes in as he aims for the centre of the target again*

telemachus: *steadily breathes out and releases the string*

*the arrow flies through the air again… and hits just slightly off the centre of of the target*

telemachus: *looks at the target in disbelief but in also joy*

odysseus: *cheers in happiness for his son* you did it!

penelope: *clapping and calling out to her son* well done telemachus! 

telemachus: *drops his bow and turns to his father*

telemachus: *gives odysseus a hug* thank you father!

odysseus: *hugging his son back* no need to thank me, i’m happy to be able to help teach you!

telemachus: *lets odysseus go while smiling*

odysseus: *looks down at telemachus’ bow then picks up it up and grabs an arrow*

odysseus: *nocks it with ease and shoots it in the blink of an eye*

*the arrow hits the dead centre of the target* 

odysseus: *turns and hands the bow back to telemachus*

odysseus: now, how about you keep practising? once you have this completely down i’ll teach you other things you can do with a bow

odysseus: *hand under his chin in thought* i’ll have to get an archer’s ring commissioned for you

telemachus: *stares at his father in shock at how easy he made that look* i didn't know you knew so much about archery- i mean…

telemachus: *thinks back to when odysseus shot an arrow through 12 axe heads*

penelope: *giggles to herself as she realises even their son doesn’t know about his father’s mastery & skill with a bow*

odysseus: *looks over at penelope, and then he understands just why she's giggling*

odysseus: *now looks at telemachus with an amused expression*

telemachus: *sees his father’s expression*

telemachus: *holds his hands (with the bow still in one of them) up hoping he hasn’t offended his father*

telemachus: not saying you didn’t know how to use one! 

telemachus: i thought you just knew the basics and that ‘trick’ you did to prove yourself, was originally just to impress mother?

telemachus: *puts his arms down and then looks down towards his father’s hands* besides, that ring you wear on your thumb is just a normal one like the other’s you wear isn’t it? 

telemachus: it certainly doesn’t look like any archer ring i've seen before at the markets…

odysseus: *laughs to himself and holds up his hand* oh this? you’re right it doesn’t look like an archer ring.

odysseus: *rubs his thumb along his index finger* that's because it isn’t a normal one

telemachus: *looks again at his father’s ring to see it now has a point to it like any standard archer ring*

telemachus: *looks up at odysseus’ face, then back down to his hand and then back up to his face again* 

telemachus: but- you- it- hOW?

odysseus: *rubs his thumb against his index finger again and the ring is back to looking like any standard ring* 

odysseus: *looks from telemachus to penelope* ask your mother, it was a gift from her

telemachus: *immediately swivels to face her*

penelope: well, as you’ve now found out…your father isn't one to let people know he’s a skilled archer, so i ‘commissioned’ an archer ring to be made for him that could hide as a normal ring when not needed. 

telemachus: wow! the jeweller who made this certainly is skilled then

penelope: *thinks back to asking athena if she could try to get hephaestus to make one*

penelope: yeah skilled indeed 

telemachus: *turns back to odysseus* so why didn’t you want people to know? about your skills as an archer i mean.

odysseus: sometimes it's best to not reveal all your strengths

odysseus: *grins while shrugging* keeping people guessing is also fun

odysseus: *walks to telemachus and ruffles his hair* anyway, back to practising! i’m going to head back over to your mother, but call me if you want me to assist with anything ok?

telemachus: ok!

*time passes as telemachus keeps on practising, odysseus is back to laying in penelope’s lap while she caresses his hair*

*odysseus wants to keep watching his son but is struggling to not fall asleep from penelope's motions*

*telemachus notices so decides to discuss some final dinner plans with his mother*

telemachus: so the cooks have everything they need for tonight, right? are you sure you don’t need me to quickly run down to the market for anything? 

penelope: *smiles reassuringly at telemachus* they do, and if on the off chance they don’t i'm sure one of them will go to the market themselves. no need to worry yourself my son.

telemachus: *nods while getting another arrow ready* 

telemachus: *starts pulling the string back when he has another thought*

telemachus: oh what about the seating plan? i should probably tell fathe-

penelope: *who knows about athena’s seating plan, and also knows that odysseus doesn’t (hey she wants to have some fun too ok?)*

penelope: *forgetting about her husband peacefully half-asleep in her lap*

penelope: *jumping up from the bench* NO-

telemachus: *not expecting his mother’s outburst*

telemachus: *lets the string go accidentally and also having lost his aim*

odysseus: *falls off penelope’s lap and the bench with a startled yelp*

*meanwhile the loose arrow now wizzes straight past the target, through the garden trees and over the palace cliffs, heading into what looks to be its final destination of…. the sea*

telemachus: *turns to face his parents* mother, are you ok? why did you yell no?

penelope: oh um… i’m sorry for shouting telemachus 

penelope: what i meant to say was, there's no need to spoil anything. we’ll keep it as a surprise!

telemachus: uh ok…

odysseus: *face down on the ground and groaning from the sudden series of events*

odysseus: *pushes himself up and looks at his wife*

odysseus: penelope why?

penelope: *laughs a little at odysseus’ rumpled state* 

penelope: *helps him up* 

penelope: i’m sorry my love *kisses him on the cheek*

odysseus: *smiles at the kiss and then brushes his clothing free of dust*

odysseus: what were you two talking about anyway?

telemachus: uhh-

penelope: -the final bits for dinner! speaking of which, we should all go and start getting ready!

penelope: *points at the sun starting to set* helios is not long from being done for the day, and i'm sure when selene takes to the skies, our dinner guests won't be long!

penelope: *starts to head inside* come along you two!

telemachus: *to odysseus* what about the archery equipment?

odysseus: *shrugs* we’ll deal with it later

*telemachus & odysseus follow penelope back into the palace*

[jimilter]

on the borderline — 05 | pjm. (m)

Park Jimin has been your buoy, your anchor and the ship of sanity that guides you to shore amid storms of self-doubt, nearly all your life; as have you been his. That is not to say nothing has ever brewed beneath the surface of platonic friendship, or that the two of you have never been victims to mistiming. Regardless, you would never risk the friendship you have with him now for anything. Even if you have to hurt him – or even yourself – in the process.

pairing: jimin x reader

rating: m (18+)

genre: angst | drama | friends to lovers!au

word count: 7.6 k

— warnings: swearing + repeated mention & description of sex (some gets detailed and explicit, hence the rating!) + mention of a past toxic relationship + perhaps a present toxic relationship? + the worst kind of emotional constipation + misunderstandings + lies and pretense +one-sided feelings + reader is a bigger mess + jimin is a mess too :/

— note: HAPPY NEW YEAR 2025, PEOPLE! <3 it was excruciating getting back into this one but it was also kinda therapeutic bec real life has been whooping my ass :( i have begun writing the sixth part too bec i truly forreal wish to complete this series without taking another year helP!

ps. the rating, genre and warnings mentioned above pertain to this chapter, only.

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𝐕 ⇢ 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓 ♪ between heaven and disaster

07:03 AM | Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 hey sorry i missed all your calls and texts :( i figured u would ask abt seokjin and the date and i kinda didn’t wanna talk abt it not necessarily in a bad way just a “let me figure it out first” way which still doesn’t excuse ghosting u so i AM rly sorry :( how was your flight? and the dinner meeting?

07:16 AM ↳ SHE LIVES!!!!!! ↳ Good morning Grumpkincess <3 ↳ All that you said about your date has just made 1000x curious now yk ↳ Oh, and I had a horrible flight ↳ My partner drooled on my $70 shirt 😭 ↳ Barely had time to change it before our meeting at 4 UGH

Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 good morning WHAT now ? that better not be a new pet name park jimin

↳ Yes it is, Grumpkincess ↳ A grumpy pumpkin princess ↳ Adorable right?

Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 ykw your cringe ass deserved getting your shirt ruined karma 🖕

↳ Ihy 🖕 ↳ Ok enough of this can we pls talk???

Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 ??? are we not talking?

Jimin rears back from his phone almost violently. Did you, of all people, really just imply that texting is equivalent to talking? He is pretty sure that of the entire time that the two of you have lived in separate towns, you have spent more than half of it on video calls with each other.

That is talking for the two of you.

Or at least it used to be, before he got onto this flight which has apparently landed him in some parallel universe. 

He immediately sits up in bed and calls you.

And you immediately disconnect the call.

What?

His jaw is still dropped when his phone vibrates in his palm again, indicating an incoming voice call from you. Scowling, Jimin nearly whines a what the fuck into the phone.

“I look like dogshit, dude, please,” you groan from your end.

“Seriously? You’re telling me you won’t show me your face because you look bad?” Rolling his eyes, Jimin reclines on his bed, a little assured at hearing your voice but also a little confused by your words. “Dude. I’ve seen you with puke all over your clothes, I’ve seen you with cum on your face, I’ve seen you with a black eye, I’ve seen you with—”

“Okay, I get it!” you interrupt with another groan. “I feel like dogshit, then. Is that better?”

Now he is concerned. “No. Obviously. How can that be better? Babe, what’s going on? You’re being…”

“Weird? Bitchy? Whiny? Annoying?”

“No, just…” He bites his bottom lip. “A little unlike yourself.”

“Wow, that's worse.” You give a small sigh. “I’ll be fine, I just need to recalibrate my head. Don't worry.” 

How can he not worry when you sound this tired and timid? Jimin almost wants to ask if Seokjin has something to do with it. But then his brain starts to conjure up images featuring exactly how that man could have tired you out and that leaves a bad taste in his mouth, followed by a series of negative emotions that make his heart race and his head hurt.

He went through this same series of emotions last evening, too, when you didn’t respond to his messages. He doesn’t want to give himself enough time to analyze any part of it, though, because he isn’t ready to face what he might uncover.

“How can I help?” he ends up asking, because putting his mind to literally anything else would be better than self-introspection right now.

You don’t respond immediately and everything is so quiet that Jimin can hear your breathing on the other side. Then you hum. “Honestly? Just give me a little time, Min. I’ll be fine.”

“Time? As in…time away from this conversation?”

“Yes, dork. Some time by myself, with my thoughts.” You chuckle as you say the words but Jimin doesn’t find them funny. 

He swallows the tight discomfort in the back of his throat and scoffs in response, though. “Well, okay then. Your funeral. And here I was thinking I will tell you about this weirdly snobbish butler-assistant guy the clients brought with them to the meeting last night.”

“Wait, butler-assistant?” You exclaim with a curious scoff, and Jimin smiles at the spark of the familiar humour that tinges your voice. “What the fuck is that?”

“Escapes me! They had this Alfred lookalike guy driving their limo, who joined in when they sat at the table with us, and—get this—dude kept interrupting me to tell his boss the time every fifteen minutes! What fucking clownery!” Jimin pauses to inhale, slightly disappointed when he hears you give a distant chuckle. You’re not invested. Your head’s somewhere else. He doesn’t want to share his story anymore. “I might sock him in the face if pulls that shit again, today.”

You give a hum in response, which sounds decidedly half-hearted. “I’m sure your intimidating scowls would’ve scared him away already, Min. He probably won’t join your meeting today.”

Jimin’s mouth slowly parts at the unfamiliarity of your remark. You never miss any opportunity to roast him about being a pacifist. How did you allow his claim of throwing a punch to go by so easily? 

And intimidating scowls? What happened to calling them ‘little bitch stare-downs’?

First you refuse to show him your face, sticking to this annoying voice call that’s overheating his phone because he doesn't have his airpods with him right now, and then you’re talking in a language that is so unlike you.

The discomfort in the back of his throat swells into a strange feeling that reaches the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah, I hope so… Sure.” His words come out low, hoarse and confused. So he clears his throat and puts a grin on his face. “Anyways! You sound like you need a fat nap to function like yourself again – I'll allow you to have that.”

“Mm-hm, I agree.” It could be his imagination, but you sound almost relieved. “I’ll call you soon, okay? Say hi to Tara for me.”

Jimin grunts and disconnects the call, immediately tossing his phone away as if it has personally offended him. Well maybe not the device, but the caller certainly has.

Just then, the door to the suite’s balcony opens and shuts, footsteps making their way to the other twin bed opposite the one he's lying on. He's almost counting down the seconds before a comment is made, and he doesn't have to wait long, when:

“Trouble in paradise?” comes Min Yoongi's taunting lilt.

Exhaling in ire, Jimin rolls his eyes. “For the last time: there’s no paradise to trouble, Yoongi.”

“You know what I mean, dude. You look worried. And frustrated. It's got to be about…her.”

Jimin winces at the emphasis on the pronoun. “She's not Voldemort, dude, you can say her name. What the fuck?”

“Ah, is that so? Then how about… the love of your life?” 

“Yoongi! Stop with that already, man. It's not like that between us, we’re just friends who lean on each other for support,” Jimin speaks on autopilot, having perfected the words he has been repeating ever since his colleagues got to know about your existence in his life. “It’s a strange dynamic but it works out well for—”

“Oh, shut up, King of Delusions. About time you stop fooling yourself and me with that bullcrap.” Now it's Yoongi's turn to scoff at Jimin. “Your feelings for her are becoming more and more obvious with time. And if I can see them with such clarity, I bet that you can as well. Which only means that you’re knowingly turning a blind eye. And it is pissing me off.”

So, yeah, this isn't the first time Jimin's hearing this lecture from his friend. 

It’s always the same story whenever any mention of you happens in Min Yoongi’s vicinity. Jimin should, ideally, be immune to the non-stop badgering, but the older guy somehow always manages to bring in fresh points to the table, so Jimin is forced to react with even louder groans, each time.

“When the hell are you going to admit you’re in love with her?”

“I’m literally not,” Jimin’s complaint comes out as a whine, and he mentally counts down the seconds till Yoongi will bring up the fact that he was stopped from pursuing you by Jimin. He wonders if the actual reason why Yoongi does this is because the guy still has a crush on you and feels resentful towards Jimin for not letting him ask you out. “Please stop.”

“You’re not in love? Sure, buddy. You forbade me from pursuing her like some alpha male protective of his mate… doesn't get more soulmate-y than that!” Yoongi rolls his eyes with a grimace. “When the fuck are you going to face yourself?”

“This again? Seriously? I've told you countless times that I did that because she was uncomfortable with your affections,” he reminds Yoongi for what feels like the hundredth time. “I was being a good friend.”

“Right, and she still doesn't know anything about it, does she? She still thinks I stopped pursuing her because I lost interest. Why haven't you told her you had a talk with me?”

Jimin closes his eyes and drags both his palms down his face because Yoongi is absolutely correct. “I… Because it doesn't concern her.”

Yoongi is silent for a while. When Jimin peeks past his fingers to see if the guy may have fallen asleep, he finds Yoongi gaping at him. “Are you even listening to yourself? You stopped me from pursuing her because she's uncomfortable, but telling her about it doesn't concern her? Make it make sense, Park!” He scoffs. “Does she even know we're friends? Does she know you're on this trip with me?”

Jimin remains silent, slowly turning his head to the other direction. “Not really. Told her I'm accompanied by Tara,” he mumbles, only for Yoongi to give a dramatic gasp.

“What? She doesn't know we're friends? Why the fuck would you lie to her about me? Are you ashamed of me, you asshole? And Tara, of all people? What the fuck is wrong with your head?”

Jimin almost laughs at Yoongi’s horrified expressions, but then stops himself because he half suspects the guy might toss him off the balcony if irritated enough, and they’re on the twentieth floor. “It's just… It never came up, I guess? I… don't really talk to her about work much…” His excuse is so weak it makes him physically cringe.

“You were literally just crying to her about our client's butler…”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Jimin sits up, sliding back to rest his head against the headboard, and looks up at the ceiling. “I don't know why I couldn't tell her. But it's not because I'm in love with her, okay? That doesn't even make sense because I still tease her about you for fun. And I also didn't stop you from pursuing her because I wanna be with her, or anything. I don't have those kinds of feelings for her. Promise.”

“Okay. What kind of feelings do you have for her then?”

Jimin opens his mouth to reiterate that you're just friends, briefly shutting his eyes in exasperation—and then freezes. 

An entire cinematic reel of images sets in motion behind his closed eyelids, all featuring your eyes, your skin, your warmth — and his intimacy with them. The darkened haze of your gaze when he pulled away from kissing you. The softness of the skin of your shoulder when he dug his teeth into it; the taste of your skin. Of you. He can nearly smell the scent of your hair in his lungs and can hear the short, hitched breaths you puffed out next to his ears. 

His heart rate kicks up and sweat dots his forehead within the seconds it takes for him to open his eyes again.

It is as if he got dunked into scalding hot water, stifling him and overwhelming all his senses all at once. He feels warm all over. His chest feels heavier than before.

Shit.

This isn't the kind of behavior someone’s ‘just friend’ would exhibit. These aren’t the kind of thoughts he has ever had about you, before.

Shit. 

“Well?” Yoongi is looking at him expectantly with zero judgement in his gaze. “What kind of feelings, Jimin?”

He and Yoongi share a sort of bond where they serve as each other’s sounding boards about decisions that they take at work, with their team. That is not to say that they aren’t good friends and only talk about work. But it’s just that these conversations have never really included much honesty from Jimin’s end whenever the topic hovered over you. 

Jimin can feel that he is about to change that now, though. 

He breathes in and honestly confesses to Yoongi what he hasn't even said to himself out loud, yet: “They’re… confusing.” 

Yoongi nearly jumps off his bed and lands on one corner of Jimin's, eyebrows raised and mouth agape. “Confusing? Not strictly platonic the way they used to be? Dude…” He shakes his head in awe. “This is new. What's changed?” 

Jimin fiddles with his thumbs, lips pursed together as he finds himself caught in a very uncharacteristic fit of nervousness. “So there's this… this thing that happened before I left for this trip… And it changed some things, I guess?”

Yoongi blinks at him, expressions dropped to a deadpan. “You slept with her, didn't you?”

“Wha—how the hell—”

“I’m older than you, I've seen more in this world than you have, so hush with the theatrics. Tell me what happened after that.”

Well. Where does he begin? “She… went on a date with a guy, so—”

“A date? Right after the day you had sex with her?”

Jimin clicks his tongue and shoves Yoongi's shoulder. “Yes and it's not a big deal, okay? We decided that we are going to move ahead and remain the kind of best friends we've always been. And she'd made plans for that date before we slept together, so it's all completely fine.”

Yoongi is squinting at him by the time Jimin stops speaking. “Hm. Is it, really? All completely fine?”

“Yes, it is! I just said it was!”

“O—kay? So what's the problem, then? You decided you both would move ahead and you did – what's the catch? You don't like that she's being normal?”

“No, that's not it. She… wasn't exactly normal, either. She sounded…” Jimin gulps the nerves that block his throat as the prospect of losing your friendship swims up in his vision. “She sounded off. Different. Distant.”

“Oh, boy… Are you scared that she hit it off really well with her date and moved away from you?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “That's impossible.”

Yoongi gives a smirk which unnerves Jimin in all the bad ways. “Is it? Because if it isn't the possibility of her growing distant from you and closer to someone else that's been troubling you, your issues are way deeper and definitely scarier. Good luck, pal.”

Throughout the entire day full of meetings that Jimin goes through, Yoongi's words keep circling in his head. Did it really bother him that you went on a date? He swore up and down that you guys will remain normal and that night will remain just a memory. So obviously it was correct of you to go on that date you’d planned in advance! 

Why the hell is he acting up when you're doing exactly what you both planned you'd do? 

Jimin chooses to have lunch by himself, in one corner of the cafeteria, leaving Yoongi to mingle with the clients, and mulls over his situation and state of mind. 

Maybe he is bothered by your date. And maybe he is so bothered because it was too soon. 

Because he can't get the images of that night out of his head the way he thought he'd easily be able to. 

When he tried to nap on the flight, he saw you riding his dick. When he got into the shower, he saw your teary face after he'd eaten you out good. He had to touch himself to take the edge off, praying that Yoongi wouldn't hear him, and that literally helped with nothing.

Does he actually… want you? 

The last time this happened was around six years ago.

Jimin sips at his almond milk as memories of a time he’d thought was distant and forgotten cascade through his brain.

The two of you were juniors in college. He'd recently gotten out of this toxic relationship that had sucked all the joy out of his life and was spending his days sleeping in and skipping classes, and his nights drinking with friends. It was 2 am when he saw an Instagram post of you posing sweetly for the camera and all he could think of was how badly he missed you. How he hated the fact that you went to different colleges because he wanted to see you so bad. 

He'd left a series of drunk texts in your DMs, of all places, telling you that you were the best girl he'd ever met and that you were perfect in every way and how happy you would make someone by being theirs. You'd replied the next morning, thanking him for being a sweetheart and then told him that you’d found the lucky one – because axolotl had finally asked you out on a date. 

Jimin would never admit it to anyone, but he’d been really upset and extremely jealous of that stupid asshole. It had gotten to the point where he over-inserted himself into your relationship to let fucking axolotl know that he’d come first in your life. That is not to say that the dude wasn’t toxic enough by himself. But when Jimin saw the way his actions were causing you hurt too, he decided to retreat.

That was when he swore he would step back and be the best bff to you at every step in life.

And he’s been on that road pretty religiously!

All the flirting he gets up to with you is totally harmless and only for fun because he enjoys making you blush. Which is probably why he tried to categorize that night under this ‘harmless fun’, too. But it’s clearly not working. 

He’s restless. He needs to return home and see you in person.

He needs to ensure that he can still be your friend despite all these thoughts plaguing his brain.

What the hell is going to do if he doesn’t arrive upon the desired answer, however? He hasn’t the slightest clue.

Jimin spends the rest of the day waiting for your call – which never comes.

He texts you when he’s done packing his bags after his last meeting, but you don't respond.

The heavy feeling in his stomach grows heavier and heavier – until it becomes so suffocating that he has to come out to the balcony and breathe in some fresh air.

Except – smoke fills his lungs upon the first inhale, and he wrinkles his nose at Yoongi’s cigarette.

“What? Can't a guy enjoy a smoke in peace? We have to be at the airport in an hour.”

“Oh, no, don’t mind me. Please relish every bit of your death stick, by all means.”

Yoongi snorts at his words, and snuffs the remainder of the cigarette out with a roll of his eyes. “Your panties are in a twist again. What's happened now?”

“I'm fine.”

“Sure. And everything's okay between you and she who shall not be named?”

For a moment, Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip, watching the way the remnant smoke swirls away from the balcony and disappears into the late afternoon sky. Then he sighs. “I don’t know. She hasn’t responded to any of my texts and she didn’t call me. She’d said she would. I feel too fucking tense, it’s like my neurons are collapsing in on themselves.”

“Oh, man… If only you were a smoker, I would have procured you some of the best weed in the market. Would have taken the edge off with a handful of puffs.”

Jimin scowls at the guy. “Thank you for your consideration. Think I’ll just hit myself over the head with a saucepan and call it a day.”

“Stop stressing out so much, you moron. We’ll be back there in four hours. Take a cab straight to her place and talk everything out. Distance is a bitch that creates miscommunication. It’s just a matter of hours.”

Jimin nods to himself.

Just a matter of hours.

Just a matter of hours.

He can’t do it.

Jimin parted ways with Yoongi the moment he grabbed his luggage at the airport, and made a beeline for the cab he booked to take him to your place. He booked the ride in advance, even before he shot you a text informing his arrival back in town.

But just as his butt touches the leather seats – he realises that he can’t ambush you at your place.

So he regretfully gives the driver his own address and agrees to pay the extra amount that this re-routing would cost.

He shuts his eyes and lets out a deep, guttural exhale of frustration. Just a few hours ago, he couldn't wait to get to you fast enough.

And now, when he is at such a short distance away from actually being able to approach you and have a face to face conversation, his nerves have shackled him down and he cannot get himself to do it.

Some part of him believes that he needs to have a proper talk with himself about what the hell has happened with the dynamics the two of you share before he can prepare himself to have one with you. But some part of him believes that to be just a cop out. Which isn’t a complete lie, because at the end of the day, he is deathly afraid of losing you.

He needs to destress his mind.

But you’re the person he turns to when he needs to destress his mind.

Maybe… he can call you? That won’t be as risky and potentially devastating as paying you a visit, right?

Right. It can’t be. And he’s gotta talk to you because he misses you like crazy.

When his cab finally slows down before his apartment, his anxiety has reached a high that is making his forehead sweat despite the car's AC. Hopping out of the vehicle, he pays the driver and quickly gets into his apartment.

“It’s all gonna be fine, Park,” he mumbles to himself in a lame attempt at a pep talk while he changes out of his clothes and hops into the bathroom for a quick but hot shower. “She's your best friend in the world. You won't lose her. To anything.” He thickly swallows. “Or anyone.”

Donning some sweatpants and a t-shirt, he walks into his living room with his hair still wet and opens up a window to let some fresh air in. The sun has just sunk beneath the horizon, leaving behind some remnant daylight and a beautiful orange hue. Inhaling the crisp evening October air, he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

07:42 PM | Text Message from Grumpkin 🎃💖 woohooo! welcome back to the town, dork <3

He smiles at the text and calls your number.

You pick up the call within seconds of its ringing, filling his phone screen with your entire form that is seated in your bedroom’s bay window.

Jimin’s words sort of get stuck in his throat at the sight of your gorgeous self dressed down in grey lounge pants and a pastel yellow hoodie. 

Wait, gorgeous? You look exactly the way you have always looked. 

And… you have always looked gorgeous, haven’t you?

Jimin can feel his palms beginning to sweat. No, Yoongi was wrong. He wasn’t ready to face you. He isn’t ready to confront all that has changed in his perception of you, when you are exactly the same person that you have always been. 

Your hair is wet, as if you just exited the shower too. And the way your hoodie drowns your entire body seems like the most adorable thing in the world to him. Your cheeks have a darker tint to them, too – caused by warm water, excitement about talking to him, or something else entirely? He hasn’t a clue. It just makes you look prettier and his heart beat louder.

Jimin is suddenly overcome with the urge to run all the way to your place and envelop you in a hug.

And you both never hug—both certifiably allergic to physical affection.

Fuck, he wishes he was there so that he could cup your pretty face in his palms and cover your kissable lips with his own. His fingers twitch with the urge. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.

“Welcome back, dork!” you announce, spreading your lips in a joyous grin. “Are you sleeping with your eyes open wide?”

Broken out of his crisis-inducing trance, Jimin forces a chuckle out of his throat, “I—I was gonna sing-song ‘honey, I'm home’ to you, but you picked up the call t—too fast.”

Fuck, did he just fucking stutter? You don’t seem to have noticed, thankfully, because you simply laugh some more. Your eyes are big and bright and brimming with affection, even if you've pursed your lips in a faux display of anger.

He feels like he missed looking into their depths. Has it really been just two days since he last saw you?

Wait, not even fully that – he left your place yesterday morning.

And now he’s on a freaking video call with you, clutching onto his phone like it’s his lifeline, nearly panting for your attention and affection as if he’s been starved for it. 

Shit, shit, shit, he is supremely screwed.

“Honey’s glad you’re home, too, I guess?”

Your response is ten-on-ten on-brand with the sort of banter the two of you engage in. It makes him believe that everything is actually good. That it’s all gonna be alright. 

Jimin smiles and hopes to God he doesn’t look as stupidly lovesick as he feels in the moment. A lost puppy finally returning home to its owner. 

Cursing under his breath at his train of thoughts, he reclines sideways on one of his sofa chairs and fluffs his wet hair away from his forehead. 

“So, how was your trip? How’s Tara?”

“Trip was good. Productive. We sealed the deal – despite the stupid Alfred-ass guy. And Tara’s fine, too.” He tries his best to disguise his wince as a smile. “Rushed home the moment we touched down.”

“Oh, her husband must’ve picked her up, right? Forgot she's married.” You nod to yourself, scratching your head and furrowing your brows in thought. “How was your flight?”

“It was fine. Had to sit next to a guy who fell asleep the moment we took off, and constantly kept leaning his head on my shoulder. It’s just a three hour flight! He couldn’t stay up that long?” he grumbles, rolling his eyes because the guy he’s talking about is actually Min freaking Yoongi. “I think I have a cramp in my right side because of him.”

You chuckle at that, popping some salted almonds into your mouth. “So what’s the plan for the week? You got office tomorrow?”

“Yep! Although we both are allowed to go in a bit late.”

“That’s considerate of your company.”

There’s a dull pause in the conversation which Jimin uses to wordlessly admire your face on his phone screen, again. He remembers the way other guys used to compliment your eyes, or the length of your nose, the plumpness of your lips, and how he used to just roll his eyes at their words because he didn’t see what they saw.

Well, now he does. He sees all of that and so much more. He sees it and he craves it. 

If not kiss you then at least see you. Be in your proximity. Admire your smile without a camera distorting it into pixels.

He wishes to visit you. He feels ready enough. Composed enough. He will keep himself safely off of risky topics. 

Like, come on. He is twenty-seven. Mature enough to handle himself enough to not make a fool of himself or accidentally ruin a friendship that he holds dearer than his life. Of course he is.

“So, what about you? Any plans for the night? Should I come crash?”

It’s out before he can overthink—or even fully think—of a proper, saner, more sophisticated way to pose the question.

And given the way your eyes widen slightly, regret singes his tongue that articulated the words. “Uh…”

Catching himself in time, Jimin sits up and makes a show of narrowing his eyes at the screen. “What? What is it? What are you hiding, little wench?”

A laughter bubbles out of you, but he can sense your awkwardness through the expressions you wear. It guts him. Swallowing thickly, he raises his eyebrows and beckons you to speak.

Finally, you exhale and purse your lips. “Well, um. I, uh, kinda have Seokjin coming over later?”

The way Jimin’s jaw drops to the floor hasn’t a smidgeon of acting to it. “Say what?”

You wince, biting down on your bottom lip. “Yeah…”

“I… Didn’t you say you didn’t wanna talk about the date?” His voice comes out hollow and plain, absolutely unlike what it usually is.

“I did, yeah, but I also said I needed to figure it out. And we’re, um, just figuring things out. I’ll tell you when—”

You cut off with a jump as your doorbell goes off in the background.

Seokjin is there. Seokjin is at your place. To be with you. To hold you, kiss you, touch you — and probably more.

Jimin feels the floor disappear from beneath his feet. His stomach is lurching and he is free falling. 

“I'll, uh, I'll be right there!” you call in the general direction of the door, casting a hesitant glance towards your phone.

Jimin's free-fall increases in velocity.

“Is that… him?” he asks in a scratchy whisper, face nothing short of horror-struck.

And when you give an almost shy nod, Jimin's brain short-circuits and he can't see a thing.

“Well, okay then! Have a great time! See ya later!”

He disconnects the call and allows his phone to drop down into the carpet beneath the chair he’s seated on. 

Despite trying his hardest, Jimin can’t stop his mind from making up images of you and Seokjin entwined in bed, with you making all the sounds that Jimin elicited out of you not forty-eight hours ago.

Fuck.

He feels shaken up. 

Getting up, he walks into his kitchen and grabs a bottle of water.

“It’s fine,” he tells himself. “It’s just weird because it’s too soon. Otherwise it’s good. It’ll be great. She needs this. I told her to go for it.” 

He clears his throat and sips some more water.

“They’re just sleeping together, anyway. She isn’t going to fall in love with him overnight. And if she does, she’ll tell me… And I’ll support her because she’s my be–best friend in the world.”

Even as the words leave him, they scorch his insides on their way out. His brain feels fuzzy with all the misplaced anger, regret and loss he feels. 

It’s half past two in the morning and Jimin is scrolling brainrot content on social media to put his mind off of the activities you might be getting up to. If you'd be in your bedroom or if you'd be in the living room, in front of the TV. 

If Seokjin would be eating you out in the same spot where Jimin—

Okay, here's a video of fifteen rubber duckies! They're being squashed at the same time! They're making such a horrendous but hilarious sound!

Needless to say – he isn’t doing a great job keeping himself distracted.

Groaning at himself, he refreshes his feed and gets ready to scroll again. And then he comes to a halt.

A post from you has popped up. 

It's a selfie featuring you and Kim Seokjin, seated in your car, heads tipped together in the middle of the seats, grins on your faces and cones of vanilla ice-cream in your hands. A passably normal and arguably cute picture.

Until Jimin’s eyes travel to the content below the picture.

He sits up in his bed upon spying the ‘💝’ emoji you’ve captioned the post with.

A heart emoji? You abhor those! Last time you willingly put one on your social media was way back when you were still with axolotl!

Oh…

Oh no…

Does this mean that you and Seokjin…?

And when the fuck were you planning to tell him?

Jimin needs to talk to you. Soon.

Foregoing any texts announcing his arrival, Jimin decides to steer his car towards your place, right after work on Monday. He gets off an hour later than you, so there’s no chance he won’t catch you.

But as he locks the vehicle and makes his way up your apartment, it hits him that there is a very real possibility that he might find Seokjin in there with you. And Jimin is completely unprepared to confront the man without having a conversation with you first.

So he presses the bell with his fingers crossed – and gives a sigh of relief when you open the door by yourself.

You’ve changed out of your work clothes and are dressed up in the same set of hoodie and lounge pants he saw you in during the video call, yesterday. And his urge to capture you in a hug and then smother you in kisses is back.

Stifling it all, however, Jimin focuses on the social media post he saw and allows the feeling of irritation and betrayal he felt upon spotting the heart emoji to wash over him, again. 

Then he grins at you. “Surprise?”

Your gaping mouth closes on a chuckle and, rolling your eyes, you let him in. “Unannounced but not unpleasant, hey.”

Jimin resolutely looks away from the couch in your living room, unwilling to let his resolve to confront you weaken by any means, and heads straight to your kitchen table to occupy one of the bar stools.

“So. How’s work?” He asks, leaning over the counter a little, and squints at your form as you busy yourself pouring a glass of orange juice for him.

“Uh, what? Work’s work. Did you come here to ask me that?” Your head tilts to the side in a question and Jimin exhales in defeat.

“No. Obviously. I'm here to ask you about Seokjin.” You tense at that and Jimin gives a scoff. “Okay, don't you dare try to whip up a story! You didn't tell me on Saturday – fine. You barely told me anything yesterday, harsh but acceptable. But now I'm here and now I wanna know what's going on. And if you dare try to look for a way out this time, I will drive a knife through your gut.”

He didn't mean to go that dark, but your behaviour has gotten on his nerves so awfully, that he couldn't help it.

“Wha–Jimin! I told you I'm still figuring it out…” You avoid his eyes as you speak, playing with the drawstrings on your hoodie. “I'll tell you first thing when I have clarity.”

“Well, I think you do have clarity but you’re just refusing to share it with me. And you need to hurry the fuck up with that because I'm losing patience here.”

Your forehead furrows. “Hey… You can't rush me to make up my mind about someone! It's bad enough that you pushed me to go on a date with him.”

“But I'm literally not rushing you? I saw that social media post you made, and you captioned it with a…heart emoji. You never make public gestures of affection with someone so quickly, so I just wondered if you had developed actual feelings for the guy, beyond the admiration you claimed to have for him. I was concerned about you. What choices you'd made.” He looks away from your face and down at his manicured nails. “As your best friend.”

Your sharp inhale draws his attention back to your face, and he is met with a somewhat cautious expression. “Oh? So you're being a concerned friend? That's – that's the only reason why you'd like to know about me and Seokjin?”

Jimin's breath gets caught in his throat. What did you just ask him? What did you imply?

He frantically searches your face to look for cues that would guide him towards the right way to respond to your question, but all he can find is impatience and thinly veiled disappointment.

The amount of confusion he feels makes his head spin.

He can either be honest – or he can play this safe. And given the amount of risks he has taken with you recently, he would very much rather stay in the comfort zone for once, even if it means that he has to lie.

“Sure. I mean…what other reason could there be? Right?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat and your eyes lose a bit of their sparkle. Before Jimin can even begin to analyse what the hell any of it could be about, you're straightening up again with a determined set to your shoulders.

“Yeah. That's right. No other reason. None at all. You're a concerned friend, that's good. That's great.” You lick your lips and then walk around the counter to sit on the other stool, next to him. Your eyes are hesitant when they meet his own. “Because Jimin, I've been wanting to tell you something. I've thought about this throughout the weekend, and… I really, truly regret that night. What we did was stupid, careless and extremely catastrophic. We shouldn't have slept together.”

Jimin feels a part of his soul crumble and wither at those words.

His brain slows down, gaze grows heavy, and his lungs have to put in extra effort to keep his breathing steady. 

Stupid, careless and extremely catastrophic.

His fingers tremble when he tries to reach for the glass of juice, so he pulls them towards his palm and forms a fist to hide them from you.

“You… why?” He hates himself for sounding as small and lost as he does. Clicking his tongue, he runs both his palms down his face and looks up to meet your saddened eyes again. “I mean it's great that you moved on the way we'd planned, but you don't have to regret the night we shared. It's okay. You can have it both ways.”

You shake your head, eyes even more sadder than before. “But I don't want to. We are supposed to be friends forever, Jimin. You and I… We can’t - I… I can’t lose you. To anything. So I can't do what you’re doing. Cherish that night's memory and behave normally. I need to forget and I need you to know that I wish it never happened. And that I'm… I'm sorry that I’m not strong enough.”

Jimin tries to swallow past his dry throat, only to cough when he can't. 

It kinda sounds like you're afraid you might want him still, so you are nipping the possibility in the bud by denying that the two of you ever crossed the line. It kinda sounds like you can’t move ahead because of that night, so you wish to act as if it didn’t happen.

But you are lighter on words and heavier on nibbling your lip, so maybe you've somehow figured out how precious that memory is to Jimin and you’re just trying to spare his feelings, which – ouch. 

He knew he was becoming pathetic but he didn't realise it was this pathetic.

Scoffing, Jimin gets up and shakes his head. “Don't worry, I wasn't getting any ideas about us doing a repeat of what happened, if that's what you were concerned about. I only want the two of us to resume being the best of buds and share everything the way we used to.”

“No, Jimin, that's not—I mean, you wanted me to give Seokjin a real shot and I did. And so I don’t want there to be anything that holds me back from being honest about it.”

The set of words hurt him more than they should, but he moves past them to address his main concern that you still seem to have missed. “Hey, listen to me. I didn't come here to hound you about Seokjin because I have a problem with what's going on. I came here because I have a problem with you not telling me what's going on. I have a problem with you believing you need to keep it from me for some stupid, untrue reason that you might’ve made up in your head.”

You don't say anything for a while, don't even look up to meet his gaze. Your lower lip stays between your teeth and your eyes don't look away from the kitchen counter where both your hands rest next to the untouched glass of orange juice.

And then you suddenly look up and into his eyes, determination all over your face. “You need to get a girlfriend.”

Uh.

What?

Gaping at the offputting, crooked smile that overtakes your face, Jimin slowly shakes his head as he wonders if he might've heard you wrong.

“Yeah,” you continue, nodding to yourself, “I feel guilty, Min. I’ve broken our no-dating pact, so it's only fair if you get to leave, too.”

Woah. Two dates with a guy and you've already declared your pact broken? And yet you wouldn't say a word about Seokjin beyond the fact that you’re pursuing it because Jimin asked you to.

He is quite literally too stunned to speak.

You laugh a little, looking almost nervous. “What? Don't tell me you fell in love with me or something, Min. That night was purely physical, right? We're mature enough to remember that.” 

The words hit him in a bad way, because you very clearly said them in a way that was meant to hurt him. Of course it was purely physical! But nothing between the two of you can ever be without at least some semblance of emotion because you both go way back! Even the playful insults you toss at each other and the jokes you share carry affection, intimacy and meaning. 

He doesn't have the slightest clue what you've been trying to do all this time, but if you truly want to rile him up and upset him tonight, he's going to forfeit and give you the satisfaction of having succeeded. He hasn't got enough mental strength to decipher the meaning of everything you're doing and then try to diffuse the grenade you've built.

So Jimin steps away from the counter and gives a loud scoff. “Don't be ridiculous. Of course not, there's no way in hell. How could I ever be in love with someone like you? Look at your emotional range and look at mine. I know, better than anyone else in the world, that you’re incapable of love. I know not to love a rock. I'm not stupid.”

Your face falls and eyes turn glossy, but Jimin can bet you aren't hurting like he is. You can't. That's one of your superpowers – compartmentalising so well, you sometimes don't even see the hurt that devastates others. 

“R–right. Didn't have to insult me, but you're right.”

“Why?” Jimin scoffs. “Isn't that what our relationship is about? Being friends? Laughing together? Insulting each other?”

You frown at him. “Why're you talking like that? Why are you getting angry at me?”

Jimin blinks at your words, watching the way your eyes look truly clueless, and sheer sadness envelopes him. 

Because it hits him now. Maybe you didn’t say those words to hurt him. Maybe he underestimated your inability to feel. Maybe you really don't get why it was special. Because you really didn't feel why it could be special.

Maybe nothing between the two of you has ever carried any emotion to it, for you.

You have no idea about the emotional turmoil he's been in the past two days when he couldn't get you out of your mind, because you were on a completely different page. This is why it was easy for you to go on that date and then call that guy home the next day.

The night you shared with Jimin doesn't matter to you. Jimin doesn't matter to you.

Not the way he thought. Not the way you do to him.

And his evolving feelings for you, whatever they end up becoming, would only serve to be an inconvenience in your life that you would just ask him to sort out instead of helping him wade through them because… 

This is who you are. 

This is who you've always been.

This is the girl he met in eighth standard, had a crush on, became lifelong friends with, had sex with, and developed more than platonic feelings for.

This is you.

He doesn’t know how to deal with this realization. He can’t deal with this sitting in your kitchen. And he can’t deal with this without a drink.

So he collects his coat and walks out of your house, ignoring your calls of his name and choosing his own sanity over you for once

© jimilter | 2025

[wiltedflowerpetals]

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Captain John Price's wife, a trained assassin, is about to go on a mission, but she has only one thing on her mind. Her husband. The man who didn't know about her secret job…

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Words: 2850

Warning: fluff, a bit angsty, death (target got killed)

Part 1: Wife Meets Friend | Part 2: (you are reading it) | Part 3: Wife In Danger | Part 4: Husband Saves Wife | Part 5: Husband And Wife

The next morning, you turned in your bed, arm moving towards John’s side, only to find out that he was not in bed. No. By the smell of coffee that lingered in the air, you knew that he was in the kitchen. You dressed quickly and headed downstairs, finding him at the table with a steaming mug in hand, flipping through a newspaper.

“Morning.” He greeted with a warm smile as you entered the kitchen. His eyes brightened as he saw you, and he set the newspaper down to focus on you.

“Morning.” You replied, returning his smile and walking over to pour yourself a cup of your favorite drink. The aroma was comforting, like a small anchor to normalcy after the day you'd had. “You’re up early.”

“Old habits.” John said with a shrug, taking another sip from his mug. “Couldn't sleep much, so I figured I'd get a head start on the day.”

You nodded, though you wondered if his restlessness had anything to do with you. Did he sense that something was off? You tried to push the thought aside. “Any plans today?”

“Nothing much. Thought I’d get some work done, maybe catch up on a bit of paperwork.” He replied, leaning back in his chair. “What about you?”

You sipped your hot drink, carefully considering your words. “Just some errands around town, then I might drop by the office for a bit. We’ve got a few deadlines coming up.”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Always working. You should take a day off sometime, you know? Relax a little.”

You smiled softly, appreciating his concern. “I’ll try to remember that.”

As the day wore on, you found yourself reflecting on the life you’d built with John. Your marriage was strong, built on love and trust… Trust that you were constantly betraying by keeping your true self hidden. Only because you wanted to protect him from your job. The world you operated in was dangerous, filled with secrets and lies, and the less John knew, the safer he would be.

In the afternoon, you decided to step out to run the errands you’d mentioned earlier. You kissed John’s and left, promising to be back soon. As you drove through the streets of your neighborhood, your thoughts drifted back to Kate’s visit. It had gone well, but the pressure was building. How much longer could you keep this up?

You stopped at a small park on your way back home, needing a moment to clear your head. Sitting on a bench under the shade of a tree, you watched as families played with their children, couples walked hand in hand, and joggers passed by with their headphones in. It was a picture of a peaceful and normal life… A life you never had.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You grabbed it and glanced at the screen, seeing a message from an unknown number. You read the brief text: We need to talk. Usual place. 1900.

You frowned, recognizing the message. It was from one of your CIA contacts. You took a deep breath, quickly typing out a response. You were used to it by now, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. You needed to find a way to slip out tonight without raising John’s suspicions.

When you returned home, John was still in his study. You paused at the doorway, watching him for a moment. He looked so peaceful, so content in his element.

“You’re back.” John said, looking up with a smile as he noticed you standing there.

“Yeah, just finished up.” You replied, stepping into the room. “How’s your day going?”

“Not bad.” He said, leaning back in his chair. “Got a lot done. I was thinking maybe we could go out for dinner tonight, you know, to unwind a bit. What do you think?”

Your heart sank. John rarely suggested going out. But tonight, of all nights, he’d chosen to go on a small little date with you. Great… You couldn’t refuse without arousing suspicion, but you also couldn’t afford to miss the meeting.

“That sounds nice.” You said carefully, already trying to figure out a way to work around it. “But how about we raincheck for tomorrow? I’m a little tired from running around all day.”

John studied you for a moment, eyes filled with concern. “You sure you’re alright? You’ve seemed a bit off since yesterday.”

You stepped closer to him. “I’m fine, really. Just a little worn out. Tomorrow would be better, I think. We could make it a proper date night.”

He reached out, taking your hand and pulling you onto his lap. “Alright, if you’re sure. Tomorrow it is.”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. Of course you felt guilty, but you had no other choice. “Thank you.” You whispered, kissing his neck softly. “For understanding.”

“Always.” John murmured, holding you close. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

You closed your eyes, wishing more than anything that you could tell him the truth, that you didn’t have to hide this part of yourself from the man you loved. But you couldn’t - you wouldn’t - risk his safety for your own peace of mind.

Later that evening, after you’d shared a quiet dinner at home, you waited until John had settled into the living room with a book before making your move. You casually mentioned needing to check on something at the office, using one of your excuses. John offered to come with you, but you gently declined, insisting it wouldn’t take long.

He kissed you goodbye, watching as you left with a small smile, completely unaware of the true nature of your errand.

You drove through the city. The usual place was a parking garage downtown, one of the many locations you used for these kinds of meetings. You arrived a few minutes early, parking in a shadowy corner and waiting.

A black SUV pulled up next to your car shortly after, and a man in a dark suit stepped out, his expression serious. You recognized him immediately - Agent Daniels, one of your primary contacts at the CIA.

“Evening, Mrs. Price.” He greeted you with a curt nod.

“Daniels.” You replied. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve got a situation.” He said, handing you a slim folder. “A high-value target is back on the grid. We need you to handle it.”

You opened the folder, scanning the information quickly. The target was a known arms dealer with ties to several terrorist organizations - a dangerous man with a long list of enemies. “This is a priority?”

“Top priority.” Daniels confirmed. “He’s planning to move a shipment in the next 48 hours. We need to shut it down before it reaches its destination.”

You nodded, already planning your approach. “What’s the location?”

“He’s holed up in a compound outside of the city. We’ve got a team on standby, but you’ll be leading the operation.”

You closed the folder, meeting his gaze. You sighed, not wanting to lead the operation as it meant that you also had to lead a team. You preferred to work alone, but apparently you had no other choice. “… Understood. I’ll take care of it.”

Daniels gave you a brief, approving nod. “Good. You’ll be briefed on the full details tomorrow morning. Be ready.”

With that, he got back into the SUV and drove off, leaving you alone in the garage. You took a deep breath. This was just another mission, another job to complete. But as you started your car and headed home, you had one thought. Balancing your secret life was becoming harder by the day, and you didn’t know how much longer you could keep the two worlds from colliding.

When you returned home, John was still in the living room, dozing lightly with the book resting on his chest. You paused in the doorway, watching him sleep, heart heavy.

You approached quietly, taking the book from his hands and setting it on the table. He stirred, opening his eyes slightly. “You’re back.” he mumbled, half-asleep.

“Yeah.” You whispered, brushing a hand through his hair. “Go to bed, honey.”

He nodded groggily, allowing you to help him up. As you made your way upstairs, you felt the familiar pang of guilt, stronger than ever. You loved him more than anything, and yet, every day you deceived him, kept him in the dark about who you really were.

You two crawled into bed, and John pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as if he could protect you from the world. But he didn’t know the truth - that it was you who was protecting him, shielding him from the bad guys during his missions.

The next morning, you were up before dawn. You moved quietly through the house, careful not to wake John as you gathered your gear. Today’s mission was critical, and you couldn’t afford any mistakes. As you pulled on your tactical suit, your mind focused on the task ahead. There was no room for doubt or hesitation.

Before leaving, you slipped back into the bedroom, where John was still fast asleep. You stood by the bed for a moment, taking in the sight of him. He looked so peaceful, so unaware of the dangerous things you were doing and going to do. Leaning down, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, whispering, “I love you” before turning to leave.

The drive to the briefing location was uneventful. The compound outside the city was heavily guarded, and the target was known for being ruthless. But you’d faced worse.

When you arrived at the location, Daniels and the rest of the team were already there. They were gathered around a large table covered in maps and surveillance photos. You walked in, nodding to them.

“Glad you could make it.” Daniels said as you approached. “We’re ready to go over the plan.”

You nodded again, stepping up to the table. “Let’s get started.”

The briefing was quick and to the point. The target was using the compound as a staging area for an arms deal that could supply a dangerous faction with enough firepower to destabilize an entire region. The mission was simple in theory: infiltrate, neutralize the target, and destroy the shipment before it could be moved.

But as with all things in your line of work, the reality would be far more complex. The compound was well-fortified, with multiple layers of security and heavily armed guards. The risk was high, but so were the stakes.

“I’ll lead the assault team.” You said as you went through the details. “We’ll go in at night, under the cover of darkness. We’ll need to move quickly and quietly.”

Daniels nodded. “Agreed. We can’t afford to tip them off before we’re in position.”

The team spent the rest of the day preparing, double-checking equipment, and going over the plan until everyone knew their roles by heart. You kept your mind focused on the mission, pushing aside any thoughts of John and the life you’d have to return to after this was over. Now was not the time to think about it. You couldn't afford distractions. The mission required your full attention.

As night fell, the team geared up and prepared to move out. You stood with your team, your expression calm and composed. This was the part of your life you had to keep separate from John, the part he could never know about.

“Alright, everyone.” You said. “We go in fast and quiet. Stick to your roles, and we’ll get this done. Let’s move.”

The team moved out in silence; their vehicles drove them towards the compound. The tension in the air was palpable. This was what you were trained for, what you were good at. Every detail of the mission played out in your head as you approached your target.

When you arrived at the outskirts of the compound, the team disembarked, moving swiftly into position. You led the way, your movements precise. You reached the perimeter, where you signaled for the team to hold. From their vantage point, you could see the guards patrolling the area, their weapons at the ready.

“Snipers, take out the perimeter guards on my mark.” You whispered into your comm. “We move in as soon as they’re down.”

There was a tense silence as you waited for the right moment. You counted the seconds in your head, timing their approach perfectly. Then, with a single command, the silence was shattered by the sound of sniper rifles. The guards dropped one by one.

“Move.” You ordered, and the team advanced, slipping through the shadows as you made your way deeper into the compound.

The mission unfolded with ruthless efficiency. The team moved like a well-oiled machine, each member playing their part flawlessly. You encountered resistance as you closed in on the target, but you were relentless.

As you breached the main building, you found the target in a makeshift command center, surrounded by his most trusted men. The firefight that ensued was intense, but you were unstoppable. In a matter of minutes, the room was cleared, and the target lay dead at your feet.

“Target neutralized.” You reported, your voice steady as you stood over the body.

“Good work.” Daniels replied over the comms. “Proceed with the secondary objective.”

You and your team quickly moved to the storage area, where you found the shipment of weapons. It was an impressive cache, enough to equip a small army. You planted the charges, setting the timer to ensure you had enough time to get clear.

“Charges set.” You confirmed. “We’re heading out.”

The team made their way back to the extraction point, the sound of distant explosions rumbling behind them as the charges detonated. The mission had been a success, but there was no time for celebration. You had to get out of the area before any reinforcements arrived.

As you reached the extraction point, sighed in relief. The mission was over, and soon you would be back home with John, back to the life you were desperately trying to protect.

The ride back was quiet, the team too exhausted to talk. You leaned your head back against the seat, closing your eyes for a moment. You thought of John, wondering if he was still up, if he was waiting for you. You couldn’t wait to see him, to feel his arms around you, after this mission.

When you finally returned to the base, you debriefed with Daniels and the rest of the team. As soon as the formalities were over, you took a shower fast and changed your clothes, before you headed straight for your car.

The drive home was a fast. All you could think about was John and your bed. As you pulled into the driveway, you noticed that the lights were still on in the house. John was still up, waiting for you. Your heart swelled with emotion as you stepped out of the car and made your way to the front door.

When you walked inside, you found John in the living room, sitting on the couch with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He looked up as you entered, a relieved smile spreading across his face.

“You’re back.” He said, standing up to greet you.

You smiled, feeling the weight of the day’s events start to lift as she crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him. “I’m back.”

John held you close, his embrace warm and comforting. “I was starting to worry. Everything alright at the office?”

“Yeah.” You lied smoothly, pulling back to look at him. “Just some last-minute issues, but it’s all sorted now.”

He studied you for a moment, his eyes searching yours. “You sure you’re okay? You seem… tense.”

“I’m fine.” You tried to assure him. “Just tired, that’s all.”

John nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Come on, let’s go to bed. You need to rest.”

He kissed your forehead and smelled your hair for a second. “Did you shower?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, there was a small smoothie incident at work. It was everywhere.” You lied at him, walking with him upstairs as he chuckled.

You changed into your pajamas and crawled into bed beside him. John pulled you close, his presence reminding you of what you were fighting for.

As you lay there in the darkness, listening to the sound of his breathing. The mission was over, and you were lucky that he wasn’t suspicious of any of your lies. But the fear still lingered in the back of your mind. The fear, that one day, John would find out the truth, and everything you’d worked so hard to protect would come crashing down.

But for tonight, you allowed to savor the warmth of John’s embrace and the quiet peace of your home. Tomorrow, you would face whatever challenges came your way. But tonight, you were just (Y/N) Price, the woman who loved her husband more than anything in the world.

And that was enough.

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© nanamisflowerfield/wiltedflowerpetals. Do not repost, rewrite, plagiarize my work.

[avonnimimi]

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Plugged

The Series. Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

☥| a/n: Hi my babies, i know you’ve been waiting for this so you shall receive, i hope you all are well and i’m open to talking if you’re feeling down <3 @wannabe-fic-reader @hcneymooners @halle5s @ashketchumzz46 i hope you all enjoy. MEN AND MINORS DNI

☥| content: drug dealer!vi x black reader, angst, abandonment? crying, mentions of murder, starving (ed)? kinda sad. lmk if i missed anything

As you left Donte’s spot, your stomach churned, a mix of anger and self-loathing riding shotgun. You hated yourself for being here again, for dragging Vi into your mess. You couldn’t shake the feeling that she deserved better.

You pulled up to her building, eyes scanning for her car like clockwork. Nothing. Her usual spot was empty, but you still got out. Still went inside.

The elevator ride felt like an eternity, each floor ticking by slower than the last. By the time you got to her door, your chest was tight. You knocked once, light, almost timid, then again, harder this time. Nothing.

“Vi!” you shouted, voice cracking with desperation.

No answer.

Your hand gripped the doorknob, and it twisted too easily. Unlocked.

Stepping inside, her scent hit you like a wave, soft, warm, familiar. It wrapped around you, almost suffocating. Your chest heaved as the thought hit you: Why the hell is her door unlocked?

Heart pounding, you fumbled for your phone, dialing her number like muscle memory. It rang, and rang, and rang, each tone stabbing at your nerves. On the fourth ring, you almost gave up, thumb hovering over “end call,” when she finally answered.

“Precious,” Vi’s voice came through low, tired, and heavy, like she didn’t even want to speak. That pang hit your chest again, sharper this time.

“Where are you?” you asked, trying to sound steady, ignoring the way her tone twisted the knife.

“I’m not home,” she said flatly. “Not gonna be for a while.”

You frowned, the words knotting in your throat. “Why—”

Vi didn’t even let you finish. Her voice cut through, sharp but breaking, like she’d been holding it back for too long.

“I can’t just forget that you went back to Donte, bruh,”

And just like that, the line went dead. Silence filled the room, but it wasn’t quiet. It roared in your ears, that last sentence looping over and over, tearing through whatever was left of you.

Your eyes burned, blurring your vision as you hit redial, your hand shaking. The line rang out. No answer. You swallowed hard, throat dry and raw, before stepping deeper into her apartment, your legs feeling like lead. Something felt…wrong.

You looked around; little things were gone. A jacket missing from the hook by the door. The stack of books she always left on the counter? Gone. Your lip quivered as you walked into her room, your chest tightening with every step.

Her closet? Empty. Just a couple of stray hangers swinging like a cruel joke. The bed was perfectly made; too perfect, like she hadn’t slept in it for days. That’s when you saw it: a folded piece of paper sitting on the pillow.

Your hands shook as you picked it up, the words scrawled in her familiar handwriting:

“Don’t cry. Imma be back soon. Jus need time.”

She knew you were going to cry. She knew you too damn well. And she was right. The tears spilled over, hot and fast, as your legs buckled beneath you. You sat on her bed, clutching the note like it was the last piece of her you had.

The sobs came in waves, wracking your body as you pressed your phone to your ear, calling her again. And again. And again. Each time, it went straight to voicemail.

“Vi, please,” you whispered hoarsely into the receiver. “Just pick up. Please.”

Nothing.

You dropped your phone onto the bed, staring at the empty room through blurry eyes. It didn’t feel real. None of this felt real. She was your anchor, and now it felt like you were free-falling with no end in sight.

You wiped at your face with shaky hands, but it didn’t stop the tears. You didn’t even know how long you sat there, surrounded by her absence, trying to figure out how to fix what felt unfixable.

And then, like some cruel twist of fate, your phone buzzed. A message. From her.

“Stop calling. I just need space. I can’t do this right now.”

The words hit like a sledgehammer. You read them over and over, your mind screaming at you to respond, to say something. But what could you even say? Your hands hovered over the screen, typing and deleting a dozen times, before you finally just typed:

“I’m sorry.”

You hit send. And then you waited. Minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like days. But there was no reply. Just silence, loud enough to crush you.

━━━━━♡━━━━━━━━━━♡━━━━━

It had been a month since Vi walked out, and every day since had been its own personal hell. People, strangers, kept showing up at her door, pounding and demanding answers you didn’t have. Each time, you stood there blank-faced, repeating the same lie: I don’t know where she is. Even if you wanted to tell them, you couldn’t.

Every night, you called her. Every single night. Sometimes she answered, sometimes she didn’t. When she did, her voice was always the same; soft, distant, like she was right there but galaxies away. You figured she knew you were still here, holding it down. She was paying the rent, after all.

But what really messed with you? The whispers on the street. Two of Donte’s guys were dead. One missing. The kind of missing that meant they weren’t coming back. Donte was losing it, and it showed. He started blowing up your phone, sending vile, threatening messages that made your skin crawl. You deleted them as fast as they came, but his words stuck, lingering like smoke in your chest.

It was around 9 p.m. when you called Vi that night, sitting in the dark of her apartment like you did most nights now. She picked up after the third ring. You didn’t say anything at first, just listened to the sound of her breathing on the other end.

“When are you coming home?” The words slipped out, your voice barely above a whisper. You almost thought she didn’t hear you.

“Soon.” Her response was clipped, emotionless.

“When is soon?” you pushed, your chest heavy with the weight of everything you weren’t saying.

She ignored the question entirely. “Did you eat?”

You blinked at the shift, caught off guard. “Yeah,” you lied, though you couldn’t remember the last real meal you’d had. Then you started rambling, about your day, about how you cleaned the apartment, about the random person who came by earlier. Anything to keep her on the line just a little longer.

“That’s good, mama,” she murmured, her tone softening for the first time in weeks. It was the kind of warmth that made your heart ache, like a flicker of hope you didn’t know how to hold onto.

And then, without even thinking, you asked the question that had been gnawing at the back of your mind.

“Are you going to kill Donte?”

The silence that followed was deafening, louder than anything she could have said. You gripped the phone tighter, your breath hitching as you waited for her to respond.

“Precious,” she said finally, her voice low and calm, like she was treading carefully. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

Your stomach dropped. “Vi—”

“Stop.” Her tone shifted, harder now, cutting you off before you could press further. “I’ll come home when it’s safe. Don’t call me again tonight.”

And just like that, the line went dead. You stared at the screen, her name burning into your retinas, but the cold emptiness of her words lingered longer than the call itself.

You set the phone down, the room somehow feeling even smaller, even darker. That flicker of hope you’d felt earlier? It was gone now, snuffed out by the growing weight in your chest. The pieces of Vi’s world that you were holding onto were slipping through your fingers, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

You tried to sleep. You really did. But your mind wouldn’t shut off. Every time you closed your eyes, it was her voice, her face, her words echoing back at you. The weight of it all pressed down on your chest like a stone, making it impossible to breathe, let alone rest.

By the time 11 p.m. rolled around, you were still wide awake, staring at the ceiling, your heart pounding in the quiet. And then you heard it, a soft knock, almost unnoticed.

You froze for a moment, fear and hope crashing into each other. Sliding off the bed, you padded to the door cautiously, the air cold against your skin. Your fingers trembled as you unlocked it, slowly pulling it open.

No one was there.

But your eyes dropped, catching sight of a bag of Chinese takeout sitting on the floor. A folded piece of paper was taped to it, the sight of her handwriting punching the air right out of your lungs.

“We’re gonna have to deal with that lyin’ shit.”

A sob ripped out of you before you could stop it, the sound breaking the silence of the empty apartment. Your hand clutched the note tightly as you bent down, grabbing the bag and pulling it inside.

The smell of food hit you as you set it on the counter, but that wasn’t what made your breath hitch. Tucked neatly inside, next to the containers of still warm lo mein and dumplings, was a perfectly rolled blunt.

Your fingers hovered over it for a moment, your mind racing. This was so her. A peace offering that wasn’t really peaceful. A way of saying she was still watching, still thinking of you, even if she wasn’t here.

You let out another shaky breath, your tears dripping onto the countertop as you sat down, staring at the bag. The note. The food. The blunt. It was all so small, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it felt like a lifeline.

She was out there. Somewhere. And even though you were breaking apart inside, this tiny, messy gesture reminded you that she hadn’t completely let go.

You didn’t think twice. You grabbed the blunt, lit it, and took a deep pull, not caring that you were inside or that you hadn’t even cracked a window. The smoke filled your lungs, heavy and bitter, but it was better than the suffocating silence.

It didn’t take long for you to finish, the ash tray already sitting there like it had been waiting for this exact moment. But the buzz didn’t do much, it only slowed your thoughts, making the ache in your chest feel heavier, harder to carry.

And then the tears came again. Hot and relentless, streaming down your face as you sat slumped on the couch. The food was untouched, sitting cold on the counter, but you didn’t care. Time blurred into a haze of sobs and quiet hiccups, dragging until the clock hit 1 a.m.

The vibration of your phone jolted you, cutting through the fog. A FaceTime call. From her.

Your heart stuttered as you grabbed the phone, wiping at your tear-streaked face with trembling hands before answering. “V-Vi?” Your voice cracked, raw from all the crying, your eyes red and puffy as you stared at the screen.

She was in her SRT, the phone propped up on her dash. Her face was lit by the dim glow of the interior lights, and she did not look happy. Her jaw was tight, her eyes sharp, cutting through you like a blade.

“Set that phone up,” she said, her tone strict, no room for argument. “Lemme watch you eat that food.”

Her voice sent a jolt through you, sharp and commanding, and before you even realized it, your thighs clenched together, a warmth pooling between them. You swallowed hard, shame mixing with the spark of heat in your stomach, but you didn’t question her. You couldn’t.

You did as she said, propping your phone up on the counter with shaky hands. Her eyes were on you the whole time, unyielding, waiting.

“Eat,” she ordered.

You nodded, your movements stiff as you opened the takeout containers, the smell of the food hitting you again. It was the last thing you wanted to do, but under her gaze, you forced yourself to pick up the chopsticks, taking a small bite. Then another.

“That’s good, mama,” she murmured, her tone softening just enough to make your chest ache.

You didn’t say anything, just focused on chewing, the food tasting like ash in your mouth. But you couldn’t look away from the screen, from her, the way her presence felt like both a comfort and a weight pressing down on you.

You knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. But for now, she was here. Watching. Keeping you grounded in the only way she knew how.

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this is my original post, please don’t repost, translate, or plagiarize my work ;)

©️avonnimimi 2025

[innorogers]

Awakening

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: Steve was panting. He couldn’t feel anything else but pain. He clenched his jaw, trying to fight back all the emotions tearing him apart. But it was nothing compared to the agony that tore him apart inside. 

Warning: Angst / Hydra Past / Sad Steve / Angry Steve / Protective Steve / Past Revelations / This one is very emotional /He is very sad very angry / Hurt & Comfort

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare

Hydra’s brainwashing mechanism operates like a code embedded in a computer system. Implanted deep within the nervous system of each asset, it’s triggered by a command—a specific sequence of words, like a complex password. It only takes effect once the entire sequence is spoken. However, each word acts as a layer, tightening control over the asset with every syllable. It gradually overrides the brain's natural functions, until complete control is achieved over both mind and body.

You knew this. You also knew that fighting it only made the effect stronger, accelerating the process. Resisting was like trying to stop venom already spreading through your veins—inevitable and deadly. So, your only option was to buy time.

Time against whatever you were about to become.

“Мечта.”

Four triggered the first word unexpectedly, and you saw it in his eyes—he was going to finish the sequence fast.

But you were faster.

Your fist slammed against the wall, hitting the hidden button you’d been shielding.

"NO!!" Steve’s roar echoed through the room as a thick, crystallized wall dropped from the ceiling, sealing him and Maria on the other side. He pounded against it with all his strength, his fists useless against the reinforced barrier. "Open this!" he was desperate: “Open this fucking thing!!”

But it was useless. This was The Crib, the place where you, Tony, and Bruce pushed the limits of crazy ideas. Naturally, it was equipped with a “Hulk Containment” feature, just in case one of those experiments went too far.

“Jarvis, override!” Maria commanded immediately, pressing her comms. “Stark, 116, 116, in The Crib! Now!” She stepped back and shot the wall, only to leave soft marks but unable to break it at all.

Four smiled, pleased. 

“Шкаф”

A sharp pain crossed your mind, like a thunderstruck that cut you as a knife. For some seconds you think you lost control. You stumbled forward, losing completely balance. And stretched an arm for a glass somewhere over a desk nearby knocking everything off. The glass went flying and smashed to pieces on the floor. You tried to reach it blindly, you were loosing your sight, with trembles and the last thread of senses you handled to grab it, so you squeezed with all your remaining strength.

The glass pierced your skin and palm, leaving a long trail of blood down your arm. You could hear Steve's frantic pounding echoing through the walls, his voice a raw, anguished, shouting your name, but pain is dominating your senses.

But this is good, pain is good. Pain meant you were still here.

"Тетрадь." Four stepped back. He was enjoying this. All this show was worth it, even though he failed and had to face the rage of all the Avengers together later.

Nononono. You pressed harder your fists, the glass embedded left out more blood. Feel the pain, feel the senses. You're good. You're good. You are not this. You are not Hydra. You did not survive up to this day to be used again as something disposable. 

On your knees, you pressed your other hand into the shattered glass, hoping the sharpness would anchor you.

"Open this!" Steve was almost unrecognizable in his panic when Tony and Bruce entered the room. “Get this thing open!” His voice was a mix of rage and fear.

“Shit…” Bruce rushed to the nearest console, typing furiously. “The code’s simple but old—it’s uncrackable. We’ve got 15 seconds before it overrides.”

“What?!” Steve was outraged: “You’ve got to open it! Open it! Tony! Get my girl the fuck out of there!” 

“Oh shit, this is good.” Four’s laughter filled the room. This was a feast for him.

“Радуга.“

“No…” You whispered, holding onto the pain as if it were your lifeline.

You are not this. 

You are good. 

You are…

You are an oak tree, hidden deep in the forest. Sitting around the fire with your siblings, their faces bathed in a golden glow. The words that hung in the peaceful silence on that night. 

Starlight on the Siberian peaks, a full moon overhead. Natasha’s hand pulling you out, the scent of her leather jacket against your frozen skin. 

The first time you saw the ocean. The sensation of sand beneath your feet, waves tickling your toes. 

Christmas lights twinkling on a giant tree, champagne in the compound and Dr. Lin’s drunk laugh. 

The first time Tony led you into the abandoned lab, that door opened to what you thought was perfection. The bad jokes you shared with him and Bruce here in The Crib. The coffee you made for Sam and Nat at your lab.

And Steve. The first time he smiled at you. The way he laughed at your childish bedtime story. The first time he kissed you. His lashes brushing your cheek. The sound of his heartbeat at night, the strength in his embrace.

No. You were not this monster they were trying to turn you into. 

You were the life your brothers and sisters never got to have. 

The sunlight, the breeze, the snowflakes, the spring rain in your garden, and the summer air in you hair they never felt. You were living the memories they couldn’t.

You weren’t this. A puppet someone could easily manipulate over some ridiculous words. 

“No…” You felt your tears crashing in your hand full of shattered glasses. “I’m not…that.” 

You are not Hydra’s Frankestein. 

You are the faith you still hold for humanity—the goodness, the kindness you’ve seen. You are the broken fairy tales One and Two told you and your siblings to soothe your sorrowful nights

You are this precious jewel Steve treasured every time he hugged you, kissed you, or looked at you.

“Конфета,” Four sneered, delivering the next word.

But you fought back.

“No.”

Your eyes locked with his, burning with defiance.

“You wanna play, huh?” Frazer chuckled. 

“стена.”

Another shock hit your mind, but this time it didn’t knock you down. You stumbled but stayed standing, hearing Tony override the code. The wall would be down soon. You had to act before anyone else got hurt because of you.

Four stared in disbelief. He couldn’t understand how you were even resisting. 

So he rushed into it.

“Облако.”

You felt your body betray you, limbs refusing to respond. 

C’mon, focus. Stay focused. Everyone you love is on the other side of the wall, you couldn’t let them get hurt.

You lunged at the desk and ripped open the top drawer. God, what's all that noise? Stop the drums, stop that noise… please… You couldn't stay awake much longer. Damn it, where is it…Your hands desperately looking for something.

‘Зеленый.'

Four said again. And that command felt like a hammer that struck your head. You collapsed to your knees, your bloody hands finally finding it. An injection. Fuck, your vision was blurred; you couldn’t see the dosage.

'лес '. 

Nononono you couldn't wait, it was almost at the last word. So you didn't measure it, and you plunged the injection into your neck. God…! That hurts. You pressed all the content in you. 

Ok now…now we should be good. You were panting and sweating as you dropped the injection and came over your knees. Shit that was closed. Too closed.

Four looked stunned. He didn’t know what you’d done, but before he could react, Steve burst through the room like a storm and crashed his face with all the strength Captain America would have in a battlefield. You even heard the crack sound of their bones crashing. 

“Stop!” Maria shouted before Steve in all his fury, outraged and unstoppable, would kill the guy with his bare hands. “We need to track that retina layer! Stop!” She lunged and seized his arm, preventing him from striking further. 

Your mind recovered some senses as the words stopped, now all you felt was pain, but you managed to let out what you’d been holding in all day.

“Steve…”

That worked as a Hydra’s password to him, Steve felt he was woken up from a dream, and before you knew it, you were pressed into his embrace, his arms holding you tight yet gentle and with care, as if you were fragile as the most precious thing in the world. 

“I’m sorry…” You whispered, trembling as you tried to hold onto him. “I wanted to tell you…I…” God, his skin is so warm. You missed that the entire day. 

Steve froze. The ache on his chest made him paralyzed, he could barely speak. You were worried about him? Now? 

“It's ok…” He was feeling a lump form in his throat, his hand weaving through your hair, pressing you against him and kissing you on the forehead. 

“I’m here baby, it’s ok, you are ok…” He barely could put himself together. You were a mess—bloody, battered— and he was scared, so scared he can’t remember when was the last time he was falling apart like this. 

You were panting as your consciousness was losing it, giving in finally to the injection you put into yourself to paralyze you and prevent you from doing something you can’t manage. 

“Did you…get hurt?” You raised a hand and touched his face. You were fading, the injection taking its toll, dragging you into unconsciousness.

“Shit baby…” Steve pressed his forehead against yours, barely holding himself together. He couldn’t believe what you were saying: “That’s the last of my concerns.” 

But you were already slipping away.

Steve’s heart froze in his chest when he looked down and saw your eyes closed, your body limp against his. A cold wave of terror surged through him, threatening to pull him under. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, it was like the world had stopped spinning. He couldn't hear anything, not Tony, not Bruce, not even his own heartbeat. 

His entire focus narrowed to the sight of you—still, lifeless—like all the color had drained from you. His hand hovered over your face, trembling, afraid to touch you, afraid you wouldn’t respond.

“Hey…” His voice cracked, hoarse and broken. “Babe...?” 

Panic gripped him in a way he hadn’t felt since the war, since waking up alone in a world that had moved on without him. But this was worse, infinitely worse. His fingers found the pulse at your neck, but his heart refused to calm. What if it was fading? What if you were slipping away, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it?

"What...What's happening?" He could hear his own voice, vulnerable as ever. 

“What the f…?” Tony knelt next to Steve, grabbing the discarded syringe. 

Relief washed over him as he read the label.

“Oh, for god’s fucking sake…!” He passed it to Bruce, sinking to the floor. “It’s just a tranquilizer. She’s asleep. Damn, that was close.” He rubbed his face, still shaken. “That was the scariest thing ever. Shit.”

"Holy shit." Bruce and Maria leaned back too, releasing the breath they had been holding.

"Okay..." Commander Hill, always the first to pull herself together, stood up and exhaled in relief as she began to make sense of the chaos. 

"Let’s get her to the med bay. Now." Her voice was determined, but her movements were gentle. She patted a still-in-shock Steve softly on the shoulder. "Come on, Cap. We need to get her out of here. And there’s work to do." She tilted her head toward the unconscious Four on the floor.

Steve didn’t respond. He was panting, his body covered in cold sweat as Tony’s words sank in. It was...tranquilizer? You were ok? He was still holding you close, feeling the warmth of your skin, the quiet and steady rhythm of your breathing. And he could hear your heartbeat. 

He never really believed in God, but in that moment, he wanted to thank every deity in this world or beyond that you were still in his arms. Alive. Safe. 

And, God…he swore right then, he would never let this happen again. Whatever the hell had gone down tonight, he was so fucking sure that was never, EVER, happening again.

"Steve." Tony placed a hand on his shoulder as Sam and Natasha entered the room with the elite team to deal with Four. 

"Come on, buddy, let’s go. Look at her hands—she’s a mess. We’ve got to get her wounds treated." And make sure that brainwash thing is gone, Tony thought, but he didn’t say it aloud. With Steve still so on edge, he didn't want to end like Four on the floor.

Steve closed his eyes for a long moment, then tightened his grip around you, pulling you closer. He lifted you carefully, pressing a kiss to your forehead and inhaling your scent. You smelled like blood, and he felt a deep, crushing guilt. 

"Alright, let’s go." He finally spoke, his voice steady, though full of pain. "But I’m staying close." There was no way he was letting you out of his sight.

You inhaled sharply, and your eyes flew open, heart pounding in your chest. 

The room was bright, sterile, and the soft hum of Stark technology filled the air. 

Disoriented, you stared at the blinking machines and glowing monitors around you. Tubes and wires were connected to your arms, and a soft beep from the heart monitor echoed in the quiet space.

Flashbacks hit you hard. Four. The keywords. You injected yourself to prevent anyone from getting hurt. And you succeeded, didn’t you? Did anyone get hurt?

You remembered Steve being the first to approach you. Four was beaten down, wasn’t he? Is Steve okay? Is everyone ok?

“What the hell is this…” You muttered, frowning as you glanced at the data on the monitors. Then quickly decided you didn’t need any of it. You reached for the tubes, yanking them out one by one. The pain was sharp, but adrenaline dulled it. You didn’t care. You hated anything related to medical clinics, anything that reminded you of being in a lab, a subject of experimentation.

You pulled off the monitors, ignoring the rapid beeping as alarms blared. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stood shakily, your legs weak, your vision blurry.

“Damn…” you muttered, walking in a dizzy haze, trying to balance. You must have injected quite a dose of tranquilizer. How long had you been out? There were no windows, and the room’s enclosed space only heightened your panic. 

Barefoot, you rushed out and collided with Steve, who was rushing in, pale and shaken.

“What...What are you doing?!” His voice was agitated. Pulling out the tubes must’ve triggered an alarm. He immediately scooped you off the cold floor. “Are you okay?” He set you back on the bed and inspected your bruised and bleeding arms. “You’re freezing. You ok? You’re hurt? Do you want me to call the docs?”

“I…I…” You didn’t know what to say, so you just stretched out your arms and pulled him close, holding yourself to him and hugged him as tight as your weak strength allowed. 

“I missed you.”

You said in a low voice, closing your eyes, inhaling his skin, arms around his neck and feeling him. “I woke up and I wanted to see you…I was scared…” 

You felt a strange wave of vulnerability, the kind that made you feel like a child seeking comfort.

Steve stood rigid, his heart and soul settling back into place now that you were awake and in his arms. But he was also…furious. You had no idea how angry he had been, how the team had barely managed to contain his rage. He wanted to stay quiet, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

“You were scared…now? You didn’t seem scared when you used yourself as bait and stood up against this guy alone…!” 

He wanted to shout it out, his voice was thick with frustration, fear, and anger, but he stopped. 

His arms remained gentle, holding you tightly. 

“What were you thinking? I was…You scared the shit out of me…I thought…” 

He cut himself off, tightening his grip around you, pulling you impossibly closer. His lips brushed against your hair as if he couldn’t bear to let go. He clenched his arms, flashing back to that moment when he was breathless, but now you were there. 

Thank God you are here.

Your arms around his neck, body against his, his arms holding onto your waist, He could smell your hair, could feel your warmth against his lips, and he didn’t want this moment to end. 

“I’m sorry… I wanted to tell you… And I knew you were looking for me, but I couldn’t look back. It would’ve given me away.” You looked up, cupping his face with a soft smile. 

Steve exhaled, his heart twisting in his chest. He clenched his jaw, his voice thick with emotion, still fighting to keep composure, he pulled you impossibly closer, holding you against him, his voice a shaky whisper.

 “Just promise me…promise me you won’t do such reckless…dangerous things again…ever.” 

Your fingers softly moved around his face, and gently kissed him, you pressed your forehead to his, calming and soothing his pain. 

You could hear his breath becoming softer and lower with your touch, you stood still, hugging and feeling him as you were comforted too. 

“Were you hurt?” you asked suddenly, remembering Steve knocking out Agent Frazer, unsure of how the events had played out. Breaking the hug, you looked him over. “You’re hurt!” You exclaimed, noticing his swollen, bleeding knuckles. “Steve, let me see. Is this bad? Are you in pain?”

“This?” He opened and closed his fist, showing you it was fine. “This is nothing… it hurt less than hitting a punching bag.”

“The Hulk container IS NOT a punching bag.” You carefully caressed his injured hand, your eyes welling up with tears. “Can you get it checked later? Does it hurt?”

Steve didn’t know what to say. He tightened his other arm around your waist, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

You hadn’t cried when you found out about your brother being alive, or later when you learned he was a fake. You hadn’t cried when you clenched your fist around glass to fight back the brainwashing. You hadn’t even hesitated when you injected yourself to save everyone.

But now, you were tearing up because of his bruised knuckles.

“I’m ok.” He said after a long pause. And it felt so clumsy. But he didn’t know how to describe the feeling he had right now. He couldn’t find the words. He wished there were some way to predict the future, to shield you from every upcoming danger, every pain, for the rest of your life.

“When can we go home?” You rubbed your eyes, you were exhausted, but you didn’t want to sleep here. 

Steve smiled at your mention of “home”, and thought about your secluded, private, little lab, full of sunshine and plants. Your home. Our home. That’s such a wonderful word. His voice softened as he helped you lie down.

“Soon, baby. Just rest, ok? You’ve been through too much today.” He adjusted the pillows and pulled a blanket over you. “Are you okay? Are you cold?”

“Yes.” You frowned and looked up at him. “I’m cold. I want you to hold me.” You moved aside, making room in the bed. “Now.”

You had never used that childish tone before, and it made Steve chuckle. Shaking his head, he climbed into bed beside you, holding you in his arms, your head resting on his chest. “Spoiled little brat.” He teased with a smile, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “My spoiled little brat.”

You inhaled deeply, resting your head against his chest, your favorite spot in the world where you could hear his heartbeat—the sound that made everything in the universe make sense. And when he thought you were asleep, you spoke, your voice clear.

“Do you want to hear a bedtime story?”

Your voice carried a sense of determination, and Steve sighed. He had it coming. Just not this soon. 

But then, he thought back to everything, and realized you were one of the bravest people he'd ever met. It didn’t surprise him that you were ready to talk.

“Only if you're sure.”

“Yes.” You smiled, propping yourself up on your elbow to meet his eyes. “I should’ve told you from the beginning.” You exhaled deeply. “I was just scared of becoming a disappointment.”

“What?” He turned to you, incredulous. “No… don’t say that. You could never be a disappointment. Ever.” His gaze was steady and unyielding. “Don’t ever think that.”

You kissed his fingers, pausing for a long moment before beginning.

“Once upon a time…” You stopped as he chuckled. “I’m kidding. Bedtime stories are supposed to be soothing. This one would give nightmares.”

Steve held your hand as he looked at you: “I’m here. And…no nightmare could ever keep me away from you.”

You smiled but stayed quiet for a long while, gathering your thoughts. Steve remained silent, wrapping his arm around you, gently twisting a strand of your hair between his fingers, waiting patiently for you to begin.

“We were twelve, as you might have guessed. I'm the last one.” Your voice was distant, soft, like whispering a dream from another lifetime.

“It started with One and Two. They were perfect, like gods—healthy, strong, fast, fierce. They had rapid healing, heightened reflexes, tolerance to extreme temperatures, and incredible immune systems. Like you. Or Apollo and Artemis. And of course, they weren’t enough. Hydra wanted more. They’ve always wanted more.”

You made a pause, those memories felt like thousands years ago.

“By the time they made Three, Four, and Five… One and Two had begun to… fail. They developed flaws.”

The fingers twirling your hair froze. Steve held his breath. He had thought about this ever since Natasha handed him your file, asking, ‘What do you think happened to the other eleven?’ He hadn’t answered, a terrible feeling gnawing at him that the others’ fates might have been far worse than yours.

“What kind of flaws?” You could hear his heartbeat quicken.

“Just…they weren’t flaws for me. But they stopped being perfect. Their immune system presented infections, something never happened before. Their recovery speed was not as fast as before, or they weren’t healing 100%. Or…speed decrease, lack of strength. And of course their minds started to … be uncontrollable or not manageable at all.” You sighed. 

Steve’s hand tightened slightly, a ripple of horror passing through him.

“Three, Four and Five presented earlier symptoms. Three was fast, but he lacked strength. Four was strong, but he wasn’t able to heal as fast as the rest. And Five was super smart but she was…weak. Well, not weak, normal.”

You paused, and smiled: “It was true, you know? The story Agent Frazer told. I was a great tree climber, and we used to have fun in that oak tree. But…” 

You felt Steve’s hand holding you tighter, and you hugged him back, your tone turned low.

“Four did that tricky thing of putting a rock on a pile of leaves. Seven hit against it so hard, and that’s right… he won’t stop bleeding, we headed to the base, and of course, got grounded as hell.” You inhaled: “Four died because of that. They sacrificed him, they were planning on doing so anyway, but it was used as a warning. They’ve put everything that ‘worked’ in Four, to ‘fix’ Seven.”

“What?” 

Steve felt every fiber on his body tensed, his chest growing tighter and tighter as you spoke, horrified at the realization of what Hydra had done.

“And of course, Seven didn’t last long either. He died about a year later. I think… he just couldn’t live with what was left of Four.” 

Your smile was thin, sad. “I saw the autopsy report. There was nothing physically wrong with him. He just…shriveled, or…died from a broken heart.”

You inhaled deeply, bracing yourself for the next revelation.

“And today…I didn’t stop Frazer right away because… I was curious.” 

You buried your face in Steve’s chest, as you were ashamed of this little wish.

“I wanted to know…I’ve always wanted to know, how my brothers and sisters would be like…if they’d grown up. I knew Frazer was a fraud, but I couldn’t help it. He was identical to Four…and Four…he was just a kid, a bright, playful, funny kid.”

Steve clenched his arms and held you tightly as you were shivering uncontrollably. He was shaking too, his teeth chattering, it was beyond anger, he felt his heart filled with sadness and despair. 

He tried to speak several times before his voice finally steadied. 

“You were a kid too.”

“I was not a kid.” You responded, surprisingly quiet. “I was the kid. I was…the final version.” You looked at his horrified eyes as his expression shifted. 

You lowered your eyes at his sight, and calmly continued the story: “One and Two passed away when I was young, very young, I still don’t know what happened to them. But Hydra…just continued experimenting, Seven was good, but then he … turned off when Four died, Eight died as a toddler I think. So they just kept going, taking things out of this one, adding to the other… until they got it to the right perfect model… or at least… to one that wasn’t deteriorating with time and maintained a regularity.”

You curved your lip as you looked at Steve.

“The last number of the great Hydra’s Dynasty. Frankenstein number Twelve.”

“I’m alive. Because my brothers and sisters died.” 

Steve was in horror.

This pang in his chest, he didn’t know if he wanted to destroy something, vomit, or just…take the time stone, go back in time, and burn all Hydra’s bases he’d known down to the ground until they were ashes and dust. Until the very last of them were fucking burning and screaming in hell.

“They died so Hydra could have a perfect soldier?” His voice was barely more than a growl. “They were…torn apart so you could exist?”

“Well, it’s not like I have Eight’s eyes or Ten’s arms.” You looked at your hands. “It’s like…their DNA, their…existence, were transmitted to me. A prototype that succeeded, but the original versions…just didn’t make it.”

Your voice was like a faint ghost as you observed yourself.

“You know my powers, right? I can see…the components or layers of solid things when I want to. Not all the time, but it gives me a great advantage with stuff like machinery, weapons, gear, construction…I think I have Five’s intelligence too, and some of Three’s speed, or even a shadow of One and Two’s strength. And Eleven’s sense of humor—I’ve always thought we were twins…but this power…It’s only in me.”

“And it used to work on humans too, if I wanted it to.” You sighed in sadness and sorrow. “There’s something I haven’t told anyone, no one knows…not even Tony.” 

You intertwined your fingers with Steve’s, confessing in a calm voice.

“There’s something…in every living being, within their layers and layers of components, something impossible to explain—something divine, and impossible to replicate. And that’s like a golden thread.”

You traced a line in the air as Steve held his breath. 

“I see it as a line of golden glitter. Some shine more than others, like yours…yours is like a strong ray of sunshine, like all the stars in the sky unified within your being. That’s life. Or…the divine power of life.”

Steve held his breath in awe. There was something incredibly beautiful within the horrors you had to endure. He suddenly remembered all the plants in your lab and home, the leaves cascading from the ceiling, growing strong everywhere. He could picture it—the stunning view you’d have, all those waterfalls and cascades of golden strings, of living life.

He hesitated before speaking, his voice as gentle as he could make it: “And…you don’t use your powers on humans anymore?”

“No. I shut it down. Or it shut itself down…” You shook your head. “Hydra used my powers to make their experiments more…efficient. But my brain, or my powers, were too important. They didn’t dare experiment on me with something that might go wrong. I only had one brain procedure—the one that implanted all these keywords.”

You pressed your lips together and closed your eyes. 

“They didn’t brainwash me…So I remember everything. I was forced to participate in the experiments on my siblings. I didn’t know…I thought I was helping them heal, but they lied. I was part of it…!” 

Your breath quickened as the memories flooded back.

“I could see them. I could see how their life threads faded, losing their shine little by little. Strong, sparkling golden glitter slowly fading, disappearing. Like a spark extinguished…absorbed by nothingness. And after my last sister, Nine, passed away, I just…this power of seeing layers on human, it went off. I can only see threads in living beings now, nothing else.”

A terrible silence fell across the room. Only the soft beeps of the medical machines echoed through.

Steve sat up straight. He didn’t want to let go of your hand, your touch, but his body just reacted. It was too much, even for him. Your words were calm and serene, but the horrors and the cruelty behind them cut through him like a knife, piercing his soul and breaking him down.

He didn’t know what to say because…what was left to say? There was no comfort, no kindness, nothing that could soothe what you’d been through.

The fact that you remembered everything, that you saw brainwashing as a gift because you had witnessed every death, with genuine hope and devotion that you were helping, only to find out the goal was for you to be the perfect prototype. The guilt you must’ve felt, the despair of watching those threads try to hold on to life before they faded…

The image of you standing alone in this world after your last sibling was gone, facing all that darkness by yourself…he couldn’t imagine it.

“And then, everything is history.” Your eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

“The project ended when Dr. Erskine actually succeeded in creating something…combined. I went into a cryostasis pod that eventually shut down. I don’t know for how long. Then one day, I just woke up in an empty facility, in the dark, and escaped. Natasha found me in the mountains. I think the lab sent out some kind of signal Tony detected, and she was sent to scan the place.”

You were relieved that your story had finally ended, or at least, the nightmare part. 

But Steve was stiff. 

He felt…waves of guilt crashing over him.

What year was that? When did all of that happen to you? Where was he? Could he have changed anything? If he had tried harder…if he had discovered Hydra's remnants in SHIELD earlier…could he have saved you?

“And I was…where?” He murmured to himself, trying to remember. “Wakanda…and then…it was the Blip…and I…I never knew…that you were here…until the night we met.”

“Steve…” You frowned, sitting up and placing a hand on his back. “I’ve told you already, what happened to me is not a weight for you to carry. I’m here now. And I’m with you. I’m safe.”

“Safe?” He could hardly bear the guilt and pain he felt. “Safe how? Look at you…you’re…” He took your hand, bandaged and scarred from all the glass and needles you’d endured. “How can you say you are safe…with me?”

He exhaled, his voice low as he suddenly tightened, his stomach twisting in pain. He didn’t know where to begin expressing the emotions, the guilt, the responsibility he felt for all of this.

“I should’ve been there. I should’ve stopped this. If I had tried harder, been faster, I should have protected you, saved you…if I’d just been there…”

“You did.” You put a hand on his shoulder, turning him around to face you. You could see all the emotions swirling inside him. “You did.” You spoke softly but firmly. 

“You ended Hydra, twice. I wasn’t used during the War, or after. And when you ended them for good, I was free. You set me free.”

Steve was panting. He couldn’t feel anything else but pain. There was a huge lump in his chest and throat that intensified when you said that. The word you used—“used”—how could anyone in the world apply that verb to you? His heart ached so deeply that it took all his willpower not to break something.

You could see him suffering, so you caressed his cheek.

“And…” You cupped his face, your voice gentle. 

“And I had this new identity. I met Natasha, Tony…all these new friends, all this good in the world. I don’t need to hide anymore. I can live under the sunshine, see the sunrise, feel the wind, touch the grass. I even saw the sea for the first time, I had ice cream… And…” 

You inhaled, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I got to meet the love of my life.”

“God…!”

The word escaped Steve like a desperate prayer.

Steve pulled you in, holding you so tightly that it felt like he wanted you to melt into his body. 

He clenched his jaw, trying to fight back all the emotions tearing him apart. But it was nothing compared to the agony that tore him apart inside. 

You had suffered so much—more than he could bear to imagine—and yet you were here: Kind. Good. Pure. Selfless. All those beautiful words Natasha and Tony used to describe you and yet he thought they weren’t enough. 

He pressed his face into your hair, his breath ragged, trying to fight back the tears that stung his eyes. Why hadn’t he been there? Why hadn’t he saved you sooner? He could have spared you so much pain, so much suffering, if only he had known, if only he had been there before the scars ever formed.

He clutched you tighter, as if holding you close enough might erase the past, might undo all the hurt. But he knew it wouldn’t. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t take it away. And all he could do was hold you, trying desperately to protect you from any more harm, even as the weight of his guilt bore down on him, suffocating and relentless.

You held him back. You could feel his heart trembling and his soul aching. So you pressed a deep kiss to his cheek.

“It’s in the past,” you said softly. “I’m here now… hey, hey, look at me.” 

You cupped his face, and your vision blurred as tears fell. 

“I’m sorry… I didn’t want to upset you, but I’m here now, and I’m just… so grateful, so happy… I’ve never felt this way until I met you, so… fearless, like… like the universe has rewarded me with this… rebirth, with meeting you, and loving you, and…”

“Stop.” It was more than Steve could take.

His voice was broken. 

“Stop. I…” He inhaled deeply and gently wiped away your tears. He needed to say something before your selfless, pure words continued to break his heart.

“I love you.” He breathed. 

The words came out like a sacred vow, a promise sealed with every heartbeat. He’d been holding them back for too long—since this morning, no, since the first day, since the moment he held his breath when he saw you for the first time. 

He spoke it like a promise written in the stars, one he would carry until the end of all things. Until his blood thickens into frozen ice, his bones crumble to ashes, and his soul dissolves into starlight, fading into cosmic dust at the very edge of time and the farthest reaches of eternity—he will love you.

You gazed into his eyes, a smile breaking through the tears. “I love you too.” 

You wiped away the tear that traced down his cheek. 

“And we’ll have new memories. We’ll make a new life. And we’ll be together. And we’ll be happy.”

“Yes.” He smiled through the pain and heartbreak, swearing as a sacred vow, his voice a little choked as he clung to you just as tightly.

“Yes. We will. I promise. We’re gonna be so damn happy…”

Steve waited until you had fallen asleep. 

After everything—the confessions, the heart-wrenching words—you had been exhausted. He’d made sure you rested, gently insisting until your breathing slowed into sleep.

In the silence of the night, he walked quietly to the command room. It was empty now, the weight of the day still hanging in the air. He pulled up the files—yours, and your eleven siblings’—onto the big screen.

A deep sigh slipped from his lips.

There you were. Blurred, black-and-white images of childhoods interrupted, dreams shattered, lives stolen far too soon.

“Jarvis.” His voice broke the stillness, steady yet heavy. “Do I have overwrite authorization to change the ID names?”

“Yes, Captain.” Jarvis replied, his tone as polite as ever. “Would you like to change the names of these files and subjects?”

“Yes.” Steve’s gaze lingered on your face, captured in that haunting picture. “Change them all. M and the ID number.” He said with resolve, his words carrying the weight of a decision long made.

“In an instant, Captain.” came Jarvis’s response. The screen flickers briefly as the files change, HE00X to M00X, twelve names, twelve identities, rewritten in seconds.

Steve stared at the screen, his expression grave, but something deeper stirred inside him. 

This was it—the meaning he wanted to give your siblings, like an unspoken monument on their unseen graves. 

Something none of you knew, because the world hadn’t been kind, or good, or fair enough to tell you. But he had known it right away, the moment you spoke about that beautiful golden thread that was within every living being.

You weren’t experiments. 

You were this new name, and he couldn’t thank the universe enough for that.

The twelve of you were this name.

M.

For Miracle.

The End

Continue to:

6: Dusk |

7: Hypnagogia |

8: Lull |

9: Vigil |

10: Eclipse |

Divider Credits: to the wonderful @cafekitsune

Woohoo...OMG I cried so much writing this ;_; thank you for reading thus far, hope you enjoyed the...intensity and the angst? xD

So I've been struggling with the name of the series, I was going to call it something like 'the golden thread', but then this image of Steve changing their ID names with this conviction and seriousness appeared in my mind as I was wrapping up Chapter 5, and it was something that's...so him, that's definitenly something he would do. So the name just popped up itself, I think I'll call it 'Miracle Nr. 12'. What do you think?

Ok so Chapters 6 & 7 are wrapped up already, I'll see you next Friday! Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist ;)

Taglist: @steviebbboi / @jamneuromain / @heletsmelovehim

Love.,

Moon.

[pxnsneverland]

Ruthless Grace | Austin Butler x OC (part 1)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

plot summary: Amidst the grime and squalor of Victorian England's winding cobblestone alleys, a young woman's life hangs precariously in the balance. Violet, a poor peasant girl with long raven locks and piercing gray eyes, possesses a haunting beauty that belies the harsh realities of her existence. Tragedy struck two years prior when Violet's mother succumbed to illness, leaving her to fend for herself and her father – a cruel, selfish man consumed by vices of alcohol and gambling. On one fateful night, Violet's father drags her unwillingly to that very den of iniquity, and there she learns a horrifying truth from the club's greedy, perverted owner: to repay his mounting gambling debts, her father has sold her into sexual servitude. Violet's vehement protests fall on deaf ears, until an unlikely savior emerges from the shadows. Lord Austin Butler intervenes with a bargain of his own. This dangerous man offers to pay off Violet's father's debts in exchange for her accompaniment, and Violet is torn from the only life she has known. While Austin's demeanor remains shrouded in mystery and detachment at first, Violet gradually glimpses his softer, even playful side as time passes within the manor's walls and an unexpected connection blossoms between the unlikely pair.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 3,025

warnings/notes: I decided to post another Austin fic I've been playing with for a little while. This is a set up chapter for the story and hopefully you guys enjoy it. The romance will begin soon :)

Chapter 1: Anchors and Aspirations

The icy wind bit through Violet's thin shawl as she maneuvered through the bustling market square, her gray eyes flitting from stall to stall. With the stealth of a seasoned thief, she slipped a hand into a basket, withdrawing a bruised apple before anyone noticed. At her heart, there was no love for thievery, but survival in the grim alleys of Victorian England left little room for scruples. As she tucked the stolen fruit into the folds of her dress, a shadow loomed over her. Her heart caught in her throat. She turned slowly, only to see Mr. Clarence Johnson, a local shopkeeper known for his scrupulous eye and unforgiving nature.

“Miss Everly,” he said, his tone surprisingly soft, his gaze not on the stolen apple but on her face. “You look more worn than usual. Are you unwell?”

Violet tensed. Clarence Johnson was an uncommon figure in their decrepit part of town; his presence alone suggested he was either lost or up to something far beyond her understanding.

“I am just fine, sir,” Violet replied, her voice steady despite the fluttering of her heart. “Just tending to some errands for my father.”

“Aye,” he nodded slowly, his bushy eyebrows knitting together in concern.

“But you needn’t resort to pilfering for your sustenance,” he continued, glancing at where the apple had disappeared into her dress. “There are other ways, Miss Everly, ways that do not risk your slender neck at the gallows.”

Violet stiffened, her hand instinctively clutching the fabric over the apple. The threat of the law was always a ghost that haunted her every step in these streets. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Johnson, but I assure you, I manage as best I can.”

Clarence surveyed her with those discerning eyes that missed little. “Your father,” he began, his voice dropping to a softer timbre, “he does little to provide, am I right?”

The accusation stung because it was true, yet Violet felt a surge of defiance. “He is my father still,” she said coldly, daring him with her gaze to speak ill of the man despite his failures.

Clarence sighed digging into one of his pockets and pulling out a few coins. He handed it to Violet. “Go buy the apple, girl. It would be a shame to see you hang for a fruit.” A trace of regret flitted across his features. “Miss Everly, I—” He paused, seeming to choose his next words with care. “I find myself in need of a reliable assistant at my shop. Someone keen and observant. Your... talents could be put to better use than thievery.”

Violet's heart pounded fiercely against her ribcage at the offer. Employment from Mr. Clarence Johnson was an unexpected lifeline, a beacon in her relentless sea of struggles. Yet, mistrust curled inside her like a dormant snake. Why would a man of his standing offer her, a known petty thief, an opportunity?

"I appreciate your offer, Mr. Johnson," Violet started cautiously, her voice a low murmur as she glanced around the bustling market to ensure no eavesdroppers lurked nearby. "But why would you trust someone like me in your establishment? You know very well my... activities."

Clarence's eyes softened, hinting at a depth that Violet hadn't noticed before. “Everyone deserves a chance at redemption, Miss Everly. I’ve watched you, not just today but many times. You’re quick, smart, and despite your current... enterprise,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly, “you have morals. You steal only what you need and no more.”

He was right—Violet never took more than necessary to survive. Her actions were driven by desperation, not greed. The acknowledgment of that fact from Clarence Johnson stirred something akin to hope within her chest.

"Consider it," he urged gently as he started to turn away, leaving the coins in her palm.

Violet watched Clarence's retreating figure, the coins heavy in her hand like the sudden possibility they represented. In a world that had offered little but hard edges and cold shoulders, the warmth of an unexpected offer ignited a flicker of daring in her spirit. She could almost taste the promise of stability, a stark contrast to the bitter tang of pilfered fruit and the relentless ache of uncertainty. Still, Violet knew better than to leap without looking. Her life had taught her the sharp lessons of betrayal and disappointment too well. As she moved away from the market square, her mind raced with both the perils and prospects of Clarence Johnson's proposal. Could she truly step into the light of legitimate work without the shadows of her past pulling her back? And more pressingly, what did Clarence see in her that others didn't? Was it pity, a calculated gamble, or perhaps something more personal?

As she wandered through the alleys, her route took her instinctively towards home—a term used loosely for the cramped, dingy room she shared with her father. The door creaked ominously as she pushed it open, revealing Edward Everly slumped over a table littered with empty bottles. The stench of stale liquor and despair hung thick in the air. Violet's entrance went unnoticed by her father, his consciousness lost to the depths of another drunken stupor. She stood there a moment, her gaze hardening as she took in the sight of his decrepit form. This was the life she was born into, one suffocated by poverty and neglect, a stark reminder of what awaited her if nothing changed.

With a soft sigh, she stepped over the threshold, her boots echoing softly on the bare wooden floor. The coins still clenched in her hand felt like both a promise and a burden. She walked past her father, careful not to disturb his fitful slumber, and seated herself on the small, worn-out chair near the cold fireplace. Here in the dim light of their one-room abode, Violet allowed herself a moment to think. Mr. Clarence Johnson’s offer was tempting—an escape from this life of constant desperation. Yet doubt gnawed at her; trust was a luxury she could scarcely afford. Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden groan from across the room. Edward Everly stirred, his eyelids fluttering open only to squint at his surroundings in befuddled drunkenness.

"Violet?" he slurred, his voice soaked with alcohol and confusion.

"Yes, Father," she replied quietly, steadying her voice to hide the tumult inside.

"What are you doing, sitting there like a lost soul? No food again?" His voice was rough, accusatory, as he tried to focus his bleary eyes on her.

Violet's hand tightened around the coins, the metal biting into her palm. She considered telling him about the job offer, about the possibility of change, but the words died on her lips. Her father's unpredictable temper and his disdain for any sign of ambition or hope outside his own distorted view discouraged any such revelations. Instead, she rose to her feet, smoothing the front of her dress with a practiced motion. "I'll get us something to eat," she said, her tone neutral. "Rest now. You need it."

Edward grunted in response, collapsing back onto the table with a weary thud. Violet turned away, feeling the weight of responsibility press down on her once more. As she stepped out into the waning light of day, the coins still in her grasp represented more than mere currency; they were a test of her courage and resolve.

The streets outside whispered with the voices of dusk—traders packing up their stalls, children playing before they were called in for supper, men heading towards the pubs for their evening respite. Violet moved through them like a shadow, unnoticed yet sharply attentive. She made her way to the tiny store at the corner of the street, its windows dimly lit and shelves sparsely stocked. Mrs. Bauble, the elderly proprietor, looked up from her knitting as Violet entered, her eyes narrowing slightly with suspicion and then softening as she recognized the young woman.

"Back again, Violet?" Mrs. Bauble asked, setting aside her knitting. Her voice was raspy yet carried a warmth that was often absent in their bleak surroundings.

"Yes, Mrs. Bauble," Violet replied, approaching the counter with the coins still tight in her grip. "A loaf of bread and whatever meat you can spare for this."

Mrs. Bauble eyed the coins and then Violet, a knowing look crossing her features. "Trouble or fortune, my dear? Those coins look heavy with one or the other."

Violet offered a small, weary smile. "Perhaps a bit of both," she confessed softly.

The old woman nodded as if she understood all too well the dual nature of sudden opportunities. She turned to gather the requested items, wrapping them carefully before handing them over to Violet. "Be cautious, child. Fortune's favor is a fickle friend," she advised, her wrinkled hand briefly squeezing Violet's.

Violet nodded, feeling the weight of the old woman's words sink into her heart. "I will, thank you, Mrs. Bauble," she murmured, taking the small parcel with a sense of gratitude mixed with trepidation. As she left the store, the cool evening air brushed against her face, whispering possibilities that both exhilarated and terrified her. The walk back home was a quiet one, filled with the sounds of her own footsteps echoing off the cobblestones and the distant laughter of children not yet called to their suppers. Violet's mind spun with thoughts of Mr. Clarence Johnson’s proposal. It was a chance to step away from the shadowy margins of survival into something resembling a normal life. But at what cost? Could she really leave behind the streets that had taught her everything about resilience and distrust just as easily?

The uncertainty churned inside her as she approached the door of her humble abode once more. Violet paused, hand on the latch, feeling the divide between her current life and the one that might await her with Clarence Johnson. She could almost hear her mother’s voice, soft and encouraging, urging her to take a chance for a better future. Yet, the haunting memories of past betrayals loomed large, making her hesitate. Resolutely, Violet pushed open the door, stepping back into the shadowed confines of the room she shared with her father. Edward Everly was now snoring loudly, lost in an alcoholic haze that seemed to provide him the only peace he knew. Violet set down the small parcel of food on the shaky table and took a moment to look at him. Despite everything, he was still her father, and a pang of compassion tempered her longstanding resentment.

Quietly she unpacked the bread and meat, setting aside a portion for herself before preparing a smaller plate for Edward when he would inevitably awaken. Her actions were mechanical, performed with little thought as her mind wrestled with larger concerns. She knew that accepting Clarence’s offer would mean more than just changing jobs; it would mean stepping into an unknown world, risking exposure and vulnerability in ways she hadn't before.

Later, as darkness enveloped the room and the flickering candle cast long shadows across the peeling walls, Violet sat with her thoughts, tracing the outline of the bread with her fingers. The sense of impending change weighed heavily on her. It wasn't just the prospect of leaving behind the familiar, suffocating squalor that gnawed at her; it was also stepping into a realm so vastly different from anything she had known. What if she was unprepared for the challenges? What if she failed?

As these doubts swirled in her mind, Edward stirred from his stupor, his movements sluggish as he adjusted to the dim light. He squinted at the plate set before him and then up at Violet, a rare flicker of confusion crossing his usually indifferent gaze.

"Did you fetch this, Violet?" he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

"Yes," she replied quietly, watching him closely.

He took a piece of meat and chewed slowly. For a moment, there was silence between them—a silence filled with unspoken words and stifled dreams.

"Why do you stay?" Edward's question came unexpectedly. His eyes, clearer now, fixed on her with an intensity that made her flinch slightly.

Violet paused, her breath catching in her throat. It was not like Edward to show interest in her choices or her life. The question hung in the air, heavy and laden with implications that Violet had long avoided. She searched for an answer that could appease both her father and her own restless heart. "I stay because this is my home," she replied quietly, her eyes not meeting his. "And because you are here."

Edward snorted, a bitter laugh escaping him as he looked around the decrepit room that barely served as a shelter. "This? This is no home, Violet. It's a prison. You're young still. You shouldn't be shackled by my failures."

His words, so starkly honest, struck Violet with unexpected force. It was rare for Edward to acknowledge his own shortcomings so openly or to express concern for her well-being. This glimpse of the man he might once have been—before grief and vice had reshaped him into the figure he now presented—left her momentarily speechless.

"You could leave, find a better life. Isn't there anyone...?" His voice trailed off, his question unfinished but clear.

Violet’s heart pounded in her chest as she considered her father's words. They echoed the very thoughts that haunted her nightly dreams—the possibility of a life beyond these walls, a chance at happiness that seemed so tantalizing yet so remote. But the thought of leaving her father in this state, as wretched as it was, tugged at her conscience. "There might be," she admitted softly, allowing herself to think of Clarence Johnson once more. His offer had been genuine, filled with promises of respect and a new beginning. Yet, the weight of her current reality shackled her ambitions.

"But I fear what leaving would mean for you," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper.

Edward scoffed, looking away from her piercing gaze. "Don't make an anchor out of me, Violet. I'm already drowning." His voice was gruff, edged with the harsh self-awareness that alcohol sometimes brought to his lips.

Violet swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears she refused to shed. Her father’s usual indifference made his moments of clarity all the more painful for their rarity and raw honesty.

"I need to think on it," she finally said, standing up and moving towards the small window that overlooked the dim alleyway below. There, she pressed her forehead against the cool glass, trying to draw strength from the night itself. The tangled streets of London sprawled out before her—so familiar and yet suddenly brimming with the promise of escape. Her heart fluttered at the thought, a wild bird caged by years of oppression and fear.

Inside, Edward shifted uneasily in his chair, watching her silhouette framed against the weak moonlight that dribbled through the grimy window. For a moment, he seemed about to speak again, perhaps to retract his harsh truths or to further encourage her departure. But no words came; instead, he sank back into his chair with a heavy sigh that spoke volumes of his resignation to life's cruel turns.

Violet remained at the window long after her father's breathing evened out into the rhythm of sleep. Her thoughts were tumultuous waves crashing against the shore of her resolve. Clarence’s proposal was not merely an employment offer; it was an invitation to step into a world where she could perhaps wash away the stains of her past and emerge reborn. It promised safety, respectability, and above all, an identity unchained from the degradation that had colored her life. Yet, her father’s words haunted her: "Don’t make an anchor out of me." Could she really leave him here, adrift in the haze of his vices, or was it her duty to stay and prevent him from sinking deeper into despair? The weight of decision seemed insurmountable, anchoring her to this moment of indecision.

Violet pressed her cheek against the cool pane, the glass fogging slightly with each exhaled breath. Outside, the labyrinthine alleys of London whispered secrets of escape and adventure, but also murmured warnings of betrayal and hardship. Each whisper tugged at her soul, a symphony of opportunity and fear mingling in the night air. Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft noise behind her. Turning slightly, she saw Edward shifting again in his chair, his face etched with lines of discomfort and regret. For a fleeting second, she saw not the man who had failed her but rather the father who had once held dreams and aspirations beyond the confines of their dreary existence. The weight of his words echoed in her mind, a haunting reminder of their shared struggles and the unspoken bond that tied them together.

Drawing in a deep breath, Violet stepped away from the window. The cool air had not offered solace nor had it stiffened her resolve. If anything, it had only deepened her turmoil. Walking over to the flickering candle, she snuffed it out with a quick pinch, plunging the room into darkness. She navigated through the black with practiced ease, her every step whispering against the wooden floor. Reaching her modest bedding in the corner, she lay down without changing, drawing the thin blanket up to her chin. The darkness was not just a physical veil but also a metaphor for the uncertainty that clouded her future. As she lay there, her mind continued to race, replaying her earlier conversation with her father, weighing each word, each pause.

As sleep eventually claimed her in its restless embrace, Violet dreamt of vast oceans and endless horizons—a world away from the cramped confines of their decrepit home. In her dreams, the ocean was a deep blue, not the murky grey of London's foggy mornings. She stood on the deck of a ship, the wind tugging at her hair and billowing her threadbare dress like a sail. This was a freedom she had never known, unshackled from the burdens of her father's failures and the oppressive weight of their squalid existence.

Stay tuned for part 2!! Click HERE to view!